Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Monday, January 30, 2006

Silliness... as conversations go.

Laura H: ive got the hiccups
Laura H: grr
baileykix: I posted a comment, didn't i? thought i did.. I love that bulletin!
Laura H: oh idk let me check
Laura H: looks like u did
Laura H: u left a comment about my background
baileykix: check your myspace inbox then
Laura H: i did
Laura H: ah oh well lol
baileykix: i posted something about the bulletin.... somewhere. I know i did!
Laura H: im gonna go..lol my hiccups are killin me
baileykix: BOO!
Laura H: z;fdklngad'fkg
Laura H: dont do that lol
baileykix: lol
Laura H: have a good day
baileykix: really.. LOL. You too.
Laura H: byee byee
baileykix: byeee

Monday, January 23, 2006

Cafe Carpe Diem

Barefoot, I have ventured out
in the cold before first light
to sit with my coffee, the cup
warm in my hands
and wait for inspiration
to strike once more.

Take a sip,
where is the muse today
and every other day?
Before morning, before work
with focus ticking on its
metronome counting seconds
the way this moment slowly
reveals the skeleton of a snapped
tree limb resting off to the left.

Another sip,
and now a car is pulling
into the lot, our Slavic neighbors,
restless cleaning crew returning home
fresh off the night shift.

I watch with mild disinterest
as they cross toward the entrance,
distracted and growling to each other
something important, I suppose
in Polish.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Oh God...
am I a masochist, or what?

First, the title needs more creativity and originality, seems plain and over simple.

Are You

Voiced from a distance
across the field of litter,<--should be a colon
paraphanalia and trailer trash.<--improper grammar, is spelled this way: paraphernalia
Are you Charles Benoit
of Liberty? Are you?
of the small and weak? <--cliche
Serial killer in the making? <--serial killers aren't poetic to me, thus to my brilliant mind you are trying to be shocking, but I think we are all desensitized by Hollywood, I'm sure. However children reading this would feel some shock, but we your audience aren't children, and topics such as that don't constitute for poetry, IMHHO
Can you feel my eyes now <-- cliche
burning poisoned darts through <--cliche
the back of your miserable skull, <--cliche
focused for vengeance on your <--cliche
despicable motive? The shrunken <--cliche
black heart that you possess, <--"black heart" is cliche
that you've always possessed. <--pointless redundancy in the word "possess"
I saw what you did, <--cliche
we all saw what you did <--again cliche and redundant, reaching for effect
for sport, from an afternoon of <--cliche
beer and weed, maybe you even <--run on after "weed", and drugs for a topic of poetry is not poetry, poetry is supposed to be from the higher minded faculties or reason and passion.
shot up that day. Did your veins <--cliche
feel it? Feel heat like hot coals, <--cliche in "heat like hot coals"
the same burning embers you drowned <--"burning embers" is cliche
a life in? I hope that you did, hope <--poor choice of grammar, and again cliche
you forgot even to bleach your works. <--cliche
We all heard what you said
in order to free yourself
of witnesses and charges. <--this whole sentence sounding like everyday speech, and poetry is supposed to transcend everyday speech-like writing
Witnesses and charges always <--pointless redundancy
return to hiss and claw
and bite back the way you
have come now, are you really <---end thought at "now"
free. Come now, have you looked <--needs question mark after "free", "come now" is cliche
over your shoulder lately? <--"looked over your shoulder" is cliche
Can you sleep at night? <--cliche
Can you look in the mirror? <--cliche
Friends and enemies, my friend.
Which ones can you trust? <--should be "which one"--lose the "s"

I see a brigade of cliches, virtually no original ideas or phrases. Learn your cliches if you want to master this art that you're responsible for... this smacks or seems to vent your feelings, which is ok, but the avenue of diction and meaning thus signifies that this poem had more of a purpose in shock value, rather than a passionate, soulful, pondering, thought provoking, beautiful, eloquent, and etc, that typifies poetry from great writers...like Edgar Allen Poe said that poetry should be a passion not a purpose. Your purpose is to shock, and I see little passion, sorry to be so blunt, I think you ought to know from me, someone that spent a while critiquing it, and cares that you live up to the status and such an honorable title such as poet, for there is a responsibility that exceeds all of our realizations to uphold it in truth and justice for all, and to true poets who bear witness to possess interest, even, to such an ineffable duty as to be a poet is vital to be and become.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

There was a defining moment in the morning sky when I went out to sit with my coffee... a linear quality created by the moon, Jupiter and another star. Later, the same moon attracted a halo sectioned with a vapor trail left by a passing jet. To me it looked liked the beginnings of a spiderweb to be spun trapping the moon in the center by some mythological "Charlotte." Lol... my muse in the a.m. can take any turn. It could easily have focused on my cat, Pablo instead, with his typcial curiosity when he jumps on the counter when I go to pour my cup. Seems he's always after me morning java :P
Well, its off to work I go... I look forward to seeing all my puppies at the shop. Funny, I miss 'em all on my days off.

Friday, January 13, 2006

One With The Weather

In the day before tomorrow
in the hour after last
patience is an aquired taste
designed to clear a way,
a path through the underbrush.

Drawn to the sky now
before the rain
the clouds on collision course
with air-bussed couches
forgiving of full throttled
intent plastered into a holding pattern
or downward spiral... I can see
where the clouds will arrive faster than me.

And in this hour prelit fog
rolls in on cue ...
once again I'm reminded
of some guardian breed encountered
nearly a lifetime ago.

Sunday, January 08, 2006


Get me deep to where the sun burns my eyes
and revision is futile. Distance has overrun
me at 4 a.m., these barriers store roadblocks
to anything healthy. This is where no comment
is key to a bleak hum and constant uncertainty
treads pervasive now everywhere.

So unresponsive these fine paces to jump through
leave me confused and stumbling in shallow dark.
Don't touch, don't feel, don't speak, don't hear
and for God's sake don't comfort now that the
damage is done. This is where I always break
but where do I go from here.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

The sky is clear
and the air is brisk
this morning.
At least
the sky is clear and
the air is
still there.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Oh the things I think of in the mornings. How there's such a fine line between mist and actual fog. Rain and fog is where you fast approach loss for words. But at the same time there have been images and phrases running through my mind that I've been too unmotivated to capture as tangible evidence of being an actual writer. Can I still even call myself that? Sometimes I even think to myself "What's the point, really?" And that depresses me even more. Nothing shared, nothing gained. What the hell is wrong with me?

Monday, January 02, 2006

Happy Belated New Year, everyone... Can't wait to see how things turn out for the next twelve months. :D