Almost there. Time to start thinking about tomorrow's poem. It's one of those things that I would love to be important to all who read it, and I have a sort of vision for it, but whenever I try and figure out the particulars of the vision, it disappears. So, while I know what I want to write tomorrow, I have no idea what I'm going to write. I hope they're one and the same...but don't put your money on it!
TOnight, I was watching a wonderful little film - one that I find a nice message in. It's cute, but it got very little playing time in the theatres a few years ago. It's called Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, and it's adorable. It's nothing special, nothing grand - just your average little magical toy store. It reminded me that it's important to remember a few things:
1) You have to BE magic to SEE magic.
2) You have to believe in things like magic,
3) in some ways, it's ok to never ever grow up.
Unstoppable
When the lights go down, and the music fades,
after the ball gown and tuxedo are put away,
and the guests leave, and the band is paid,
and you finally get home,
there is still a choice to be made.
It has nothing to do with money,
children, too, are not a part,
it's nothing that can be decided alone,
it's like a vow you took in front of everyone,
but somehow means more in the night-quiet of home.
It's taking your bride in your arms,
looking longingly into one another's eyes,
and vowing that, no matter the task, no matter the position,
you will be, together, unstoppable.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 28
Only two days left to go! As I try and think of what I'll go onto next - and yeah, i know what it is - part of me almost doesn't want this to end. And another part of me says "Oh thank the gods I don't have to think every day!" And so I am equal parts happy and sad. I entertained the idea of maybe not stoping at the end of the month, and seeing how far I could ride this poem idea out...maybe another year, I'll try it. But not this one.
But enough talk of it being over - for now, it's ON!!!!!!
The Path of the Writer
Flying - space and time meaningless
in the search,
eyes closed, breathing normal,
before this strange passenger,
images flash and burn,
forever impreinted in their vague identity.
Such are the visions of inspiration,
sights no man can tell, though though we must try.
We know not why, only that it must be told,
from the beginning of the search until at last it narrows down to a point,
and all that exists, all that live beyond must be put down.
It is a drive the writer will never understand.
He hopes only that after the dust settles, it will leave his vision clear to those who may read.
Yeah - this is probably a little too bland compared to most of what I've written, but what can you do? Sometimes life hands you a bland day, and all you can do is go along with it.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
But enough talk of it being over - for now, it's ON!!!!!!
The Path of the Writer
Flying - space and time meaningless
in the search,
eyes closed, breathing normal,
before this strange passenger,
images flash and burn,
forever impreinted in their vague identity.
Such are the visions of inspiration,
sights no man can tell, though though we must try.
We know not why, only that it must be told,
from the beginning of the search until at last it narrows down to a point,
and all that exists, all that live beyond must be put down.
It is a drive the writer will never understand.
He hopes only that after the dust settles, it will leave his vision clear to those who may read.
Yeah - this is probably a little too bland compared to most of what I've written, but what can you do? Sometimes life hands you a bland day, and all you can do is go along with it.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 27
Alas, sweet friends, our time grows short. Just a few days left of this crazy scheme of mine. I'm almost starting to get sad about leaving it behind. However, I believe that just the other day, I had my second request. Monica, you wanted something for your little girl. I hope I am up to the task. I will try my best.
Mother's Good-Night
Rest now, my little one,
snuggle close, hear my heart.
share the rhythm of its beating
slowly now, be at peace.
Mommy's here by your side,
ever watching with a smile,
from the moment you awake
until the night lowers it shade,
Little princess, don't you fret,
for your Champion is there,
dashing and handsome, awaiting only your favor,
and he shall let noone close in around you.
Sleep in peace, my sweet girl,
dream of fields of sweet clover,
where you and your handmaids play
the games of children,
My sweet, my perfect child,
Mommy's here by your side,
so sleep and dream the night away.
I hope it's what you were looking for, Monica! Thanks for your comments!!
Thanks for reading, everyone!
The Fat Kid
Mother's Good-Night
Rest now, my little one,
snuggle close, hear my heart.
share the rhythm of its beating
slowly now, be at peace.
Mommy's here by your side,
ever watching with a smile,
from the moment you awake
until the night lowers it shade,
Little princess, don't you fret,
for your Champion is there,
dashing and handsome, awaiting only your favor,
and he shall let noone close in around you.
Sleep in peace, my sweet girl,
dream of fields of sweet clover,
where you and your handmaids play
the games of children,
My sweet, my perfect child,
Mommy's here by your side,
so sleep and dream the night away.
I hope it's what you were looking for, Monica! Thanks for your comments!!
Thanks for reading, everyone!
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 26, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 26
Today was a veritable mind-numbing day. Over my lunch hour, I played 5 games of chess. Yes, in an hour. Ummm..yes, I was playing more than one game at a time, and yes...I won them all. But it pretty much shot my mind. Later, a student asked me for some help with a paper, and all I have to say is: "Who is the stupid jerk who thought that Kerouac's "On the Road" was an appropriate piece of lit to be studying in a Lit 102 class?? I really want to hurt this person. I cannot fathom how you would ask an 18 yr old college freshman to understand and then write about a coming-of-age-identity-searching-travel-writing piece. Really? I mean, what does an 18 yr old know about that stuff? Not to say that most 18-yr olds aren't defining themselves in this day and age - so OK, there's ONE argument for it - but unless you think of literature pretty abstractly (and most people don't, particularly if it's something they HAVE to read) then it's next to impossible. A 200-level class....meh, if it's about modern American lit, ok. But the 100-level classes?? Please, it's a survey class, populated by people who are taking the class only because it's a requirement. I don't deny it's a great piece of lit, and important, but this idea clearly wasn't thought through.
Enough ranting about academic crap that I can't change. Let's have some poetry!!!
The Old Man
There is an old man I know,
who sits on his front porch, smoking his pipe.
I am afraid of him.
Smoke curling up around him like stray hair,
winding up and up, tendrils of smelly tobacco
staining the whitewashed ceiling of his porch.
He looks, but does not speak.
I think he knows something,
but he will not say.
He just looks at me with a sort of silly grin,
as if to say, "You'll know one day,"
And I run away back down the street,
to the safety of my own yard, my own porch, my house
my mother and father, my secret hiding-place,
Where the the Old Man doesn't know how to find me.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Enough ranting about academic crap that I can't change. Let's have some poetry!!!
The Old Man
There is an old man I know,
who sits on his front porch, smoking his pipe.
I am afraid of him.
Smoke curling up around him like stray hair,
winding up and up, tendrils of smelly tobacco
staining the whitewashed ceiling of his porch.
He looks, but does not speak.
I think he knows something,
but he will not say.
He just looks at me with a sort of silly grin,
as if to say, "You'll know one day,"
And I run away back down the street,
to the safety of my own yard, my own porch, my house
my mother and father, my secret hiding-place,
Where the the Old Man doesn't know how to find me.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 25!
Can it really be, that there's less than a week to go? It hardly seems like it, but it's true. Well, then, I guess I'd better get to work on kicking out some serious stuff by the end of this little experiement of mine, huh?? Well, at least I can try! Let's have some verse!
Lullaby
Sleep, Little One,
for the day is over,
the Land of Dreams awaits.
