ersatz versifier

Coffee Shop

2010-10-23T15:34:00.000-07:00

The old man shuffles in slowly, the bystanders worried that the weight of the door he's holding open will suddenly become overwhelming and sweep him and his cane inside sooner and more dangerously than planned. But his grip holds true and he enters.

He is permanently bent so that his chin is nearly on his chest, and when looking at him straight on, rather than seeing his face, one sees only the top of his cap.

Patiently waiting for the cashier, he orders a coffee once they're available to take his order. After they hand it to him he makes his way to the table nearby and sits down facing the window, gazing out from under his turtle like posture.

His back is humped, one shoulder higher than the other, with liver spots scattered lightly across his face and hands. His attire includes a long sleeve Tommy Jeans shirt, chest pocket laden with various accessories like glasses and checkbook, dark Docker style pants, dress socks and dark loafers. A San Francisco Giants hat covers his head of shortly cropped white hair, the most incongruent piece of his apparel. Simple spectacles rest on his nose, hearing aids sit in both ears, and a large ring adorns his right ring finger.

He occasionally pulls a slightly out-of-date Verizon cell phone out of a holster on his belt, whether to check the time or send a text message is not evident from a distance. It looks out of place in his lined hands, but the older model is somehow appropriate.

After sitting for a while, sipping his coffee and looking out the window, he slowly stands up and grabs his cane from the crook between the table and wall where he leaned it. He walks back to the door, exiting this time, and makes it through successfully again. He merely wanted a change of scenery though, now sitting at a table on the patio.

It would not be far-fetched to speculate that he is a man on his own, a widower perhaps, but he has the appearance of waiting for someone, a conjecture spurred on by the intermittent fondling of his phone. Sure enough, only a couple minutes go by before another older (but much younger than him) gentleman approaches and sits down with a full smile on his face. Dressed simply in jeans and a long sleeve pullover shirt, the recent arrival soon walks in to order a drink before going back out to join his friend.

Looking back, the old man suddenly has some kind of treat in a baggie, produced from some hidden pocket while my head was turned. It looks to be some sort of cookie, or perhaps biscotti. Something dry and crumbly that an old man would carry in his pocket to snack on throughout the day.

The two men carry on cordially, the younger of the two being much more active in his motions, nodding his head and leaning across the table at times in a way that suggests a closeness between them. The old man sits much more stilly, but is still engaged in the conversation. Both men continue sipping their drinks between words, laughs, smiles, and nods.

The surrounding patio and parking lot is busy with people coming and going from the coffee shop and surrounding stores and eateries. There are students studying, friends reminiscing, and couples chatting. The sky is a cool grey, but not thickly overcast, with slight patches of light blue showing here and there. A slight breeze swirls by now and then.

It is a perfect Saturday afternoon.

Eat and Run

2010-10-23T14:02:00.002-07:00

As I was walking back to my apartment earlier today I came to the large tree near my stairway. While walking by I heard very audible crunching noises. Being several paces past already, I glanced over my shoulder only to discover a squirrel balled up on his haunches, munching on some tasty treat. I quickly went up stairs to grab my camera, but the fuzzball was gone before I could get back. I was, however, able to find and capture the remnants of his nibblings.

The Eve of Winter

2010-10-23T14:02:00.001-07:00

Cool, damp, and grey. Perfect combination for wandering through the bookstore before grabbing a coffee and sitting outside to people watch.

I love this time of year. The cool weather, the coziness of being bundled up, the seasonal menu items and window displays, the general atmosphere of approaching holidays.

Soon hearths will become centerpieces and kitchens will be overflowing with bustling cooks, sweet and savory aromas, and children of all ages reaching for tasty morsels while the bustling heads are turned.

This season is one of complexity and dichotomy, a conglomeration of hospitality, togetherness, stress, and family strife. Fuses will burn and tensions will flare, but hearts, too, will melt and come together, and memories will run free, frolicking in the wonderland of Nostalgia.

Too soon this time will pass again, so consume the season consciously. Sing harmony to the songs we have all heard countless times. Savor each forkful of stuffing and every draught of hot spiced cider. Marvel at the spectacle of humanity while shopping and waiting in lines. Revel in the laughter of children running by in scarves and mittens.

