Fairy Tales #6

The penultimate fairy tale poem. This one was inspired by a tv commercial for xm radio of all things. The commercial featured a singer I'd never heard of, and hauntingly awesome piano playing. I misunderstood the words she was singing, though, I thought I understood them perfectly. I eventually found the song by youtube sleuthing and it was "Better" by Regina Spektor. By then I was a little familiar with Regina's style and it didn't surprise me she was the one I was looking for. I looked up the real words and my version wasn't even close. I decided I didn't care. I liked her words, I liked my words. So I started writing a full version of my lyrics which turned out to be from the point of view of sleeping beauty. The first lines of the real lyrics are "If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better, better, better, will you feel anything at all?" I had heard the first words as "If I kiss you, will I wake?" Which didn't make sense, but it got me started all the same. If you want to hear "Better" it is on my playlist third from the top. My version starts out fitting into the meter of the song, but eventually strays since I wasn't really trying to stick to the song.

If You Kiss Me

If you kiss me will I wake?
If you kiss me, will I find
that you love me
wholly,
completely,
and fully,
Will you even love me at all?

High up in this tower
where dreams are only dreams
and the thunder snores around me
sound like roaring ocean waves.

If I kiss you will I find
that you only wanted a prize;
and never really wanted more than
a trophy,
a princess,
and power;
and no love at all.

So what does it take to love
someone you've never met before?
Would it be better
to have known you forever
or will one kiss be enough?

If you kiss me will I cry,
from the wound of years alone.
Will you forgive me for tears of joy
mixed with spindle's pain.

If you kiss me will I wake
from this endless empty dream?
Will real life be better
than I could imagine
and will I ever know?

August 2007

Fairytales #5

I wrote this one originally in 2002, but edited out a lot later, I just can't remeber when. I had restated the story too exactly so I left in enough to stay accurate and cut out enough to suit my sensibilities.

Snow Queen

Shards of dark glass
in his eye and heart
and the Snow Queen's freezing kiss
have stolen my Kay away.

Winter so dark and lonely without him.
Spring's new hope starts my journey.

The river carries me far from home.
A loney crone keeps me with her spells,
but her roses remind, it's Kay I must find,
so I leave her behind.

My love for him fills me
and opens the hearts
of birds, beasts, royalty, and robbers
to assist my quest to find my Kay.

At the end of the earth
stands the ice palace.
Kay at last!
but so cold, so still, so stiff.

My eager arms embrace
and welling joy spills
in hot tears that thaw his heart
and open his eyes.

Then he knows me.
Kay is my Kay again!

We're back home in warmest Summer.
Childhood is left behind,
but our childlike hearts beat together
never to freeze again.

April 2002

Fairytales #4

This one was written around the same time as the last two poems, but I have little memory of it. I did have a drawing for this one once, but it has disappeared. It was of the two main characters in the fire together, so it was romantically tragic or morbid, depending on the audience.

Steadfast Tin Soldier

Balanced on one leg
and gazing across the room,
I, a paper doll for admiring
see my one-legged soldier
in tin attention, never retiring.

Lost by a child's carelessness.
my steadfast soldier gone!
I would weep for loneliness,
but my painted smile stays on.

At last, at last,
he is returned,
saved from the belly of a fish,
but thrown in the fire and burned.

No!
He must know he's loved
before he's gone!
I cannot watch him die alone!

Catching a draft of air, I leap.
My paper body burns in a flash;
and his melted tin keeps company
with the spangle from my sash.

April 2002

Fairytales #3

This one is not my best, but I'm including it anyway since I have a very limited supply of good poems. I think I wrote this one in the same long night of poetry as The Little Mermaid.

Princess and the Pea

Up the ladder, anticipating comfort,

I climb into the strangest of beds.

I'm glad I'm not afraid of heights

or I should not sleep for dread.

The twenty mattresses are firm,

the twenty eiderdowns soft,

but I just can't get comfortable

on this padded loft.

What is that lump?

