peppercorn

fool thinking a blushing arm that bent
round you in bed, that would extend to me

across a room still crowded with the breath
of friends and pet the dizzy hair above

my pretty little head, could help defend
or even wave away the tiny mess

of rainclouds and the slush-stained galoshes
from the snow globe in my chest

my life is energy dispersed as waves
in a hundred million years I will 

explode into a retarded smudge of protons
and reform into cast-away planets

full of dust-choke and nebula-bound sky where
the highs and lows no longer bear the sayable

but I'll hold on like a sinner to a prayer
like the humble flint in an old man's eyes

with bones bent forward leaning
in osteoporosis reaching for a little more

but living is no reason to continue, everything
begins and everything is desperate

****


Guys, tomorrow is Friday. I'm so thankful. 

The weather is so nice today and I'm really happy about that too. It was the Rochester wind that drove me inside to finally get work done and I poem instead oops.

The first part of this poem is about the past. It's pertinent for today I suppose. 

The middle part is about the future, and how people don't really matter, and if there is any meaning, there are no words for it. 

The end is what humans do, we hold onto every little thing and make something so important out of it, whether it has significance or not. Perhaps it out of stubbornness, perhaps out of not wanting it to be proven nothing matters. 

Things matter, I think you can make meaning out of things but they can only have meaning to you. Like I have a bouquet of roses in my room that are dead and wilted but I keep them because of the memories; to everyone else they are probably seen as trash. Plus, I've had experiences that I can't really explain to other people because I know they wont understand, they wont be impacted by the experience or feel the significance because it's mine. 

"All men have the stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travellers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems. For my businessman they were wealth. But all the stars are silent. You--you alone--will have the stars as no one else has them." ~The Little Prince

For those of you who haven't read this book it's fantastic. It's a French children's story actually, but it's really philosophical and has a lot of depth. To me, it's the meaning of life. Genius. 

That's all for today. Have a great Friday tomorrow, you deserve it. Godspeed. ~Sarah

Coming Home

Memories leave a bad taste in my mouth

That tequila went down so smooth long ago

But leaves a bitter odor on my lips this morning

And a raging creature pounding in my head

The ghost of you is everywhere

You’re voice rides along the ocean breeze

Brushing my face softly, caressing my poor soul

It’s not the salt in my eyes that triggers a tear

You cut my hair like Samson’s

And no one could doubt you improved me

You made me your own, but without a column

What am I suppose to hold onto?

Maybe I shouldn’t have told you anything

For you’d rather the history books forget

But I can’t destroy the memories, I am weak

Clinging only to the wind and empty sheets

Happy Sunday erryone! Hope you're ready for Monday (cuz I'm totally not, lol oops). 

For a lot of people, especially college students, going home is the best thing in the world. And yeah I can agree it's pretty great, I love seeing my mom and sister, and my dad too. They are all so wonderful and supportive and I couldn't get through a day without thinking about them. Recent days have been really stressful and calling my mom and sis really helped. My friends too. I miss them to death and I can't wait until summer break to go and see them. There's just a lot of people I need back in my life who are miles away. There's one person specifically that I haven't seen since Christmas break and it's driving me insane. I'm glad I'll get to see them in, like, 5 weeks I think though. 

But there are, how to put this, bad memories in that house. My room specifically. I hate my room because that's where I went throughout my middle school and high school life when I felt lonely and sad and depressed and anxious. And now it's as if the walls have absorbed that and are now emanating it.

I've always found the story of Samson really interesting. As a kid I remember learning that he couldn't cut his hair or have wine or else he'd lose his strength. I think it's actually cut his hair and women? I don't know, there are a lot of variations. The main point is the hair. According to scriptures, a temptress named Delilah seduced him and cut his hair causing him to lose all of his powers. His weakness was women and he couldn't see the trap that had been laid for him so that he couldn't destroy the columns or something like that (Idk the story 100%). 

But let's think about that. I think all adults, at least men (some ladies), have an affinity for wine and women. And it seems to me that that is what adulthood is about, or at least it plays a significant roll. It also means responsibility, accountability, and other things but I want to save this theme for another post. God gave Samson strength and told him the parameters, but what is a meer mortal to God? I don't care if you're athiest or not, but gods do not fall to pressure, they just don't. Humans do: they are imperfect. Just because they are created to God's image, doesn't mean that they perform the same actions. Gonna throw some science at this situation and say just because they have the same genotype doesn't mean they have the same phenotype.

Anyway, Samson told Delilah that his weakness was hair and she cut it. 

There's a song called "Samson" by Regina Spektor (aka one of the best artists in my opinion). Here are part of the lyrics:

Oh I cut his hair myself one night

A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light

And he told me that I'd done alright

And kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light

...

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down 

Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one

And the history books forgot about us

And the bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first

It is apparent that the songs is sung by Delilah. But it is not sung by a temptress. It is not sung by an evil women. They seem to have a relationship, they seem to love each other through this. And he doesn't seem to care that his hair has been cut. He likes it. He doesn't want the responsibility to have God-like strength. He wants to be human, he wants to have Delilah, and is that so terrible?

