Magnetic Poetry: “The Next Morning”

This one is for all you guys (and gals!) going out this Friday night, gonna have fun, just hoping to get lucky…or those that used to go out, and would rather stay at home and sleep, (like me!)

Sometimes, though, the morning after isn’t so much fun when you realize who or what you woke up with. Eee!
image

It reads:

I remember concrete and salt
Less broken than you
The morning after sex
But
I desire joy and magic
Not your sad, boy breath
Not you

Ouch! Lol…Hope everyone has a great weekend! :)
 

 

Throwback Thursday Inspired Poem: “Best Friends”

I wish I was better at juggling a full-time job, a part-time job, my own writing projects, and posts for this blog, but alas, it is a work in progress!

I don’t know how some people do it! But I’d rather have fewer posts, than many posts that are lower quality. It’s something that I’m definitely working on, though. :)

Anywho, I watched Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood on Netflix last night, and was inspired to write this poem. Maybe I’m just overly emotional right now, but for some reason I was feeling all reflective, and melancholy at the same time and this is what I came up with:

My friends Christina, Jackie, and Me (in the middle) at age 11, or 12.

My friends Christina, Jackie, and Me (in the middle) at age 11, or 12. Taken before I had a digital camera, of course!

Best Friends

We lay there in a tent made of fake canvas; it smelled like dirt and plastic and camping

and somehow I knew this would be one of the last times we would really spend together,

the three of us bunched up together on that old blow up mattress

But it wasn’t evident from the stars that twinkled down on our faces,

Or the crickets that chirped and sang…

We were alive and we were beautiful and young,

and nothing ever got its way in our paths.

I remember asking, when did you think we would die?

How someone went silent and then, “I never really thought about it much.”

How I replied: “I think I’ll go young. It’s not like I want to, but I never really saw myself doing much. I can’t picture my future.”

I remember silence and the crickets were humming and I’m sure there were lightning bugs, too, (there’s always lightning bugs).

Then someone takes a breath and we’re talking about Twilight, and school and boys and how remember that time you fell in the creek, and someone was clever enough to snap a picture?

Now I look back and wonder if anyone ever knows the future? And if they do, don’t they know it is more like a journey, best imagined sometimes an adventure, but always survived.

One minute it’s there, and the next minute gone. A feeling like a breath, an instant, a tear drop, a thought.

Gone with last night’s breeze and this morning’s rough chill.

Sometimes it takes a whole minute to hold onto something, but it takes only a second to realize what it is, and then it’s gone.

Magnetic Poetry: “Survival”

Nothing gets me down more than sickness, and I’ve had my fair share of it this past month. :/ Perhaps I was inspired by that…who knows.

wpid-img_20150205_110837576.jpgIt reads:

 

Smile and

eat life

and never wake

 

I hope everyone is staying warm and safe these winter months! We’ve certainly had our fair share of snow these past few weeks! And for those of you in warm weather: send it this way please!

Happy Writing!

 

Poem: Hair Salon

What’s better than hanging out
At the hair salon with a girlfriend
On a Saturday night
Dreaming about summer
Wishing our hair was long
And as yellow as the sunshine
On our faces

It makes me think of
Long drives up the hill
On a warm summer night
When the world is full of lightning bugs
And crickets hum outside the car window

When he put his arm around me
And whispered against my neck
“There’s only you, and no one else”
And my heart pounded
And my breath caught

And I felt young, and so alive.

So alive, so alive.

An English Major’s Struggle To Find a Job

I recently took a new job here, (go figure, right?)…something that has me typing information at a desk, not customer service, not worrying about sales pitch – did I get it right? Just plain old monotonous information, and type-type typing away.typing-clipart-16-COLOR

And while this job was described to me as incredibly boring, I can’t but help be somewhat relieved. Left to my own thoughts, my own devices, I am more productive, less stressed and overall satisfied. Plus, I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. Is it sad how much this is a relief to me?

Ever since college I have been struggling finding my way or niche in this world…I watch friends of mine, graduates from the same college get jobs at corporations, in the classroom, or go on to pursue higher education at graduate school.

