Aww, has this blog petered out again? I love this community, and I hope we can keep it thriving!
For now, here is a link ( http://literature.sdsu.edu/onWRITING/vonnegutSTYLE.html ) to an awesome article about writing with your own style, via Kurt Vonnegut. Maybe this will inspire you!
At fifteen, when I was learning how to drive,
before I stomped into my house and yelled to my mom
that I would never drive with my father again
because he told me I should be able to drive
so that the cylindrical bottle on the floor
before I realized what a privilege it was
what a necessity it was to drive a car,
Before all that, my dad gave me a piece of advice.
It was the only piece of advice he ever gave me,
and it was the best piece of advice I’ve received since.
“Always be sure to look two cars ahead of you for brake lights.
That way, you can see what’s coming.”
Even before that, though, when I was very little, my father told me
something else that will always stick with me. He said,
“If you don’t ever have a wedding,
I will buy you a car.
Any kind of car you want.”
At three years old, I thought
that Daddy wanted me to be his little girl forever.
That he didn’t want me to get married and be in love
with some other man.
But before he could buy me a car, I had to learn
to drive one, and I didn’t want to learn
from him. He didn’t want to teach me, or if he did
he had a funny way of showing it.
Teasing incessantly, yelling while we were on the road,
not letting me rest until I was perfect.
I figured as long as I didn’t crash into someone in front of me
while he was in the car
I’d be perfect enough. So I kept looking
two cars ahead to see the brake lights, to see
what was coming. And I didn’t hit anyone.
It wasn’t until he left us that I really started
playing it safe, trying to predict the outcome
of everything – Where would I get a job? Where
would I meet a man? Where
would I be accepted to graduate school? Where
would that man decide to live? Where
would I decide to live? Where
would I get enough money to feed myself? Where
would that man break up with me? Where
would it all come to a screeching halt?
Instead of looking two cars ahead, I started looking
three, then six, then ten, then a mile or two –
so focused on what could happen up there, I didn’t notice
what was happening in front of me.
By predicting the crash, I caused it.
It looked like my dad was going to buy me that car after all,
since my relationships all crashed and burned.
But then I fell in love. And we talked about rings and family
and weddings. And we talked about how much weddings cost.
And we talked about saving ourselves. And I joked about my Daddy
buying me the car of my dreams if I didn’t
have a wedding.
If I didn’t have a wedding. Not
if I didn’t get married. Daddy realized paying for a car
would be less than paying for a wedding and made an offer.
Daddy’s little girl was his car, which explained the teasing incessantly,
yelling while we were on the road,
not letting me rest until I was perfect.
Which explained why his advice was never
about life or love, but about his car.
I took a deep breath.
I smiled, and resumed talking and planning
and started saving, so I could create my own memories
right in front of me.
But I always keep an eye out for that car
two cars ahead.
Just in case.
In case you’re not a Beatles fan…Every line in this poem is the title of a Beatles song..that’s why the lines are spaced weird and whatnot.
Across the universe
I call your name
Like dreamers do
I want to tell you
I’m a loser
A shot of rhythm and blues
I need you
Love me do
Don’t let me down
Don’t pass me by
You can’t do that
Every little thing
Falling in love again
Some other guy?
I want to be your man
I want to hold your hand
Carry that weight.
A day in the life-
The fool on the hill
Tomorrow never knows
Happiness is a warm gun
(From you to me)
And I love her
Here comes the sun
Ask me why?
Baby it’s you
p.s. I love you
In Michigan, they wear their love like sails,
ubiquitous and billowing, a full-hearted propulsion
across bottomless, unfreezable lakes.
And when the wind dies down,
they tattoo each others’ body parts with blueberry lips
and freckles bloom in unexpected places.
When winter comes, they lash love down tightly,
with practiced practicality and bungee cords,
their midwestern modesty renewed by the lakes turning solemn.
But they keep an eye on love, buried there under three feet of snow.
Watching from picture windows and waiting for the forsythia to bloom.
I looked and looked for the Beatles poem but as I was looking I found an application for a certain club that you took over from Ms. Fontana (I think you know what I’m talking about) the year you put the impressions club online…and i gave you my only copy because I printed only one too read at our poetry slam….So I fear it is lost forever…however, I did find a nice morbid writing exercise we did about the lovely missed halls of Lp which you seemed to like well..that’s what you wrote in my notebook….and yes I realize this is one very large run on sentence I did not intend on it being this long and I apologize.
So here we go I like to call this one…?? Highschool.
The dawn swallowed me whole that day. The sun slowly crept into my window, finding every crack and opening it could seep into. The sun’s emission forced life into my cold hollow body. As it breathed into me I accepted it, and got up out of bed, but I wasn’t happy about it.
I got to school the tangled halls were dank and screamed a smell so loud that I almost couldn’t hear it. People walked by me like I was a forgotten zombie and I was. I walked these halls every day the same way. An exquisite corpse drinking blood red wine for lunch and slurping up Nacho Grande every other day. Is this what we call life?
These days are numbered but I don’t care enough to count down. One day ill dip into a life I longed to have, until then I’ll continue to wait for the ever freeing release of that extra terribly sharp E note that so cleverly sounds at 2:55.
I’m not sure how I feel about this one, and it definitely needs some work, so all comments are welcomed!
The howl of the wolf at night
is a hollow sound
that carves at your soul
like a dark, winter night.
The magnolia bush blooms
before the last frost,
its scent fills the air
with the life of spring.
But it is not quite spring,
the earth has not warmed,
our toes are left chilly.
And on a not-quite-spring night
the wind can sound like the wolf’s howl,
slowly scraping away at your soul.
Hey Poets! Happy Friday!
This is not a poetry-related post at all, but I just wanted to let you know that you can now reply to your comments on this blog straight from your e-mail. When you receive an e-mail notification that you have a comment, instead of logging back in to WordPress to reply to the comment, just hit reply to the e-mail and type out your reply and send it. It’ll show up on the blog in a few minutes, and even in the right place in the thread (under the comment you are replying to). Pretty cool, huh?
This doesn’t work with past comments, only future ones.
I tried it with my iPhone yesterday, and it didn’t work. Molly, maybe the next comment you get, you could try it to see if it’s just me?
If you want more info on this, check the WordPress Blog here: http://en.blog.wordpress.com/2009/04/23/comment-reply-via-email-open-to-all/
Happy Poem-ing (and Commenting)!