Another song is Hallelujah (where the best version, again my opinion, is the one by Jeff Buckley) where he sings,

But remember when I moved in you

And the holy dove was moving too

And every breath we drew was Hallelujah. 

Every breath they drew was Hallelujah. That sounds heavenly, that sounds rejoicing. There's nothing wrong in loving someone and loving someone so much that you'd give up anything to be with them, including a God-given gift. But this poem, the one I wrote forever ago before this rant happened, is about how, yes, I let someone cut my hair (metaphorically and physically-ish) and yeah, I came to actually prefer it. I didn't mind that they changed me in fact I like to think that they made me a better person, a stronger person than before. Maybe Samson felt that way too, that Delilah made him a better person. It's when she left him that he lost his strength. 

So this has turned into analyzing a biblical story so I'm going to stop now. But please, let me know what you think, of the poem or the analysis in the comment section.

I hope you all have a great week and I'll post again soon-ish. (I'll try not to make it so long next time). 

Godspeed. ~Sarah

A Rush

Write me a love letter

And I’ll write one for you

My will eager soars for a chance with romance

To the point of foolish rhymes

My tender dizzy aspirations climb

I sigh

For moments to meet words with a flurry of blush

Deepened with a natural flush

Of blood pounded out by fevered heart

I can feel your nearness and our possibility

I will make you melt with thoughts of me

I’m

            Itching

                        Fingers twitching

My lips bite themselves thinking, guessing, wanting

Wondering

            Will you hold me

                        All night long?

Will the way you speak my name make me believe in God?

Whispering I’m waiting

Small slips of my soul reaching

Feeling a sort of empty

That doesn’t cut too deep

Because, I swear

            When I close my eyes and think of you

                        I taste heaven. 

Happy Wednesday erryone! Haven't posted in a few days so I thought I would. 

This poem is really unlike most things I write since it doesn't end in dark and doom. Normally I think this kind of writing is tacky and teenager love crap, but I'm going to share it with you anyway to show that I like to try new things sometimes. It's so easy to convey angst, it's so easy to write when you're angry because it's so concrete. You can boil in anger if you're not careful, and write pages upon pages about it as it festers. But writing when you're happy and not make it sound like you're from Kansas (you know, because corn?), is hard. Granted, everyone has felt that irrational (maybe rational) feeling of love (or lust) in their life and can understand such writings, but that doesn't make them any less nauseating. I hope this poem didn't make you feel sick.... 

In hind sight, here are some religious motifs in it, not sure if on purpose or not, nor if they are intended to be blasphemous or apprehensive about love and stuff but... Please critique if you'd like or give me an opinion, I like hearing other people's views, and I hope that y'all have a great rest of the week! Godspeed. ~Sarah

The Tree

O tree, thou art so kind
to shelter us always in our times of need
to hold in your broad boughs welcome and solace
for the weak and wan and lonesome.

Thou art so reliable, never waining, never wanting,
so true to the steady march of time.
Bud, blossom, bloom and die, a clock of years
for the weak and wan and lonesome.

Thou provides't what is needed,
always more, never less.
Play for child, food for all, and comfort
for the weak and wan and lonesome.

Thine companionship heightens all,
your lithe branches embrace the embattled soul,
an audience for the troubles and hurts,
of the weak and wan and lonesome.

O tree, you give me hope.
you provide stability in an unstable world.
You listen to our problems, feel the wants and needs,
of the weak and wan and lonesome.

Carry on brave companion
for you walk among giants, where few will dare tread.
If any man or woman could share your gifts,
to not be weak or wan or lonesome.

But none do share your heavenly gifts
all see but their own black hearts and rotted minds
carefully carving their own dark glob of worldly fame
unable to see the forest for the tree
but unable to see the tree for the wood
for these men and women are our idols
the focus of our satanic worship
the black succubi who carry us from our beds
to exploit our darkest secrets and desires
they reject the righteous for the easy
and the powerful for the simple
they coddle the slow and weigh down the fast
for equality ensures their power
and none will see their errors
for the lamb suit is impenetrable
while the wolf's greedy eyes still shine through
but if one man woman or child
could pull
                one
                      small
                              thread
the suit comes off
but then what is that man woman or child
but the next wolf.

Oh, if I were a tree, able to live my life
unencumbered by these horrors and wants.
But to leave them, leaves society, leaves a man
to be weak, and wan, and lonesome.

So, as it is now the first weekend, I figured it was about time to post one of my own poems. This one was part of a collection I did as part of my not-really-kind-of creative writing class last year. A little more explanation on that is probably needed. Last year, I did not have enough room in my schedule to take creative writing, so I decided instead to do all of the assignments for the class and submit them as an anonymous student. The teacher was fairly confused for the entirety of the course, and the last day I went and submitted my final assignment in person and told him that I was the one submitting the assignments. I think he was amused, but I'm not really sure. Either way, this is one of the assignments that I turned in for a freeform poem, so enjoy! Please criticize, I want to get better and I won't without knowing what's wrong and what's right. Thanks! 