There you'll be king,
adored by all,
there, in the Land of Dreams.
And a banquet in your honour,
as such there never was,
and princes shall come and greet you,
bringing gifts of finery,
for you are highest of all,
there, in the Land of Dreams.
And the grand orchestra will strike the bow,
and with your queen a dance you'll share,
until all at last join in the royal company,
and dance unto your pleasure,
all in the Land of Dreams.
Until at last, it will be time
to bid farewell for now,
and waking, you'll leave the assembly waiting,
for the king will return tomorrow
to the Land of Dreams.
Not really sure where or why for this one, I just know the idea came to me and I decided to write it. I thought at first about trying to make this more lyric, more musical, but elected not to. To be honest, I don't really care for rhyme schemes - I feel like I'm forced to make leaps that I don;t really enjoy when rhyming. I'm sure it would work, and with the proper scheme and music added, this might work as s singing lullaby, but for now, I like it this way. Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Lullaby
Sleep, Little One,
for the day is over,
the Land of Dreams awaits.
There you'll be king,
adored by all,
there, in the Land of Dreams.
And a banquet in your honour,
as such there never was,
and princes shall come and greet you,
bringing gifts of finery,
for you are highest of all,
there, in the Land of Dreams.
And the grand orchestra will strike the bow,
and with your queen a dance you'll share,
until all at last join in the royal company,
and dance unto your pleasure,
all in the Land of Dreams.
Until at last, it will be time
to bid farewell for now,
and waking, you'll leave the assembly waiting,
for the king will return tomorrow
to the Land of Dreams.
Not really sure where or why for this one, I just know the idea came to me and I decided to write it. I thought at first about trying to make this more lyric, more musical, but elected not to. To be honest, I don't really care for rhyme schemes - I feel like I'm forced to make leaps that I don;t really enjoy when rhyming. I'm sure it would work, and with the proper scheme and music added, this might work as s singing lullaby, but for now, I like it this way. Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 24
What a day - I got to join my wife on a bike ride this morning, and share my love of a sport with her, then we got to see some good friends and have a nice time playing some pretty fun games with them....and THEN the Pens closed out the series against Ottawa! Oh yes, it was a very good day.
In fact, it's such a great day, I think I'll write some poetry about it!
She
She walks in moonlight,
silken beams of elegance filtering down across her shoulders,
illuminating her essence, her soul, her grace.
Gossamer threads of hair trail after,
light and aglow against the dark night,
hearing the call to dance in the breeze.
And dance She does, every step a careful placement,
every bend a perfect form,
beauty and grace on display where none but I may see.
And I wait patiently, observing this nymph,
this treasure, this divinity, perfection,
because in her simplicity,
She has enraptured me.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
In fact, it's such a great day, I think I'll write some poetry about it!
She
She walks in moonlight,
silken beams of elegance filtering down across her shoulders,
illuminating her essence, her soul, her grace.
Gossamer threads of hair trail after,
light and aglow against the dark night,
hearing the call to dance in the breeze.
And dance She does, every step a careful placement,
every bend a perfect form,
beauty and grace on display where none but I may see.
And I wait patiently, observing this nymph,
this treasure, this divinity, perfection,
because in her simplicity,
She has enraptured me.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 23, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 23
It's your friendly neighborhood wannabe-poet checking in again! It was a beautiful day here, sull of sprin sunshine and nice temperatures. It wasn't anything spectacular - just nice. In short, my favorite kind of day. Couple that with getting to hang out with a dear friend over a couple of beers, and I'd say it was as close to perfect as I'm likely to find. Tomorrow will be more friends, I hope, and if the rain stays away, some time in a park. So keep your fingers crossed for sunshine!!!
But until we get sunshine, here's another poem. You know, because that's what I do. Today's poem takes its start from one of my favorite lines of Shakespeare, and then goes into my tangental offerings. It's a lovely little line that I have always enjoyed. Eternal props to Greg Ellstrom for allowing me to say it.
The Poet's Fate
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact.
Mad men, all, for with their every breath
demons surround them.
One raves against them all, his utterings a self-induced opiate to dull the pain.
The next forgoes all thought and in the carnival of flesh finds his escape.
The last, oh yes, the last, the one for whom there is no end of torment.
His devils follow every movement of pen to page,
Were he to show them, then all is known, and and he will diminish,
but to keep them silent only makes then strong of will.
Fame may be found, but it is fleeting,
He suffers needlessly.
And dies poor and wretched, oft forgotten.
His words lose their pull, and he becomes just a footnote for the next generation.
Yep - thought I'd try something a little different tonight, another experiment, if you will. The very first line is Shakespeare, the rest are mine - though, admittedly, it follows some of Shakespeare's ideas and form...but not the words. Hey, thanks for reading!!
The Fat Kid
But until we get sunshine, here's another poem. You know, because that's what I do. Today's poem takes its start from one of my favorite lines of Shakespeare, and then goes into my tangental offerings. It's a lovely little line that I have always enjoyed. Eternal props to Greg Ellstrom for allowing me to say it.
The Poet's Fate
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact.
Mad men, all, for with their every breath
demons surround them.
One raves against them all, his utterings a self-induced opiate to dull the pain.
The next forgoes all thought and in the carnival of flesh finds his escape.
The last, oh yes, the last, the one for whom there is no end of torment.
His devils follow every movement of pen to page,
Were he to show them, then all is known, and and he will diminish,
but to keep them silent only makes then strong of will.
Fame may be found, but it is fleeting,
He suffers needlessly.
And dies poor and wretched, oft forgotten.
His words lose their pull, and he becomes just a footnote for the next generation.
Yep - thought I'd try something a little different tonight, another experiment, if you will. The very first line is Shakespeare, the rest are mine - though, admittedly, it follows some of Shakespeare's ideas and form...but not the words. Hey, thanks for reading!!
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 22
Some days, the Fat Kid just feels like a good healthy debate. Now, I don't claim to be awesome at it, and I don't claim to be correct. I never claim to have all the answers. With every debate, I hope for one thing: to challenge the claims of the opposing side. Politics, culture, cats vs. dogs, it doesn't matter, I'll debate it. It's a terribly annoying habit that I picked up from my father. I'm pretty sure there are many who would gladly see me trade it in. Sorry, folks, it's part of who I am. Anyway, today's topic of fun was "veganism vs. omnivorous eating habits," and it was going along well until someone couldn't handle the fact that he couldn't difinitively prove that his argument was in every way superior to mine (I was on the omnivore's side, by the way) and he had to resort to put-downs and insults. It made me wonder something: When did we lose the ability to hold a conversation where no one HAD to be declared "the winner" or "the loser??" When and how did it become about winning rather than the quest to simply improve an idea by questioning it? It actually made me quite sad. This man has passion for his belief that I find quite admirable - i'm even a little jealous of it. Unfortunately, a wonderful debate turned personal, and instead of learning, I'm sad and he's probably fuming mad. What a waste.
So now I need to feel better - and a football draft and playoff hockey are just the thing. Oh, and while we're at it, how about I toss in some poetry?
Staring Into Battle
The drums of war beat on,
low voices carrying over the rolling landscape,
undulating with the soft rise and fall -
the earth quakes under its weight.
