Poem That

I was walking down the street
When guess whom I should meet
My secret admiree's boyfriend
Who is goth, and there his description
Should end
But to continue the poem
Lest I should roam
And ignore what happened next

"I've read your blog, you stupid hog"
He angrily growled at me
His foul breath rushed past me
As he did say, "I understand your metaphors
And I think you're in trouble, for they work this way.
You want my girlfriend, I'm not giving her up,
You better run off, you sad pup."
He snorted and said "poem that"
I hit him square in the back with my hat
He came after me, and we had a scrap
I came off the winner, and I'm glad to poem that

I Don't Want To Be Me

I don't want to be me
It happens occasionly
When I stop to think blue thoughts
And cut them free
Why I'm I me?
Somebody else could play the part better
I'm just learning how to act
And I haven't learned my lines
Somebody else want to be me?
It would be a great service
It would set me free
And give me time to refine
My whole act

But the director and playwright
Says I'll be fine
And tells me to go on stage
No one can fill in
But I don't want to be me
Or that's what my blue thoughts
Tell me
But my sunshine ones
Disagree

On The History Of Monkeys or Attack Of The Hormone-Crazed Teenagers

Once upon a time two young monkeys were leaping through the jungle, when they came upon a fruit. They fought over it and knocked the fruit to the jungle floor, where it went "splat" and was ruined. A year passed and the monkeys were leaping through the jungle again, when the boy monkey noticed something about the other monkey; namely, she was a girl. They fought over the fruit, yadda yadda yadda, "splat", yadda yadda yadda. Another year passed, and the monkeys were, yet again, leaping through the jungle, and this time the boy monkey let his female friend take the fruit. She promptly took it and called him stupid, and he was ashamed. They went off through the jungle. Yet another Gregorian calendar year passed, and the monkeys were still doing their monkey business. But a change had occurred in the boy monkey; he was large, pimply and stinky. When the got to the fruit, the boy monkey picked it and handed it to the girl monkey. Then, after she finished eating the fruit, the boy monkey asked, to his confusion, for he didn't even know what it meant, "ooh ohh, ahhaha k." Which in monkey language means, "Wanna make out?" The girl monkey slapped him, and said (I've already translated it) "You don't even know what that means, do you? Well I am disgusted, and I want you to know that if you try anything like that again, we're only leaping through the jungle in groups. Got it?"

Moral: Teenagers are stupid. Except for most of the females. But some times hormones take advantage of the stupidity of the teenager, and make them do something that they don't want to do. Moral of moral: Don't always blame teenagers. Sometimes blame their hormones. Moral of the moral of the moral: Never trust hormone-crazed teenagers. They will bite without provocation.

What's with guys? or A Masculine Question

I've been stating it for some time, but I've never really thought about it. But now I'm saying loudly, (sort of) and here it is: What's with guys? This is an interesting question, at least from my point of view. Ok, guys. Well, first issue is that they're mostly jerks. Perhaps "mostly" isn't right, "a great deal," would probably be more accurate. Seriously, when you're friends with most guys, they show their friendship through insults, physical violence, and rudeness. Not "friendly" behavior. Second, they're sissies. When it comes to telling someone what their completely honest opinion of that person is, they whimp out. It's all just "I dunno" and blantant lies. Maybe a little honesty would be nice now and again. Another "sissie" thing is their lack of guts with girls. Often I've heard one of my female friends say things like "I would totally melt if a guy said something like that to me," and as unfortunate as it might be to those friends, it is very unlikely that that will happen. Guys turn tail and hide, or just can't manage it, every time a sweet nice idea comes into their heads. They are just too scared and insecure to say what they want to. There is a poet and a romantic inside every guy, it's just that the poemantic persona gets squashed down by most guys to the best of their ability.

Now, this doesn't have to do with guys, but I like shouting my opinions to the world, so here goes. I LIKE GIRLS BETTER THAN GUYS! Yes, it's true, I'm a "sissy whimpo girly boy." And I don't care! I prefer the company of the gals to that of the guys for several reasons, which for the curiosity of my readers I will list. 1. Girls are nicer to look at. Yeah, I can't believe I just said that either. But, it's true, so there. I would rather be sitting in silence with nothing to do in the company of girls than in the company of guys. If you approach it objectively, most girls keep a higher standard of personal hygiene than the average guy. They also are prettier. 2. Girls are less sarcastic and mean than most guys. If a guys shows another guy some poetry he wrote, he is probably going to get blasted. On the other hand, girls are likely to be more supportive of such efforts. 3. And lastly for the time being, girls are so, so much nicer in nearly every respect than guys. They are a pleasure to spend time with, and are very easy to talk to. They can also be trusted to be good, silent witnesses to you if you need to unload something. Well, there you go. That should settle any questions about me being sexist. <;) Plus, that allowed me to yell collectively at guys, and air out some of the complaints I had. That's all f' now folks!

