But I am tired

But I am tired

I’m sorry;
I would read you lines of lovely prose,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would tell an amusing anecdote,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would brave brigands and burglars,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would sing you the sweetest lullabye,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would read you a thousand and one tales,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would tell you what the rain sings to me,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would dance until the dawn breaks,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.

I’m sorry;
I would write a million words to tell you how I feel,
But, I am tired, today. Perhaps tomorrow.
When I am less weary.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

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The Versatile Blogger Award

Woo! So, The Lime has nominated me for this thing- the Versatile Blogger Award. Hooray! Thank you to http://thecolorlime.wordpress.com/ . For serious, check out the poetry here, it is excellent.

So. There are rules, apparently:

  1. Thank the award-givers and link back to them in your acceptance post.
  2. Share seven (7) FACTS about yourself.
  3. Award 15-20 other bloggers the versatility award.
  4. Contact your nominees so they know you nominated them.


Seven Facts about Bee:

1. I have a really weird cat -then again, aren’t all cats weird? I think it is feline nature- that likes to stare at me while I write poetry. She’s the first one to hear my poems, and if they need work, she tells me so with that sardonic ear-flick tail-twitch stink-eye combo.
2. If I could eat only one food group for the rest of my life without dying of obesity or vitamin deficiency, I would live on fruit. So much delicious to choose from! Like mangoes and berries and grapes and citrus-y goodness and plums! (and I could still drink wine- booyah)
3.  My favourite colour is green, but I wear mostly muted colours, like navy and black and dark purple. But my car is green, and it makes me happy.
4.  At any given moment in time, I have a song stuck in my head. It really only bothers me if the same song sticks around for more than a day. The one in my head all day at work was Maneater, the cover version by Nelly Furtado rather than Hall and Oates (not that I don’t appreciate the 80s, but the new one is easier to dance to).
5. I probably drink too much peppermint tea.
6. I don’t swim very well, because drowning seems like a horrible way to die and I don’t entirely trust that I can float on top of the water. So if you’re planning on pushing me into a body of water, be advised that, if I don’t come up splashing and furious, I’m sinking to the bottom of said body of water whilst having a panic attack.
7. I want to learn a skilled trade, and spend some time doing something real. It doesn’t hurt that plumbers get paid pretty well.

My nominees are the following excellent blogs:

Amy, AKA sharplittlepencil
(if the rules let me, I’d nominate The Lime)
Leo -no need to respond to this one, I just read your post that you’re not doing awards any longer
sadly waiting for recess
Magical Mystical Teacher
Mad Kane
Mark, AKA awakenedwords
Paula, AKA whenwordsescape

And that’s all she wrote!

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A tanka for Three Word Wednesday. Deviant, minuscule, trivial.
I like words!


My deviant mouth
Bites a plum, she laughs aloud-
Mess is trivial,
Minuscule compared to the
Taste of kisses, plums and love.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.


This poem is for all of us poor sods who can’t eat a plum without getting plum juice everywhere. I don’t eat them inside or I’ll have to mop a floor. This is a problem with most yummy juicy fruits, actually. And popsicles. But they’re so good! I refuse to feel bad about being messy with yummy foods.


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Sonnet of Pain

Confession time? When I wrote this, I kind of forgot how the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet was supposed to go. It’s ababcdcdefefgg, rather than abbacddceffegg- oops? I think I got it confused with the Petrarchan kind too, abbaabbacdecde. Messy, messy brain. Don’t even get me started on Spenserian sonnets. Jeez. 14 lines, 140 syllables, way too many ways to organize that nonsense.

Sonnet of Pain

Pain in my joints comes and goes like the tide
It swells and jabs at me, icy and burning
There is no relief with seasons changing
No calm sanctuary where I can hide.
A symphony of suffering for me
The rising and falling of storm-tossed waves
No blissful unconsciousness for me saves
From thundering blistering agony.
The crescendo builds, the water rises
Kettledrums in my bones and in my blood
I cannot keep my head above the flood
When all my joints are trapped in vises.
The symphony ends, the waters recede,
But pain never stops as soon as I need.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2011, 2012.

