27
You are one of the this world's simple pleasures
like the Beatles on a Tuesday morning
28
I was amazed but not surprised
when the sliver of sun
escaping through the clouds
shone down only on the spot
where we lay
and it enveloped us
in it's halo like form
like God was putting
gold stars by our names
to reward us for our
perfect moment together
And when the snow poured from the sky
It covered you like frosting
but you still stood out
against the vast white canvas
the closest thing to an angel
that has ever kissed me,
A classic Grecian statue
with her porcelain legs
hiding under slender leggings,
spread her wool wings
to reach my hands
and she locked my fingers in hers
pulling me into her divine imprint
in the snow,
gorgeous but lacking,
I embraced her, sharing
all the wisdom that
I had stumbled upon
and kissed the warmth
back into her numb red
nose and cheeks
December 10, 2007
December 8, 2007
Sometimes I let myself down
The only times I feek like a failure
Is when I have literature, busting out at the seams
of my brain
Yet, I'm too ME to let any of it out
Is when I have literature, busting out at the seams
of my brain
Yet, I'm too ME to let any of it out
December 3, 2007
Work In Progress
Yeah, this poem is still a work in progrss but I really wanted to get some feedback, so if you read it leave a comment and let me know what you think please?
After she had calmed fown
From finally being able to admit to someone
How cheated she felt when they used her
I admitted to her that I was a hack
Or I suspected I might be
Like a cynic who shrugs off Tao
as if it's an obnoxious mosquito
I had given up on changing the world
And had since been using my words
To try to convince girls I'm something
That they should be interested in
When I woke up I saw the sun wasn't coming out today
But everyone, sometimes, needs to lock the door
And stare past their wall, while letting all the excess
Seep out of their naked pores, and I do understand
But if the sun wasn't going to make the effort, neither was I
So I lay flat on my back, every now and then peeking over my sheets
To see if maybe your priorities had brought you to my side of the creek
But you are older and wiser, and working with what you are given
And I knew you were the only one who could help me through this
So I keep reaching out, only to get my hands chapped and dry
But I'm trying I guess, and I keep a few extra pens in my pocket
Just in case
After she had calmed fown
From finally being able to admit to someone
How cheated she felt when they used her
I admitted to her that I was a hack
Or I suspected I might be
Like a cynic who shrugs off Tao
as if it's an obnoxious mosquito
I had given up on changing the world
And had since been using my words
To try to convince girls I'm something
That they should be interested in
When I woke up I saw the sun wasn't coming out today
But everyone, sometimes, needs to lock the door
And stare past their wall, while letting all the excess
Seep out of their naked pores, and I do understand
But if the sun wasn't going to make the effort, neither was I
So I lay flat on my back, every now and then peeking over my sheets
To see if maybe your priorities had brought you to my side of the creek
But you are older and wiser, and working with what you are given
And I knew you were the only one who could help me through this
So I keep reaching out, only to get my hands chapped and dry
But I'm trying I guess, and I keep a few extra pens in my pocket
Just in case
November 14, 2007
aggregation
i.
i fell asleep choking
on waterfalls. a girl
gave me twelve good
reasons not to smoke.
so i swallowed two
butterflies and i
told her "true love
knows no bounds."
ii.
i am turning yellow
again now that rain
drops beat my window.
once i drowned near
nirvana and they
didn't find my
body for something
like lifetimes.
iii.
a young gentleman
asks if i am a
writer of haikus.
we both burst
into flames and i
notice how his lips
feel pressed against
my eyelashes.
iv.
each streetlight is
a work of art. every
gravel road writes
its own manifesto.
sometimes i wish i
could swallow this
place whole, just
so i never forget.
i fell asleep choking
on waterfalls. a girl
gave me twelve good
reasons not to smoke.
so i swallowed two
butterflies and i
told her "true love
knows no bounds."
ii.
i am turning yellow
again now that rain
drops beat my window.
once i drowned near
nirvana and they
didn't find my
body for something
like lifetimes.
iii.
a young gentleman
asks if i am a
writer of haikus.
we both burst
into flames and i
notice how his lips
feel pressed against
my eyelashes.
iv.
each streetlight is
a work of art. every
gravel road writes
its own manifesto.
sometimes i wish i
could swallow this
place whole, just
so i never forget.
