My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

0 Batch #3

Bursting with Pom Seeds
(image by rmp, that's me)

time for a new batch of pom seeds and leftovers.  i definitely think twitter was a good medium for throwing out little bursts of thought that have the potential of evolving into a tasty morsel.  140 characters seems to be just enough, though i admit i've cut some ideas or reworked them to stay below the limit.  i've now been a member for 39 days...and have managed 18 tweets.  and while the majority of them are pom seeds, two found themselves fully ripe with flavor.  so i'm expanding this batch to include new pom seeds, leftovers, and (what i will term) tweetoetry.

Pom Seeds Batch #3
  • my heart aches for what was; as the world crashes in on me; ripping through me; as though I were a speck of dust; I weep for you
  • love is pain and sorrow; wrapped in disguise; it laughs at me; with its sweet intoxicating lies
  • I woke this evening to a dream; and found myself the real me (i tried to expand this one, but i don't think it has fermented as much as it needs to)
  • I see myself in black & white; brilliant colors surround me; poke at me; eager to caress me with their warmth; but they bounce off of me

  • Information overload
  • I woke with rose colored glasses and the world was as only I could dream it to be
  • we were never friends; not really; how could we be; when all we did; was dance around each other
  • my mom use to day; we're never lost; we're just misplaced
  • i hate days like today; where i'm blindsided; punched in the chest; days when all i want to do is curl up into a little ball and disappear
  • "you're growing."; am I? I don't think I'm growing; maybe just walking outside myself
  • I feel like an outsider looking in; the warm embrace of acceptance eludes (found its flavor in two recent poems:  alone and To be rid of this curse)



how do I make it stop 
how do I just--not care 
please! tell me how 
'cause I'm drowning 
and fast 

(this first tweetoetry had me toying with syllables (6, 6, 4, 4, 2, 2).  i've never really been one for syllables.  even more so if i have to pay attention to syllable stress.  but it's good to work outside one's comfort zone.)

Strike a Pose
(image by rmp, that's me)

~My Dear Little One

you lay with eyes closed
your breath barely visible
I fear what's ahead
the cold earth is unyielding
still I must make your last bed

(first, i still had tanka on the brain from One Stop Poetry's Form Monday [Part 1 and Part 2].  not a bad form for tweetoetry, but not exceeding the max character count can be a bit tricky.  secondly, the poem was written for Bailey, who had me quite worried by acting like  an old man as apposed to his usual rambunctious self.  i've read the average lifespan is 8-10 in some sources and 10-12 in others.  either way, he is on the cusp being just over 10 years old.  fortunately, he is back to his crazy wall climbing self.  maybe it was the cold weather...maybe he was mad at me...maybe he was just tired from all his shenanigans, after all he is technically and old man.)

Friday, February 25, 2011

3 more than bargained for...

this evening, i made my way to One Stop Poetry for their Friday Poetically with Brian Miller.  as i read, the words struck a cord with me that runs very deep into the recesses of my psyche that i try to avoid.  unfortunately this means the beginning of this post will be what i endearingly refer to as a rambling.  for those who came to read the poem, my take on the heart, the community, my desire or angst about writing, feel free to skip to the end of this post...for the rest of too may wish to avoid the recesses of my psyche and scroll down...

where to begin...i get the whole reciprocal effect; i visit someone, leave a comment and if i'm lucky they'll visit me and leave a comment.  i get that it builds readership and relationships.  and even though my intent in blogging was merely to get me to start writing again (a homeopathic treatment of sorts) and not to build an audience or foster relationships, seeing that people have visited and receiving comments is a definite (and strangely needed) plus.  my problem in six simple words..."social anxiety follows me into cyberspace."

i wrote a poem entitled Follower, Friend and the Like, which speaks to my unusual anxiety (some might term it a phobia--though i'm not sure they have a name for it).  i read several blogs; i bookmark them or plug them into my rss feeder on my phone so that i can keep up with what others i have found interesting are writing.  but i have never hit a "Follow" button.  i can't explain it, but the idea of publicly following someone causes such anxiety, i just can't bring myself to do it.  and i look at those who have found me interesting enough to follow and i so wish that i could reciprocate so that they would know i find their writing as interesting as they find mine, but...

