a poem about (sort of) running

You know I will post a poem on my blog ONLY if I feel like it's rather good. As an insecure writer, 90% of my poems are doomed to the obscurity of archived Word doc files that will never see public space on the web.

Anyway, I started writing this poem the other day and it turned into a sort of deep reflection on how running is like exercising faith.

what doesn't kill

so many ways to live,

to walk –

and I choose to run

the ground of this earth,

leaving pieces of me behind –

scraps

of a fighter –

drops of blood,  pools of tears –

making me stronger.

doubt doesn't kill, doesn't

stop the run

through desperate days –

I still search

and listen

and check my pulse

to pounding feet, the sad song

of rain,

my own gasps of air –

and God –

You still there?

not dying,

not dying– not me,

but something else

I pass on the road –

hope –

but I can't rest to hold it yet.

miles stretching, beckoning,

telling me how strong,

promising more strength

I don't want –

I could stop and drown

in rain's cold grip –

or run and risk

a road of scattered parts,

pieces of me

left in a rush.

so many ways to run,

to pound

away swelling grief –

either continue the race

to forget,

or stop and feel

the full storm of

what I run from.

This road doesn't kill –

so I ask what it builds.

no answer, not yet.

where to run,

how fast to go –

even these are not my choice.

not mine.

I follow the road.

a poem about opening up

Hi. I haven't posted a poem in while, have I? Here is a poem I wrote about how embarrassing it can be to open up to people... at least for us shy souls out there! :)  It's about how insecure we sometimes feel after we think we have maybe said too much about ourselves.

opening up

i come before a hill of ice, a downward slope, and without thought i step.
i plunge and slide, feet skidding out from under me, hands grasping
at the slippery air - like words come tumbling from my mouth -
a deluge of privately held cares i had been holding back, until
the first false step - onto the icy slide, the spiral down -
no place to stop until i land at the bottom
sore and cold -
clumsy words stretching behind me -
a long and obvious trail -
words have placed
me here.

cheshire moon

I happened to look at the sky
(as I often do with an uneasy mind),

and saw you smiling

(as you always do regardless of mood),

in an all-black October sky

(as they always appear in the haunted hours)—

I heard you singing me into madness—

that happy delirium which bangs at the doors

(and which I usually ignore)—

for a time, smiler, I answered you

(as I often do when the moon glares brightly)—

I sang and even danced a bit

(as I usually do when madness grins)

and I embraced this game—

this madness I chase, this chase I laugh at—

since I must—

to be sane.

~by Samantha Karren

The Ipodyssey

Once ago there was an ipod
tiny, shiny, sparkling grey -
it sat on the shelf at Circuit City
singing, "Please take me away!
Somebody with a love of Music
and an eclectic, classic taste -
Please, dear Fantasy Prince Charming
don't let this storage go to waste!"
And one day the stars aligned themselves -
Christmas was not too far ahead -
and a Handsome, Dark, Tall Stranger
strode through the grimy glass doors and said,
"I have traveled far and searched a-wide,
I have heard the sweetest song
of the perfect gift for my Beloved Wife -
the hands in which this ipod doth belong!"
Joy was spread, and Joy was sung,
and Joy was listened to
for many days after that Christmas morn
by that Wife whom the ipod belonged to.
They became 1 soul - ipod and Wife -
leave of each other they never did take.
Their lives were joined by Ear & iphones,
they even journeyed 'round Bear Lake.
But that was their last event,
it seemed, for Fate can be quite Cruel -
even for two souls who have shared The Greats:
Collective Soul, The Boss, & U2.
For the Evil DirtBag envied this bond
& suffered even to break glass -
DirtBag, the Coward, hid this crime from Wife -
he knew she would have kicked his a$$.
Many lonely days thus followed -
utterly magic-less, U2-less time -
while Wife pined in grey silence
with no resources, not a dime.
Sing, muse, the tale of Rage Gloriously Undimmed,
of a Wife with no Magic to her ear.
Ah, Fates, return Melody to this cubicle of Woe
for that Rock 'N Roll to hear.
Cry, Muse, this song of Losing
for who shall avenge a Music Lover's fraud?
No one now shall slay wretched DirtBag, who stole
my other half, my Christmas ipod.

