Number Seventy Eight

To the one who inspires my muse most often,

78

So oft have I invoked thee for my muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse,
As every alien pen hath got my use,
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing,
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learned's wing,
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee,
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be.
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning, my rude ignorance.

Dear Vogue,

Dear Vogue, I can't keep up with SIX YEAR OLD girls.

Merry After Christmas

I'm cleaning out my closet, so to speak. It's time for a room reno and new ways of space saving in my tiny room.

I saved every note, every picture from my camp days so I've been going through and reminiscing. I loved camp very much and I had forgotten what an impact it had on my life. I had forgotten the people who were so dear to me. I laughed a lot while reading all of the drama that surrounds intentional community living.

I have a problem.

I never finish journals. I write in about half of all of them and then it's on to the next one. I can't explain how much that bothers me. It is so hard to track my journalling throughout the years. Gah I was so scattered.

Have a favourite Christmas present? Tell me about it.

Mine was calling my family in Saskatchewan. TREAT.

One thing I love: dying to the old and making room for the new, in many ways.

Happy Holidays?

I hate Christmas songs.

You know, the lame ones that they play in department stores. The cheap imitations of the good Christmas songs.

I've heard them way too many times in the last couple of days.

OR. What's worse is the 'I'm gonna miss you a lot this Christmas' song. I've had just about enough of those as well thank you very much. I have enough things reminding me these days, I don't need every blinking song in the store to tell me as well.

Contrary to what I just wrote, I'm feeling great tonight. Reading a new play and heating my aching muscles after an intense two days of yoga. Tomorrow is running...much easier.

I realize I just wrote an entire blog post about nothing. Give me a break, I'm on a poetry hiatus right now. I just write down other people's thoughts nowadays. Which is just fine by me.

"Man's real power lies hidden in the agony which makes him cry out to God: and there he is at the same time helpless and omnipotent".

- The New Man, Thomas Merton

Christmas Times

I don't think I understand the concept of Christmas shopping. Oh I go into the store with good intentions alright. I have my list in my mind of what I have to get for each person. I walk in the store and all is lost because I see these great deals and since I haven't been to a mall in ages, never mind seen deals like this, I just go crazy. Gah I just end up buying for myself. How selfish of me.

I'm in the middle of a million books right now. One of them is called The New Man by Thomas Merton. He has a great way of putting together Kierkgaard's Sickness Unto Death and Fear and Trembling. Great book.

Come Away with Me

Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song

Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can't tempt us
With their lies

And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come?

Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you

And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me

Self Against Self in the midst of Despair

Fists growing cold
with larger inhibitions
Fantastic Four, Five, Six.
Count your enemies
label them one by one

You did nothing wrong.
Don't ever change your mind.
Stand strong in your beliefs.

Touch me not, feel me not
Stand in a corner
weak and tired
my muscles collapse
yours fade into oblivion
we are done
no more can we endure
It is done.


I don't remember what this is about but it must have sucked. I have a really bad memory which is part of the reason why I write, so I can look back and remember. This doesn't work as well when your writing is so obscure you don't know what it is in reference to. Whatever the reference or story behind this, I can relate to it right now.