3 posts tagged “poetry”

 We’ve probably only spoken of hot chocolate twice.

Both times you expressed a deep delight in it.

The second time, though I had only the written word,

I could see the joy on your face and the glee in your eyes.

“I love hot chocolate.”

I’m more a hot tea person

But something about the winter calls for hot chocolate.

I guess it’s the richer feeling in the mouth

The thicker taste

It fills the belly better too.

I’d have to drink an ocean of tea for the same effect.

A bit uncomfortable.

I’ve been complaining about the weather a lot recently,

And expressing amazement when I don’t feel that need.

I can’t help but wonder if I make you laugh with all my bitching.

After all, no one can control the weather

And railing about it, albeit in glorious fashion, doesn’t change that.

The snow is here, and with it a lot of memories.

I appreciate it that you’ve listened

To the making of memories

Especially when the forging hurt,

Because I was making memories when rudely awakened from a long-time dream.

This snowy year has been the hardest one in terms of weather

Which I bitch about.

But it’s been a far easier winter than so many of recent times.

Used to be that the weather determined the severity of winter

Now it’s too complex for mere meteorologists to explain.

But I’m enjoying the puppy in the snow.

She, of course, capers about

Snowy playing in inverse proportion to how much I want to be outside.

It’s a toy, a jungle gym, fluffy, and food all in one

What’s not to love?

I admit, I have no answer.  What's not to love, indeed.

There’s no shadow on this year’s snow.

Or under the eyes in the looking-glass

Winter’s harsher than before, but much more happy.

Plus, there’s a lot more hot chocolate

And I leave no cup unfinished.

Miss you.

Today's thing is based on yesterday's list.  I'm not sure I'm pleased with today's written work, honestly.  I was trying to combine my feelings on two events into one idea, based on inspiration on what I could write using the word list I had.  I don't think it came together well.  Perhaps those two, though inspiring many of the same feelings, are not enough alike to distill down into one short poem.  Even so, here it is.  Again, I edited it as I wrote it, but it's the effective first draft.

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As cars slip on the road below I consider cold.

Cold weather is one thing.

I can handle it.

But as much as I tell myself,

“It’s over”

Well, I’m not sure I like the feeling of

Cold Comfort.

I thought I had air-tight logic.

I'd found the solution

When I was exhausted.

Fire in my veins

Could leave me a burnt-out shell

And still I don’t appreciate that

Cold Comfort.

Sometimes I let my liver

Get the upper hand

And display some anger,

Some idea, some worry

Some suit against my joy,

While my mind gnaws on itself.

At least it’s over, I suppose.

Cold Comfort.

This becomes the test, I suspect.

A cold, grey moment.

The city brightening with the chill

Every wreck a trophy

Wearing the white, the now blinding lights.

I have stronger barriers now.

Cold Comfort.

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I used to keep a tape recorder by my bed, until it felt like my creativity was mostly dried up.  It got used once in a blue moon, most of the time, but every now and then there would be a streak of babblings.  I lost it in one of the more recent moves.

The thing is that bedtime has always been a stupidly creative time for me.  I lie down in bed, turn the lights out, and toss and turn trying to fall asleep.  At that point, my brain goes into hyperspeed, and sometimes inspiration comes tumbling out.  It frustrates me because I can't hold onto any tired inspirations through sleeping, but if I recorded all of them, I'd take forever to get to sleep.  And I'd be tired the next day.  So, usually, I'd let them go.

The tape recorder was for making a recording of one or more wild dreams I'd wake up from.  They always seemed to be a good basis for a story or two.  I still have writings in the works based on dreams from long ago.  Too bad one of my hard drives failed with no backup, and the original of one of them is lost to time.  Luckily, I had worked with the idea enough that it's taken on a life of it's own, and it's not without some record.

Last night, I would have really liked to have had my recorder.  The first time the lights went out and I was inspired to record poetry, I gamely turned the bedside light up a bit, and wrote it down.  It took a much longer time than I had wanted it to.  The second time, though, I was exhausted and very close to hoping I'd just remember this morning.  Eventually, I caved into myself and wrote it down too.  I have paranoia that the first will be written off as angsty or high drama, and the second will be considered just stupid.  I'm okay with the second being silly, because it's certainly not deeper or more meaningful.  But I don't want dumb.  However, no matter how they are regarded, I'm going to toss them up here for now.  In the order I wrote them last night.

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Hindsight is 20/20

I look back on that last night
I remember it all
The people
The feelings
My memory is crystal clear
And ohso foggy

I had my feelings
Conflictions
Others swirled around
Easy to get
Opaque

New information has come to light
And now the last night
It looks so different
I scream, "I wish I knew this then!"
I bellow, "No, I don't!"
All is quiet outside

It's easy to believe things
Would be so different
So perfect
My new life a factory direct
Picture perfect jigsaw
All done up for the frame

There are so many reasons to believe

And so many things it's easy to discard

It's so easy
To use hindsight
And new info
To say I was wrong

Fuck Hindsight

I stand by my decision
It is mine and hindsight
Cannot have it

The consequenses that are so easy to discard now
Would have raged
A reign of terror on my life
Self inflicted

Yes, I do wish that lovely fantasy world I see
In Hindsight
Could be real

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

I would ride.

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Poetry slam?
I don't have the attention span.

Tried one once,
Felt a dunce.

Got my scores,
Walked out with an award!

Tried to replicate that feat,
Got handed my teeth.

Considered Cockney rhyming slang,
Think that'd go over a bang.

Alas, I'm not that clever.
So I never
Participate
In a poetry slam.

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That is all.  Welcome to my midnight ramblings.