Sometimes.

Sometimes I'd like to think Satan is like Gollum.
That he was once my brother, but
with a chink of pride within his heart.
That he just fell a bit away,
and bits became great.
I'd like to think the rest of his goodness
is still there.
Still exists.
Just forgotten beneath the layers of
choice
upon
choice.
Bad
upon
worse.
I'd like to think he loves.
I'd like to think he remembers sometimes.
When he's lonely,
or sick of being alone on Christmas.
I'd like to think he misses his mother.
I'd like to think he's like Captain Hook
or Prince John...just
lost in a fairly tale for awhile.
Distracted by the sparklies in the world.
Like he forgot to grow up and be like his daddy,
find the woman of his dreams,
have a son of his own.

I'd like to think that someday he'll be there at the reunion.
Like a long lost uncle who eventually made it back.
It's just hard to imagine that a son of God,
whom the angels loved and mourned,
won't come home because he hates it's light.

Ceased to be

I tried to make it nice hun
I really really did
I wanted you to like it babe
but sometimes I just cant win
I used the level like you told me to
I even measured it out
but something went askew love
and it just isn't very right.
I tried to make it nice hun
I really really tried
but I am at a loss for words dear
at how this came to be
but somewhere between the wall
and the hammer
the nail ceased to be.

I have been trying to decorate the home and get pictures up on the walls because Jameson said it makes it feel more like home. So as a surprise, I was hanging up pictures and I got one stuck in the wall...and... I tried to pull it out but it just wouldn't come out! So, I used both hands, and with the hammer, it did come out. But I have no idea where it is. I had 2 friends come and try separately. But before you freak out, I did vacuum the floor before Chloe went on it again and rearranged the furniture. It really did cease to be.

Outrageously outraged

"What blasphemy!" You cry
with an outraged indignation.
"How dare you such a wrong?"
I couldn't help but care even less
as you stared me down
with the line in the middle of your eyebrows
furrowed deep
accentuating the vein that runs
just above your left eye.
Funny how you feel so completely,
utterly,
offended
at something so small that has no bearing
on your personal enjoyment.
Regardless, I won't listen to your
throes and complaints.
I'm listening to Christmas music
this week,
be it before Thanksgiving
or no.

Nameless

[11.8.11]

Scrub scrub porcelain curves
left and right
up and down the under belly
chemical tickling my nose
clean sweeping cloth catching
dust, grime; kicks up of life.
Her story plays in my ears
like gentle notes reminding
of the beauties of my pleasured existence.

The hard, porcelain facts
that my body can crouch,
bend, reach, scrub
such a trivial thing as a toilet.

Playing on and on
rising up as gentle, pure tides,
her testimony washes me.
Glimmering truths I have yet
to know, but can feel the light of
in this small room,
Even as my body quietly pulses and aches
through another cycle,
my movement is ease.
She speaks of divinity, of purpose,
of privilege.
I scrub over and under and know
I have purpose,
I have privilege.
My body works, cleans, runs.
My breath is blessed and even.
My life is beautiful
full of simple, wonderful, capability
and promise.

One day with another cloth
I will wipe the goobers
from my baby's eyelashes.
Left and right,
up and down.
And it will be a gentle privilege.
To be able to lift and stand
and rock my children until their breath
becomes even.
Until like the tides they subside into
temporary slumbers.
Blessed to awaken to lives
of purposeful simplicities.
Divine and beautiful.

Shy

Soft laughs, strange faces,

Nervous looks, timid gazes,

Only empty, meaningless phrases.

Awkward gestures—silent pleas—

All around an endless nothing.

Reaching outward, inward fleeing.

Still hopes, unspoken longing,

Secret dreams, feeling, knowing,

Beneath the foreign, cold façade,

Something real—light discerned—

In its unseen splendor waiting.

Reaching outward, inward glowing.