Do not let cold and dark times dictate cold and dark moods. The frozen land is one of beauty and majesty, and the warmth of the heart is resilient and strong.

A recent drive into the hills and past North Fork

2010-10-23T11:50:00.000-07:00

Vinny's Mountain Debut

Around the Bend

Grass and Rock

Layers

Caelifera in the Grass

Coccinellidae in the Grass

Grandmother Manzanita

Grandmother Manzanita's Skin

Pour Bacon on Dynamite

Bird Cloud

Farewell

2010-08-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

We shared times together, you and I, from firsts and lasts, to manys and onlys. You saw me at my very worst, not judging as I yelled, sobbed, and trembled. You saw me at my best, joyous, smiling, and laughing outright. You saw me be everything in between, from lazy to productive, from clothed to naked, from sick to well.

You gave me respite from the world when I needed to hide away. But when I needed to get out and spend some time away, you were always there waiting for me when I came back.

We slept together, we worked together, we played together, we sunbathed together, we gardened together, we lived together.

You saw relationships begin and end, whether they involved people, animals, or plants. You saw me get a promotion, you saw me finish college. You listened to me play my piano and sing, at all hours of the day and night.

You saw me fail, you saw me succeed. But more than that, you saw me grow. Though I still have much more to experience and learn, you helped me become a man.

For all these things, and countless more, there are no words to express my gratitude. You are a part of my life now, and I am sad that we are parting ways. I will miss you dearly, friend.

Fare thee well.

Lost in Thought

2010-07-19T20:38:00.002-07:00

How does one escape the putrid belly of the mind,
That deep digestive process always seeking to malign?
Trapped, like fickle Jonah, in a beast of dwelling fiction,
Tossed within a churning of the juiciest constriction.
Hands out blind, and searching, for a seam at which to claw,
As countless time is wasted in that unproductive hall.
When, at last, the taste is gone, and texture's that of fat,
The mind fatigues and then relents, and out the morsel's spat.

April 24, 2010

Pot Farming

2010-03-11T20:24:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like indoor farming. Well, okay, the gang was only indoors the first couple days, and they might be indoors for a couple more when the painters get to my building, but right now, and hopefully through this Spring and Summer, they're just outside on the balcony, probably leaves dropping on me at this very moment. But these pictures mark the beginning of yet another adventure in my oh-so-adventurous life.

Let's start the introductions.

Here's a group shot of the gang after being potted

Say hello to Bonnie
(yellow bell)

Amarilla
(bonnie green bell)

And Ol' Blue
(red bell)

As you might have noticed, the bells are rooming together.

But continuing on,

This here's Munkee
(sweet banana pepper)

Balki
(greek oregano)

Alfredo
(patio tomato)

Tom
(sweet basil)

And Basil
(cucumber)

I only hope they each have enough pot and sunlight to survive.

The Last and First

2009-12-31T14:55:00.000-08:00

Tonight stands alone on a line of sand, while wind rips through the darkness like an angry boar
She stands still, eyes closed, her back against the sheer wall of yesteryear
Its mass, so cold and smooth, is starkly silent in response to the violent wind
And surging water
Breathing slowly and deliberately, with palms against the stone, she remembers for a while
Lifting back over the wall to the plains above, where sunlit mist is everywhere
Unable to resist, she swirls through the swaths and laughs at past delights
And cries for past regrets
But Tonight cannot linger long, and her palms soon remember the coldness of the stone as she returns
The wind is ever gnashing, and the churning water nears and rears in height
And yet Tonight, she opens her eyes and pushes her palms against the wall
And dives into the current

December 31, 2009

My Abilene

2009-12-24T21:36:00.000-08:00

She has been mine since December 13, 2009.

I call her Abbie for short.

She enjoys shoes,

eating,

pooping,

and sleeping
(or passing out).

She also doesn't like being alone...

Oop. Is that a paw?

Hmm... appears so.

Let's start with an experimental thrust.

Then perhaps some investigatory feeling around.

Followed by a frenzied two-paw attack!

And finally, exasperation...

Let the adventure begin...

Cat and Tether

2009-12-06T23:23:00.000-08:00

Pull! Yank! Strain! Drag!
Until the neck and eyes are tight!
Push! Thrust! Kick! Claw!
Until the grass meets flying height!
Growl! Snarl! Cough! Choke!
Until the beast has left in fright!
Pull! Yank! Strain! Drag!
The scallywag returned in spite!

