Haiku.

The lonely robin
Sings a haunting song tonight
Echoed by silence.

Thursday.

It's Thursday. This week has taken a toll on me. Money, relationships, and classes all combine into a tsunami-like wave. I find a refuge in writing though. It doesn't have to be something well thought out, just something real. I find comfort in the way my pen feels scraping across the page, leaving its black inky trail as proof of its papery journeys. I think when I write, my soul sits on the point of my pen, scraping itself across the page, leaving behind a black trail of hurts and cares. Friends come and go, but these blue lines are always here to bear my burdens.

Magpie tales Poetry Prompt

Here is a Shadorma I have written for the Magpie Tales poetry prompt. You can find others like it here http://magpietales.blogspot.com/ 

Emerald Suns.

Your eyes shine
Like emerald suns
Gracefully
Bursting through
My perpetually dark
Atmosphere of me.

Thank You.

I just wanted to say thank you to Jesus, for giving the greatest gift ever given on this day over two thousand years ago, the gift of Himself. Thank you Lord. You are amazing.

The Story You Should Know.

Maundy Thursday.

This is what happened over two thousand years ago, when a revolutionary of love named Jesus, prepared for his last days.

Magpie Tales Poetry Prompt.

Here is my poem written for the poetry prompt at Magpie Tales. You can see other posts like this at http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

This is the manna of The People.
With caliced, work worn hands
They sit down to eggs and toast,
And maybe a glass of sweet tea,
With sassafrass
If the factory paid well last week.
Their eyes are redshot from hours of overtime,
And nightly calculations on how to get by
On a paycheck that never has enough
Numbers.
How do you get by
On a paycheck that never has enough
Numbers?
You eat eggs and toast,
With a glass of sweet tea,
With sassafrass
If the factory paid well last week.

Poetry Prompt. -Magpie Tales

The slender stem of the glass of fate
holds itself with virulent pride.
The clear, concise, and molded glass
is made of our own decisions.
It may be that the lusty poison of fate
exists with malicious intentions,
but our choices are the cup she rests in.

(See more prompts like this at http://magpietales.blogspot.com/)

Your green eyes
tell me lies.
Falsehoods.
And my misconstrued
truth
is your piercing
devastation.

Shadorma.

Here is my first attempt at writing a Shadorma. A Shadorma is a type of short form poetry of Spanish origin, similar to the Japanese Haiku and Tanka.

My heart jumps.
The blood in my veins
runs hotter
than sunlight.
It is your liquor-sweet eyes.
Oh, sweet drunkeness!

Memory.

I look back
and that memory
haunts my soul like a night train.
Its endless ringing resounds
off my heart
like a continual echo
unwelcome, and unavoidable.

Reality.

The foggy night breathes heavy.
Starry illumination dances on the
Misty atmosphere.
Here, the false pretensions of my own
Imagination
Are dismantled, and run away, cold and alone
Into the vast and endless ocean
Of marred reality.

Tea and Longfellow.

You occupy my thoughts.
You walk in during those odd moments
I am distracted
And with a voice like a Selucid siren
You ask me gently,
"May I come in and have tea?"
I open my minds door with perplexity,
Because, I know dearest, you do not like tea.
But I let you in anyway, and you sit
On the velvet couch that sets in the corner of my mind
And you look out of my minds window at the falling snow
And say,
"This is the poem of the air,
   Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
   Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded."
My dear, I must say
My confusion is growing
And my perplexity is glowing
But then, I look at your eyes,
And suddenly,
It does not matter where you learned to quote Longfellow,
Or since when you started
Liking tea.

From the mouth of Mr. Joyce.

Here is your anxiously anticipated quote of the day!

“A man's errors are his portals of discovery.” -James Joyce

Quote of the Day.

"Please, a definition: A hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action." Ralph Ellison- The Invisible Man.

Crudus.

I am attacked by my own pretensions.
My own apprehensions
Apprehend me
In a web of quiet withdrawal.
I sit and my heart bleeds.
Seeds of that old enemy sprout themselves again.
You don't share your headphones with me.
You don't even look at me.
Am I really that despicable
That I cannot be afforded
Even one look?
You shook me to my core with your
Heart-quaking words,
And you don't even stop for a moment
To help me pick up the pieces.

Someone like you.

I am completely in love with this song right now! Sit back, close your eyes, and enjoy 6 minutes and 28 seconds of blissful transportation. Enjoy!

Quote of the day.

"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

When I'm alone.

The dark shadows dance their swirling dance
Above my empty bed.
Threads of fear weave into
A web of dark distress.
Unless I am delivered
My heart will sink
And I will drink
The strong, pungent cup of
Overflowing gall.
All of my heart is overwhelmed.
I cry for rescue.

Corporate Coffee-mongers.

Did you know that coffee is the heaviest chemically treated food commodity in the world? All over the world corporate coffee companies, grubbing for money, use chemicals like DDT and Malathion which are common pesticides, but illegal to use on American soil. The most common chemical used in coffee production is synthetic petroleum based fertilizers which slowly destroy the soil's fertility, and seep into local water supplies, exposing coffee workers,and local townspeople to cancer and birth defects. Also, coffee companies account for a large portion of deforestation. Original coffee trees do not need sunlight, but grow underneath the canopy of a forest. Coffee corporations, in the name of progress, have created sunlight resistent coffee tree hybrids that do not need to be under a shaded canopy, and in order to create room for these hybrids they are cutting away forested areas all over the world at an alarming rate. The coffee industry also accounts for some of the worst working conditions in the world. The average worker harvesting coffee for wealthy landlords makes .25 cents an hour, and works 12 to 14 hours a day. Also, some of the small coffee farms around the world that do take time to make fine coffee are being cheated by middlemen known as "coyotes". These middlemen buy up small, quality coffee farms for big corporations for pennies on the dollar. So coffee corporations are getting rich, while the farmers and their families are starving. So what is the answer? Not all coffee is created equal. Pay attention to the brands you buy. See if they are instituting fair trade and sustainable agriculture. Care about the planet, because God does.