A general stands at the head of his army,
eppaulettes and buttons shining in the hazy glow of an often-covered sun,
while soldiers - men and brothers all -
shift and slide into their positions behind him.
The smell of nervous men is in the air,
the only certainty- some will not live the day,
not return home, never smile again, or laugh, or cry.
no posthumous tears.
They wait, sitting a knife's edge away
from destruction and triumph both,
for both will be found this day,
the drums sing it out.
A victory march and death knell have the same tune.
I've never been to war. Thanks to all those who have gone to battle, securing our freedoms. A special thanks to those in my family, generations past, present, and future. The debt is more than I can pay.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
So now I need to feel better - and a football draft and playoff hockey are just the thing. Oh, and while we're at it, how about I toss in some poetry?
Staring Into Battle
The drums of war beat on,
low voices carrying over the rolling landscape,
undulating with the soft rise and fall -
the earth quakes under its weight.
A general stands at the head of his army,
eppaulettes and buttons shining in the hazy glow of an often-covered sun,
while soldiers - men and brothers all -
shift and slide into their positions behind him.
The smell of nervous men is in the air,
the only certainty- some will not live the day,
not return home, never smile again, or laugh, or cry.
no posthumous tears.
They wait, sitting a knife's edge away
from destruction and triumph both,
for both will be found this day,
the drums sing it out.
A victory march and death knell have the same tune.
I've never been to war. Thanks to all those who have gone to battle, securing our freedoms. A special thanks to those in my family, generations past, present, and future. The debt is more than I can pay.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 21
OK, so for those of you playing along at home, we're two-thirds done!!! Nope, I'm not making this stuff up - we're really doing it! I've even begun thinking ahead to the alst day of the project, and let me tell you - I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it that far when I started this thing. Yeah, 30 days isn't a terribly long time, but then, trying to come up with something new and original for each of these days isn't easy. It's far from the toughest thing I had to do, but it is still a challenge. Many thanks to those who take the time to read my scribbles.
So, what to write about today? With what topic shall I challenge myself? I've written some simple ones, some more complex poetry, and some downright silly stuff. What to do now? What to conquer next? Yes......this will do nicely....
The Challenge
Pain courses through weary flesh,
slowing the repetitive movements in limbs.
The final push was the worst, and it sinks in only afterwards.
Like the afterglow of a moonlight tryst,
where lovers at last notice the evening's cold,
so does the body realize the torture, after the finish line has been crossed.
The goal attained.
But there is more to come.
For the goal was not the challenge, no,
that comes after.
To wake the next morning, lace up the shoes, ready the bike, step into the water, hit the gym,
Yesterday's moment is gone. and the next contest is approaching.
You know you're not ready.
Too weak, too tired, too lazy, to care -
the challenge screams at you, there is no way to not hear it:
"Beginning is easy. Continuing on - that makes you immortal."
Starting this month was easy. Continuing it has proven to be a challenge at times. Most of the time, I sit down to write, not knowing where I will go or what I will see. But I sit down anyway. PG - this may be what you asked for, I don't know. Props to all those who find their challenge and keep on going strong. It doesn't matter if it's athletics, academics, love and relatioships, or a job. Just keep on going, everyone!
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
So, what to write about today? With what topic shall I challenge myself? I've written some simple ones, some more complex poetry, and some downright silly stuff. What to do now? What to conquer next? Yes......this will do nicely....
The Challenge
Pain courses through weary flesh,
slowing the repetitive movements in limbs.
The final push was the worst, and it sinks in only afterwards.
Like the afterglow of a moonlight tryst,
where lovers at last notice the evening's cold,
so does the body realize the torture, after the finish line has been crossed.
The goal attained.
But there is more to come.
For the goal was not the challenge, no,
that comes after.
To wake the next morning, lace up the shoes, ready the bike, step into the water, hit the gym,
Yesterday's moment is gone. and the next contest is approaching.
You know you're not ready.
Too weak, too tired, too lazy, to care -
the challenge screams at you, there is no way to not hear it:
"Beginning is easy. Continuing on - that makes you immortal."
Starting this month was easy. Continuing it has proven to be a challenge at times. Most of the time, I sit down to write, not knowing where I will go or what I will see. But I sit down anyway. PG - this may be what you asked for, I don't know. Props to all those who find their challenge and keep on going strong. It doesn't matter if it's athletics, academics, love and relatioships, or a job. Just keep on going, everyone!
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 20
so like, today's 4/20 duuuuuudes - are you in on the 420??? OK, now that some of you are wondering what the heck that means...I'll explain. For some reason (of which I'm not familiar) 420 means "friendly towards marijuana." Weed, Dope. Ganja. Happy-tobaccy. Muchie Heaven. Yep, for some really obscure reason, the numbers 420 are magical to Ricky Williams. Now, because my mother is reading this I should take a moment to say I've never smoked pot. I have been in the room when it was being smoked, and when the bowl was offered, I passed it on to the next person. So yes, Mom, you did your job well. No worries. But since marijuana has been blamed for some much, including a lot of things from Mr. Bob Dylan, I'm going to channel the pot gods now...oooooohhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm...damn. It didn't work. How about we just have some poetry? (Yes, I know you were wondering how I'd tie that in).
The Americans
An Immigrant working,
bent over the hot steel of the rails,
driving the spikes to build an iron road.
A slave, back crooked and teeth missing,
singing songs of praise on a Sunday.
The old man down the street in apratment 2A - he used to be a plumber,
but now sits to reading, only because he wants to improve himself.
Who sees them?
The man in his business suit from Armani talks on his cell phone,
He is too busy being important to remember those upon whose shoulders he stands.
Without electricity, he is nothing, knows nothing, loves nothing.
Tell me - where are those tough-skinned men and women?
They had the courage to say what needed to be heard.
Today, I'm looking for Americans - and I'm not sure I'll find any.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
The Americans
An Immigrant working,
bent over the hot steel of the rails,
driving the spikes to build an iron road.
A slave, back crooked and teeth missing,
singing songs of praise on a Sunday.
The old man down the street in apratment 2A - he used to be a plumber,
but now sits to reading, only because he wants to improve himself.
Who sees them?
The man in his business suit from Armani talks on his cell phone,
He is too busy being important to remember those upon whose shoulders he stands.
Without electricity, he is nothing, knows nothing, loves nothing.
Tell me - where are those tough-skinned men and women?
They had the courage to say what needed to be heard.
Today, I'm looking for Americans - and I'm not sure I'll find any.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 19, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 19
Sometimes, there is nothing like a mundane task to set your mind at thinking. So as I was stripping paint this afternoon, I found my mind wandering, thinking of poetry and writing in general. I was thinking about why I write, and who it was that inspired me most. The obvious (and truthful) answer is my wife. She is my Muse. Bang - and then I suddenly remembered the film "The Muse" starring Sharon Stone and Albert Brooks (1999 for you film buffs). What? Stripping paint is very boring - I TOLD you my mind was wandering. In any case, I thought about one of the first times I was inspired to write something by another person. Her name was Julia, and she was a foreign student - Czech, I think - in one of my lit classes. I guess I sort of had a little crush on her for a while, though I never told her and nothing ever came of it. I think I wrote some very bad poetry in her honor, and I may even have it somewhere in the vault, I'm not sure. If I ever find it again, I might share it...if I don't think I'd die from shame by doing so. We'll have to see. Anyway, now you know a little about how my mind works, and for that, I humbly apologize. Let's have a poem.