I'm sure that I can feel

a rock under my back,

hard and sharp, and real.

What do they mean by putting me here?

Is this some kind of test?

They'll never see the princess in me,

if I get no beauty rest.

April 2002

Fairy Tales #2

This one was part of a massive poetry writing night. I believe I wrote four or five in one evening, though I did go back and edit liberally later. This picture's colors didn't translate well, the spray is supposed to be blue, not yellow, and the background should be grey, oh well.

Little Mermaid

I have no voice to speak my love;

the price I paid to stand by your side.

I must die unless love is returned,

but you have chosen another bride.

There is but one hope left for me

if I am to return to my home in the sea.

I must stab your sleeping heart

with the Sea Witch's cruel knife

and you blood drip on my human legs,

to return to my mermaid life.

But I love you

so I can't.

Formless now, I return to the sea,

my loving spirit in the churning foam.

So feel the spray as a kiss from me,

the mermaid who couldn't go home.

April 2002

Fairy Tales

I have a lifelong fascination with folk and fairytales. I've written several poems that either retell a fairytale or just capture a moment of the tale. All of these poems are written from a female character's point of view and most of them are of Hans Christian Anderson's tales. I'm proud of some of them and not so much of others, but I will include all of them in the series. Since I haven't updated my blog in so long I'll include two today. I'm also including two sketches that go along with the poems.

#1 is about Thumbalina, I wrote this just after graduating from Rick's college and I don't remember anything else about it.

Thumbalina's Flight

Fly, Swallow fly!

away to air,

away to light,

away from moles,

away from night.

Swallow fly!

in wind and song

swift, swift,

swift and high.

Fly!

to lands of life.

Breathe the sun,

taste the air.

Fly me!

Fly me there!

June 1999

Wireless Woes

I'm having unbelievable stress in trying to get my computer to work with the wireless at my apartment. After a couple updates and a few hundred dollars, I still don't have internet. So I'm continuing to blog from my parents computer when I visit on Sunday afternoons. I may eventually either get my computer to work with the wireless or just give it up and buy a new laptop, but that step is a long ways away.

Picture of the Week #8

This is my kitchen at Rick's College. I spent about an hour arranging it for this drawing after my roommates went to bed so it wouldn't be disturbed. I stayed up for hours drawing it, but that was common for me back in the day. (staying up all night that is) Ah, to be young and stupid again. We actually did have Kermit the Frog sitting on our cupboard.

Poem of the Week #8

This poem is actually true for me.

I Never Dream of You

I never dream of you.
My night visions never include
those who occupy
my every waking thought.
If I dream of anyone
I actually know
then they are those
I haven't seen or thought of
for years;
or those who maintain only
peripheral positions in my life.
So you see,
I never dream of you.

February 2007

Picture of the Week #7

This is a portrait of one of my former roommates, Natalie. I convinced her to sit for me so I could do my figure drawing homework. Modeling is actually very hard work. I can't do it because I am physically incapable of sitting still. I blame the ADHD. Natalie actually had ADHD as well, but she could sit long enough for me to draw her head.

Poem of the Week #7

I am far too familiar with this subject.

Insomniac's lament

First to bed,
last to sleep;
much as I love solitude,
I would prefer
to be wide awake
with the sun
and companions.

May 2000

Picture of the Week #6

This is a still-life from my color class. It's almost the only one I kept, and definitely the only one I liked. Most of my projects from that class were completely forgettable. I did this painting in about ten minutes and enjoyed myself hugely. I believe the object of the assignment was to mix all colors on the palate, none on the painting. This was supposed to help me see colors individually and not comparatively, or something like that. I guess it worked, I have often bought something in the store and had it perfectly or almost perfectly match the color of a coordinating piece at home.

Poem of the Week #6

I wrote this one for and about my dad.

Bedtime Travels

Sitting at the foot of my bed, he would lean over my feet
And if he was tired, try to get away with
The three bears or
The three turtles or
The three parakeets.

