Friday, April 24, 2009

posty posey (re)vision

hello to the lovely few that read this. I've posted a lot of poems that I've been working on (there are a lot of repeats I know!) and am looking for any feedback you can give me. I'm hoping to make this a chapbook but I still feel like many of these might need revision. Oh and because I am somewhat computer illiterate many of these don't have some of the spacing that they would have had I the know how.

a new view

garbage in
g rb g out

looking for changing ways to find things

recent self renovations
have prompted a few walls to fall

a permanent “wet paint -
do not touch” sign
’s
been hanging round

my neck
scenery isn’t static
my beams aren’t beaming
foundation’s cracked

bitch tried to eat my sandwich

yeah
bitch’s got no class

snapping jaws
hackles up
circle round
too drunk/stupid

brought only in
to hear
her
and
how much time
you two spend together
give it up

fading back going long longer
female solidarity always seems
to break down
when pretty tall blonds
with athletic builds come along

but the worst was
the worst was
when we were all at Denny’s
leaning over (still cuddling oh so close to him)

that bitch tried to eat my sandwich

C Heights

mother’s maiden name crescent
is a lasting legacy
sheltered stability

do I tell the other poets I grew up in the burbs?
that it wasn’t that bad?

neither woodsy nor winter athletic
I prefer weather indoors

the north the north
they write
understanding tree rings

mine were long roads
in parents' mini vans
thinking we knew something
didn’t know down and out
or even up from down
or our ass from a hole in the ground

but I think maybe now
I have intimacy
with this city
knowing
I’m naïve

Miss Organized Religion

ebb and flow
spirituality
looking for signs
to signify a
higher power

wonder why
my mind’s song
is the first one
when I turn on
on the radio

wonder why
lights dance in
the corners
of my eyes
in church

not pushing for
anything but
letting a water
sign current
flow

don’t tell anyone

I wish for stream of consciousness
and publishable pieces of shit

fish hook

not too worried about it
used to you catch and release
fisherman types
my mouth scars prove it
keep moving along
I’m looking for one
who wont throw me
back


not too
worried
about it
used
to you
catch and release
fisherman types
my mouth
scars
prove it
keep
moving
along
I’m looking for
one
who wont
throw me
back


not too

worried

about it

used

to you
catch and release
fisherman types
my mouth

scars

prove it


keep

moving
along
I’m looking for one
who wont
throw me

back


worried

used

scars

keep

back

for abby

she’s getting better
at using public restrooms

she knows she shouldn’t
mix painkillers and beer
but it feels poetic

when she comes home
she always gropes
to find the door handle
in the darkness

doesn’t know when to
quit and go back

there are too many
unanswered questions
but maybe she’s just happy

little brown bird
won’t go home with men
she just meets
because the mornings after are
the most startling
taken in by an updraft
never finding a place to set down

long term planning
only something she thought about
philosophically

when she was young she
scraped her knee after
taking a jump
off a swing
still doesn’t approve
of dismantling playgrounds

for the first time
she decided to get changed
at the gym in
the general area
didn’t feel the eyes
of others over her limbs
but couldn’t stop staring
to see if she recognized
other shapely figures

for cloe

she’s tired of going to church
watching things dance
at the corners of her eyes

she knows she shouldn’t do it
it’s a recurring theme in her life

she always falls for men
who have coloured hair
an anomaly in a northern climate

sometimes she finds prizes
in 12-grain cereal

waiting too late
she keeps going back to
particular places that
meant something
at some point

like the parking lot
she fooled around in
while a concert was getting out
in the building across the street
streams of people walking by
only partially covered
mind taken away from the act at hand
in hand
looking through the crowd for
people who could identify her

for Jude

named after the patron saint of lost causes
she always follows through
especially when it’s not in her best interest

cars follow her home
until they turn off
five streets before hers

feeling constricted
by her home situation
she stops wearing underwear

drops herself off
at points that couldn’t connect to
previous destinations
never brings a map or directions

hands of a wanderer
picking up discarded plays
that could re-enact the act of being
on the road

For Lenny

don’t take it the wrong way

its good

slightly abashed she’ll remind you
that she’s nothing you’ve heard of before

fetal position curls
tumble across her forehead
she spells it HOPe
say’s “fuck all y’all”
isn’t southern

social boundaries don’t come around
ask her to play
create cages

her potential lies in wait to
destroy
well-made weakness

next time watch while
you move your hands
where they fall across her

having had a hand at this
she’ll pull at the strings and
edit it all

for poetry

read this and take it
in.

