Tag: poem
The weight of their worlds
Lay their hardships unto me
Their doubts, their fears
Their degradations
Lay their weights upon my shoulders,
Threats and harms
Leave them be
Steer them straight, right, and true
Deliver from evil
And to the promise of the now
Yes, lay their hardships unto me
And through my suffering
Spare them all
A word’s worth is subjective
Last night I started mucking around with a challenge that I had not partaken in for quite some time. Not a challenge, per se, but an investment in my thoughts and creativity that I have dedicated elsewhere for a while.
I wrote a poem. Actually, two poems, but that’s besides the point. The last poem I had written was back in March or April. Before that? January. And before that? I can’t recall.
And yet, getting through the words, stringing things together and painting a picture of thought and emotion… well, I had doubts… Doubts that I’d done the job, doubts that I veiled things enough to not seem obvious, doubts that I had crafted a narrative that made sense in constructing a scene and building a message.
Doubts that I could get a reaction from anyone I shared this with.
A gun-shy poet. That’ll never work.
What it’s worth is purely subjective, as the poem itself will say. That applies to more than just writing, but people and things.
Waiting for Her Word
It’s been months since I posted anything on my personal blog here. Where am I? Is this sitei site dead?
I’m busy more often than not, and no – the Stonegauge is not dead. Â Just dormant. Â When I have been writing lately, it’s been personal and it’s been in the mail (didn’t I once say that it’s great getting letters in the mail?)… Â That or I am doing hockey stuff.
This off-season has afforded me more time for myself (which has been a good and bad thing). Â I’ve found escape in writing, an ability to immerse myself in a thought or idea, or a feeling and a story. Â It’s like a release, as it used to be when I would write a real good poem that conveyed something creatively.
Oh, I’m still doing poetry too. Â Just not much of it, thanks. Â That’s what this post is – a poem. Â Something I wrote a few months ago for an absent face.
This Bitter Month
Boring weekend with too much downtime and the end result is me posting a poem I meant to keep private. Yeah, Kate, you can get on my ass for being a morose m’fer (as you did last time 😉 ) but I thought this was good even if it was muy triste.
Uninspiring: Let Me In
It’s been a long time since I wrote anything rhyme-based. In fact, despite all the hurt and emptiness — I haven’t been inspired to write shit. Usually the hurt, the pain, the anguish, the longing… It all drives me to write. It (or usually the source of everything inside) becomes a muse. I’ve had some great muses in my time (I’m talking people here, not instances of anguish) where the longing was what drove me to scrawl out lines of internal conflict and what not. Three above the others. And one trumps all.
It’s odd, though, that Current Source has inspired almost nothing for me. Here and there? Yeah. But nothing profound… The only poem that I had written was months old.
While I like the rhyme and the declaration — which goes beyond the obvious call for someone to drop their emotional wall and let someone “in” — it was foreshadowing of sorts. A warning sign I kept ignoring.
Everyone loves getting mail
Not one of my better poems, was written in a bit of a rush the other night when I had this thought on my mind… Inspired in part by The Lake House
Letter
I want to write you this letter
And
I want to spend time in thought and
Trying to figure out what I’d say to you
It’s great when you get a letter in the mail
And I’m thinking about writing a letter
And
It’s been a few weeks since we talked and
Right now you’re on my mind
Whether you like that idea or not
So it’s been a few weeks since we talked
And
The last time we did, we fought and
I let you walk all over me,
While you had good reason to be pissed
Yet I was all apologies
And
All in all is all we are
You never offered me the same
For you getting all angry and acting lame
I’d better not write you this letter after all
Why I better not write this letter
Is
Because you just don’t respect me and
You got me tied around your little finger
And just twist and twist me tighter than a knot
Knots can be so cruel
And
They can be like feeling locked inside
Yeah, feelings can be knots too
Cinching tighter and restraining things
So I’m writing you this letter
And
I’m just a piece of twine twisted around
Your pinkie is red from this yarn
That we’ve both been spinning for ages
And it’s great getting letters in the mail
And
Last one I sent you was years ago
And I tap-tapity-tapped it up on my keyboard
My handwriting is a horror unto itself
The horror of my day
Is
Realizing I still have feelings for you
And you’ve pretty clearly moved stage left
The lights are bright on Broadway
“The Producers” is better watched with an audience
And I don’t know if you care
About
Getting a letter in the mail from me
Letters in the mail are great but even better
When you don’t expect them
I’m the king of “don’t-expect’em”
And my wrist is getting
Cramped
Writing out this yarned ramble
Ramble – what we know so well
What we loved, what we lived, what we did for hours
And I watched this movie
Tonight
And it got me thinking that i ought to
Write you a letter
You could care less about the addressee
Your residence wasn’t hard to find
So I’m closing this letter off
And
Hoping to put things to rest even though it’s
Special to get a letter in the mail
And I want to share special with you again
All in all is all we are
And
Kurt Cobain is formally dead and
You can’t respect someone who kisses your ass
It just doesn’t work
So I watched this movie tonight
And
I wanted to write you a letter
I wanted to write you this letter
It’s great getting something in the mail
————
© John Fontana
On your mind
I don’t know how often other people do this but I always get curious about other people’s thoughts — thoughts involving me, thoughts involving others and such. While opinions and perceptions can come off hurtful when you hear them – they can also raise you up to new heights.