November 9, 2007
screaming-red leaves
fall to the ground like paper slips from anxious branches
and tall autumn trees
lean toward me in excited poses
like pictionary players in a fall-themed room
and that's when I notice that the sky is moving
and the clouds are playing charades with me
and it's three words
first word
sounds like heaven in a beautiful pigment of red-orange brown
where the grass is dying, but the winds are alive
and the cops are patrolling their teas
because it's far too chilly for larceny
and far too pretty for siren-lights
to distract us from the trees
mhmm, this is the time
the moment of grace I've been looking for
and you can burn these dying leaves
every tuesday if you like-
if you like destroying paintings
that only mother nature could brush
but that's just you
your silly way of hiding death from your
view
from your windowpane
let's turn on the music and take off our belts
because outside, it's a rave of aromas and hues
and the stars still glisten with the same silver sheen
but the moon is low
the wind is high
and the ground is firm for dancing on
while the autumn leaves crackle
and my senses are blown away
by this amazing november high
fall to the ground like paper slips from anxious branches
and tall autumn trees
lean toward me in excited poses
like pictionary players in a fall-themed room
and that's when I notice that the sky is moving
and the clouds are playing charades with me
and it's three words
first word
sounds like heaven in a beautiful pigment of red-orange brown
where the grass is dying, but the winds are alive
and the cops are patrolling their teas
because it's far too chilly for larceny
and far too pretty for siren-lights
to distract us from the trees
mhmm, this is the time
the moment of grace I've been looking for
and you can burn these dying leaves
every tuesday if you like-
if you like destroying paintings
that only mother nature could brush
but that's just you
your silly way of hiding death from your
view
from your windowpane
let's turn on the music and take off our belts
because outside, it's a rave of aromas and hues
and the stars still glisten with the same silver sheen
but the moon is low
the wind is high
and the ground is firm for dancing on
while the autumn leaves crackle
and my senses are blown away
by this amazing november high
November 6, 2007
The stars are each millions of miles away
But we've got to reach more than the sky
Though the wise people say that the secrets to life
Are simplicity, strength, and acceptance
We know there's no chance to look at the moon
Without holding our heads up high
And I can't hold your hand if it's stretched to the clouds
So let's, both of us, strain to touch Heaven
But we've got to reach more than the sky
Though the wise people say that the secrets to life
Are simplicity, strength, and acceptance
We know there's no chance to look at the moon
Without holding our heads up high
And I can't hold your hand if it's stretched to the clouds
So let's, both of us, strain to touch Heaven
October 25, 2007
under a tree of cherries.
Holding you on a september night
the sweet dead smell of everything unwinds.
heavy cherries drip from their branches
breathing branches bow under the sky
The sky bends over everything like a holy dome.
and then all the space between the stars fills up with light.
and the stars too swollen to sing
Hum down to me.
the sweet dead smell of everything unwinds.
heavy cherries drip from their branches
breathing branches bow under the sky
The sky bends over everything like a holy dome.
and then all the space between the stars fills up with light.
and the stars too swollen to sing
Hum down to me.
October 23, 2007
Love Poem 21: Pruriency
Pruriency is a virtue
And you are an entheogen
And your thighs are like ice cream
And I am a licker
And your neck is like morphine
I am a junkie, I am crazy
When you arch your back into me and
Purrrr
I'm a little wild, when you let my imagination go
Can't you see where I'm taking you?
Close your eyes, Trust me
I'm going to make you purr
And you are an entheogen
And your thighs are like ice cream
And I am a licker
And your neck is like morphine
I am a junkie, I am crazy
When you arch your back into me and
Purrrr
I'm a little wild, when you let my imagination go
Can't you see where I'm taking you?
