Anything by Andrea Gibson

tonight i wanna slit my wrists
hold the blood to god's lips and say taste this

tonight i could swear even the man in the moon
is a rapist
and stars are nothing but scars
bullet wounds from humanities drive
by firing at the face of the sky

tonight crying would be too easy
it would please me too much
and no i don't want you to touch me
cause your hands are clean
and i'm filthy

guilty with the blood of something beautiful
all over me
i've been weak and leaking so much poison
in all the rivers around me
the fish are dying

and the trees are vying for some light
but i'm the eternal night

writing rhymes about wind chimes and world peace
while even in my sleep
i'm fighting wars that grind the enamel off my teeth
and i wake with my jaw clenched and my body bent
thinking how many dishes have i broken this week?

in an attempt to not break myself
by taking brutal belt to my hide
cause it's hard to wanna survive
when i know if ghandi were alive
... he'd shoot me

and all the great therapists of this world might say
girl maybe your anger is good
maybe your rage
is you emerging from the cage of everything you've been
so i try to be zen singing mantras of

om mani padme hum

but god fears me too much to hear me
and my heart beats another kid in the candy store
and his mother calls the cops
and every time the clock tics
i start tic tic tic talking more shit
my voice sounding the crucifixion of everything holy
i've got blisters on my tongue
from pounding nails into hearts of prophets
and just when i think i can stop it
satan resurrects inside me
and everything around me turns to hell
last night i stole pennies from a wishing well
to buy rope
to lynch the last inch of hope from the planet from the planet

and all

because you have a new girlfriend and i can't stand it

and i know it doesn't make sense
i know we decided to be just friends
but i didn't think we'd be just friends forever
i mean...
i wanted to be eighty together
wanted to birth poems like babies together
and watch them grow up save the world

cause girl
you're the only one who could ever raise the sun inside me
and i swear the ground beneath my feet
is only soft because you walk beside
there were times i thought i was so lost
even god would never find me
and then you came up right behind me
and kissed a cross onto my back

and its things like that that got me going crazy
cause i was thinking maybe the breaths we'd take together
would make us live forever
and now you're killing me
look at me i'm dying
not even trying to evolve when

i wanted to be there forty years from now
when the doctor called to say
your mother might not make it another day
and i wasn't gonna be just ok
i was gonna be perfect

was gonna make my love feel
like the first time you rode your bike without training wheels
kneel before you every day
like there was no one else before you

cause i've heard your heart beat
like that breeze that could bring any violence to its knees
and the best lines i've ever written

i plagiarized every word from the thoughts of yours
i heard while you were just sittin in silence

staring up at mars
but you never wish on shooting stars
you wish on the ones
that have the courage to shine where they are
no matter how dark the night
no matter how hard the fight
and how now do i turn away from that light

when i wanted to be eighty with you
birth babies like poems with you
and let them write themselves

wanted to hold your heart to my ear like a sea-shell
til i could hear the tides of every tear you've ever cried
then build islands in the seas of your eyes
so you'd see there's land to swim to
hold your hand and say storms are born
from the same sky we write hymns to when the sun shines
sometimes it takes tempests to wake rainbows
that will wind our pain into halos

was gonna carve your name into my wrist
so my pulse could kiss you

was gonna love you so well

i'd wake every morning
and tell you things like this...
bliss is the moments you're with me
when your gone my life hurts like hell
but i'll do anything to make you happy
even if it means setting you free

to be with someone else

Insomnia and a poem

I was thinking today about my last bout of depression and insomnia, it was in late September and some into October. I never fully recovered during the semester, because my school work had already suffered but I continued to create a lot of poetry and did end up on a 'regular' sleep schedule. Normally when I go home I end back up in my insomniac tendencys, but this time that didn't happen. I went home and slept no more than 9 hours at a time, mostly only 8. I drank Coffee only in the morning, and maybe a cup of tea in the afternoon. What I didn't do is finish any poetry, though I started a lot.

Now I am on a training plan (as mentioned in the post before this one) and therefore I have to take care to eat and sleep enough. I grew up really quickly, and have been pretty much dependent upon myself since leaving the comfort of home when I was 16 years old. Now, though, I am faced with a whole new level of care and self appreciation. I can feel mussels in my body that I don't remember and I have to worry about injury and reaching my peak. This means I can't let myself slip into the insomnia world again, because 8 hours of sleep is an important and necessary recovery time. My knowledge, and understanding of this impressed even myself. I am being responsible and helpful to my own body, and I really like it. I am in awe with myself right now, and I know I keep posting about it. Yet, it is important and different and therefore blog worthy.

Yet, what you were really looking for was a poem so I will oblige and promise to continue working on the others even if I don't do them at 2 am I can still write in the afternoon.



Drugs
N. Jameson

My drunk head screams at me in a way that I have never been able to accurately explain.
I haven't touched alcohol in weeks
and cigarettes haven't crossed my mouths and lungs for months
The only drug pumping through my veins is an antihistamine
blocking my death by chocolate almost literally.
and it's not poetic that I am saving my own life
but my nose squeaks and the dark room isn't increasing
instead it is pressing into my sides like a dagger looking for a heart
my mind clouds with words that I can not trace
and my head looks for a pillow far away from my bed
half the time I don't even turn on a light
letting my ink flow onto paper and walls and arms
whatever it can reach to
when I lay down with a poem in my head
my mind will race and wrap around it intoxicating my body
I am lost in it, working it
never connecting with it
the words and ideas never specific but overlapping
I lose control of what is happening, and it just speaks for itself.

