Dear Blog,
Home again and still job searching. It's really annoying and I'm procrastinating an awful lot. Here's the only thing I've written, besides a poem for mom, since I've been home. I wish I knew who sent me that weird ass thing in CPO.
The Cucumber King Relates His Last Battle
By Benjamin Morgan
I'm like a man crawling out of the wreckage of a 1997 Toyota Corolla
That was painted lime green
On a whim in '03
I'm like a man chasing his money around after it's been all cut to shreds
There's a twenty
Yeah, there's a ten
I'm like a man slowly trying to reassemble legos at 4pm on a schoolground
People looking around
Say that's not allowed
And when my four year old son asks about what happened on November the fifth, two thousand and eight
I'll say it wasn't a product of hate
It was simply two people falling out of love with each other quickly and catastrophically
And when he understands
I'll know I raised an even-tempered man
I hope that he doesn't want to fight with me
Because I've got a weak chin you see
But if he steps up to deliver blows to my body
I'll say "Give it your best shot sonny."
Because I won't go down without a fight
That's what I told your mother that November night
Yours,
B Morgz
Monday, May 12, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Summer Haikus
Dear Blog,
Here are some haikus I just kind of puked out about summertime. Maybe they are vague enough to sound good.
We are circles now
Pushing up against each other
Ah, Terrible pressure
Lemonade on lawns
People pushing past parts
Touch my summer soon
Hold to heartlessness
In June but not in August
Hold my thin blonde hair
Old watch ticks on me
On my shoulder gazes down
Picking off the flies
Hearts hurt hardly Hal
Don't take the sack race like that
What were you promised
Did I pack the bag
It is time to go on now
In our newly worn
Heavier than no
Drops hang in the taunting air
sick hollow sound
I hate the sun times
Thrive for nighttime blood ritual
Stale with tradition
Props to Ian on the first one, his circles discourse started me off.
Yours,
B Morgz
Here are some haikus I just kind of puked out about summertime. Maybe they are vague enough to sound good.
We are circles now
Pushing up against each other
Ah, Terrible pressure
Lemonade on lawns
People pushing past parts
Touch my summer soon
Hold to heartlessness
In June but not in August
Hold my thin blonde hair
Old watch ticks on me
On my shoulder gazes down
Picking off the flies
Hearts hurt hardly Hal
Don't take the sack race like that
What were you promised
Did I pack the bag
It is time to go on now
In our newly worn
Heavier than no
Drops hang in the taunting air
sick hollow sound
I hate the sun times
Thrive for nighttime blood ritual
Stale with tradition
Props to Ian on the first one, his circles discourse started me off.
Yours,
B Morgz
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Finishing the Purple Notebook
Dear Blog,
Still working on the story, it's called "Other Important Things" I think. It's something Mellor said today that struck me. I just finished off a purple notebook that I have had for two semesters and two classes here. It has brought me some really good poetry and I commend it. Here's the last poem is was able to eek out:
A Writer Writes
I wrote a long, boring novel
that no one will read
about a parent's approval,
stagecoaches, and greed.
The protagonist jumped up
right out of the page
but had no timeless phrases
on his lips to say.
I've left it all stacked
on the top of my mantle
hoping to catch flame
from a curious candle.
I want everything burning
all through the night.
Then, I think, at last
I would know what to write.
Yours,
B Morgz
Still working on the story, it's called "Other Important Things" I think. It's something Mellor said today that struck me. I just finished off a purple notebook that I have had for two semesters and two classes here. It has brought me some really good poetry and I commend it. Here's the last poem is was able to eek out:
A Writer Writes
I wrote a long, boring novel
that no one will read
about a parent's approval,
stagecoaches, and greed.
The protagonist jumped up
right out of the page
but had no timeless phrases
on his lips to say.
I've left it all stacked
on the top of my mantle
hoping to catch flame
from a curious candle.
I want everything burning
all through the night.
Then, I think, at last
I would know what to write.