Puppy Love
Up early. Damned ground is cold.
There was a frost last night,
and I'm out here, holding a leash.
Hurry up, dammit!
Why is she faster when she's inside than when she was out?
You started to go, and then, what - suddenly that spot's not good enough?
HURRY UP!
I can't feel my hands, and you're sniffing the grass.
You already sniffed there. It's the same scent it was three minutes ago.
Why is it so cold?
Just go already, please? Pretty please?
I'll do anything if you'll only do your business so I can get back inside the warm covers.
Oh, finally! There is a God!
Okay, are you good?
Yes, let's go inside.
Good girl.
No, I don't need kisses. It's too early.
No, I don't want to play. I want to sleep.
I need more sleep than you.
Because, if I don't sleep, I can't work.
If I don't work, I don't get paid and YOU don't eat.
So please LET ME SLEEP!!!
Thank you. now - just let me get comfy....
And the alarm rings.
Yep - today's Muse is the dog. She's a good dog, really...but there have been a lot of mornings like the one described above. Why not have some fun with poetry, huh? Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Puppy Love
Up early. Damned ground is cold.
There was a frost last night,
and I'm out here, holding a leash.
Hurry up, dammit!
Why is she faster when she's inside than when she was out?
You started to go, and then, what - suddenly that spot's not good enough?
HURRY UP!
I can't feel my hands, and you're sniffing the grass.
You already sniffed there. It's the same scent it was three minutes ago.
Why is it so cold?
Just go already, please? Pretty please?
I'll do anything if you'll only do your business so I can get back inside the warm covers.
Oh, finally! There is a God!
Okay, are you good?
Yes, let's go inside.
Good girl.
No, I don't need kisses. It's too early.
No, I don't want to play. I want to sleep.
I need more sleep than you.
Because, if I don't sleep, I can't work.
If I don't work, I don't get paid and YOU don't eat.
So please LET ME SLEEP!!!
Thank you. now - just let me get comfy....
And the alarm rings.
Yep - today's Muse is the dog. She's a good dog, really...but there have been a lot of mornings like the one described above. Why not have some fun with poetry, huh? Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 18
Greetings, everyone! It's been a nice quiet simple weekend at home, with a few things done that really needed to be done. First and foremost: the Fat Kid's wife signed them up to do a ride - not terribly long, 15 miles round trip on flat paved trails. Today, I managed to get her bike fully up and running, new saddle and everything else included. We also managed to get her a helmet finally, so she's officially ready to ride!!! Now, this is not to say that she's going to stay with it enough to race or anything, but hey, one thing that you can share with your significant other is always when good, and when one partner willingly takes on something because the other likes the activity, then life is very good. This is the stuff we should celebrate about one another. And, it leads me to today's poem - kinda neat how life does that, yes?
Junk
Nothing compares to the junk drawer,
overflowing, barely opening, closing only by force,
afraid of looking in there, lest it explode,
everyone's junk in plain sight.
So organized, everything in its rightful place,
labeled, set just so -
you can see everything in the cabinet,
but the drawer remains a mystery.
No one wants to claim the responsibility of cleaning it,
to him it matters not,
to her, it matters, but she's too tired to do it anymore.
Until the junk mail comes on Tuesday,
she goes to put it in the drawer, with the rest of the junk, the mess, the hassle, the odds and ends of life,
and she finds that the drawer has been cleaned,
A simple note reminding her of pure and simple love,
his sacrifice never mentioned.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Junk
Nothing compares to the junk drawer,
overflowing, barely opening, closing only by force,
afraid of looking in there, lest it explode,
everyone's junk in plain sight.
So organized, everything in its rightful place,
labeled, set just so -
you can see everything in the cabinet,
but the drawer remains a mystery.
No one wants to claim the responsibility of cleaning it,
to him it matters not,
to her, it matters, but she's too tired to do it anymore.
Until the junk mail comes on Tuesday,
she goes to put it in the drawer, with the rest of the junk, the mess, the hassle, the odds and ends of life,
and she finds that the drawer has been cleaned,
A simple note reminding her of pure and simple love,
his sacrifice never mentioned.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 17
Hah! You thought the Fat Kid was going away for the weekend again, didn't you?? SURPRISE!!!! Nope, I'm here, I've just been gathering my thoughts all day. Believe it or not, sometimes, poetry is hard work, and one doesn't know exactly what to write all the time. Sometimes, just letting things stew for a short period help out a lot. So that's what I've been trying to do all day today - just let thoughts stew see what the soup tastes like. Oh, Big Ol' props to my wife for making some excellent potato-leek soup tonight! It was completely awesome in every way - particularly since yesterday's storms left behind some kinda nasty chilly weather. Well, on to some poetry, huh???
Water
You stab at the water, and it flows,
unchecked, unhindered in almost every way,
fluidity its saving grace as onward it goes, ever down.
Constant motion, the stuff of life
and destruction.
Shapeless, formless, senseless, forgetful -
Shaping our lives,
forming our needs
sensing our fear,
forgetting we exist though we can never forget it.
Oh, to be the water, no memory, no future, no desire -
essential and caring not.
But, unable to love,
I am glad that I am not the woundless water.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Water
You stab at the water, and it flows,
unchecked, unhindered in almost every way,
fluidity its saving grace as onward it goes, ever down.
Constant motion, the stuff of life
and destruction.
Shapeless, formless, senseless, forgetful -
Shaping our lives,
forming our needs
sensing our fear,
forgetting we exist though we can never forget it.
Oh, to be the water, no memory, no future, no desire -
essential and caring not.
But, unable to love,
I am glad that I am not the woundless water.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 16, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 16
Ahhh, a lovely beginning to the annual season of storms here in beautiful SW Pennsylvania! Yep, the first of our summer storms hit today, breaking branches, shutting off power, etc, to who knows how many people. Lovely! Actually, storms we get are an interesting sort, and fun to watch, if you have the right vantage point. They are a lovely mix of beauty, power, and danger all rolled into one, and so, today's poem is meant to convey something at least a little similar. I hope you enjoy.
The Storm
Thunder in a low rumble
travels behind the flashing lightning,
the eye heralding hazel and green, itinerantly.
A foul temper of a crazed beginning,
its pattern indiscernable.
Devil-may-care.
It will bend and break all who stand before it,
its fury unmatched in strength and passion.
Right-wrong.
It does not matter, it does not care,
only existing for itself, by itself, feasting on itself
growing in power, strength, determination
finally unleashed in uncontrolable force,
a weapon of screams and earth-tears.
Behind, the placid sky follows,
solid yet foreboding,
reminding us of just how small we are.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
The Storm
Thunder in a low rumble
travels behind the flashing lightning,
the eye heralding hazel and green, itinerantly.
A foul temper of a crazed beginning,
its pattern indiscernable.
Devil-may-care.
It will bend and break all who stand before it,
its fury unmatched in strength and passion.
Right-wrong.