They choose not to understand

It makes perfect sense
I'd never second guess
but still there are
those people in class
that snicker and make light
they do not understand
what is black and what is white
it seems so simple
there is no long division or math
the message is clear
the teacher is precise
yet they sit there laughing
making fun
trying to ignore what they
cant comprehend
it takes some patience to
sit and not make a fuss
i guess i am the lucky one
blessed with inherent
belief and desire
but still I look round and
wonder
how could a message of
love and peace
of joy
be so easily pushed aside

Sunday afternoon, 3pm

Hypno, Hypno
So the pendulum swings
I can't help but follow
With my mind
Back and forth, back and forth,
While Hypno devours my dreams
This, I solemnly say, is why
I preach my fatigue
As you knowingly sigh
Ad wish I would just close my mouth.
Hypno is haunting my sleep.
I try to fight z's
By slowly snacking
But pounds are my only reward.
I stand and I walk
But my feet are like rocks,
I play with my child,
I think of the 'Hawks,
My fantasy players I've added and dropped,
How Shepherd will get us
All out of this mess,
But still, they're only
Distractions at best.
I know once I'm finished
And back to the place
Where reality tells you
"Enough is enough,
You can't stay awake,"
Hypno will come
And lull me away
While the preacher continues his sermon.

The Slacker's Tale

So, because I'm late again... I'm writing about being a slacker again. Sorry, I'll try to be better.



A Slacker there once was that was a crash
He came into the classroom full of trash
Coming in, he gave no care of the world
Ragged clothes he wore, he looked half twirl'd
The teacher spoke, repeatedly like sheep
When class starts, it is time for him to sleep
Dozing off was the best method in life;
It was the only way to get through rife
Snoring loudly, he disturbed the whole class
The teacher just left him alone in a mass
When class was over, he still was a king
"What's going on?", he'd missed the whole thing
"Just give me the paper," the teacher chased,
So he left the class with a dreadful face (in disgrace)
He spent the next week playing all day long,
Not knowing that he was extremely wrong.
When the night before the project is due,
He still has that paper to do.
He scrambles to gather his stuff for work
At the start, he was not going to shirk
But then he got distracted once again
Fun is the only thing, so he put down his pen
Yet again, back to his real features
Next day, he had nothing for his teachers
And his grade tumbled down in the abyss
He spent the rest of his life just like this,
Giving no care of the world or his time
A slacker, he was, who died in his prime
He will end up being the next waiter,
Serving people who tried hard to get greater
Do not be a lazy, sluggish cracker!
So this was the tale of the slacker


And because I'm two days late... I'll do two poems.
This one I wrote awhile ago... like 10 years or so and updated today.

Dear Grizzly Bear,

Great grey and grizzly brown bear of the wild,
Why do you seem so deadly you could eat a child?
You may be the second larger bear species in the world
But you seem to eat vegetables and haven't hurled.
But it seems that you are only defending your food and territory
Yet there is no need to worry
You sound so alone in your solitary life of wandering
Would you perhaps like to be flandering?
Yet you love to fight and ruble with others if you get the chance.
A loud roar fills the air s you strike with claws and teeth in a dance.
You stand on your feet as a human with all of your 700 pounds
No wonder you make so many sounds.
Even though you were born as bald as a rock in the sun
I like how on your tail you've always got your won little son
He, like you was as helpless as a turtle on its back,
When at first you came out to meet the pack
Your short tail does nothing for you except to make you adorable,
Yet so cute as to attract predators who think your coat is enjoyable
You must stay away from their guns and other dangers if you are to stay in existence
But don't worry, you were made to go the distance.
I hope you survive in your little world
Even if you are a little furled.

Sincerely, Bob Hope
But this ain't no joke

The Return of... The Slackers!!

C and T went on vacation

to a fairly sandy nation.

Now they're home, half asleep,

with horrid poetry for you peeps.



...Yep that was it.


~Stay tuned for more questionable poetry tomorrow.~




Oh,
I do have one short poem. I wrote this November 1st.


Miraculous


I believe I have my mothers ears,
my fathers eyes and mouth.
My mothers eyebrows
and one mix-between chin;
this nose...who knows?

My cheeks are Heintz,
my jaw is White,
my height purely Dahlgren.
These hips are Cummings,
and curves up Hanson.

Freckles from sunspots.
Arm hair; daddy's.
Skin? Hades.
And yet my spirit
fits my body, soul combined
into who I am already,
and still,
and yet
to be
miraculous.





Goodnight everybody

Falling

Note: Read from left to right. Sorry the formatting is weird. I can't figure out spacing very well.