for the fist time:
proactive poetry
rhythm and rhyme wants you.

caress and a kiss.
take a quick breath.
forget
that this is a bad idea.

keep saying out loud

“wow, poetry, you’re a good kisser.”

you shouldn’t be surprised.

found poem

little lamb
whose fleece
not white as snow
too many big bad wolves

break neck speed
constant state of
controlled panic
leaving you tired

alone, lonely,
for a long time
chronically single
once, one ounce
better
make it a baker’s dozen

found poem

speak louder than words


might as well write if I can’t sleep
(with you)


I have a typewriter in my basement
in case there’s an apocalypse


yeah it hurt but it made me feel like a rockstar

hazel mud

grip dash
breath catch / release

rain slick with a chance for more
showers / in this beat up old truck with
you / mix tape set to repeat / telling
you we can’t go on / it’s much more
than we can handle

but your hands on the wheel
I’ll trust
small town
know-how
of back roads and benders

grip
catch

just a little bit

I want to take you on a driving tour of my life
limited to a suburb it wouldn’t take long
winding roads would curve around a childhood
of hide and go seek and mission impossible
as I listen to your voice on my stereo
I forget that you haven’t traveled here yet

your words have wound around me
shift from first to second, third
back down again to take a corner
imaging the lines could be
should be?
written for me

winters bend roads
warping concrete
creating contours in
the body of prince george

our different gods with a
difference of opinion on how
a child should be raised
soft fuzzy bunny of my childhood compared
to the spikes and glass shards of yours

I’ll curl around you
a mother cat cuddling her kitten
create cow licks in you hair
my steady breathing
rhythmic heartbeat
will lull you to sleep

peek oil

sexual frustration is
driving down the price of oil
a new kind of kinetic energy

I’m not saving myself
for you

I’m saving myself.

taking matters into
my own hands

so to speak

People Walk Downtown

Prince George

snow thickens sidewalks

feet press down as if in sand

Victoria Street is January’s beach

walk when it’s warm enough

bring self conscious smiles

find place

poop

there
I said it out loud

reflected

take pride in mediocrity
because two months of acting like an angel
just means they
have to start making up the rumours

no competition for affection
this cigarette is burning a hole in my pocket

if you’re not buying
I’ll start selling
at a reduced rate

tomorrow

taste buds will rise up
to tell me what should have been said
tasted
ripe fruit from your bitter tongue
wont be enough

this celibacy means something

your new lover’s pillow reminds me
to put pen to paper again

speaking of love tokens

I want to send you an icicle
down to your southern home
but it would just
be a soggy box
by the time it got to you

the kindness of strangers

(It was funny when I realized
my own innocence)

not saying you’re a
big bad wolf
or anything
but I know enough to know
you’re a wolf
all the same
I’m a little lamb

you see
under a lucky star
I have a guardian angel
with rabbit’s feet
and four leaf clovers
stuck in her teeth
she’s always been able
to get me outta shit
I get myself into

never learn my lesson
so it’s harder to see sheep’s clothing

what large teeth you have
my dear

treading lightly lately

treading lightly lately
my womb
is a can of pasta sauce
still and heavy
hold the can in two hands
feel weight
roll the dry label
back and forth

treading lightly lately
my womb
is an empty cheerio box
purse lips
inhale/blow out
knock over

treading lightly lately
my womb
is a one-bedroom apartment
with a little man
constantly painting
putting up wallpaper
rearranging the furniture

treading lightly lately

weight

inversely proportional
size
socially acceptable
neuroses

start running

you should watch me play parcheesi

my passive aggressive nature
means I only play games I win

not sure I’ve won you yet
so you’re not gonna play me

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

treading lightly lately

treading lightly lately
my womb is a can of tomato sauce
still and heavy

I want to hold the can in my two hands
feel the weight
roll the dry label between them
back and forth


treading lightly
my womb is an empty cheerio box

I purse my lips
inhale
blow out
and knock it over


treading lightly
my womb is a tiny one-bedroom house

with a little man inside
constantly painting, putting up wallpaper
taking it down again
rearranging the furniture


treading lightly lately

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

reflected

take pride in mediocrity
because two months of acting like an angel
just means they have to start making up the rumours

no competition for affection
this cigarette is burning a hole in my pocket

you’re not buying
so I started selling at a reduced rate


tomorrow

taste buds will rise up
to tell me what should have been said
tasted
this celibacy means something

your new lover’s pillow reminds me
to put pen to paper again

ripe fruit from your bitter tongue
wont be enough

if its all for you

read this and take it
in.

