out of the box and smarmy

introducing a collection of auto-biographical poetry. i found these the other day stuck in a journal, which was stuck in a box, which had been labeled "miscillaneous - 3rd bedroom" in the event of it finding itself in our new house. once i discovered i needed to unpack all those packed boxes, i picked a box at random and pulled out this journal which holds the literature you are about to read. inside were three poems which i authored in college, when i wrote poetry because my professor said i had to. i say they are auto-biographical because they are heavy-laden with the personal pet peeves i obviously had brewing at the time. two attempt to be funny, one tries to be deep - both are certainly not eligible for any other publication than blogdom, and probably not even that. and if the funny ones are indeed funny, it's not because its inherent, but only because they are trying so hard. :)

1. hug theory
a shakespearian sonnet - february 21, 2002
(happened to be dedicated to erin linton, who evidently had the same conviction)

shall i a wishy-washy hug withstand,
or entertain a greeting drained of spice,
or settle for a limp extended hand,
though it tasteless had been offered twice?
what is it you unwittingly confess?
must every friend forebear such apathy?
should sister to her sister proffer less
than that embrace which shows sincerity?
for arms can carry miles of smiles and joy -
a sun that sets with grace on those you meet,
and with a simple hug you but employ
the grander form of love one can entreat.
don't let a dim and dainty lean excite:
if you bestow a hug, then do it right.

(for the record, i do still think a sincere hug is the greatest)

2. (nameless and undedicated...
but we could call it cheese and give it to the precious moments foundation)
Trochaic Tetrameter - february 28, 2002
to compose a baby sleeping,
willow tress with bowers weeping,
even waves of ocean leaping -
do you know how it would go?
to compose in boundless measures
children's tears and hope-filled treasures,
sunsets bold in crimson pleasures -
do you know how it would go?
to compose with sweetest perfume
memories of a family heirloom,
radiance of a bride and bridegroom -
do you know how it would go?
to compose a loved-one's dying,
whispers of a mother sighing,
majesty of eagles flying -
do you know how it would go?
'tis the beauty of composing
inspirations never told -
'tis the beauty of composing
deepest chambers of the soul.

(wow, i especially like how i made points with the sentimentalist agenda by mentioning children weeping. i surely also gainted the endagered species lobbyist support with those majestic eagles flying. in fairness to myself, however, i do remember this question being spawned from my difficutly in composing a song that accurately matched my mood or occasion. my desire to express the sadness i felt at the death of my grandmother in that year 2002 was only frustrated by my lack of ability in translating that sadness into music, in "composing the deepest chambers of the soul.")

3. Oh, Bed!
verses in Iambic meter - march 6, 2002
(dedicated to Khiree Appel, whose phrase it was)

one summer it befriended me,
and i befriended it,
and it weren't long a time before
true dedication hit.
i'd eye it with a longing glance,
i'd leave it with a swoon,
because my heart was loathed to part
from it all afternoon.
i'd long await, anticipate,
at night on my return,
that there be it, and there it be,
and me it would not spurn.
oh bed, oh wondrous bed, i said,
to what shall i compare thee?
a summer's day, a winter's tale?
nay, these but measure plainly.
for ye are warmer than that day
which even summer boasts of,
and through the years, your warmth will be
the gallant thing to toast of.
but anyhoo, what shall i do?
for i can ne'er replace it.
no rocker chair nor sofa fair
could ever commonplace it.
a foe to none, a friend to all,
yet i have gone and lost ya!
oh, nevermind...'twas but a dream...
such comes with influenza.

so, whatd'ya think? am i so the next poet laureate? yah, i thought so. :)
here's to the good poetry that's not of my making.