Hannah Andrews - One of Two

I chose this poem because it was inviting. Not inviting in an "open arms" sense, but it inspired my curiosity. It seems that much modern poetry is intentionally elusive - one step or imaginatively removed - but One of Two provided me with a much-needed door ajar.

The poet is expressing a dual self and the conflict produced by the recognition of this polarity. She writes: "all I could picture was a second self,/me as coin tail, sure that in the moment of the split, option b sidles/off & joins all the other discards in a slick landscape, lush with/what our safe halves have given up." The duality seems to be a product of the endless possibilities (what's given up) and their conflict with the "safe [half]," what's been attained. The safe half is the realm of the established: her relationship with the individual to whom the poem is addressed, their "Savannah kitchen", and her daily role(s). To reconcile this conflict she visits her life in a dreamscape: ". . . last night, I went incognito & found myself in our Savannah/kitchen. We were cooking just the way you imagined us. There was/nowhere else you had to be: time sprawled gorgeous & the icebox/sweat pearled delicate. I don't want to tell you how I saw my own/face, as I squatted into the pantry for cake flour, eyes cast familiar,/a long look toward somewhere else." Through this description we (and the poet) come to reckon the conflict. She visits her own (safe) life unseen. The addressee has nowhere to be, time is theirs, the kitchen is theirs, living up to its urbane utility, and then she captures her own eyes. "eyes cast familiar,/a long look toward somewhere else." - she discovers her own eyes searching. Searching for something else. She is incomplete and the "safe" life/self doesn't amount to what was promised. Her eyes unconsciously search, longing for this unity, for this satisfaction, but they find it not in the symbolic pantry, not to be satisfied by comforts and cake flour.

hope that's cohesive :)

Knit by Julie Doxsee

I enjoyed reading this poem. It is a very short poem but is also confusing to me because of where she chose her line breaks. I feel that the second half of the poem (starting after the only period) is really where the poem begins. I interpreted the poem as tripping on opium with the reference to poppy juice. What confused me about the poem was how she started talking about tripping using lines like "My eye painted/church tops where/the day before/ was sky..." and ended the poem talking about consuming the drug. I feel if the poet would've went in sequential order (consuming the drug then her trip) I would've been able to understand the poem a little more. Overall I like the voice of the poem. The lack of punctuation until the period I feel is necessary but also confusing. At first I read the complete throughout, but the second time I read it and broke it up into two different poems; one before the period and one after the period. I feel I got more out of the poem reading it as two separate poems because it allowed me time to comprehend the first part and apply it to the second part. Overall I enjoyed reading this poem along with the rest of the book.

June's hide taken off distant hedges--Karyna McGlynn

Everything about this poem confuses me. But there is an urgency in the words and rhythm to the lines, that gives me the impression the poet might feel the same way. Beginning with the first two words, "and thus," along with the title, I am aware that I am about to read an account or commentary on a happening: "June's hide taken..." What I really get though is something like a list of short, sometimes choppy, and very active yet obscure lines. McGlynn also does not use punctuation which normally allows me the freedom to read the lines how I chose; however each line is double spaced. Thus the lines stand alone and I want to pause my reading at each line break; though doing that divorces each line from the other so much that they become difficult to associate. Also when I say active I mean that nearly all of the fifteen lines has a verb in them, for example: "june but had an animal embalmed," or "wrist limp can't blow it back plum." These are some of the things that McGlynn is doing I believe to create a tension in the poem, not only from one line to another, but also between the reader and the speaker.

As a listener or reader of a poem I believe to be an account I will have an expectation of the speaker to tell me something. McGlynn however doesn't overtly tell me anything. This makes me angry. But I delight in the rhythm of the lines so much, "down into dusk dulls me in this," that I do not become disengaged from the poem. I try to dive further into it but become further lost. McGlynn uses six different pronouns (she, her, someone, me, your, I) and one proper noun (june). In prose this might not be a problem, but in such short and independent lines whatever story the speaker is trying to tell seems to get lost, or rather floats from one pronoun to another without really feeling intimate, without really relating anything. I never really know what she is talking about.

When I get to the final lines of the poem none of this mystery is worked out for me, but I finally read something that is direct, "ok / I couldn't say a damn thing about it." The speaker is telling me in plain language that she is trying to tell her own perspective of this ocurrance but that she can't. And by saying "ok" it is as if she is asking me to understand that the way she is telling the story is the only way she can tell it. McGlynn has been setting me up for this all along, but she is successful because I am unaware of it. Once I understand that the speaker herself may be as confused as I am I can reenter the poem without the feeling that I am missing something. When I do this I am allowed to float along with the story from one line to the next and simply enjoy the ride because I have understood that sometimes the story is not what is important. What is important is simply trying to tell it.

