I didn't realize how long I have been neglecting my poor blog until today. I am a bad, bad blogger. Anyway...
So here's what's happened since my last entry:
-Job-hunting
-Tim and I celebrated our 6th anniversary
-Job-hunting
-Turned a whole year older and, in so doing, realized I am now closer to 30 than 20
-Job-hunting
-Found an old friend (well, she found me actually)
-Job-hunting
-Steadily going stir crazy from a severe lack of anything constructive to do
-and did I mention job-hunting?
I heard the job market sucks, but jesus-christ-monkey-balls, it really sucks--especially if you have just graduated with an English degree. But I may have a good solid lead; I'll say more about that on Tuesday (I don't want to jinx it).
and now a shout out to my girl Michelle... hey there. I have called you and e-mailed you now, so you better get back to me.
So...um...yeah... I haven't any new poetry, so I will now post something old, yet new to this blog, to keep you satiated for just a little while longer. I promise I won't take so long posting again. (You can also check out Tim's blog in the mean time--some wacky stuff over there!). Enjoy!
This Damned Rush-Hour My Prison:
A View of Modern Life through the Eyes of Samuel Coleridge
Hell, I have stopped, and here I must remain,
This damned rush-hour my prison! I have lost
Meetings and greetings, such as would have been
Most sweet for my attendance even when age
Had dimmed my prose to triteness! They, meanwhile,
“Friends,” whom I never want to meet again,
On HOV, along the highway’s edge,
Rush past the madness, and slow down, perchance,
To red/blue flashing lights, of which now told;
The flashing lights, of police, they’re in shit deep,
And he was hidden by the late-day sun;
Where its slim chanced they will see cop from rock,
Flings his radar at them;—they turn pale ash,
Unsunned they seem as the blood from their faces leaves
Ne’er wont to go to jail, yet tremble still,
Fanned out the crack-pipe! and then my “friends,”
Behold the dark blue uniform through weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)
Still drew his gun at them while walking the edge
Of the highway stone.
Now my “friends” emerge
Beneath the wide-eyed traffic—and viewed again
The rubbernecking pack magnificent
Of Volkswagens and Hondas, and then see,
With a fair smirk, myself, who putters up
The cleared HOV lane betwixt two isles
Of standstill traffic! Yes! I hurry on
In my Pinto; but now, for you, I'm glad,
My cop-outsmarted yuppies! For you have pined
And hungered for my Stature, many a year,
In many Starbucks, tracing my way
With sad and contrite tone, you all are a pain
And thorn in my mad ass! Ah! slowly sink
Behind the opened trunk, hilarious fun!
Shine-on the cop holding your smoking orb,
Ye-s! Wilt poseur-poets! Sit and curse the clouds!
Live in the flashing lights; my distance grows!
And call your high-priced lawyers! See one “Friend”
Struck for trying to stand, as I have stood,
Silent with swimming head; they gaze around
On the wide highway, gaze as if to seem
Less than guilty; as if such hues
As that, fool the mighty Warrant, which yet he makes,
Spirits fall in its presence.
A delight
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad
As I myself were there! Nor in this hour,
This maddening rush-hour, have I not marked
Much that would soothe me. Pale beneath the blaze
Hung their sad sullen faces; I would watch
Some broad and silly plea, and love to see
The faces of those poseurs from above
Dappling with their tears! And a stoic tree
Was as my response, pleading voices would lay
Full on the excuses, which usurps
Those sympathies—not!, and now, with blackest mass
Makes their cases before the fading hue
Through the late twilight: and right off the bat
Wheels of more cops halt, as a lone bird twitters,
Yet one, as others claim they innocent be,
Sings of their crack-head guilt! Henceforth I shall know
That idiocy ne’er deserts the young and rich;
No thought so narrow, be but air in there,
No head so vacant, but may well employ
Each credit card of dad’s, and keep their heart
Awake to Grants and Franklins! And sometimes
‘Tis well to be bereft of promised good,
That we may lift the Soul, and contemplate
With lively joy the things it lets us share,
My cop-outsmarted yuppies! With the loud rock
Beat emanating from car to the air
Homewards I floor it! Grinning, I take wing
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)
Had crossed the mighty overpass in glory,
While thou stood’st gazing; handcuffed, crouching still,
Flew my car o’er their heads, I had no charm
For thee, my cop-outsmarted yuppies, to whom
No coin is minted which can show you Life.
