The Smoking Stranger

So recently I was staying over at a friends house. In a wretched state of insomnia I sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. To my surprise, a man stepped out of the shadows and into the light of a lonely streetlamp, he lit up his smoke, then walked away. It was like something out of a murder mystery movie. Who was this person? I assumed it was a man by his hunched over walk and tall stature, and I wondered why he was out at 2 o'clock in the morning? Was he a fellow insomniac like me? Or maybe his purposes were that of something much darker. So many thoughts swirled in my head and further prevented me from sleep. Oh well. It got me thinking about the darker side of things. I'm not a depressing person, I just like to think of the two sides of life, the light and the dark, and how they balance out. So here's a little something inspired by The Smoking Stranger. Thank you sir.

The Dark Side of The Sun

Street lights flicker and deals are made
Silent nods, then handshakes, now everyone’s paid
Quiet deals done in dark alley ways
With a soft smoking barrel, everyone pays
Only in the night can dark deals be done
The shadows steal light, then sell out the sun
Smoke curls and twist from a crooked grin
The bet has been made, he knows he will win
But those who dwell in the night, hurry away
They’d burn if they ever saw the light of day
Break out the dawn
The shadows are gone

Lyrical Love,
Cara
ps. The verse that I previously posted disappeared from my head as soon as I had posted it. Maybe all it wanted was to be seen by others, some purposes can be so simple sometimes.

Elephants For Want of Towns

So this verse has been kicking around my head for the past couple days, I read it a couple months ago, and now its popped up all of a sudden. Maybe it's a sign? I try treat nothing as a coincidence, or an accident, I believe everything happens for a reason. So why is this silly little verse repeating in my head like a broken record? I'll have to try and figure it out. Stay tuned.

"So geographers, in Afric maps,
With savage pictures fill their gaps,
And o’er uninhabitable downs
Place elephants for want of towns"
-Jonathan Swift

Lyrical Love,
Cara

ps. Just remembered where I read it, it was at the beginning of one of the chapters in The Book of Negros by Lawrence Hill, excellent read if you have the time!

Cute-Meet

She saw him from across the school gym and thought “My, isn’t he handsome” and laughed as she told her girlfriends what she thought of the cute boy in his military uniform. The first time he saw her, he told his buddies “That’s the girl I’m gonna marry”. Almost 50 years later, my grandparents are still together, and happily married. I think I may be a sucker for a good romantic story, but hey, isn’t it alright to dream? Whenever I meet someone who has been in a relationship for a long time, I usually ask them how they met, and 9 times out of 10, it is a cute/funny/romantic story that touches my heart and makes me imagine my how I will meet the love of my life.

“I’m taking the greyhound back from school, I sit down in the first open seat, and to my surprise, there is a handsome boy sitting right next to me. Awkwardly, I try to stifle my smile, but secretly I am glowing at my good fortune. I pull out my book to read, an old faded copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost. He glances at the cover and then strikes up an interesting and long conversation on old poetry and great writers.”

*sigh* If only that were real, usually what ends up happening is I sit next to some girl who looks friendly, and won’t try and steal my purse as I try to take a nap on the cramped/smelly/too long bus ride home. And in all reality, I have found that attractive/nice boys do not, in fact, take the greyhound home.

Some days I think I have watched too many movies, cute meetings like this never happen. No more “love at first sight”. No more seeing someone across a crowded dance floor, asking her for one dance, then ending up dancing together the entire night. Where did the romance go? I guess it is not deemed necessary to romance a girl anymore, but really, it should be. Sparks should fly, butterflies should take up residence in your stomach, and that first kiss should make you faint, but leave you wanting for more. Romance may be dead, but I still hold out hope that one guy out there will win my heart with his quirky smile, and romantic gestures. I guess I will have to wait a while, good thing Paradise Lost is a long book.


A Dancefloor Apart
She looks into his eyes, and see’s her world
Her white wedding dress, their first baby girl
A little white house, with a perfect red door
Knowing her family’s all she lives for
Working all day, coming home at night
They argue, and snap, and get into a fight
But they put it aside
They tease and they chide
Drinking champagne, and toasting to life
So happy that he chose to make her his wife
Reality snaps back, and they’re a dance floor apart
And all she can feel is the beat of her heart
If only he’d walk over to her and say hi
But instead he just leaves, with a silent goodbye