Close your eyes, Trust me
I'm going to make you purr
October 18, 2007
Shadow People
No, it's not an outright lie
More of a repetition of
Numbers and positions
Into colors, extensions, and sounds
An Earth-shattering roar
Into glacier, hills, and valleys
It's the atom, which shows itself
to the scientists in diagrams
and to the artist in
hard-thumping souls
"When we were young, we had so much fun
because we did not see the dead ends on the road"
Either a curse, or a blessing
Out here in a meadow of hearts
We all come together
Out here we sit solemn
Disease rests on these walls,
and creates a horizon
It's an ideal we're all followin
With a tattoo on my heart, and
large bloody scabs on my chest
I will never take my shirt off for you
and as long as I'm breathing
Through heaves and sighs
I will never ever rest
More of a repetition of
Numbers and positions
Into colors, extensions, and sounds
An Earth-shattering roar
Into glacier, hills, and valleys
It's the atom, which shows itself
to the scientists in diagrams
and to the artist in
hard-thumping souls
"When we were young, we had so much fun
because we did not see the dead ends on the road"
Either a curse, or a blessing
Out here in a meadow of hearts
We all come together
Out here we sit solemn
Disease rests on these walls,
and creates a horizon
It's an ideal we're all followin
With a tattoo on my heart, and
large bloody scabs on my chest
I will never take my shirt off for you
and as long as I'm breathing
Through heaves and sighs
I will never ever rest
October 14, 2007
Floranima
Roots and bark and chlorophyll
Xylem, phloem, foliage
Sap and leaves and stems and still
No better than your plastic hedge
For what is plastic, less than wood
but nature found and worked and formed
And whose to say what's true is good?
For paper roses bare no thorn
Xylem, phloem, foliage
Sap and leaves and stems and still
No better than your plastic hedge
For what is plastic, less than wood
but nature found and worked and formed
And whose to say what's true is good?
For paper roses bare no thorn
October 4, 2007
Love Poem:19
I know that you can't see
the stars beyond those city lights,
so I just wanted to let you know
that back here at home
they are hanging in the sky
like a chandelier
in my room of memories
the place I like to go
whenever I really miss you
And they really look so inciting
that I think maybe
we could meet up there tonight
and inside of our collective unconcious
lying in the field of stars
of the eternal cosmos
the stars beyond those city lights,
so I just wanted to let you know
that back here at home
they are hanging in the sky
like a chandelier
in my room of memories
the place I like to go
whenever I really miss you
And they really look so inciting
that I think maybe
we could meet up there tonight
and inside of our collective unconcious
lying in the field of stars
of the eternal cosmos
October 1, 2007
September 24, 2007
an experiment
While you were gone and our chat had collapsed
While you were off doing whatever chore had arisen
And I was alone with a pen and a sober mind
I caught a glimpse through another perspective
Of what this whole damn thing might be
"I tell people about you," you taught me yesterday
"But I twist it around so that I seem like the cool one."
And we laugh because you're such a scared little child sometimes
And we both know I'm too old to keep growing
But it wasn't always that way
And you saw that too
And when the trees shoot out flower-buds
From their branches like fuschia bullets
And laughter is plentiful
And good times are free
Or when we're just roaming around in mittens
And Superman socks
Looking for a bit of dope to inhale
I'm not thinking of you
And you're not thinking of me
But sometimes I'd love to have you around
And sometimes sometimes
You want that too
But the flower-buds bloom
And the pot burns away
And the thoughts drift to insects and book reports
Even your return triggers no response
And I am alone with a pen and a sober mind
Drawing angels and hearing you say
"Life is funny sometimes-
"Life really is funny sometimes."
"Yeah..." I say
And we part
To look at pictures we'll never take
While you were off doing whatever chore had arisen
And I was alone with a pen and a sober mind
I caught a glimpse through another perspective
Of what this whole damn thing might be
"I tell people about you," you taught me yesterday
"But I twist it around so that I seem like the cool one."
And we laugh because you're such a scared little child sometimes
And we both know I'm too old to keep growing
But it wasn't always that way
And you saw that too
And when the trees shoot out flower-buds
From their branches like fuschia bullets
And laughter is plentiful
And good times are free
Or when we're just roaming around in mittens
And Superman socks
Looking for a bit of dope to inhale
I'm not thinking of you
And you're not thinking of me
But sometimes I'd love to have you around
And sometimes sometimes
You want that too
But the flower-buds bloom
And the pot burns away
And the thoughts drift to insects and book reports
Even your return triggers no response
And I am alone with a pen and a sober mind
Drawing angels and hearing you say
"Life is funny sometimes-
"Life really is funny sometimes."