**********copyright james yeager 2004**********
So here's what's happened since my last entry:
-Job-hunting
-Tim and I celebrated our 6th anniversary
-Job-hunting
-Turned a whole year older and, in so doing, realized I am now closer to 30 than 20
-Job-hunting
-Found an old friend (well, she found me actually)
-Job-hunting
-Steadily going stir crazy from a severe lack of anything constructive to do
-and did I mention job-hunting?
I heard the job market sucks, but jesus-christ-monkey-balls, it really sucks--especially if you have just graduated with an English degree. But I may have a good solid lead; I'll say more about that on Tuesday (I don't want to jinx it).
and now a shout out to my girl Michelle... hey there. I have called you and e-mailed you now, so you better get back to me.
So...um...yeah... I haven't any new poetry, so I will now post something old, yet new to this blog, to keep you satiated for just a little while longer. I promise I won't take so long posting again. (You can also check out Tim's blog in the mean time--some wacky stuff over there!). Enjoy!
A View of Modern Life through the Eyes of Samuel Coleridge
Hell, I have stopped, and here I must remain,
This damned rush-hour my prison! I have lost
Meetings and greetings, such as would have been
Most sweet for my attendance even when age
Had dimmed my prose to triteness! They, meanwhile,
“Friends,” whom I never want to meet again,
On HOV, along the highway’s edge,
Rush past the madness, and slow down, perchance,
To red/blue flashing lights, of which now told;
The flashing lights, of police, they’re in shit deep,
And he was hidden by the late-day sun;
Where its slim chanced they will see cop from rock,
Flings his radar at them;—they turn pale ash,
Unsunned they seem as the blood from their faces leaves
Ne’er wont to go to jail, yet tremble still,
Fanned out the crack-pipe! and then my “friends,”
Behold the dark blue uniform through weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)
Still drew his gun at them while walking the edge
Of the highway stone.
Now my “friends” emerge
Beneath the wide-eyed traffic—and viewed again
The rubbernecking pack magnificent
Of Volkswagens and Hondas, and then see,
With a fair smirk, myself, who putters up
The cleared HOV lane betwixt two isles
Of standstill traffic! Yes! I hurry on
In my Pinto; but now, for you, I'm glad,
My cop-outsmarted yuppies! For you have pined
And hungered for my Stature, many a year,
In many Starbucks, tracing my way
With sad and contrite tone, you all are a pain
And thorn in my mad ass! Ah! slowly sink
Behind the opened trunk, hilarious fun!
Shine-on the cop holding your smoking orb,
Ye-s! Wilt poseur-poets! Sit and curse the clouds!
Live in the flashing lights; my distance grows!
And call your high-priced lawyers! See one “Friend”
Struck for trying to stand, as I have stood,
Silent with swimming head; they gaze around
On the wide highway, gaze as if to seem
Less than guilty; as if such hues
As that, fool the mighty Warrant, which yet he makes,
Spirits fall in its presence.
A delight
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad
As I myself were there! Nor in this hour,
This maddening rush-hour, have I not marked
Much that would soothe me. Pale beneath the blaze
Hung their sad sullen faces; I would watch
Some broad and silly plea, and love to see
The faces of those poseurs from above
Dappling with their tears! And a stoic tree
Was as my response, pleading voices would lay
Full on the excuses, which usurps
Those sympathies—not!, and now, with blackest mass
Makes their cases before the fading hue
Through the late twilight: and right off the bat
Wheels of more cops halt, as a lone bird twitters,
Yet one, as others claim they innocent be,
Sings of their crack-head guilt! Henceforth I shall know
That idiocy ne’er deserts the young and rich;
No thought so narrow, be but air in there,
No head so vacant, but may well employ
Each credit card of dad’s, and keep their heart
Awake to Grants and Franklins! And sometimes
‘Tis well to be bereft of promised good,
That we may lift the Soul, and contemplate
With lively joy the things it lets us share,
My cop-outsmarted yuppies! With the loud rock
Beat emanating from car to the air
Homewards I floor it! Grinning, I take wing
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)
Had crossed the mighty overpass in glory,
While thou stood’st gazing; handcuffed, crouching still,
Flew my car o’er their heads, I had no charm
For thee, my cop-outsmarted yuppies, to whom
No coin is minted which can show you Life.
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