Lyrical Love,
Cara

Staying a Clarisse

We’ve all seen them, those little black bars that block out certain anatomy, or those blurry images that manage to disguise, oh so well might I add, vulgur actions. But I ask you, do they really do all that good? All those black bars and blurry images do is leave things to the imagination, and from experience, the imagination can sometimes be worse than the real thing. Should we censor things? And how much is too much? I ask you this because I recently contemplated censoring the content of my blog, because I don’t want to start drama or make people uncomfortable, but in the end I decided against it. I don’t want to become a Guy Montag, burning precious knowledge (in this case my ideas) without a second thought, or a Mildred, just sitting around idly and letting my thirst for knowledge die. No, I will stay a Clarisse, and I will keep questioning, and demanding those little black bars be removed, cause really, how bad could it be underneath?
Lyrical Love,
Cara

233 Degrees Celsius

The lovely scent of gasoline
Is what I smell when I reach the scene
Crackling paper, the strike of a match
The wind whips widly at what it can't catch
Fire races and licks the walls
Picture frames crack, and smash in the halls
A huddled creature, alone in her room
Awaiting her death, they are sealing her doom
Burning, burning
But the clock keeps turning
Paper flakes drift down from the sky
A grim warning to others that knowledge must die
“It’s for your protection! It’s for your own good!”
I want to believe, I wish that I could
But the paper flakes dance, and wave me goodbye
Why must something so beautiful have to die?

A Sunday Thought

As it is sunday, I feel this is appropriate.

Rio

And he opened his arms to the world
He shouted with a deep thunderous roar
“Here I am! Here I stand”
But the earth did not move
And the skies did not stir
He stood alone

Troubles in Paradise

This post was originally labelled "No where to go" cause thats what it feels like sometimes. I have my fair share of troubles in life, and sometimes when I do something different, I get told it's the "wrong thing to do", but to who's standards? I don't mean to sound selfish, but this is my life, and I've only got one shot at it, who's standards am I gonna live by? Mine, or someone elses? I promised myself I wouldn't make this my venting place, that this blog would be dedicated to poetry and living life. But sometimes life isn't easy, so once in a while I may rant about my troubles. This trouble almost made me stop writing, 3 days in, can you imagine? But I know I need to step back and figure out where to go. When there is something blocking your path, do you go home and put on your comfy pants and eat ice cream? No. You move past it, but don't just go back to where you started, you can't change if you do that. So I'm going to keep blogging, even though my troubles are there when I look back, they are fading fast as I move forward.

Stuck in limbo

Have you ever been stuck between two places? Wanting to be apart of one world, but having to forgo another? It seems to happen to me alot, being of two racial backgrounds; half native and half English. I want to hold on to my native background because I know there are very few of us that keep the old ways alive, but then I sometimes forget I am also half English, which is just as much apart of me as my native side is. It can get tricky sometimes, and I go through periods that are sort of like an identity crisis. But when I start feeling frustrated, I try to remind myself of the little things that make me me. I am Cara, I am a Libra, I like writing poetry (a given), I like fuzzy peaches,diet pepsi, running, soccer, I HATE intolerance and crappy music, and love my family and friends more than I can describe. This helps me realize that I more than just the sum of my parts, half native half English, there are a million little characteristics that makeup who I am, and I have to give them as much thought as I do my racial background. As a Libra I should be able to handle this, since the scales are my sign, and harmony my strength, guess I have some more work to do. Anyway, the whole point of my rambling is to show you my inspiration behind a poem I wrote awhile ago, oddly enough I forgot it was entitled "Po et Tree" ... coincidence? I think not.

Po et Tree

Painted red and painted white
My heart shines brightly in the night
And keeps me going till the fiery dawn
Engulfed in flames, the stars are gone
Throwing my hands up to the blood red sky
Who is this girl who laughs and cries?
I watch the snow drift past my face
And turn in circles in a furious pace
I look at my hands, what's this color I see
And is this color, is it me?
I look in the mirror and I see a girl
Caught between a hard place and the world
It hurts my lungs, and it hurts my heart
I think I may just fall apart
I'm trapped, I'm caged
I'm full of rage
My two faces are getting the better of me
Cause my half open eyes don't really see

Welcome to my Po et Tree

I am just a simple writer, living in a small strange town. I have written poetry for many years now, and have filled notebooks with silly little verses who have taken on a life of their own. They are now demanding release from their leather bound cage, and who am I to stop them? I created this place as a safe haven for anyone wanting a change of pace, and a technicolour view on life. So here it is, my Po et Tree. Its branches long, its leaves broad, reaching out to you, giving you some shade, and providing a home to all creatures who live life lyrically.