It does not matter, it does not care,
only existing for itself, by itself, feasting on itself
growing in power, strength, determination
finally unleashed in uncontrolable force,
a weapon of screams and earth-tears.
Behind, the placid sky follows,
solid yet foreboding,
reminding us of just how small we are.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 15
OK, it's time to throw a little party , being halfway throuigh this little adventure in wordsmithing!!!! Cool, huh? Oh, and let's all sing happy birthday to my mom - she's a cool lady, and is having a pretty neat day from what I can gather, having spoken to her earlier. Mega-props to my sister, who sent her a flower bouquet!! And if any of you know her and sent her an email because of this, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Also, today is TAX day...yep, so for all who haven't filed yet, the post office is open late, JUST FOR YOU! But since the Man is taxin' everybody's money, I'm not going to tax you too much here. That's right, it's Haiku day here at Poetry Central, and so we'll experiment to day with at least one, hopefully about four of them. Why four?? Well, Adam can guess it, I know....and my mother and wife can get it if they think about it...the rest of you won;t have as much luck...sorry...
Springtime flowers bloom,
unending colors by day;
Rains make it all grey.
Moonbeams dance in fields,
"Fairies, skip hence!" says the Bard,
None believe in them.
Hinds dance in the fall,
as Autumn leaves turn orange;
Blood flows slowly down.
Cold and death prevail.
joy and merriment abound;
Winter's chill lasts not.
OK, OK, it followed a seasonal thing, yeah, yeah...I knew you;d get it. Nope. I will reveal the secret of the number four.....some other day and time. But for now, I shall leave you all a-wondering!!! What, I've gotta keep you coming back somehow!!
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Also, today is TAX day...yep, so for all who haven't filed yet, the post office is open late, JUST FOR YOU! But since the Man is taxin' everybody's money, I'm not going to tax you too much here. That's right, it's Haiku day here at Poetry Central, and so we'll experiment to day with at least one, hopefully about four of them. Why four?? Well, Adam can guess it, I know....and my mother and wife can get it if they think about it...the rest of you won;t have as much luck...sorry...
Springtime flowers bloom,
unending colors by day;
Rains make it all grey.
Moonbeams dance in fields,
"Fairies, skip hence!" says the Bard,
None believe in them.
Hinds dance in the fall,
as Autumn leaves turn orange;
Blood flows slowly down.
Cold and death prevail.
joy and merriment abound;
Winter's chill lasts not.
OK, OK, it followed a seasonal thing, yeah, yeah...I knew you;d get it. Nope. I will reveal the secret of the number four.....some other day and time. But for now, I shall leave you all a-wondering!!! What, I've gotta keep you coming back somehow!!
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 14
OK, so I'll officially have completed two weeks of the Poetry Project when this update is finished. Tomorrow will be the midway point, as well as my mother's birthday - so if you read this and you know how to get in touch with her, feel free to bombard her inbox with well-wishes! Oh, and tell her I said it was ok! Love you, Mom!!!
But more to the point - the local bike racing season has begun, and as I was watching the races last night, I began writing. Coach Suzanne asked if I was writing poetry (I was, go fig) and asked to read what I had down. When I didn;t post it later, she asked that it get posted today. So, Suzanne...thanks for reading along, showing some interest, and encouragement. This one's for you.
And, for those of you who might be looking for some athletic coaching, check out www.steelcityendurance.com, Suzanne runs the show there, and I can tell you from personal experience that you will not only find a path to better performance, but you will find many friends as well.
Gods Among Men
A strange religion,
devotees of metallic gears and chains,
always striving to be less, weigh less, minimize, reduce.
Less, less less.
All to become greater than you used to be.
The less you are, the greater your potential, the higher the output, the more Glory.
You become a god for your sacrifice.
Your obsession, your pain, the self-inflicted torture,
a masochistic ballet of numbers, data, hours, and untold dreams.
All for a brif moment that is yours to savor.
A victory.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
But more to the point - the local bike racing season has begun, and as I was watching the races last night, I began writing. Coach Suzanne asked if I was writing poetry (I was, go fig) and asked to read what I had down. When I didn;t post it later, she asked that it get posted today. So, Suzanne...thanks for reading along, showing some interest, and encouragement. This one's for you.
And, for those of you who might be looking for some athletic coaching, check out www.steelcityendurance.com, Suzanne runs the show there, and I can tell you from personal experience that you will not only find a path to better performance, but you will find many friends as well.
Gods Among Men
A strange religion,
devotees of metallic gears and chains,
always striving to be less, weigh less, minimize, reduce.
Less, less less.
All to become greater than you used to be.
The less you are, the greater your potential, the higher the output, the more Glory.
You become a god for your sacrifice.
Your obsession, your pain, the self-inflicted torture,
a masochistic ballet of numbers, data, hours, and untold dreams.
All for a brif moment that is yours to savor.
A victory.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Poetry Project, day 13!
Yep, almost two whole weeks into it already! And I have to take a moment here to say a humble "thanks". Yep, thanks to all of you who have offered words of encouragement, advice, thoughts on poetry, and just have come along on this journey thus far. Seriously, it's been fun for me, and knowing that some people are reading along really makes it special, so thanks to all of you!
But let's get on with it all, shall we?
Regret
Tired and old,
decrepit and weary,
a life spent wasted on the business of doing.
Bigger better strong faster upward onward never-look-back,
forgetting who got you there
in the hopes of erasing the past.
Until, in the deep moment, the dead of night,
clothed in the velvety blackness and quiet of the self,
we remember and take stock,
How quickly we put it behind us again when we wake and see
the neighbor has a new car.
Mine is rusty.
But let's get on with it all, shall we?
Regret
Tired and old,
decrepit and weary,
a life spent wasted on the business of doing.
Bigger better strong faster upward onward never-look-back,
forgetting who got you there
in the hopes of erasing the past.
Until, in the deep moment, the dead of night,
clothed in the velvety blackness and quiet of the self,
we remember and take stock,
How quickly we put it behind us again when we wake and see
the neighbor has a new car.
Mine is rusty.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 12
Whew! just under the gun here at poetry central! it's 11:21 PM as I sit to write today's update. Oh well, better late than never, and still, we're looking at trying to get 2 poems out to today's blog. OK, then, away we go!!
The Lovers
All is still.
Peaceful and quiet, the simple moments
where noe one cares for anything but the safety of a minimal touch.
To know the pulse and temperature of another,
so much nearer than than the other side of the marriage bed.
The love of another, more than a kiss, a touch,
more than than unbridled energy to be spent upon each other,
waiting for the flashing vision in the eye.
More than all this, is simplicity.
Peace, contentedness, grace: Love.
Cogs
A Man-machine,
drifting, drafting, spinning after another,
desperate to keep the wheel, not wanting to give in, trying to hold back one little bit,
Waiting for the man-machine ahead to crack,
Ever present, the drive, the sprint, the points, the presitge,
knowing that tomorrow, you'll wear a target,
a marked man,
legs of iron, and will of stronger stuff,
Faster and faster, the Man becomes the machine -
until there is nothing left
but the search for the next victory.
OK, these may come off a bit odd. Well, it's sort of a stream of consciousness thing I've got got going on right now. Meh. Not the best stuff I've ever put out, but certainly not the worst.
