Category Archives: Poems

This is All: The Pillow Book of Cordelia Kenn by Aiden Chambers

Let me start by saying that This is All has been sitting in the purgatory that is my To Read list for at least a handful of years. It’s a fictional diary of sorts, detailing the life and writings of 15-19 year old Brit Cordelia Kenn. She begins the book as a sixteenth birthday present to her unborn child and it chronicles her first love, losing her virginity, her budding friendship with a beloved teacher, and the growing pains-strangled relationship that she and her parents struggled with. n232254

I absolutely loved it–thank sweet baby Jesus–because the massive tome is 800 pages long! (And, I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean when I say that there’s Harry Potter 800 pages and… well… everything else 800 pages.) A few months ago I read The Kissing Game by Mr. Chambers and I just didn’t get it. So color me surprised that a 70 year old man could capture the inner-workings of a teenage girl with such clarity!

“The demons of the Devil don’t use your weak weaknesses against you, they use your strong ones. If you’re rational and logical, they argue their case rationally and logically. If you’re loyal and faithful, they turn those against you. If you’re passionate and emotional, they make you passionate and emotional about your worse fears. Your weak weaknesses are no use to them…. They find the strongest weaknesses you didn’t know were yours and use those against you.”

The hugeness of it all is divided into several parts to digest more easily. I didn’t mind that, but for some reason Chambers felt it necessary to have a 150+ page book that required you to flip back and forth every other page A to B to follow two different strains of Cordelia’s experience at once. I understand that one is what she was writing at the time and the other was what she was living at the time, but spare me. It’s awkward enough to support such a heavy book for hours on end without having to keep track of where the hell you are every two pages.

(As a side note: I don’t remember if it was ever described, but I always pictured Cordelia and Will to be black. It doesn’t matter really, but did anyone else find themselves imagining the same thing? Also, the ending and the tampon scene… SAY WHAAAAT?!)

All in all, probably one of the best coming-of-age stories I have ever read. I just wish I had the clarity, strength of character, and insight that Cordelia had when I was floundering through my teen years.

5 mopes of 5

 

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The Loom of Time by Unknown Author : Dedicated to the Memory of Nicholas Tarr

This post is dedicated to my friend Nick, who tragically lost his life  in a car accident last night. He was a beloved friend to many. May you find peace wherever you are, and know that all of our lives are a little bit brighter because you were in them. You were a golden thread, my darling.

 

Man’s life is laid in the loom of time

To a pattern he does not see,

While weavers work and the shuttles fly

Till the dawn of eternity.

Some shuttles are filled with silver threads

And some with threads of gold,

While often but the darker hues

Are all that they may hold.

But the weaver watches with skillful eye

Each shuttle fly to and fro,

And sees the pattern so deftly wrought

As the loom moves sure and slow.

God surely planned the pattern;

Each thread, the dark and fair,

Is chosen by His master skill

And placed in the web with care.

He only knows its beauty,

And guides the shuttles which do hold

The threads so unattractive,

As well as the threads of gold.

Not til each loom is silent,

And the shuttles cease to fly,

Shall God reveal the pattern

And explain the reason why.

The dark threads were as needful

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

For the pattern which He planned.


Mad Girl’s Love Song by Sylvia Plath

 



I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; 
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Poem: Emma Bull

For it All

Fantasies of violence, breaking bottles on the wall

Hungry for the motion, for the action, for it all.

Road noise on the night street, see the tail lights through the blinds

Out there where your dreams slide toward the night side, for it all.

For it all, for it all, what you’re aching for

When the magic’s real

and like a fire in the sky

When the deal calls for a sacrifice and you know you cannot die

For the edge the best ones live on, for it all.

You want to be a hero, with the axe about to fall

You’d buy it for the love and for the glory, for it all.

You want to dress in black

and lose your heart beyond recall.

Hunt a dream through rain and thunder,

on your honor, for it all.

In you head, no car is fast enough

In your heart, no love is true

Would it ruin all your solitary fantasies

If I tell you that it isn’t only you?

Keep your ankles off the tailpipe,

Keeo your boot heels off the street

We’ll hit the throttle, we’ll hit the redline

We’ll find the edge

We’ll make it sweet

We’ll go for it all.


Poem: William Stafford

Being a Person

Be a person here. Stand by the river, invoke

the owls. Invoke winter, then spring.

Let any season that wants to come here make its own

call. After that sound goes away, wait.

A slow bubble rises through the earth

and begins to include sky, stars, all space,

even the outracing, expanding thought.

Come back and hear the little sound again.

Suddenly this dream you are having matches

everyone’s dream, and the result is the world.

If a different call came there wouldn’t be any

world, or you, or the river, or the owls calling.

How you stand here is important. How you

listen for the next things to happen. How you breathe.

-William Stafford