Of Note

I know it's been awhile, but I think I haven't failed at blogging yet. Remember, I'm a casual blogger. Not quite a real blogger. Anyways.

I'm so sick of this pseudo-fall weather. September in Provo is filled with mealy apples and sweaty treks up to campus. I could do with a crisp Pacific NW fall day anytime soon.

Three things I found interesting/inspiring this past week:

First, a poem that stood out to me after seemingly endless hours of poetry reading for my creative writing class.

http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2008/12/15/081215po_poem_aaron

I love the bizzare imagery.

Additionally, perhaps the most interesting and unique lecture I have ever attended on BYU campus:

http://mormonstories.org/?p=1158

And finally, an LDS artist I would actually enjoy listening to. Nowhere near the bubblegum pop vocals or emphasis on performance I find in EFY music.

http:/thelowerlights.com

fin.

Thoughts From the Computer Lab

So I'm ending my week at the Writing Center with a long and monotonous computer shift. I haven't had a student in here for an hour so I'm passing the time with blogs and She & Him. Fortunately surfing the web and watching the hours tick by is well within my skill set. My summer job helped me develop that valuable skill.

And I suppose I'll try to improve the frequency of my posts? I'm not quite sure I understand the purpose of blogging. Well, the purpose of me blogging to be more exact. I'm not comfortable with the idea of a public journal. And I already have plenty of those to maintain for various classes. Also, I'm not entirely sure who my audience is. Myself? The entire blogosphere? I just spent the morning explaining the importance of indentifying an audience when writing to multiple freshman. However, I think creative writing need not always have a target audience. Sometimes it can just be a means of self-expression? Perhaps a demonstration of virtuousity (though that may imply audience). Or maybe we have to write to find our audience. I suppose I'll start with that.

Creative Writing Poetry Collective: Weeks One and Two

On Poesy

My brain overflowed with poetry
At 12:39 last Sunday night
As I casually leaned on the formica countertop
Shoveling dry cereal
Into my prosaic mouth

I quickly rummaged through kitchen cupboards
Pulling out faded cool whip containers
And mismatched tupperware sets
To catch the unpolished gems:
Prose-y verbage distilled
Into witty, unexpected metaphors
Slightly sentimental truths
Veiled by irony and unaffected cynicism

I sealed them in the plastic receptacles
Hoping to preserve their delicate flavor
And concoct a perfect poem
Some future sleepless night

So I might one day be a poet
Instead of the girl
always trying to write a poem.

Watching A Teenage Girl Die By Mortar

Based on NY Times Photojournalist’s description of documenting the war in Afghanistan

Sure, war’s a tragedy
But normal life’s banality
Neck ties, office chairs
Prozac and coffee spoons

I’m eating, sleeping, patrolling
getting shot at
With the young guys

We cower in the ditch under fire
And joke about our girlfriends
When the bombs stop
Fingers still trembling
Nerves jangling

It’s my job to record history
So I can’t break down and cry
The more one holds on to their tears
The harder it is to let them go

I’ll go in time
The moment I become unable to feel
Sorry for the girl with the shattered face
That’s when I’ll know the war’s got to me
And I need to do something else with my life.


Father’s Figure

Why your nose?
And not your strong, delicately veined hands
Or your infinite patience
With little brothers who can’t sit still
I’d have loved your sense of direction
Or your remarkable whistling ability
Even your conveniently forgetful memory

Your sloping nose adds wisdom to your weathered face
Propping up scholarly glasses
Yet I’m afraid it juts out of my profile
Rather unattractively
Not to mention un-femininely
Here’s to hoping
I grow into it.


Common Counterculture

Now why is it that nearly everyone
On campus tries so very hard to prove
Their contrast from all under Provo’s sun,
Disdain for common things at BYU.

These “hipsters” may tout honor code reform
Love indie bands that some could never name
Sport hairstyles far beyond the Mormon norm
Each thinking he’s alone in his “strange” game.

It seems to me the only chance we’ve got
Of being at least a slight bit unique
Is to embrace our ordinary spot
Amidst old Utah’s rugged mountain peaks


Though you can change your looks and style alright
You’ll prob’ly still be twenty-ish and white.

Opportunity Lost

I saw an almost friend today
A would-be friend
Not quite as tragic as an almost-lover
Somewhere between a stranger and a familiar face
Face of opportunity lost?

Quotidian Haikus

Trivial Panic
lunging, fumbling powercord
before essay fades

maybe if I turn
check my watch, pretend to text
you won’t talk to me

piled unwashed dishes
three pieces of your presence
I could do without