tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80781702024-03-09T11:24:35.396-07:00RebelWriteRantRhyme"I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen..."LloydDobblerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09104339759056809703noreply@blogger.comBlogger679125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-59580390185536278512013-02-13T20:29:00.001-07:002013-02-13T20:29:12.019-07:00A Valentine <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not much of a rhyme</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it’ll have to do</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cuz here is the “why”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For all my “I love you”s</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For not yelling at me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I’m drying my hair</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While you’re trying to sleep -</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- a dragon in his lair</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For thinking of me </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And laughing real hard</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When to China
you sent</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Farts in a card</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For always being on top</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(When we hold hands)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not making a face</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At my silly ring demands</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taught me to shoot a gun,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Say a knife I should carry</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just in case…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things ever get hairy</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On my fingers and toes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And strands of my hair</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t even count</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The times you’ve said “I love you”<br />
(wait that one didn’t rhyme)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t bite my finger</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I stick it in your nose</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And at the gym we make fun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of all those silly frat bros</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you talk like a Russian</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I get such a giggle</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And when the spider beard attacks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You must try not to wiggle!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Give me hugs give me love</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You have all of my heart</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This path that we’ve taken</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Was right from the start</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(except when I broke up with you a month into the thing and
you were rude to me and then we got back together but you still hold it over my
head that I could’ve missed out on all this)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Life is life”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This much is true</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it’s so much more fun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I live it with you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve got my cake. And a side of cookies. And maybe some
cupcakes too.</div>
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770211187628312602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-56518702607355500242012-05-10T20:38:00.004-06:002012-05-10T20:38:48.807-06:00Forbidden PrayersThe texture of the cherry wood pew comforts me as I begin to think of life and you dear brother. Red candle holders make me feel at ease as I begin to take out my Bible. My knees ache and crack as I try to kneel and bow my head. Trying to forgive you Tiger Woods is like playing games with the devil.
There is little hope for you. You are stuck in denial; knee deep in unconformities and sin. I will pray for you. I sit, I stand, and I kneel for your healing and saving. My eyes draw shut for my prayer in a foreign tongue, and I praise God for the saving of your soul. But, I am afraid that you cannot be save my dear Tiger. You are not a child of God.
As I walk gracefully down the aisle to light a candle for your condemned soul, soft whispers penetrate my ears like jack-hammers. “Is that you Lord,” “Yes my child,” the manly voice of Morgan Freeman whispers back. I am at ease when hearing his voice, the rise and fall of his breath brings peace to my mind.
He tells me to pray for you, to light one hundred candles for you, but I seem to have forgotten my matches, oh and my lighter. Do I really want to see you in Heaven? Do I want to witness to you, you lost forgotten soul? After what you have done dear brother I do not know if I am even allowed to pray for you. Oh, but I must…
Would you rather spend eternity in Satan’s circus, yes I think you would. Do not kid yourself, there are no peanuts and cotton candy there. Clowns shoot poison out of their breast flowers Tiger. The devil will fool you, you know. He will become your friend in eternal damnation. Brother I am telling you to repent, to ask for forgiveness.
Your sin of choice rips thoughts of you through my energetic brain, you being gnawed to death in hell, and then being brought back to clean up your mess. Unforgiven souls of lust are sent to Satan’s circus. Wind will blow with hurricane forces to destroy you, the waves of dense sin will taunt your appendages like bitter wind in winter. Those poor women dear brother; did you not think your past would win this race? Dear Tiger of mine you will never finish first.
The deep canyon like voice whispers again to me, “My child, you shall not pray for this lost soul. I will take care of my fellow black man.” I want to respond to this voice, I want Morgan’s autograph; but I must listen to my Father, and I must obey his commands. I have been forbidden to pray for you my brother. The Lord does not welcome you into his Kingdom. I will go to hell for praying for you.