for the fist time:
proactive poetry
rhythm and rhyme wants you.

caress and a kiss.
take a quick breath.
forget
that this is a bad idea.

keep saying out loud

“wow, poetry, you’re a good kisser.”

and if you’re surprised
you shouldn’t be.

don’t tell anyone

I don’t floss

I write all my assignments the night before

I have a secret love of handle bar mustaches

I kissed my best friend. He was startled.

I couldn’t actually fight her – no matter what I might say when intoxicated

I stopped eating

I didn’t quit smoking

I never read the labels when I do the laundry

I only fart when I’m alone

I was a bitch in grade four

I shouldn’t have slept with him, but you know what? It was really good.

I shouldn’t have slept with her, but you know what? It was really good.

don’t tell anyone

I wish for stream of consciousness
and publishable pieces of shit

weight

your size and
how neurotic you are socially allowed to be
are inversely proportional

I had to start running

write till you’re sober

People Walk Downtown

people walk downtown Prince George
snow thickens the sidewalks
feet press down as if in sand
Victoria Street is January’s beach

walk when it’s warm enough
quiet solitude amongst the other denizens
brings about self conscious smile
of overly analytical musings
finding place amongst crowd
I feel the ownership of

hometown

For Lenny

don’t take it the wrong way

its good


tell her she’s a good kisser

slightly abashed she’ll remind you
that she’s nothing you’ve heard of before

curled into the fetal position
her hair tumbles from her forehead
thin selfish
she spells it HOPe
say’s “fuck all y’all”
isn’t southern

social boundaries don’t come around
knock at her door - ask her to play
she creates her own cages

her potential lies in wait to
destroy

well-made weakness

next time watch while
you move your hands
where they fall across her

having had a hand at this
she’ll pull at the strings and
edit it all

bitch tried to eat my sandwich

bitch tried to eat my sandwich

yeah
bitch’s got no class

snapping her jaws
hackles up
I tried to make my way in
circle around
I was too drunk / too stupid to give up

melting when I saw you
not just figuratively
I forgot all pre-rehearsed conversations
of mirth and merit

brought only in
to hear
her
and
how much you two spend time together
I’ll just have to forget it all
you’re too pretty

fading back going long longer
female solidarity always seems
to break down
when pretty tall blonds
with athletic builds come along

flattened me
pancake thin

but the worst was
the worst was
when we were all at Denny’s
leaning over (still cuddling oh so close to him)

that bitch tried to eat my sandwich

a new view

a new view

garbage in
g rb g out

looking for changing ways to find things
recent self renovations
have prompted a few walls to fall
paint and a little bit of spackle worked wonders

but

even better scenery isn’t static
should have thought of that before I fell head first into excess

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

overheard

yeah it hurt but it made me feel like a rock star

i’m in the mood for a mercy killing

let’s do it
let’s kill the hope

we can start a fire in the yard
throw in feelings
phone calls
things i “accidentally” forgot at your house

how bout some JD
really make it spark
it was always the easiest way
into your bed


i’m in the mood for a mercy killing
because along with the headache and hangover

you always dump me in the morning

but cuddle up close the next time we watch a movie

its just too bad that you’re so cute
your voice is so soft
and that i like to trace the line of your freckled back
every time you turn away from me and go to sleep

heather larson is

pretty sure you're not supposed to bring your mom along on a one night stand. even if you are with the band.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

a house named vegas

fuck me cheek bones
carpe diem

lines from other pommes i didn’t write
are written on the walls
what to do with jam hands
and sticky fingers?
how bout

we drink whiskey
instead of tea
take off our tops
paint a found canvas
that we hang
permanently in the living room

as a warning to everyone of what can happen in vegas

where we’re killing brain cells
while growing dendrites

i’ll have to move to the basement
so i can use

gravity to promote

abstinence against the excess

Friday, January 11, 2008

blogging and drinking don't mix

as proven by the following.