[My Tattoo] by Erin M. Bertram

To be honest, I have mixed feelings about this poem; there are some qualities about it that I really like, and a few that I am not so fond of. The poem is filled with great decriptions of the tattoo, such as "Wingspan flared feral, silent suspension / between alight & arrival, always impending, always / already there." Interestly, since the poem is completely about her tattoo, I can see a lot of similarities between this poem and another that we read earlier in the semester, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, by Wallace Stevens. Much like the Stevens poem, Bertram provides several different "ways" of looking at this tattoo, which I think is a really unique idea.

She uses a few subtle examples of alliteration in the poem, such as "silent suspension / between alight and arrival," though I think some more examples of alliteration or consonance might have made the poem sound more "energetic." To me, her form does not seem to accomplish much; she uses three-line stanzas, each broken up by a single space. There are no indented lines, or "tricky" line breaks which keep the reader alert, which I am a big fan of and would have liked to have seen in this poem. The very last line in the poem, " amid a whirl of otherwise dynamic, unchanging heat," stands by itself, which I really liked because it made me ponder an "alternative" meaning for the poem, though I can't really think of one that makes sense. Finally, I think the title of the poem, [My Tattoo], is way too obvious. Many of the words she uses in the poem, such as "forearm, ink, lines sketched, and drawn," convey the "tattoo" theme quite well, so in my opinion, the title really spoils the rest of the poem.

Neon Romance on an Ice Floe

Kismet Al-Hussaini

The first line:

Leg of dawn, blue-petaled wheel,

had me thinking opium. It was strange because the only opium pod I’ve ever seen had more of a reddish purple pedaled wheel atop a green pod (Do they come in different colors?). I thought it was interesting because I later found a reference to poppy seeds in the last sentence. I secretly suspect that I read the whole poem subconsciously, and in all actuality, had poppies on my mind before I read “blue petaled wheel. Anyways, opium would explain why the narrator loses contact with the old lover. Perhaps the lover is all strung out and doesn’t care. “Leg of dawn” sounds intrusive. I’ve heard that the sight of the sun is terrifying after an opium binge. Also, petaled is actually spelled pedaled and I wonder what the significance of this could be.

I’m not quite sure of the real meaning behind this poem, but I do know that it made me feel apathetic. In the title, ice floe refers to a piece of ice under six miles at its greatest dimension. This sets up a slow drifting motion in my mind. That, combined with the cold and “poppy” images makes me stare at the “steeple where sparrows scatter into formation”, like someone who witnesses the apocalypse, shrugs his shoulders, and moves on.

NEW QUESTIONS: Please answer the following in the comments field.

1. What responsibility do you, the writer, have to the character(s), subjects, objects, situations (etc.) you might inhabit? Do you impose your vocabulary upon them or try to speak in theirs? Which is more honest? Which is better writing?


2. What are you angry about? Who, specifically, are you angry at?


3. What do you consider to be avant-garde art in this century? What does it pit itself against?


Feel free to be as open-ended, speculative and investigative as you want--or need--to be in your responses

PLEASE ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS, AS POSED IN CLASS

Re: Jessica's poem, "We Are"

1. Does the form of this poem create a wall between reader and poet, and if so what type of wall and why?

•

Re: our relationships to poems, in which "it" is a poem. [Please answer in the first person]

2. Who am I to say it should be changed?


post your responses as a comment

Two Poems by William Carlos Williams

In the first poem Silence, the speaker is describing a calm, quiet morning in early fall. This poem shows the beauty and serenity that can be found in silence. It displays silence as peaceful and a good thing to have when relaxing or just taking time to stop and notice the beauty of the world. When it is silent, one can think clearly and for a long period of time; it helps a person to discover truths and how enjoyable life can be. The poem is also about how nature is best observed in silence because it eliminates distractions and allows such things as birds to go about their day to day without being scared away by loud noises.
In the second poem The Snow Begins, another side of silence is shown. It is the silence in which one spends time thinking about the sadness in life. The poem talks about how the snow comes and brings cold, frost, and death to a beautiful garden and how it is a quiet killer, slowly and silently falling down upon its victims. The poem isn't just talking about the silence of observing, but also the way snow comes, quietly without drawing attention to itself, it just appears and all of a sudden, everything is gone, covered by the snow. It is like snow takes over everything around it without even trying. Also, the speaker seems like a cynic, commenting on how pointless it is for the garden to continue growing back in the spring, only to die in the winter again.
Both poems show that sometimes words aren't necessary, that there are so many different emotions silence, one doesn't need words to express how they feel. Some times the feeling is just in the silence.