December 6, 2009

Tuba Christmas

2009-12-05T16:52:00.000-08:00

Music swells from above,
The smooth bass notes floating down on the air in a thick melody,
Melting on the way into harmonies and waves of deepest resonance.
But that depth acts counter to itself,
Causing a subsequent rising in the soul, reverberating up, and up, and over,
Until even the hair on the skin is raised and utter joy bursts forth.

December 5, 2009

Sentinels

2009-12-04T15:21:00.000-08:00

Flocks of giant, white flightless birds nestle in the hills.
The younger turbines flap tirelessly in their ceaseless attempts to fly,
While the older have accepted their fate and now stand still.
But still or not, day and night, they continue to stand and watch.

December 4, 2009

Br(e)ak(e)

2009-12-03T21:49:00.000-08:00

She sits alone at an intersection, engine running.
The streams down her face match those on the windows
Before the wipers smear across the glass yet again.
She's been meaning to replace the blades,
But something more important always comes up.
The signal light changes and a thousand drops glint green.
She stares ahead, unseeing, and a honk from behind gets no notice.
Nor does the angry screech of tires swerving around and past.
She sits, sightless, shoulders starting to shake.
A silent scream escapes her lips as her head collapses into her hands.
And Sonny and Cher sing on, under the thrum of rain on the car.
After a few minutes she looks up, the light is green again.
She wipes her face with her hands and drives on.

December 3 - December 4, 2009

The Passage of Two

2009-11-30T21:04:00.000-08:00

Time and Perception, most maddening of tricksters!
What are you at, what is this game you play?
First, you run together in stride, what a sight!
But one is sure to pull ahead, and then the other,
A struggle of power and speed that blurs the eyes and mind;
At other times one slows to rest, sometimes it's both;
But now you have done it, my devils, you have had your laugh;
I expect you are having it still, fiends!
In your antics you have torn asunder, and with you my heart;
You are going opposite directions! How is this so?
It is more than one should bear, this notion; unnatural;
And to make the prestige even more grand, you have multiplied!
Now different parts of me are represented by their own pairs;
So not only do the directions conflict, but the planes as well;
Such tomfoolery, and danger at that; be warned, or rather,
'Tis I that should have been warned; but alas,
This should have been guessed, no! expected, of you two;
The signs were there each time before, woe to this nearsightedness;
I have chanced enough, and now must try to last,
To outlast this moment and go beyond it to the next;
This will not be my end, but rather, a beginning;
Yes, one that I may repeat, but a beginning nonetheless;
It is the only way to look at this and live, if that is what this is;
But I shall try; and try; and try;
To ward off your day and reestablish my own; to make it mine.

November 30, 2009

The Passage

2009-11-27T12:12:00.001-08:00

It's that awkward time of year, when the world can't decide,
When Autumn comes around to play from night into the morning time;
She teases clinging leaves with her crisp and playful laughter,
Until they start to tremble and they laugh together louder;
When she's finally had her fill of glee she floats off in the breeze,
While Summer loiters, after noon, to burn and taunt the leaves!

It's that greying time of year, when the sky can disappear,
When mists and fogs and colored clouds tread low upon the earth,
Escape not just for heaven, but for world-weary souls
Longing for an empathy with which to soothe their doles;
The damp seclusion offers hope of solitary peace,
In which to kindle inner growth, while outside worlds freeze.

It's that waning time of year, when the world begins to sleep,
When trees turn in, and grasses down, and water currents deep;
The land is stripped of movement, and of color, and of light,
And wind will scour every nook with feeling, eyeless sight;
Its a piercing desolation that will seep into the marrow,
Creaking joints and slowing hearts tomorrow and tomorrow...

It's that passing time of year, that ever passing time,
That cycles 'round despite its course upon a perfect line;
It all seems so familiar, like we've walked this road before,
And yet it's always different, slightly changed, less or more;
Perhaps a spiral - not a line - that never touches 'gainst itself,
Just close enough to let us see how little we change, ourselves.

