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Laurel's Blog

This is my blog.

8.5.04

O Say Our Father


Our Father, who art in heaven,
o say, can you see?
Hallowed(1) be thy name
by the dawn's early light.

Thy kingdom come and
so proudly we hail'd
and thy will be done
at the twilight's last gleaming
on earth as it is in heaven.

Whose broad stripes and bright stars
give us this day our daily bread
thro' the perilous fight?

Forgive us our trespasses,
o'er the ramparts(2) we watch'd
as we forgive those who trespass against us
(while so gallantly streaming.)

And lead us not into temptation,
to the rockets' red glare, - the bombs bursting in air
that delivered us from evil -
and gave proof thro' the night
that thine is the kingdom,
that our flag was still there,
that the power,
that star-spangled
glory,
the banner yet waves
for ever and ever
o'er the land of the free(3) and
Amen(4)
to the home of the brave(5).

(1)to make or set apart as holy; to respect or honor greatly; revere
(2)an embankment built around a space for defensive purposes
(3)not imprisoned or enslaved; being at liberty; not controlled by will of another; unguarded in expression or manner; not subject to external restraint
(4)also Amon, the Egyptian god of life and reproduction, represented as a man with a ram’s head; also used at the end of a prayer to express approval
(5)valiant, displaying courage; making an impressive display; to challenge, to dare; a Native American warrior


posted by Laurel  # 4:33:00 PM
Dressed

tonight she’s shunning pants
for a Vegas-dancer skirt
that barely touches her thighs
and allows your eyes
to pry
a little further than they’re supposed to,
if you want to

and she’s given up pale mauves,
ivory hues of eyeshadow
for scarlet red, electric blue-
berry and sassy grape eye-liner
to make sure
that your
wandering eyes
get caught
in thickened extended midnight black sparkle lashes

aquamarine contacts,
hair dye #39, #12
to be Marilyn on Friday
and Jackie O by Monday morning in office hues
as the girl
who serves your coffee
as the girl
who takes notes in class but
by Saturday your view will be in shimmers
of disco ball champagne shadow,
ruby corvette lips,
turquoise lined eyes,
and Vegas-dancer skirted thighs.





posted by Laurel  # 4:27:00 PM
dried blood on my hand is it mine or yours telling stories of nights before, and with your lips and mine we spilled secrets of who we were, dried blood and roses like the ones in my hair tried to steal beauty from that cold summer air, when we quieted and listened we could spill ourselves too leaking onto the sidewalk all we thought was true i don't dance you said instead holding me tight don't live to bleed don't dance to fight we fumbled with keys and cut our hands on the edge, never feeling the blood 'til it dripped and you fed me sweet words of spanish and your language not mine we woke up still sleepy killing time stealing time like the ticking surrender of our moments passed don't hold me, don't let the blood drip too fast
posted by Laurel  # 4:24:00 PM

21.4.04

I'm a little bit in love everyday with the way that you and you and you make me feel everyday I fall a little more in lust in reverie with everything you make me see everyday I'm a little bit in craze amazed at how you and you all make me love.
posted by Laurel  # 11:58:00 PM

4.4.04

so here it is the proof i needed and the reasons i needed to hang around here so now i guess i should be happy i don't think i'm that but i'm not quite sad i'm not quite weak but i don't think this is strength this is the most dependent independence i think i've ever felt this need to not need and this longing not to miss.
posted by Laurel  # 6:41:00 PM

3.4.04

For the first 30 seconds
of hearing your voice
I shudder, can't breathe
burst into tears and then write a poem -
that's how I know it's love.
posted by Laurel  # 3:23:00 PM

2.4.04

Creation

The recipe of me creates a bitter dish
of one part tired one part insane and one part just plain
insecure

Half of me watching for you to slink by
the other half saying fool go blind.

My chest burns from chocolate, too much sugar in my coffee, too much
syrup in my veins.

Sugar blues sugar rush and I drink it all like the wine
from your opulent cup in your days of I do,
on a sugar high I forget my brain’s rivulets
and its high-flying mountain-tops screaming halt.

And my hand forgets the hardened skin from the pen’s furious movement
in a desperate attempt to be
Fitzgerald Picasso or John Coltrane
(the brain’s attempt at love poems, at novels, at suicide notes.)

I forget on this high, the sight of blood
and 28 days of failed potential, an unused womb
an almost Van Gogh an almost Marilyn,
an almost Mozart down the drain,
the sticky jewel of afterbirth, the only time death
comes before life - From my desk

the window frames more
than the Mediterranean at noon
that shines in shaking greens and silvers
scorching louder than my forgotten white skirts
that floated over the grass and pulled me above
the roses the river the dirt.

I forget the way the sun reflected off my ring
and for a second I couldn’t see and I thought you were a Monet
in a brilliant stroke of blue, gold, white.



posted by Laurel  # 9:33:00 PM
New Amor

Sometimes I like to say
ti amo, je t’aime
because they’re newer ways
of saying that I know
the moment you wake up
by the gentle
turn of your head, the
deep breath in, and then
the sound of blankets shifting
as you slide out of bed, moving carefully
not to wake me.

Te quiero roughly translated
means I remember what you were wearing
the day you said hello, my name is –
Te quiero means the picture you don’t
know I have – grass and blue sky and
your figure small on the horizon –
sits faded in a box
locked by my bed.

Te amo, li desidero I say
instead of I know that look
when you learn something new,
the eyebrows and the way
your hands hold a pen, a guitar
my face
Te amo instead
of saying there’s a deafness
when you leave,
Te amo instead
of describing the emptiness
of a warm spot left
on your pillow, the letter
written in blue ink
that I’ve now memorized, the notes
of the song you used to
catch me, to keep me
Te amo instead
of I know your voice in
a crowd, your hands like
my own, your eyes that
scare me,
dark, too deep
Te amo, Je t’aime
Li desidero, something new.


posted by Laurel  # 9:31:00 PM

30.3.04

know how to surface, now working on why
posted by Laurel  # 8:38:00 PM

15.3.04

My latest book purchase was Open Slowly by Kate Light. After her reading at the Carol Tatkon center last Wednesday I couldn't wait to get a copy of her book so that I could re-read everything I had just heard. Perhaps her poetry is inspired by her name, or the somehow appropriately irridescent earrings she was wearing that sparkled in different colors as she read. Either way, there is a lightness to her tone and a quiet comforting shimmer to her poetry that made me think I must have known her before. Each poem seemed to tell glimpses of a complete story, and while her lines and words are short, and her poems are rarely more than a page, I left the reading feeling that I had just heard a (much) better-written version of my journal. She plays with word sounds and rhymes without being trite or too cute, and even her poems about sea anemone's and porcupine blowfish have a gentle seriousness to them. I had the pleasure of meeting her the day before her reading in my poetry class, and she told us she was working on a song for a new Disney movie. Being the Disney freak that I am (but not wanting to so blatently advertise this fact at a packed poetry reading full of intimidating sweater vested english professors) a less self-conscious friend of mine kindly asked if Kate wouldn't mind playing this new song. While it is certainly Disney-fied, (and the singer did quite a poor job of enunciation - they should have asked me) the words were still beautiful, in a way that both a 12 year old and a 72 year old could appreciate. I think this shows her ability to not take herself too seriously. This quality shines in her poetry and in the way she reads - humbly, quietly, but still offering a vivid picture of what makes her write.
posted by Laurel  # 7:25:00 PM

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