Poetry Friday, Final Week

Hello again,

This is the final week of Poetry Fridays. I realize that the month doesn’t end until tomorrow, but I think four and a bit weeks of poetry is quite enough! Plus, it will  give me time to work out the kinks for next month’s Short Story Challenge!

That’s right. You heard (read) correctly. Next months challenge (in conjunction with the challenge set forth from the brand spanking new writing group I joined) is to write 500 words/week the end result being a short story. My personal challenge will be not to edit the crap out of my 500 words.

Anyways, Please enjoy the last Poetry Friday!

Saturday

All that’s left are the creaks

and groans

and aching of a worn out facade

A blue glowing 3:00

A dim shadowed wall

The gurgles of a near empty fish tank

and endless inner dialogue.

Sunday

Our skin, turned caramel by the June sun

Kissed by smoke and reaking of burnt logs and marshmallows

Sticky, burnt fingers, and melted rubber shoes.

guitar riffs, and dirty jokes.

Monday

He laughs so hard sometimes

That he struggles to stand.

Holding his stomach,

he bends over, wobbly and drunk

on the moment.

The laughter subsides,

with a sigh.

He wipes the tears from his eyes,

only to be reminded of their cause

and again, he’s on the floor

gasping for air in between the chortles

Music to an auntie’s ears.

Tuesday- Getting a little weird. Sympathetic Zombie Poetry

Zombie
My skin is ragged,

My clothes are torn

And you would deny me?

This cureless disease burns though my veins

my mouth on fire, my thirst unquenchable

my hunger rips through me

I am nothing, but demand and desire

I am the drowning man

And only you can be my saviour.

I am your mother, your brother, your best friend

Yet you would rather free me from my head

 than sacrifice yours?

When all I want is a nibble.

A tiny morsel,

of your pink, fluffy, delicious

brains.

Wednesday

Coca-Cola in the morning

makes me a happy camper.

The wildly innappropriate sugar rush

the fizzy tongue tickling bubbles

So much better than bitter black coffee,

too hot for summer.

I will drink my sin.

Thursday

I haven’t finished my book for book club

I’m only half way through

oops.

Friday

This is the last poem of Poetry Friday

A wild experiance it was

and by wild I mean boring

and by boring I mean

well boring.

This really isn’t a poem,

I should be ashamed of myself

but at least it’s words right?

right?

oh whatever.

 

So that’s it folks. The final installment of poetry Friday! Next friday you will be subjected to 500 word/week Fridays! I have an outline of what I am going to be working on, but unless inspiration strikes and I find myself unable to control the great words from pouring from my fingers, I’m not going to start until probably Monday. Anyhoo! Enjoy your long weekend (or rather, I will enjoy mine!)

(Side note: crochet blankie almost done, just need to sew in the ends, which will be happeneing tonight (would have happened last night if I didn’t lose my damn darning needle in the couch!) anyways, pics will be up later tonight (with luck))

Poetry Friday week 3

Bonjour! In order to spice things up this poetry Friday, I’ve decided that (as much as possible), I’m going to include pictures of the objects of my poetic affections! I am finding this “poetry every day” thing to be increasingly difficult. Probably because I don’t even like poetry that much…I mean it’s cool and all, and whipping out the odd poem here and there is a handy skill, but all in all I’m not a fan. So, as poetry doesn’t really have a definition…I think I’m going to move away from traditional, or cliched types of poetry and just do whatever the hell I want as long as words are involved.

Saturday

What is Patience

Patience is telling him everything is okay,

even though you are covered in vomit.

Patience is listening to how their day was

even though you have a headache and your day was much worse

Patience is biting your tongue

And playing nice

and tolerating your dislike.

over and over and over again.

Patience is affection

for something greater than

your own uncomfortable exhistance.

Sunday

Ode to Corrie (aka Coronation Street)

I was introduced to Corrie by my University room mate.

On Sundays, or rather “hang over days” we would sit in silence

and watch 2 hours of smoking, and drama and dry British humour

Now Corrie is on every day

You know you want a pint!

And I’ve gotten other’s addicted.

The theme song: a solo trumpet echoing of cobble stones

plays in my dreams.

We have murderers, and bigamists, and more murderers

There is an underwear factory, and drug use, and more murders

Kidnappings, and secret identities, and a dog named Schmichael

babies, and babies, and murderers having babies

and the innocent going to jail, and the not so innocent getting out of jail

and weddings and deaths. Tram crashes and pigeons.

And at the end of the day there is nothing better than a pint at the Rover’s Return.

Seriously. You should watch it.

Monday

I sometimes wonder

what our kids would look like

If I quit school and accepted your ring

I wonder how amicable our divorce would be.

probably as messy as our fights.

Or maybe we would stay together

for the kids.