I am proud of them and their accomplishments, but where does that leave me? Taking a job in retail, in customer service, in collections…finding places that pay the big bucks with little need to think or grow? I don’t live in an area that offers an overwhelming amount of options, either. I feel like I have ruined my job experience…even the manager that recently interviewed me said he was worried about hiring me…”Your job history seems a little…scattered,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” I said, and then shrugged. What could I say?

“I missed the boat when it came to moving to Florida?”

“I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up?”

Life is difficult and not always forgiving when it comes to pursuing your dreams and passions. I got an English degree, so everyone assumed that I wanted to be a teacher. I worked in customer service, so everyone assumed that I’m great on the phone, and love to help others. (I am great on the phone by the way. Former debt collector here, watch out!)

But what to do…what to do, when all of the world seems to be telling me that I am a failure? I took the jobs…because I needed the money. Not everyone has a savings or rich relatives. (Oh, but wouldn’t that be nice!)notebook in candlelightSince I was a young teen, the one thing that I consider myself great at is writing. This led to the thought: “I’ll be a writer.” Yet, with the pressure on to pay the bills…is such a desire a pipe dream? Or should I really just bite the bullet and go back to college…even though I don’t know what I want to study?

The questions are endless and the emotions boarding on that feeling of overwhelming sadness. I think the real answer to these questions are:

Do what makes you happy and don’t worry what everyone else thinks.

My head is grasping for the words of advice I’ve heard many times: “Don’t give up, you’ll get there.”

“Believe in yourself.”

“Never stop writing.”

“Don’t lose faith in yourself.”

Yet, they seem to be falling on deaf ears this afternoon, or falling in the cracks of heater and getting lodged there, (God knows little heat is getting out!).

doryThe sun is peaking out of the clouds now, and the snow has finally stopped. For some reason Dory’s voice from Finding Nemo has snuck its way into my head:

“Just keep swimming…just keep swimming…What do we do? We swim!”

Hmm…I am a terrible swimmer, but I can keep going, no matter how difficult it is…

The truth of the matter is, I am not unhappy here, sitting at my desk in the sunshine, which is creeping through to land on the floor and the cheery, yellow walls of my office.

I can keep on swimming, and I can begin to stop listening to what others think…because only my opinion matters in this instance. Being a writer is my pipe dream, and that’s all that matters.

I can keep on swimming no matter the cost.

Poetry: I can write haiku, can you?

It’s snowing outside, tiny flakes coming down from the sky in all directions, swirling chaotically around cars and the pavement outside my window.

View from my office window.

View from my office window.

Naturally this makes me want to write, of course. I don’t know what it is…maybe because it’s warm in our apartment, I woke up refreshed (finally) after a good nights sleep and I have the day off from work.

Maybe there’s something in the way that snowy sleepy days naturally put me in a thoughtful mood, and thoughtful moods generally lead to writing…if I were a painter, I’d paint the heck out of a glorious snowy day, but alas, the best brush I have, is the brush of words on blank, blank paper.

And of course, the last sentence I just wrote had me thinking about haiku poems. It’s been ages since I’ve written one…not since college three years ago. I found a refresher at this website, here.

(From the website:) The haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines.  Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn’t use any metaphors or similes.

wpid-img_20141127_165052481.jpg

View of the moon and snowy trees at my Grandma’s house, the evening of Thanksgiving.

I don’t usually think of myself as a poet. My advance poetry teacher in college said to me once, “You are definitely a fiction writer.” And that seemed to cement the idea in my brain. He didn’t mean to say that I was inept at poetry, just that eventually all writers make a choice, and I am a lover of stories and so naturally fiction was my style of choice.

But lately, I am constantly reminded by poetry why writing descriptive, lyrical words are so important. Why some fiction is just poetry in an extended form. In a single poem, an image is created in just a few words. I think poetry is a great way to remind fiction writers how important it is to show, not tell what is happening in the story, but to focus on the concise, and descriptive words.