Sunshine

Come on raincloud
Look at the sun
Surprise, she's coming up again
The world's still there
We're still alive
Let's go running
Into the sunflowers
Great big fields of them
They're waking up again
Come on raincloud
The sun doesn't hurt
Open up your eyes
Your misery and depression?
Well, I love to tell you
They really don't matter
Yeah they really don't matter anyway
But you should try sunshine
Makes you feel ok

If She Could Only See

(the poem/song below is a rewrite of part of a song by the band Tonic. I just changed a couple words, but I'm not stealing it. The song belongs entirely to whoever has the copyright, which is certainly not me.)

If she could only see
The way
I love her
Maybe she would understand
Why I feel this way
About
My love
And what I must do
If she could only see
How blue
Her eyes could be if she says
If she says she loves me

If you watch the sun,

your eyes burn out, but for one brief moment the world lights up like never before.

Waiting For A Life

I'm sitting here waiting for my heart to start
For the breath to come back into my lungs
I've been thinking of you but I'm growing dizzy
Hoping you could kickstart me with your love
But that's not going to happen
I've seen the future, it said run
But I can't, I'm hiding
From the world, from everyone
I wanted more than I have right now
Right now I'm wanting for love evermore
But I'm just waiting, waiting, waiting
For the breath to blow up into my face
And my heart to respond to your embrace
And I'm waiting for the light to change
Waiting for your light to arrange
Waiting for my life to change
Waiting for a change
Waiting for a life

(part two)

But my heart didn't start
My breath fled away
Thoughts of you couldn't save me
Maybe you could have if you'd been there
But you weren't
I was laid in the grave
Save me, you didn't
But you were there
Watching me down in dirt
Did you cry? I did
When I died for you
For want of you
For want of light
For want of change
For wanting my life to arrange
Its self into a form inviting your love
Wanting for a life

Maybe I Should Scream

(a poem)

Dunno why you whine
Like a spoiled little child
Spoiled children, people love them
Relations anyway
But
Love counts
But not much
When, like me, all that you can get is what you've
Scraped off the sidewalk
And pulled out of the gutter
Then life starts to look up
With this shiny refurbished love in your hands
When the owner comes along and recognizes it
Pulls it from your hands with words of thanks
The miserable bum
Maybe I'm a poet and a lover
But not a very good one
Maybe I should cry
Maybe I should scream

Sitting here typing or Why the world was round

Hm. I wonder why I'm doing this. I have things to do, chores, mostly. I have to clean like crazy because my sister's baptisim is tomorrow,and the house is a mess. Then tonight I'm serving at church, and after that I have to quick eat so I can get to the party I'm going to tonight before it ends.
Why am I typing? I'd better stop.

Wondering about things or Things about wondering

Hm. Well, I'll have to face it. Tonight I killed Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow. My friends and family will know what I mean. But for the rest of you, I'll explain. I used to do a Captain Jack impression that rivaled Johnny Depp's (or I like to think it did.) But anyway, this night I was in full flow. I had a bandanna, tri-corner hat, unmarked bottle full of cider and a cork stuck into the bottle. But then certain of my "friends" started to knock me down and steal the hat, the bandanna, the bottle and the cork. After a while I had had enough of their harassment, and I tried to make them stop, but they refused to. I made a fatal decision. I decided to kill Jack. I took a plastic pirate gun, put to my temple, said my last goodbye in Jack's voice, walked away and shot myself. I fell to the ground, then got up and Jack was no more. Maybe some day, when the third movie comes out, and I see how and if he comes back, I'll wake him up, but for now... Goodbye Jack. It was fun.

Strange really. You don't think about life until it nails you in the face, knocks you to the ground and spits on you. But when it does, you get up, and realize that there's no going back. It's all over really. If your life before was great, or if it was horrible, it's gone. The change can be a "good" or "bad" thing, but it will still turn you upside down. Meeting someone that catches your heart and won't let go, even though you've already dedicated it to someone else. Finding out a friend is in the hospital with a terminal illness. Change. It happens. And you better flow with the punches or you'll be lying on the ground gasping, and you may never get up. Change. It kills. It kills the old you, and you can't do a single %@#$ thing about it. Makes a new you, sure, but that takes a while to get used to. Makes you want to lie down in the grass and close your eyes and let the sunshine wash over you, while the sunflowers nod their pretty heads above you, and you talk with the person you love, and tell them how you feel with words of beauty... Yeah, like that'll ever happen. A more realistic paradise would be sitting on the curb at night while a cold wind blows, with the street light glowing above you, sitting with the person who doesn't know you love her, and talking about anything but what you want to. Sometimes your view of the world can change everything, most often the world just goes on and doesn't give a dime or even a penny for your thoughts and views. Pretty useless, in a pretty way. Angst is real; deal with it.

