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Archive for February, 2011

This is my first attempt to participate in [Fiction] Friday, run by Write Anything (writeanything.wordpress.com). The challenge (#196) was to write something inspired by the picture shown. So here’s a nonsense poem, which turned out to be a bit more explicit than I originally intended….
(I think the challenge was supposed to be in story/prose form, but I found out too late – oh well…) See their website for challenge details.

Frisky Bee, Fed-up Flower

Oh my, Oh me!
A bumbling bee!
Please buzz on by
Away from me.

My pollen’s clumped.
My stem is stumped.
My disposition,
Rather grumped.

My petals sag,
And dip and drag.
I can’t be bothered
With this shag…

You wish to bate
My last gamete,
With cupid’s help,
To germinate?

You’re loud and lewd,
Such attitude!
Your buzzing boasts
So crass and crude.

You think a bit
Of bumbling wit
Is all a flower
Wants from it?

I won’t be wooed,
Not in this mood…
Let fresher buds
Be shook and screwed.

And can’t you see
Oh boisterous bee:
A lightening storm
Looms longingly?

So let the rain
Drip down again
And cool the buzzing
In your veins.

Today’s not great
To pollinate,
So come again,
Some other date…

(And next time call, for goodness sake!)

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Sometimes You Will Feel Sad

Intended for children. Applicable to all of us:

 

Sometimes you will feel sad.

You might have tripped.
Or maybe slipped…
You may have seen
A frightful fiend.
Perhaps your most beloved chum
Is also feeling rather glum.

I cannot know why you will frown,
But sometimes you’ll be feeling down.

 

Sometimes you won’t know why.

You may be sad,
Or even mad,
And throw a fit,
And curse and spit,
The day is warm and sunny bright,
But nothing seems to turn out right.

I can’t guess what will make you cry,
But sometimes you just won’t know why.

 

Sometimes you’ll feel alone.

Your friends are there,
But you don’t care.
They just don’t get
What makes you fret.
They’ll tell you to cheer up and smile,
But you know that could take a while.

I can’t say why you’ll feel so tense,
But sometimes feelings don’t make sense.

 

Sometimes you’ll need to know:

You may feel glad,
Or sad, or bad…
The way you feel
Can seem so real.
But feeling things is not a crime,
And sorting out can take some time.

I cannot tell you why it’s so,
But feeling things is how you grow.

 

And I can tell you this is true,
‘Cuz sometimes I have felt sad too.

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When you first fall in love…

You don’t care about the laundry, unless it means your perfect pair of jeans isn’t available when you need to look good.

You don’t worry over what’s for dinner, unless he’s coming over to eat it with you.

You scoff at financial troubles, telling yourself it will all work out in the end.

You don’t cry over spilt milk. You cry about the big stuff. The frustrating telephone conversations. The roller coaster of good and bad dates. The injustice of having to wait…

And you think to yourself, when we are finally together, as we are meant to be, the rest will fall into place...If you could have this one thing…just this one, all would be fantastic, and happily ever after would swoop in and sweep you off your feet.

This is what being in love does to you. It focuses your life in such a way that nothing else matters. Your purpose is clear and defined. You don’t sweat the small stuff. You don’t get bogged down by the little things.

And it’s not just being in love, is it? It’s the next big vacation or promotion. It’s Christmas time again. It’s moving to a different city and making a new start. It’s the greener grass calling to you from the other side of the hill.

No doubt, there is a hint of bitterness in my voice as I type this. There is. But it isn’t there because I think the above reality should be altered in any way. Let the young in love dream big dreams and let those depressed by winter’s darkness look ahead to sunny vacations. Hopes aren’t bad, even if they may be disappointed to some extent later on.

But what about when there isn’t a focus? What about the in-between times when the little things are all you have? What about loving for richer or poorer and in sickness or health? Or maybe you go to Florida for March Break and the weather is cold and rainy…maybe after three months on the job, the new promotion just looks like more work.

When what you have for dinner is the most exciting thing coming up that day…it becomes a lot more important, and stress-inducing. What do I feel like today? Will I be satisfied with the same old thing again? Can I afford to make something fancier? I really need to lose weight…etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

So maybe smaller times call for smaller measures. Yes, maybe true. Partially at least. Counting the smallest blessings…doing little special things for those you love…making yourself a fancy meal for no reason at all. It becomes all about putting in the time and staving off depression while you wait for the next big event. No, it doesn’t quite satisfy, does it?