if just clicking a silly but is impossible, commenting is even more of a challenge.  but one thing i have continually work on is not allowing my fears to completely control me.  so this year i made myself a rule of sorts that i need to comment on at least one blog a week.  participating in several blog communities and their challenges, i have found this daunting task to have gone well beyond one.  but commenting for me is not easy chore.  i probably labor more over a comment i leave than my own writing.  i'll read someone's post multiple times, try to get a real feel for it, try to figure out what speaks to me, because while saying "nice poem" counts as a comment, i prefer there to be some type of meaning or connection to what they write.  it makes it harder because i confess my reading comprehension skills are not really that good.  i'm a math person, very logical and structure, that sometimes other's writing is beyond me.

i sit here and i can't help but laugh (a pathetic disbelieving type of laugh).  i have enough troubles fostering relationships in real life.  i wrote a poem yesterday called Alone.  in it is the following, "i'm surrounded by people who care/ and yet/ i feel like an outsider looking in/ a part, yet separate."  if i have troubles with real life people (not that those of you reading this are not real life people, you just don't exist in my everyday personal touchable world)  how am i suppose to build and maintain them in a world where interaction is limited to comments?

well, i think i rambled enough.  i'm sure there is more in my head just dying to get out, but i'll save those of you who were brave enough to read this rambling from any further insight into my pathetic being.

for this poem, i admit that i stole lines from the two poems mentioned above; i thought it only fitting...

To be rid of this curse

my heart wishes to be rid of this curse
a smile spreads across my face at the thought
for but a split second
until my teeth clench
and tears itch at the corners of my eyes
i use pen and paper--fingers and keyboard
to purge myself of this evil within
but neither pen nor fingers move fast enough
i push myself into the real world and cyberspace
to face the fears that bind me
but neither real nor cyber break through the bonds
my heart wishes to be free of this curse
i itch to truly connect
to no longer feel like an outsider looking in
but rather
to feel the warmth of acceptance that eludes

Wednesday, February 23, 2011



a vice grip takes hold
squeezing every juicy drop
leaving a hollow figure

"state of heart altering strain"

decided to go with a clarity pyramid for this one...seems like i've used this form at least once per month in the past two months so i might as well continue the pattern and include at least one this month...

so i finished the whole thing just to find out i missed the word 'figure'; the seven syllable line originally read, "leaving you an empty shell."  i really didn't want to loose the word 'you' in the line, but...  anyway, this poem was inspired by Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>figure, juicy, stress].

Monday, February 21, 2011

11 Tanka: Kisses

I'm troubled to find
twirling with arms wide open
snow kisses melt fast
a contradiction to yours
which linger long and

I feel the sun's kiss
mirror the burning within
oh how I miss you
just the thought of your sweet lips
sends shivers of pure desire

once again i find myself toying with tanka.  my first attempts were done with the simple knowledge of syllable count.  my second attempts were done with a bit of history on the origins (lover's notes).  since, i have gleaned some additional information on the traditional structure of the poem, which splits the poem in two pieces (and tends to include some expression of season).  i can't quite decide if this makes it easier to write or more challenging--this thinking in parts.  i reviewed my other attempts; read them as though they were two separate entities and they sounded like they fit (except for the season bit)...but what do i really know...except that i happen to like them.    Anyway, thank you to One Stop Poetry's Form Monday (Part 1 and Part 2) for their wonderful review of this poetic form.  you have totally destroyed my original view of tanka, for which i am not sure i can forgive you...maybe given a bit of time...we'll see...

Sunday, February 20, 2011

7 battle worn fiddle

I can't help but wonder,
what tune does he play?

Is it something soft and sweet
with a melancholy feel?
No one else will play it for him.
His actions do not invoke empathy
when his world finally crashes down.
So does he play his own sympathy tune?

Is it something more even tempo
with a splash of excitement thrown in?
Everyone else thinks him an ominous tune.
His actions are quite normal to him
though there is the occasional lightsaber bout.
So does he play his own theme song?

Or does he play the devil's tune
with its harsh better-than-you-are fiddle beat?
Anything else seems quite out of place.
His actions are meant to entice and lure
the souls of all to the forces of dark.
So does he play his own siren's melody?

Please do tell me,
what tune do you think he plays?

photo by JackAZ

my first thought upon seeing Darth Vader with a fiddle in hand was "the devil went down to Georgia...he was looking for a soul to steal...."  the song continues to play in my head.  but i mean look at him.  doesn't he look ready to do battle with his bow?

inspiration for this poem comes from a One Stop Poetry's One Shoot Sunday [interview with JackAZ Photography].