fuck cock balls

why do i do this again and again.

well who would want a healthy relationship anyway?

from my understanding they are completely overrated. but she's so pretty and so I wont go home with him.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

dreams and fiction

i'm trying to write more so i decided it would be important to learn how to develop other characters. i like the name abby so she is now born and will be a new feature to the blog. hahaha, i know there are many metaphors that make writers gods, but just now i did want to say "behold, and so it was and so it shall be or something." I also have decided to start writing about dreams i have. they are strange as most dreams are, but i figure it would be a good exercise. just thought I would let you know.
abby pulled the tight fitting blue shirt on and looked in her full length mirror. she liked how it was a little bit short and didn't quite meet the boxers she was wearing to bed. she looked hot and in Bren's clothes no less. They made great pajamas but part of her kept wondering if she was wearing them for the right reasons. what if this was some lame attempt at some intimacy that she knew she wasn't going to get from Bren? pulling the shirt down a little bit and then smoothing it across her chest, she realized she didn't care about her motives. borrowing clothes from someone she was romantically interested in wasn't a big deal and she was being good. respecting the distance that they both needed. that she couldn't help thinking about her was only natural and if anything, each day she didn't call Bren was another day she felt a little bit more free. that she curled up inside something of hers each night was simply a bit of a consolation prize for being so good at being alone.

a dream

i originally wrote this one out in note form on an old envelope because i was house sitting and couldn't find my journal. that helped me remember it until i could write the whole thing out in full.

I'm in my parent's old house on Bernard. It is their house but at the same time it is also work. I'm in the kitchen looking through the fridge. looking for something to eat. All the food is for a function at work but I ask one of my coworkers if there is anything I can have. I ask her first if I can have the crackers but she says no. I move on to asking for the veggies and then some of the cheese platter. She tells me "no" again and again. Since I started with the foods that I thought I would be allowed to eat, even though they weren't the ones that I really wanted, I move on to the ones that I thought were less likely, but were more desired. After having asked about almost all of the contents of the fridge I finally ask about a white cheese cake topped with blue berries, and find out that I am allowed a piece of that.

Happy with my persistence, because that was what I wanted most, I go to take a piece but before i do, am interrupted by a friend of mine. She takes me aside because she is confused and needs me. She leads me into a large room around the corner. The room is spacious and well lit because of a large skylight showing the blue of perfect weather. The room has a huge built in platform that is covered by an equally large paisley futon. My friend has brought me here because she's wondering about her sexuality, and wondering if I'd help her out with that (I mean sleep with her.) She's confused and for some reason i think this will help so i agree. But it turns out that a bunch of people have heard about what we're going to do and want to join us.

The futon is then taken up by a bunch of other people and we all lay down together. Everyone is still fully clothed but about to start getting serious when a different friend of mine gets up and speaks out. She's leaving and then we all realize how awkward and public this is. The situation breaks apart and everyone is suddenly gone, even me.

I'm now walking down a busy city street where my thoughts can finally catch up with me, and i start thinking about my first friend again. It's not that I am romantically interested in her but i care. and i'm worried about how this may have pushed her even farther into her confusion. I realize that i've walked into the neighbourhood where she works and go to the cafe. She is just leaving. At first she pretends not to see me but I hurry. there is a large dark grey face to the side of us, about the hight of two stories, and we can see it but don't at the same time. we're moving faster along the pavement and just at the curb i catch up to her. I take her arm and turn her towards me. Cupping her cheeks in my hands I carefully put my lips to hers and kiss her very gently. I tell her that everything will be all right. When I wake up I remember how full and soft her cheeks were in my hands.

i decided to start recording my dreams so i would remember them

so i started sleeping with a journal in my bed. the first night i woke up and wrote in it twice. when i looked at it the next morning though, it was blank. i feel like my inner self is fighting with reality.

you know Plato's ideal? where you imagine something and that is the ideal; the first, the unattainable, and everything that happens from that is a step away. my teacher always used an example of a chair when she talked about the ideal and so for each time she talked about it - i was in her class several times because she's hot - every time that she talked about it, i would faithfully imagine the chair. it wasn't until a few classes later that I realized that the chair i was imagining was from a painting. it was the chair in van gough's room. what is my ideal if it is from someone else's interpretation?
its funny how if you just pretend that something didn't happen how many people will play along with you.
were you pulling away or was i?