Tag Archives: Random Thoughts

I Avert My Eyes

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Eye

Image by aepoc via Flickr

I wrote this one today. I often feel like this in public places. My emotion starts out as self-consciousness, then gradually spins into something else entirely.

Your gaze meets mine.

As nobodies,

we pass on the street.

Is it stranger danger I fear?

Too scared to murmur a polite hello.

I avert my eyes.

 

You’re my new co-worker.

The friendly, spunky sort.

I like you,

what you’re saying.

We could be friends.

I avert my eyes.

 

I recall a peculiar Kevin.

Fourth grade. I didn’t mean to stare.

He was just so tiny, I was intrigued.

He’d catch me gawking, glare at me.

I’d avert my eyes.

 

I catch you looking at me.

Perhaps we’re at a bar.

Dimly lit. Smoky, like the good ol’ days.

Maybe you were about to buy me a drink.

Too risky—

I avert my eyes.

 

You’re a girl about my age.

I love your scarf. Your nose ring.

Your whole vibe in general.

I should compliment you.

Instead—

I avert my eyes.

 

I look at you, looking at me

as we pass in the grocery store.

Is there something on my face?

Only my obtrusive optics.

They’re too bright.

I avert my eyes.

 

Do my eyes…

Pierce your skull?

Burn your soul?

Why do I feel mine can’t dare meet yours?

Do you fear your secrets exposed?

Don’t worry…

 

As your gaze meets mine,

we’ll simply pass as nobodies,

on the street.

I know now they’re

Dangerous. Daunting. Electric.

I’ll avert my eyes.

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My friend, Jerme

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This one is about a friend that has recently come into my life. A perplexing being. I’m trying to understand him as a person, but am coming to terms with the fact that I may not ever entirely.

Existence 1

Image by Vincepal via Flickr

He’s brilliant, book smart.

Bright, but unglowing.

FASCINATING

if he gets the Floor.

 

Not ugly, not beautiful.

No sadness, no joy.

He just exists,

and that’s enough

for HIM.

 

Thee single solemn soul

I’ve yet met

to NOT care to seek

companionship.

 

Does he possess

a lesson to be learned?

Are our concerns

to love and be loved

Narcissistic?

ELEMENTARY?

 

A MINISCULE particle

of our existence

chalked up to

Human Nature?

 

He’s content

all alone.

No warm body

next to his

in BED.

 

I imagine “LONLINESS”

poetically described

to him—

He’d scratch his head,

cocking it slightly

to the side.

 

Life to him is

simply

existing.

“REALISM”.

 

Perhaps this perception

isn’t hard & harsh.

Just maybe

It’s what we should all see.

 

For in his eyes it’s simple.

Plain.

Neat.

People, places, things—

All just NOUNS, to his being.

 

Looking at a still life,

What does he see?

“A bowl of oranges,” he says.

Are you fucking KIDDING me?

 

Maybe his intelligence

reaches outside my mind’s realm.

For his thoughts are

CRISP

black and white.

Mine are a

HUGE

GRAY

swirling cloud.

He Loves Her

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Heart
Image by mozzercork via Flickr

I wrote this one just last night. A sort of love poem.

He Loves her

in a way she’ll never

quite grasp.

He loves her

regardless

of the “typical” things:

Heedless household nagging,

chronic bitchiness when she’s ragging.

He loves her

no matter

how many times she

asks for validation

of their love.

She loves him

for reasons beyond

her imagination.

She loves him

regardless

of the “typical” things:

general male messiness,

clothes strewn about as he’ll undress.

She loves him

no matter

how many times

he has to

validate

their love.

She loves him

as he loves her—

they love one another

for still loving

the other.

“Learn To Be Quiet”

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Here’s a short writing by Franz Kafka, who was primarily a novelist/short story writer. I feel so strongly about what he has to say here, I feel like we all just need to take the time each day, each HOUR of every day to stop for a moment and really think about what life is all about. This writing makes me do just that.

 

Franz Kafka #2

You need not do anything.

 

Remain sitting at your table and listen.

 

You need not even listen, just wait.

 

You need not even wait,

 

just learn to be quiet, still and solitary.

 

And the world will freely offer itself to you unmasked.

 

It has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

“All You Who Sleep Tonight”

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Vikram Seth - Cambridge - 27 November 2011

Image by Chris Boland via Flickr

This is a poem by Vikram Seth, a fantastic Indian poet/novelist, and so much more. This is a poem of his that I have treasured on many lonely nights.

 

All you who sleep tonight

Far from the ones you love,

No hand to left or right

And emptiness above –

Know that you aren’t alone

The whole world shares your tears,

Some for two nights or one,

And some for all their years.

The Window

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Deutsch: Jalouisie. English: Venitian blind. F...

Image via Wikipedia

This poem is how I start almost every morning. I wrote this one about a week ago. 

THE WINDOW
The alarm clock blares.

My eyes stare

at the ceiling,

HATING

the morning time.

I abusively fondle

the clock.

The alarm stops.

 

UPRIGHT

I bolt.

Slowly I turn,

glaring at the closed window blinds.

 

The day. Outside. Is it…

Sunny? I wonder.

Warm? Doubtful.

Chilly? Windy?

FREEZING? Most likely.

 

I slowly peek out

between the blinds,

too fearful to open them

ALL the way.

 

Snow? Nope.

WHEW!

My head tilts back

as I sigh in relief.

 

NOW the blinds can come open

All the way.

Start-of-Winter sun slips in;

A warm and golden light

Floods the room.

 

Tomorrow,

Mother Earth and I begin

AGAIN

The battle

That is

Every morning.

 

 

Father

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Here’s a poem I just wrote yesterday actually. Rhyming isn’t usually something I do well, but I feel this one came flowing out pretty decent!

FATHER

Until I was old enough

To have true insight,

My father was perfect,

Us together—just right.

 

Reflecting on it now,

My childhood was a lie.

It was Mother who was there for me,

Not Dad, when I cried.

 

Where was this man,

When I was too weak to stand?

It was Mother next to me,

Holding my hand.

 

The best memory I have

Is a crinkled photograph now.

My cousin and I,

Putting on a play for Father Cow.

 

We’re performing our hearts out,

Thinking he’s watching intently.

The basketball game on TV

Is more important evidently.

 

Dad is well-liked by his colleagues,

As they don’t know his true self.

“My life is an open book,” he says;

But it sits closed, on the shelf.

 

I’m grateful to have him in my life.

My dearest friend doesn’t have the pleasure

Of having a father present,

And falsified memories to treasure.