"Falling"

One falls

falls hard like a

great wooden oak

felled by the woodcutter's axe.

One falls

falls soft and smooth
as baby birds

finding and spreading their wings.

To crash with a deafening roar

or rise on the wind in fresh flight,

which will be my course?

As swift comes the fall,
as swiftly I crash,

or I soar.

Ode to Books

Smooth and rough it's all the same
Thick and thin short and tall
bringing love and sometimes pain
lots of fun when you hit a wall
and when outside is nothing but rain

but often forgotten on the shelf
under the bed or propping the door
when inside is hidden a lifetime of wealth
adventures, romances and all sorts of lore
secrets of improvement and health

how easily we forget what teaches us most
and the joy found in pages unturned
instead we move on to things dry as toast
losing sight of what we once yearned
instead of experiencing the deep just standing on the coast

novels, magazines, pamphlets and chronicles
are treasures meant to be spent
not buried under ground or forgotten like barnacles
so pick one up ladies and gents'
and perhaps you'll learn something anatomical!

hahaha anatomical... yeah, all I could think of to rhyme with it. But seriously, I've had a hard time remembering how much I love books so here is a fun little reminder that as busy as life gets we all have time to better ourselves with a little reading. And yes, i think it is a betterment. Besides, isn't there a General Authority that reads a novel every week? I think we have something to learn from General Authorities.. just saying'.

Wizarding Ways

I am the wizard;
I cast my spells,
fighting through castles and dungeon cells.

My sword choice is heavy
My armor choice, plate,
Unless as a thief I slip in through the gates.

I take to the skies,
Searching far reaching space,
Encountering alien race after race.

My gun stays full-loaded
As I snap a clip in.
Burst after burst quelled the demon of sin.

My monsters are they
who fight at my command,
Five stay at my belt while one rests in my hand.

The hero of all
Who will save all the land
Powers down and turns out to be thoroughly bland.

I works 6 to 6
Tuck my child in bed
But laying down, fantasy rules in my head.

This responsible man
Never means to be rude,
While my sighing wife knows that the wizard needs food

Hi

I am the master of my cough
I am the captain of my cold!

Okay, so that doesn't really make any sense. I just wanted to say sorry for not writing. I've been feeling a little under the weather, and this weekend was quite busy with stake conference (I have a stake calling) and Halloween parties. But I did read some delicious Zombie Haiku. Here are some of my favorites:

dyslexic zombies
crave brains but relentlessly
stalk Brians instead

Grading papers, late,
teacher dozes. zombies come
in to pick her brains.

"i'm having a brain
freeze," i said. "i'll have one too,"
said thirsty zombie.

And for Becky because she studied English:

Thoreau a zombie?
who else would want to suck out
the marrow of life?

Enjoy. I hope everyone had a Happy Halloween.

You Know That Guy

So, I totally forgot about posting until I was already in bed last night. The truth is that I have been loving these poems, but I forget about them until Sunday night. I need to remind myself somehow during the week. Anyway, here is my poem. Thanks all for posting your poems, they are wonderful.


Ya know that guy who sits in the back?
The one who seems not to lack?
He's happy and fun,
but doesn't get much done.

Ya know that guy who shirks his work,
but never skips out on being a jerk?
Yet he is cool and surreal,
and never seen wearing teal.

Ya know that guy who is not tall nor fat,
the one who's always wearing a hat,
he pulls it low down his face,
so he can sleep at his own pace?

Ya know that guy who's failing class?
Well he's also failing math.
He never says a word,
the little terd.

Ya know that guy, well now he sells fries
He even wears a shirt and ties,
Though he's got a new hat.
He wears it when he asks "want fries with that".

You know that guy we gloried.
Well his plans were foiled.
I'm glad we're in college
and full of knowledge.

Sorta.

Trick or treat

Trick or treat
come one come all
dancing feet
at the Masquerade ball
twirling gowns glowing bright
bowing gentleman, so polite
you have never seen such a sight
beware or this may be your last night
Among the smiling glittering jewels
there hides the host,
a most garish tricksy ghoul
though he smiles at every ghost
he is thinking of getting you alone
and showing you the terrace
where he will bestow upon your finger a stone
You pride yourself little temptress
on winning such a prize
when really it is him tonight
with blood lust in his eyes
that wins this battle here outright
As you both alight the stairs
and leave the lights below
you finally see his teeth are bare
and what awaits you there.