I got you roses or Dead boy's dying gift

(this is a song I wrote last night)

Girl, I got you roses/Your favorites/Blue and white/Or that's how they look to me/I'm fading/But girl I got you roses/Picked them myself/Got pricked by a thorn/I'm bleeding/Hey girl, roses/I wanted to show you my love with roses/Hey girl, I got you roses/I'm dying

It is, as far as I can make out, about a shy boy with a terminal illness, and on the day when he is certain, absolutely certain, that he will die, he goes out and picks some roses for the girl he loved, and he can only do that on his dying day because he was too shy to tell her he loved her before.

On bitterness and love or occupational hazards of having emotions

As I was walking my dog something occured to me. It is interesting how when you love someone, and offer your heart to them, but they refuse or don't even notice, you don't become bitter. You may have bitterness inside you, but you never show it to your beloved, because she is your beloved. The bitter feelings, anger, sadness, bitterness and confusion, grow inside you, but you would not harm the person you love with them. Instead they come spinning out at the people you know, and at the world. You blame the world for your troubles, and blast it with your hate. Then the hate is spent, the world is angry at you, and it all starts over again. Gotta find a way to break the cycle, otherwise you'll end up on the bad side of depression. Hm. Yup. Depression stinks. All those emotions, spinning around, crashing into each other and causing nasty messups... Wow... Kinda shocking, but it doesn't really matter. After all, this is just a philosophical babble that may not have any real-world purpose.

Well well well.

If what I think is correct, you cannot post audio files to your blog using blogger. This has made me sad. Oh well. I can still show off my pics and poems. Hm. It's sad though. Not being able to show everyone my audio shows. I can do some mean stuff with Garageband.


Below I will post an improvisational poem. Mine, all mine! No stealing got it?


Makes ya wonder don't it
Wonder how I live
All alone, as far as you know
All alone, by himself
Well I do
Live alone
By myself
Not the way I would have it, oh no
I would have my life bursting with love, sound and color
But
Not the way it panned out
Makes me wonder, ya know
Wonder if it's the world, or if it's just me

A couple thoughts on food or Foud Fore the Idiot's Thouht

It occurs it me that food is really wonderful. If you go down to the bottom of the issue, food is just atoms, making up molecules, which make up compounds and such. If just a couple proteins and molecules were changed, your lunch could be a poisonous substance that would cause instant death. But if you boil a mushroom, it no longer is poisonous. If you cook meat, our stomachs can handle it. Molecular changes happen on the stove. In the oven. Microwaves are powerful strong science, allowing us to heat water molecules in our food to cook it without flame. Food is scientific.

But on the other hand, food can have a negative effect. Soda and Cheetos are food, but if you live on a diet of prepackaged, preserved, flavored souless food, you're probably going to turn out dumb. Your brain can't thrive on cardboard and air. Hm. Cardboard and air. A lot like stage props in plays. You shouldn't eat those either. Yes, almost everything has the potential to be food, but almost everything isn't.

Bright Flowers

I took this pic on vacation. It looked kind of average on the camera, but when I loaded it onto the computer it became really cool. I added the antique setting to it with iPhoto.

Well... This is cool.

Well... This is cool. I have a blog! Never thought this would happen... Well, anyway, this is where I will show off my poems, photographs, song lyrics, audio projects and occasionally babble incoherently, or, as I like to think of it, give my learned thoughts on a variety of subjects. Hey, that made me think of something. Wouldn't it be lovely if we all didn't have to go to work each day, if we just each had to do an hour of work, and then we could simply create all kinds of beauty and art. Think of just making music all day, or writing poetry, or writing stories. Wouldn't the world be a better place if all the soldiers could lay down their swords, become poets, and pick up pens?

Hhhhmmmm. Food for thought, I guess. Like fish. Food for your brain. Although, is that just a bit of old advice that doesn't really work? Cause there's mercury in big fishes, and that can mess with a child's development. Hhhmmm. Maybe just a variety of healthy food is brain food. Oh well. With that interesting interlude, it's back to rubbing your nose against the grindstone, or what ever industrious people do.