Tag Archives: poem

Journal – Keeping Friends

 

 

You always had friends, she says
Dismissively
But it makes me sad.

People love her.
Why doesn’t she have friends?
It’s not, as she attributes it, extroversion
Introverts make friends all the time.

I think it has more to do with forgiveness.
She can’t forgive a slight
imagined or otherwise.
When you imagine the best of people
You’re usually right.
When you imagine the worst of people
You’re usually right.

I can’t change her outlook.
I can’t teach her to forgive.
But if she can learn to forgive herself
She might learn to forgive others.
If she can learn to forgive others
She might be able to keep a friend.

Making friends is easy.
Keeping friends is hard.
I’ve won countless friends.
I have lost more friends than I’ve ever kept.
Some of them
For whatever reason
Stick.
Maybe they’re capable of forgiving my countless unconscious cruelties
My rough treatment
My tactlessness
Maybe they consider what I can give
to be worth what I take.
Maybe they’re able to accept my forgiveness
for the things they think they’ve done.

My friendships have been tried.
So many times
I don’t know what happened
but I lose them anyway.
I follow them until I realize
They’re not looking back at me.
This too, I must forgive.
And myself
For how I must have hurt them
Though I don’t know what it was.

Maybe no one did anything wrong.
Maybe it’s just nature
People come and go
Friendships rise and fall
with the changing tides.
Maybe I need more flexibility.

This is why I consider a friendship that sticks
Incredibly valuable.
Whatever alchemy
Has bonded us together
I refuse to let fall by the wayside.
Fight, drama, damage, conflict in values

I never considered myself loyal.
Loyalty always implied to me
That I would take their side no matter what.
That’s not what I do.
I consider rights and wrongs
According to my own ethics.
I try to make peace
Between them and their enemies
it’s the forgiveness thing again.
But I do love them no matter what.
Maybe that’s what loyalty really is.

Look at how good I make myself sound.
Somewhere in here is a lie
Somewhere in here is denial
That’s what it is to be human
We tell stories
We tell lies
even to ourselves.
I am not seeing something.
Maybe by love I am enacting hate,
My loyalty is fickleness,
My ethics are cold,
And my forgiveness is judgment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Confidence Building

 

I once was a mountain
I now am a mote.
I tore myself to pieces
yanked the fragrant stands of pine
tumbled the elegant waterfalls
bloodied my hands
tore my nails
bent my back
ground the last pebble
under my heel
until I was just
miserable dust.

I once was a mote
I now am a castle.
I built myself up
bricks to crenellated battlements
magnificent masonry
exhausted and proud.

I light a match
and burn me all down again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Haibun, “Pride Before Fall” – writing process

 

Three drafts of a haibun, for those of you who like to analyze writing to pieces. If that sounds awful to you, just read the last one (in bold), since it’s the final draft.

 


First draft: stream of consciousness. Passionate, but lacking cohesion. Doesn’t really make sense here and there. Many repeated words.

 

I drive through a frosted urban landscape. A sudden cold has passed through in the night. The grass is fuzzed white with frost.

It’s the tail end of the changing colors. The more vibrant trees, shocked, have dropped their leaves on the sidewalk. Heaps of vibrant color piled under the trees. No one yet has walked through them and disturbed the perfection of their distribution. The leaves coat the sidewalk an inch thick, pour over the curb and into the street, forming a perfect ombre circle underneath each tree. Only the most vibrant trees, the ones with the most to lose, have collapsed this way. As I drive by, they are still raining steady drops of color.

A death so graceful and extravagant, it looks like a wedding.

 

 


Second draft: the first draft edited to death. Reordered some, added some explanatory and expository phrasing. Rewrote most repetitive usages of “tree” “leaf” and “color.” 

Turned out awfully proper, don’t you think? I actually liked it a lot. But it doesn’t read easy.

 

Early morning. A cold snap passed through in the night, leaving the grassy urban landscape fuzzed white with frost.

