*And My Cat Is A Pothead*

Been trying to write more but have been lacking the ambition and talent to do so. Basically, winter vacation took its toll on me. So, here's one of the ones that I came up with last night. Hopefully, it's enjoyable. : )

'And My Cat Is A Pothead'

And he made the pipe,

claws withdrawn;

just the stub fingers wrapped tightly

in milk and honey gloves.

"Light this, Buddha."

Swift fire sprouting clean

from the crisp snap,

his paws colliding;

Zeus and his thunderbolts

lighting the sky.

His ears are the great pyramids

with tunnels and tombs;

knowledge and secrets.

The giant king in soft purrs

takes the puff, a cyclone

of brittle winds rattles his chest,

the lungs pushing out through the ribs,

out through the coat.

His walnut eyes are amplified

with lousy focus and puddles

on the surface.

On the exhale,

the clouds pound space fiercely;

the horizontal chimney saturating

the sky and making it rain.

Lungs begin to flatten

as he relaxes and frees the sting,

the burn that scratches the back of the throat.

My shocked face reeks of wonder

and awe at the agility and grace

in motion here.

And my cat is a pothead.

And I knew this already.

He has a routine...yet keeps it entertaining.

The cherry is going,

smoking loud and with ease.

We watch him struggle with gravity.

He takes a break

letting the back end fall first.

The couch takes the hit

with a full rumble,

stretching from hibernation;

it is sturdy yet frightening under pressure,

the steel springs making potholes

in your rear end.

You endure for him.

And we watch him.

We wonder what he sees

and how he remains composed

as one of Beethoven's later works.

His Majesty is comfortable; stable; well.

I just saw him passing by

with his lips in pout,

riding the blue tugboat.

I waved in excitement

but he was busy...

counting his own stripes and whiskers

from right to left.

January 12, 2009

Love Poem*

Ok. So, this is the first REAL love poem I have written that I actually REALLY like. I hope you enjoy it, too. : )

Fall Swiftly

*dedicated to Jay Brandon Budzon

I weep for you, soft love,

weep as a daisy

after kind spring rain.

Patient shadows

grazing the fingertips of the willows

in sweet wait

for my own love's true heart.

If I was ever less than perfect,

forgive me.

But never did I turn from your light

or fall victim to the disease of lust.

You become a private wind

bound to the grass,

bound to the belly of the jay

as he soars over precious lands;

lands that mirror the beauty of your face

and the breathlessness of your soul.

Fall swiftly to me...

open arms in lover's kiss.

And you will save me

from all that is vicious here,

all that remains empty

and lacking the grace of your eyes,

two caramel orbs,

painted from my deep dreams.

You are the merry heart

singing me lightly into rest.

Would you be taciturn,

I would withdraw my soul

from your silent grasp

and surrender myself only to death.

But with faith you are joyous

and call me into your heaven.

Fall swiftly to me, kind love.

I will cloak you with desire

and cleanse your soul

with the passion and tranquility

of a thousand saints.

You will hold my last breath,

waiting for the finest of times

when my soul is swept

by a most feverish ocean;

pushed to a new birth

with you, my companion, at my side.

Fall swiftly to me

for your skies are littered

with the damp, gray clouds of doubt.

Fall swiftly to me, my dear.

Let love's blind sighs

was you over and whittle your naked heart

so that it fits mine.

Fall swiftly to me.

Fall swiftly to me for without you,

I am quite lonesome.

And without your love

there are neither treasures nor joys

to be had in this world.

December 19, 2009

Ode to My Kindred Spirit

One day, I dreamt of many brave things;

things I wished to show her. My dear sweet dove,

I called her, for at night she warbles; she sings

like me for solace and wisdom from above

the rafters and dried leaves on trees.

We both make giggles on bended knees.

The light of stars and the tender scent of wheat

I meant her to have, the sun tickling her hair

and making it shine like an apple, the kind you eat

and not just place lonely on a table and stare

with pencils and charcoal or perhaps some paint and brush.

Such beauty, such truth must take ample time with no rush.

My daisy cousin; my hippie friend with braids

tied swiftly on her head. I simply cannot forget

to open her flushed eyes, her two portals with the aid

of her kind yet strong hands so that she might let

her strength finally meet her story told;

that gentle; that misunderstood; that gold.

I wanted her to feel hope in me but it died; dead

like the buried carcass of her sister's beloved cat.

