Ode to Bed

eatpoetry:

Someone needed an ode written for class. They wanted it to be about a bed. So I wrote it. And was pleased:

O Rectangle, I love thee much.
You always wait, no matter time.

You are stable and gentle as beauty;
old-age can’t steal your kindness.

You are a box, and no less dumb;
yet your sheets offer genius pity.

People speak love, people speak hate;
but I can trust your silence.

All scream, “Be real! Stay in reality!”
But all that you love is dreams!

Winter tanka (a stupid one)

冷えたくび
マフラーむすび
雪なのに
はだし歩き
そして風邪気味

Romanization (and rough translation, without the rhymes):

Hieta kubi (Chilled neck)
Mafula musubi (scarf wrapped)
Yuki nanoni (Despite the snow)
Hadashi aruki (I walk barefoot)
Soshite kazegimi (and so the slight cold)

I’m pretty sure tanka isn’t supposed to rhyme anyway…

I stayed up late to finish writing a thing in Japanese…

…unfortunately, it sucked, so here is a poem in English that I wrote for my Japanese students:

Likes Japanese food

Ume-shiso is delicious!

Can play the saxophone

Yes we can!!

Small sketches of a bowl of rice, a saxophone, and Obama’s face accompanied the original.

This poem took all day to finish… mainly because I left the house for quite a while in the middle of it.

(On courage)

We tell children to be
big boys and girls as
if being an adult had
anything to do with being
brave.

What things I could achieve
if I were unaware of
mistakes and felt no boredom
because everything was new and
wonderful.

What a good person I
could be if I knew
nothing of wit or poise,
but only wanted to learn
from others and be with
others.

What I would give to
have the youthful insolence to
love everyone I meet and
care for them without condition.

Yet how frightening it is
to attempt all these things
as a supposedly brave adult.

True story: I once trick-or-treated as a victim of domestic violence (middle school… good times).

Tonight’s poem!!

Autumn, again. (And again.)

The breeze was cool this evening

and carried the scent of browned and dried leaves

already smelling of the earth

though they still clung to branches.

My jacket did what it could, but the breeze still

chilled me to the core;

but isn’t that the best part of

autumn, anyway?

I read about scientists who theorized

that a particle in the future could

prevent its own making

in our present.

And I wondered

when they could market this

and sell it to me

and let me feel

chilled to the core

as I tour all the autumn breezes in the history of

my youth.

(Would this be a sci-fi poem? Can I be excused for the lack of Klingons?)

I might regret this in the future…

I’m never going to be able to do NaNoWriMo and I find myself bored online a lot, so I’m going to write at least a poem a week through November. Fun!!

First one (not very happy because it is 1:34am and I am not very happy at the moment):

A list

I set out to make a list

of unbearable things I hate.

(Quite a good activity,

when you haven’t vented of late.)

Despicable things aplenty

poured from pen to paper;

gripes and moans and awful secrets

befitting of a hater.

The list went on, and on, and on,

and finally, couldn’t grow longer.

So at the end, the only fitting thing

was to write down the name of its author.