i n • p u r s u i t

Praise song for the day. Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair. Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice. A woman and her son wait for the bus. A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin." We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider. We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road." We need to find a place where we are safe; We wal...

a snowflake falls and melts on the ground mom goes to the market to buy bread and milk kids wear pajamas inside-out a superstition for school closings tomorrow morning we'll watch the news with fingers crossed ♥, TiffanyAnne p.s. photo not mine! photo is "snowflake on black" from my favorite photoblog daily dose of imagery

it was not what i wanted to say but i said it maybe for your heart maybe for mine i uttered that simple 'no thank you' knowing we would both be better for it anyway friend is a six-letter word ♥, TiffanyAnne

two nights ago i made a bed a bed made not for resting 'twas borne of friends arresting two nights ago this bed i made i will be honest here two weeks ago the sheets did fade still bedtime is drawing near two minutes ago i realized two things i already knew this life is what you make of it even without sheets of the deepest blue two nights ago i made my bed and on it i must lie

sometimes things happen in life without proper explanation a relapse a stumble a forgery a fumble partially begging it to stay knowing it should leave frustrated for listening to the foolish half the half that breeds lies confusion abounds confusion remains for no longer being confused means problem resolved and the resolution while probably rational is probably not what an irrational mind wants anger abounds from having played the fool anger remains from continuing to play the fool despite knowing better knowing better it is nothing without doing better chin up do better this too will subside

call it coincidence call it divine providence whatever i call it extra think time think think think be cool without playing it cool who needs mind games anyway

since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry --the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis -------------------- ::swoon:: i heart e.e. cummings ♥, Tiffany Anne

"Nantucket" by William Carlos Williams Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains-- Smell of cleanliness-- Sunshine of late afternoon-- On the glass tray a glass pitcher, the tumbler turned down, by which a key is lying--And the immaculate white bed. "We think that William Carlos William's "Nantucket" captures what is really a romantic and , if we're honest with ourselves, false ideal of aloneness: We imagine "flowers though the window" instead of looming darkness, and "smell of cleanliness" instead of the smell of diaper pails; we long for the simplicity of a single pitcher, a single tumbler, an immaculate white bed. But we think that reading these poems can help lead to the knowledge that relationships are not immaculate, not pure; they are often messy, occasionally smelly, and they sometimes feel hopeless. If, though, you can give up the impossible desire for perfection, you may realize that a bad ni...

It's summer time! It was officially summer on Friday, May 4 th once I emailed Brian--my speech professor whose legal name is actually Brain because of a typo--my final speech (you can read it here ). I realized that on my off days I wouldn't have any school or any studying to do. Holy cow! And I also realized that if I didn't schedule things to do, then I would stay in bed until noon because my bed is just oh-so-comfortable. (Thanks to Janelle!) So, here is what I decided I would do on my days off work: Wake up at 8AM and go to the gym. Come home and shower. Eat a leisurely breakfast that often includes eggs Benedict. Sip tea or lemonade or something equally nice while I do my devotions. Write more poetry. Take more pictures. Study a philosopher. Find and read Make big dinners. Schedule lunch dates. Well, okay. The gym thing isn't going very well. So, I went to the gym my first Tuesday. Then on Thursday, I had to be at court. The next Tuesday, I had to work. The next ...

I usually reserve my poems for Not Really An Artist , but for today, I will post a few on here. These are poems that I have turned in to my creative writing class. Sonnet #1 My breath leaves me as my love walks in My mind, it does stop; my heart, it does falter Eager, my eyes land on that expanse of skin Her back, so sensuous, exposed by a halter Suddenly, my exquisite view, it is hidden As my love's love appears and stands at her side He tastes the fruit which for me is forbidden Not wanting to be seen, behind the wall I hide I close my eyes and I pretend it were me My own lips pressed to hers in a soft kiss I love to watch, though I know we can never be And I live in my world of imagined bliss So I sit under a tree, in the shade so cool I try my best not to be a voyeuristic fool. *note: this is from the perspective of a man. i am not a lesbian* Jazz Music --for Mike soft music from black speakers into a dark room candles create light yellow glow feet entwined murmurs whispers sig...

For all of you who called me PINKY . It's not pink eye, ha. It was just very irritated. --- I am a sweet-a-holic. A sweet-nothings-junkie. Mike says that I'm addicted. It's like crack. I love sweet things. Last night, after The Wilds banquet, Mike and I went to BAMM. He read TIME while I wandered and found a couple of books. But that's not really the point I was trying to get at. I found a book of love poems and was reading a few of them to Mike. ("i carry your heart" by e.e. cummings is a poem he hates...it makes him think of me carrying around a heart in a jar...ew...) And I asked him to pick one out to read to me and coincidentally enough, he picked one of my favorites: "To A Young Lady" by William Cowper Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid— Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng; With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course; Graceful and useful all...

I've updated my other blog, Not Really An Artist, with new poetry. I always read my poems to Michael to get his approval before writing anything in my blog. He likes my writing and says that my poetry is philosophical. Wow, that's kind of cool! I don't really think of myself as philosophical. Once, I head a musican say, "Don't ever date a songwriter or you'll end up in lyrics!" Well, the same may be said for poets. Many people in my life end up in my poems. I know that I have ended up in some of my sister's poetry. The worst, is when I write when I am very tired. My perception is skewed and my emotions are haywire (read: cranky and irritable!) and I've written a poem or two about a special someone at that time (not good poems, I was upset!) only to read it the next day and want to tear it up! My diary too! I'll be all angry and irrational (because I'm sleep deprived and I've blown something out of proportion) and I'll write a dia...

So, yeah, I'm at O-cha right now I should be doing homework I should be researching Robert Frost Analyzing Dickens' use of characters To progress his stories Like Bartleby, The Scrivner But I'm not I'm at O-cha right now Day dreaming of cute men That I can't date That I won't date That I probably only like Because I gave up dating for Lent I'm at O-cha right now Downloading clips From South Park, The Simpsons, and Family Guy Downloading songs That I'll probably never listen to Downloading episodes Of the X-Files I'm at O-cha right now With my bubble tea for one With no bubbles

meeting you a glance a smile bold, brazen! a wink thanks for the drink what is your name and what do you do? pop open this bottle of wine watch as the time fades away night to day sexual innuendos metaphorical flirting saying what you don't really mean it's late i must go tomorrow there will be asprin and coffee thoughts of only me --- Okay...what do you get from this as you read it? I'm curious to know. Let me know what you think, and I'll fill you in on what I was thinking.