The Snow Begins by William Carlos Williams

After reading "The Snow Begins" by William Carlos Williams the feeling of 'silence' didn't overwhelm me. Reading the poem multiple times gave the reader a chance to create images of silence, but never blatantly evokes silence. For example taking the first stanza by itself, "a rain of bombs, well placed, is no less lovely but this comes gently over all" one would typically not correlate any of the above with silence. Bombs are almost never used simultaneously with silence, yet this bomb "comes gently over all". I enjoy when poets use two completely opposite objects to achieve lines in there poetry. Bombs and gently couldn't provide as a better example.
As the poem progresses Mr. Williams begins creating a blanket of silence with his words. If the 'bombs' are being characterized by silence, then the poem is easy adapted. Throughout the poem this 'blanket' of snow or silence is overpowering to all other aspects in the poem. It covers all the 'crevices' and 'heals' all the wounds. Silence in this poem is almost superhuman, taking everything around it and almost comforting it. If you were to read this poem out of the context of silence many different interpretations could be made. This poem is ambiguous. Taking the same poem and analyzing it for qualities of "super-natural" or even war themes could be done. Mr. Williams poem "Silence" poem on the other-hand completely encompasses silence. There isn't any confusion of what the theme is in this poem.

Elizabeth Bishop
First Death in Nova Scotia

The thing that really stuck out in this poem was the contrast of red to white. Like life blood to frozen corpse, or a Geishas lips compared to her face. The cold makes white very crisp and quiet. The living red eyes of the loon further emphasis this contrast. In death, there's never a thing louder than silence.

The last part of this poem gets pretty emotional. It expressed how it takes time for death to settle in. Elisabeth wrote about Arthur as if he could almost wake up but just didn't want to. When people die I think it's fairly common to think that you’ll see the person again and the only reason they’re missing is temporary. The quality of silence was especially present in the end.

I thought it was interesting how so many of the poems dealt with snow or at least the winter cold and quiet. I would like to read more poems with an overwhelming silence. The kind that feels like a bomb went off by your head; suddenly, you’re ears tunnel in and submerge.

Silence by Casey Peterson

It

Creeps up

And

Covers

Everything else

Around it.

The

Loudness of

Nothing

Is deafening.

So heavy

You can't

Move--

Even if

You

Wanted to.

Its

Intensity

Shakes

You to

Your

Very core.

It is your

Muted

Soul

Screaming out

For

A savior.

It is

The way

You

Feel

When it

Starts to

Rain.

It is

The worst

Kind

Of

Hurt.

It is

Being

So stunned

You can't

Think

Straight.

And

As it

Came,

It is

Gone.

Desolation by Keaten LaBrel

Rooted deep in the backyard
of humanity lies a cabin...

Outside,
snowflakes fall relentlessly from the white sky,
turning off the lights of summer.

Ice appears on the waters surface,
separating it from the rest of the world,
muting its existence.

Slowly, all colors fade out to nothing,
White


                               Darkness falls...

Inside,
a small wood fire dwindles
to merely nothing,
only giving rise to a shadow on the wall.

Stillness fills the air

Drink after drink,
Cigarette after cigarette,
Existence smears to nothing.

Desperation turns calm...


Silence

Winter Field by Joanna Klink.

Silence can be both comforting and ultimately disturbing. This captures the overwhelming blanket that a snowfall can leave on a scenery. It is lays down over everthing, quieting, subduing, realaxing. i love how the snow is described as a "tac smoothing every surface."
This poem really engages in silencence pecause it depicts an act of total silence. Snowfall can be the most quiet event on earth. weightless flakes gently falling over the field. There is also a metaphysical question brought to life at the end. "what lights a world gone blank with despair?/you were here oncce; you will be here again." What is more blank than fields of white?