Signing off ~Sam Zimmerman

Waiting

I have seen thousands of beautiful things

But only the ugly has ever felt real

Some nights I dream of Niagra Falls like

I am more than a floodgate waiting to break

Face-first towards the bottoms of hotel pools

Convincing myself in the way we try to dream with eyes open

Then I would learn to soar before

Rock bottom broke my bones

This world is marked by seven wonders
and seven billion broken hearts,
each playing cat’s cradle with fraying ties
and praying that perfect comes to those
who wait and wait and wait.
I grow an ounce more impatient
each time my toes touch the scale.

I drink for the aftertaste,
the bitter notes I can’t define and
the feeling I’ll get in seventeen years when
I hear tonight’s song on the oldies station
and convince myself in the way we try
to drown when we are swimming
that it’s stuck in my head and
far too pretty to escape.

Maybe in seventeen years I’ll sleep easy

And skip rocks across water with lights in my eyes

And a flick in my wrist to say swim

Maybe I’ll have learned by then

That it’s lovely to search for perfection

In the way children play midday hide and seek

And pretend it is more than a game

Maybe I will find myself

If I wait and wait and wait

Within the past month, the amount of job applications that I've submitted is almost astounding to me and now I'm in the phase of simply waiting for a reply. And literally it's driving me insane. I'm one of those people who really likes to plan ahead and know what's going on all the time so I can be prepared. And I'm sure we have all experienced this feeling. Waiting for a college acceptance, waiting for a job, waiting for Friday to come, waiting for summer break, waiting for an opportunity, waiting for "the one."

And it's just so damn easy to slip into wanting to give up. Many times have I thought of giving up on school work, giving up on people, giving up on life. But these are not good options, let me tell you. As dreadful as sitting in anticipation, getting worked up and depressed about a situation doesn't make you feel better about the situation or about yourself. When treading across the ocean, it's not an easy decision to choose to drown, that's not what I'm saying. But to be able to get what you want, to get what you deserve, to get what you've been working for, then you gotta keep on keeping on and swim harder, even if it means swimming in a different direction towards a different goal. 

Let me get off my soap box, sorry. 

This poem does have a lot of water motifs as you probably noticed. I'm from Maine and the ocean and water is a big part of my life and I really love it. During a storm, the ocean is always really rough and yet there are always a few surfers out there making the best of it. Plus after the storm, the water is so clear, so beautiful. Plus there's a bunch of shells and sea glass that you can then collect. There's also quite a bit of my childhood in here, especially the times with my sister. Whenever we go to dance competitions  we swam in the hotel pools with the other dancers and it was always really fun. Me and my sister also learned how to do cat's cradle so that we can do it with our eyes closed. We also really like listening to the oldies station: her favorite artist is Frank Sinatra (yeah, she's super classy for a 13 year old). She's one of my reasons why I keep on keepin' on, and everyone should have that. I think I might call her this weekend, I do miss her so.

I didn't mean for this to be so long and I doubt anyone has read all the way to the end. But if you have, thank you for listening to my rambling. Til next time. Godspeed. ~Sarah

(Untitled)

Staple me to a cross 

Pierce my side with a broken promise

And I will bleed all the crippled reasons

Why you deserve one more chance.

I whispered you stardust,

I spoke you into sunflowers,

I dipped my hands in forever,

Touched infinity,

Treated you as if you were the last molecule

Of oxygen inside a gas chamber;

I was good to you

I swallowed my pride and then it clawed its way out of my mouth.

If I could I would tie your arms to a daydream

And auction you off to my fondest memories,

I write this in my own spinal fluid

And put it on the backbone of a white flag

So before you read it you know that I’ve given up.

I’ll just keep you here

Shackled to the most important chapter of my life story,

Pressed to the basement of my eyelids like liquid salvation

So I remember you beautiful

With amazing underneath your wings and a sly smile.

You linger on my lips and kiss me with stuttering apologies

Taped to the roof of your mouth.

I still remember you like a dream

Tattooed to the inner walls of a long term memory,

But some days I wonder if

You existed at all.

Yet you still want to know how I got these scars

I got these scars the day I fell in love with you

I landed face first.

Happy National Poetry Month everyone! I hope you at least kinda liked my poem. I wrote it a while ago but it has enough feels in it to be an adequate first post to this blog (even though it lacks a title, don't judge me!)

A lot of the time, I write poems when I can't find colloquial phrases to express how I'm feeling to human beings, so a Microsoft Document is always a dear friend of mine when I'm feelin' bummed or, in this case, a little heart broken. Love is tough, it's maddening, it's amazing, it's terrifying, it's traumatizing, it's unreasonable, it's everything you want and all the memories come back and crash on the shore again and again when you just want to sleep. We fall, and sometimes you get pretty banged up by it, but why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up. 

Anyway, that's what the poem is about I guess, analyze it as you will, my fellow poetry lovers. But for now, I hear my homework beckoning me. Until next time. Godspeed. ~Sarah