FID's Poetry [Updated 8/11/05]

[fun in dysfuntion]

Longing

my sojourner
from sunsets
shimmering
behind baobabs
under indigo patterns

silken words sprawl
across
hibiscus and incense letters,
wrinkled parchments,
that smell of you
for my fingers
to slowly trace

I count my days
not by months
but by the last time
I held you.

[beanie]

from sunsets
shimmering
behind baobabs
under indigo patterns

Oh wow. I'm new to this site and everything, but that was a truly wonderful way to begin my whole "let's explore this new site" thing. Could the imagery be any more tangible? I think not. It struck me hard, and I'm pretty much knocked I bow before you poetic-ness.[/quote]

[Emms]

Teddy...That's it. This new poem is my favorite so far. I wish I had time now to go into detail as to why....but unfortunatly I have to get ready to go to work. I promised the kids I'd take them to the park this morning...and If I'm late .....well....lets just say, things are really going to "hit the fan" But I'll leave you feedback when I get home....or possibly tomorrow, whenever I have the most time.


xoxo
Emms

[SJ]

Great poem.

[Emms]

hi Teddy. I'm back.

I really love this new poem.

my sojourner
from sunsets
shimmering
behind baobabs
under indigo patterns

How relaxing and painted a picture you've created with just a few words. I especially loved "Shimmering behind baobabs under indigo patterns" such a beautiful description....

wrinkled parchments,
that smell of you

simply wonderful.

I count my days
not by months
but by the last time
I held you.

Man...I've so been there. I know exactly what that's like. Wow Teddy... I came out here with the intention of disecting and rambling on and on about how wonderful this poem is...But I find myself at a loss for words. I simply can't conjure up a single thing to pick apart and ponder. I just love the whole feel of the poem.

Thank you for sharing Teddy...

xoxo
Emms

[Safuega]

Hi Teddy,

What a lovely poem. The imagery is beautiful and you capture the yearning that is longing perfectly in the last lines. What a lovely image of love, loving, and being loved.

Thanks for sharing. I'm not usually a fan of poetry, had a phase in grad school but I feel another one coming on with your poems. I look forward to reading more.

Safuega.

[fun in dysfuntion]

Hiya everyone,

Longing is for anyone who has attempted a long distance relationship. My partner left to study a year in Senegal, which inspires the imagery.

Beanie: Welcome. I'm flattered that with all the great poetry in this room you read my thread. I'm glad you enjoyed the imagery. Thank you for the feedback.

Emms: Oh. That's very sweet of you to leave a post even when you barely had time to head out to work. Yeah, it's probably easy to see that I write from the perspective "Less is more." Ah, yes, sunsets in Senegal are beautiful. We were traveling from Dakar to St. Louis and paused at sunset and that is the image I remember. I'm happy you enjoyed this poem so much.

SJ: Thank you. As always, a pleasure to hear from you.

Safuega: I know what you mean about phases with poetry. For me, both reading and writing of them tend to be on some mystical cycle I have yet to comprehend. There are just some points in time when I can capture moments with words. Other times, I feel like I'm describing a methods section of an experiment. Thank you for posting.

Cheers,
teddy

[fun in dysfuntion]

Nimble Fingers

curved body clasped against my chest
as nimble fingers dance
on taut lines
sliding,
pressing,
tapping familiar rhythms.

note-touched fingertips
weave strings of melodies
vibrating in my palms,
murmuring in my ears

downward strums
drive the tempo
of syncopated
flicks of my wrist
coaxing
the next chord.

[Safuega]

Oh Teddy, your last two poems have left me all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm not one for analyzing poetry much; to me poetry should evoke a feeling and/or feelings in the reader. It should also have beautiful and unexpected metaphor/phrase that make you go 'wow'. Poetry should also make the reader marvel at the beauty of language and words. You, Teddy, do all these things quite well.

Really like the music metaphor, and this stanza is particularly beautiful:

downward strums
drive the tempo
of syncopated
flicks of my wrist
coaxing
the next chord.

Also, got a nice mental image of a musician lovingly holding a cello in the first stanza when you describe holding the body of your beloved. Lovely, really.

Thanks for sharing, and at the risk of sounding greedy, please keep them coming.

