you really do have worth..

After a while you learn the subtle difference between
 holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean learning and 
 company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
 and presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeat with your head
 up and you eyes open, with the grace of an adult,
 not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all you roads on today 
 because tomorrow ground is too uncertain for
 plans.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if 
 you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own 
 soul, instead of waiting for someone else to bring you 
 flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.

~veronica a. shoffstall 

Figuring out that I need to read poetry to be inspired to write poetry.

I wrote.

For the last few nights, when my husband gets home from work, he asks about my day and when I say that I did nothing it's always followed by the question, "Did you write today?"  Well finally  I can say, "Yes."  Granted, it is nothing that would be published (sometimes I forget that I'm a published poet), but it's a start. 

I wrote something.

An exercise:

When I was in high school my English teacher did an exercise

where we were told to put pencil to paper and to not take it off for a good while,

we were just supposed to write whatever came to mind

which made for a lot of rambling and I’m pretty sure some of us ended up

with a scribbled string of, “Blah, blah, blahs.”  

Well, now I’m wishing that I had those scrap pieces of paper somewhere.

Wouldn’t it be neat to look back at those messy ramblings of high-school-me, the

works of someone who didn’t have a clue in the world how life

would be later on and those thoughts might inspire me to

write something brilliant now.

Exercise over.

Poetry...

For the second night this weekend, I've helped someone out with their poetry.

First it was Corinne and tonight it was Sarah.

Both times have made me miss school, especially my creative writing class.

I'm a published poet...who doesn't use her gifts or talent nearly often enough.

This needs to change.

If you feel inclined to, you can click here to read some of my work.

Poetry Time

Marie Antoinette’s Discussion

I was lonely, sad, and afraid when I first came to France.

Nothing was familiar, just completely foreign,

everything except for the cake.

The French and Austrian bakers must have

traded secrets and tips across the border,

because their cakes were the same.

Delicious. Sweet. Moist. Comforting.

When the people of France were in

turmoil, I imagined them to be

lonely, sad, and afraid, as I looked

out the windows of Versailles and

I wanted to help them, to comfort them.

I gave them the only piece of advice that brought

me cheer when I said,

“Let them eat cake.”

Almost killed me

Growing Love

Since I was young I’ve liked only one boy.

People would say we were attached like gum.

He told me he’d take care of my bear, Vanilla

and build our future home with a blanket.

Our mom’s would call us inside to get sleep.

Dreaming of a night out by the water.

All summer we would play in cool water.

As he grinned, I chose to kiss that boy.

We’d lay out on the grass and catch some sleep.

My heart skipped a beat, when he offered gum.

Shy, I buried my face in the blanket.

Ice cream time came and we chose vanilla.

My first date perfume was Sweet Vanilla.

He held my hand as we walked on water.

Wind was cold so he gave me his blanket.

My dad wanted to talk to, “That dang boy.”

Sister wanted to know if we, “Swapped gum.”

I just wanted to get some happy sleep.

When we first got married there was no sleep.

Our first house always smelled like vanilla.

The snack drawer was forever filled with gum.

And our first married fight involved water.

He talked about our first being a boy,

snuggled into me under our blanket.

His kids are crying about their blanket.

They’re his kids when I haven’t got much sleep.

All the fuss and fight makes me say, “Oh boy.”

Our house smelled like playdough, not vanilla.

Learned a dirty kid’s enemy is water

and peanut butter’s the enemy of gum.

Dentures can’t handle his favorite gum.

We spend our days wrapped in a thick blanket.

He’ll wake me up and beg for some water.

I embrace the fact of eternal sleep.

He whispers I smell like warm vanilla,

my mind goes back to when he was a boy.

What I would give for some gum and good sleep,

on my blanket with ice cream . . . vanilla.

We’d play in the water, me and my boy.

PS! I'm totally indebted to my friend David for helping me with some revisions.

For the single men in my life

Hey you!

Stop talking over me and

turn to listen to me.

Pretend you’re five and

you’ve been told to zip your lips

and throw away the key. Good.

Now, baby, I’m gonna let you in

on a secret, can you handle it?

When Harry met Sally, do you

think she fell for him ‘cause he

was the bad guy?

And after Sandy traded her pink skirts

for tight, black leather and cigarettes,

you don’t think Danny didn’t break her heart?

What I’m trying to get at, my point I’m trying to make…

Is that being called a nice guy

isn’t an insult. In fact, it’s far from it.

Being just friends with a girl doesn’t mean

hell’s freezing over and if you think

we all hate you, we can tell, and trust me darling,

it’s a turn off.  Be confident in who you are, without

a woman hangin’ on your arm.

Now unzip those lips and let’s hear your response.

If only I could talk like her

Day 12

Day 12 (even though this was published after midnight, I was working on it long before!)

- write a poem to someone you love

I've spent the last probably four or five hours working on two other poems that are due for my class tomorrow, so I feel bad that this is last minute with little effort put into it, but it's actually a nice break.

"Would you walk to the edge of the ocean, Just to fill my jar with sand?
Just in case I get the notion, To let it run through my hand?"

-The Band Perry

We're at opposite sides of the continent,

me in the West and you in the East.

