Tag Archives: dance

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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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

noisy
neighbours annoy
while security guards
watch over everywhere but
basement

Cinquain #2 – RSVP

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

Piku

the loathsome
din
muffles my thoughts

is that a
good
or a bad thing?

shut up please–
it’s
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

handling
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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Strike Anywhere


Woo! Yesterday I got to a thousand hits on the ol’ blog! Only a month into the thing. Man, that’s cool. Is that good, for a blog? I feel good about it.

And the things I don’t feel good about today? Fuck ’em, who needs that bullshit.
So in the spirit of “fuck ’em, who needs that bullshit”, I present a poem. It’s about the end of the world as we know it, I guess. I actually kind of hope we as humans take ourselves out- it’s kind of our turn, since we’ve toasted so many other species on purpose (and who knows how many by accident). A love song to “mere anarchy” being “loosed upon the world”, I suppose. (Yay, Yeats)

Of Kerosene and Phosphorous,

or,

Strike Anywhere

All it takes is a flick
The mix of certain chemicals
But the result can be so
Destructively beautiful.

Sometimes I wish others were as
Carelessly cautious as I am,
Striking matches on curbs
To light a sly cigarette, and
Firmly stomping stray embers-
Just in case.

What freedom, to let go;
To dance while the world
Burns around us like Nero;
To help it along with a splash
Of gasoline, ethanol or kerosene.

Let us drink to the end of the world!
Let go of inhibitions, and do
Do exactly what we feel is real
Live and love before out of time
Strike Anywhere and everywhere.

Pour a dram out for the dead
Grab your shot-glasses and matchbooks
For yesterday ceased to exist
And tomorrow isn’t coming to save us.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2011.

And to continue this trend of recommending music to people, I suggest giving the album Blood on the Tracks by Bob Dylan a listen. That is, if you haven’t already; I think it’s been out for like thirty-five years, at least.

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Thoughts on the Shore of Balsam Lake


I wrote this on vacation last summer. Well, most of it. I mixed it up, and I’m sure a couple things got cobbled together from other bits I wrote that week, and there wasn’t a resolution until just now. I had vague plans of turning it into a multi-page epic, but… that requires serious effort. I deem this good enough!

Thoughts on the Shore of Balsam Lake

The cries of gulls and children
Echo across a sandy beach
I’m building castles in the sand
And castles in the sky–

At once, a man in uniform
And a young woman in white
Pass slowly, hand in hand,
Smiling, in a dream, in love–

The waves, the shining lake,
Seem more real than the sky
With its painted white clouds
And insipid fading blues–

It is late afternoon now:
The gulls return to gather
Food left behind by the children
And still I wait for sunset–

Sunset! when our life-giving star
Flings colours in bands across the sky
Like a frustrated painter with a
Rather curious and smug cat–

A cat digging trenches in canvas,
Sharp claws dunked in shades of
Reds, oranges, purples, and golds, and
Wearing a sphinx’s enigmatic smile–

At last, the grandest light in the sky
Dips low in its dance with the horizon
And, with a flick of her long skirts,
Sinks over the edge of my sight.

© Bridget Noonan, 2010, 2011.

Also, I gotta say, pen and paper are best for first drafts, but for editing, you gotta have a word processor of some kind. At least, I do.

This is also my offering for Friday’s Big Tent Poetry prompt.

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Inside the Mind, Beyond the Stars


Well, this is no stranger than anything else I’ve posted this week. And I rather like it.

Inside the Mind, Beyond the Stars

The other night, I took a canoe trip
Through the Milky Way. My companions were
A Fox made of red flame, and a Spider’s laugh.
A journey with neither beginning nor end,
We paddled over shimmering green fields
Where deer leapt over clear waters, and
Wildflowers waved in our wake.
We travelled over great seas, the waters
Deep blue-black, a mirror of the sky.
A journey apart from time and space as I knew it;
I met an infinite variety of faces, and souls,
None of them strangers to my eye upon first meeting.
They live in me, and I in them, in that stream
Of brilliant stars. I could only stare in wonder
As parts of me danced in starlight, or ran
With the deer as I paddled ever onward.
The fox stood in the bow of my craft,
Eyes reflecting millions of points of light.
I steered past gates of silver and gold,
Entrances to hundreds of new worlds, and
I wondered where my destination could lie.
As soon as I thought it, the spider whispered
That I could go anywhere, be anything,
In this place. So I cast aside my paddle,
Launched out of my canoe, and soared
In the likeness of a bird. The fox smiled,
And with a flick of his tail winked out of my sight.
What rapture, flight! I spiralled up and out,
Earthbound no more, and knew in that moment
That I was in every thing, and in no thing;
In all points of light, and the enveloping darkness.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

I’m working on a bout-rime right now; it’s not going as well as I had hoped. Dammit, what masochist decided that sonnets had to be so structured?

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