I pray for you Tiger. As I kneel for the last time, Morgan lights a smoke and blows a black cloud of disappointment in Tigers face, and my dear brother slowly descends into Satan’s circus…he gets to clean elephant butts.sistermaryclarencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085507568623128207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-40035190917295612372011-09-17T18:29:00.000-06:002011-09-17T18:29:58.528-06:00我想念你<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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To begin with a cliché or two.....<br />
I miss you so much that it physically hurts.<br />
Being here without you is like living without a limb. or two.<br />
I miss your smile. and your touch. and your stupid mustache.<br />
I keep watching movies about finding love and losing love and the journey in-between that I wish we'd watch together and that makes me miss you all over again and even more.<br />
But that doesn't quite do it justice.<br />
No, what I really feel is much different from what people have felt and said before....<br />
I miss you the way Mrs. Clause must miss Mr. Clause on Christmas Eve when he's gone all night.<br />
If a zebra woke up one day and discovered that it had no stripes....that's what it feels like to go to bed without you.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I ache for you in the way that a painter with stage 3 Parkinson’s aches to create just one more masterpiece.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My bedroom floor is empty without your socks. and no matter how my day goes, when I hold that t-shirt close and breathe you in…..i cry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If Adam hadn’t eaten that apple…..well I miss you more than he would’ve missed Eve.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes words fail me and the blunt truth of it is: I want to learn how to play the guitar so that I can play for you and I’m horribly unavoidably unexplainably terrified that you’ll tire of this waiting game and most days I’m not even quite sure why I walked through that airport and onto that plane in the first place. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because you’re not with me and that feels like a frog that can’t jump, a universe with no stars, books without pages, pillows with no feathers, a pen that won’t write, french fries that aren’t crispy, a snowflake that won’t melt. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s no substitution for you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">& I miss you.</div>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770211187628312602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-67678910168707244602011-09-06T11:27:00.004-06:002011-09-06T11:43:19.304-06:00What I Remember Of A Political Struggle<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:36.0pt"><span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:36.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">It happened quite quickly. I knew what had happened as soon as it had. It happened in the afternoon. As commuters got on and off the bus at 1<sup>st </sup>and Main I silently bled beneath my suit jacket. The bus doors folded shut. I went reaching into darkness for salvation, a pole, a goddamned pole to hoist myself up. I eventually stood welcoming back my vision. I pulled myself out of the void and back into a lifetime of daytime television. Two more stops and I’ll be okay. I’ll be back on my way.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>As I stood there clinging with white knuckles onto the strap hanging from the ceiling I was overwhelmed with a sensation burden. Blood was seeping out of me and being absorbed in the woollen weave of my slacks. Light grey stained brown on an otherwise dull bus ride. I felt little pain from the wound. I merely felt my slacks getting heavier as they hung over my left leg.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>We got to 1<sup>st</sup> and Broadway. One more stop I thought to myself—fooling myself into believing I would make it. The commuters rushed about me in a blur, the bus doors folded back over the lights of escape. I looked out the windows, down at the girls passing by. They were in tight short skirts that made their hips move steadily like swells of the sea. One girl in a skirt had skin the colour of cardboard. She had short black hair that rode lightly above her ears. She had large pink hoop earrings. Time stood still as she walked past, grinning to her friend as if they both knew the agony of vile men. Time marched forward so did the girls and so did the bus. Like a whistle in the night; they were gone but echoed down the street.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I leaned against the pole. Commuters began giving me a strange looks, I must have been wearing quite a strange look myself but I have no way of knowing because I was lost. Lost in a de-railing train of thought. It was as though as my injury grew worse and worse, my thoughts became more frantic and desperate. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I recalled the mornings and afternoons spent drunk, yelling at passersby from my front porch; shotgun in tow. Then I saw before me the heroes, the commuters on that afternoon downtown Dash A bus. Naturally, I recalled the winters I spent in snow-filled valleys with snowdrifts as tall as a combine harvester. I recall looking down at my feet, thinking about whether or not I could march into forever with bare feet—they certainly have not let me do it in this temporary place. I for the final 30 seconds of my journey I thought about whether or not I should feel bad about all my dubious activities over the years.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I recall many things I did in my younger years I regret and am still embarrassed about. I look back at all the people that welcomed me into their lives only for me to burn the bridge as quickly as possible. I recalled my drunken, desperate, ineffective sexual advances at women. The things I could have learnt by sitting back. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>If I had sat back, I wouldn’t be summoned to court like this today to defend the people of LA County. The bus arrived at my stop. The doors of escape folded open, the brisk October air rushed into the cabin of the bus. I slowly felt my way to the hatch. I burst through with all the force of my shoulder. I turned to face the courthouse. I took seven steps. I collapsed spurting blood from my mouth, hyperventilating, kicking like a sheep being torn from the clutches of existence by wolves. As lay there reaching into the void once again for a goddamn pole. Life, death, the bus, and the girls on 1<sup>st</sup> marched into the Los Angeles Afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">~First Draft.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Love,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Digress.</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-2430353739313148932011-09-02T20:10:00.001-06:002011-09-02T20:10:53.714-06:00The Pleasures of CoffeeProduce, meat, and dairy,
<br />rows and rows of nutriment,
<br />meals the housewife is planning
<br />planning to make her husband,
<br />preparation for her husband’s death.