"No, Daddy, a real story."

Then we went mountain climbing or
Spelunking in dark caves smelling of damp
With bats, colorful stalactites and underground rivers;
Or night parachute into enemy territory or
Stand with heroes, overcoming great odds.

And the next night his sieve-like memory
Couldn't recall his stories
Untill I retold them word for word.
And we were off, parachuting back into the caves,
Just to climb our way out again to fresh air and
A sky-full of stars.

July 2006

Picture of the Week #5

This is supposed to be red, but the color was lost in translation. This was a birthday card for my younger brother, Jack, who spent time in China. I used the Chinese Zodiac for the pictures. I also attempted to use Chinese hieroglyphics for the message. I attempted to say Happy Birthday little brother rooster, love big sister horse. My Chinese was from the Internet, though and made no sense at all, so I removed it and just left the cheesy horse and rooster.

Poem of the Week #5

I'm not going to explain this one, so there.


Ear to Mouth

Let me try
ear to mouth
respiration

Mouth is dry

Ear is full
of secrets
never told

Never tells
what lip reveals
or sells

Lips are sealed

To dying ear
mouth is dry
let me try

October 2007

Picture of the Week #4

I'm trying to catch up on my pictures. This is my jeweled dancer, I was taking a watercolor class at the same time I was taking History of Dance. I had just learned about Ruth St. Denis and her explorations into Indian and other Eastern dances that were a prelude to the Western world's beginning of modern dance. Anyway, I was thinking about that when I sketched this in my watercolor book.

Drawing of the Week #3

I realize I'm behind in the picture department. This one is really old, a watercolor wash from high school. I'm sure I copied it from a magazine. I had no interest in fishermen in high school.

Poem of the Week #4

I wrote this poem shortly after my mission, it was actually a very prolific time for me. I sometimes wrote three or four poems a day. Anyway, this one is about my wonderful/horrible early teen years where I had the desire/need to separate myself from/fit in with the kids around me. Ah, memories.

White-Hot Flame

I wore a white dress
when I was thirteen
and claimed the one sunny seat
in my Sunday school class.
My dress of morning light.
A white-hot flame
cannot be ignored.
A blinding flash,
not easy to avoid.
Not teacher,
nor classmates,
nor self
could miss my presence.
The age old cry
"A place in the sun,"
I well remember,
for I had one.

May 2002

Drawing of the Week #2

This is another example of my Ricks College classwork. This one was an exercise in reductive drawing in 1999. We tore masking tape pieces in half, long ways, then taped the edges of the heavy coldpress paper to acheive the jagged edge. Then we ground up charcoal and rubbed it into the paper for awhile to get good coverage. Then we drew the pictures by erasing out the lighted areas and exposing the white paper.

The poor model was dressed in a clown outfit with a Martha Washington cap. I didn't particularly want anything of the kind in my portfolio so I found an angle that looked pensive rather than akward and I cropped in to not include the stupid clothes. I sprayed this small drawing with fixative several times, but it still loses charcoal powder when moved or stored.

Poem of the Week #3

This poem dates back to high school. I loved English, but hated writing essays of any kind. Essays terrified me for years, actually. I didn't get over it until my second year of college. Anyway, in my senior English class we were given the assignment to pick a character from Hamlet and write for ten minutes from their point of view. Usually, this would have frozen me solid and blocked all connection from brain to hand, but not this time. My mind jumped to the most sympathetic character, Ophelia. She was young, she was in love, she honored her father, she was surrounded by tragedy and craziness, and then she went mad and drowned. Her life was perhaps merely a ploy to move along a tragic plot, but I found her interesting. So instead of writing a plot synopsis from her point of view, I wrote a poem. One really can do anything when writing from the point of view of a crazy person, it was very liberating.

Ophelia's Point of View

Sunshine sings through rainy days
and sorrow sings through me.
My father is dead, he often said-
his death I would someday see--

A columbine twisted round my arm
and ten minutes discourse did we hold.

