"Lovely Left-Handed Ladies" was featured at PoetSanctuary.com. I posted that on Matthew's Literary Output Blog, now dubbed iDeas.
Direct link to Lovely Left-Handed Ladies on iDeas.
26 March 2007
My poooooeeeeeeeeeeem
"Lovely Left-Handed Ladies" was featured at PoetSanctuary.com. I posted that on Matthew's Literary Output Blog, now dubbed iDeas.
Direct link to Lovely Left-Handed Ladies on iDeas.
More Zombie Prom Updates
Zombie Prom went surprisingly well for the first weekend. I did find out that I do the dances in a very awkward manner. Thanks, accursed pictures. I hate pictures. I hate seeing any evidence of my performances.
My romantic feelings for you are camouflaged by my best-friend mindset
My tongue belts showtunes
and hip-hop. My head whispers
you-and-me slow slongs.
and hip-hop. My head whispers
you-and-me slow slongs.
25 March 2007
I have a Mac, now I AM a Mac.
You Are a Mac |
 You are creative, stylish, and super trendy. You demand the best - even if it costs an arm and a leg. |
19 March 2007
I is me, and I am myself.
I can be capital, and important,
internationally acknowledged,
like Napoleon, the French emperor,
tucking his hand into his coat once,
and being mocked for it postmortem,
or like El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz,
sojourner to Mecca whose life
barrel-rolled after a plane ride and a meal.
i, standing on his skull, could be
an exclamation!
ice cream birthday parties! with
spacewalks! and piñatas! at
careless four-and-a-half years old when
chocolate covers my lips!
nudity doesn’t shame me!
men in dinosaur costumes on TV
singing about loving and learning!
Or, i is an imaginary square root of negative one,
which obsessive mathematicians created,
like when artists sketch and concepts are birthed,
or when i stand on my skull
to understand the world from i’s eyes.
I can be capital, and important,
internationally acknowledged,
like Napoleon, the French emperor,
tucking his hand into his coat once,
and being mocked for it postmortem,
or like El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz,
sojourner to Mecca whose life
barrel-rolled after a plane ride and a meal.
i, standing on his skull, could be
an exclamation!
ice cream birthday parties! with
spacewalks! and piñatas! at
careless four-and-a-half years old when
chocolate covers my lips!
nudity doesn’t shame me!
men in dinosaur costumes on TV
singing about loving and learning!
Or, i is an imaginary square root of negative one,
which obsessive mathematicians created,
like when artists sketch and concepts are birthed,
or when i stand on my skull
to understand the world from i’s eyes.
18 March 2007
Zombie Prooooooooooooooooom! Dun dun dun.
Zombie Prom opens this Friday. Dress rehearsals are every day this week. Hoorah. I'll be missing track practice. =Track coaches and team mates will be angered. Oh well. I like Zombie Prom more than running.
17 March 2007
“We’re just bustling with lifelessness today, eh, Alice?” chuckled Barry. The café was empty but for Alice, Barry, and Mr. Fletcher Sobel, the town’s hopeless poet.
“Your sarcasm tickles me ever so slightly just about here,” she said, and presented to him her left hand’s very ticklish middle finger.
“I had no desire to insult you, and I must say, love, that your obscene behavior is just that.”
“What?”
“Obscene.”
“What’s obscene?”
“Your obscene gestures.”
“So they’re obscene gestures that are obscene, Mr. Blachard?”
“So obscene that it’s essential to be repetitive and repeat oneself to properly describe such gestures.” He grinned.
“Are you going to order anything, Mr. Blanchard? There’s quite a line behind you.”
“I’ll now cordially insist that you call me Barry.”
“Sorry, Mr. Blanchard, I’m not so sure I know you well enough.”
“In that case, I’ll just have a cappuccino. With milk please.”
“You’re lactose intolerant. And you never get cappuccino. It’s always mocha with non-dairy creamer.”
“And you say you don’t know me.”
