Poem of the Past: Coriolanus


I have really neglected these posts for the past few months. I don’t have the excuse of saying I hardly have time to write or paint, but that’s summer life really, always filling the day with work and play. And of course more than a few shitty instances that have occurred since my last post have hampered some inspiration. I can see how some people like to write through the grief of saying goodbye to loved ones, but I never could do it. It brings up too much that I’d rather just push away, forget about feeling bad and move on.

So until I get my act together and start something (possibly get a few short stories going, complete a few outlines… the normal stuff that writers wish they’d do but never do until that final push of “I need to get this done” occurs), here is an oldie from earlier this year. 


With a sword in his hand
he must be strong;
With a powerful yell
he must command;
With resolve in his eye
he must be leader;
though it can’t be so.

His stride is long
but steps are faint;
his tracks are washed out,
a stomp easily forgotten
as the ground rises around
and the rain falls;
flash-floods in his wake
not of joy, the fearful
path is washed out
with his back to us
slowly, far away
and we can breathe.

His thrust is resilient,
yet it’s a glancing blow
a poisonous strike,
determined to win
can it be precise; he falters
with the sun is against him
and it twitches, one stray glare
and the blade is weakened;
dropping now, drilled to the ground
with a grip lost, it slips
slowly, down
and his hand is outstretched
as one we can ignore.

But he is only that: just a man
consumed by pride and vanity
burning away until a tunnel,
his only vision, remains as
he is human;
He is one of us
and reaching out,
never sought or seen
in a plead to be drawn in,
embraced for one last time
proved worthy and finally

Poem for the thoughts – Kathryn


I’m back! But only for a little while. Lots of readings to do for the semester ahead, oh boy. BUT I had a creative streak, and offer a new poem, written about 10 minutes ago, as a gift… and a bit of a plea. It’s in response to a movie I just watched called The Whistleblower with Rachel Weisz. Very sad story, don’t watch if you can’t stomach human torturing (even though not much of it is shown on screen). I do recommend it though, very well done and really makes you wonder about the world… Anyways, onto my verse, enjoy:


Stand outside the building
and watch painfully still.
Watch the flames billow
touching and tasting the wood around
until a suitable plank
is found.
The air grows hot
from the rising fire
waves of warmth in pulses
do not turn away
a sudden swell of heat
pushes outwards
as the wooden structure slowly
built on foundation too frail
from the debris of the war.
A crowd has gathered
cheering the burning on
hollering in praise
and having a merry time
paid to watch
not paid to act.

A few stand in the background
silently gazing on
as the wind howls through the cracks
of the house
gathering force
it’s enough noise for them.
The gale becomes stronger
and smoke from the flames
is pushed out to the crowd
the hollering ones gasp
as thick and toxic fumes
penetrate their lungs.

And all the while
the bystanders are silent
but internally
egging the wind on
kill the betrayers
the would-be protectors
and let us rebuild it strong.
The flames collapse and the crowd moves on
whoever is left, crawling away
in shame
the embers settle down
planks precariously leaning
supporting each other
the only way they know how.

And that’s where we come in
to lend a supporting hand
for the need is greater now
than ever before
that poorly assembled house
can never be a home.
But in the end, it’s only one
of many waiting around
the fire has moved on,
waiting to surface again
from the underground.

picture by ME!

Passion or disturbance

philosophical, poetry

So it’s just one of those days where I question if I’m doing the right thing. I’ve done it before, right in the middle of a career, and started over again. But I hope this time I have found the right answer. At least for a longer while. I can’t stay in a career where every day I question if I’m really making a difference, when every step leaves me with a foul taste. Hobbies are different from passions; I’ve learned that the hard way.

Today I reached out to acting and modelling, something I haven’t done in about 10 years. I put myself out there, dipped a toe into those waters, but really I don’t want it, no matter how glorious it looks. I like my ‘dusty’ research, I like learning and the thrill of discovering something that not many others care about. It’s just one of those things everyone wishes to try because it doesn’t look so hard, it gets you recognized and successful. It’s not the success set out for my own future. I’m only 23, and it seems so early in my life, but so late at the same time. Don’t you ever get that feeling? If you only started earlier, where would you be now, or why didn’t you figure it out sooner? For a while, I felt I wasted a few years on my artistic goals only to see it was a fun hobby and maybe some extra recognition and money. Now I don’t feel that way. It was an experience, and though I may not have loved every second of it, I did enjoy it. I still paint, I still write fiction and as seen below, poetry. It’s a mode of expression, and if it leads somewhere that’s its own accord. I’m not guiding it, only giving it a voice.