Oddly, I've found a resource that might help me out. A book on worshopping poetry!!! I happened across it as it came back into the library, and so, I just HAD to check it out and see where it leads/if there's anything interesting int it. We shall see, yes?
Hey, thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
The Lovers
All is still.
Peaceful and quiet, the simple moments
where noe one cares for anything but the safety of a minimal touch.
To know the pulse and temperature of another,
so much nearer than than the other side of the marriage bed.
The love of another, more than a kiss, a touch,
more than than unbridled energy to be spent upon each other,
waiting for the flashing vision in the eye.
More than all this, is simplicity.
Peace, contentedness, grace: Love.
Cogs
A Man-machine,
drifting, drafting, spinning after another,
desperate to keep the wheel, not wanting to give in, trying to hold back one little bit,
Waiting for the man-machine ahead to crack,
Ever present, the drive, the sprint, the points, the presitge,
knowing that tomorrow, you'll wear a target,
a marked man,
legs of iron, and will of stronger stuff,
Faster and faster, the Man becomes the machine -
until there is nothing left
but the search for the next victory.
OK, these may come off a bit odd. Well, it's sort of a stream of consciousness thing I've got got going on right now. Meh. Not the best stuff I've ever put out, but certainly not the worst.
Oddly, I've found a resource that might help me out. A book on worshopping poetry!!! I happened across it as it came back into the library, and so, I just HAD to check it out and see where it leads/if there's anything interesting int it. We shall see, yes?
Hey, thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Day 11 of the Poetry Project
So, ummm...where did days 9 and 10 go? The Fat Kid was out of town again, this time to help some friends get their campground ready to open for the season. And, since these cool friends like to meet other cool people (and I know a LOT of cool people) please feel free to visit their website, and perhaps even the campground. Mention my name, and you'll start off on a good foot with Lindy and Jim, the owners. Visit them at www.campinpa.com!!!!! Yeah - I don't mind shameless plugs.
But you know what a few days away means, right?? It means we have to catch up! So, I have an option...a three-fer today, or a two-fer today and a two-fer tomorrow. I have no idea which I'll go with, but since the weekend was spent in the glory of an absolutely INSANE amount of leaves and other nature-ish things....guess what the theme of today is?
Forest Spring
Days of warmth and sunshine,
nights of snow and ice,
a desert in the midst of a desiduous landscape,
an oasis in reverse,
almost a perversion of the word,
until, as the silken night envelopes the weary,
A rebirth unto the next morning,
ready to face the labors of a new sunrise.
Echo
The forest echoes the morning Song,
piliated, tufted, red-headed - all ringing through the still naked trees.
Almost virginal, and yet, ancient at the same time.
For this - this readying, waiting, wanting, yearning, moment -
has all happened before.
Centuries of a perfection Man cannot repeat,
all continuing because it simply must.
A Song with no beginning, no end,
Alpha and Omega,
Creation.
Omega and Alpha,
A Song with no end, no beginning,
all continuing because it simply must,
centuries of a perfection man cannot repeat.
Has all happened before,
for this - this readying, waiting, wanting, yearning moment.
Almost virginal, and yet, ancient at the same time.
Piliated, tufted, red-headed - all ringing through the still naked trees.
The forest echoes the morning Song.
OK, I'm going to stop at two today, and do two tomorrow. Why? Because these two are spur-of-the-moment writings, and well, after "Echo" - I'm going to let it go for the night. See - the Fat Kid just had a strange moment: after reaching the "creation" line, I looked, and realized that with some minor puntuational changes, it actually worked. There are a scant few poetic works I want to put my name to. Usually, they all have a certain feeling attached to them, like I've reached a new plateau in training or something. I never know when they're coming, I only know after they've happened. I would put my name to "Echo".
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
But you know what a few days away means, right?? It means we have to catch up! So, I have an option...a three-fer today, or a two-fer today and a two-fer tomorrow. I have no idea which I'll go with, but since the weekend was spent in the glory of an absolutely INSANE amount of leaves and other nature-ish things....guess what the theme of today is?
Forest Spring
Days of warmth and sunshine,
nights of snow and ice,
a desert in the midst of a desiduous landscape,
an oasis in reverse,
almost a perversion of the word,
until, as the silken night envelopes the weary,
A rebirth unto the next morning,
ready to face the labors of a new sunrise.
Echo
The forest echoes the morning Song,
piliated, tufted, red-headed - all ringing through the still naked trees.
Almost virginal, and yet, ancient at the same time.
For this - this readying, waiting, wanting, yearning, moment -
has all happened before.
Centuries of a perfection Man cannot repeat,
all continuing because it simply must.
A Song with no beginning, no end,
Alpha and Omega,
Creation.
Omega and Alpha,
A Song with no end, no beginning,
all continuing because it simply must,
centuries of a perfection man cannot repeat.
Has all happened before,
for this - this readying, waiting, wanting, yearning moment.
Almost virginal, and yet, ancient at the same time.
Piliated, tufted, red-headed - all ringing through the still naked trees.
The forest echoes the morning Song.
OK, I'm going to stop at two today, and do two tomorrow. Why? Because these two are spur-of-the-moment writings, and well, after "Echo" - I'm going to let it go for the night. See - the Fat Kid just had a strange moment: after reaching the "creation" line, I looked, and realized that with some minor puntuational changes, it actually worked. There are a scant few poetic works I want to put my name to. Usually, they all have a certain feeling attached to them, like I've reached a new plateau in training or something. I never know when they're coming, I only know after they've happened. I would put my name to "Echo".
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 8
And here we are again, kids! OK, well, I've not heard much from a lot of people, but I'm plugging on, with the realization that either a) nobody likes poetry, b) nobody cares to create it, and therefore thinks they don't understand it, c) too many lit teachers told you to read everything one line at a time, aloud in class, thereby spoiling what could have been the love of it into unabashed hatred, or d) I really suck at this, and nobody wants to tell me.
I'm praying there is no e) all of the above.
Regardless, I press on!!!!!!!
There's no "_"
Team.
A letter unseen, but oft spoken.
My word.
Thrown about casually, no one understands the grace,
the love, the need, the pressure, the joyful exhuberance.
What do we know about that?
No one has the answer,
and, even though we concentrate most on that unseen alphabet-dweller,
nowhere will he appear.
He has been lost.
OK, enigmatic at best, possibly confusing. Most who bother to read this will probably get it right off the bat, but really, this is just me being VERY silly. I don't claim this is good - in fact, I think it's kind of odd and haphazard, but I hope it leaves everyone with a smile. Just don't think too deeply. It doesn't go deep at all.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
I'm praying there is no e) all of the above.
Regardless, I press on!!!!!!!
There's no "_"
Team.
A letter unseen, but oft spoken.
My word.
Thrown about casually, no one understands the grace,
the love, the need, the pressure, the joyful exhuberance.
What do we know about that?
No one has the answer,
and, even though we concentrate most on that unseen alphabet-dweller,
nowhere will he appear.
He has been lost.
OK, enigmatic at best, possibly confusing. Most who bother to read this will probably get it right off the bat, but really, this is just me being VERY silly. I don't claim this is good - in fact, I think it's kind of odd and haphazard, but I hope it leaves everyone with a smile. Just don't think too deeply. It doesn't go deep at all.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Poetry Experiment day 7!!!
