crowds ebb and flow
currents and eddies in the stream
ants moving as one
but each with their separate purpose
the lights they shine
in the eyes of those unnumbered
and I'm walking home
to ringing transcendence in my headphones
This is an impulsive poem I wrote today coming home on the subway after these described events occured. The square spoken of is Yonge and Dundas Square here in Toronto. I was killing time before an appointment. I present to you Killing Time (Time Genocide):
I took the subway to the square.
Shuffling through the CDs on the rack,
At the shopping center there.
The Beatles (The White Album) - $39
I don't think so.
I sat on a chair by a table killing time.
There was construction making noise.
I sat there - time genocide.
A woman tries to sell me on an event:
"God is going to show his power...
It's about Jesus."
A man loitering mumbles something about sardines.
And I can't see a single tree.
I present a short poem written while distracted in class.
The sun was shining
Shining and the sky was blue
I was walking down the street
And the sun illuminated me and you
Things were looking up
And I had great things to do
Until those damn rainclouds ruined our view
This story was a product of a writing excercise in which a friend gave me the concept of a wall of popcorn and a can of refried beans. It is quite absurd and it is entitled A Man Of Great Worth. Enjoy:
Orestia Jones is indeed a man of great worth.
One tiresome evening, after a long day of work in the lobby of the newly renovated Ballroom Dancing Boutique, he found himself strolling nonchalantly through a park on the way to is downtown apartment. He carefully notes the name on the sign written in a rich flowing, cursive script - The Promenado. Clearly this was not your everyday downtown park. This was a park for the rich bastards who were all surely members of the Waltz Society. These people's heads were so big that when you excused yourself at a gathering you could feel their monstrous heads pulsing even unto the very bathroom stalls. It was mental torment for a man of such great worth and integrity as Orestia.
At these thoughts the painful memories long held at bay returned and began to scrape the inside of his eyeballs with dental tools. Staggering towards the sign, Orestia regained his composure and pressed on. Pulling out his cellphone he fired up the new version of Asteroids which he had downloaded earlier that morning. Instead of being a normal arcade-style version, however, Orestia Jones had the Heads patch, wherein one shot at the ever-present disembodied heads of various political and cultural figures. He liked the game, and it helped him pass his time at work.
As soon as he had passed the fifth stage of the Intergalactic Rock Artists level he became aware of a growing whiteness surrounding him. Unfortunately for our hero, the game lacked pause functionality. Usability experts and four year old children agree that this is a very valuable function in any game, regardless of age, class or ethnic origin of the player. Verily, by the time Orestia passed the sixth stage, he was forced to raise his brow to the impending whiteness.
Looking around he observed that he had been surrounded a malicious ring of popcorn. Panicking, Orestia ran around the circle looking for an escape, but there was none. He frantically clawed at the walls. The popcorn held together, but it was unclear if it was due to some sophisticated spell or super-glue. Suddenly he returned to what he thought was his original position and found two simple items on the ground - a bottle of water and a can of refried beans.
In a daze Orestia stooped to the ground, picked up the water and drank it in one long but steady gulp. Suddenly he felt very hungry, but, as a child, refried beans had always danced in his stomach causing much agony. Sliding down against the impenetrable wall of popcorn that had descended upon him Orestia passed into sleep and uneasy, hellish dreams.
When he awoke, he half expected to be lying in his own bed with his cat purring beside him. It was not to be. The popcorn remained. In a fit of rage he picked up the loathsome can of beans and threw it against the wall. Bouncing back it hit the pavement hard. An ooze of bean juices began to dribble out. Picking up the can he hit it against the ground a few more times until the top was effectively removed. Orestia looked at the plastic bottle in his hand and a plan began to form in his mind.
Gathering up the beans that had splattered by his feet he placed them back in the can. In his pocket he carried a pack of teeth-whitening gum, which was very handy in a tight spot. Masticating it into viscosity, he removed it from his mouth and placed it on the lid of the water bottle and as such he attached the can of beans to it. Positioning himself close to one of the walls he pointed the can up and slightly outwards. Orestia put both hands on the bottle and began to twist and compress the thin plastic until the pressure prevented any further size reduction.
If you had not already guessed, our fiendishly clever friend was creating a flare of sorts. Indeed, it was the Refried Bean Flare, long after remembered in song. Orestia braced his feet, squeezed the bottle, slightly twisted the lid and the enormous pressure shot the can up in the air and clear over the popcorn wall. Fireworks of beans blossomed in the sky and Orestia was well pleased.