The transition from autumn to winter was hard here. It went from mild to omg-wtf-it’sfreezing. This came out of that.


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The Doubtful Guest

Okay, I have something a little more linear and a lot less odd for you fellas today. Another from the vault!

The Doubtful Guest

The doubtful guest entered slowly
Shaking off her umbrella onto the mat
As her hostess fluttered into
An inviting kitchen of warm smells
Calling over her shoulder to sit, rest!
The hostess returned bearing mugs
Of steaming tea to comfort a weary heart.

Mrs Reed, whose hospitality a guest
Could always rely upon, prattled on;
Trivialities of suburban life, one
Consisting mostly of the idealized
Sort of domesticity found in the work
Of Normal Rockwell.

The gossip! the games! the neighbours!
The unendurable tedium of bridge
With a terrible partner on Thursday nights.
Mr Reed, his job and his car;
The children and their little friends;
Mrs Next Door’s tiny yapping dog.

Suddenly, a flash of deep thought from
The illustrious Mrs Reed:
“Oh! to speak plainly, as children do;
To proclaim feelings boldly is my wish.
The innocent see no need to hide.”
Suddenly the doubtful guest’s demeanor
Changes to a cautious acceptance.

Mrs Reed regards the young woman
As one might a saucy daughter
Or waterlogged puppy: with fondness;
While the woman, sipping her tea,
Silently reevaluates her situation
And wonders if it would be so bad
To while away this rainy afternoon.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2012.

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Found Poetry: I Drew a Map of Love

Hello readers, this is your poet speaking. I’m sure you remember my poem Is it Beginning? from earlier this month. I did another one- I really like this found poetry business.

This time, the song chose me weeks ago. Well, more like, the song leapt up from the depths of my memory, grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I know I’m not your typical 20-something product of my generation when I say that I totally dig Joni Mitchell. I mean, come on, she’s Canadian! Her song A Case of You is one of those songs that struck me like a Zeus-style lightning bolt. Kind of like Going to California by Led Zeppelin, come to think of it. Maybe I’ll try something with that next time.

I have digressed enough! Read on for poetry.

disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to any Joni Mitchell songs. This is a creative exercise, and I make no money from it.

I Drew a Map of Love

I could be your painter, darling;
I sketched the still darkness of you,
I drink the bitter and sweet deeds.

Cartoon lines drawn in blue light
Before my drink poured, she said
I would part with you, and bleed.

I’m a lonely woman; you drew me in,
But had me stay in a box apart
From your life: oh, where’s our time?

I knew your mouth twice:
You taste like blood and wine.
I remember in that bar

You said, “I ain’t afraid of the devil,”
With your face so bitter, and lost–
I’m frightened of that time.

If you want me, I’ll be
As constant as the northern star–
I’ll drink you, bitter and sweet.

You had just met me, you said,
“Love is touching souls.”
Surely in my case, in my blood,

I’d be prepared if I touched yours,
So holy, so bitter, and so sweet.
I’d like it if you knew mine.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Also, I feel I must add another disclaimer: I have been in lust a couple times, had some crushes, and I read a lot, but I have never been in love. I remain hopeful that it’ll happen some time. That passionate, delightful, being-with-you-feels-like-home, you-make-me-want-to-be-a-better-person, I-hope-we-get-old-and-grey-together-so-we-can-mock-each-other-at-the-retirement-home, snuggles-and-sex-are-only-awesome-with-you, blissful, if-you’re-not-beside-me-I-don’t-sleep-well, all-consuming deal. Or something like that.

Though I maintain that there’s a different kind of love for every person that we love. We can call it platonic, romantic, familial, or whatever, but it is subtly different every time. Like fingerprints, or lip prints, or the flecks of colour in a person’s eyes. Or maybe it’s just me.

…I am a soppy ridiculous romantic. I don’t know how or when that happened. Must have been right around the time I started writing poetry.