October 23, 2009 - November 27, 2009

To Bakersfield

2009-11-27T00:22:00.000-08:00

Driving down the valley, it is hard not to notice the quaintness of the agricultural past that is connected to it. However, it is a connection I have never quite felt, despite my birth and continued proximity in this place. It is a past of which I had no part. The furrows were plowed by other hands. The sun beat down on other brows. Other children played in other fields. It is a time that seems to be forgotten, or at least fading to a remnant, lingering on the brink of now. Verily, field upon field and dilapidated building upon dilapidated building passes by in this bowl of browns and darker browns. The towns appear nearly deserted, left and lost in their own dust to be remembered by those few Keepers who still remain.

The sign ahead reads, "the heartbeat of agriculture." And yet, I cannot sense a pulse. This is undoubtedly due, in part, to the limited view while speeding past on this expressway. The heartbeat must remain, as subtle as it may be, for agriculture is the lifeblood, to be sure. Perhaps the towns were never busy and always looked this way. Or maybe modern agriculture simply requires fewer others, causing the connection I never had to diminish even more. But it is still difficult to shake the feeling that the world is moving on, or trying to, in spite of its own needs. A tail of dust is rising behind the combing tractor as I go by. Where that dust will settle, I do not know.

October 30, 2009

Moot Tort?

2009-10-29T16:50:00.000-07:00

In response to a law student's comment about the number of torts found in A Christmas Carol:

How many torts could a moot court sort if a moot court could sort torts?

Ethereal Deceit

2009-08-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

His voice pours out, smooth as cream, while the strings are fingered and thumbed
Her voice floats atop cathartic chords, as she sings of this journey to death
And all the while, my mind has snagged upon a jutting piece of past
Unaware, I move along, stretching memories into taunting, perfect dreams
I slowly notice and start to untangle myself, not rushing (in that moment) to be off
But when I turn to go, the damage is done, and mockingly the music plays

August 15-19, 2009

My Trip to Monterey

2009-08-13T23:23:00.000-07:00

All of the below pictures--with the exception of the last two--were taken at the Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey, CA. Unfortunately, the only camera I had was the one on my iPhone 3G, so I couldn't zoom in and some of the resolution isn't the greatest. Most of them came out pretty well though, considering, and if you click on them for a larger view they actually show some decent detail a lot of the time. I hope you enjoy them!

"I am a rock. I am a rock."
(unknown rockfish)

Various snails
(reminds me of Alice in Wonderland)

Hermit crab

Unknown anemone

Copper rockfish

Unknown shark that wouldn't slow down for a picture

Second pass, still didn't slow down.

Bocaccio(?)
Just hanging around...

White plumed anemone

Sheep crab

Purple striped jelly

Child trying to make out with Purple striped jellies

Two Purple striped jellies

Moon jellies

Moon jelly from below

Moon jelly from the side

Close up of the Moon jellies' fine tentacles

Lion's mane jellies
one thrusting forward (top)
one preparing to thrust (bottom)

Lobed comb jelly

Sea nettle

Many Sea nettles

Crystal jellies
(with the light on)

Crystal jelly from below
(with the light on)

Crystal jellies
(with the light off)

Squid egg cases

Squarespot(?) (left)
Unknown (right)

Unknown yellow guy

Blue tang

Longfin bannerfish

Brown garden eels

Blackfooted penguins

Blackfooted penguin swimming
"What are you looking at? You didn't see anything..."

Sea dragon (in the downward dog position)

Grass rockfish

Ghost shrimp

Sea penis
(just kidding, it's actually a Fat inkeeper worm)

Skate

Can you see two Flatfish?

(Hint in reverse: erutcip eht fo tfel dna pot eht gnola kool)

Can you see one Flatfish?

(Hint in reverse: erutcip eht fo thgir elldim eht gnola kool)

Can you see the half-buried Dove sole?

(Hint in reverse: erutcip eht fo mottob eht gnola kool)

Sand dollars on the moon
(okay, they're not really on the moon, but it looks like they are)

Unknown crabby guy

Welcome to the world of Dr. Seuss...

...actually, they're Tube anemones

Spot prawns

The very rare "Joann" fish

All tuckered out after a long day of entertaining gawkers
(Otter, for those who may not know)

"Yes, I'm sleeping. No, I'm not done with my toy."

"I'm just stretching. Still not done with my toy."

Aaaaaaaand.... back to napping

Purple striped jelly by Fisherman's Wharf

Plethora of jellies off of Fisherman's Wharf
(They were everywhere!)