I made note the potions and magics festering in my head,

but what normal person would have interest in that?

She and I certainly found comfort in such things

for we were both bred from imaginary queens; not kings.

Our Lady Sovereign; our Mother Earth did but call

to us whilst we were fresh in bloom. The sun

became our secret keeper. And with  backs to the wall

we strut in harmony; two kindred spirits with none

to answer to. I live in her to free

a world iced over with hate and greed;

a world lost; a conquered sea of red

that burns through us and wounds us deeply

like thorns under the skin; rocks under the bed.

We carry the burden; little support thrown cheaply

to all but us. Alone we must stand;

heart in mind; soul in sight; hand in hand.

One day, I called on her for care,

a Kleenex to a runny nose. She softly replied

with sighs like coos and kind words of rare

quality and simplicity; and perfect words I tried

to use with others in order to make

a life worth living; a life not to take.

She and I, we favor the smell of rainy days,

the sky in loud sobs, echoing our sorrow

and making us feel wanted; making us stay

a little longer, giving us another tomorrow.

Our fear abides to hidden spaces;

eyes and hands hung low alongside heavy faces.

We are rare; genuine; unique, us two.

The purest of diamonds. The softest of clouds.

I lift her and she lifts me and together we make through

the darkest of times and the thickest of crowds.

For thriving in a tattered world must be

a little bit of her and a tiny part of me.

November 24, 2009

The Teacher From HELL

Why do I have to have the teacher from hell for my drawing teacher?

He made me cry today for the second time this semester. Today was my first full day back after being so damn ill from Swine and then pneumonia. I brought in all of the homework (except for 1 that I didn't even know about it because he chose to post it on a different section on Oncourse and failed to tell me because I wasn't in class last week to which he responds with, "Well, THAT assignment is definitely late then.") and laid it out on the floor of the room next door to our classroom while he walked around it and just looked at it.

There were 6 drawings on the floor. He looked at 2. And only commented on 1. Wow.

And of course, it wasn't anything good. He told me that I'm "not doing it right" and that I need to work on drawing tonally. We're all STILL confused as to what he means by that exactly...and it's almost the 3rd month of classes.

Then he asks me, "So, do you have your 5 in-class drawings for your midterm grade?" I just looked at him, confused. "I thought it was your 5 best drawings, whether they were homework or not, and that's what I brought." He replies, "No, it's just in class-drawings." I look at him, again very confused. "Well, I don't even think I've been in class long enough to have 5 in-class drawings."

His response? "That's unfortunate."

WTF?!?! Then he continues by telling me that I REALLY need to pick it up and that he's basically starting me over, whatever that means. He said, "I want you to draw everything in this room, all of the clay faces on the wall, all of the muscle statues, and all of the skeletons, front and back. And you need to spend way more than 6 hours on each homework and really wow me in class." W...T...F...????? But that wasn't even the worst part. The kicker was his extremely thoughtful line following that...

"And I know you're only taking 2 classes, Abby, so you have more than enough time to do all of this."

I literally dropped my jaw. WTF is wrong with you, asshole?! As if I don't have a full-time job, too...yeah, let's just forget that. And the fact that I only missed in class drawings because I was sick and yet STILL managed to have all of my homework done AND a few other drawings that I did in place of the in-class drawings I missed!!!

After all of this, he says, "Ok! Let's get back to work!" and leaves me to clean up all of my drawings without talking to me or anything and right before slamming the door on me says, "Turn off the lights and shut the door when you're done."

Nice.

After I cried in the hallway while on the phone with Brandon, I return to class just knowing that he's going to fail me no matter what I do. Clearly I looked upset and other people in the class could tell. I mentioned my fear of being failed to a few classmates and they confided in me how much they dislike him as well and how horrible of a teacher he is.

Then during a break, I'm standing in a corner just waiting for the model to come back so I can continue WOWING him when I hear him talking to a classmate about the movie Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The classmate says, "You know it was based on a true story, right?" and my terrific "professor" replies with, "Are you fucking kidding me?! No fucking way! You're lying! That's not fucking true!"

Now, I don't mind it if a teacher drops a curse word here and there but he curses ALL THE TIME and takes no shame in dropping the f-bomb as much as possible. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I didn't think that was proper classroom etiquette. I've always thought he wasn't very nice, but today he was just plain rude, inconsiderate, and improper. He's a teacher, for FUCK'S sake! Since when is it OK for a teacher to curse freely in front of his students while in the classroom?! 

