sometimes
I stay up when I should sleep, and
sleep when I should be awake
sometimes
I talk when I should listen, and
remain silent when I should speak
sometimes
I want to be still for days,
wrapped in quiet.
then sometimes
I remember you, and
the way you used to be, and
the way I used to be.
sometimes, I hold my used-to-be-self
in cupped hands, and
then place her gently down,
and go back to living.
original found here
Equipment you will need:
A peeler that fits into your hand snugly
so you have complete control
as you enter the time-consuming task
of peeling away all the outer layers
of the fruit he left behind. Nevermind
it’s been sitting there among the gnat traps.
It will be perfect without the bruises.
Preferably a dedicated saucepot. You
cannot work well with a coating that sticks
or something you cannot handle
well. It must have a good,
strong handle. As must you.
A strainer that fits your vessel.
Nothing is more frustrating
than trying to fit two pieces
together and making a mess
because they never went together
in the first place. Tea is watery
and runs quickly in all directions.
No one likes cleaning it up, and there’s
almost always some of it left behind.
You don’t want to be soaking
on your hands and knees due to
an incompatible strainer/cup relationship.
Ingredients:
3 tablespoons fresh ginger.
Preferably chopped up and mashed
yourself. You can use that stone statue he gave you
that’s always stayed intact no matter how many
times you’ve “accidentally” dropped it on another
surface just as hard.
2 cloves.
Depends on their freshness. Also
depends on the time you are willing to put into
raising them. The children,
not the cloves.
1 cinnamon stick.
Very important, but it depends
on the size. Use the largest stick
you can find. There’s no such thing as too much
cinnamon, and it will help you
stay warm with all that spice.
1-2 peppercorns.
Some people like adding these for an extra bite.
But if you’ve been through enough pain
already, feel free to omit.
2 cups milk.
You could have made this yourself five
years ago if he hadn’t been so jealous.
What a waste! You may find you need more of this later,
so save a reserve. You may need it to ease
the strength or lower the temperature,
as you were expecting lukewarm.
2 cups water.
Perfect ingredient, and you can find it anywhere. Cooling
and cleansing; it’s just what you need.
But do not use bath water; residue
always remains.
Sweetner:
Don’t be crazy! This is the best part. Honey
works well, but I always hated it when he called me sweetie.
Honey takes time. Sugar is my favorite, but it’s unhealthy.
Never accept anything artificial. Your own wits will do.
Method:
You must boil first to remove impurities.
Think of it as a ritual. And as the steam rises,
breathe in the moment of one thing changing
into another.
Add a few other things, but keep boiling. You
have everything you need, so the order doesn’t
matter anymore. Just make sure
you never turn up the heat. You certainly
want to avoid open flames and the irreparable
damage they can cause.
Stew.
Just long enough for things to saturate.
With your compatible cup and strainer, separate the tea
from the shit that’s accumulated at the bottom.
It looks good, and it smells wonderful,
but don’t be fooled. It can
only be used once.
Finally, serve it up the way it deserves.
With lots of froth in an artistic ceramic mug,
Nothing with your college logo or anything with a chip in it.
Avoid anything you acquired while on vacation.
Avoid anything given to you by someone whose
identity is starting to fade away.
The tea deserves a better vessel in which
to reside before it is sure to
be enjoyed by your unconditional fulfillment.
Recently I’ve received thinly veiled threats about this blog, about one post in particular.
I repeat, if you don’t like what I write, don’t read my blog. Threatening and offensive comments will not be published, and I will not apologize for, or remove anything I’ve written as a response to such comments.
Right, now on to Shane Koyczan.
I love this man’s poetry – and this really is for all the trolls who’s only purpose is to cause pain.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=670if6Etx0o
Things have been difficult lately.
I’ve received some criticism today, about me personally, and about my writing, specifically about this blog “are disgusted by it” and “just who reads that shit you write?” were the exact words. That’s okay, not everyone is going to like me or like what I write. So today I was reading poetry, which generally helps, and certainly never hurts, and then this song came on.
Thanks Johnny Cash, I think I’ll do just that.
and here’s some of the poetry that went through my head today
Canto LXXXI, excerpt
Ezra Pound
“What thou lovest well remains,
the rest is dross
What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs
or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage”
… the rest is dross
The Waking
-Theodore Roethke
dear john,
today I wanted to carve the words
carve them into my skin, so
all could see
what I am
when we spoke, had you asked, I might have told of the holes – I carve – inside, maybe you could have seen the ardent slice ripped out, to quietly lay at your deeply restless feet. but all it touched was your breath, passing backwards in your constant cool drifting words.
had you understood my voice –
could you have heard?
known my songs are all written for you?
before I left
did I tell you
of bloodstained views on wood grain hall floors – knee in my back, fists gripping long hair, of the stripes of our walls getting closer just before they turned black.
or was it you who told me
of the view from mum’s hand standing in doorways –
watching,
blocking escape.
dear john,
should I have warned you? of trusting too young, and of pain, and fear, and of blood, sometimes first – and of tears locked in rooms, could this have saved you?
I would have saved you – you know, taken your blows, swallowed your bitter bruises, your raw pain, and sent you away whole – if only I’d found you.
dear john,
even now that you’re here,
I’ve lost parts of you.
and no longer can I wrap you in blankets.
I can’t find your song or your bruises. so I keep carving these slices off me to make us both whole, but your restless feet walk by them with your words always drifting backward at me.
dear john,
today I wanted to carve the words
into my skin
so all could see
what I am.
there we loved
and laid our heads,
there, exquisitely you touched
and there I was unwound,
your lover, and
now our hands unclasp
and now I bid you leave.
and in my hand, one acorn
that you will never see.