I Know!

2008-12-21T20:34:00.000-08:00

Have you ever known a know-it-all who doesn't know he shows it?
It's slightly better than a know-it-not who tries to show he knows it.

Impenetrable

2008-12-20T16:32:00.000-08:00

So many secrets lurk behind
The still and distant eyes,
As though this soul is lacking panes
Through which to see inside.
And yet I cannot yield my gaze
From the eyes that should know me best,
These staring blue, unanswering eyes.
Alas, I must give this poor mirror a rest.

Afterthought

2008-12-08T00:12:00.000-08:00

'Tis easy to turn, upon cresting a hill,
And say "See that stretch of prints coming up?
What a perfect line leading to where I stand;
'Twas the path I was destined to take!"

To put forth so simply the course of a man
Is what only a fool would do.
It takes hardly a thought to raise one's eyes
And behold the greater scene.

For surely with such an expanse of land
There's no other way the feet may have fallen.
T'would be like claiming to know the cause of Love,
With a world of pressures and choices at play.

No, nothing is ever predetermined for a man--
Not until the end of the day.

Time Lapse

2008-10-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

Three months already

Darkness falling faster everyday

Adding that autumn illusion

Of time passing away

Working, living, laughing

Wringing that mighty sponge

Trying to catch each drop

Upon the outstretched tongue

Before dipping back into the urn

Soon again, soon, to return

Savor the Flavor

2008-07-29T00:35:00.000-07:00

Its more than fine
To save a wine
For a very Special Day

But it's just as grand
To change the plan
And pop the cork for Tuesday

The Journey

2008-06-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

Brittle moon blinded by beaming tears
Cracks upon a ridged peak unseen
While traversing the swallowing sky

Crying softly down the mountain side
Into the valley of night below
Toward the ocean with it's gentle glow

Flooding the grassy plains of yearning
At every perilous turning point
Bending and breaking the tender stalks

Needing the comfort of open arms
Of the cove at the end of the sea
Before passing into the currents

(This one was inspired by the face of a friend)

June 19, 2007

Such is How

2008-05-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

Escape in the noise of now
While waiting for time to pass
To go the distance of yet another day

Too often such is the case

Cast not a lure to aimlessly drift
In the currents of the morrow
Waiting for some prize to leap up!
Verily, what power dost ye possess
That idleness might charm tangibility
From the midst of the unmade?

Beware such figments borne of false dreams

No, hands must act today
Must take up the cause of self interest
(Though not betray the cause of others)
Hark, they be fine and brittle, the lines
Separating humility from sacrifice
Sacrifice from exploitation
Exploitation from manipulation
From all of these and self interest
Each is detrimental--and certainly so
In the event of overindulgence--
So a balance must be pegged
A chord of harmony struck and held
Between all the faults and vantages
Pertaining to human choice

From then until thy death

Such is how a life is lived

(December 26-27, 2006)

Tired Eyes

2008-05-15T22:57:00.000-07:00

Tired eyes
See the strenuosity
Of day to day
Life

(Deemed complete on March 18, 2008)

Through the Leaves

2008-05-05T13:51:00.000-07:00

          Through the autumn leaves I see

                 The lives of others as my own

A couple walking hand in hand

                              Down that perfect path

                                      Where lovers always go

                                Through the autumn leaves

                                                      I see the lure

                                                             Of such romance

                                                                      Easier scene than done

(Started July 30, 2006. Visually arranged and completed on March 18, 2008)

Wanderer

2008-04-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

Always on the move
O Wanderer
Moving further down the road
To another town
Another life
For a while
Only to wander on again
When a new fancy comes along

A dabbler you are
O Wanderer
Trying everything in turn
Until no longer new
Not because it hasn't satisfied
But because it has
Then off again for something else
To find and learn and leave

How fulfilled and restless you must be
O Wanderer
From such endless exposure
Both exciting and exhausting
Living such a breadth of sensation
In so short a breath of life
No time to stop
With all there is to see and do and be

How full you are
O Wanderer
And yet how empty too
With everyplace and no place to call home
It takes a certain breed
And makes for calloused feet
To live so ceaselessly
Always on the move

(July 19-28, 2006)

Sculptor

2008-04-22T23:29:00.000-07:00

Strong hands, deeply creased with lines of time and subsistence,
Deliberately, and with naught but the slightest of trembles,
Overlap the youthful hands, gently guiding
The inexperienced fingers onto the soft, wet, spinning clay:
Exploring the moist surface, absorbing the mood of the earth
In an intimate movement of feeling and form.