Holy Toledo - it's been a week already! It hardly seems like it. One thing I've noticed thus far: I am THINKING about writing more often. This is important. I cannot stress the importance enough, in fact. Particularly in fiction, I find that most of my writing takes place whan I am nowhere near a keyboard - it's when I'm simply thinking about my story, the various things that need to happen, why they need to happen, and of course, HOW to make them happen.
Poetry - particularly sensory stuff - is a LOT like that, I think. It's not enough to say "the sun is bright." You have to consider what to say, how to say it, WHO says it, and why, otherwise, it's just jibberish. Not that jibberish isn't important, either...in any case, here's today's take from my jumbled-up mind. Hope you enjoy!
Left Feet
A tuneless Song is sung in the waking of the day,
a melody which cannot be heard
to a rhythm that can only be felt
in the deep soul-pockets no one talks about.
The great Dance begins,
first a bow and an empty hand,
ritual movements of invitation and acceptance,
submission to the Composer's vision.
The Promenade first,
then the Song takes hold,
expression, form, each unique to the Company.
Here, one counts to be wary of steps,
another marks the turn,
lead and follow, lead and follow,
so the floor spins on its axis.
Except for the one standing in the corner.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Poetry - particularly sensory stuff - is a LOT like that, I think. It's not enough to say "the sun is bright." You have to consider what to say, how to say it, WHO says it, and why, otherwise, it's just jibberish. Not that jibberish isn't important, either...in any case, here's today's take from my jumbled-up mind. Hope you enjoy!
Left Feet
A tuneless Song is sung in the waking of the day,
a melody which cannot be heard
to a rhythm that can only be felt
in the deep soul-pockets no one talks about.
The great Dance begins,
first a bow and an empty hand,
ritual movements of invitation and acceptance,
submission to the Composer's vision.
The Promenade first,
then the Song takes hold,
expression, form, each unique to the Company.
Here, one counts to be wary of steps,
another marks the turn,
lead and follow, lead and follow,
so the floor spins on its axis.
Except for the one standing in the corner.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Poetry Project, Day 6
The Brownlings' Day
The buds of Spring are opening-
unsure and virginal, a vibrant hue.
Plush carpets spread below broad skeletons of trees
as the breeze blows away the chaff of Winter.
Not much remains, now, of the season past,
as life returns to the Verdant Ones.
Theirs is the beauty of the sun -
theirs the briefest hour,
the colors loved by all.
Soon, again, they all become Brownlings,
but today, the Brownlings lay dying.
No preamble today. Many thanks for the comments thus far - almost a week gone in this little project, and thus far, I'm quite satisfied, and have a few ideas of things that I'm going to work on and try to perfect. Some nice workshopping ideas are coming to me.
Looking through much of the past writings, I've noticed that a lot - too many, I think - of my writing centers around "I". Not just the experiential part of the poem, but "I" actually appears in much of my past writing. I've never bothered to really look at most of what I've written.
Today's was written last week, anticipating this month of writing. I hope you all enjoy.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
The buds of Spring are opening-
unsure and virginal, a vibrant hue.
Plush carpets spread below broad skeletons of trees
as the breeze blows away the chaff of Winter.
Not much remains, now, of the season past,
as life returns to the Verdant Ones.
Theirs is the beauty of the sun -
theirs the briefest hour,
the colors loved by all.
Soon, again, they all become Brownlings,
but today, the Brownlings lay dying.
No preamble today. Many thanks for the comments thus far - almost a week gone in this little project, and thus far, I'm quite satisfied, and have a few ideas of things that I'm going to work on and try to perfect. Some nice workshopping ideas are coming to me.
Looking through much of the past writings, I've noticed that a lot - too many, I think - of my writing centers around "I". Not just the experiential part of the poem, but "I" actually appears in much of my past writing. I've never bothered to really look at most of what I've written.
Today's was written last week, anticipating this month of writing. I hope you all enjoy.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Monday, April 5, 2010
Poetry Project: Day 5
Hey, thanks for the comments thus far! Not that I've had many, but the ones I do get are positive, and you have my thanks. You know who you are.
What a fine day in Pittsburgh. 74 with a slight chance of rain for the opening the MLB season here. 1:35 game time. Well, it's bright and sunny, with a nice spring breeze blowing, and I'm hoping for a Pirate win! It's hard to not be a baseball fan on a day like today!! Anyway, on to today's offering!!
I had a suggestion that I should do something with form. Normally, I am not a fan of doing this - as it always seems contrived to me. But, when I read the following words, I thought I could set them down in a decent enough way.
Tatters
Threads beat in the wind
Hanging upon one another
none could stand
Alone.
Each a seperate wire,
a patchwork of simple lines
woven together,
a simple idea their only common dye.
Freedom.
Allegiance to it is not mandatory,
but without it,
The Flag
unravels.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
What a fine day in Pittsburgh. 74 with a slight chance of rain for the opening the MLB season here. 1:35 game time. Well, it's bright and sunny, with a nice spring breeze blowing, and I'm hoping for a Pirate win! It's hard to not be a baseball fan on a day like today!! Anyway, on to today's offering!!
I had a suggestion that I should do something with form. Normally, I am not a fan of doing this - as it always seems contrived to me. But, when I read the following words, I thought I could set them down in a decent enough way.
Tatters
Threads beat in the wind
Hanging upon one another
none could stand
Alone.
Each a seperate wire,
a patchwork of simple lines
woven together,
a simple idea their only common dye.
Freedom.
Allegiance to it is not mandatory,
but without it,
The Flag
unravels.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Poem Project, Days 3 & 4
Everyone makes mistakes, including the Fat Kid. See, I forgot that we were headed out of town for the Easter holiday, and would have no internet access for the weekend. So, today, you get a two-fer!!!! Yep, two poems, one for yesterday, one for today. Happy Easter to one and all. I hope your day was joyous, and you got to spend it doing whatever it is you like to do. Whether Christian, Jew, Agnostic, Kabalist, or even atheist - I hope you spent the day and or weekend becoming closer to whatever moves you.
Morning Prayer
I hear the morning-song of Spring;
The waking of birds to the glow
of a not-yet risen sun.
Cold clouds of life - mist shooting from flaring nostrils
I see the silver-blue sky through the canopy above.
Hues unimaginable in the spectrum we know,
Cloudless, still, and perfect.
And in all, I feel the breath of the Creator;
the breeze through the leaves,
life teeming in wild abundance.
And I am grateful to You, O God,
that I have been here to bear witness
to this, Your Majesty.
Tears
Tears are hot and first,
cooling rapidly on the cheek
as they roll to water the the ground.
How many tears must fall
until the fertile earth springs
forth anew?
until the plants grow again?
When will she no longer need to cry?
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Morning Prayer
I hear the morning-song of Spring;
The waking of birds to the glow
of a not-yet risen sun.
Cold clouds of life - mist shooting from flaring nostrils
I see the silver-blue sky through the canopy above.
Hues unimaginable in the spectrum we know,
Cloudless, still, and perfect.
And in all, I feel the breath of the Creator;
the breeze through the leaves,
life teeming in wild abundance.