Silence by Willliam Carlos Williams

The poem Silence by William Carlos Williams was not only an enjoyable read but also portrayed a great feeling of silence throughout its entirety. I mean the title of the poem is Silence. This leaves no doubt in the reader's mind what the poem message is throughout. Its simplicity was also a good thing in my mind. It is short and to the point, making it easy to follow its message. Some of the other poems in the packet I lost interest in because of their length and depth. It may be the shortest poem in the packet, but I feel that it had the best voice throughout. The voice gives an extra feeling of silence, which is neat because in a poem this short you wouldn't expect the voice to contribute as much (at least I think). The voice also gives the poem good movement. I think that it is interesting how the poet associate warm colors such as red and yellow with silence because when I think of silence and colors I picture colors like black and white. I also like the lack of punctuation in this poem. I think it puts a barrier between sound and silence in this case. All in all it was an enjoyable read of silence.

Porch In Snow by Joanna Klink

The first three words in poem say it all, “There you are.” She immediately incorporates the reader into the world of her poem, which I think makes it much easier to not only read, but also to relate to. By doing so, Joanna has allowed me to visualize her words in my head, which I think creates one aspect of silence because the words are imagined instead of spoken; this is not a poem that I read out loud to myself. In addition, the poem’s title, Porch In Snow, also brings a feeling of “silence” to the poem. When I think of a porch and snow falling, I imagine a peaceful, quiet image; there is absolutely no noise to be heard, and I think this image contributes greatly to the poem’s “silence” theme.
Perhaps the most important parts of the poem to consider are the key words that she has placed throughout the poem which also convey images of silence. In the second line of the poem the word “silence” helps to immediately direct the reader to noiseless images; and, as I stated earlier, the image of snow falling is itself a “quiet” scene. In addition, numerous emotion words are scattered throughout the poem (sadness, feeling, sorrow), which also help to convey silent feelings.
All of these aspects help the “silence” theme flow throughout the poem, but for me, one line puts the entire poem into perspective. Near the end of the poem, the line which reads, “This also comes into the winter garden,” is the most important in my mind. A garden is a peaceful, lush place by itself, but a winter garden is cold, quiet, and lonely; these words echoed in my mind as I read the rest of the poem, and they seem to really “sum it up” in just a few words.

Cartographies of Silence

"[The inner voice to] a poet, a verbal kind of person, is constantly talking to himself, inside of himself, constantly approximating and evaluating and trying to grasp his experience in words." (Denise Levertov; Minnesota Review, 1965).

In "Cartographies of Silence," Adrienne Rich, as the title states, draws a map of an individuals response to, and analysis of, the meaning of silence. She exposes this "meaning" by comparing two different kinds of silence: (1) the silence experienced between two people, and (2) the silence the poet experiences in creating a poem. Both types of silence for Rich are a representation of an individuals choice, "Silence can be a plan / rigorously executed." But a fundemental difference between the two is that one, the poem, "can be torn up," when begun "with a lie," while the same cannot be done with a converstation. These two arenas are for Rich where silence plays.

The "lie" Rich refers to is the fundemental assumption that the words exchanged between two people are understood through a common language. This "lie" perpetuates itself "with its own / false energy" because two people constantly "repeat" the enactment of this assumption. The result of this misunderstanding is silence.

The poet however, in conjunction with Levertov's "inner voice" has the ability to recognize the lie that begins a work, and can "tear it up", or disprove it though the fact of the very "presence," "history," or "form" the poem takes. This occurs in the silence of the poets room.

This line of analysis needs much more space and support for these superficial assertions, but the point Rich, and I, finally comes to is this: the individual finds truth in many ways, but that their discovery comes from a choice they make in silence. One can wish for things to be transperant, as they appear to be in conversation, and there perhaps they will find truth. Adrienne Rich chooses the "dust, / these pale clouds dourly lingering," because in their obscurity and in their silence, "time after time the truth breaks moist and green."

The Turtles' Tank Needs To Be Cleaned, There is no turning back. By Didi Menendez

I really enjoyed reading the poem The Turtles' Tank Needs Cleaned, There is no turning back. by Didi Menendez. What initially drew me to the poem was the title and how it basically written as two sentences put together but the second half wasn't punctuated like the first. This immediately provoked a lot of different thoughts about what this poem was going to be about. I really enjoyed hoe the poet linked each subject of a sentence to a previous time in her life. This gave the poem a good voice and great movement throughout. It also kept the reader involved (at least me) because of its simplicity. What really made it a great poem was how the title was incorporated in the beginning and the end of the poem that really solidified the poems meaning (theme) to me.

Sanctificum
by CHRIS ABANI

Usually poems this long loose me but the descriptions in this one kept my attention. I especially enjoyed the lines

cashews from trees and ate them in the sun,
the sticky sweet of them running down your arms.