Monday Morning Musings

Like that alliteration? Bwah ha ha. I'm in the mode.

So, just for the record, the second time running a tempo run was NOT better than the first time. Geez. It was WORSE! I was huffing & cramping & had to stop and walk like every half mile! But the worst part is...I lost my runnersworld.com training plan & had to go back to the website and improvise a new one, which I couldn't get to turn out the same as the old one. So my tempo run was actually a little bit slower of a pace than what I did the first time. Geez again! Am I not eating right? Nevermind, don't answer that. Doy.

The 7-miler on Saturday wasn't bad, actually. It helps having a constant change of scenery, I think. Of course, I'm pretty slow running outside & I'll need to work out some routes that don't climb hills. Not only do hills slow me down while I'm climbing, but honestly...it takes me a good couple of minutes to recover to normal speed once I'm back on the flat. Anyone know of some good scenic and flat routes around the valley? I'm starting to think it may be worth it to drive somewhere on Saturdays to run if it'll help bump up my pace.

Thanks for all the encouraging comments! Thoughts running through my head while reading comments sounded something like: "Wow, so, somebody else thinks I can run a half marathon, too? I really can't back down now!" But seriously, this girl drinks in all the reinforcement she can get.

I also have some more April Poetry Month Celebration Poems for anyone who would like to join my basking in Spring poeticalness. And yes, I am partially celebrating my poeticious inclinations by making up as many words as come into my head. Thank you very much.

Again, if you're interested in checking out the "Poem a Day Challenge" blog, that link is here: Poetic Asides w/ Robert Lee Brewer.

The following poem inspired by my observance of other "Bridezillas" during the time period that Clint & I were engaged (with a shout out to Shel Silverstein):

an eager planner

let’s see –
I’ll have hot pink and turquoise,
and lime green for the ties,
there’ll be cream puffs and freesia
adorning the strawberry pie,
the boutonnieres will match perfectly
the bridesmaid’s sunny dresses,
the napkins too will be turquoise blue
tied neatly round tall glasses,
imagine forty-one green tablecloths
laid for five thousand thirty-two people,
centerpieces, chair covers, bows, linen, lace,
and new white paint on the steeple,
a four-thousand-dollar dress with beads
and buttons down the spine,
sparkling white high heels, pink toe nails
and no slack at my waistline,
caffeine, aerobics, celery,
and cucumbers on my eyes
eye shadow, lip gloss, shiny waves
and oh how I’ll miss french fries!
the photographer will be paid off,
and Mom will prepare her speech,
announcement papers will be ready to print,
airfare paid to Waikiki beach,
the cousins will be ready for any disaster
with super-glue, safety-pins, and string
and my nephew will practice til perfect
how to carry and not drop the ring,
the priest will reserve the chapel,
the surrounding gardens will be at peak bloom,
but there seems to be something I still need—
what is it, what is it?

Also, I will dedicate the following poem to today being Monday:

Breaking Point

I press the button and listen
to the hum of electricity while my oatmeal heats.
I have to stand right next to the microwave,
finger poised over the ‘stop’ button,
eyes fixed on the styrofoam cup.

Day to day, I never know what will happen.
Will it be 30 seconds this time or
or only 22? The water starts to bubble,
the cereal rises,
boiling,
in a sudden surge like lava
my breakfast swells above the rim.

Co-workers come and go from the kitchen,
some curious enough to glance
at the stranger on her tip-toes, hovering
near the microwave as if, perhaps,
my life’s purpose hinges on the success of this routine.
If I walked away, if I let it simmer unwatched,
my hope for the day would spill over the sides,
flood the oven’s cavity, fry on the inner walls.
Unsalvageable.

isn't life poetastic?

Right. So... I realize that the Poem-A-Day blog (written about in my previous post below) contains about a thousand posts per prompt. So if you DID go to look for Yours Truly's poems, it was a major Yikes. Sorry 'bout that.

