Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Pelagic Descent

How foul the yowl
Of the wind
Clout cuffing the edge
Mink slink breeze
Shiver thin-skinned
Turned to gale
Zephyr grinned

Craft lilting, tilting
Awake, eyes closed
Bow reaching
Figure Head exposed
Timber eyes stilted
Forever posed
Tear crying face
White horse imposed

Envisage linen floating over berth
Shaken to rest into place
Cushion cradle your head
In trance of cotton grace
Dream swathe the mind
Thoughts silkily effaced
Dim moonlight
Over pillowcase

Clash din wood splintering
Strike into now
This vessel diminished
To be disavowed
Plunging stern choke back the brine
Compensate for selfish prow
It is humbling in the deep
No ignominy in the avow

How foul the yowl
As the comber rolls
Dragging the keel down
To under-sea shoals
Relish this last conclusion
Relinquish the control
What tranquility that herefore comes
With manumit of this immortal soul

No more
This corporeal shoal

Monday, September 22, 2014

Cool Etymology Entry 3

Humor (n.): the quality of being amusing or comic, esp. as expressed in literature and speech.

Pronunciation: /ˈhjuːmə/
Black Bile
Etymology: Ancient philosophers thought that our bodies were made up of a mixture of four liquids. These liquids were what created our temperament (which, get this guys, actually means mixture!). The four "humors," as they were known, were blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. Blood lead to optimism, phlegm to slowness, yellow bile to a short temper (the Latin word for bile is "chole" so having too much yellow bile lead to a choleric temper), and black bile made you melancholy (melancholia in Latin quite literally means "the state of having too much black bile"). If there was any imbalance in these humors, a person would become eccentric and strange. Later "humor" became an synonym for oddness. Eventually it evolved into its current meaning, an adjective for someone who brings laughter to the strangeness of life.

First Use: 1340AD Ayenbite  
'To þe bodye of man comeþ alle eueles uor þe destempringe of þise uour qualites oþer of þise uour humours'





Friday, September 19, 2014

Cool Etymology Entry 2

Broke (adj.) : ruined financially, bankrupt; (often less seriously) penniless.

Pronunciation: /brəʊk/

Etymology: Many banks of post-Renaissance Europe would give porcelain tiles to their customers who they felt had enough credit. These tiles were called "borrower's tiles." When customers took out a loan, a copy of their information would be imprinted onto the tile. This way when the customer wanted to borrow more money, they would need to display their tiles so the banks could see if the customers had reached their credit limit. If the borrower had reached their credit limit, the bank teller would break the tile on the spot. Hence the phrase "I'm totally broke."

Earliest Use: 1597


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Cool Etymology Entry 1

Clue (n.): a piece of evidence or information used in the detection of a crime or solving of a mystery.

Pronunciation: /kluː/

Etymology: Theseus of Greek mythology went to kill a minotaur in a labyrinth unraveled a clew (ball of string) behind him so he could find his way back.

The current use wasn't even in existence until the 16th century when the spelling began to change. Eventually the meaning began to be metaphorical than physical.

Earliest Use: 1393 Confessio Amantis
'She did him have a clue of threde'





Saturday, September 6, 2014

Risk, Trust, Gamble, Nothing, Desire


The risk was in washing all my blues with my whites
Writing my paper the day it was due
The risk was in walking, alone through the nights
In a dress too easy to see through


The trust was in my step on a high mountain peak
Leaving the window open in rain
The trust was in hoping he does not deem me weak
That he does not wish to cause me pain


The gamble was in adding the cup to the tray
Eating sushi from the gas station
The gamble was leaving without my pepper spray
In trusting I'm not just a temptation


'Risk' is not a strong enough word for the fear I feel
'Trust' and 'gamble' don't begin to relate
The hopelessness in planning on needing time to heal
In having to leave the house with armor plate


Desire is in wishing my sisters could sing
Without labels as sirens or whores
Desire is in relief with more daylight in Spring
In wanting love without bruises and sores

I risk my life when I trust the night
I gamble my peace when nothing can save me
And I desire only to love, to love with all my might

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Black Bile

There's something precious about the rain. Something so dainty and a little sad. It is intriguing. Like the word "melancholy." When I hear the rain glibly splash on the roof, I think "melancholy." Not "sorrowful" or "mournful." Melancholy. The other words are supposed synonyms but do not mean the same thing.

Websters defines melancholy as a deep pensive, and long-lasting sadness.

Melancholy seeps into your bones. It does not poke or prod, but smiles apologetically and wraps itself around you. Melancholy is rain, cold and peaceful, precious. It is soft and heartbroken, kind but aching.