Here’s some haiku of my own. Some silly, some serious, some not really haiku poems at all, but all poetry:

The bright yellow sun shines

through icicles hanging

on the windowsill

 

 

icicles remind

us to mind the cold weather

bundle up you beasts

 

 

dogs don’t like the snow

wagging their tails between gusts

shivering snow and wind

 

 

the snow swirls around the pavement

children walk by with parents

hands howling in their gloves

 

 

So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow…

(Just kidding! haha…can’t get this poem out of my head for some reason! For those that don’t know this is the start of a poem, “The Red Wheelbarrow,” by William Carlos Williams. I remember there were those that either loved it or hated it in my poetry class. There was a great debate that followed about it.)

And lastly, another haiku of my own:

 

The dead of winter

snow falls down on black pavement

eat lunch, eat sunlight

This has been a lot of fun for me this afternoon. Feel free to comment with your own, if you like!

Happy Writing!

Netflix’s Marco Polo: A Thrilling Disappointment?

Marco Polo thrills with the experience of transporting the viewer back through time, but where it excels in the theatrical it disappoints in focus. For a show named Marco Polo, one might think that the show would be mostly about the great adventurer, but that is simply not the case.

If you haven’t watched the show, there are spoilers a head.

Since he was a young boy, Marco Polo, played by Lorenzo Richelmy, longed to be an adventurer like his father. When he finally gets his chance, he his betrayed by his father and left behind as a tribute/prisoner to Kublai Khan. Marco quickly proves himself useful, though, and the khan takes advantage of the young man’s gift for languages and cleverness. Marco is trained as a Mongolian; how to ride and shoot, how to fight with a sword and trained in Kung Fu. He seems to take this in stride, (I’m not certain if this is bad characterization, or if Polo is truly that adaptable,) but he quickly learns and comes to respect his new way of life. Because of the mercy that the khan shows on numerous occasions, Polo comes to respect him and like everyone else who circles around this great man, Polo yearns for the khan’s approval.

And Kublai Khan played by, Benedict Wong, is magnanimous. When the show begins, you are prepared to hate the man (he is Polo’s captor after all,) but what you find is a leader conflicted by what is right for his kingdom. After a few episodes, you realize that this is a man who truly seems to care for the people who serve him, he is a family man, and he desires to learn about different cultures and religions. Compared to this strong, powerful Mongolian, why would anyone bother to look at the outsider, this Italian merchant that everyone calls, “The Latin?”

This is a question that we are still asking ourselves after the end of the first season. Why is Marco Polo so important? He does pale in comparison to the characters around him. His ability to assimilate so quickly to the culture is remarkable and perhaps that is what makes Marco Polo unique, but next to the great khan he is really just a boy seeking approval from another father figure.

But why wouldn’t Marco like this new way of life? Almost every woman we see in the show is a whore, or gives it away easily, with no thought of repercussion. Granted, this is not Europe, who were considerably more prude during the thirteenth century, but the scenes of naked women in whore houses, and in the khan’s bedroom, seem to be more about drawing in viewers than about anything remotely sexy.

Polo’s main love interest is the Blue Princess, and you might think, here is where we will see some real romance. Yet, the reason for their attraction for one another is lost in the rest of the drama that happens around them. Perhaps, they both want what they can’t have? Who knows.

The Blue Princess played by, Claudia Kim, is attractive, yes, but the only interesting thing about her character is also her greatest flaw. When the khan invaded her home, the real princess killed herself, leaving the present Blue Princess (who was a servant in the palace) to take her place. She spends most of her time locked away by her protector, dressing up in jewels and silks, whining and snapping at servants and doing everything to convince us that she is a princess. Yet, she manages to do nothing remotely interesting.

The only real entertaining female role is of Sorga, played by Vanessa Vanderstraaten, who is a warrior, daughter of Kaidu and related to the Khan. But we don’t see nearly enough of her. When she is on-screen, it is because she is seducing Marco Polo or finding love herself. That doesn’t mean that the Khan’s favorite wife, Empress Chabi, (Joan Chen), isn’t a strong woman, though. The Khan listens often to her advice, and she has her own duties besides just looking attractive on his arm. One of them being: picking new concubines for her husband? That’s a new one.

