Hi Erin!

I haven't seen any movies or listened to anything recently that i particularly want to talk about. But I'm bored, and I did write a poem I want Erin to read. And we're never online at the same time. so...

*** 5.21.08 These poems have been edited a lot since i posted them a while back... They are way better now. The third poem is almost ridiculously different than the poem i wrote originally. By putting it up here I managed to get some really helpful feedback, but I still don't like it. I've replaced it with one that is much better, in my opinion.

*This poem is about my favorite painting from Rembrandt's era. It was painted by an unknown artist (or I can't remember it). I found it in an art book at Webster's Cafe, and then I went back to buy the book the next week and it had been sold. The painting can't be found via googling, so i guess it's somewhat obscure.

Cupid Writes an Oath of Fidelity in the Sand
He writes on
With fervor, eyes cast down, ignoring the heavens.
Lips pursed and brow furrowed,
He searches diligently
For the correct words.

Overhead,
Seagulls bob and weave across the sky,
Forming quick constellations,
Breaking away again.

Even as he writes,
Wind blows lightly and the sand trembles.
Still his hand crosses every "t" with a flourish.
Nodding his head, the last sentence
Is finished.

In no time,
Some sweet new muse entices him
To forget his silly words and write new, better prose.
Bacchus weakens his resolve
Neptune's high tide washes his old words away.


*This one I wrote a few months ago, but I just love it. I feel like it describes my grandfather fairly well.

Christmas 1994
It occurs to me,
As Pop-Pop descends the staircase
Draped in red and white,
That I’m pretty sure Santa doesn’t wear sneakers

He got the jolly part right.
Though the smell of cigarettes and old spice
Tickles my nose
And the Italian accent amuses my ears.

Underneath a towering, glowing pine,
Amid mountains of shredded wrapping,
Between giggles,
I’ll assure him I still believe.

I really, really wanted presents.

* This one is about being stuck on the side of the shoulder of the highway in February. it sucked.

The Afterlife
The road ahead is a shallow pool of tar
Our used car waded through,
As though determined
Until its pulsing metal heart could go
No further.

Tractor trailers race by,
almost smacking our side mirrors,
Splattering us with rain water and grime.
Each time the wind whips us
Our lemon rocks
Back and forth, scattering droplets
Before settling.

The bright blue sign ahead--
State College
62 miles--
Reveals itself and disappears
Under blinking hazard lights.

To the people who read this crap, I welcome your input. If there's anything i've learned this semester it's this : the sometimes harsh opinions of 15 english majors reading my work will make me upset, but the end result makes it worthwhile. I imagine this extends to the opinions of my many intelligent friends, as well.