Melancholy is a petal cascading to the forest floor. It is tiptoeing footsteps on cement, a bobcat's yowl or slowly ripping paper. Melancholy is a feeling of accepting the sadness, letting it hold you, sway you to sleep at night. Melancholy is rain.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

More Doodles

As Always, Poetry

Cliff Hanger

The Big Catch


Spring in an Octopus' Garden

Forever Young

Philip the Bandit

Night and Wind

Bad Hair Day

Estamos Juntos

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Kelly Doodles

Little Secret

        On the Way to Grandma's House 
I'm a Lumberjack and that's Ok
Battle of Individuality
Always Hooked
Lee Pace Eats Some Corn        

336 223

Monday, April 7, 2014

Their Little Talks

Organism, small existence
Swirling twirling dwarven space
Orbiting in tiny distance
Circles, representing human race

Mysterious, transparent rain drop
Reflecting first morning's light
Pinecone, shimmering liquid atop
Winking like a fairy sprite

Twisting branches extending down
Ancient bark squinting: what is in store?
Celestial Sun knighting with yellow crown
Shadows shrinking to roots they adore

Toes patter across pointed rocks
Red nail polish powdered with dirt
The woods love their little talks
When she comes to cry, to laugh, to flirt

She was not meant to be a mortal
In another life she was born a tree
Take off your shoes, step through the portal
Just feel the earth beneath you, just be

Monday, March 10, 2014

You'll Never Escape Facebook

I sit, perched on my seat in philosophy class
Of course Mr. Kendle, you have my attention
No, of course I'm not boiling with sass
That wasn't sarcasm, don't start a contention

You're droning on, so what else can I do?
Seems the only option is to open Facebook
Look, Rachel wrote me from Classics 102!
She sent me a link, guess I'll give it a look

Sarah sent me another plea from Candy Crush
Petitioning I start the game and give up my world
Pop my life in the toilet and give it a flush
Match three while away my existence whirls

What's this? A friend request?!
Josh Galley, frown, dark hair, and set of drums
It's hard to find me, I'm impressed
Oh wait a minute, no common chums?
Hold on while I DEFRIEND

"Kelly? Kelly? Hola, are you awake?"
Sorry Dr. Warner, I'll pay attention n--

What?! How did I get to your class, this must be fake!
What time is it? Let me check my phone!

1 New Notification

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Melodrama: Not My Jam

Bone breaking
Waves crashing over rock
Wind snapping pine
Chance crash of asteroids

Suffering so immense
So theatrical, unnecessary?
Physical pain in my chest
Heart burning

When the pain is too much
Where do you go?
Can you bare to trust
Another to help you?

Unbolt arms
Unlock ribs
Chip away wall
Can you trust it will all be ok?

When you have been hurt
And are scared
Can you close you eyes
And let the waves crash in

Can you let someone else
See your tears, your fears?
Melodrama so ridiculous
Feels weird to write in words

So much pain in the world
And I sit here with fear
Don't know why I am so scared (terrified)
To care


Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Netflix: What Hast Thou Done?

Oh trawl snap that waits for me at home
Anticipating my eventual return
Frothy and eternal like sea foam
Building terrible desire in mind's stern

Flop on sleeping cushion and trawl snap
Humorous orbs open and drying 'til dawn
Sleeping moments taken and entrapped
<Thou hast taken m'time, tis gone!">

Foreign and adventure, satire and romance
Experience floating on virtual life
Debris twisting in unproductive ocean dance
Grab thy seine and cut with productive knife

<I will never return to ere,
This I fain would guarantee!
Hark! Trawl snap, I hast been freed!
Hie thee hence or I will bitch slap thee!>

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Living Like a Thirty Year Old Business Woman

<I'm fat right now> she thought, purposefully examining her dirty computer keys in avoidance of glancing at her paunchy proportions. Chipped red nail polish punched the white keys. Little balls of dust laid stationary in the cracks from key 1 to M. Her eyes drooped and she let her head drop to the desk. To be perfectly honest, she slept more at the library now a days than at her apartment. It was less because she was studying and more because she hadn't cleaned her begrimed quarters in weeks. The anticipation and intimidation of impelling the little white door against the force of the garb wall scared her away from her bed. She truly had no time to clean that room. A sleepy darkness fell on her.

Christina Addicks slouched in the corner analyzing results from the biology project. Spence Hoffman was on a community computer checking facebook. Daniel Baker was writing his communications class transcription and Hayden Lane crouched on the floor plugging in his laptop. Messy curls, straightened brown hair, cropped locks all bounced past the printers. Natalie Madden knitted during the lunch break with light pink yarn weaving through her fingers. A tour passed across the floor with smiling or bored high school seniors along with their proud and excited parents. Matt Dodds returned "History of Rome".

As she slept, she was surrounded by people like her. While her eyes flickered under their lids, young individuals hearts were beating a similar rhythm to her's, as they struggled and laughed and lived along side her. Yet she dreamed of her solus. <It's almost Valentine's Day>

Thursday, January 30, 2014

The Rusted Horse

It went up in flame. Blazing tendrils licked out of the metal trashcan and coughed embers into the air. Blue waves washed across the coals with patience, waiting for their next firey delight. He threw another piece into the inferno and watched it fall into the peaceful red. The middle of the picture sank behind the edges, the photo curling into a vulnerable ball before it burst into hot light. Tiring of his meditation, the man turned the box over, emptying the rest of the little photos into the make-shift furnace. He couldn't help but watch as her face dissolved twenty three different times. Long dark fingers dropped the box into the fire and footsteps sounded through the alley as the tall man walked away, leaving his ceremonial farewell to get back to work at the Rusted Horse.

How do you measure a year?