He has really upset me. There's no way I can draw EVERYTHING in that classroom. Not only do I not have the time, it's not fair because no one else had to! If I technically have to make up all of the in-class work, then I should only have about 5 more drawings to do.

There are like 15 clay heads on that classroom wall. FUCK THAT.

Tomorrow, I'm going to try to go to the head of the art department because not only is he treating me unfairly, but his behavior in class is just completely unacceptable. I'm sorry I missed class but in light of the Swine hitting IU's campus, every department has changed its policies about absences for this semester, meaning anyone who feels sick must remain at home, send an email to their professors, and they don't need a doctor's note. Even though this would apply to me, I can do one better...I have a doctor's note for EVERY SINGLE CLASS I'VE MISSED. I've basically spent the last month and a half at the Health Center. So, they are ALL excused and I even put forth the effort to complete ALL of my homework while sick!

I don't understand his behavior towards me or in general, for that matter. My art history professor allowed me to make up the midterm today and asked me how I was feeling, spoke with me about the weather and about life in general, and took a walk with me! He understands that I'm going through a very tough time now that I simply have no control over. He treats me like a person and not a dog and I'm so grateful for that! I know he won't treat me any differently than the other students, and he shouldn't. I'm not asking for a handout...just a little understanding. I'm not even asking ANYTHING from my drawing teacher! I completed all of the homework while sick!

Unfortunately, my drawing teacher is just adding to my depression, which is just GREAT for my health. Thanks, professor. Please, go back to where you came from. And just in case you don't get it, let me put it in terms you'll understand: FUCK YOU.

More Poetry

I'm trying to write more because it's very therapeutic to me and helps me deal with all of the SHIT. I submitted some poems to Canvas and Fiore magazines in hopes that someone will publish me and not just SAY they will and then back out unexpectedly! Here's another one I recently wrote.

A Fool's Moon

You come to me,

Verona's true prince,

from Mantua to restore in me

my succulent soul that so left my flesh

long ago. My body,

weighted down and heavy with dispair,

has claimed its grave.

Your sweet respirations against my pale cheek

stir my heart; a bumble to a wilted daisy.

I am summer,

filled with long, lazy days.

The heat in me bleeds a stench

and stirs through my veins

and into my corroded mind.

My memories, charred remnants of those

I chose to surround myself with;

those evil minions in clever disguises.

You are the moon's child,

cool and calm with the stars as your soldiers.

The gleam of your face

against my belly, your tight grip

of the ocean pulling out the toxins and litter in me;

the sorrow and the fear.

You are love,

frozen and solid.

I carry your heaviness with me,

a jagged rock weighing down my creamy hand.

You come from dreams

as a fresh morning dew,

crisp and thirst quenching.

I bask in the light of you,

the shine from your forehead blinding me.

The fire of my hair reaching

for your kind tentacles,

the icy fingertips removing the sting

and numbing the evil parts in me

that threaten a perfect existence.

I shudder at your voice,

the force of your tongue

against your Chicklet teeth as a constant

nostalgic staccato,

bringing me back to a dirty childhood

compressed with depression

and Barbie dolls with stubs for hands,

the masticated plastic buried deep in King's old stomach

along with my first pair of eyeglasses

and the grass that garnishes the far left corner

of our porch.

I can be young with you;

kind and soft after the cool-down,

with a shy, damp brow and heavy charcoal lids.

October 19, 2009

New Poem...not necessarily Shakespeare but oh well!

My Nature

My nature ignites with change,

her trees bleeding Fall, slowly fading

into themselves and burrowing down into their roots,

escaping the foreshadowed freeze.

Her arms are stiff with another year passing,

another raping of her leaves and her precious youth

spent shading lovers from rain and sun alike.

The clouds are low,

pounding the moisture into her skin,

plumpling her and making her glow

like warm sex.

The maple glue overflows, wiggling through the bark's pores

and carmelizing with the cold;

mother's milk over ice.

My nature leaves me

when she can no longer feel the sun,

her arms too heavy to sway;

her feet frozen below.

I'm afraid to touch her,

my cold fingers like icy sausages

covered by thin, worn gloves.

I tiptoe around her moat in search for shelter

from Father Snow's ejaculation,

the coating that slows our traffic

and layers our front yards with a heavy dandruff.