I’d like to argue that smaller times call for larger hopes…more distant ones that aren’t so tangible. Hopes that go beyond the basics needs of health and happiness…hopes that are rooted somewhere where the grass really is greener, and where hope does not disappoint us.

The season of advent is long past now. But I find myself seeking its solace more and more this time of year. Perhaps it’s something akin to seasonal affective disorder, or perhaps it’s just that the winter months can be long and filled with lots of boring but necessary little things. We do a lot of waiting before Christmas, to be sure. We wait for the sweet reward of relaxation and reflection on Christmas morning, after a busy month of preparation. We wait for the warm fuzzies to take over. And they do…for a while.

But the inevitable boxing day comes, and those of us who are sane enough to skip out on shopping feel the acute pangs of some great loss…what we’ve lost is the hope and expectation for greater things. We’ve eaten the last chocolate in the calendar and the shell that’s left gets put in the recycling bin. And we get ready to be hopeless again…to go back to the small scrooge-like existence we had before.

But what if there was another advent? What if there was an event to beat all other events coming up? What if we had access to a hope so great and true it could sustain us through our smallest moments and our biggest let-downs? What if we finally got something that was promised to us?

Then…

Then I suppose we wouldn’t care about the laundry, because we’d hope for clothes that don’t get dirty.

We wouldn’t worry about what’s for dinner, because we’d be looking forward to a feast of heavenly proportions.

We’d scoff at financial troubles, knowing that our needs will be met in completion.

We wouldn’t cry over spilt milk, because we’re hoping for a day when every tear is dried.

No wonder John ends his writings with such a simple phrase. It’s the same phrase that echoes in our collective hope-starved consciousness time and time again…

Come, Lord Jesus, come.

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So I thought I would post this now, even though I am somewhat disappointed in how it turned out. I think I will soon be sending it off to the company in question (which there is really no need to name, since the general principle applies to many companies of the sort). Likely, I’ll need to include some sort of introduction/explanation, but this is the poem itself:

Juice Boxes (or some other creative title)

A juice box does what you might think,
By holding juice for kids to drink.

The sweetest nectar sipped through straws
Elicits smiles and “Hip-Hurrahs!”

They cheer for peach. They shout for punch.
They slurp it up at every lunch.

Their love of juice is undisguised,
But do they know it’s synthesized?

“But kids won’t drink a natural brew!”
You argue, and perhaps it’s true.

Yes, I concede they may detect
A change in the ingredients…

If flavouring was altered, they
Might cease to shout: “Hip, hip, hurray!”

But, may I ask you, would they pout,
If colouring was taken out?

How could they see a juice deprived
Of favourite yellow number five?

Did you forget the nature of
The juice box we all know and love?

It’s full of flavour, no mistake,
But it’s opaque, for goodness’ sake!

And children, last I checked, do not
Have see-through stomachs…what a thought!

So why add artificial green
To something that is never seen?

And why use number forty red
When nothing could be used instead?

I thank you for considering
My well-intentioned wondering.

I hope you’ll find my humble words,
Though rhyming and at times absurd,

Are clear and simple to deduce…
And here’s to boxes filled with juice!

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Reflecting on my dissatisfaction with the decisions made by certain big companies, I have decided to pursue a creative way to send in my complaints. This decision was mostly influenced by my loving husband, who tells me this is a sure-fire way to get free t-shirts and other swag. However, writing simple letters/e-mails may not do the trick, as I’m sure larger companies get several communications of this sort every day. So I thought I might try sending in my complaints in rediculous poem form.

I thought of this approach yesterday while sipping on a juice box and reading the ingredient list, as I am wont to do every time I consume something with a label. I understand that putting artifical flavours and colours in juice is often done. What I don’t understand is why the colouring process is necessary for a drink which lives in an opaque box until it is put inside the consumer’s mouth, also opaque. Seriously. How will I know if the juice isn’t pretty? I might notice if I spill it, but nobody cares for spilt juice, even if it is an unusually nice shade. My husband argued you can see the colour in the straw, but really? We’re willing to consume a potentially harmful chemical so that we can have a nicely coloured straw while sipping? No thanks.

Anyways…I have started a poem about this specific issue, and hoped to get it finished tonight, but I’m not satisfied with it yet, so hopefully I will be posting that soon. Stay tuned. I’ll also keep the blog updated with any replies I get from various companies, if said replies are suitably hilarious.

Until then, go drink some naturally flavoured/coloured juice in a spirit of rebellion! That’s all for now.

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