A short but truthful poem

I’ve yet to meet a man
Who can hold my attention span
For longer than the TV can

Roses are red…

The other day, I was looking through old junk in my room. It still looks like a bad episode of Hoarders in there. But at least I tried. I also found some really old journals. I haven’t kept a diary since high school. So naturally I began to read through some of them. There’s a lot of dumb shit in there, as I’m sure you can imagine. Was I really as stupid as those pages would indicate? Apparently so.

I also used to write poems. I thought of myself as somewhat of a poet. But I guess lost that at some point along the way. What a tragedy to the world. I could have been as epic as Keats or Wordsworth or Shelley or Browning. Or Shakespeare or Byron or Burns or Tennyson. And yes, I’m totally just naming poets whose names I remember from my English Literature 12 class. And you know what, some of them wrote random odes to things too. Robert Burns wrote “To a Louse“. I kind of think my odes to my umbrella and my phone are more meaningful that that.

But the poems that caught my eye in this old journal were the simple ones. I had a few pages where I had come up with my own versions of the “Roses are red” poem. Because why wouldn’t I? I think at some point everyone has come up with their own versions of this poem, whether they be good or bad. Side note, did no one ever realize that violets are actually violet, and not in fact blue? I mean it’s right there in the name of the flower. I’ve always had a problem with that. But anyway, I won’t share all of the versions that I came up with. They weren’t all that great. But I will share with you the one that I’ve now deemed as my favourite:

Roses are red.
Water is clear.
You’re still ugly.
I need some more beer.

Yeah. I should really get a job writing for Hallmark.

I guess this is goodbye

You were always there for me.
Whenever I wanted you.
Whenever I needed you.
Always looking so vibrant and so alive.
Always ready for whatever adventure I might take you on.
I fear I may have used you too often.
Perhaps it’s my fault what inevitably happened.
I don’t blame you for one second.
Other were noticing that you were beginning to grow old beyond your years.
That you were no longer beautiful like you once were.
They told me that it was time to get rid of you.
But I refused.
In my eyes, your beauty did not fade, no matter how worn you began to look.
I held on still, for as long as I possibly could.
But I guess this is finally the end.

………………………………………………………..

So yeah, my red rain boots finally broke beyond repair.  It is truly a sad day.

The gum chewer

He chews his gum.

Loudly

and obnoxiously.

As if there is no one else around him.

As if there is only him,

his gum,

and nothing else.

And that gum is the last thing

he will ever have to chew on.

…………………………………………….

I want to punch him in the face.

Fall weather

It’s nice outside

But the air is chilly

Why must the sun torment me so?

With its rays beating down,

Fabricating warmth

That quickly fades and turns into a chill.

In other words, what the hell am I supposed to wear?

Dear umbrella

I lost an umbrella today.  But I don’t feel like talking about it right now.  So instead, I thought I would post a poem that I wrote two years ago about a different umbrella that is no longer with me.  I’ve had many umbrellas over the years.  Some have had tragic ends, and others, I know not what fate had in store for them.  This poem is a reminder and dedication to all the ones I’ve lost, and all the ones I’ve yet to lose.

dear umbrella,

i’m sorry i had to leave you outside neville scarfe
i did not want to
but i had no choice
for you were broken.
it wasn’t supposed to happen this way
i forsaw a good future
filled with rainy days
and you there to protect me
i wish i could say we had a good run
but there was barley any time
damn those ubc winds.
when you turned inside out i knew there was no going back
i tried
i did the best i could to make you better
but to no avail
you were broken
you opened up
and there you remained
unable to close
i could no longer take you inside
i had to leave you in the rain
you’re not the first i’ve lost
and you won’t be the last
but you were a favourite of mine by far.
i know not whether you still lie there
or whether somoeone came to take you away
either way
i miss you.

Ode to the 98 B-Line

This is a poem that I wrote 3 years ago when they discontinued the 98 B-Line which was my main method of transportation at the time.  I thought I would share it with you now since I miss it today more than ever.

ode to the 98 b-line

i hate you
you are frequently noisy and crowded
leaving me standing many times
when i long for a seat
a few times i have fallen
that was your doing
jerking without warning
sometimes you even pass me by
claiming there is no room left
none at all
for me
you are never around
when i need you most
leaving me waiting
always waiting
you have wasted my time
provoked anger
and misery
and spite

and yet
when i take a different route
through no choice of my own
when i am forced to walk further
to take stairs
to board a mode of transportation
when i am forced to stand again
when there is no driver
when i have to transfer multiple times
to get to my destination
when i am lost somewhere on cambie
not knowing how to get where i need to be
when i finally figure out how to get there
only to realize i have missed the bus
when i walk all the way to granville
frustrated
because i should already be there
when i miss appointments
am late for important events
because you can no longer take me there
when the skytrain breaks down
leaving me stranded
unable to leave
when i look up at the sign
and 98 b-line is no longer listed
when i search for you
and they tell me you do not exist
when you are gone from my life forever
i will miss you

98 B-Line, the best bus a girl could ask for