Despite some character flaws and a story that has some plot holes in it, Marco Polo does sweep you up into Thirteen century Mongolia…clearly this is a world that we haven’t seen before, and would love to see more of. It’s a cultural gem; the music, the clothing, the scenery, the fight scenes. The clashes between cultures, and domains. Netflix certainly doesn’t skimp on their costumes, sets or locations. But to invest so much money and time into such a big project, why does everyone always seem to forget about the importance of having a great story?

I’d love to see Marco Polo living up to the greatness it has set up for itself in Season 2, but you can’t forget about the story! Why does everyone always forget the story?

Have you guys seen the new show yet? Let me know what you think!

Poem: “Every Fortune”

I’ve had this one on my fridge a long time…since before the holidays. I don’t know why, but it seemed appropriate for the new year…

“Every Fortune”

wpid-img_20150111_142018331.jpg It reads:

Every fortune in this world

is secret

we live with treasure

be deep and strong [enough]

to see it

 

Side note:

Trying something different for my header image…it was definitely time for a change. Will see how this one works until I can create something different on Photoshop. Any suggestions, or if you like the change, let me know!

What Makes Life Worth Living?

These last couple of day have been stressful for us. My car is in the shop, it is 7 degrees outside, and until I get paid next week, I have about $2.

Life is not exactly easy when you live paycheck to paycheck, and although I am trying to look on the positive side, sometimes I do start to hyperventilate. The man in my life, although he pretends to be all manly and tough most of the time, said it this way: “We have each other, babe.”

And as corny as that sounds, I had a thought about it. It may seem like the end of the world when you can’t pay your bills, but it’s really not. Sure, you get behind, it happens. But life is in the people you love, in the people who love you and in the times you share together.

Love doesn’t pay the bills, but it sure does remind you what makes life worth living. And that’s all I need for the time being.

Oh, and brownies:

wpid-img_20150106_205957593.jpgI made these tonight with this recipe here, (with my own tweaks of course) and I think these will go well with a cup of hot coco, yes? :)

I counted on my fingers before bed…I have a at least fifteen friends and family that love me. I am not without love in my life. I am poor, but I am not worthless.

These thoughts of failure, life stresses and worthlessness made me think of what Clarence writes in George’s book in the end of It’s a Wonderful Life:

“Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends.”

No…they are most definitely not. I hope everyone is keeping warm, and positive this cold, Tuesday night.

Happy Writing everyone!

 

 

 

Poetry: “Ode to Snow”

I think I wrote this when I was about eighteen. This was back when I still used AIM, (AOL Instant Messenger,) and instead of writing out a profile for myself, I would post poetry like the nerd that I was. ;) (Mind you, this was also back when I thought I could rhyme, too.) But my position then about snow hasn’t really changed much over the years…

Here’s something silly for you on this cold, snowy January day:

wpid-img_20141127_134249159.jpgODE TO SNOW

 

Snow, you dreadful thing,

why do you fall the way you do?

 

Tell me, Snow, you white, white Snow,

as pale, pale white as the moon,

 

Would you rather melt in spring time,

then get crushed on the roadside too?

 

You foolish Snow, so stupidly white,

that glitters in the sun,

 

Why do you have to come out and ruin

all the spring time/winter fun?

 

Why fall from gray-white clouds

only to sting and melt on my nose?

 

While the dignified rain just drips,

and does not look like dandruff on my clothes.

 

Snow, you bitter chill,

I’m afraid I’ve had enough,

 

of damp, damp wetness, icy chills,

and all that cold-wet stuff.

 

So Snow, if you would be so kind,

please gather where I can see…

 

And if by mistake, I take out a few flakes…

well then, whoops, don’t blame me.

 

Hope everyone is keeping warm in this new year! Happy NEW YEAR everyone!