The Pen the Page Lyric Rampage
Good evening o' my brothers and only friends. I suppose I should say good morning, though to some of my more distant readers I should probably wish a happy tomorrow. I come to you this evening with the woes of a mad man. I would have waited a while yet for a post, but a certain someone.... ROBBY.... sent me a "nudge" saying that I must post. First, I would like to talk about nudges.
Does not the term "nudge" itself seem a bit suggestive? I mean on Facebook "poke" is bad enough, but I don't think anyone has ever used "nudge" in a non-suggestive way in my presence. If you mean by nudge, "To get someone's attention, esp.: through the implementation of the elbow," then perhaps it's clean. I personally just find it a strange term. In whatever sense you choose to take it, thanks for the nudge;).
I wanted to post a poem tonight, but I realized that 99% of my poems are sappy, poorly written, or very long. Then I remembered that I'd just been to see a movie about cigarettes, and that reminded me of something that happened a long long time ago. Many moons ago, I was stuck in traffic. As I sat there, trying to think about almost anything besides how much I wanted to be elsewhere, I happened to look at the car parked next to me. Inside sat this rather attractive young lady puffing away on a cigarette. Now mind you I've never found that at all attractive, but the moment did spur me into thinking that it would be terribly interesting if I did. So then I completely forgot about the whole event. A few months later, I was staring at the sun trying to figure out what I would do that day, so I decided that it might be fun to try to live life as someone else for a while. Enter my alter ego. So while I was experimenting with this whole thing I thought back to the girl in the car and wrote this little poem, which though I don't really like it, has a certain appeal at this particular moment. The errors in grammar were for artistic purposes:
She smoked a pack of cheap cigarettes
Blowin out smoke and whisperin regrets
Draggin her shoes down the road
Crying in rain storms
Kicking up dust
Out of the mud
A smoke breathing beauty
In other news, do you think it's reasonable to say that a place only exists because you are there? For as I was laying on the couch earlier pretending to be asleep, I was pondering back onto this field that I happened across one Saturday afternoon. I thought for a moment that it would be interesting to go back and see it once more, so that I could compare the way that it is stored in my mind with the actual appearance of the place. Then I wondered whether or not it would be there at all, because certainly if I found the place and it did not look the same I would never believe that I was in the same place. My emotions on that day shaped it in my mind and I would certainly never feel exactly the same again. I've tried to capture my thoughts on the subject with this poem, though I'm sure it's overly sympathetic and all the other crap that I'm always shouting at people. This is very beta, I just wanted to update with it before I forgot about it.
Out there
Amidst that sea of stars
Where all of our yesterdays
Melt into one
Floats a point of light
Where the twine of our pasts meet
The glow where the gentle twist begins
To wind twine into rope
A place too sacred to exist
An autumn day, and a sky
That in memory alone
Makes me yearn for it
I tried to find it again
Our little field along that dirt road
But I must say
I have forgotten
The path that we took
Was so winding
That it could never be found again
But I do not care
That place exited
Only while we were there
For in itself, it was but a field
But when drawn upon
By human hearts
It became something more
A place too sacred to remain
To remain hidden along a country road.
My friends I bid you a good evening, though if you've read through all of this I should perhaps worry that you approach to claim my life. Good morning, afternoon, or evening.
Does not the term "nudge" itself seem a bit suggestive? I mean on Facebook "poke" is bad enough, but I don't think anyone has ever used "nudge" in a non-suggestive way in my presence. If you mean by nudge, "To get someone's attention, esp.: through the implementation of the elbow," then perhaps it's clean. I personally just find it a strange term. In whatever sense you choose to take it, thanks for the nudge;).
I wanted to post a poem tonight, but I realized that 99% of my poems are sappy, poorly written, or very long. Then I remembered that I'd just been to see a movie about cigarettes, and that reminded me of something that happened a long long time ago. Many moons ago, I was stuck in traffic. As I sat there, trying to think about almost anything besides how much I wanted to be elsewhere, I happened to look at the car parked next to me. Inside sat this rather attractive young lady puffing away on a cigarette. Now mind you I've never found that at all attractive, but the moment did spur me into thinking that it would be terribly interesting if I did. So then I completely forgot about the whole event. A few months later, I was staring at the sun trying to figure out what I would do that day, so I decided that it might be fun to try to live life as someone else for a while. Enter my alter ego. So while I was experimenting with this whole thing I thought back to the girl in the car and wrote this little poem, which though I don't really like it, has a certain appeal at this particular moment. The errors in grammar were for artistic purposes:
She smoked a pack of cheap cigarettes
Blowin out smoke and whisperin regrets
Draggin her shoes down the road
Crying in rain storms
Kicking up dust
Out of the mud
A smoke breathing beauty
In other news, do you think it's reasonable to say that a place only exists because you are there? For as I was laying on the couch earlier pretending to be asleep, I was pondering back onto this field that I happened across one Saturday afternoon. I thought for a moment that it would be interesting to go back and see it once more, so that I could compare the way that it is stored in my mind with the actual appearance of the place. Then I wondered whether or not it would be there at all, because certainly if I found the place and it did not look the same I would never believe that I was in the same place. My emotions on that day shaped it in my mind and I would certainly never feel exactly the same again. I've tried to capture my thoughts on the subject with this poem, though I'm sure it's overly sympathetic and all the other crap that I'm always shouting at people. This is very beta, I just wanted to update with it before I forgot about it.
Out there
Amidst that sea of stars
Where all of our yesterdays
Melt into one
Floats a point of light
Where the twine of our pasts meet
The glow where the gentle twist begins
To wind twine into rope
A place too sacred to exist
An autumn day, and a sky
That in memory alone
Makes me yearn for it
I tried to find it again
Our little field along that dirt road
But I must say
I have forgotten
The path that we took
Was so winding
That it could never be found again
But I do not care
That place exited
Only while we were there
For in itself, it was but a field
But when drawn upon
By human hearts
It became something more
A place too sacred to remain
To remain hidden along a country road.
My friends I bid you a good evening, though if you've read through all of this I should perhaps worry that you approach to claim my life. Good morning, afternoon, or evening.