<br />She meanders down each isle,
<br />smiling and plotting.
<br />Coffee is the last thing on her list.
<br />
<br />Here comes the tornado,
<br />destruction on his mind.
<br />He’s ready to bulldoze
<br />through her clean,
<br />perfect home.
<br />Her smile, it’s a fake.
<br />She’s certainly grinding her teeth
<br />dissolving grit into bone dust.
<br />Her brain sending voltage flashes of the image of his death;
<br />his long, awaited death.
<br />The housewife’s plan is simple,
<br />death by accident…
<br />
<br />There is coffee brewing
<br />with that fragrant aroma
<br />filling the dense air with vengeful toxin.
<br />Water falling upon the grounds,
<br />filtering
<br />trickling
<br />down into that glass harbor,
<br />waves of certain death.
<br />She pours her husband a simple cup of coffee
<br />black,
<br />two sugars,
<br />extra arsenic, for extra measure of course,
<br />the poison hit the blackness as bombs on Hiroshima
<br />death is certain.
<br />The housewife prances to her husband,
<br />dear,
<br />sweet,
<br />husband of hers.
<br />She walks on water,
<br />floating toward the kitchen
<br />ready to start breakfast.
<br />In the background the coffee cup,
<br />it hits the floor.
<br />I will be sure to clean that up.
<br />
<br />
<br />sistermaryclarencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085507568623128207noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-80788330486721131922011-08-24T19:22:00.001-06:002011-08-24T19:22:52.401-06:00As Twilight RendersLush blueberries ripe
<br />ready to be devoured,
<br />blue as the coast line.
<br />
<br />Tumbled fire drifts
<br />piles of color ready
<br />splashing leaves in flight.
<br />
<br />Stinging winter chill,
<br />never ending, howling wind,
<br />sunny days ahead.
<br />
<br />The measure of spring
<br />migrating salmon welcome,
<br />spring has come again.
<br />
<br />A symphony jolts,
<br />water covers endless sand,
<br />footprints disappear.
<br />sistermaryclarencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00085507568623128207noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-58012323572823031942011-07-09T07:33:00.000-06:002011-07-09T07:33:34.384-06:00zhega maFrom loneliness you learn how to be alone<br />
From laughter you learn how to smile<br />
From the poor you learn how to give<br />
and from children you learn how to grow<br />
<br />
The time has come, sir wiggles said,<br />
to talk of many things -<br />
of tears and noise and rhythm bands,<br />
of why the shower sings,<br />
and how does hope expand itself<br />
and lusting after rings<br />
<br />
To the lips belong the sounding board<br />
to the eyes belong imagined things<br />
and to hands belong the mysteries<br />
that brought you here and now<br />
shaping, dreaming, always weaving on the loom<br />
for hands, you see, are intimate<br />
and contain more than this room<br />
<br />
choose blue for his eyes and a mustache to frame<br />
choose yellow for the shirt and her giggle kept in a jar<br />
choose sand to walk on and green grass for naps<br />
choose hearts that beat and need and hurt <br />
take nothing more than you'll give back<br />
<br />
you ask for a connection, between these wand'ring musings<br />
"there's no more here than betwixt scallywags and kings!"<br />
you'd cry<br />
but i do quite wonder,<br />
were you to relax your white-knuckled grip on that imagination you bridle<br />
couldn't we, kind madam, dear sir, be slightly more than similar?Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770211187628312602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-64282593712953488912011-02-04T02:54:00.002-07:002011-02-04T02:58:09.586-07:00Trying to come backAn exercise i tried before writing something new, turns out it was better than the piece i wrote:<br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> 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mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">Halfway hallucinating happiness on holidays,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hanging on hyperbole while holding for a better day,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hopelessly with happiness we hate the honest undertones,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hereditary homicide is flowing through my monotone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Infiltrate intangibles while understanding impotence.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Investigate insomnia while living in the present tense</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Indulgence interferes with independent after thoughts</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Implicit indications that my mind is clearly lost for thought</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Judgmental jealousy is justifying jubilants,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jeopardizing joy by the fact that it ignorant.