Archive for January, 2011

My Name is Pronoun

This one is a little less serious, written last week. I will likely remove and replace/rework the third stanza, but it amuses me this way for now.

My Name is Pronoun

My name is Pronoun.
Who am I?
I’m this or that,
Or even thy.
I’m you, I’m me,
Or am I she?
Which of these things
Is what I be?
If I am his,
Then who is he?
And what if he
Turns into we?
Oh me! Oh my!
Just who am I?

And do you wonder
Where I go?
To here and there,
But where? Who knows!
For when you’re “here”,
And “there” seems near,
So “there” you go,
And veer and steer,
Then find you’re back
To what is “here”.
And “there” has somehow
You may say “No!”,
But it is so.

Can this be me:
A substitute?
When words need be
Made more acute?
Is it a must?
Or should I fuss?
Will we and they
Continue thus?
Yes, it’s alright
With them and us.
When words are what
We must discuss:
It’s better mute
Than convolute.

My name is pronoun,
Who am I?
Your guess is just
As good as mine!

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My Hands Are Cold

This is a free-verse-ish poem I recently wrote about my former struggles working as a nurse.  It’s rather contradictory of me to make this my first poetic post, since I was so insistent on truth and beauty in everything in setting up this blog. The following is perhaps truthful to my emotional experience, but I am still trying to find the beauty in the bad memories of my past work life. And poetry is good for that too, moving you towards self-revelation, etc. Anyways, enough preamble:


My Hands Are Cold

“My hands are cold,”
I warn you as I lift your sleeve,
But they are clean.
And dry and chapped,
And stiff with pain.
You shiver as I touch your skin,
But all they know is
Soon it’s time to wash again.

You look at me,
Awaiting answers anxiously,
Making me a demi-god
Of all goodwill,
Against my will.
And sitting still,
You ask for the miraculous.

Any answers I can give
Come from books
On bending shelves,
Books that you could read yourself.
The only additive,
The only “something else”
Is human at its core,
And yet you hope for more.

I wish that I was more.

My hands are cold,
But rarely shaking anymore.
I make them still,
Through force of will,
But fear has almost become rote,
And works its way day in, day out.
We’re symbiotic, arm in arm.
Trembling once external
Hides its evidence in the vessels,
Tissues, fabric of my form.
You say you wish my hands were warm.

I wish we both were free of harm.

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“Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world….”

– taken from The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis


Good old Puddleglum.

You can fight for beauty and truth, or you can resign yourself to “real life” in a pit, underground and sun-less. It’s easy enough to hide from the sun, if you’re intent on it. And life often gives us plenty of reasons to hide. But, oh, those glorious moments of rapture and revelation, when you stumble out of the cave and sunlight smacks you in the face again! And you think to yourself, how did I ever forget this? How could anyone forget this?

I write for several reasons. I do it to communicate opinions which I am not able or willing to say out loud. I write to make myself, and hopefully others, laugh or cry…or wonder. I use rhythm and rhyme as a way of bringing order into a world of chaos. But mostly, the goal is to “lick the real world hollow”: to show the dark side of life who is boss and remind the prisoners that there is a way out…to cling to truth and beauty even when life isn’t beautiful.

So in the spirit of any decent modern-day writer, I have decided to bring it all online, so I can air my personal achievements or lack thereof for all the world to read, just like everybody else. But, more importantly, I am seeking any and every sort of input or feedback. So please comment honestly and frequently. Most of my posts will be poetic or otherwise structured in nature, but I may do general blogging as well. I dress each day according to mood. And I write the same way.

Thanks for joining me. Happy readings…

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