Wednesday, November 30, 2005 

News of Sorts

I made a phone call to the appropriate persons and found out that I could submit as many poems as wanted and they would choose some (or none) from those. Soooooooooo . . . I submitted all of them. BUT, I'm glad that those of you who participated let me know what you liked because it will be good to see what you chose compared to what they choose, if, in fact, they choose anything at all. We'll have to wait and see. I don't know the time frame on the selections or when the publication is coming out, but when I do then I'll let the world know!

December 13th is the day we have set for my interview to move up at Starbucks. I had a goal of being promoted by the end of the year and that should happen given that there are no setbacks.
It means moving to a different store and away from the people I've worked with for the last 10 months now . . . kinda sad (no worries Addison, we'll still do noodles . . . does that sound funny?). MAN those are great noodles!! Best noodles this side of the Great Wall . . . and the DUMPLINGS!!!! Ok, now I'm hungry. There's nothing quite like making yourself so full you're sick on Jeng Shi noodles and dumplings. mmmmmmmmmmmm. That was a bit of a tangent, sorry. Anyway, the goal is to go full time at Starbucks so I won't have to work at the Depot any more. I've answered enough phone calls to last me a long, long time.

That's it on the news front, I'll probably have some more poetry up soon for the few of you who enjoy it. But for now, a little Bob Dylan:

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."


Monday, November 28, 2005 

Need to decide . . .

I need to send off the poem pretty soon now. So, if you would, choose which one you think I should. If you choose more than one, that's fine, just none of this "SEND THEM ALL!!" stuff (anonymous mom).

You may notice the flickr to the right . . . I got my camera (see previous post) and I shall now be sharing photos that I take, though not many on the blog so I set up a photo album. There aren't many there now, I haven't taken that many great pictures yet. Just keep checking back if you're interested.

I 'spose that's all for now.


Friday, November 25, 2005 

CIty Streets

we stared at the people
we wanted to be,

as summer breathed
down our necks. Filling
our lungs we smoked

the blue-line,
aristocrates in our underground
lounge. Light

like smoke we spiraled
up and up to t-shirt
carts and steeples

to worship and purchase
downtown jungle paradise.
And pigeons, hundreds

of peck-neck pigeons
dancing to cabbie-jazz
in the streets,

(these crowded city
streets) received our laughter
as applause . . .

and I"m longing
for the Common again,
(where we're the same)

a peck-neck pigeon,
parading this town's
crowded streets

always looking
for my jazz beat
and a place to eat.


Monday, November 21, 2005 

11 September, 2004

breathing the free air and
walking with liberty the footpaths
of the community zoo,

i happened upon
the dominion of
the magnificent bald eagle.

majestic and proud, perched
with his head and breast above
the ideals he represents,

the poet of our freedom
perched. proud.
keeping freedom holy

in a chicken wire cage.


Friday, November 18, 2005 

Poem #2

death is a lot like
Christmas morning.
it comes early
but starts slowly. quiet
little feet sneak
up on it, descending
the stairs into the
dark, sunless morning
where they sit and stare
at the cleverly wrapped
boxes as maturity makes
its way into the room,
one by one.
with a sleepy nod they
acknowledge the time
and in a moment when
a blink misses the blizzard,
packaging peanuts float and fly
like snow
disturbed from its peace.

and as the day wears on,
wrapped up in pies
and ham
and hot apple cider,
stories become the centerpiece,
and all the pretty packages
sit empty,
waiting their turn
to be placed
on the curb
in the snow.


Wednesday, November 16, 2005 

Alright, alright!!!! The lack of posts is due to many things . . . busy, busy, more busy . . . but mostly, I hadn't really found a poem that I wanted to post at this time. So, I'm posting some original work. Apparently I have and opportunity to be "published" in a small circulation magazine that my alma mater puts out and I have to submit something by December 1st. So, contrary to my nature and historical precedent, I'm going to post some original work for you, my dear and faithful readers (and some not so faithful but just as dear), that you may help me choose 1 or 2 to submit. The works here are all considered "in progress" so I'm not looking for a whole lot of critique. I'm looking more for the overall impressions of the poems and what I'm trying to say. Maybe wait until you've read a few or comment on each one, no worries if I don't have any comments . . . I'm a big boy (kinda).


they walk sidewalks, streets, malls, parks, and bars --------- they play in fields, on shores, in rivers, lakes, and pools --------- they smile, they frown, they scowl, worry, laugh, and scold --------- adults and children --------- boys and girls --------- men and women --------- faces --------- and to each of us, each face, an entrance and an exit --------- they come, they go --------- and when they go they leave pictures, folded up, that we put into memory's hip-pocket --------- some fold and unfold more often than others --------- happy and familiar, cherished and remembered --------- but others, vapor, whisked away --------- floating --------- nowhere, for no one --------- and these, the unfolded, they float for awhile then land --------- in quiet, shadowed corners --------- living where dark silence lives --------- quietly, gently he picks and folds them up --------- places them slowly in his hip-pocket --------- forgetting --------- until he finds them, folded, faded in the wash


Thursday, November 03, 2005 

Simple Things

Poems don't have to be super deep or extra emotional. Often times the most simple poems are quite good and long lasting in our memories. They do so because they've touched a common heart string. The writer and the reader, for a brief moment, meet, and the poem becomes personal. The subject matter can be simple as well, as it is here in Edward Hirsch's "Fast Break". Hirsch is one of my favorite writers right now, his two books How to Read a Poem and The Demon and the Angel are quite good in their analysis of the art of poetry. I recommend them both, very highly. So, without further ado, in celebration of the start of basketball season . . . "Fast Break".

Fast Break

A hook shot kisses the rim and
hangs there, helplessly, but doesn't drop,

and for once our gangly starting center
boxes out his man and times his jump

perfectly, gathering the orange leather
from the air like a cherished possession

and spinning around to throw a strike
to the outlet who is already shoveling

an underhand pass toward the other guard
scissoring past a flat-footed defender

who looks stunned and nailed to the floor
in the wrong direction, trying to catch sight

of a high, gliding dribble and a man
letting the play develop in front of him

in slow motion, almost exactly
like a coach's drawing the blackboard,

both forwards racing down the court
the way that forwards should, fanning out

and filling the lanes in tandem, moving
together as brothers passing the ball

between them without a dribble, without
a single bounce hitting the hardwood

until the guard finally lunges out
and commits to the wrong man

while the power-forward explodes past them
in a fury, taking the ball into the air

by himself now and laying it gently
against the glass for a lay-up,

but losing his balance in the process,
inexplicably falling, hitting the floor

with a wild, headlong motion
for the game he loved like a country

and swiveling back to see and orange blur
floating perfectly through the net.

~Edward Hirsch


About me

  • Chris
  • Dallas, Texas, United States
  • i am a little of this, a little of that. some of these, some of those...
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