</p>Sam Swahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651882982027355866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-52040474740669195252011-02-02T20:37:00.002-07:002011-02-02T21:08:05.871-07:00Tomorrow comes againThis morning I was watching the sun rise and preparing to change lives<br />red and white lights flashed by and my ears were assaulted with a waaaailing<br />being emotionally raw I felt<br />consumed<br />with the tragedy that a fellow daughter, lover, believer, or brother, had just encountered<br />and I realized that I had been shockingly <em>numb</em><br />to the human condition<br /><br />how many times do ambulances annoy us as they scream by<br /><br />how many prayers do we forget to whisper<br /><br />how many breaths are taken without appreciation<br /><br />how often do we neglect comforting the fathers and husbands and sons left behind<br /><br />how do we survive without living<br /><br />I'm going to remember to love believe fight cry forgive pray sing try learn venture promise laugh need decide kiss change dare escape move expect run dance fall demand want give play...<br />because that ambulance could be coming for me<br />nextTheresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770211187628312602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-48552637568983350842011-01-27T11:33:00.001-07:002011-01-27T11:33:53.479-07:00This HouseThis house is empty and echoes remainLloydDobblerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09104339759056809703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-33958038627229064842011-01-08T15:38:00.002-07:002011-01-08T16:05:29.193-07:00unpluggedIt snuck up on me,<br />that lyrical twisting and entwining and somersaulting<br />Suddenly it was poetic<br />and I admit, abashedly, that I was not thinking about your lips<br />for a moment<br />I was forming rhymes and thinking in another language<br />I was seeing wildflowers and exploring treehouses and wondering<br />at the beauty<br />of a honey bee<br />you stole away my fear (took it from my slippery sweating palms and hid it away I mean)<br />and exchanged my breath for imaginings of...of...well<br />I guess these things have no words to them<br />except<br />the simplest of language, as in<br />the THU-DUNK THU-DUNK of a heart (anybody who's ever felt it knows it's more than a THUD)<br />or a tingling toe<br />or the gaaaaaasp of escaping oxygen the moment before audible laughter begins<br />or a flight of butterflies as they migrate<br />s<br />o<br />u<br />t<br />hTheresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770211187628312602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-64496844011789869332010-12-05T00:17:00.005-07:002010-12-24T19:14:27.338-07:00Entitled<div><br /></div>Nobody really knows<div>The pain she feels when she goes to bed</div><div>The things we see when it's all in our heads</div><div>But I know</div><div>I know</div><div>I know.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's just too much going on</div><div>And there're so many people to please</div><div>She thinks she'll just hang around some more</div><div>I've got to go</div><div>to go</div><div>to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>She calls on me in the darkest of nights</div><div>The shadows cast keep the memories alive</div><div>There are so many secrets I could tell</div><div>But I won't</div><div>And I won't</div><div>And I won't.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Take what I need for my disease</div><div>And tomorrow I'll be back again</div><div>This is the life she knows I regret</div><div>But I can't</div><div>I can't</div><div>I can't</div><div>Turn back</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Note, Letter, Smoke Signals, Text, Email, Tweet, or Myspace Message; Phone A Friend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bullocks,</div><div>Digress.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-89068300918423533822010-11-18T09:08:00.006-07:002011-01-18T17:20:33.404-07:00Chasing Women<div><br /></div>Sweet birdy,<div>"Can I call you?"</div><div>"Yes but not now, I'm still finishing a pint"</div><div><br /></div><div>she calls anyway</div><div>"Listen, I'm still at the pub, let me ring you back in five."</div><div><br /></div><div>20 minutes later</div><div>I arrive home.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hi birdy. How are you?"</div><div>She hammers on about her ex-boyfriend</div><div>The things he's been doing</div><div>Asks my advice.</div><div>I don't want to hear it</div><div>I don't want to give any.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Listen, I'm going to throw up. </div><div>I'll text you in the morning."</div><div><br /></div><div>I climb the stairs</div><div>Place my head in the bowl</div><div>and release.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wake up fully clothed</div><div>Feeling a little too much </div><div>Like Bukowski.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Just a dood.