Soft lips, bent near to the ear of the young apprentice
Sitting on the lap of the teacher, moving to the sounds of
Whispered instructions, advise the student on technique;
And the dirt becomes mound, pillar, then bowl, as the
Young fingers quickly grow accustomed to the mud,
Curving and carving more quickly as the lips continue to move.

Steady foot, rising and falling with the rhythm of the heart,
Working the pedal beneath the shabby, stained table,
Adds to the motion of the shapely dance taking place
Between artist and art: a bond of ingenuity and expression
Spanning water, earth, and flame to emerge transcended, a
Token of gentle guidance and subtle suggestion.

May 19,2006

Summer Night

2008-04-20T20:47:00.000-07:00

Tired old box-fan
Painted with the dust of use
Pulling on the outside air
Through the screened window
As the night bugs flitter
Just beyond

May 16, 2006

Little Willies

2008-04-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd try my hand at a few Little Willies: a type of humorously morbid poem usually consisting of two rhyming couplets (thus, a quatrain). The Little Willie is said to be invented (or at least publicized) by Harry Graham. His first book, Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes, was published in 1898. Though several of his books are out of print and only available in used condition, this one can be purchased as new from Amazon.com (though it is only a Dover edition).

(Update as of April 2008: The dover edition is no longer available in new condition from Amazon.com. Individual sellers do still offer it though, from just over $40 and up)

Enjoy.

I.
   Little Billy started climbing up a tree
   Just to see how far he'd be able to see.
   But on the way up he slipped and fell,
   And now he's trying to climb out of Hell.

II.
   Father went out to grab his axe,
   For he simply had to know the facts;
   And chopping off the head of his daughter
   Found that blood really is thicker than water.

III.
   Billy found some plastic spread
   And wrapped it 'round his sister's head;
   But even though she lies there cold
   At least they know she will not mold.

May 14, 2006

A Gump Abstract

2008-04-16T01:44:00.000-07:00

This poem, an acrostic, is based on the film Forrest Gump.

Mr. Gump, sitting on the bench,
Engages in conversation

And eats chocolates in the park,
Never realizing that the
Doubtful man beside him

Judges his life story to be
Entirely made up. However, the
Nice lady indulges him, but then she
Nearly faints when the
Young man proves he is the

War hero and shrimping
Extraordinaire he claims to be by
Removing a magazine from his bag,
Exposing a picture of himself and

Lieutenant Dan on the cover of an
Issue of Fortune magazine. As he
Keeps talking with the now
Enlightened woman, he finds that the

Person he intends to visit is an
Estimated five or six blocks
Away from the bus stop where they are
Sitting. He immediately packs up

And starts running down the street,
Never stopping until he gets to her
Door. She reveals that he has a

Child who is named after him,
And she abates his fears by
Reassuring him that their boy is
Really intelligent. Jenny finally
Opts for marriage, and Forrest senior
Takes care of his wife until
She passes away on a Saturday.

And even though he only got his
Girl for such a short time (and
At the end of her life), there
Is no mistaking that he had
Never stopped loving her.

May 5, 2006

Photo Album II

2008-04-14T01:13:00.000-07:00

Follow the link under "Road 210 in June 2007" in the sidebar to see some pictures I took during a drive into the hills last summer. Enjoy!

Sometimes alone, sometimes with company

2008-04-12T21:07:00.000-07:00

I decided to take a crack at writing my own villanelle (see the previous post for an adaption of the the most famous example). I believe this was my third attempt (my first two subjects--not to mention the rhyme schemes--were not successful). It took me a little over two solid hours to create this piece, but I must admit to stealing the two repeating refrains from a song I composed a few months back (so that might have had something to do with the speed with which I wrote this poem). However, this is still an original villanelle and all the ideas and lines contained within it are my own. So, without further ado:

Sometimes alone, sometimes with company,
You take time to sit and ponder.
You get one chance to solve the quandary.

Life is not intended for lethargy;
It is a time to explore and wander,
Sometimes alone, sometimes with company.

