all things andrewjthomas

I will most likely be returning to some form of blogging for a while as I continue to process my dad's death. For me, writing is my most cathartic outlet. I finally managed to write a poem around this. It's just a start and I'm sure there are many more to come. I hope, beyond being an emotional outlet for me, it is enjoyable on some level for you to read. Thanks.

( An Ant Problem )

I may not be using LJ much anymore, but I'm still a whore for comments on my poetry, so you won't be spared (comments appreciated). 

( Telecommuting )

just trying to blow out my poetry pipes a bit,
this is embarrassingly bad, so please feel free to ( skip )

here's a little haiku dedicated to all my single-parent friends out there... you know who you are

Lack of Sympathy

Sure, he had it rough,
but Prometheus never
bore a child with you.

a good while back, antifrenzy posted a poem by nick flynn
i liked it and the google hits enough to buy his first book, some ether
i've been poking around it lately and the other day came across this currently timely piece

( Flood )

Unmade

It invites the internal skip and hop glee
For taboo jumping or lazy afternoon sex,
Or even just a healthy appreciation of sloth.

Draping down along contours of flab and flesh
Its wrinkles are warm and soft, haphazard,
Tucking us in for a safe night of dreams.

This is not our parent’s house or rules or bed.
And regardless of what I forgot or never said,
She always wants it made in the morning.

i know i'm throwing too many at you folks all at once, but that's just how the muse works sometimes…

Divorcé

Like an amputee,
only once in a while
I feel the phantom sting
of a limb no longer there,
usually when we talk about money, custody,
or when you're late again.
Early on I tried a prosthetic,
even traded her in for a new one;
more than once I’m sad to admit.
No one ever sitting quite right,
always sweaty and slipping…
clothes never over-fitting.
So now I do this hop-along
meandered dance –
too proud for crutches,
too bitter for romance.

once you pop you just can't stop... or something like that
(ppst! hey gucky, i haven't even finished the first chapter and already i think i'm in love with franny)
so does this poem come off as sexist?

Period.

She once asked me,
"How do you write poetry?"
I felt that slapping question leave its handprint all across my right cheek.
"I don't write poems. They allow for discovery.
Like a woman since birth, this multitude of creation lies dormant,
each biding its time to make me bleed, one by one."

EDIT: ok, forget what i said earlier, this piece is brilliant
holy crap it's amazing what a little smart editing can do
thanks go to sinnie (even if she is under the delusion that this is about her)
but then, as she said, once a poem is out there it becomes something unto itself
so it really is about her, and maybe you too

Well Read

You are my once-a-year read,
spine long broken and wrinkle soft.
I will want you even after your corners yellow,
and brittle to break at the fold-over edges.
Yes, I will fold you again and again;
mark you with pen and highlighter and coffee stains,
until every letter of you is etched in me.
I fear your ending pages,
thinking our time is more than any index of moments;
such sweet passages I've committed to memory,
changing who I am.
Instead we will give each other pause,
collect a little dust,
until cracking ourselves open all over again.

( older versions )

( Performance Art )

i've been in a writing funk lately
hitting my head against this wall over and over again
trying to think of something... anything! but to no avail
suddenly tonight, after much aggravation, the muse struck!
so i've posted it to my site, here
take a look, let me know what you think

[EDIT] oh! i forgot to mention, that format is called the pantoum
which is why it seems a bit repetitive ; )

( poem posted here since the server will be m.i.a. sometime tomorrow )

so i'm still stuck on these relationship ideas, the poll results were interesting
gbdances had the best clarification by far in my opinion:
love is ultimately not about reciprocity, but a relationship usually is
i think this perfectly sums up my general opinion on this matter
i can love so many people in so many different ways
i find it very easy to love (something drew helped me with tremendously)
but i find it nearly impossible to be in a committed, intimate, reciprocal relationship
maybe it's because reciprocity escapes me at that level?
my selfishness being too great?
or the cliché male-centric commitment phobia?
either way, i find there's a switch in my head
that gets thrown as soon as i'm "in a relationship"
this switch can even sometimes be thrown by friends
if there's any feeling of commitment involved
it's the main reason i flake on any particular event
if i feel pressure (real or imagined), i bolt
i can ignore it for a while, sometimes a long while depending on different factors
but eventually the breaker must be reset
it's not something i particularly like about myself, but i don't hate it either
i'm still trying to decide if this is something i want to fix or live with
if i choose fix, then i need to find a therapist and talk all this shit through
(i need to do that regardless, but this option means the breaker switch is on the discussion table)
if i choose live with, then i have to accept that my relationships
will only ever achieve a certain level
and i need to make that clear to everyone that comes into my life
if it's one thing i absolutely detest, it's fence-sitting
(and before any of you balance-lovers chime in, i think this is a much different thing than balance, i won't argue against the merits of that)
and i do it far too often to blame anyone else of this offense
it just annoys me to the extent that this issue must be resolved
so there you have it... still undecided, but not for long

and now for something completely different...

---

( misc. anti-war links stolen from friends page )

---

( misc. haiku )

it's time for more poetic concentration, i need to step outside myself a bit, here's one that doesn't feel great, but not terrible either

( first draft )

were

sometimes i miss me
missing you and sometimes i
don't even remember who we
thought we

and don't give me any crap about the seasonal reference

Procrastination

I don't do dishes.
Dude, seriously. No joke.
They just sit there, piled.

after just bitching about not writing anything, i decided i needed to do something about that... please comment...

Supernova

I am the massive star collapsing.
I feel the weight of this increasing stability:
iron replacing sulfur replacing silicon
replacing neon replacing oxygen replacing helium,
I long for those light hearted days.
This core repels all things bright,
shedding so carelessly.
Yes, I burn hotter than the billions,
but what am I left as?
To turn ever inward,
or to pulse my dissatisfaction...

And eons from now,
when you look up to your sky,
and watch my long-ago death,
how many of your atoms will sing for me?
How many will mourn the passing of their father?

so i got a little carried away here... a bottle of wine can sometimes be a deadly looser of the tongue...
( read on if you want... )

i just finished this for brian's 30th birthday (technically, it was on the 6th)
i have to say, i honestly think it's one of the best poems i've ever written
it's thirty lines and it grows one syllable for every line, so the first line is one syllable, the last, thirty
i'm so happy it turned out so well, please let me know what you think
( Brother )

i love the cinquain
it was invented by an american poet, Adelaide Crapsey...
it's derivative of the haiku, but gives a bit more breathing room for expression (2,4,6,8,2 as opposed to 5,7,5)
here are a few i wrote today:

Alzheimer's

What name
does your father
call when he searches dark
lone hallways, long since abandoned?
What name?

Getting drunk with my Workaholism

Grindstone,
my nose is raw
from dealing with fuckwits,
paperwork, meetings, and deadlines.
Your round?

i must take a moment to say that the second was inspired by a friend, and i owe them for the use of fuckwits