It’s the tail end of the changing colors. Many trees have already gone leathery, taking the chill with stodgy, taciturn dormancy, blinking against the freeze, half asleep, withdrawn. The prouder, full-feathered trees, vulnerable by virtue of their vitality, shocked by the abrupt weather change, have dropped half their heavy pride overnight. Heaps of vibrant color pile on the sidewalk under the trees in crisp lemon yellow, or blushing peachy orange. Untossed by wind, untrod by morning commuter, nothing yet has disturbed the perfection of their distribution. Leaves coat the pavement an inch thick, pour over the curb and into the street, forming perfect ombre circles. 

Even as I drive by, they still steadily rain drops of brightness.

 

a death so graceful

and extravagant, it looks 

just like a wedding.

 

 


Went to lunch, came back, rewrote from scratch. The parts that stuck in my head were the keepers. I already had lots of alternate words in my head so I didn’t have to worry so much about repeating too much. It has more passion and flow like the first draft, while also retaining some of the form and vocabulary of the second draft.

 

The trees are raining color.

A cold snap has passed through, fuzzing the grass with frost. Most of the older trees sensed the turning of the seasons, and have already gone leathery and mute; they squinted through the onslaught as the first of many, prepared for the siege of winter. The young maples and honey locusts, vivacious and blustering in ostentatious reds, yellows, and peachy oranges, have suffered a setback. They lost leaves at an astounding rate: half of their burden dropped in one night. The sidewalks underneath them are buried in brightness, inches deep. Unable to contain the bounty, it spills over the curb and onto the road.

No people have passed through. No playful wind has yet mussed the heaps. The trees drip their pride, leaves falling fast like vibrant rain.

 

a dignified death

generous, extravagant

feels like a wedding

 

 


 

Aw crap. I looked at it too long and now I don’t like this draft either. Maybe I like the second one better. I couldn’t decide and that’s why I posted them all, under the guise of a “writing process” post. Tricked you.

Well, that’s the process. Now do what I do! Go out there and write something you won’t like!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

it’s fine.

 

hold still and listen.

you have time.

that dead weight pressing down from overhead,
the ticking clock,
the way it interrupts silence,
Louder,
Louder,
Louder.
an illusion.

you have time.

time to make, time to fill
there is always
one more minute.

talk to your friends
waste your moments
make french toast
watch TV
read books
create
vegetate

that buried alive feeling
the you-havent-done-enough
the you-havent-done-it-right
the you-arent-who-you-should-be

you made that up.
leave it behind and see how nothing changes
except a renewed sense of freedom
freedom
a cool breeze, a new car, a flushed cheek

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

Cruel Fickle Fate

 

 

Haa, this is pretty cringey. I must’ve been around fourteen when I wrote it? I even thought it was passable when I reread it a few years ago. Now it pains me… oh, so much. That’s proof of how much I’ve learned.

Enjoy.

 


 

I first noticed your gait, and your carriage, your state

Then the look in your eyes took me right by surprise.

I knew not fickle Fate had been lying in wait

Creeping silently nigh, telling love to arise

 

When I realized what happened, I was far too late

I was caught in the clutches of cruel fickle Fate

In hindsight, my life grew gradually towards you

But I saw it not, no, naught I saw ‘til ‘twas through.

 

Years of calluses cut in a single, swift blow

How did I let it happen? I simply don’t know

But I cherished your care, you’re still dearer than air

Though you’re now underground, now I drown without you.

 

I followed, thou led — O cruel fickle Fate!

Thou’d said we would wed — O God, now this hate!

Thou’d left me for dead — I wept, thou unmoved

I watched as thou bled — how dearly I’d loved!

 

You know I still love thee, Beloved, Unlovéd

I know you’re above me, Unlovéd, Beloved

You hurt me, I hate thee, Beloved, Unlovéd

I’ll never forgive thee, Unlovéd, Beloved

Why did you leave me,  Beloved, Unlovéd

I had to revenge me, Unlovéd, Beloved

Murder isn’t easy,  Beloved, Unlovéd

Why’d you make me hurt thee? Unlovéd, Beloved

I’m torn in between me —  Beloved, Unlovéd

I love thee, I hate thee — Unlovéd, Beloved

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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