Hamlet, what happened? Did the sea
swallow you like your absence
swallowed me?

The flowers said good bye--
my brother they did miss--
until my heart withered dry to die--
and the flowers gave him a kiss.

No! How? Why?

Can't you hear the castle door?
It sings with squeaky song--
until some lad burns up the moor--
the castle won't stand for long.

April 1996

Drawing of the Week #1

This is a pen and ink drawing that dates back to my Ricks College days, oh either 1998 or 1999, I really don't recall. The girl was a model for my drawing class. The drawing was done in black ink, but I changed the color on photoshop. I have a thing for red right now.

Poem of the Week #2

I wrote this one the same day as Poetry Schmoetry. I was feeling restless and trapped at my desk; just the thing to bring about either poetry or inward howling.

Cause of Death

The coroners stand over her,
notebooks in hand.
They put on their latex gloves
and examine the body closely.
Cause of death:
Boredom.

See the brain tissue
leaking out her ears,
and filmy eyes,
the mushy, unused heart.
Yes, boredom,
and wasted gifts
and wasted life.

June 2006

Insomnia

I'm a night person, I always have been. Some of my earliest memories are of begging my parents not to send me to bed. Bed was the prison of having to stay relatively still and stare into the darkness for what seemed like hours. I would just get so bored with nothing to do, and no relief from the Sandman.

Nowadays I control my own bedtime, but sleep is sometimes still elusive. The other night I tried all my special tricks. I put on a soothing cd, no sleep. I got up and did something boring, no sleep. I put on a soft slow movie that I've seen a hundred times, no sleep. These were all in addition to my usual tricks of taking a low dose of melatonin, and wearing an eye mask to block out all light. I even keep an insomnia journal. I keep it under my bed and when my brain just won't turn off, I write for a page or two, sometimes it works.

I'm not really complaining, I'm used to it by now. I'm just too old to stay up all night and still function at full capacity the next day. I'm still feeling the effects of the other night. Sometimes I don't even fight it, if I can't sleep I just find a good book and read. I guess I fought it this time because I really wanted the ability to work well the next morning.

Oh well, I should sleep well tonight, and hopefully the next, and the next, and the next.

Poem of the Week #1

And now, in all my wonderful contrariness, my first poem here is all about my dislike of poetry.

Poetry Schmoetry

I lose all patience with poetry.
Sometimes one needs more than words.
How does meter improve a poor story?
I snivel at your rhyming drivel.
Action!
I want action!
Stop your pretty words.
Stop your tiresome phrasing.
Get to the point,
and kiss me, you idiot!

June 2006

Birth of a blog

There is a trick to starting a painting, it's called "toning the canvass". A blank canvass is sometimes intimidating and the painter may never start in the fear of ruining the precious, perfect, white canvass. The best thing to do is to grab a large brush, dip it in a dark color, and recklessly paint the entire canvass.

I don't really know what I'm doing starting a blog. I lead a pretty sedate life, work a full time secretarial job, and write three pages of longhand nonsense in a journalish notebook everyday. I do have interests and opinions that need expression, so I'm starting this to put them out into the world. I have no particular grand design, just a love of sharing with friends and a need to be myself.

I'm thinking of starting out with a picture and poem every week. I don't think that is too ambitious. I draw all the time so the pictures will mostly be little doodles , sometimes on lined notebook paper. I also do finished artwork and this will give me a reason to keep it up. I'll post one every now and then.

I also write poetry but I don't like to admit it to people most of the time since saying "I write Poetry," is a great way to make people uncomfortable and end conversations. So since this is my blog and if you read it, you have brought it upon yourself to read what I write, I think you can handle a little poem now and then. I will write a disclaimer when my poetry is bad, I know some of it is bad. I particularly dislike sappy bad poetry, and I try not to write it, but sometimes I too am a sapp. I only write poems in short bursts every few months, but I have quite a store built up now so one a week should last me for a long time. I'll also post famous and not so famous poems from my favorite poets.