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I like dictionaries. Confession time: I used to read our home dictionary for fun as a kid. Just picked a random spot and pored over it for hours at a time. I’m sure you’re surprised by my love of words.😛

I have been thinking a lot about a particular word this week, thanks to Mumford and Sons’ song Roll Away Your Stone. So many meanings attached to it. Many emotions as well. I chose a couple to put here; the complete definition I found is quite long, and can be found here. Words are fascinating!

grace –n.

1. elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion or action;
3. favour or goodwill;
5. mercy; clemency; pardon;
9. moral strength;
12. The Graces, from Classical Mythology: known as the Charites to the Greeks, and as the Gratiae to the Romans.

Now, a poem for my lovely readers.


Floating elegance on tender wings
Takes my breath away, and yet
Bestows upon my sails a mighty wind,
Sends me reeling into open water.

I beg forgiveness for my scrutiny-
My eyes are unwilling to depart
From you: your easy manner, your
Favourable countenance, and long-limbed

Grace. You are Terpsichore,
Euterpe, and Erato
What a muse I find in you!
Such delight in all I see.

You inspire the best in me, help me
To melt my thoughts and pour them
Into molds of honour, loyalty, truth:
With you, I am more than I thought I could be.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

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Hello again fellas! I have written a series of piku poems before, and I thought I’d give it another go. Enjoy!


no, I won’t
from this feeling.

no, I won’t
growing bolder.

courage is

to survive.
is no reason

to deny
no more running.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Cowards allow fear to rule.
Fools don’t realize there’s anything to fear at all.
The brave know fear intimately, but do what they must.


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Why yes, I am quite nerdy. Bless you for noticing.

I don’t own any Nintendo characters, bien sûr. If you saw my current car, you’d believe it. I’m just borrowing them for a short poem.

A Song of Smash Brothers

Mario arrives with friends aplenty:
Princesses Peach and Zelda, Luigi,
Fox and Bowser, Captain Falcon, Yoshi,
Donkey Kong and Pikachu, Ness and Link,
And many more besides. All together
They are brawlers in an endless battle.
Hear the players’ call: choose your character.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2012.

So I’m trying (and maybe failing) to get iambic pentameter. I think the stresses fall weird here.
Mostly this is an excuse to geek out. Keep an eye out for maybe Dungeons and Dragons poetry in the future. Or Star Wars, or Star Trek, or other awesome things of this nature. You may remember that I enjoy writing about this nerdy stuff.

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A herd of poems!

Look at them all gallivanting about this page. It’s enough to make you want to sing! Or dance! But mostly read!

I wrote a few of these in the college library. Can you tell?

But first, Sensational Haiku Wednesday‘s prompt: love.

toothpaste for dinner

Love Haiku

love is knowing the
words to say, right or wrong, and
when to be silent.

Cinquain #1

neighbours annoy
while security guards
watch over everywhere but

Cinquain #2 – RSVP

they say
salvation through
christ only, heaven is
the goal. I feel I must reply:


the loathsome
muffles my thoughts

is that a
or a bad thing?

shut up please–
a library.

Haiku #1

heavy breather next
table over distracts me
can’t write a poem.

Haiku #2

murder is never
the answer, unless you’re the
villain in movies

Haiku #3 – Intolerance

Why do you hurt me,
dairy? Have I offended
you in some way? Why!

Shadorma #1

roses are
red, yes, but can be
white, pink, black,
yellow; since
my favourites are daisies
it doesn’t matter

Shadorma #2

just because
I hear voices, you
say I’m nuts.
the joke’s on
you; if I wasn’t crazy
you’d cease to exist.

Shadorma #3

raw chicken scares me.
not because
of disease,
but the inescapable:
it, too, was alive.

all of these poems are of course © Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Wanna know what I don’t own? The song She’s a Rainbow by the Rolling Stones which has been stuck in my head all week. I think it’s the piano part. And the rainbows. I did buy that technicolour backpack-purse.
But if I get famous, and there’s a movie made of my life, I want this song to be playing over the falling in love at first sight with my future lady. Definitely have to make that shit happen.

…What? Like you don’t have a playlist of songs for the soundtrack to your life story.
If you say no, make one! It’s fun. That’s your homework for this weekend, ladies and gentlemen. Post it in the comments! I’d love to see it😀


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