Week 3 LJ Idol: A Moment of Bliss

October 6, 2008 § 23 Comments

Ode to a Diner

Smoky hazy
Marvin Gaye
Floats by
Through the tinny
Un-distilled air.
Fans rage as glasses chink
And diners scrape plates
Absently pattering
Over the days events.
“Jumpin’ Jumpin'”
On the jukebox
Competes with
Twangy Country
Overhead
As Lazy Dog* lurks
Through yonder window.
Kitschy creatures
Crave audience
Behind the counter
As waiters waft by
Watchfully waiting
To grant your fill.
Hazy smoky
Try not to choke
On the atmosphere that is
Vale Rio.

*Lazy Dog was the name of the bar next door to the diner. Neither establishment exists today.

Gacked from celandineb

August 11, 2005 § 2 Comments

I’m terza rima, and I talk and smile.
Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away
I let mine out, and chatter all the while.

I’m rarely on my own – a wasted day
Is any day that’s spent without a friend,
With nothing much to do or hear or say.

I like to be with people, and depend
On company for being entertained;
Which seems a good solution, in the end.

What Poetry Form Are You?

(If you were not Terza Rima you would be Ottava Rima.)

Ottava rima? Me? That can’t be right!
   Too frivolous? But tut, there’s no such thing!
Let others ponder thoughts of wrong and right,
   Or sit and think how much they love the spring;
I’d rather spend my time in gleeful spite,
   Or maybe laugh, or maybe sit and sing.
Besides, it might be fun to be inspiring –
But surely it would get so very tiring.

What Poetry Form Are You?

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What a day!!

March 1, 2005 § 6 Comments

Where did it go? I actually spent most of it sleeping. Missed ANOTHER class (Figure drawing– the guilt is mounting) but not without reason. Last week’s nasty head cold has morphed into this week’s nasty bout of bronchitis. So I got a lecture from my mother about how I need to take better care of myself because i have “weak lungs” (yes, she is a tad over-protective) and that I cannot just assume I’m better when I *feel* better. Hey, I figured I had a cold for a week, it was DUE to be over with. What’s wrong with trying to get out of the house after an illness? Apparently, according to Mother Doom and Gloom, Pnuemonia is what’s the matter. *rolls eyes*

I am impatient with illness. It should just get over itself.

Last night was a rough one. I am still struggling. But I think I prayed thru for the time being.

I also decided to post some of my poetry, since that is always fun, and I need a central place for it anyway. So here’s today’s poem:

Ode to a Diner

Smoky hazy
Marvin Gaye
Floats by
Through the tinny
Un-distilled air.
Fans rage as glasses chink
And diners scrape plates
Absently pattering
Over the days events.
“Jumpin’ Jumpin'”
On the jukebox
Competes with
Twangy Country
Overhead
As Lazy Dog lurks
Through yonder window.
Kitschy creatures
Crave audience
Behind the counter
As waiters waft by
Watchfully waiting
To grant your fill.
Hazy smoky
Try not to choke
On the atmosphere that is
Vale Rio.

I’m being crushed by romance…

February 28, 2005 § 3 Comments

Girlish Lament

All of my life I’ve always believed
That the dream that I wish will come true
But now that I’m grown all those childhood beliefs
In my head just will not do.

I’ve wanted the fairy tale, wanted the dream
But logic and life will go on.
It looks to me now that things ARE THIS WAY
My life won’t get played in a song.

Oh where is my Prince?
Someday he’ll come
At least that’s the lie I’ve been told.
But I can’t sit and wait,
And I won’t pine away—
It’s the pining that makes you grow old.

Why did I believe in those old fairy tales?
Why dream that that life could be mine?
Time passes slowly and surely each day,
What good does it do me to whine?
So then why does it feel like I’m missing out;
What’s this void that demands to be filled?
Sweet Desire stands longing
While I strive and fight,
It seems these things cannot be willed.

I want him (but who?)
I need him (for what?)
I just want to love him so bad
This nameless and faceless
Prince of my dreams
This fool’s wish is driving me mad.

Ok, I need to find a new focus…

February 26, 2005 § Leave a comment

ganked from , et al…

Songs of Innocence, Introduction
You are ‘regularly metric verse’. This can take
many forms, including heroic couplets, blank
verse, and other iambic pentameters, for
example. It has not been used much since the
nineteenth century; modern poets tend to prefer
rhyme without meter, or even poetry with
neither rhyme nor meter.

You appreciate the beautiful things in life–the
joy of music, the color of leaves falling, the
rhythm of a heartbeat. You see life itself as
a series of little poems. The result (or is it
the cause?) is that you are pensive and often
melancholy. You enjoy the company of other
people, but they find you unexcitable and
depressing. Your problem is that regularly
metric verse has been obsolete for a long time.

What obsolete skill are you?
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