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div><div><br /></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-35802459003283326502010-11-03T09:47:00.005-06:002010-11-04T10:02:25.253-06:00Night of Nights Day of Days<div><br /></div>Another sunset on this city,<div>Your memory melts</div><div>Into overexposed evenings</div><div>Spent drowning in gin</div><div>But Every time you walk</div><div>Through that doorway</div><div>I cannot help but see yesterdays</div><div>Breaking like restless dawns</div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow is a shadow</div><div>This city is a tornado</div><div>The horizon is hopeless</div><div>Mirrors reflect hell</div><div>Memory recognises nothing</div><div>I awake from a nightmare</div><div>With two options</div><div>Stay or go</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Will this turn sweet?</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div><div><br /></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-4572849772075032772010-10-14T10:15:00.001-06:002010-10-14T10:15:18.502-06:00This Is CausticI have faith<div>That this is something I will never recover</div><div><br /></div><div>I have acted haphazardly</div><div>An inane lumberjack</div><div>chopping down</div><div>A forest of friendship</div><div><br /></div><div>I look back</div><div>On a landscape of stumps</div><div>And destroyed habitats</div><div><br /></div><div>This is who I really am.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~My shadow refuses to follow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-35186477663590047252010-10-02T20:52:00.005-06:002010-10-02T21:11:51.768-06:00Petite Le Mans<div><br /></div>Dead<div>On the back straight</div><div>Two turns left.</div><div><br /></div><div>Running on fumes the last</div><div>10 laps.</div><div><br /></div><div>An upset title</div><div>In the fingertips</div><div><br /></div><div>And like the afternoon</div><div>Of yesterday</div><div>Victory and</div><div>The last drip </div><div>Drops of petrol</div><div>Burn away</div><div><br /></div><div>Leaving only headlamps</div><div>And the</div><div>Roar of the others</div><div>Piercing the</div><div>Autumn evening.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~ Sad to see you say good bye like that 430. Hello 458.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-17740561579359334952010-09-24T14:58:00.013-06:002011-07-05T22:03:49.249-06:00I Once Loved Woman<div><br /></div><div>She reaches</div><div>Across the bar and</div><div>Grabs both my arms,</div>"Even if she left you,"<div>she said,</div><div>"I can tell that deep down you're </div><div>a good guy."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Ha!" I reply,</div><div>"Deep down</div><div>I'm a Dirty</div><div>Old</div><div>Man</div><div>Enticing you to whisper </div><div>What you never thought was possible</div><div>Deep down I'm only here</div><div>To make you fall for me</div><div>Then kick you whilst you're down, </div><div>Deep down I'm as cold as</div><div>The bottom of the ocean</div><div>Waiting for the shipwrecked </div><div>Bodies to sink</div><div>I am the callous wind </div><div>Howling through </div><div>The telephone wires carrying your message</div><div>I am a tearful good-bye; I am</div><div>The whispers of yesterday's news</div><div>Breaking the bonds of tomorrow</div><div>Deep down I am a broken heart</div><div>Dragged</div><div>Through the shards of a</div><div>Chalice's promise.</div><div><br /></div><div>Deep down</div><div><br /></div><div>No.</div><div>I am not</div><div>A good man."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Look, No Hands</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-5359779226259955212010-09-18T15:08:00.006-06:002010-09-18T15:24:05.244-06:00Climactic.<div><br /></div>It was the next day that it began appearing in the sink. Each time I turned the taps to the faucet, the water would run normally. I doused my hands. I washed my hands. I closed the taps. Each time, I'd look down into the porcelain bowl and there it was. It had the texture of mucus, with the exception of yellow, the colours were never the same. Strands of green and white, blue and orange, red and brown. It was like mutant Aquafresh. Each time after shutting off the taps, it would linger, stare back at me. I lost my patients with it, turned the taps back on and washed it down the drain. It only appeared those two days. It hasn't been back.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Living Alone, Lonely, Far Too Long.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kjærlighet,</div><div><br /></div><div>Digress.</div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-42189943652614424482010-09-08T10:28:00.003-06:002010-09-08T14:41:49.492-06:00Rough Year.<div><br /></div>24 hour news television,<div>Firearms,<div>Cookie dough, and</div><div>Brandy;</div><div>The only things to eat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her broken wings</div><div>Chained her to the ground.</div><div>I gave her time to heal</div><div>And she flew away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet bird.</div><div>Fly south.</div><div><br /></div><div>Good-bye.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~There's got to be an app for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kjærlighet,</div><div>Digress.</div><div><br /></div></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-69816668519996557982010-09-02T22:34:00.004-06:002010-09-02T22:37:32.620-06:00Sweet Talker.