The Irreconcilable Differences between Mind and Body had become so profound
they were heard in the Court of Judicium. The usual reserved Attendants
were appalled at the excess of emotion and were given to making small ‘tsk
tsk’ sounds behind handkerchiefs and fans whilst disapproving eyes squinted
down at the proceedings.
Mens Mentis represented Mind, Corpus represented Body.
Mens Mentis presented an extensive past history of failures to illustrate
the likelihood of the present endeavor ending in heartbreak and
humiliation. An impressive parade of witnesses came forward to give
evidence to support the case. One spoke of stretch marks, belly fat, and
sagging breasts, another of age and foolishness, and yet another spoke with
passion about the need for caution and restraint in all affairs..
Corpus, not to be out done presented extensive physical evidence, stomach
sitting too high in chest, heart becoming larger, beating more quickly and
thus increasing blood flow, of the increased occurrence of deep breaths
with extended exhales, the memory of skin on skin, and the presence of a
hopeful smile. All these events occurred despite the extensive evidence
presented by Mens Mentis, argued Corpus, and therefore must be given more
weight.
Mens Mentis moved to strike from the record any memories because they
occurred within the Mind and not the Body.
Corpus then moved to strike all memories of past failures because they did
not occur in the Body.
Both motions were overruled by the Most Honourable Judge Iudex, stating
that both motions included events that could not be solely related to
either Mind or Body, and thus where considered Joint Property.
The proceedings have been going on for weeks, at times it appeared the Mind
would prevail, but then events would occur and body of Body’s evidence
became increasingly stronger. Each time this happened, Mens Mentis would
argue that Body was incompetent to stand trail and should be removed and
placed in protective custody. The Most Honourable Judge Iudex has, so far,
overruled each of these objections, but the talk among the Attendants is
that with the passage of time and without fresh physical evidence
(memories, everyone knows, after a time become increasingly unreliable)
that the Judge will rule in favour of the Mind.
Meanwhile the jury continues to absorb the proceedings with passionless
expressions.
The best laid plans
careful what you wish for
things couldn’t get any worse
you can’t please all of the people all of the time
or even some of the time
sometimes none of the time
sometimes not even yourself
so what’s up with this stupid pleasing thing?
and this you must always remember
never forget
no good deed will ever (ever) go unpunished
friends don’t let friends … what?
and what is it that friends let friends do?
should do?
let do, don’t do, should do, will do – with who?
will this be on the final exam?
planning.
planning is over rated
spontaneity, on the other hand
(there will always be another hand to keep you on your toes)
spontaneity can bite you so hard on your ass it bleeds
(ass biting on the other hand can be under rated)
and as a rule try to express yourself
clearly.
succinctly.
distinctly. vividly. quickly. blissfully. skillfully.
but not sillily. lyrically. and never timidly or fitfully.
and another thing
scratch that last thought
and skip the conversation – its over rated
and can lead to planning
and we all know where that can get you
and sometimes even well placed
“humorous loving support”
can mean fuck all
yes, yes heartbreakingly sad, but true
these times may call for biting sarcasm
and excessive speed
and when you plan
(plan – a four letter word)
to run away
when that escape opportunity opens up
you should Get the Fuck Out of Dodge
do not pause.
do not think.
do not pass go. just
LEAVE
and when you miss that chance
or the chance misses you
or the fates intervene
or whatthefuckever
what do you do?
rant-wallowinwords-tantrum
try-to-find-the-message-in-all?
What if there is no fuckin message?
What if you’re really stuck in dodge?
so what?
So WHAT?
so what if you’ve simply fallen into a
Cataclysmic Cosmic approaching Catatonic
Cluster Fuck
and THAT’S where you were always
meant to be?
So what…
shallow
A wondrous thing
her puddle was,
wondrous, and terrible as well
for it was not too deep –
(the same might be said of her)
and this may or may not – be true –
(as it may be with anyone)
its condition – dependant
upon many things
outside itself
(as it may be with anyone)
like rain –
Sun, and
and always,
the possibility of boys
seeking new novelties;
in the end, it was this
shallow,
and had she ever known another –
they’d likely think the same
of her.
likely, but
they’d be mistaken;
for it was more her
situation in life;
in her puddle
(for this is how she came to – think
of it).
that was not so deep
and being all she knew, she
adjusted –
only half breathing –
using
just a parts of herself –
for each breath;
one eye up, unblinking
one eye in the mud, unseeing
half cool and wet;
and, one half warm,
and usually
uncomfortable.
(except on rainy days,
oh how she loved those days)
she didn’t like to think
about winter.
and so she lived
once, after praying
for eyelids,
she wondered – if she
had approached,
the Correct gods
and,
in the appropriate order.
(or if gods cared of such things
as eyelids and of order)
or was it
(despite best intentions)
that the Proper prayers,
had not spoken
or had been spoken,
but incorrectly;
(or if gods cared
at all)
in the end,
she thought, it was most likely due to her
apparent “Lack of Depth.”
(this she came up with on her own)
the days without blinking
in Sunshine have made her
blind; and, perhaps that itself
was the answer to the prayers.
(dutifully she noted to be more
precise in future requests)
but blind
can moonlight still bath me
she wondered;
can the dreams of
something called
ocean still touch me?
and so she slept
one eye blind
one eye buried in
the mud.
and dreamt – of rain –
and sun –
and boys –
and of the thing her bones
remembered,
the thing she called
her ocean.
Emma and Toad 