For the past several months, I've chosen to walk plugged into the sounds around me rather than my shuffle. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my metallic purple shuffle (compliments of Unicorn and Mary Poppins) but I like to save it for the gym or late-night papers--makes it more like a treat. Here's a list of thoughts (because lists are made of great and it's Friday) that I've had this morning:
-I wish Daniel Day-Lewis would be like he was in the 90's. Oh, I heart you crazy man.
-I will not buy any granola bars from the vending machine today.
-What day is it again?
-I should pray.
-Oh, she's wearing cute shoes.
-Pastry.
-I MUST go to bed earlier.
-Maybe I'll get to work and there will be beds in place of chairs.
-Can't the bell tower mix their tunes up a bit.
-Oh, I hope I already missed the National Anthem.
-Oh, yay, the National Anthem. I really am grateful to be an American.
-I will assume he is Canadian and not judge him for walking during the flag raising.
-Maybe John Krasinski look alike in the ward will ask me out.
-Maybe John Krasinski will ask me out.
-Something good will happen today.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Po-em.
Oh, Bloggy. I've neglected you. But it isn't because I haven't become a pseudo awful normal. I'm still writing, just secretly.
Here's a poem I'm still working on; this is the second draft. I'm suppose to now focus in on one image or idea rather than a vast array.
Barrel Holidays
Dark heads and almond eyes scootered
At the Gong of the Miao’s drum, calling home.
Cylindrical metal barrels waited
The flame of a small match.
Inside the barrel caverns, yellow card-stock money burned
New Year red,
And smoke trails of ash twisted
Into the Long’s envious tail.
Thin sticks of incense pierced
Symmetrical lines of oranges.
Buddha sat on a cheap table top.
Last night’s ginger lingered in
Dancing globe lanterns.
Grandmothers barked at sandaled posterity
Sneaking strawberry chews and crackers.
The almond eyes followed the curious blonde curls, and with
Toothy beetle nut grins spoke,
“To Bai Bai the gods,” they bowed.
To Bai Bai the ancestors.
Here's a poem I'm still working on; this is the second draft. I'm suppose to now focus in on one image or idea rather than a vast array.
Barrel Holidays
Dark heads and almond eyes scootered
At the Gong of the Miao’s drum, calling home.
Cylindrical metal barrels waited
The flame of a small match.
Inside the barrel caverns, yellow card-stock money burned
New Year red,
And smoke trails of ash twisted
Into the Long’s envious tail.
Thin sticks of incense pierced
Symmetrical lines of oranges.
Buddha sat on a cheap table top.
Last night’s ginger lingered in
Dancing globe lanterns.
Grandmothers barked at sandaled posterity
Sneaking strawberry chews and crackers.
The almond eyes followed the curious blonde curls, and with
Toothy beetle nut grins spoke,
“To Bai Bai the gods,” they bowed.
To Bai Bai the ancestors.
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