And I am grateful to You, O God,
that I have been here to bear witness
to this, Your Majesty.
Tears
Tears are hot and first,
cooling rapidly on the cheek
as they roll to water the the ground.
How many tears must fall
until the fertile earth springs
forth anew?
until the plants grow again?
When will she no longer need to cry?
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Friday, April 2, 2010
Poem Project, Day 2
Kinda hard to have a blog about biking and whatever and not actually ever talk about biking, huh?? Yeah - seems stupid. So, a brief tale:
Yesterday, I had off work and my car needed to be inspected. For those of you who may not be in PA, we need to have this done every year, not once every 2 like NJ or NY. Oh, and by living in a PA city, we have emiisions tests, too. If I lived in the country, that wouldn't be a problem. Such is life. So I have my car at the shop. Incidentally, for those on the east side of Pittsburgh, Bob at MD Autoworks in Wilkinsburg will treat you well - you can trust him. Bob declares my vehicle fit and calls me with the total.
So, I have to get over the hill and into Wilkinsburg to get the car. Fair enough - I have a bike, and the bike rack is on the car. Life is good. So I head off. Now, I'm no good at climbing hills - never have been. I know, I know, it's practice that I need, and the cure to the problem is to keep persisting in conquering it. I make it up the hill eventually, and start down the other side. On my way, I pass through a rough patch of road and POP....a flat tire. I carry a spare tube with me, but I don't have my tools - they are in the car that I'm on my way to get. Usually, I ride on a track, not the road, and I drive to the track...so my tools are kept there.
As luck would have it, I popped in front of a construction supplier warehouse. These guys supply things like industrial generators and small equipment like jackhammers, tampers...things like that. They have a maintenance garage to service the equipment. I need an air compressor and a wrench. It's 15 minutes before they close. Thankfully, the guys working are really nice, and they let me use their tools to change the flat and be on my way. 7 minute change. Not too shabby.
Anyway, on to today's poem. This one is for all those biking friends of mine. Shout-outs to L-A, Mike, Jay, Mayhew, Ben, Suzanne, The Clydesdales, and Patty (Duke sucks.) And I just can't name them all - so if I missed your name, please feel free to insert it here: ____________.
Breathe
Back is hunched, legs sore, air burning through my lungs,
hot and sweaty confines of shackles on my feet,
the mountain in front of me my terror,
for the pain is about to double.
Out of the saddle, a strange dance,
looking as if at any moment, I will simply fall over,
the effort of putting another foot down is so great,
legs are screaming.
The mountain gets steeper in front of me,
the road is straight and narrow,
the only obstacle is pain,
is me.
I only have to remember to breathe.
Meh. It's not my favorite, but it's not bad for 20 minutes of thinking. Most of my poems are hand-written - rarely are any "born-digital."
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Yesterday, I had off work and my car needed to be inspected. For those of you who may not be in PA, we need to have this done every year, not once every 2 like NJ or NY. Oh, and by living in a PA city, we have emiisions tests, too. If I lived in the country, that wouldn't be a problem. Such is life. So I have my car at the shop. Incidentally, for those on the east side of Pittsburgh, Bob at MD Autoworks in Wilkinsburg will treat you well - you can trust him. Bob declares my vehicle fit and calls me with the total.
So, I have to get over the hill and into Wilkinsburg to get the car. Fair enough - I have a bike, and the bike rack is on the car. Life is good. So I head off. Now, I'm no good at climbing hills - never have been. I know, I know, it's practice that I need, and the cure to the problem is to keep persisting in conquering it. I make it up the hill eventually, and start down the other side. On my way, I pass through a rough patch of road and POP....a flat tire. I carry a spare tube with me, but I don't have my tools - they are in the car that I'm on my way to get. Usually, I ride on a track, not the road, and I drive to the track...so my tools are kept there.
As luck would have it, I popped in front of a construction supplier warehouse. These guys supply things like industrial generators and small equipment like jackhammers, tampers...things like that. They have a maintenance garage to service the equipment. I need an air compressor and a wrench. It's 15 minutes before they close. Thankfully, the guys working are really nice, and they let me use their tools to change the flat and be on my way. 7 minute change. Not too shabby.
Anyway, on to today's poem. This one is for all those biking friends of mine. Shout-outs to L-A, Mike, Jay, Mayhew, Ben, Suzanne, The Clydesdales, and Patty (Duke sucks.) And I just can't name them all - so if I missed your name, please feel free to insert it here: ____________.
Breathe
Back is hunched, legs sore, air burning through my lungs,
hot and sweaty confines of shackles on my feet,
the mountain in front of me my terror,
for the pain is about to double.
Out of the saddle, a strange dance,
looking as if at any moment, I will simply fall over,
the effort of putting another foot down is so great,
legs are screaming.
The mountain gets steeper in front of me,
the road is straight and narrow,
the only obstacle is pain,
is me.
I only have to remember to breathe.
Meh. It's not my favorite, but it's not bad for 20 minutes of thinking. Most of my poems are hand-written - rarely are any "born-digital."
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Poem Project, Day 1
OK, how to kick off this thing, this experiment, this - my own little Poetry Slam. I'll reach into the vault, and pull out something from a few years ago! Before we begin, though, I'd like to simply say a brief thanks. Thanks to you, whomever you are, for taking this journey with me. By all means, if something I write seems appropriate for you to share with others, please feel free to do so. I'm not suggesting I'm that great, but every once in a while I happen upon something good. Above all, though, I hope you enjoy this ride - I'm looking forward to it.
Something in Common
One sat, book upon his lap, head bowed,
silently letting his mind get lost in
the whiteness of the pages.
Sat another, eyes awake, simply looking
at the passing of people the other couldn't see.
No words were said, no great thoughts uttered.
And yet, in the peaceful quiet, both realized
they shared a common bond.
One stood and walked away - the other left, too.
Opposite paths they strode, but each was changed,
for sometimes, when words are silent, the heart is
able to speak and yet be heard.
I wrote this back in 2000 - I think I was walking outside and saw a couple of people on a bench...or something like that. I know I kind of like this one. No, it's not anything grand or awe-inspiring. It does not take my breath away. But whenever I read it, I am reminded that life can sometimes be simple and quiet, and that those are the moments that sometimes mean the most.
Thoughts are appreciated, comments encouraged, responses are welcome.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
Something in Common
One sat, book upon his lap, head bowed,
silently letting his mind get lost in
the whiteness of the pages.
Sat another, eyes awake, simply looking
at the passing of people the other couldn't see.
No words were said, no great thoughts uttered.
And yet, in the peaceful quiet, both realized
they shared a common bond.
One stood and walked away - the other left, too.
Opposite paths they strode, but each was changed,
for sometimes, when words are silent, the heart is
able to speak and yet be heard.
I wrote this back in 2000 - I think I was walking outside and saw a couple of people on a bench...or something like that. I know I kind of like this one. No, it's not anything grand or awe-inspiring. It does not take my breath away. But whenever I read it, I am reminded that life can sometimes be simple and quiet, and that those are the moments that sometimes mean the most.
Thoughts are appreciated, comments encouraged, responses are welcome.
Thanks for reading!
The Fat Kid
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