Sticky as a good thing is really visual. I wonder what wild cashews are really like or if this is merely a metaphor. The poem reminded me of this movie called Faye Grim that was really funny. I’m not sure why, but when I got about half way through it felt like the poem had a political agenda. Things with an agenda annoy me because I feel like someone is trying to manipulate me. If somebody has something important to say, or at least something that is going to attempt to change my mind; then they should say it directly.

a bit of hodge-podge on: Blessing will, by Karen Schubert

And I wish you time to age, your
useful head hair gone, erupting
from your ears and eyebrows,
the drama of your face tribute
to a poet. I wish you lips to kiss
the new bare skin above your brain,
and levity for a head-heavy
life. I wish you too many
books to read, too many journeys
to take, too many women to
love you. I wish an echo
to your stairwell, bay to your
fish, eyes to your lens, skies
to your pain, friends to your friend,
apprentice to your shaman, music
to your mouth, moth to your moonlight.

This poem's first line really captivated me on a personal level. "I wish you time to age . . ." The poem is sonorous, it is earnest and resonant. The voice is comforting and smooth. I believe that in American life (and "life" in its broader context) we are scarcely alotted time to age. People are withered by occupations, stress, and simply trying to conform - by trying to convey a contrived look of wellness in spite of the fact that they are rotten within. The placidity of this poem defies this. The poem is optimistic, seemingly written to a newborn with "new bare skin." This image also serves the reader by bridging the gap between infancy and old age. It is this gap which the poet conveys. Blessing will is a blessing and it soft tone tells us to appreciate the small things and the light hearted, and through the coupling of these realizations we will realize the endless rich possibilitities of life and of living.

Philosophy for Darling

I loved this poem by Frankie Dreyus. The voice is powerful, the certainty of it, embodied in a simple address. This is a great example of last weeks assignment. I think the poems layout and punctuation (lack of) serves the voice well because it allows the reader the feeling of constant movement over short lines that are all connected. It is as if, when she indents alternating lines, I have a head start at what is coming. I felt she was coming to a definitive point by her building anticipation. As for punctuation-a single period- the stop of a living cumulative thing. I felt that adding commas or more periods would have broken the flow, stuttered the momentum, and disallowed the reader the freedom to arrange their own breath around the words in a way that can feel unique to each individual. This poem moved me because it engages me personally through subltly provacative images, that is to say, images simple yet elagant enough for me to interpret and apply to my own experience. It builds on that one thing leading to another until a balanced ending that, not only truncates the movement and emotion the poem illicits, but attempts to negate the very substance that inspired the address.

I was really drawn to the poem Grasshopper by Rick Barot. I feel that the first stanza pulls the reader into the poem and makes them wonder what is happening. I love the way he creates pauses using wide spaces in between words. I think that this allows a slightly longer period of time for the words to sink in and have an effect on the reader. My favorite thing about the poem is that the reader can tell what the poem is about without the speaker saying it. The words that the speaker uses aren't typical and cliché , yet the reader knows what is going on and can go follow the speaker's emotions as they go though the poem. I also really like the stanza that talks about how the poet is writing about her face, saying "her face a fall leaf parchment I am writing her face a love I am writing a parchment love the parchment I am writing." It makes me think of how the woman feels, the pain and emotions she is going though.

Hot Pursuit

By Amy King

The thing to do with a pretty girl
is own her outright,
edge your way in
with deeds, a few vows,
own her
with every fire
you land smartly in,
turn into flames,
the flickers of your red licking

In the midst of tutelage
walks the small of a back
unnoticed, unstroked,
the spine neglected
by a child’s grasp,
a lover’s pressure
as promised:
find her here by your heated hand—

Maybe the sky will shine
or clouds sound freely:
hold hard a heady thrust
untyped, letter-bound,
payback with motion
that makes even smoke burn
and our stories run
together turning to poems
that find us, bring us apart,
both ends fitted, fire based.

The poem Hot Pursuit by Amy King is an angst laden portrayal of how a romantic relationship turns oppressive.
The speaker of this poem is a woman who has been taken in by a man. The tone is one that is quite angry, bringing to light a cynical, universal conjecture about the everyday miseries of a romantic relationship. We know the tone of the poem is an angry one right off the bat with the initial line, "The thing to do with a pretty girl is own her outright." Evidence of anger is absolutely present in this idea. The poem discusses through its sob story style devices how oppression from one party of the relationship occurs.

