When Your Brain Is Pancake Batter

*all the parts in parentheses are supposed to be indented but the blog won't let me do it for some strange and unknown reason*

Dizzy dazes are my vice
On days when brains will melt like ice
When cognition has no hand to hold
. (A sorry state, as I’ve been told)
And so it holds fast to its own
Thoughts get lost here all alone
They wander ‘round, they slide and slip
Soupy minds can’t get a grip
They float around so lazily
While synapses fire crazily
Only to burn out too fast
. (Connections here can’t hope to last)
They fry and frazzle, run so wild
Turn a woman to a child
Who can only clutch her teddy bear
Suck her thumb and blankly stare
As life explodes before her eyes
. (The moment fantasy always dies)
And reality slaps her thinning cheek
Forces her to smile and speak
To spew the phrase, “I’m fine, just fine!”
To blink away the teary shine
There’s no time, so grab your tissues
Life won’t wait here for your issues
Sprint in time with it; don’t fight
. (Though it takes up all your might)
Catch your childish butterflies
You know quite well they’re only lies
But pretty colors dull the ache
Of a truth that even you can’t shake
Hate it, cut it; it’s still there
A biting ether in your air
Breathe it in; it’ll knock you down
. (Your pillow is your only crown)
Your fairytales, they crumbled quickly
Left behind a head that’s sickly
That can’t contain its only brain
Can only latch on the mundane
The tangible can cloud your vision
Can take the edge off sheer derision
Until you don’t know left from right
You’ll soon prefer the dark to light
Where everything blurs into one
. (Reality stands out in the sun)
You wouldn’t quite know how to feel
If you looked at what was real
It could only further melt your brain
. (You swore you wouldn’t go insane)
So hug your teddy, hold him tight
He’ll tell you things will be alright
You know better, but no matter
When your brain is pancake batter
Childish promises are all you’ve got
Better judgment amounts to naught
Soft, bright blankies serve to hide
Life’s much truer, harsher side
Here you’ll find sweet lullabies
Hidden in your butterflies
The ones that flutter in your head
While you lie awake in bed
Wondering how things got so tough
Believing used to be enough
But now it hardly helps at all
. (It can’t even break your fall)
So wish upon your star so bright
Lie down and kiss yourself goodnight
Close you eyes and hope and pray
That tomorrow you’ll finally face the day

~Kassi~

Look! Kendra's posting from college!

Hey everyone! I hope everyone's having a great year and that poetry club is going swimmingly. I miss you guys so much. Every time I write a new poem the first thing I think is always "Ahh I can't wait to read this at poetry club!" Then I remember that I am 4 hours away from poetry club and won't be back until December and promptly become very upset. So I've decided to send a little piece of myself to poetry club to hold you guys over until December :). This is the best poem I've written to date and I hope you all like it.

"Steinway" 9/27/2008

He sits at the piano with his shaking hands and sweating brow
Not knowing if there’s anything left in him to play
The chords of his heartstrings have turned diminished in quality
And when he tries to play them the world becomes his tritone
He sees the world in half steps and whole tone scales
Not in the major scales like children expect the world to be
Because he’s seen the flats in people’s minds
And the sharps in people’s souls
He tries to play his life like a waltz with a happy ending
But at the end of the day it’s all he can do not to
Try and squeeze himself in the space between the black and white keys
And hide under the dampers
His mind races in arpeggios of questions and chaos
As he tries to figure out where his bass line ends and his heartbreak begins
Where the light ring of a high C turns into his tears falling onto the ivory
He melts into the piano bench and transposes himself onto the pages of music inside
For he feels that if he makes himself look like the Opuses of Beethoven
Maybe people will listen to what he has to play
He places his hands on the ivory extension of his soul and plays
From his childhood all the way to him sitting at the piano with his shaking hands
And his sweating brow
Finally when he’s played his entire being into the acoustics of his existence
He plays himself to sleep
And dreams of all the sonatas and suites he wishes he could be.
~


Love and Peace to everyone,
Kendra L. Nutting ♥

Who We Are

(I really love this poem. It's...poetry and the power of words and us all mixed into one. Hope you enjoy it!)