Safuega

[fun in dysfuntion]

Hi Safuega,

Thank you for the compliments on my poetry. My poems almost always are based on an image in my head that I think is beautiful. And, I try to find words to describe my emotional reaction to the image. I'm glad I was able to successfully convey some of that emotion to you.

I generally don't write erotic poems (er, this is the only one), but it's what evolved when I started writing about playing the acoustic guitar.

Thanks again for the feedback,
teddy

[fun in dysfuntion]

Note: I think I'm in a nostalgic mood. I just attended yet another wedding of a high school friend (when did we suddenly all get married and started having kids?). Anyway, I came across some really old poetry (they were written in '91 when I was 16 or 17). The level of drama alone is tragic. Really, listening to Smiths and Cure tapes nonstop will warp a kid. I won't even pretend they are any good, but they are representative of me at 16. By the way, CO is the chemistry notation for carbon monoxide (the poem/song was about smoking). Yes, I was a always geek. I have a pictorial representation of a work of literature tattoed on my arm to prove it.

Spiral

somewhere I lost myself
escaped into my world
where darkness and light reverse
and colors spiral away

I released the last strings
of my reality
to drown in my own despair
where shadows smother my pleas

memories burned on my soul
left me empty and shy
my life can never be whole
when all I have are lies


CO Dreams

A flash of sulfur
burns to the tips
of my fingers
and starts the cycle
of my CO dreams

Ashes at my feet
are all that ‘s left
singed by the heat
and all that remains
are my CO dreams

Crushed beneath my heel
I walk away
nothing is real
nothing is left
but my CO dreams

It’s a state of mind
that I can’t explain
nor can I define
my own personal bane

Translucent spirals of white
float away
breathe in denial
breathe out the pain
into my CO dreams

[HalfCamel]

Teddy, how’s it goin?

I actually just found your poems a few days ago and I’ve read them all. But I’ve been shy about leaving fb because poetry usually goes right over my head… we don’t mesh well, poetry and I. I guess I’m just intimidated by it.

Nimble Fingers reminded me of the time I use to play the violin. I played for about five years when I was younger and I remember feeling this, like I was creating something with my own hands; something that was my own. As I was reading it and rereading it, memories kept popping into my head… the bow sliding across the strings, the vibrations of the strings against my cheek, the movements of my fingers, the notes that came out… and on and on. Now granted, at the time I didn’t think about it as sensual and sexy, but as I got older I appreciated the sensual aspect about it. Now, every time I hear a stringed instrument I stop and sigh.

And Spiral. Oh, Teddy Teddy. Spiral really really spoke to me. Spiral is a snapshot of my life right now. This I can identify with on every level, but I could never hope to capture it the way you have, or had actually. The imagery is so… vivid and the words just cut into me as I was reading. It’s all so tragic, and so very very real. You know, I didn't have a drama and angst filled high school experience, it was all very pleasant and fun for me. So when I got out of h.s. I naively thought to myself, "hey that wasn't bad at all how much worse could it be?" And now at 23 I'm kicking self for even thinking that. Anyways, I’m tripping over my words trying to express myself, so I’m just gonna stop. Hope I made some kind of sense.

So no, these weren’t good… these were great. Just like the rest of your stuff. Thank you so much for letting us take a dip into your past. (And apparently my present )

Til next time,
Jackie

[fun in dysfuntion]

Hi Jackie,

Ah, it's going well. A little blocked with the fanfic writing, but my poetry is always something I have lingering around. Truthfully, a lot of poetry flies over my head, too. So, I just move on to some other poem that speaks to me.

Yes, my guitar and I have traveled together for a while. I've always felt instruments are quite intimate. I still ask my closest friends who I've played with since high school if I may touch their guitar/bass/whathaveyou, and I still feel a bizarre shyness that overcomes me when I pick up someone else's instrument. And, there is something about hearing music that I have created that still gives me a shiver.

Spiral was written in a point in my life when I thought things were just so out of control. I had just realized I was queer, and I really didn't want to acknowledge it. Friends, family and their expectations, my future which was looking more pathetic by the moment (I had a tendency to cut school and hang out in parks with my guitar)...and the escapism that I desparately tried to cling to. I'm glad this poem resonated for you if only to be evidence that someone else has felt/feels the chaos of life.