Also, just found this very interesting painting that I wanted to share: Guillermo Kutica. I feel the dreary tone is fitting even though I found a light out of my musings; sometimes the dark just needs to come out.

Also, just found this very interesting painting that I wanted to share: Guillermo Kutica. I feel the dreary tone is fitting even though I found a light out of my musings; sometimes the dark just needs to come out.

So that’s what I’ve chosen to write about today, that instant after the seed of doubt sets in, when you are able to take a step back and say “No, that’s not right at all.” That step back was the most useful piece of advice I was ever given in art classes. If you focus for so long on one section, the whole piece is lost. To remove yourself, give the eyes a break and reevaluate after a few rejuvenating moments, and it’s all that is needed to see what you truly need to do.

(passion or disturbance)

I stray sometimes
if only to learn the truth
do I really need another route
or is it there
to test
and make a jest of me?
A perspective, desperate
needed in times of loss
faith stays in the trail I chose
and realize
it’s all I truly need.
When glory by another name
presents itself
shiny, fresh and alluring
of course I’m drawn in
like the moth to a light
a way out of darkness
when I am in the dark
the depths of my desires
of course I question
and doubt every step
dark is hard for human eyes
I can’t distinguish the ground
from the pitfalls
I need to stop this
distracting me
no matter how tempting they may be
the appeal for something new
washes over
pulled away with the tide leaving
and pushed aground later
when it’s too deep to swim.

Am I afraid?
Take the risk
draw blood on the way
I’m scarred for life
where the passion takes hold
it has hooked on
to my heart
and will never let go.

Help I’m Alive

Art, philosophical, poetry

I realized I have not posted on here in a while… quite a while actually. Writing terms papers does that really, too much writing on one day and BAM, don’t feel like writing anymore for the day. Hence the Metric song title as a blog title (very good song by the way, I love the songs where you like the sound, and then actually listen to the lyrics and enjoy those too). BUT I am back with a nice little poem and maybe a few thoughts somewhere in between. So this poem is a few weeks ago. I have recently began to focus on a workout now that I’m away from the barn so often, I actually need to exercise myself. I took up yoga, Vinyasa style, as it’s offered at my school. Pretty neat eh? I love it, and at the end of each class there is a meditation portion that I thoroughly enjoy. You’re not meant to think about anything in particular, but I make sure to write directly after it to have a record of that session. Sometimes I come up with great ideas, others I just feel  really refreshed. But this poem was written as I was walking home from the class:

I feel the hollow

where the ribs hold up my skin

and the muscles pull them upwards

up and up

to breathe deeper

            it’s obscure in there

the only light let in

from the life I need

the blood rushing around and through

I feel the vibrations

everything within is moving

sluggish, upbeat

but today it holds strong

as far as it can manage.

My toes are cold

the extremities are losing purpose

my body must be in a bad state

I feel them as numb

an odd sensation

when I can still move at will

unlike sleeping

because I have full control

if I need to be awake

            in an instance I will be

and to feel the lack of reason

to feel the limbs fold in

when the most vital needs win the struggle

of circulation

chokes me.

Where does it stop

do I decide how much is needed

or will it tell me

or never stop until it is all

shut down.

Do you ever feel the sensation of just being? No focus on the world around, but only on the world running inside you. It’s magnificent; I never realized what I was taking for granted in myself. The way you breathe, the circulation of everything necessary… In this age, we’re so focused on the material, emotional feelings and such around us and I admit, I do it too. The art around me on my walls attests to that easily; the stack of clothing I just unpacked made me very happy at its presence in my hands as my own. But to step back every so often, to just feel this world without judgments, emotions or an inner dialogue really gives the chance to experience it. It’s like a next step from realizing yourself: placing yourself in the world as its not so different from the body’s rhythm. It’s too cold now to just go out an sit in a park (I don’t even know if there is a park nearby), but the few instances that I can, I just observe. In the end, it might not be the best thing to do as you do become ‘outside’ of it all but I feel it can center in a way that I have never been able to experience before. It’s great to get different views every so often, isn’t it?


Oh I need to do another post on my Halloween research, that stuff was interesting… Maybe I’ll post it tomorrow if I have the time, share my horrific and ghoulish findings 🙂

Mind Over Matter – september 24

Art, poetry

I know I’ve neglected this for a while now, but that’s the life of a student. Ah well, the Poem a Day continues off-screen, and that’s all I need sometimes. Here’s one that came to me in September, plus a painting I just finished about 20 minutes ago.