Yours,
B Morgz
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Wooo! Yeah!
Dear Blog,
Just had the best complete story idea I've had in a while. Look for the fruits of my labor soon. Hopefully it's pretty long, not crossing my fingers for novel length or anything but something longer than ten pages would be nice.
Why am I posting about this? No one is reading!!!!!!!!!!!!
DICKS!!!!!
Yours,
B Morgz
Just had the best complete story idea I've had in a while. Look for the fruits of my labor soon. Hopefully it's pretty long, not crossing my fingers for novel length or anything but something longer than ten pages would be nice.
Why am I posting about this? No one is reading!!!!!!!!!!!!
DICKS!!!!!
Yours,
B Morgz
Monday, April 28, 2008
Lost and Confused in a Borneo Churchyard
The night is alive with heat
Snapping at my ears
Its winged voices: flustered and red
I go to sleep drenched
Wake up in my morning dew
Yelling for anyman to leech me
If anything at all will help
Sometimes, in the dense tropical
I remember things that never happened
Your lips on my lips
Like puzzle pieces finally
Instead of terse-lipped rabbit hunts
The subtle king and queen of rock 'n roll
Hiding bottles like whispered prayers
And touch the blazing, holy chariot
Come to take me away at last
For I have predicted heaven down
Right down onto mine own deserving self
So now it must come to be partial
I know I read that somewhere a long time ago!!!
Tense sheets twist alive
Wringing fresh sweat
Into my dry canyon mouth
Calling out for anything but water
Something so new
That the calm is refreshing
Pull the shades
Back to the overgrown trail
Cutting down stereo noises
And all the native's uncomfortable frowns
So that dreams can bud out
Spreading like a fire weed
Twisting on my ankles
Gripping up my legs
To hug my weak thighs
I writhe in a flash of white
Tripping into a mud pit (like a volunteer fireman)
Spend all day getting clean
Hoping that next time
Someone else falls in with me
Snapping at my ears
Its winged voices: flustered and red
I go to sleep drenched
Wake up in my morning dew
Yelling for anyman to leech me
If anything at all will help
Sometimes, in the dense tropical
I remember things that never happened
Your lips on my lips
Like puzzle pieces finally
Instead of terse-lipped rabbit hunts
The subtle king and queen of rock 'n roll
Hiding bottles like whispered prayers
And touch the blazing, holy chariot
Come to take me away at last
For I have predicted heaven down
Right down onto mine own deserving self
So now it must come to be partial
I know I read that somewhere a long time ago!!!
Tense sheets twist alive
Wringing fresh sweat
Into my dry canyon mouth
Calling out for anything but water
Something so new
That the calm is refreshing
Pull the shades
Back to the overgrown trail
Cutting down stereo noises
And all the native's uncomfortable frowns
So that dreams can bud out
Spreading like a fire weed
Twisting on my ankles
Gripping up my legs
To hug my weak thighs
I writhe in a flash of white
Tripping into a mud pit (like a volunteer fireman)
Spend all day getting clean
Hoping that next time
Someone else falls in with me
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Home for the Holy Day
I came home one sunny June the 18th
I found all the places around my house
Where I used to play and talk to friends
I sat on the old swing set and rust stained my pants
The whole thing seemed like a movie
It was more of a documentary though really
Maybe even just a TV show length production
Coming Home:
today's episode- Steven Chambers from North Shepardsville, IL
I ran my fingers around the fence that I painted
My father paid me way too much for that job
It felt like an old wooden friend
Not even ready to yield after all of those years
It gave me a nice big splinter in my thumb
Old friends hold grudges and make new ones
They push them up out of the hard wood
Fences can't aim though or I would have splinters in my eyes
I felt the grass on my bare feet after chucking my shoes
It felt cold and new like a sterile resurrection
The bugs didn't bother me as much anymore
I lay down and felt it in my hands
Pulling it like your hair
I mean pulling it like the hair of some beautiful woman
I laugh thinking about meeting new people
The sun is so bright in my brand new eyes
The realtor was so nice to give me the bronze keys
Some time to myself and a knowledge of the past
I go from room to room, crossing myself slowly