The next four months will rob me

of concentration and my taste for ice cream.

My nature brings me closer to her silence

with the darkness of these harsh days,

the winds howling through my bare ears

and peeling my skin like hunger to a banana.

With flesh exposed, I dry out

and become whittled by her temporary death;

her empty hibernation.

October 19, 2009

THE BEAUTY OF BEST FRIENDS' BLOGS, BOYFRIENDS, AND BABIES (and by 'babies' I mean pets)

I haven't written in awhile. I know...it's horrible. However, in my defense, it has taken us a long time to move into our new place, I recently pinched a nerve and messed up the rotator cuff of my right shoulder, and the love of my life went on a cruise to the Bahamas with his father and brother and I was left home alone to eat myself into a coma everyday he was gone. Add the disappointment of the newest Harry Potter movie and you've got yourself a recipe for a depressing month in which writing was the last thing on my mind. (And Ellie just let loose one of her tear jerking farts...great.)

Naturally, those aren't the worst things to happen. I recently found out (ok, I was 'reminded', I've been trying to forget) that I still owe a lot of money to a company that shall remain nameless. And if you know me at all, you would know that: #1: I'm so incredibly poor, I'm sure I'll have to eat at the nearest soup kitchen soon, and #2: I am incapable of asking anyone for help. (Considering the fact that I just sucked up my pride and asked my grandmother for money to help us move, I can't turn right around and ask her again.) Money problems have been chasing me around all my life. I don't know why I can't get ahead of any of them. I was never taught the ridiculous importance and value of money like my brother. (My poor excuse for a father didn't set up a joint checking account for me (and him) until I had secured a job while my brother received a savings account before he was 10 and was encouraged to put all of his birthday/Christmas money in it. He was also given an allowance. Enough said.) So, now I must face the consequences of my actions...even if they cause me to get sent to jail for failure to pay off a horrible debt. Now, I can never marry the love of my life. (Who in their right mind would want to marry a poor woman and take on all of her debt, too?) And I fear for my poor baby cat, Contessa, who will probably be eaten by her older brother, Zeus, when their food supply dries up. Unfortunately, we live in a world where the only real thing that matters is money. It won't matter that I was drum major of the marching band in high school if I can't pay my bills. It won't matter that I'm fluent in Spanish and know Portuguese and Italian as well if I can't come up with the money to pay rent. And it certainly won't matter that I once wrote a 3 page essay in Spanish about how my family worships Bart Simpson when I try to find a job that pays enough for me to survive and stay out of jail.

However, this is not the reason for my post. I actually wanted to write about how money ISN'T the most important thing in MY world. Although it causes me ALL of my strife and worry, there are some things that certainly make me feel better.

One example of this is my sweet pets. While crying my eyes out just a little bit ago, both Zeus and Ellie, our pup, came over to console me. Ellie placed her head in my lap and looked up at me with her sad, brown eyes. Zeus sat down next to me and rubbed his head up against my shoulder and started purring like a motor. And then, Tessa put aside her hatred for Ellie and quietly snuck up behind me and rubbed herself up against my back. As I was adjusting to the shock of being in what felt like the scene from some Disney movie about animals, I instantly calmed down and felt somewhat better.

After drying up my sad eyes, I went to my computer to check bank accounts to see HOW POOR I actually am when I became distracted by my friend's blog. I don't know how she does it, but after reading Alison's blog, I feel so much better. Could it be that the topics of her blog entries induce hysterical laughter? Could it be that her writing style portrays a sense of reality that one can actually relate to? Or could it be that she writes what she wants, when she wants, about what she wants and inspires others to do the same? I believe all of these factors play a part in making her readers feel better about life. No matter how depressed I am about money, I can always go to alisoncomposes.blogspot.com and come across a funny story about her experiences waiting tables and dealing with ridiculous customers (which was actually how we met). And no matter how tired I am of life, I can click on that bookmark and come across a picture of Alison looking hilariously terrified in her bike helmet while she tells us about riding her beloved bike in Chicago. Alison makes me feel better...even if she lives miles and miles away. And I believe that feeling is much more valuable to me than the money I need to pay off my debts.

Anything that can create that feeling in me, whether it be my beautiful pets, the wonderful compositions of my best friend, or watching The Simpsons (I just popped it in) while curled up in bed is so much more important than money.

Did I mention my lovely boyfriend just sent me the sweetest text message letting me know he loves me? Priceless...