The Halloween From Long Ago

My friend and I, one Halloween,
Were just sitting on the couch,
When the spirits jumped our afternoon
And turned the lights right out!

The power was out! And you may say
That frightens nearly no one,
But even you, my dearest reader,
Would be scared to your very buns.

We sat there, stunned, my friend and I,
In pure and total black,
Until he spoke, with nervous shake,
"Let's head out to the back."

Something must have happened,
So we reasoned in the house,
And we tiptoed out the door
Far less quiet than a mouse.

"Now wait a moment, mister!"
So you say with quite a sneer,
"Why all the caution? Nervousness?"
Well sit and listen, dear.

The ghosts were out this Halloween,
As were the snipers, too.
Yes, snipers, just as I said,
Were hiding, so we knew.

I was impressed, how dark it was
On such an afternoon.
After all, it was just past
An hour that most call two.

The shed was open! It must be where
The sniper hid in wait.
We snuck up, masked by the wind,
And slammed it in his face!

But wait! The cracking from the trees
Inside the forest due west,
Gave clearest indication
That there was another left.

And so we ran! My friend and I
Took off toward the home,
Detoured around the workshop
To keep our position unknown.

And then we saw what froze our bones
And chilled us to the ears.
A dartboard left in the driveway
Confirmed our greatest fears!

It was a warning: Just watch out
You kids hiding inside.
I'm a sniper, you're in my sights,
I know where you reside.


That Halloween we both found out
That someday we'll get sniped.
And still we wait, my friend and I,
For that final goodnight.

Yet, sometimes I wonder,
If snipers are really real?
It works for zombies, why not try?
Psh, snipers, what's the deal?

Feel Complete

Crown molding makes me feel complete,
when I look at a room with a bottom and top...
the way darker-edged coloring on a page looks
fancy.
And wistfully professional.

Corner-less blankets make me feel complete.
Today at her baby shower all those stiff edges were gone
like folded over pages and relaxed puppy ears.
That bundler fits.

Hard back books, the month of November,
the memories and scents are almost solid enough
to lean on.
Close your eyes and relish the existence of.

It's the way the world turns its head
to what matters.
The way the Cozy soaks up the houses and the
stewards inside.
The way the oranges smell spiced and golden,
the way everyone burrows into home,
enchantment, victorious living and being together.
Like it's a gift.

Like it's our gift.
Better than gold,
warmer than glory.
We matter to love.
Rich as the deep of the deep,
clear as the breath in our baby lungs.

There is a crown molding,
a bottom and top.
A picture drawn fancy as the stars,
prestigious by the heavens maker.
Small, seemingly inconsequential gifts,
handmade to fit our little bodies.
Give us comfort, keep us safe.
Truth abundant.
Nourishment sweet.
To welcome home.
Complete.
Complete.
Complete.

follicular

swoosh, swash; tickle tingle
    Oh how I wish it would linger
snip, clip; chop, buzz
    All you want is a bit of fuzz
bristle, thistle; tough, rough
    Does it make me look buff?

sway, lay; curl, twirl
    You make my head whirl
flipped, lifted; dye, fry
    Just don't make it die
chop, lop; thick or thin
    Just chuck it in the bin

grey, fray; fall tall
    Time to rest, one and all
wig, fig; toupee, frappe
    In the end we all pay

That just doesn't work for me

So, this poem has been a concept in my head for a few weeks now but it is just not transferring to paper at all. I'm opposite Carly, I can work with rhyming, when I'm not, I just cant get a groove.

Some people do it for the numbers
and push themselves til faint
Harder. Faster. Smaller.
But that just doesn't work for me.

Some people do it for the numbers
and tick off every mile
Harder. Faster. Longer.
But that just doesn't work for me.

I tried them both and tried again
hoping once to just fit in.
Why?

I've never been a numbers person
Neither science or math were my thing.
It was always the abstract that stuck,
That works for me.