Thank you for the lovely post.
teddy

[Safuega]

Aaaww Teddy, such sweet poems, and much more articulate than my own poetry at that age. My poems were all about the suffering of humankind. Thankfully I stopped. You think that listening to the Cure can warp a kid, try reading Jorge Luis Borges, Cortazar, and Marques at 14. It positively ruined me!

Thanks for sharing these poems Teddy. I liked them both because I think that you captured well the chaos and confusion of those years. Remember how everything seemed like the end of the world back then?

Oh by the way, my poetry phase started when I realized I was a lesbian. Talk about the power of poetry to help you cope.

Take care,

Safuega

[fun in dysfuntion]

Hiya Safuega,

Oh dear lord, I was never bright enough to read Jorge Luis Borges, Cortazar, and Marques at 14 (er, probably still not bright enough to understand their writing today). Reading Argentinean and Puerto Rican writers never even dawned on me. But, I did notice your nick is associated with political lesbian activists from Mexico, so I'm not completely clueless.

I'm glad that you enjoyed the flashback angst. I was a cliché adolescent who tended to believe that most of the events happening in my life were harbingers of the "end". Writing helped when I couldn't talk with anyone. Not that there weren't people who would listen...I just couldn't bring myself to talk about a lot of stuff. It's the same for me today.

Thanks for the feedback,
teddy

[Safuega]

I was never bright enough to read Jorge Luis Borges, Cortazar, and Marques at 14

Actually, neither was I. I was just your regular stubborn and introspective Scorpio teenager biting more than I could chew just to prove that I could do it.

I'm not completely clueless.

You most definitely are not clueless. In fact, clueless would be the last word I would think of to describe you. I read your poems and I find a great deal of awareness, self-awareness and depth. This is no small feat, my dear, not at all.

And you are right about my sig. I first heard the name from my ex girlfriend who actually knew Safuega. Safuega was (I don't know if she is still alive or not) a Dutch lesbian activist that lived in Mexico and started a project called Oasis, a sort of Herstory project, to document Latin American lesbian history. When I first heard the name, I found it strangely alluring, powerful, and beautiful.

I was a cliché adolescent who tended to believe that most of the events happening in my life were harbingers of the "end"

Weren't we all? I think it just came with the territory. But isn't it amazing how we all thought it (whatever it was at the time) was happening only to us?

Writing helped when I couldn't talk with anyone. I just couldn't bring myself to talk about a lot of stuff.

You wrote, I read. To this day, when I have something to deal with I hit the books first before talking. Old habits die hard, I guess. But hey, isn't it a happy coincidence that now you continue to write, and here I am happily reading your stuff!

I truly do enjoy your poems, and your stories in DCP. I mean, who could not love 'fuzzy angst'?

I look forward to reading more of your poems.

Safuega

[SJ]

Like both those poems,great expressive writing.

[onyxsundrops]

I really enjoyed both poems, but I think I liked Spiral the best. Thanks for sharing.

Yvonne

[fun in dysfuntion]

Hi everyone,

Thanks for posting your feedback. It's always good to hear from folks.

Safuega: Oh. I was very similar in reading things I really didn't understand just to do it. I read Catcher in the Rye when I was 12 just to show that I could read the books my sister was reading as a sophmore in high school. Strangely enough, I enjoyed it.

I've always thought adolescence was a particularly rough time for anyone. Hormones are wonky, expected to act like an adult but treated like a child, and the sudden pressure to figure out what one wants to do with the rest of her/his life. It's amazing any of us make it past it.

Oh dear. You're reading the fuzzy angst one. Really, that is a sign that I need to get away from my school work. I started to think of life using terms from statistics.

Thanks for the post.

SJ: Thanks for dropping by and tolerating the flashback poems.

onyxsundrops: Hey Evy! Really, I gotta control my urge to share my teenage poems because they are pretty bad. I'm glad you enjoyed Spiral. Thanks for reading the flashback poems.

Cheers,
teddy

[fun in dysfuntion]

words

listen to the silence
around the words
pauses of breath

layered meanings
wrapped tightly
in a briefly averted gaze

count the sighs
ushering sticky words
shaking them loose
from a reluctant tongue

laconic throat
circumscribes my words,
I understand.