"Yeah..." I say
And we part
To look at pictures we'll never take
Love Poem 18
I used to pace
and I would wonder
and then I would fret
because I was waiting
for the second
that I would fall
out of love with you
if even just for a second
But then one days
I was eating breakfast
and I stared into
my coffeecup and laughed
because it came to me
as simply as all real revelations do
This is love, and it is unconditional
and I would wonder
and then I would fret
because I was waiting
for the second
that I would fall
out of love with you
if even just for a second
But then one days
I was eating breakfast
and I stared into
my coffeecup and laughed
because it came to me
as simply as all real revelations do
This is love, and it is unconditional
September 21, 2007
The Almighty Dollar
Oh, almighty dollar
I want to offer you
my solemnity
or my empathy
but all I can really
force myself to do
is laugh and say
'I told ya so'
I want to offer you
my solemnity
or my empathy
but all I can really
force myself to do
is laugh and say
'I told ya so'
September 11, 2007
September 6, 2007
Divine Electricity
I have peeled back the illusory layers of perception, seen the unseen, heard the unheard, felt the unfelt. I have calculated infinity. I have understood that there is no such thing as the past or the future. There is only the now, and it is fleeting. I have understood that there is no such thing as the past or the future, really. That everything that ever was and will be already is. I have stacked the blocks of spacetime and seen how time's arrow does not only fly forward but in infinite directions. I have learned how my now is only an effervescent moment that will undoubtedly pop into the next. I have questioned how many of those moments are actually happening – an infinite amount of bubbles popping into an infinite more. I have wondered how many me's there really are, or if there is only this one that exists in many ways. I have embraced dharma. I have killed my ego and resurrected it, still attempting to understand the paradox of desiring nondesire. I have watched Christ & Buddha wrestle for my attention, only to realize they were actually embracing one another. I now understand the capital T of Truth, why some things are worth seeking.
But when the sun sets and I am done asking questions, I have sat beneath the Centennial, watched the stars reflect in the
September 3, 2007
About time
My name is Micaela Krol. I'm living in Chicago and thus far, I've had a damn good time. I enjoy literature,writing and you all. I must admitt my postings will be mostly reflective and just free verse. However, if you know me I'm mostly reflective and free verse with my attitude and conversations. With that. Love is all, Love is you.
August 31, 2007
As close as I get to a love poem
Sometimes in my daydreams
There are flowers in your hair
And we dance around like maniacs
On dewy Autumn grass
And I kiss you on the cheek
And we go spinning trough the air
Making love through smiles and laughter
But in real life you're an ass
There are flowers in your hair
And we dance around like maniacs
On dewy Autumn grass
And I kiss you on the cheek
And we go spinning trough the air
Making love through smiles and laughter
But in real life you're an ass
August 27, 2007
More Musings on Words
I have always felt that words were ethereal beings, like transparent butterflies with fluttering wings, that swoop, dive, and flash throughout my head day in and day out. But once I summon the courage to catch those twittering, translucent insects and set them down on paper, they become still concrete statues. Deprived of their ceaseless energy, they are all the more beautiful upon being examined closely. Every time I complete the task of solidifying words, I am both heart-broken that they are condemned to an infinite stationary life and ecstatic that the world can finally see their essence clearly.
A Reflection on Words
My name is Rachel and I have wanted to be a writer ever since I learned how to read. I have greatly enjoyed everybody's posts so far. Sadly, my writing style is quite different from the wonderful poetry that has graced this blog, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway. I wrote this a few days ago, and I figured people might enjoy it since it is about the power of words.
I base this reflection upon one of my favorite quotes of all time; though it is not the type of quote that inspires one to persevere, to achieve, or to work together like so many that are currently in vogue, hanging of office walls and schoolrooms blackboards. Instead, it is the kind of quote that tells the truth with beauty, and that is all we can ever ask of ourselves or of life. This particular quote is handwritten in silver sharpie on bright orange poster board and is hanging on the wall of my new dorm room. Although the orange (my favorite color because of its energy, authenticity, and originality) badly clashes with the brick wall behind it, its beauty is not diminished. If the words were written in blood on a pile of nuclear waste, I would still be awed by their clarity and wisdom.