Over here my ocean is cold all year long,

over there your winters are bleak and freezing.

If I could, I would bring you my sunshine and heat in February

if you'll drive to the beach and play in the waves with me again in July.

I'd chase away the snow and ice you hate.

You would leave me with more memories to treasure.

The saying goes, "Home is where your heart is."

If that's true, then my home is where you are,

and I should be wishing for better weather too and finding warmth in your arms.

Ok, I was contemplating just using my poem that I wrote almost a year ago called "Midnight Music," which has actually been published, but then I thought better of it. You guys can just go read it there. 

= )

Published!

This morning I received some awesome text messages from my mom! I am officially a published poet in "The Chiron Review"! How awesome is that? My two poems from last semester, The Payback Dance and Midnight Music, are in their autumn 2010 edition.

I don't think I'll be able to stop smiling for awhile. Hope all of your weekends are off to an awesome start like mine!

Dear God Almighty Mr. Mirkle!

This is from the last episode in Season 1.

Dear God Almighty Mr. Mirkle!

The freaking Blue Man Group is outside
Lorelai Gilmore's house.
No, wait, it's not them,
it's just the early rising, diner owner, Luke Danes.
What's he doing?
Fixing her porch rail.
That's right. He is. He's fixing her porch rail...
At six thirty in the morning!
"Why? Why?," she asks him. 
"It was broken.  It could hurt somebody," he explains.
Does he not know that she sleeps around there?
That she likes sleep, it makes her pretty,
and keeps her from killing her crazy friends?
She tells him to pound one more thing while he's out there,
his head.
And a for-sale sign out on the lawn because she's moving.
That's really two things,
the sign and his head.
He needs to do it in that order 'cause otherwise,
he'll be too dizzy to do the sign thing. 

This is the clip of the actual scene

Midnight Music

Alright, I wasn't going to post this poem on my blog because it's erotic and just not something that I'm completely comfortable with, but I had to read it out loud in my class and I think they liked this one more than any other poem I've written so far so I guess I'll share it here too.  Try not to blush.  = )


Midnight Music

Your fingers start playing,
as though my body is covered with blank ledger lines
and you are composing a come-and-get-me melody.

We begin to move together in perfect, sultry, moonlit rhythm,
as this steady andante song begins to crescendo
and my head starts to hum along with the tune.

Arms, lips, legs, hips progress in steady four-four time,
we're swelled to an allegro in our song
and my skin tingles with the anticipation of what's next.

It's coming to an end as all great music does,
flowing from prestissimo, to presto, to rapido
and then there's a crash of cymbals.


As our instruments still vibrate with the last sweet, warm notes,
you wrap my sheet music into the blankets and pull me close to you
and I know that our song will be played again.

Breathing in Twilight

I walked outside as the sun was setting
The air was still warm from the heat of the day.

Moving barefoot across the grass
my feet eventually met the wood of the dock.

The boards were worn smooth and
looked as though they were glowing in the fading light.

Walking down towards the end
I  stared out at the now still water.

It looked like a slab of blue slate with
little ripples here and there etched into the surface.

Reach the end, I wrapped my toes over the edge,
I stretched out my arms and took a breath.

But this was not a normal breath.

This breath was deeper, fulfilling, and sweet.
This air smelled of summer and days spent on the river playing.

Look Under the Dang Bed

This is my third poem for my class.  Honestly I think the reason why this random idea popped into my head is because last night I couldn't find my TV remote anywhere and this morning my bracelet, that only leaves my wrist when I sleep, was no where to be found for awhile.  Luckily the remote was at the foot of my bed under a blanket and my bracelet somehow ended up at the bottom of my purse.  I must admit that I did look under my bed for both items.  So here you go, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as Corinne did.  = )

Look Under the Dang Bed

I'm here, right here, tucked under your dang bed.
Quit running around and stop to really think.
Where was the last place you had me,
the last place you saw me?
Don't you remember?
We came in the door and you kicked me off your right foot.
I bounced and rolled 'til I ended up here.
Look! You have my mate in your hand,
you know I can't be too far.
Warmer...Warmer...no, Colder...Colder...
Yes, come back, stop, pause.
Now, bend down and lift the blanket.
There you go I've been right here the whole time.
It looks like we have a world to walk so let's get going.

10-4

This week in my Creative Writing: Poetry class our topic is family.  Family can be a really broad topic which makes me happy.  As I sat down to start brainstorming ideas, in Starbucks, this just popped into my head.  I love my dad.  P.S. Feel free to tell me what you think, the whole point of the class is to get feedback on your work.  

10-4

Tan, gold, blue and black,
were the colors that filled my wide eyes of childhood,
during those welcome home hugs.
The star shaped badge gleamed bright,
pinned on my father's shirt right above his heart.
The black, shiny belt adorned with foreign objects fueled my curiosity,
that made me want to reach out and touch them.
The radio hanging at his hip would begin to crackle,
muffled voices on the other end saying words in code I couldn't understand.
It would disappear into his closet, not to be touched by my little hands.
When it was time for work again, red and blue flashing lights
sitting proudly over the white and black,
would put on a show in front of my house as he drove away down the street.
Highway protector, victim defender, and bad-guy grabber
was, and still is, what my father symbolizes to me.