As you investigate philosophy
Do not be narrow, lest possibility you squander.
You get one chance to solve the quandary.

Love should also be enjoyed, but not recklessly,
For it can be painful, tearing you asunder,
Sometimes alone, sometimes with company.

Yet you need no reason to be happy,
So do not yield, should you chance to blunder.
You get one chance to solve the quandary.

Do not hesitate to walk on boldly
(You will always be able to wonder,
Sometimes alone, sometimes with company),
You get one chance to solve the quandary.

March 4, 2006

Do not go jousting into that good knight

2008-04-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

Do not go jousting into that good knight,
Youth should not work and train simply to prey
Page, Page, against the rider of the fight.

Though wise men in contest know who has the might
Because their hands have forged staunch armor they
Do not go jousting into that good knight.

Good men, the last cart creaking by, cry outright,
Their tailed steeds might have hastened, if given hay,
Page, Page, against the rider of the fight.

Wild men who thought they rang the shield just right
And learn, too late, they lanced the chest in the fray,
Do not go jousting into that good knight.

Grave men, near death, resist the saddle’s height,
Blind to the praise of galloping each day,
Page, Page, against the rider of the fight.

And you, apprentice, take not mere delight,
But remember me forever and the words I say.
Do not go jousting into that good knight,
Page, Page, against the rider of the fight.

(Adapted from Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas)

(April 27-28, 2006)

On the Wind

2008-04-07T16:53:00.000-07:00

The following are sets of haiku and tanka I have written on the topic of wind (I've always liked the wind).

However, I use the terms "haiku" and "tanka" quite loosely, judging by the fact that I merely used the traditional structures associated with these two types of poetry but not the traditional content (and even then, I used the traditional English structures, which are based on syllable units, as opposed to the traditional Japanese structures, which are broken down into morae--see the above links for better and further explanation).

At any rate, when haiku is composed in English, the first line of verse contains five syllables, the second contains seven, and the the third contains five, thus making for a syllabic pattern of 5-7-5. Tanka generally contains two additional lines of seven syllables, making for a syllabic pattern of 5-7-5-7-7. These are the formats that I followed. But, as I mentioned above, I did not use the traditional Japanese content (e.g. haiku is generally about the seasons) of these types of poetry.

But enough of my feeble attempts at explaining these rich and beautiful art forms.

Haiku

Wind I.
   Invisible breath
   Both tender and destructive
   Unpredictable

Wind II.
   Fenceless traveller
   Spreading scent and seed of earth
   Printless departure

Wind III.
   Serenade the trees
   (Mighty boughs sway to the song)
   Dance with fallen leaves

Tanka

Wind I.
   Roar of the river
   Howl of the mourner's sorrow
   Whistle of the ghost
   Rumble of rolling thunder
   Whisper of the sleeping babe

Wind II.
   Woman on the town
   Struggling to stay composed
   While hair is tousled
   Cursing at the atmosphere
   Still making attempts in vain

Wind III.
   Child with umbrella
   Lifted onto tips of toes
   And taken aback
   Squealing in fear and delight
   At the sudden gust of wind

(March 13 - April 18, 2006)

Tubini, or not Tubini

2008-04-06T19:31:00.000-07:00

In June of 2005 I came across these two items of the same name: tubini and tubini (at the second link scroll down and look to the right of the first picture to find the description). I decided to compose a piece about the two types of tubini, modeled after Hamlet's soliloquy in William Shakespeare's Hamlet.

Tubini, or not Tubini: that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler at the pool to suffer
The burning UV rays of the sun above,
Or to take up a pan in the kitchen,
And by the stove make dinner? To tan: to meal;
Tubini; and by a meal to say we eat
The pasta and the thousand cheese flakes
That food is heir to, 'tis a consumption
Devoutly to be wish'd. To tan, to meal;
Tubini: perchance to sunbathe: ay, there's the rub:
For in that sunbath of death what dreams may come
When we have sweated off this suntan oil,
Must give us a towel: there's the pool boy
That makes eye-candy for so long afternoons;
For who would bear the job of cleaning pools,
The chlorine strong, the vacuum cleaner,
The pangs of fallen leaves, the skimmer's prey,
The insolence of office management
That patient merit of the unworthy tasks,
When he himself might his cleaning make
With a bare chest? Who would body bare,
To grunt and sweat under a burning sun,
But that the dread of something after swimming,
The undiscover'd urine from the boys
No swimmer returns, polluted the pool
And makes us rather ill those gulps we swallowed
When we dove into the urine we knew not of?
Thus knowledge does make cowards of us all;
And thus the chlorinated resolution
Is spread o'er the top of the water,
And enterprises the great task of the moment
With the moving current from the pump,
And cleanse the heinous action.--Soft you now!
The fair poolboy! Hottie, in thy swim trunks
Be all my sinful thoughts remember'd.