"A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work or art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language and not only read but actually breathed from all human lips - not represented on canvas or in marble only but carved out of the breath of life itself."
-Henry David Thoreau
Naturally, every artist is partial to their own medium; every artist believes their work to be closest to reaching the "marrow of life," to borrow another phrase from Thoreau. Following this line of reason, Thoreau then may only be preening and stoking his own artistic ego, making his art form out to be the best. But I prefer to think that he was writing more out of a desire to his own connection with the written and spoken word. Indeed, it is a connection shared by millions of human beings since the dawn of language. Language, the first art form, was born out of the necessity for communication. Although it still fills this capacity, language has since had bestowed upon it by creative humans the twin blessings of wisdom and beauty.
Language is the ultimate human art form. Since nearly all human beings can both speak and understand at least one language, all of humanity can shape and transform the ever-changing forms and styles of language. Flowery words are not required, only a desire (nay, a need) for self-expression. By expressing thoughts, feelings, and ideas in language, all humans participate in the creation of the greatest art work of all time: human discourse.
I base this reflection upon one of my favorite quotes of all time; though it is not the type of quote that inspires one to persevere, to achieve, or to work together like so many that are currently in vogue, hanging of office walls and schoolrooms blackboards. Instead, it is the kind of quote that tells the truth with beauty, and that is all we can ever ask of ourselves or of life. This particular quote is handwritten in silver sharpie on bright orange poster board and is hanging on the wall of my new dorm room. Although the orange (my favorite color because of its energy, authenticity, and originality) badly clashes with the brick wall behind it, its beauty is not diminished. If the words were written in blood on a pile of nuclear waste, I would still be awed by their clarity and wisdom.
"A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work or art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language and not only read but actually breathed from all human lips - not represented on canvas or in marble only but carved out of the breath of life itself."
-Henry David Thoreau
Naturally, every artist is partial to their own medium; every artist believes their work to be closest to reaching the "marrow of life," to borrow another phrase from Thoreau. Following this line of reason, Thoreau then may only be preening and stoking his own artistic ego, making his art form out to be the best. But I prefer to think that he was writing more out of a desire to his own connection with the written and spoken word. Indeed, it is a connection shared by millions of human beings since the dawn of language. Language, the first art form, was born out of the necessity for communication. Although it still fills this capacity, language has since had bestowed upon it by creative humans the twin blessings of wisdom and beauty.
Language is the ultimate human art form. Since nearly all human beings can both speak and understand at least one language, all of humanity can shape and transform the ever-changing forms and styles of language. Flowery words are not required, only a desire (nay, a need) for self-expression. By expressing thoughts, feelings, and ideas in language, all humans participate in the creation of the greatest art work of all time: human discourse.
bad at introductions
Well, I'm Christine. And I guess since Nathan is the one who suggested me into this, I'll post the one he likes.
I usually write with a rhyme and a structure, and it's usually pretty light and witty (or at least I try)
I write free verse and open poetry from time to time, but usually I don't show off things that honest.
-Christine
Father'd have a steaming fit of anger at the sight
and I would fight the quivers at the corners of my mouth
But all the world would maybe seem a little more alright
if you would peddle poems on the corner by my house
Stand there in your leather coat, and wait for passers-by
Ask them how they're feeling- if they're looking for an out
Deal 'em all the good shit. Let 'em know that you're their guy
to ask for peddled poems on the corner by my house
I usually write with a rhyme and a structure, and it's usually pretty light and witty (or at least I try)
I write free verse and open poetry from time to time, but usually I don't show off things that honest.
-Christine
Father'd have a steaming fit of anger at the sight
and I would fight the quivers at the corners of my mouth
But all the world would maybe seem a little more alright
if you would peddle poems on the corner by my house
Stand there in your leather coat, and wait for passers-by
Ask them how they're feeling- if they're looking for an out
Deal 'em all the good shit. Let 'em know that you're their guy
to ask for peddled poems on the corner by my house
August 20, 2007
Love Poem: A Series
Hello old friends and new friends. I have a little time after class so I figured I'd try to get this blog started and share with you something that I've been working on.
