This is how I want to remember Dinwiddie:
Late in the morning on an early December day.
The brown leaves still attached to some trees, the ground littered with the rest.
The snow falling in large, wet flakes, threatening to stick.
A ribbon of two-lane road curving through the woods.
“Amputations” by Death Cab for Cutie as the soundtrack.
Sentra windshield as the camera lens.
doggerel haikus/poems
All posts tagged doggerel haikus/poems
and sometimes when I drive through Petersburg
and the sunlight hits the city at just the right angle,
I see the beauty in it and wonder if,
one day,
it will ever regain its former glory
since so many of its beaten, but sturdy, buildings still stand —
despite being hacked into dark, dank, fire traps of tenements (occupied
despite painted shut windows, faulty wiring
or no utilities at all) —
still show a glimmer of pride as they stand
like Flanders fields crosses,
row on damn near row house
along streets in want of repaving and
i lie here on my couch.
a couch i technically stole from my sister;
a fixture of married, domesticated life:
brand-new house, two cars, three kids.
dispersed in divorce,
given by a newly-single woman
to a perpetually single man
to decorate of room of his own not his.
i lie here on my couch,
surrounded by items that are mine;
enough to fill a three-bedroom house.
amassed … somehow, despite years of moving,
seemingly running from something
although my address
remains the same
as it has always been.
i lie here on my couch,
wondering where we both will turn up
six months hence,
if i’ll share this couch,
or if it’ll just continue to be my second bed
and nothing more
until i buy a new one
for a place just for me.
almost everything i have is a relic of a past life,
life not my own.
once called spoils of war
pride in being able to seat over 10 under 25
curious want for it to seat just two
and little ones
more than just an identical roommate
my life here came fully furnished
but only not.
decaffeinated coffee table,
unloved seat,
family pictures replaced with cds, dvds,
corkscrew, mail, newspaper, books —
a jointly-owned couch now under a single owner
family furniture without the family.
‘Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the town
the scenery was festive —
lights, ribbons abound!
This entry’s quite long, I must admit; but layout’s the fault — lj-cut it!
Four days in one week
Summer rains soaked me to bone
I think I am sick.
I love the rain … but not the rain in the winter and fall because it’s cold and I’m liable to be on my bike without checking the weather report first.
The cold blue marble rain fell upon the tall window grass
Dripping onto my partially unsecured jellyfish bicycle seat
Nearly riding sidesaddle in the soggy gaswish box
I must fix my bicycle seat
Ambers and I found a book called “Poem Crazy” by Susan Goldsmith Woodbridge. Obviously, it was all the funs. She quoted her son in a chapter Ambers read; it’s now my subtitle.
Stay tuned for more of Tyrone and Ambers poetry.
I now must be off to Arabic class … without my book or notebook. Then I shall hang out at CLOG till 5, bike back to my car in the rain and eat dinner at home for the first Monday since the semester began (not including Fall Break).
Oh yeah, this weekend was fun and interesting. I almost managed the whole thing without going home, I decided that I wanted to sleep in my own bed than on Will’s (not of The Captain’s Log) floor or creep into The Ranch at 5 a.m. I’ll probably update or extend this later. Maybe not. If I don’t have another entry this week, I’m going to New Jersey and New York Friday-Sunday to visit some chapters and hopefully see my very first friend in Union Square on Saturday at 1 p.m.
I am 22.
Falyn comes home on Friday.
Summer shall begin.
I never thought
I’d see the day
That I would wear
Long sleeves in May.
Don’t you just hate it when you know full well that something will never work in a million years but somehow, deep down, you hope that it will?
From my perspective, being asexual would make the world a better place.
APRIL 22, 2001 (for someone completely different, yet still purposeful)
Her eyes shine like two stars on a crisp autumn night
When all the Earth is still, yet moving all the same
In a deafening silence.
Reaching down,
They accompany the solitude,
Illuminating the darkness like those inspiring constellations.
We inspire another.