You want poems??? You've got poems!!!

Look no farther, thou questing poetologists!

Let it never be said of this poetizing fanatic that I denied anyone the reading of poems! Hate it, love it, stare in puzzlement, or laugh out loud - anyone's reaction to poetry is healthy and shows LIFE WITHIN!

I enclose some of my slightly more worthy attempts at answering the Poem-A-Day prompts:

PROMPT: write an outsider poem
~my attempt:

there’s a child in my twenties

little freak, you’re
playing hide
-and-seek
in the turnings of my head—
fleeing down hallways, only to
slam doors
— those memories—
in my face.
creeping
corridor shadows—
creaking floors—
little sneak, you’re
hiding
around the corner
where I can’t reach—
you know the secret
light switches,
secret stairwells
—those daydreams—
I’ve forgotten.
a fading giggle,
a flash of blond hair
disappearing—
almost caught you.
little girl, little beast, little fairy
I’m the outsider—
this labyrinth
belongs to you.

PROMPT: fill in the blank for your title: "the problem with _______"
~my attempt:

the problem with snowflakes

is that they’re too small
even
with a microscope

to see
the colorful village of

who’s

in a perpetual state of enjoying
the snow

PROMPT: pick a landmark, big or small
~my attempt:

the rock

i know i spark defiance
like a death wish
between two freeways where
mortals speed

each crag is painted,
mocks my awkward height in loud
belligerent colors,
proving life

suicide rock is my name so they climb,
like “Happy Bday Jim,”
like “TN + KC,”
like “honk if you can read me.”

Ahhh... feel Spring awakening within you with each poem that enters your soul...

And above all, FEAR NOT poem-starved winterland dwellers! I will be posting more original work through-out this glorious April!

a little winter fun...

Hey, all. So here's a picture of Christmas Day. Everyone there except Tyler of course. This was right before we all got jiggy with the Wii and created our Wii Mii's.


This was the Saturday after Christmas. Jake (Clint's cousin), Brett, me, Clint, and Shelly all went for a most excellent cross-country skiing excursion up Millcreek. It was COLD.


Oh, and this was sledding up at Mountain Dell. My dad and sister Jenni are in the Torpedo on the left, me & Clint on the right. And despite what my dad says, they did NOT toast us. Ha ha. Those Torpedos are awesome. We were the fastest family on the slopes that day! Clint & I did take out a kid on one ride. He was standing in the middle of the run with his back to people coming down and...well...you know how it is. The slope is icy, control is minimal, and the only way to stop is to wipe out and heaven KNOWS that is NOT an option. So anyway, we're yelling: "Look out!" "Heads up!" and the kid doesn't turn around. SMACK! We took that kid OUT. We got up and were feeling kinda bad about it, saying "Hey are you okay?" until the kid stood up and yelled out "Idiots!" Well, then we didn't feel too bad about it anymore. Clint said, "Hey, you can't just stand with your back to the hill. You gotta pay attention." But I think the boy was in his own little world of fury and embarrassment at that point. Ah, well. Lesson learned, hopefully.


In honor of this sledding escapade, and also just for kicks and the love of sounds and words, I am dedicating the following poem. Enjoy.

sledding

slicky sluck slipple yelps thuddam fwap
gloves grab griffle pull frishle stretch

blue cold wind whipsle sharpswip chills
sniff snurfle hiss wush breath fog
white glare squint goggle shlup
trudge crunsh sfunsh scraffle scriff shuss
sled blundle pumbf bwoosh powder swidder shood
sit srinkle squish
suck breath hold
gruntpushgaspwishswish fwiff bliss shwee
shwomp boffel shwip bump shwipe blum
swivel woosh
bwish swush swerve slish slide
spish spray spriffle blink flakes flowder flush
squeal flail flish gloves swip flap rope yank fwish
lookout yells swishblamwoomp pow bomp buddle shlo bloud

sled shtumble slidder swiff
tangle slipple fosh bump owf scromple push
snarsh stand scrunsh pluff snofy wipe
brosh laugh snoffle