Black Leather Journal

Oh where is my journal: black, slender and sleek?
My mind has been working, and soon it must speak!

I've fetched my best pens and bottle of ink
so that soon I may write the things that I think

It's marvelous to ponder, and please, I implore
Write on these pages, no details ignore

What's happened today sets stage for a play.
The people: the actors in each their own way.

And what of tomorrow? I can't soon forget,
so on these blank pages, no writing neglect.

Best Two Out of Three

So this morning you find
you've lost your own game.
You once were the lion
what made you so tame?
There once was a time
when you were her king
there never were fights
no tears,
no sting.
Only her smile,
her soft golden hair,
but now you are drowning
in waves of despair.
Short moments of hope
while you gasp for dear air
fuel desire to live:
don't falter!
don't give!
Defeat is surrender,
surrender defeat!
But still you are drowning,
it's painful to see
that now you're defeated
best two out of three.

Wraivyn

In Elwyn Woods, I first did meet my friend
Who's known as Wraivyn. "Hark," she cried to me
That night, "to Blue Recluse around the bend!"
And so we drank and sights we left to see.
For years we've laughed and fought along the land.
And though we've never truly met, except
In land of fantasy, I know the hand
And laugh of Wrai', in mind I keep her kept.
I must admit, she's quite insane that girl
Who I call Wrai'. She creeps behind and yells,
"Don't jump!" and laughs and gives her hair a twirl.
At night she hides (beneath my bed she dwells).
It seems the Blue Recluse is never far
From me and her: that woman quite bizarre.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elwyn Woods is a land from World of Warcraft's Azeroth. This poem is a Shakespearean sonnet I wrote for a friend I made in the game. We never shared our real names with each other. Together we endured dungeons, quests, guilds and dragons. I tangle with this concept in the simply put "For years we've laughed and fought along the land," and it's true "we've never truly met, except" for World of Warcraft. Since the mode of communication in this game is mostly via type, I comment that I know the hand, rather than the voice of my friend.

The last four lines three inside jokes. Occasionally, one of us would threaten to have our avatars commit suicide by flying as high up as possible and then falling. The result is the other avatar yelling "Don't jump!"
The second inside joke is her hiding beneath my bed. Supposedly, she lives under my bed and bakes me cookies, because she's "a crazy eskimo from Alaska" (The Alaskan part is true). 
The final inside joke is our connection with the in-game bar, "The Blue Recluse", the place we first met and visited occasionally for in-game drunken fun.

Lucid Dreaming

To see, to think, to dream.
To dream? Do I dare to dream
to be? To be alive inside a dream.
To see? Have I ever truly seen
my dreams? And then, am I
really me? Or is this just the way
I think I seem to be?
--To be? By the means we dare,
we be. We be by means we
dare, dream.
And then, am I really me?
Or is this just a dream?

Passion of an English Major, explained

I am of life: I live and breathe and think,
I feel. What else is there at all to say?
Is life a goal or daily quest? Does ink
on page define the passing of these days?
I yearn to write of all the scenes I see.
I crave to read the hearts of those who came
before and during my short life. I plea
to those who read my words: what great acclaim
is there to find in inky blood? I've tried
to speak with love and truth. What there, within,
speaks not alone of that which I've implied?
Can one relate to what I've said therein?
Yes, please do look within yourself and tell
me, kindly, what inside does live and dwell?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here is one of my Shakesperean sonnets. The subject of the poem is myself. What can you learn about me form this poem? I intentionally leave out the 10th line separation to amplify part of the theme: information over several lines, because this is similar to my dialect: building on ideas with more ideas and continuing thoughts over a period of space.

The first two lines are my favorite. I am of life. That's all anyone is, of life. I downplay the idea of "living" with the following description of life: "I live and breathe and think, I feel." Is that all there is to life?

I like to play games. Video or otherwise, I make challenges into games or quests to complete hence the line "is life a goal or daily quest?" And what if all that life is good for is quantifying everything you've ever done. I write a lot, so the definition for my life very well may be what I have written. Hence the separated line "Does ink on page define the passing of these days?" Notice the use of the word days. All of life is a continuation of day after day. Rather than years, I focus on the singular days. LIVE IN THE MOMENT is a slight theme of this line.

Whenever I go somewhere, I'm always thinking about writing down my experiences like a narrative. Every "scene I see" is another chapter for the autobiography in my head. And with so many works to read, how can I ever finish them all? There are so many incredible books and authors I want to read about, but even if I spend every waking second reading for the rest of my life, it is unlikely I will read everything I want to. This is why I emphasize life as being short in the 7th line. And since life is short, "I plea". What do I plea? I plea to anyone that reads me works to find the deeper theme in my poems. What great acclaim have I made in INKY BLOOD. I pour a great detail into anything I write, particularly poetry. So the blood is symbolic of the effort put into everything I write. It's essentially a part of my being. 

But of course, what's the point of writing something if no one ever relates to it? "Can one relate to what I've said therein?" What does this say about me? I like to relate to people. I enjoy talking to people on an intellectual level and maybe, just maybe they'll understand where I come from with whatever I'm talking about.

The last two lines, as any in a poem should be, are the most important lines. What can you learn from me based on the last two lines alone? the simply answer is that I enjoy hearing other people's stories. I like to know what makes a person "tick", what dreams do they have, what thoughts parade through their minds? What is it that lives and dwells in the depths of a person's being. This is who I am: someone that wants to learn about others lives. This relates to by hobby of "people watching", seeing how people interact in social situations. I do not impose upon the people I watch, but rather quietly observe. "tell me, kindly...." I'm not demanding, I'm asking politely for the reader to tell me about themselves.

Aira: City Born of Fear (Part I)

Sleep won't come to me tonight,
not after such a sightly fright.
Do I dream, am I awake?
Or am I dead beneath that lake?


Flee, do flee! If you go near
Aira: city born of fear,
only horror does await.
Learn from my most grievous fate!
When the moon begins to rise,
look and see, it's Satan's eye
staring down on tainted waves;
dead beneath rise from their graves.


And into the lake they drag
any fool who's fool to lag
after sinking of the sun.
Yet still the nightmare's just begun...

Passion of an English Major

I'm not a huge fan of writing about myself, especially in poetry. Certainly, I use personal experience to draw from for inspiration. So I was less excited than I might have been otherwise, when assigned in a creative writing class to construct a sonnet about myself. Nonetheless, here's the Shakespearean sonnet I produced.

I am of life: I live and breathe and think,
I feel. What else is there at all to say?
Is life a goal or daily quest? Does ink
on page define the passing of these days?
I yearn to write of all the scenes I see.
I crave to read the hearts of those who came
before and during my short life. I plea
to those who read my words: what great acclaim
is there to find in inky blood? I've tried
to speak with love and truth. What there, within,
speaks not alone of that which I've implied?
Can one relate to what I've said therein?
Yes, please look within yourself and tell
me, kindly, what inside does live and dwell?

Silent War On Enchanted Times

A silent war on pleasant times
fought within my own sad mind.
Are you not weary of the fight?

Memories invade at night,
and steal any peace they find.
Have you not fought this long enough?

Control the thoughts, they'll eat alive
the peace of mind, or what they find.
Are you not weary of the fight?

It's always simpler said than done,
but finally the battle's won!
No more hope of enchanted times.
Are you not weary of the fight?
Had you not fought this long enough?