(June 2005)

Through the Window

2008-04-06T19:25:00.000-07:00

Chameleon rainbow
Dim against the clouds
Look longer than a moment
And it fades into the grey
Then blink and look again
And it's back a second more
A playful whisper of light

April 10, 2006

Reminders

2008-04-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

Every time I see a penny lying on the ground
I stoop to pick it up and think of you.
Every time the water in the shower surges cold
I shiver at its touch and think of you.
Every time a single drop of rain falls on my skin
I feel it soaking in and think of you.
Every time the lane is closed for roadwork up ahead
I curse aloud in vain and think of you.
Every time I look upon creative works of art
I yearn to write a verse and think of you.
Every time the ivory is there in front of me
I sit to play a song and think of you.
Every night in bed just when I'm overcome with sleep
I softly close my eyes and dream of you.

April 10, 2006

Oh, How My Feet Ache

2008-04-05T19:50:00.000-07:00

How many times have I retraced the roads of yesterday,
Following the steps and stumbles that took me to where I stand today?
And how many times do I try in vain to veer from those frozen prints,
Only to grope in blindness at unheard whispers never spoken?

Yet often I go to those roads.
To walk.

How many times have I wandered the roads of tomorrow,
Exploring countless bends and forks along the way?
And how many times do I chase after those whispers of another kind--
Those in the throat of time--waiting to pass the lips of now?

Yet often I go to those roads.
To walk.

How do I roam these countless memories and dreams,
And all the while make countless more today?
Simply. I stumble along, miss easier routes, remember, regret, and dream.
Yet no matter where I choose to go, there's always more to see.

And so I do not hesitate.
To walk.

(March 14 - March 30, 2006)

Photo Album I

2008-04-04T03:03:00.000-07:00

Follow the link under "To Millerton" in the sidebar to see some pictures I took during a drive into the hills a few weeks ago. I was shocked by the resolution of the pictures, considering they were taken with a cell phone camera. Enjoy!

Official Introduction

2008-04-01T16:12:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome.

This blog is the 2nd or 3rd trial in a seemingly ongoing experiment to upload part of myself to the wider world of the Internet. Previous attempts were made via an online journal site and, I'm ashamed to say, the infamous MySpace.

Alas, these former attempts failed, for many reasons, although the lion's share of the credit goes to the following two culprits

my lack of daily devotion to supplying my online habitués--of which there have never been more than approximately two--with constant fodder for the mind, and

my anally puristic goals of maintaining a strictly artistic domain, meaning that I limit my posts solely to completed pieces of my writing and the subject of writing in general--which means no anecdotes about my day; no political debates; and no constant updates as to whether I'm away, asleep, in the shower, on the shitter, hungry, thirsty, bloated, or whatever other mundane updates people perpetually provide on other sites. (And for that matter, I say if my mood cannot be gleaned from the array of words on the page, how is some winking icon supposed do it?)

At any rate, this is my latest attempt. Thank you for joining me. I might stray from my previous post restrictions a bit this time around, but I'm still hoping to keep it pretty close to the realm of writing. And perhaps a bit of photography.

Please feel free to comment on anything and everything. Just keep it honest and constructive. Anything rude will be subject to deletion.

As mentioned in the previous post, I do have a small store of work from the above mentioned online journal that I plan to transfer to this blog over the next couple weeks. Hopefully I have time to get the first couple up tonight or tomorrow.

Until then!

Temporary Notice

2008-03-24T00:05:00.001-07:00

Just finished signing up and setting up my profile a bit, but it's getting late and I have to work early.

More to come.

UPDATE: Been busy lately and expect to be for the next few days. I have many items to transfer to this blog from a previous online journal and, thus, will need to have a good-sized chunk of time in order to do it. Sorry to keep you hanging.