Dorothy Sayers's wisdom.

Here is your long awaited quote of the day!

"Love is like quicksilver in the hand.
Leave the fingers open and it stays.
Clutch it, and it darts away" -Dorothy Sayers

Mezzo Cammin

Here is a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a nineteeth century romantic poet. This poem was written halfway through his scriptural allotment of 70 years. The title comes from the first line of Dante's Divine Comedy, it means, "midway through the journey." Lines one through four refer to the fact that he had not fulfilled his youthful aspirations of literary grandeur, (his works became famous towards the end of his life); lines five through eight refer to the fact that it was not his youthful flaws that kept him from his aspirations, but the sorrow that came with the death of his wife (line seven), lines nine through twelve refer to the fact that in mid-life, he can look back on the past, as "a city in the twilight dim and vast." lines thirteen and fourteen refer to the sound of death he hears in the future. This  poem inspires me not to let my past mistakes and past sorrows mar the brightness of the future.

                                              Mezzo Cammin.
              1. Half of my life is gone, and I have let

              2.     The years slip from me and have not fulfilled

              3.     The aspiration of my youth, to build

              4.     Some tower of song with lofty parapet.

              5. Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret

              6.     Of restless passions that would not be stilled,

              7.     But sorrow, and a care that almost killed,

              8.     Kept me from what I may accomplish yet;

              9. Though, half-way up the hill, I see the Past

             10.     Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights, --

             11.     A city in the twilight dim and vast,

             12. With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights, --

             13    And hear above me on the autumnal blast

             14    The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights.

Quote of the day.

I think that we do not listen to what great people have to say sometimes. So, I shall begin posting a quote of the day, every day, for the rest of the month. At least, that is the plan, whether or not the plan is a success is another story altogether... Regardless, here is today's quote.

"Forever is composed of nows." -Emily Dickinson.

Hair falls.

I love the way your hair falls.
You put it in a ponytail,
But a few strands refuse
To be captured.
They dance across your head
Falling around your ears,
And sticking up from your bangs,
And resting in two little curls
On the back of your neck.
Your hair is free and beautiful.
Just like your heart.

You.

1. You have different smiles. Sometimes, you have your "posing" smile, where your lips are closed. When you are really happy, you let your teeth show, even that little gap you hate. I love that little gap you hate.
2. When you're nervous you ring your hands.
3. Your favorite ice cream is birthday cake, except for when you feel like being a choco-holic and you want chocolate trinity.
4. When you are angry/upset at me your face gets deathly still, your eyes grow wide, and you stare at me. That look breaks my heart.
5. You sometimes like to talk to yourself while picking movies.
6. When you're really happy, you get teary eyed.

I'll fight for you.

I'll fight for you
When the giant comes
And lays his despicable hands upon
You.
I'll take my stand, never waivering
Because my love never waivers.
I'll look him dead in his
Red, violent eyes,
And I'll strengthen my heart
With the thought of your
Eyes.
I'll never back down.
Around and around
The giant and I
Fight.
I strengthen myself with the knowledge
That I have the weapon of
Love.

The old farmer and I
Sit on the bed of the pickup
With burgers and sweet tea.
I feel like a kid again
Dangling my legs off the edge
And watching his kind blue eyes
Dance like the sea
As he talks about the corn market,
Hay prices,
And his brahma-angus breed.
Freed from the chains of stress
That oppress my
Every waking moment.
We don't hurry.
The crinkle of the paper bags
And the simple groan of the cows
Keep rythym to our slow vacation from
Hurriedness and worriedness,
And I realize, with the old farmer
You can escape to another, quieter world
When you open your paper bag and put a straw
In your sweet tea.
The world needs more paper bags
And sweet tea.

Hum.

The air-conditioner hums along to my silent thoughts.
Are thoughts really silent?
I could swear they hum,
Just like this air-conditioner.
Or maybe they speak,
I can hear them as clear as anything,
Until I really try to listen,
Then they start humming again.

Necessary.

Necessary;
That is what I would like to be.
Not breathtaking, or shimmering,
Or perpetually glossy with
Superlative lamination.
I would simply like to be necessary.

Mily's Smile.

Smile Mily,
Your hidden idyllic messege
Lies beneath the leaden surface.
Start here and read.
I must tell you a secret.
I'll tell you this, my heart
Shows signs of quitting
A lovely life's journey
All because of
Your eyes
Always opening my gates of resistance, I
Return furnished with strength again.

Feeling Pretty.

The man in the striped red shirt
Waits patiently outside the fitting rooms
Holding his wife's purse.
He has grey hair,
And rough hands.
His eyes twinkle when she walks out
And he gets a faint, gasping smile.
She feels pretty when his eyes twinkle,
And he gets that gasping smile.
She feels pretty when she thinks that
After all these years
She still takes his breath away,
So she smiles too,
And smooths his grey hair,
And holds his rough hands.