JUMP

Kate and I really need to learn how to take our own advice.
This is a poem I wrote off of something she said once while cooking. Although, it was initially for her, now that it is finished it is really for me.

It's time that we all, jump.



Windblown (Jump)
N. Jameson

I sent you a letter in the wind today
I expect it to arrive the day after tomorrow
perhaps a little disheveled with water spots and runny ink
The wind may have torn it some so I hope that you can still read it.
with any luck you will understand my meaning
knowing that the story I wrote upon the paper
was the story of how we met
I was up the same tree with my shoes untied
when I wrote it
the clouds were floating by and my hair got sticky with sap.
I didn't throw my pencil though, not this time
Love, you should know that I am not so young anymore
many things have happened in the space and the time
I have held my head high and changed the colour of my hair
I have made many phone calls and even changed my job
I have a cat now, would you have ever guessed
and we live in a place with a yard where I grow tomatoes
yes, I've lived there long enough to have tomatoes more than once.
I don't expect you to respond.
the wind only carries things one way after all.
but I love you, even through the wind, the rain, the time
I've needed you often, but made it through on my own
I have learned who I am
slowly, like the letter I am
I will be floating away, wind torn and tattered
I need to sign off
because I will be taking to the seas on an unsteady ship
to get where I am going next

College

College
By N. Jameson

Hold on you're half where there
I've been living on this prayer
and stale bites of bagel

too many packets of tea
floating by like leafs
we don't want to consume
but we are required
by the rules of college life
we are governed through the academics
pessimistically writing and revising
sometimes we can't even edit ourselves
casual conversations become political,
correctness is lost to the spurs
and slurs of the drunken masses

using coffee cups as cameras
cleaning our glasses on tissues
we are poor and making it
working from the bottom
and making it
they didn't believe in the riot
but we brought it to them
over caffeinated yet apathetic
what are my fingers being used for
not sliding but gliding
over soft computer buttons
lost the taste of human skin

my apples are bruised
and so is my ego
tomorrow I will wake up
and fight another theoretical war

Tranny poetry

I don't think I will ever sleep again. The ladies at the health center tell me that I will get better. That it will only take some time. I've started to get to a point though where it doesn't matter. I am awake all of the time, even when I am asleep my thoughts aren't. I think about pounding away at the computer, writing words into the screen. Poetry and rhythm.

Last night I slept 3 hours, but I was dreaming the entire time, meaning I couldn't sleep soundly. Nothing I do can change this. This is just who I am becoming.

I don't even believe the health center anymore, I don't think I will get better. And that scared me.


At least I am writing DAMN good poetry.

everything can go fuck itself but poetry

Fuck it








sitting in only white underwear with words in front of me
computer being turned off after this post.
door locked










Fuck it

You smell like my girlfriend

As usual it doesn't have a title -
but this is my most recent poem
I think it's something I can preform
because after 2 years, I think I can preform again

Listen to this poem @
http://www.zshare.net/audio/642352122427b2d8/



You smell like my girlfriend
the first words
Falling of a train with the corn fields and soy beans
city smells of hot pavement and diesel cars
33 tracks made of hard dark metal
a long embrace at the end of track 8
I smell the old men and stale air
thoughts surround me like a warm blanket
but it's a hot day I want to take it off
and put you back on
Illinois with the true black dirt
the earth that grew me and grew her
we smell like the soil kicked under our shoes
bubble gum being stepped on
hotdogs from the corner store
lollypops from the candy shop
you smell like my girlfriend
I still don't know what that means
the hog capital of the world
long haired cats and lost dogs
whicker baskets full of fresh laundry
green corn with it's tops still on
catching fireflies in the shabby grass
drinking our water from mason jars
as we run home underneath the stars
eating a picnic lunch with the cars racing by
and the neighborhood boys peaking over the fence
water guns sitting in reach and eyesight
to defend ourselves from their onslaught of laughter
and we laugh
to ourselves and to Illinois
to the black dirt and lost bubble gum
we laugh

Classical Poetry

I'm having a little trouble getting into the flow with my unit. I only have 5 girls - which is a big step down from the normal 16-24 girl units. They just don't interact with each other enough, and they don't distract each other at all. Meaning we get through everything programed at a lighting fast pace. They have read all the books provided already. Tonight should be good because they will have some time with the entire camp at a Hoe-down then we will have an campfire with the unit next door. So they will interact with some different girls.

But what this post is reall about it what I do to calm myself down. I read things like the following. I am a true bookworm and a seeker of knowledge. If I ever leave College I think that I may shrivel up and die.

Agincourt
by Michael Drayton

Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnish'd in warlike sort,
Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopp'd his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay
With all his power.

Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
Unto him sending;
Which he neglects the while
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
'Though they to one be ten
Be not amazed:
Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raised.

'And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be:
England ne'er mourn for me
Nor more esteem me:
Victor I will remain
Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.

'Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopp'd the French lilies.'

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped
Among his henchmen.
Excester had the rear,
A braver man not there;
O Lord, how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake:
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signal aim
To our hid forces!
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly
The English archery
Stuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbos drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went--
Our men were hardy.

This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding
As to o'erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Gloster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still as they ran up;
Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's Day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry.
O when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen?
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?