I swim for joy and peace of mind.
I swim for stress relief.
I swim to help stay sane.
That works for me.

So add your numbers
Add your miles add your speed
I'm glad that works for you. I am.
But that just doesn't work for me.

I'll count my blessings one by one
and instead of adding numbers
I'll focus on instead
what works for me.

All Four Points

This was written after an incident with restraining someone at work. It's more of a song than a poem, but ce la vie. It was also written whilst watching the BBC 25th anniversary of Les Miserables.

She falls apart while he stares
The kid is crying he doesn't seem to care
It's for the best so he says
He's standing just as still as a stone
She' holding back all her tears
Yelling though she can't get him to hear.

Just let the child play
He doesn't understand what you have to say
Just let him run away
What he's been through is no excuse for today

She falls apart no one sees
They're busy with what the doctor says he needs
The child screams down the hall
They live by placing feeling behind a wall
She falls apart all alone
She's hearing and she's utterly wasted

Just let the child play
He doesn't understand what you have to say
Just let him run away
What he's been through is no excuse for today

Kraken

This poem is really just a bit of silliness. For all of you who have ever lived in an apartment with a noisy garbage disposal, a sink full of dirty dishes, and a huge load of homework, I hope it makes you smile. Also, seeing as I've started teaching 7th graders, I decided I should try my hand at writing excuses as cool as theirs. =)

The Kraken Ate My Homework

It happened on a dark school night,

I’m still not quite sure how.

My mama said to wash the plates—

She said to do it—NOW!

I left the lines of algebra,

so carefully observed

within my easy accessed reach

so they’d not be disturbed.

Though gunk and grime came off the plates,

the water seemed too cool,

and soon the sink was stopped right up

with quite a murky pool.

First, I heard an awful groan,

and as I was no fool,

I ran away with growing fright

when I saw the whirlpool.

But keeping close to view the scene,

I surely did behold

the shooting forth of tentacles

all blue and green and gold.

The writhing arms left suction marks

on ceiling, wall, and floor.

They emptied all the cupboards out

and still seemed to want more.

They grabbed the chairs; they grabbed the clock;

they left the room quite bare.

But somehow, even in the mess,

my homework was still there.

But alas! Th’creature’s appetite

was still not satisfied.

It’s angry beak, submerged til now,

emerged and snapped and cried.

I saw one arm shoot quickly out

and grasp my fated books.

The only thought that crossed my mind—

What will I tell Miss Brooks?

With one swift gulp and one great groan,

the monster ate it all

then disappeared into the sink

just how…I can’t recall.

And somehow even with the mess,

I lived to tell the tale,

but tomorrow when I tell Miss Brooks,

she’ll kill me , or…I’ll fail!

Carly Hates Writing Rhyming Poetry

Fireflight Notes

She closed the door to fairyland
with one last twist released her hand.
She crossed her heart, once and twice,
then whispered slow her wishes thrice.

Dears remember while I'm gone
that doors may close, but light is long
escaping 'neath the woods long face,
chasing shadows claim-ed space.

Never you my shines forget,
the birth of laugh from cheeks run wet.
Your spritling-love that caught me here,
saved me youth; pure, sincere.

Now I'm grown, travels call,
yet though I feel afraid and small.
I'll remember you, wizened lights.
I'll stay my soul where love ignites.

Colorblind

So this is my first poem in years and years. I feel like it is a good place to start with definite thanks to build on.
(Goodness, I'm so nervous)

Roses are Red, violets are Blue
   That's what I see, how about you?
Why do I care what color they are?
   Shouldn't violets be Violet?
Who decided that Sea Foam could be a color?
   Why can't mahogany be on the list?

Taupe, Mauve, Puese,
   Cadet, Capri, Carmine?

How do those come from Red, Yellow or Blue?
   Or is it Red, Green and Blue too?
Why do they change if you look too far?
   When will people decide if it's Purple or Violet?

 Xanadu, Teal, Magenta,
   Wiseria, Jonquil, Camel?

When a child colors jasmin's hair Orange or face Green
   why is that "cute" or a "masterpiece"?
When I wear Brown shoes, Black pants and a Neon Yellow shirt,
   why is it painful to your eyes?