(mind over matter)

It came back again
in my most vulnerable state
my mind was relaxed
meditation, unmoving;
the grass was whispering
against my skin
the trees in the distance
swayed as the current pushed
swirls in the sky
colours moving into themselves.

Then the sky clouded over
the colours dulled to grey
the oscillation held still
and my head turned to the side.

Heartbeat jumped in surprise
it was only a few feet away
staring through a haunting gape
the holes in the face
my pulse rose
meditation destroyed
but saved when my mind kicked back.

I lifted my hand
and with the wind
through my fingers
I wiped it away
rubbed from existence
erased from my world.

I turned back to the grass
and lay down in its embrace;
I felt the needles grow higher
and overcome me completely.

Image‘Gone Now’, acrylic and spray paint, 2013.

Poem plus rambling at the end

musing, poetry


Afraid to touch
from hysterical events
a shock to the mind
like electrotherapy to set me right
the reason is unfinished, vacant and hollow
except for the arrogance
running strong
I’m distracted
what to think about
though nothing sets in
watch a wreck in motion
glazed and
is it truly the result?
The end of days of struggle
only to be dull
an outsider
so cold
yet it’s home at last.

I forget the reason why I wrote this one, but it reminds me of something that I happened upon weeks later. I was randomly researching things in history like I normally do when bored (yes, I know I’m a nerd, but it’s so interesting to learn!) when I came across old files (or the internet’s version of this) on Russian scientific experiments in during the world wars. Now, unless I see a few scholarly articles on it, I am very skeptical of its authenticity, but the thought of it and of many other similar experiments makes me believe there is an ounce of truth there. I don’t recommend looking it up unless you have a strong stomach, hell I won’t even go look for the link because of the creepy-ass picture that was attached to the article, but it was on a sleep deprivation study via a gas that kept the participants awake. The outcomes were dreadful and horrendously described, but deep down I know there was a bit of logic there. When separated from sleep long enough, sanity is a far reach. There is no reasoning, no logic that we as sleepers can understand, and just with those thoughts I fear that the experiment could be true. And if its not, I don’t care to go look if it is because it’s a very sad instance. If there was something so horrible that we thought it could be true on some level because of the depravity (especially in this particular era of medicinal experiments) that humans can be capable of inflicting, doesn’t that say there is something extremely wrong with us? If we can easily torture and kill off our own race with such ease, all because of a religious/political/scientific belief, and under those guises its accepted, not applauded in most cases but still pushed under the rug, how is that any different from the people we loath and scorn, and call killers?

Reminds me as well as a more light-hearted (ish) concept that I saw on QI last night. First of all, if you’re like me and like to know a few fun facts or stories, QI with Stephen Fry is brilliant and hilarious. Especially when David Mitchell and Jimmy Carr are guests, but ANYWAYS… The issue was on polygamy vs monogamous marriages. Fry noted that if someone (in the US, Canada, western world etc) is in a monogamous marriage and cheats on or deceives their spouse with another partner, it’s not considered breaking the law. BUT if someone who said to both women or men, hey I love you both, I want to marry both of you and they were all okay with it, it’s breaking the law. Weird. Then again, there are so so so so many laws that have no logic to them… Okay, so forget the law fact for a minute. In the monogamous case, yea it’s not right, not a lot of people would agree with it, but the polygamous one is still almost seen as taboo even though everyone’s good with it.

Human logic takes a step forward? Nah. Never apply logic to humanity!

Word fight – August 12

Art, poetry

Well, over the last few weeks I’ve been a mixture of emotions due to grief. So I have been taking it out in my personal journals in rant after rant, not letting it build up to the point of a breakdown of emotions, and was thinking of posting one here when I realized, nah, it’s my own way of getting it all out. Lots of anger and isolation in those, not really the best of me to send out to the inter-world. Instead, I’ve kept up my poem-a-day challenge (where I write at least one poem a day based on the strongest event, feeling or thought of the day, plus anything else that comes to mind) and have decided to post one or two from those.

(word fight)

An artist, a poet,
whatever name you call it
the internal decision, pulsing
urge to put words together
.in my own style
A way to escape, feel the thoughts
.drain onto the page
like a vacuum of creativity
left for all to see
It’s so satisfying
to be empty
No phrases clawing away
characters in a death match of will
influence over my own mind
As the colourful works slip away
.serene, calm, void
.the power of chaos declines.