<div><br /></div>A million smiles painted <div>On the ceiling of a night sky.<div><br /></div></div><div>A wink carried </div><div>On the breath of the forest.</div><div><br /></div><div>A kiss in the darkness.</div><div><br /></div><div>A glimmer in your eye.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is affection.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Now everybody knows.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-4540743361779980662010-08-29T20:07:00.004-06:002010-09-04T01:10:33.869-06:00Favorite beverage: waterI've found a new muse in you<br />I collect all my broken pieces and you tape them together<br />this first re-attempt will rightly be messy<br />jagged around the edges and slightly sharp at the corners<br /><br />and beautiful<br /><br />I'm<br />seeing<br />me next to you.it's bright like summer strawberries<br />I'll wake you up with kisses every morning<br />make you blueberry pancakes and stare into those bright blues<br />you have a special talent to stir up those butterflies in my tummy<br /><br />This is redvelvetcakeicecream walking through a harbor town<br />it's favoritecolorblues and slaphappyhangovers<br />it's sharingcrutons and grumblybear look-a-likes<br /><br />If this isn't love...<br />I never want to know what love isTheresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770211187628312602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-53000962023913611162010-08-22T11:48:00.007-06:002010-09-01T08:54:06.367-06:00I am.<div><br /></div><div>Like stained glass shards<div>Filling this tumbler.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like the broken bones</div><div>Protruding from my legs.</div><div><br /></div><div>A cricket calling in the infernal night,</div><div>A cicada calling in the futile daylight.</div><div><br /></div><div>The slow steady walk</div><div>Of respect disappearing.</div><div><br /></div><div>A bardiche </div><div>In the hands of a silhouette.</div><div><br /></div><div>My memory ashamed</div><div>The ghosts of yesterday creep through the window.</div><div><br /></div><div>Your name floats</div><div>On a turbulent ocean.</div><div><br /></div><div>I put a shipment of kisses and apologies</div><div>Onto a paper boat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like an afternoon saying good bye</div><div>That boat sails out of the estuary.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>~Adoration of a ghost.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-41561737898122350332010-08-15T10:32:00.001-06:002010-08-17T18:07:49.701-06:00Beware the Ides of Augustus.The Ides of August.<div><br /><div>A parade of armour.</div><div><br /></div><div>My death on the tip of the xyston;</div><div>My blood drips love letters</div><div>Onto ivory papers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Notes stuffed inside of glass envelopes,</div><div>Deliver themselves</div><div>On the whispers of the wind.</div><div><br /></div><div>The gales push against your window</div><div>Eyes press against your body</div><div>A look of contempt from across the universe.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Nova agrees then bursts;</div><div>A thousand shards of agony</div><div>Stretching from the Fornax Dwarf to the bottom of this bottle.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the flag stops wavering</div><div>In the turbulence of your love</div><div>I'll put the cap back on.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>~The Grand Tour.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div><div><br /></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-32488393225103073662010-08-04T22:32:00.003-06:002010-08-04T22:49:51.621-06:00Something About YouStanding at a fountain in Reykjavik<div>Making a wish out of</div><div>Clowns, mud,</div><div>And grass stains.</div><div><div><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><div>I will pay the debt of Prometheus.</div><div>Only then will I be absolved.</div><div><br /></div><div>~Pay a penance for piety.</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div>Digress.</div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8078170.post-46324656852333963762010-07-31T22:25:00.009-06:002010-08-01T13:43:11.757-06:00Stretching Yesterday's News.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fish swim through broken glass</span><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">W</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">ounds bleed laconically,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I will plough through the reeds</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Hearts will melt in my hands</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Afternoon suns will die in my eyes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> And w</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">e will wait for-ever</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">~Disappointed in your behaviour.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Love,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Digress.</span></div>Іванченкоhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04901932451212171271noreply@blogger.com0