“I said that I don’t believe our relationship is personal enough to be considered a first-name one. The fact that you come in here daily and order a mocha with non-dairy creamer daily and infest my café with sarcastic comments daily hardly constitutes a legitimate relationship. Now, Mr. Blanchard, do you want that mocha with non-dairy creamer yet?”
Barry nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He watched her round hips sway as she turned around and prepared the coffee. Her hair was a dull, graying blonde that she’d tied into a sloppy, knotty bun on that particular day. Her figure was that of the ideal ancient Greek woman, the type of figure that could today be described as curvy and worn out. Alice looked back at him as the black coffee escaped into the paper cup. She rolled her eyes.
“So we’re in a relationship?” he asked her.
If Alice had been drinking a mocha with non-dairy creamer or, in fact, any other drink, she’d have spit it out at that moment. “Excuse me?”
“I said we’re in a relationship.”
“No, I heard what you said. By ‘excuse me’ I meant to convey the idea that I’m completely appalled.”
“You said it yourself. I quote: ‘I don’t believe our relationship is personal enough to be considered a first-name one.’ This implies to me that we have some amount of a relationship.”
“Your sarcasm tickles me ever so slightly just about here,” she said, and presented to him her left hand’s very ticklish middle finger.
“I had no desire to insult you, and I must say, love, that your obscene behavior is just that.”
“What?”
“Obscene.”
“What’s obscene?”
“Your obscene gestures.”
“So they’re obscene gestures that are obscene, Mr. Blachard?”
“So obscene that it’s essential to be repetitive and repeat oneself to properly describe such gestures.” He grinned.
“Are you going to order anything, Mr. Blanchard? There’s quite a line behind you.”
“I’ll now cordially insist that you call me Barry.”
“Sorry, Mr. Blanchard, I’m not so sure I know you well enough.”
“In that case, I’ll just have a cappuccino. With milk please.”
“You’re lactose intolerant. And you never get cappuccino. It’s always mocha with non-dairy creamer.”
“And you say you don’t know me.”
“I said that I don’t believe our relationship is personal enough to be considered a first-name one. The fact that you come in here daily and order a mocha with non-dairy creamer daily and infest my café with sarcastic comments daily hardly constitutes a legitimate relationship. Now, Mr. Blanchard, do you want that mocha with non-dairy creamer yet?”
Barry nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He watched her round hips sway as she turned around and prepared the coffee. Her hair was a dull, graying blonde that she’d tied into a sloppy, knotty bun on that particular day. Her figure was that of the ideal ancient Greek woman, the type of figure that could today be described as curvy and worn out. Alice looked back at him as the black coffee escaped into the paper cup. She rolled her eyes.
“So we’re in a relationship?” he asked her.
If Alice had been drinking a mocha with non-dairy creamer or, in fact, any other drink, she’d have spit it out at that moment. “Excuse me?”
“I said we’re in a relationship.”
“No, I heard what you said. By ‘excuse me’ I meant to convey the idea that I’m completely appalled.”
“You said it yourself. I quote: ‘I don’t believe our relationship is personal enough to be considered a first-name one.’ This implies to me that we have some amount of a relationship.”
While you say you sing badly
I enjoy your
alto belting.
Your pitch is
baby bear’s porridge—just
right to our left,
the pianist is
preoccupied, so
you lie on the
ground and sigh
to the therapeutic carpet
of teddy bear comfort.
Smile, Miss Left-hand Girl.
Sleeping dreams
and the dreams that come true
are past the mountain.
they’ll be coming around
when they come.
‘Til then we
dreaming artists sing.
My tongue belts
showtunes and hip-hop.
My head whispers
you-and-me slow songs.
alto belting.
Your pitch is
baby bear’s porridge—just
right to our left,
the pianist is
preoccupied, so
you lie on the
ground and sigh
to the therapeutic carpet
of teddy bear comfort.
Smile, Miss Left-hand Girl.
Sleeping dreams
and the dreams that come true
are past the mountain.
they’ll be coming around
when they come.
‘Til then we
dreaming artists sing.
My tongue belts
showtunes and hip-hop.
My head whispers
you-and-me slow songs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