Within minutes, a police airlift squad had rescued Orestia Jones. After much small talk and some disturbing stories about the effect of beans on the digestive system, our hero found himself snug in his bed awaiting whatever tomorrow would bring.
I wrote this poem, Snowy Glades, last night while looking out at the snow covered city. Although my inspiration was urban I seem to have moved towards a natural experience in this short piece.
The moonlight holds me
Under the fading stars
Shadows of a memory
The wind pricks my face
A thosand thorns inducing
The trees answer in muted agony
Under the weighed down branches
In snowy glades, I walk
Memories of a shadow
As can be seen at the top of the page I now have a writing sub-category of the site. This will house anything that I write and that I feel is worthy for public viewing. In addition, I intend it to be a bit of a directory for myself. As of now I have two poems which I have previously published on here - Away on the Lake and Thought Sailing and an essay I wrote for school concerning J.R.R. Tolkien's definition and representation of evil and how it relates to religion and the destruction of evil. The essay could do with some revising, but it is still good in its current state. If you don't want to know the ending of Lord Of the Rings I would suggest you don't read my essay. Enjoy.
OK, I'll break out of my norm here for a bit and post another poem I wrote. I wrote another one a while back called Away On the Lake. Those who have read it so far say it's a little confusing, but it makes sense to me. It's called Thought Sailing.
Look into my eyes.
Look far into their depths and see,
A storm of thought,
Raging over the midnight sea.
Look deeper now,
Deeper into the abyss.
There is a ship on the horizon,
Tossed on the tumultuous breeze.
Look into the ship.
There is a man, silent,
In slow meticulous thought,
Paying no heed to the rain beating down.
Lightning strikes the mast,
Searing the hull in two.
The man sits still,
Regardless of the ever-rising darkness.
Your eyes flinch,
And the man raises his head towards you,
A ray of everlasting light, blinds his keen sight.
But pride gets in the way of aid.
Thunder growls and he lowers his brow.
Sinking, ever sinking into doubt.
No-one can help him now.
Sternly he sinks into his inner dark sea.
Look deeper now!
Your eyes start to water, or is it a tear?
And from within, a brilliant light issues forth,
Battling the enduring storm.
As his head starts to sink,
He catches your light, despite his pride.
This time, his gaze holds firm,
Enduring both death and hope.
Out of the cold dark water,
His majestic body is raised.
A shaft of light pierces from your loving gaze.
Looking back, he holds his head high.
A warm breeze is kindled,
Far out of sight.
The suffocating clouds are whisked away.
The sea becomes calm and clear.
Now I look deep into your eyes,
And try to hide my tears.
My sea is now at peace,
Light dazzles, golden, silver and blue.
Let's go sailing.
This is a poem I wrote for English class. I think it's good enough to share. It is called Away On The Lake.
Sitting in the busy city lights alone,
When life is dragging and limping along,
I hear nothing but melancholy chords.
I dream about the last time and I think,
If only I could simply get away,
Away into the vastness of the wild,
the air, the space, the water open now.
I dearly wish I could do that today,
Today I would get up and fly away,
But wishing cannot take me from this life.
You get enveloped in the busy life,
Too much happens to get away from it.
Often I think of letting go today,
Step, jump away to save my sanity.
Luckily, there are times to get away.
The serene pristine scene of nature calms
the body and the soul. Paddling on the
Water gives you control over your life,
And leads you through peaceful passes unknown.
The smooth surface of the mirror-lake breaks,
As you glide on with ease, like a cloud blown
Ever so softly on the chill night breeze.
To paddle on a lake at sunset is
Like traveling to meet a place of peace
So deep. A sleep of beauty is unleashed
To set upon your mind like a mist of
Heaven on earth. It helps you escape from
Life, promises, and work. After a day's
Paddle you rest by the fireside at camp.
Sparks twist and turn with great fury in the air,
dancing and painting in the dark night sky.
The art of nature is now close at hand.
The waves lap the shore and the fire crackles.
This is the time for thought and peace. Yet not
Forever will I stay, paddling the day
And thinking away. Since Forever is
Quite a long time for nothing, yet something.
In time, I return to life, often too
soon, or too late for my contrary taste.
Escape is beautiful, calm and new, but
One needs something to escape from, or to.