[BreatheNoMore]

Spiral

somewhere I lost myself
escaped into my world
where darkness and light reverse
and colors spiral away

I released the last strings
of my reality
to drown in my own despair
where shadows smother my pleas

memories burned on my soul
left me empty and shy
my life can never be whole
when all I have are lies

hehe.. I like that, and it's more like the things I write. And it's sad, which is always good. I like the first verse most.

[Safuega]

Teddy:

The poem is called Words and yet you describe everything but! I know next to nothing about music, but reading this latest poem I remembered my high school music class and how in music, the pauses between the notes were just as important as the notes themselves. I read your poem and suddenly the silences, gestures, and all the 'invisible' things that are there but we ignore when words come into being are made visible and present.

You do a wonderful job of describing and showing us how communication is so much more than mere words, and yet how all these things may express more than the words themselves. That is, if you knew how to read those signs and could look beyond the expectation of words.

And then there is the last stanza, which is so full resignation! Perhaps the sighs, the silences, the layered meanings are not the vital pieces that are part of communication, but rather they are the unhappy result of your body's (i.e., throat) betrayal and failure you when you need it most.

Lovely poem. I think I've thought enough about this to declare that "Longing" is my favorite poem of yours, and I'll go on a limb now and say that "Words" is in second place, but don't quote me on that just yet.

Thanks for sharing, Teddy.

Safuega

ETA none poem things:
1. Yup reading the fuzzy angst and would beg you to continue whenever you can/want.
2. Hated statistics in grad school. Still hate it now and I'm thankful I don't really have any use for it. I'm strictly a Political Science/Literary geek.
3. Catcher in the Rye was one of the first books I read when I learned English. The first one was the Old Man and the Sea.

[Boschi]

Ah Teddy.

"words" is... painful. Good painful. OK, not so much good "happy happy joy joy" as good effective. So yes art, but dammit - ouch.

I completely agree with Safuega's comment about the resignation of the last stanza. The feeling of your body betraying you at those moments, and of that betrayal being the final nail in the coffin of your hopes just... sucks great gobs of goo.

I've also been remiss in not commenting on "Longing" - wanted to say in particular that the mix of sensations - touch/texture, smell, and sight in the second stanza is just lovely.

Thanks again for sharing these.

[SJ]

Great poem.

[fun in dysfuntion]

Hiya everyone,

Thank you so much for your latest feedback. I was trying to capture the difficulty in communication with Words. How we can hear the messages in the words being used, but there are also underlying messages tied to the nonverbal behavior that sometimes matches the verbal, but sometimes not.

Breathenomore: Jenni! Glad you liked Spiral. Really not my best work. I just thought I'd give folks something to giggle about from my past.

Safeuga: Thank you for catching my bit of irony with the title. I think I had a few things bumping around my head when I wrote this poem. One is the interaction communication style of my parents. It may perhaps have been cultural, but I learned that when they were trying to say something oftentimes the real messages where the things they *didn't* say. A simple observation like "the dishes aren't washed" really meant "the dishes should have been washed before I noticed them in the sink". Another idea was the power of nonverbal messages. Taking a deep breath that almost sounds like a sigh braces oneself before having to say something unpleasant or breaking eye contact when talking can add doubt to the sincerity of what has been said. And, I'm just normally a very shy person and trying to convey anything outloud verbally is difficult for me.

Perhaps the sighs, the silences, the layered meanings are not the vital pieces that are part of communication, but rather they are the unhappy result of your body's (i.e., throat) betrayal and failure you when you need it most.

Oh wow. That is a wonderful interpretation. The idea you have written there is much more complex than my own. Honestly, that is brilliant. You have given me something to think about in terms of that last stanza.

1. Thank you for reading the fuzzy angst one too. I will come back to it.
2. Stats are dreadful, but they aren't too bad when they have a purpose. I study social psychology and of course I'm drawn to one of the most antisocial areas (stats). I like contrast.
3. Multilingual. I'm envious.

Thank you for the feedback.

Boschi: Yes. I really was going for the painful awkwardness of communication. Safuega's observation is very astute about how one's own body language and failure to find words may be eliciting the awkwardness from the other person. I can't take credit for her brilliance.

I'm a bit of a romantic. I really loved the letters she sent more so than the emails or even the phone calls. And, the reason I loved the letters so much was because I had something tangeble to touch that she had held.

SJ: Thank you for reading and posting feedback.

Cheers,
teddy