Picture of the Day

First of all, there's absolutely no way I'm going to do this everyday.

This blog isn't about my photography. It's about my wonderful prose and my... --- there's isn't even a word to describe how uplifting and heartbreaking my poetry is.

Here, you want one?

You want a poem?

Here's one, unplanned, right off the top of my head:

The land of druthers,
breeds estrangement from others,
until you wake up naked on a heart shaped bed covered in champagne and your own feces next to your girlfriend's mother.

ok, on to the picture:

I liked how the clouds kind of defined the light

I hate bugs

I hate bugs. I really do.

To the point where I actually wanted to torture a bug yesterday.

And I stand behind my reasons -- one of which was deterrence.

I actually talked to Cindy last night about torturing a bug.

And trust me, the conversation was much more than just, "I want to torture a bug."

Poem (flashback)

If a picture is worth a thousand words,

then one of my short poems is worth a thousand pictures.

And my prose?

Don't even get me started on my prose...

Let me just put it this way brother:

My prose can make grown men cry, and babies stop crying.

A man once compared me to Shakespeare,

and you know what I said to him?

I said, "My mother used to read me Shakespeare when I was a toddler. And you know what I said to her? I said, 'Mom, enough of this kiddie stuff. Read me my first edition of "Goodbye, Columbus"... or is Roth's prose too fucking beautiful and delicate for you to handle at this hour?'"

poem

(I started this one last year when I took that poetry seminar, and it kind of just came together today.)

1.

Where what I see comes to rest,

at the edge of the lake,

against what I think I see

and, up on the bank, who I am

maintains an uneasy truce

with who I fear I am,

while in the cabin’s shade the gap between

the words I said

and those I remember saying

is just wide enough to contain

the remains that remain

of what I assumed I knew.

2.

Out in the canoe, the person I thought you were

gingerly trades spots

with the person you are

and what I believe I believe

sits uncomfortably next to

what I believe.

When I promised I will always give you

what I want you to want,

you heard, or desired to hear,

something else. You see

I've porked a lot of women

in my days, and only called you

with a drunken desire

to plunge my face, into

the depths of those big 'ole sloppies.

(ok, that was actually copied from a poem by Troy Jollimore called At Lake Scugog. But it was funny to switch out the last two paragraphs)

Poem

Little did I know of the exhilaration to come as I carefully readied myself over the horseshoe 

beneath which waited the modern marvel.

I was reminded of a night two score and nine dumps ago when I sat against a Giant Sequoia with the company of the stars and The Plot Against America and felt the triumph of birth and the pain of death together in a single moment.

c2k, A.D.

poem

I once flew upon the wings of an eagle

and thought to myself: this would be much faster and certainly more comfortable in a first class cabin.

But alas it was too late, 

I was stuck upon that godforsaken eagle, and I couldn't tell that dumb fucking animal how to get a motherfucker to Milwaukee so I can pick up a warm Journal Sentinel and figure out what the fuck is going on in this goddamn world.

(ctk, A.D.)

thanks

I received the Strunk and White writing guide in the mail today. I mention that because I didn't order it. So if you ordered it for me, and you're reading this... thanks.

As a reward, here's another poem:

What's your favorite season?

Wait, let me guess: Fall.

Yeah... 

well, mine is summer.

Poetry

Ok, people have wanted to hear my poetry, so here is just a little warmup, just some fluff for you to enjoy before I get to the serious stuff:

You are familiar with the color of roses,

and certainly that of violets.

So I will not denigrate my feelings,

by making a superfluous analogy that could never begin to illustrate the eroticism I feel, towards you.

ctk, 12/08, USA