I've brought a black notebook and I read aloud
Slowly intoning phrases and key syllables
The whole thing seems whitewashed
Which is fitting enough for me at this point
My bedroom takes me several hours alone
Meditation never struck me as very useful
So I just stared and yelled at the ghosts
That happy little kid running back and forth
Calling his friends and rushing too fast
I tried to trip him but he isn't even there at all
My parents were so beautiful and I see them
In every room they hover and I gaze awhile
A hollow buzzing fills all of my senses
I strike a deal with God to bring it all back
But the outlines remain gray and distant
Like the tombstones in the cemetery far from here
As if this is a message to go ahead I lay down
I brought a sleeping bag and I rest now
My body curls in the night as I dream
I meant to have one last adolescent dream
A fantasy or a final super-vivid pleasant memory
I dreamt of a blue pall on your face
Your visage was unknowable and beyond my thoughts
Nothing is perfect anymore, oh the humanity
I wake up groggy and my head is heavy like lead
I step out into the backyard right at dawn
I always hated the dawn
You kept your grudges like the fences taught you
My memories never meant something to you
I made it through twenty years without you
I was only happy twice in that short span of time
You proved one a fake and derided the other
There is nothing left for me
Neatly scripted in the black notebook
Placed on the rotting picnic table
Here where it prospered I will conquer the whole civilization
The dawn of a new age comes with a literal dawn
Pull that trigger
I found all the places around my house
Where I used to play and talk to friends
I sat on the old swing set and rust stained my pants
The whole thing seemed like a movie
It was more of a documentary though really
Maybe even just a TV show length production
Coming Home:
today's episode- Steven Chambers from North Shepardsville, IL
I ran my fingers around the fence that I painted
My father paid me way too much for that job
It felt like an old wooden friend
Not even ready to yield after all of those years
It gave me a nice big splinter in my thumb
Old friends hold grudges and make new ones
They push them up out of the hard wood
Fences can't aim though or I would have splinters in my eyes
I felt the grass on my bare feet after chucking my shoes
It felt cold and new like a sterile resurrection
The bugs didn't bother me as much anymore
I lay down and felt it in my hands
Pulling it like your hair
I mean pulling it like the hair of some beautiful woman
I laugh thinking about meeting new people
The sun is so bright in my brand new eyes
The realtor was so nice to give me the bronze keys
Some time to myself and a knowledge of the past
I go from room to room, crossing myself slowly
I've brought a black notebook and I read aloud
Slowly intoning phrases and key syllables
The whole thing seems whitewashed
Which is fitting enough for me at this point
My bedroom takes me several hours alone
Meditation never struck me as very useful
So I just stared and yelled at the ghosts
That happy little kid running back and forth
Calling his friends and rushing too fast
I tried to trip him but he isn't even there at all
My parents were so beautiful and I see them
In every room they hover and I gaze awhile
A hollow buzzing fills all of my senses
I strike a deal with God to bring it all back
But the outlines remain gray and distant
Like the tombstones in the cemetery far from here
As if this is a message to go ahead I lay down
I brought a sleeping bag and I rest now
My body curls in the night as I dream
I meant to have one last adolescent dream
A fantasy or a final super-vivid pleasant memory
I dreamt of a blue pall on your face
Your visage was unknowable and beyond my thoughts
Nothing is perfect anymore, oh the humanity
I wake up groggy and my head is heavy like lead
I step out into the backyard right at dawn
I always hated the dawn
You kept your grudges like the fences taught you
My memories never meant something to you
I made it through twenty years without you
I was only happy twice in that short span of time
You proved one a fake and derided the other
There is nothing left for me
Neatly scripted in the black notebook
Placed on the rotting picnic table
Here where it prospered I will conquer the whole civilization
The dawn of a new age comes with a literal dawn
Pull that trigger
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