Zaffre, Indigo, Cobalt,
   Iris, Jade, Earth Yellow?

Who cares if your shirt is Purple or Blue?
   Is it worth twenty dollars to have the same shirt in Red?
How come Red is the only color that changes when you add White?
   If Pink is a color than shouldn't White and Black be colors too?

Celedon, Saffron, Cinnabar,
   Cyan, Dark Blue, Sky Blue?

How do you make Brown anyway?
   How are Yellow and Red Brighter than Blue or Brown?
What will you say when you find out what I am?
   Will you treat me like a carnival booth too?

Cream, Pink, Brown
   White, Black, Grey?

How should I know what color it is?
   What difference does it make really?
Is it Orange-Red or Red-Orange?
   Who cares?

Red, Yellow, Blue,
   Green, Purple, Orange?

I hate being Blue,
   I hate being Colorblind

Clerihews

Hi friends. I thought I'd show you all a kind of poem I learned about the other day in one of my education classes. It is called a clerihew. They are fairly easy to write and are often meant to be absurd or very funny. Here are the characteristics of a clerihew:

• It is biographical and usually whimsical, showing the subject from an unusual point of view; it pokes fun at mostly famous people
• It has four lines of irregular length and metre (for comic effect)
• The rhyme structure is AABB; the subject matter and wording are often humorously contrived in order to achieve a rhyme
• The first line contains, and may consist solely of, the subject's name.

For example, here's one I found on Wikipedia. It kind of breaks the last rule listed above, but I liked it best of all the examples:

Did Descartes

Depart

With the thought

"Therefore I'm not"?

Okay, so you've got the idea. Here's mine:

Thomas Edison
Learned his lesson
After 99 experiments in the dark,
Wow! What a spark!

Chloe

Becky and I didn't collaborate in the slightest just an FYI. I was actually at work when I wrote mine and she was at home. Interesting thought.

Also, unfortunately the blogspot formatting won't let me write exactly how I would like to. So the lines in parentheses are actually supposed to be indented.

Seeing you grow is a wonder to me.
You poke, prod, glower, laugh, and cry.
Boy, do you know how to cry.
But you're much more to me.
You can now crawl, lift, and Mowgli across the floor.
You're a mobile machine.
You pull yourself up, you stand on your own.
But you're much more to me.
You are the wonder I'll never shake.
I come home and you smile
(even if it is just for a moment)
and I know you were meant for me
and I was meant for you
like a set of Legos,
only I'm the worn out Mega Blocks
and you're the brand new Harry Potter set,
including a 98-step instruction book
because I don't think I'll ever be able to figure out
just how you work on my own.
So instead I'll just stand over your crib
and watch you sleep
(with your tooshie up)
and smile at just how lucky I am
and wonder.

Wonder

Okay y'all, seeing as I'm posting first, I'm hoping this is like when you present a project in class, the first person gets some slack and isn't held up to par with the presentations after them.

I see the wonder in your eyes
it makes me wonder too
why I do not wonder like I see you do.

Why have I learned to turn it off
to take it all for naught.
Please teach me babe to see like you
and wonder at the new.

"Stop taking things for granted Mom,"
I seem to hear you say.
"Start looking at the world you know
and throw it all away.

It's not about the world you see
but how you feel inside.
Take off your shoes and crawl with me
and take a look around.

You cannot help but wonder now
'bout what you feel down here
While we explore the wide wide world
with no reason to fear.

When given so much room to grow
how can we just sit by?
While there is so much world to see
to touch and smell and taste.

Forget all that you think you know
relearn it all again.
For what's the point of being here
if just to sit and stare?

Come learn with me about new things
give wonder one more try."

I see the wonder in you babe,
It makes me wonder too
at passersby who cannot know
the wonder that is you.

Welcome Round

Hello all,

This is our poetry group. We are a group of close friends who have lost touch with the poet within. To rekindle the fire within our souls, we wish to express ourselves in the written word to you. And so, let the writing begin. Here are the rules:
1) One self written poem a week
2) The "deadline" is 11:59 PM on Sunday
3) Posting throughout the week is highly encouraged
4) Posting others poems during any time is also encouraged.
5) If you would like to participate but aren't, let me know


Thanks for joining in with us.