Suddenly I don't work my evening job until Friday and thus have a few evenings free in a row, and I must admit, it has come as quite a shock. I'm so used to having too little time to do anything meaningful, or being too tired, that I'm still not quite sure what to do with the time, which is why I haven't done any of the things I hoped to get accomplished tonight. Partially, I also feel somewhat guilty for not being working right now given how much money I need to make before London next spring. I'm probably mentally recovered enough to do those long hours after I've had the weekend off what with Ashley visiting again. Still, now that I'll be working as a server (finally!) at my Holiday Inn job, I might actually make enough money in tips to compensate for having fewer hours, or at least that's my hope. My current pace won't net me enough money to be comfortable with my semester overseas, especially now that I'm realizing my hockey streaming package that I get ever year (since I don't live in the Pittsburgh area to get Penguins games) isn't available in Europe, and the one that is available in Europe isn't available in America. This splits next year's hockey season awkwardly in half and leaves me with a troubling situation for someone who generally watches probably 95% of the Penguins' games.
But enough about the money aspect. Trying to actually make use of what little time I have is the other big thing. During the school year I am always making lists of all the things I'll do when I have time again. Granted, it's much easier when there's a significant amount of time strung together because one can only do nothing for so long, but when I only have a few hours here and there, writing and blogging and reading and other activities which require mental activity end up being neglected in favor of more lazy ones. I've been meaning to finish Anna Karenina for a while, and I have a list of books to read that fills both columns on two sheets of paper (and I'm quite sure it's incomplete), but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm midway through Beatrice and Virgil by Yann Martel (author of Life of Pi) and unimpressed, which may contribute to that unwillingness to choose reading to fill those few hours. More tempting right now actually is going back and reading the Harry Potter series...again. Which is fun, of course, but hardly stimulating. Meh, we'll see what happens over the next few days.
Also, it''s been a while since I posted some poems on here, so I'll try to bring this blog up to date again.
Fragments of the Modern Mind
Filed away in desk drawers
Mausoleums filled with the bones of wit
And the drippings of smoky melodies
Ringed around in paper clip senselessness
Filled with the despair of shantytown roses
Scrabbling with the hallowed ghosts of archaic idols
And satin-cheeked cherubs of mind-bending disorder
Polarity and seamlessness colliding in a haze of questions
Endless rows of shelves collapsing under the weight
Glassy shards of amateur dreams
Buried in the endless rubble of neophyte nightmares
And choked by the shackles of neckties and paperweights.
©May 2010
Old and New
The mists of morning still linger, relics of darkness and sleep
The scatter-colored shimmer language of the sunrise
Speaks playfully to figures wreathed in tendrils of forest breath
Winking diamonds dance in branches, a multicolored spectacle
The riches of the dawn
Footsteps muffled by needlepoint carpeting
Hints of by-gone frost on the breeze
A haunting reminder of brokenness and solitude
The frigid immersion into icy rivulets of memories
The soft trickle
The silent murmur
Of a silence too familiar to break
The wind reclines in the lofty canopy of new and old
Contemplating among sheltering giants indifferent to a passing moment
In which miles were crossed, in time and space
Streams forded, trails blazed
And a windswept conversation, barely audible over the silence
Of old and new.
In the stilly eternity of the forest reckoning
Where warm fragrant musings of aimless zephyrs
Gently caress vibrant newborn petals
Carefully imparting the wisdom of the phoenix
In the language of deepening blues and evening gems
Set so brightly in imperfect wooden frames
For the wondering, apprehensive, exhilarated gazers
A starset of the trees.
©May 2010
Closed Eyelids
Colorful shapes dance behind closed eyelids
Fiery screens playing out romantic memoirs
The smooth feel of Egyptian cotton on porous membranes
Wild trips of phosphorescent dandelions
Tremors of silent terror and the fears of youth
Running, falling, screaming
Flying; the feel of bittersweet stillness
Invisible barriers incomprehensible
A vain struggle, and then
The alarm.
©June 2010
This next poem is not quite where I want it to be yet. I'll edit this post once I've edited the poem.
Wisdom
Once, when the world was black and white,
I told the world all that I knew
I didn't hold back.
Then, some foggy snapshots later,
I still expressed my much-maligned wisdom
But fewer cared to listen or understand
So I invented my own world.
In those days I walked in the air,
And grappled with the sun.
I held the secrets of the universe in my mind
And in that lithe, yet fragile body
I understood.
Yes, but that was an eternity ago
I see in color now, and I hold my tongue
I have exchanged the world for the universe
And am counted among the wise.
Yesterday a small child approached me
With a fire burning in his eyes
Tugging insistently on my grey sleeve
He bid me listen
And he shared with me the secrets of the universe
But I did not understand.
©June 2010
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