I really enjoyed both poems by Didi Menendez. Both poems had a very nice movement and had very concise beginnings and endings. A lot of the time when I am reading the poetry I get lost in interpretation however both of these poems had a directness that was comforting. The reader was told what to do and almost exactly what is thought at the moment, leaving very little room for confusion. I liked the simplicity and the imagery that was intended towards the reader. It is like Ms. Menedez gave us exact moments in her life.

Time



A never-ending event through which our life is planned.
Dictates our life

Everything in its sphere
I can’t even comprehend it, as I’m not even sure its real
I wish it would just go away and leave me to have some peace.

Til I stand over you, ruler of all
growing only like a callous,
an hourglass is nothing like the Jersey turnpike.
It is from the Day of our Lives Fancy Face.

I wish time would stop so I could make more money.
But how to get paid by the hour
Time is only numbers.

response to Karen Schubert's "the clothes whisperer."

I thought this was a wonderful poem. The are a few allusions to popular movies in the first two lines, then the poem moves into a description and subsequent conversation with the actual pieces of clothing. This poem made me think about the idea of engaging silence because the poet is imagining what the clothes would say based on who owned them and what each piece looks like. The expression is drawn from a visual basis and converted into conversation. I thought it was very creative and appealing. I know that my clothes probably would have a lot to say to this clothes whisperer, and it is easy to relate and engage in what the poem does. Why does Karen Shubert sound so familiar? Is she a rather popular poet that i would have heard of, or am i just confusing her with someone else?

Hot Pursuit

To be honest, the words "pretty girl" in the first line of the poem inspired me to actually read the whole thing. Though this poem is not my favorite of the bunch, I really like both its tone and theme. If one were to simply read the poem in its entirety, without knowing who wrote it, the assumption could easily be made that it was written by an extremely cocky guy (the poem is in fact written by a woman). Specifically, the first two lines of the poem, "The thing to do with a pretty girl / is to own her outright," seem like passages from a dating advice column in Men's Fitness, which I find really unique. As the poem progresses, though, it's "article-like" nature fades, allowing its poetic side to shine through. The last two stanzas contains some good sound devices, such as alliteration, whichI think really help "settle" the poem's tone down and give it a smooth, thought-provoking ending.

Mountain

Mountain

Painting the picture in my mind, brilliant
The Mountain rises in magnificent splendor
Focusing on the movement of the beings
She whimsically imagines the ease of their destruction
From the vantage of rocky slopes
Viewing humankind in all their ills
Polluting her body with drugs of choice
There is no point in continuing on
Agreeing, that it is only a matter of time

The Mountain peak is a symbol
Her base a small crutch
Holding under the force of her structure
She is an empty house
Filling with the sand of time
Bound to the earth for eternity
Sick of all the tricks coming forth
Felling like a cave of emptiness
Waiting for the urine of beings.

Untitled

People search through holes to slip through.
Just the other day I sat in on a barbecue and said, "Madam, your python tastes like paper." Petewi!
She promptly replied, "Oh no! Not Gregory! You fool!"
And fell spiraling down into hysterics.
If I were a tree I would take 24 hour naps.
If I were a duck I would quack quack quack.
I wonder what a python would say to that.
I think the python would eat the duck, even if paper tasted like it.
I think to myself, "which came first, the python or the paper"
I thank God for scissor. Leave rocks at home.
Hysterics, my head against the time watered stone.
Even though rock beats scissor.
An endless cycle
TIme to buy a python
TIme to find a title.
Titles are just words
Honestly, I just want to get the hell out of here.
Then how will the work end?
Another round
When words fail, idolize sound.

the haze

The Haze

It envelopes the sky like a smoky bar

It evades the air like a flock of gulls

Anxiously we wait for the haze of the storm

Only thinking of the change at hand

The anticipation brings me back to good times

Times of wealth and prosperity

Soon we will be blinded from the haze

Only long enough to dream of change

The rain will come and wash the evil away

Their future lying in an eternity of hell

The sky will clear

High we must clime to discover the future

Far less that it seems

The Toll

We spoke of lust
The wind caressing our hair
The sun lifted our spirits to heights unfathomed
The stench of smoke hammered our noses
The enemy's voice of idiocrity intoxicated our minds
How many will perish
The toll will tell
Death is only a formality full of fear and facts
We have no answers... only results
We walk and do what we're told
Spoiled through flesh and worldly tangibles
The product stuck to our boots
We thought of our future as we scraped this product anxiously
The fight grows on
As you pick your battles
Looking for more ammunition, yet only find your knife
You pick at them anxiously and question your future
But only the toll will tell