I had a rather exciting revelation a month or two ago when I realized that the reason I had never written a decent love poem was because of how I was trying to write it. It's not that I'm not moved by love (I am to a crippling degree) or that I have nothing to say about it, it's just that I was trying to write a logical, well-rounded and cohesive love poem. When I started thinking about it, I realized that is not how love comes to me. It comes in fleeting feelings, it changes everytime I come into contact with it and so I decided to write a thematic series of poems. I started a new notebook, and I've been numbering verses; alot of them are only two or three lines long, but I know that I'll have at least a few that are pages along by the time I'm done with this.
I'm now gonna post a few, there's nothing special about them, they're just the ones that catch my eye at the moment.
3
You're the girl that every man in America
Wants to stay at home and watch crappy TV with
5
When I am old and rich
and can afford to commission a sculptor
he'll make a marble statue for my elegant hallway
Immortalizing you in my arms
legs around my torso
and your breath tickling my ears
6
I hope that you understand
that no matter what happens
or where your life takes you
You could do no wrong in someone's eyes
7
I loathe shopping
and I wish that
whenever I had to go shopping
instead I could just go
to the beautiful woman store
and walk around and watch
beautiful women be beautiful
8
Most women have a
futile battle with my ego
but with you, I never even
stoof a chance
9
Have you ever seen
someone with one arm
and you have to use
all your energy just
not to look at
their missing limb?
Well, everytime you come over
I'm biting my tongue
just to stop myself
from saying, "I love you.
I love you, I love you,
I'm crazy about you"
That's all for now. Hope to hear from you all soon.
I had a rather exciting revelation a month or two ago when I realized that the reason I had never written a decent love poem was because of how I was trying to write it. It's not that I'm not moved by love (I am to a crippling degree) or that I have nothing to say about it, it's just that I was trying to write a logical, well-rounded and cohesive love poem. When I started thinking about it, I realized that is not how love comes to me. It comes in fleeting feelings, it changes everytime I come into contact with it and so I decided to write a thematic series of poems. I started a new notebook, and I've been numbering verses; alot of them are only two or three lines long, but I know that I'll have at least a few that are pages along by the time I'm done with this.
I'm now gonna post a few, there's nothing special about them, they're just the ones that catch my eye at the moment.
3
You're the girl that every man in America
Wants to stay at home and watch crappy TV with
5
When I am old and rich
and can afford to commission a sculptor
he'll make a marble statue for my elegant hallway
Immortalizing you in my arms
legs around my torso
and your breath tickling my ears
6
I hope that you understand
that no matter what happens
or where your life takes you
You could do no wrong in someone's eyes
7
I loathe shopping
and I wish that
whenever I had to go shopping
instead I could just go
to the beautiful woman store
and walk around and watch
beautiful women be beautiful
8
Most women have a
futile battle with my ego
but with you, I never even
stoof a chance
9
Have you ever seen
someone with one arm
and you have to use
all your energy just
not to look at
their missing limb?
Well, everytime you come over
I'm biting my tongue
just to stop myself
from saying, "I love you.
I love you, I love you,
I'm crazy about you"
That's all for now. Hope to hear from you all soon.
August 19, 2007
The Holy River Manifesto
I am not a writer of manifestos. I barely believe in anything enough to declare it publicly. In fact, rather than try to articulate any personal goals, I would much rather drink several glasses of cheap wine, smoke a pack of cigarettes, and fondle myself to the media's latest coverage of whatever scandal Lindsay Lohan is currently involved in. However, after a recent decision to take myself more seriously – though not too seriously, obviously – it occurred to me that while I have tried to define myself as a poet over the years, I lacked a community that could nurture that hopeless drunken romantic inside my soul that relied on words to fool beautiful women into sleeping with me. This is not to say that I wish to form a writing community solely in hopes that more women will sleep with me, although I certainly would not mind if this happened. Rather, I feel that only as a collective can we further the development of our art. It is with this belief that I call on my peers, the next generation of poets and writers, to join together and in some way shape what will become of all of us.
The Purpose of This Site
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