And lived out our lives in the bliss of our misery.

You would cheat of me, and I would turn to the drink and internet love affairs.

complacant hate, till they were in college at least.

Thank God I said no.

Tuesday

Sal

Sal, short for Salvatore

He sits patiently

listening, watching,

drinking in the flourescent

the stale tea and the luke warm water.

He sits.

And winds his tendrills

ever slow.

Twisting

reaching.

Unfurling with the telling of twisted secrets

patiently

listening

watching

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Wednesday

To Do List

I need to get my filing done,

And order pens and boxes.

I should stop all my facebook fun

So I don’t piss off the bosses

I need to order busspasses

3 youth and 10 adults

I need them to start attending class

So my stats have good results

1 tea, 1 pop: Caffine come quick!

We have so much to do

To get this done, I’ll need a trick.

Or tomorrow sounds good too.

Thursday

“Poem” Made from my twitter feed from #10thingsIlove

Weird conversations with your best friend

that no one understands

cookie cookie cookie cookie cookie

cute text message and Manchester United

Hype in the locker room, before a game

The beatles, Putting a smile on someone’s face

Vollyball.

Friday

Being Scottish

To Do and Hope

Both of my brothers Scottish Lords.

Each own a foot of the mother land.

I joke about eating haggis, and drinking whisky by the gallon

and boys going commando beneath their kilts.

We have a crest,  a coat of arms and a motto:

Fac et Spera

does not mean to have sexual relations with a sparrow

but rather to do, and hope

Which still is a pretty crappy crede.

I do not speak gaelic, or highland dance.

But I do read the poetry of Robbie Burns!

My  heritage is not truly reflected

in any part of my being

And yet

I am Scottish.

Poetry Friday, Week 2 and a little late

Sorry Peeps,

This Poetry Friday is the dogs dinner, and it’s late. I’ve been very distracted with all the baby blanketing, and with a lot of big changes that came about this week. I know I know, excuses excuses. Well here it is!

Saturday:

The best cup for drinking

Is the dusty rose mug with

the fluted rim

The handle is perfectly balanced

To optimize the tea-to-mouth ratio.

The other mugs are probably jealous.

Sunday

Moringa scented body butter

It smells like lilacs and lemons

snuck into a doll factory

and sexed themselves on the

conveyor belt.

You’ll be happy to find out

that it contains

butyrospermum

Which solidifies my conveyor belt

theories.

And they do this purely so we can enjoy the sweet sweet smoothness

of body butter.

Monday

The Helmetted knod

as we pedal past

not too fast

but just fast enough

to get us

where we are going.

Enviromental warriors?

Fitness nuts?

Escapism junkies?

maybe

or maybe we’re just,

two people

on bikes

passing in the street.

Tuesday – Wednesday did not get done. 😦 I know, I’m a terrible person. 

Thursday

She slips through my fingers

like smoke.

The legacy, the honor,

stolen, and played on the

tongues of others.

They’ve stakes their claim

on the words, and silences,

of the memories kept safe

from slipping beneath

the grave by my own hands.

The last piece of her

no longer belongs on

my lips.

It has become another’s

dedication; another’s

future.

 Friday- Also not completed. I will do double next week. I promise!

So that’s it lady’s and gents.

Later days!

Poetry Friday week 1

Dear Readers,

I have had a great deal of fun this week working on the poems (some more fun than others). I really wanted to try out different styles, elementary school stylz.

Saturday- Freestyle

Bike

Pink reflective tape

hid the scratches

dents and scars

of the over used and the under loved.

3 gears, hand brakes

The wind was jealous

on the most troubling of days

Days where freedom and speed

were equal to survival.

She wasn’t fancy or pretty

but handled well

’till something better

came along.

.

Sunday- Haiku

.

Quiet Sunday night

The scent of lilacs hanging

like thick French parfume.

.

TV blasts upstairs

Tiny dog plus hardwood floors

equals elephants

.

Monday morning comes

probably should wash my clothes

Meh. I’ll find something.

.

Biking hurts my butt

But it is good exercise.

So I will endure.

.

Monday- Limerick

 

New students all started today

We taught them to smile and obey

13 weeks will go so fast

Lets hope they all  last

Or I’ll quit and just sell my crochet.

.

2 boys on the bus were quite rude

Their tattoos and language were crude

Disrespected a lady

and acted quite shady

I doubt they ever get screwed.

Tuesday – Sonnet sans iambic pentameter.

 Italian Sonnet on Zombie Apocalypse

People are eating eachothers faces

Too many drugs turn flesh into candy

Keep your running shoes and weapons handy

And locate your cities safest spaces

 

Apocalypse brings all sorts of panic

Be prepared is what theorists say

And where you be on that Zombie day

When the regular folks become manic?