We are the poets of the world
Artists of the word
Creators of the rhyme
We see a million futures
In all the pasts left behind
We defy the definitions
But conform to form
We explore the outside edges
Where reality's been torn
We trespass into dangerous lands
We follow foggy paths to unplanned destinations
We set convention on its head
Inside out, upside down
We take practicality
And spin her 'round and 'round
We weave hormones into phrases
And neurons into stories
We speak of the unspeakable
We sing the unsung glories
We disect the alphabet
And cobble together new words
We listen to the colors
We see what has been heard
We halt the ticking clock
To examine all the facets of time
We use eloquence
To change the recesses of the mind.
We know the power that words can hold
They can start revolutions
And heal lost souls.
So welcome to our world
It's a priveleged few
Who know that boundaries are...boundless
And so are you.

Frances

Yesteryears have left strange thoughts behind.
In this central bowl of knowledge I spoon through leaflets and pamphlets
trying to let it all digest
in a manner which I can understand.
Yet the past isn't opening up to me.
Nature's not being what I need it to be.
So tell me Emerson, Whitman
let your century old breath whisper to me
what's next?
I've kept my sabbath all by myself and I'm still only where I started
calling out to a God I fear can'r hear me.
I've read your essays and your speeches
I've peeked into your personla lives and what I found
were just leaves, just grass
(a smell I unknowingly despise).
Your will was stronger than my own
your democracy stands enumerated through time,
when will you allow this light to shine on me?

Beggars can't be choosers
but choosers can be losers
can I can't go back to Confucius
because he was meant to confuse us...

Eve's furies are shadow-cast over my every bend, turn, and twist
How do you justify this?
I've looked into the past
and in every reincarnation I've been slaughtered and underminded,
I've been used to wage wars and slaughtered to make peace.
Tell me where I stand.
Tell me where I stand amongst God's and peasants-
adorments of either diamonds or coal

I've been searching for the answer but
age-ed leaflet's haven't spoken yet,
will they whisper for you?

Deidre-Ann Fuller

I'm under the gun
And above the petrified remnants
Of the plastered smile society.
I'm once again gliding,
Not to touch the pavement.
I no longer scream at night.
Into the tunneled memory of my failures.
I appreciate the thought,
But I don't want your poison.
You're punished by the anesthetic
That lines the walls of your wound
In healing pinstripes.
Disinfecting the memory
Of the nights you picked the scabs
To relive each battle
That you fought in the
City of Fire
Sing in me Sinister Muse!
And tell all our friends
The story of the sulfur
And the lies.

-Steve?-

What will you do?

When the world turns cold,
When silence falls like rain,
When the stars are broken
By all the pain,
The choice becomes obvious,
But harder to choose,
Stuck in limbo right now
Choose wrong and you lose.
You gamble all
That ever was and will be.
The brightness blinds you
Indefinitely.
When the Earth turns dark,
When sunlight falls gray,
You bet just to reach
Another day
But if the cards are wrong,
If they play you,
What then? What then?
What will you do?

~Frances~
(Not the best, I know, but it's summer and writing at all is an accomplishment at this point!)

Painkillers For Each Beautiful Throb

She bulletproofs the silence
Of these isolated streets.
They once were bright with the faces of misery.
She sweeps the dust away from the feet of the shadowed corpses,
Arranged meticulously as to portray what
Goals their cold eyes once represented.
I don't want to be hospitalized for this disease.
The cancerous love spreads,
Killing the cells and reproducing.
Her perfect gaze,
Sweetly caressing the life out of my thoughts.
A picture of her soft lips,
And entrancing eyes,
Is plastered against my skull.
I could live in this beautiful paralyzation untill I die.
And even then I suppose
She'll be my mind.
My unfufilled fantasies
Will have eternal life.
I just hope that the buzzards that will gnaw at my brain,
As I lie in the vast field off the interstate,
Will find you as attractive as I did.
Bloated admirers of yours will flood the morgues.
Merely just seeing your face on a passing bus,
Will commence
Your sexy
Epidemic.

-Steve?-