New Poem: Leap Day, 2012

I have no idea what sparked this poem, but I thought I'd share it with my blog readers before I decide I hate it and wipe it out of existence completely.  Also, I apologize for my lack of posts recently.  The long Memorial Day weekend, coupled with a lack of motivation/inspiration is entirely to blame.  Hopefully I snap out of it soon.

Leap Day, 2012

At an internet café in New York City,

Insomnia has sunk its teeth into the big apple.

Under a domestic paw a mouse wriggles,

Attempting to break free and scurry back

To his home, alone, inside the walls.

Computer screens, like cat eyes, peer from

The darkest corner into the sleeping world.

A symphony of sirens pulsates through

The bleeding night; the long cry of a dying animal

Comes limping and twitches on the ear

In numerous glowing nocturnes.

A middle-aged man chasing down blocks of text

On an online dating site, reads,

‘Five foot five, well-educated, with a love of dogs’

And slumps back into his ergonomic chair

On this, the last leg of his only life.

New Poem: Reduced to Ash

I got the idea for this poem last week and started writing it at work today.  It was inspired by my mother.  She would often fall asleep with a cigarette in her hand and my dad would yell that she was going to burn the house down.  She never did.

Reduced to Ash

Slowly reducing to ash, she often held

A cigarette with the slightest tension,

The way a life is held, an extension

Of herself, a sixth finger that expelled

An endless run of smoke into the evening

Air.  Drifting off to sleep, her heavy hand

Would scorch the carpet’s tone of lightly tanned

Skin and leave smoldering holes, the yawning

Blackness before a dream in which desire

Manifests.  Her vision, a glowing coil

On which she’d rest her hand without recoil,

Would end when tracing smoke back to the fire,

She’d wake to the hiss of the hot stove still fresh

In her ears, and the smell of burning flesh.

Kickin' it Old School

Last night I decided to compile a playlist of my favorite songs from the 80's, 90's, and early 00's.  Not sure what possessed me to do this, maybe I'm just missing my youth.  These songs bring back so many fond memories.  One in particular comes to mind.  The year was 1994 (or 95, not really sure).  I was in group therapy with my sisters and a bunch of other "troublesome youth".  Side-note, as children, my sisters and I had an issue with profanity.  When the group leaders took everyone outside for group activities I stayed behind and went rooting through another kid's book bag (apparently I also had an issue with others personal property).  I'm not sure what I was expecting to find or why I was doing it, but I did it nonetheless.  What I found was a cassette player with an unmarked cassette in it.  I threw the headphones on, hit play and heard Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit for the first time.  And thus began my love affair with music.

Anyway, here is my playlist so far.  If you think of any good songs to add feel free to leave a comment!

Barenaked Ladies - One Week
Cake - Love You Madly
Harvey Danger - Flagpole Sitta
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts - Bad Reputation
Radiohead - Creep
Third Eye Blind - Semi-Charmed Life
Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
Hole - Doll Parts
Violent Femmes - Blister in the Sun
Built to Spill - Else
Coldplay - Yellow
Neutral Milk Hotel - Ghost
Blink 182 - The Rock Show
The Ramones - I Wanna Be Sedated
Beck - Loser
The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony
Blind Mellon - No Rain
Blur - Song 2
Queen - Under Pressure
Beastie Boys - No Sleep Till Brooklyn

On Tap: Bananarama

Welcome to another edition of On Tap!  Today, I thought I'd start out by sharing some famous quotes about that magical elixir we all love, beer.

"Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza."
-Dave Barry

"Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

-Benjamin Franklin

"We old folks have to find our cushions and pillows in our tankards. Strong beer is the milk of the old."
-Martin Luther

"You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on."
-Dean Martin

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."
-Frank Sinatra

Okay, okay enough of that, on to this week's winners and losers.  The first loser of the week was Southern Tier Brewing Company's Pale Wheat Ale.  It's not that this beer was all that bad, it just wasn't all that good either. Their website says it has hints of citrus and a "grassy" flavor.  I couldn't really find the citrus, but I definitely tasted the grassy flavor; it had a slight bitterness that I didn't care for.

