Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything here.  And while plenty has happened, I feel like there really isn’t any story to tell.

I’m fairly certain that last Wednesday was the last day I’ll ever see the tray taker boy, since the busy season is pretty much over now.  I’ve been in the Chase Room at The Restaurant for almost all of my recent shifts, which is nice since it’s a more calm room and I get tips from the bar.

I spent the last few days with my father’s side of the family up north.  My father’s brother’s only son’s family wasn’t there (they have four boys).  Only Lucy and her little sister for children.  They were great to have around.  I tried my best to be sociable with Lucy, who is now 10, as sort of practice.  I wasn’t that good at it.

And I just spent $500 on a new television.  I’m a spending junkie.  (And now my credit card is frozen because the bank is afraid of fraud after such a large purchase.)  I need to start making more money.  And I will soon, but I just sent myself further into the hole that I first must dig myself out of.

Today, while browsing Nifty, I came across a story title that felt like the first line to a poem.  So I tried to write the poem.  The line was “And then there was Joshua and Joseph.”  I corrected the grammar for my poem.

And then there were Joshua and Joseph,
Two boys of speechless wonder.
Their hearts beat furious and frantic
Within their narrow breasts.
Restless eyes failed to meet

And that’s all I could come up with.  Clearly, I am no poet.  But I’ve known that for a long time.

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Now I walk in beauty

Now I walk in beauty.
Beauty is before me.
Beauty is behind me,
Above and below me.
–Navajo prayer

bwin playing ping pong.  Oversized white jersey.  number 08?  No.  80.  Dyed blond.  Nice shorts.

Platinum, reminds me of The First Born.

No Longer Beside Me.  Too-big-sunglasses and two deep scars on left thigh.  Beautiful torso.

Deep Gold.  Floral board shorts.  11 or younger.  Well developed pecs.  Lost a golfball after dropping it while juggling.  I tried to help, but couldn’t find it.  Archangel.

The Prophet.  Ate breakfast with his mother at the table beside mine.  Ate breakfast with MY mother the day before.  has a younger sister.  Got stung by a jellyfish while swimming at the first island.

The Italian.  Has an open innocent clear face with very pale but healthy, lovely skin.  Black hair and brows.  9 or 10.  Possibly 11.  Two younger siblings.  One older?  Pale blue jeans.  Truly heart melting.

Freddie Highmore.  He doesn’t really look like Freddie, but has some features that remind me of him.  A sharp, old face.  Wise looking.

Sweet is your antique body, not yet young.
Beauty withheld from youth that looks for youth.
Fair only for your father. Dear among
Masters in art. To all men else uncouth
Save me; who know your smile comes very old,
Learnt of the happy dead that laughed with gods;
For earlier suns than ours have lent you gold,
Sly fauns and trees have given you jigs and nods.

But soon your heart, hot-beating like a bird’s,
Shall slow down. Youth shall lop your hair,
And you must learn wry meanings in our words.
Your smile shall dull, because too keen aware;
And when for hopes your hand shall be uncurled,
Your eyes shall close, being opened to the world.
–Wilfred Owen

He has a look of melancholy even when he’s happy that makes him intensely beautiful.  heart melting, again.  Let me explain what I mean by sharp.

His eyes are clear, intelligent, piercing, all seeing.  I think they’re brown.  Sharp eyes.  Sharp wit behind them?

His nose is narrow, longer than average without looking out of place.  Still quite small, of course, like the rest of him.  Classic boy swoop dusted with freckles ending in an adorably mousey point.

His chin is narrow, giving his whole face a kind of angular, triangle shape, sitting atop his slender neck.

his hair, purest brown.  Very English.  Short and wind tossed.


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