 

I will be sitting on my comfy couch

So tired of all this zombie bullshit

Can’t we go back to vampires and werewolves

at least their personalities weren’t slouch

When will this genre of horror just quit

so our people can move on and evolve.

Then I tried to turn it into a Shakespearian sonnet, in iamic pentameter, but I only got one verse finished. Nevertheless, here it is :

Brains are what they like to eat

They be ugly, terse and rude

Flesh fall off, marking the street

They bones are shattered and crude…. 

Wednesday- Diamante with a twist

I wanted to make a poem out of words that are fun to say:

Abscond.

Tumultous, pith.

Ubiquitous, palindrome, masticate.

Sanguine, troglodyte, gregarious, mustachoed.

Didactic, defunct, discombobulate.

Cacophony, pantaloons.

Moot

But then, I wanted to use the definitions for the words, to create a new totally nonscensical poem.

Depart in a sudden and secret manner.

A great clatter and commotion, the important or essential part.

Existing or being everywhere. A word, line, verse, number, sentence, reading the same backward as forward; to chew.

Cheerfully optimistic, hopeful, and confident prehistoric cave dweller fond of the company of others having mustachios.

Inclined to teach or lecture others too much no longer in effect. Use to confuse or disconcert.

Harsh discordance of sound, a man’s close-fitting garment for the hips and legs.

Of little or no practical value or meaning.

Thursday- Angry day.

So today was a bit of a rough patch, so …Thursday is just Angry Poetry Day.

Here’s what you are going to do:

You are going to grow the

fuck up.

You are going to sit

And eat dinner with your kid

and ask him about his day, 

even it it bores you.

You are going to laugh at his jokes

Knock Knock

Whose there

Orange.

HAHA fucking HA

You are going to wear a helmet 

when you ride your bike

And watch Phineas and Ferb

and read Dr.Seuss

over

and over

and 

over again.

You are going to grow the fuck up

and start acting more like a father

and less like the asshole

you vowed

to never

be.

Friday- cop out

(I’m tired okay! Creative juices not flowing. Oh as if you could do better. ok. you probably could but Whatever!)

The cat glares at me

Waiting till the light goes out

Then it’s cuddle time.

.

No more poetry

It has been a long ass day

Haikus are valid.

Ok. Next friday you will have to endure more awful poetry. Hurray!

Later days!

A writer who doesn’t write

Happy June Everybody!

Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve written something that wasn’t a blog, work stat, or random journal entry? SO LONG. We’re talking lineus longissimus long (160 foot long worm. gross).

I think the last time I tried to write anything was for NaNoWriMo 2011, which I failed. So much failure. For many reasons (#1 fear of failure, #2 insane perfectionist can’t move past a damned sentence unless it fits as perfect as a puzzle peice, #3 fear of success, #4 EVERY WORD I USED SUCKED, #5—–>insert lame cliched excuses here <—-) So, in preperation for 2012 (where I will make the attempt again) I need to warm up my writing chops and get the fuck over myself. ahem.

Which brings me to June: Christine’s Month of Poetry.

I’ve decided that, as I started my writing hobby with poetry, that I should indulge in this once again. Everyday. For a month.  I will be channeling my inner most dark, deep feelings. All the feelings, and using words that rhyme, or don’t, or maybe are all iambic pentamerterish, or maybe I’ll just write a bunch of odes to poop swords and burgers. Either way it’s going to be a fantastic journey of love and self discovery! (<—-I promise this is sarcasm.)

I need to take on the fact that this poetry is going to suck ass, and I am not allowed to edit it to extinction (once midnight hits, that poem is DONE). I will post the poems once a week , let’s say  every Friday.

So as today is Friday, and June 1st, I will leave you with this sweet little diddy. I believe that I promised someone a piece of writing which references a certain poop sword, which was a bo0k club discussion topic a few weeks ago. The humour of which has  stuck with us since (unlike poop swords, which don’t really stick with you; they just cut you up and leave you septic; However it is like the lineus longissimus, who uses sticky hairs to immobilize their prey. mmmm see how things all come full circle. Winning! )

Weapons of Mass Defecation

The niks and scratches

and stains of over use.

The tired blade, my rusted limbs,

oiled by repulsion and strife.

 

This battle will be won.

Our names will not be lost.

They will be cursed on the lips of

 rotting men.

As they feel our disdain,  our lament, and  our shit

ravaging their veins.

 

My son will never see my face,

but honor, and time will teach him:

All is fair in war,

even poop swords.

 

THE END

Later Days!

Monday Morning Special

On this lovely Monday morning, I bring to you the most awesome Haiku that I have ever written.

Lasagna Gospel.
That cat Garfield knew his shit
Monday’s are stupid.

Later days!