The next beer of the week was Unibroue's Blanche de Chambly.  I had been trying for weeks to get my hands on this beer and last week I finally did.  I'm not sure if I'm ready to declare this beer a winner yet, but it definitely grew on me with every sip.  I would describe it as the champagne of beers.  It was extremely bubbly and tasted very much like champagne, though at only 5% ABV, this one won't have you making stupid decisions quite so quickly.

The final beer of the week, and the only clear winner, was Wells Banana Bread Beer.  When I read the label I knew I had to try it, it just sounded so interesting!  Let me preface my opinion by saying that I don't ordinarily care for banana flavored things, I feel they can be a bit sickening.  That was not the case with this beer.  It tasted like a slightly under-ripe banana.  It was clean and crisp and not at all heavy (if that makes any sense).  This is definitely one I'd have again, if I can find it.

Well, that's all for this week.  Stay thirsty my friends!

New Poem: At the Grave of a Loved One

Of the traditional forms, my favorite has got to be sonnets.  There is just something about them that I find captivating and inherently beautiful.  I had the idea for this poem yesterday evening and wrote it during the course of the day today.  It was inspired by the photograph below, which I took some weeks back. 

At the Grave of a Loved One

Six feet above you looking down, I came

Upon fake flowers from a nearby grave,

And being all alone and desperate gave

Them a home in the ground before your name.

The plastic petals, always in their prime,

Won’t attract the florists rumored to prospect

The graveyard at night in order to collect

The cheap inventory of a lifetime.

Neither birds nor bees will frequent these flowers

That bear not the sustenance of seeds or

Nectar, sweet and glistening at their core¹.

They yield a tasteless tea if steeped for hours.

Indeed, those that do not wilt in the sun,

These flowers, are worthless to everyone.

¹Reference to a poem by May Swenson called, Four-Word Lines.

New Poem: Snows of Kilimanjaro

Work is pretty slow right now which is great because it allows me a lot of free time to do some writing.  I wrote this poem over the course of the day.  It was inspired by a number of things.  The title is the same as a short story by Ernest Hemingway.  I've also read a number of articles on and seen pictures of the disappearing ice caps of Mt. Kilimanjaro.  It's definitely a place I would like to see someday.  For now, however, I'll settle for the pictures and stories of others.  Enjoy!

Snows of Kilimanjaro

Half asleep in the small town of Moshi
At the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro.
My head, once dormant, shifts like a glacier
Into the valley between two pillows.
I lie within the either/or, a
Pale tourist on vacation passing
Through the local shops of
Strangely familiar faces, the
Vague recounts and recollections that
Exist between two nonexistent dreams.
Down the streets of my hometown,
The natives’ stoic, disembodied
Faces come creeping out
Of their tiny huts that populate
The foot of caravan hill,
Come creeping out and dot
The landscape of my inner thoughts.
I don’t understand how they can live
Under constant threat of being buried
Beneath a wall of liquid rock.
I myself will be miles away when it erupts
Again, two thousand years from now,
As if shivered awake from a dream,
Ash pouring from the sky like snow,
Anointing the godless land,
Cinders kissing with a hissful whisper
The cold ruins of dead memories.

Perfection

For those of you who don't know, I am sort of a perfectionist.  It can be both a good and bad thing.  On the one hand, it's good to strive for perfection.  Nobody is perfect, especially on their first attempt.  Honing your skills will ultimately lead to improved results, no matter what the craft. On the other hand, being in a state of constant dissatisfaction with yourself is extremely stressful and can sometimes lead to depression.

My perfectionism is especially bad when it comes to my writing.  I want so desperately to be a great writer, for my words to evoke the kinds of beautiful daydreams I often have when reading the work of others.  Sometimes I'll get so worked up over my writing I'll bite my nails down to nothing and end up with a migraine.  To make matters worse, I can be a fairly impatient person who is easily discouraged.  This can lead to the mentality, "I need perfection and I need it NOW!"  What I need is to learn to take a breath and relax, realize that good writing takes time, and try to be confident that, eventually, the words will come.

On a related note, I have revised my poem, Wind-up Toys, for the third time now.  The third revision is not nearly as significant an overhaul as the second.  Basically, I just rearranged the second stanza a bit in an effort to make it "flow" better.  Check it out and let me know what you think.  Hopefully I haven't butchered it completely.