But the one that always gets me is when I hear someone dreamed of me. Me! I was on someone’s thoughts enough that I ran through their mind… Even if I had nothing to do with the underlying fabric of what went on in the dream and the psychology of what happened (dreams have a great wide amount of meanings)… It’s just special to know that the thought was there.
So here’s my next one — yeah, a little verse on this St. Valentines Day… Inspired by the ones on our minds.
On Your Mind
When last was I
A Sight for sore eyes?
The last time you
Longed my hand?
When last was I your
Knight in shining armor,
Your prince,
Your noble man?
When last did I
Paint a picture
That made you melt because
You were my muse?
When last did I
Earn your undivided attention
While we discussed the
Front page news?
When last did my thought
Earn your affection
Because of the joy
That I bring?
When last did we
Fly through the heavens,
Together —
In the night
While you slept,
And you dreamed?
© 2007 John Fontana
Incomplete or not, here it comes…
I started writing this one months ago while someone was kvetching to me in the usual disrespectful “you’re there while I need you” manner and gave me a little vision during it.
So one good thing came from my sap act:
Dance of the Ages
Dancing barefoot in the grass
Gypsy woman reflects the ages
Curly hair tied back with rags
The melody makes love to her
Fabric waving through the air
Her dress flaps loose, without a care
Playing on the tamborine
And watchers heeding her every move
Gypsy woman lives on the road
No roots or ties, she knows no home
Her band of gypsies come and go
Strangers eyes are her closest friend
Night falls and the music ends
She washes, naked, at the rivers edge
Pale moonlight bathes her in a glow
She longs for the throes of passion
Day comes and the troop pushes forth
On their course, their road heads north
Gypsy woman heeds that cry
Somewhere new, there’s a strangers eye —
To captivate and to alure
A lovers gaze, a young man’s urge
To tease and taunt through her dance of ages
She lures them to her like cats to string
© 2007 John Fontana
More poetry
On a creative tear.
Moral Suicide
What is a standard worth
When you are
Unhappy in life under it?
What is a principle worth
If it keeps you alone
Day-dreaming of a bliss that
Isn’t real?
The rules and laws
You set for yourself
Are made to be broken —
–unless you dread where
Life will lead
Without them
Unhappiness is a constant,
When longing an unattained goal
Which amounts to the
Standard practice
Of my life
© 2007 John Fontana
H-L-Z
Untitled
All I can do is watch you from
Afar
Your blonde hair
Shifting with the breeze –
Willow branches taunted by the
Throes of air as it bows and
Sways where and when
The hidden forces will it
All I do is admire you from
Afar
Smile darting and mischievous
Gleeful
Youth and happiness
Escaping into a
Cynical world
Anarchy and confusions
Life as we both know it
All I can do is endeavor into your
World
Mysteries of your being —
Auroras in the heavens
Blazing and dancing
Wonderment, allure,
Compelling me to try,
Try,
Try again
All I can do know you through my
Reverie
Out of reach, out of knowing
Out of a solution to the confusions
That find me enamored by you
Knowing nothing is a bliss
Having nothing — torture
Yet having this dream spoiled
Having the answers
May just extinguish the
Artistic maelstrom
Your palette paints into my
Soul
Lost Inside
Seen my feelings lost inside forever
Couldn’t we be good together?
Girl, you are my everything,
You’re all my wants and craves
Lost inside the secret you
What am I supposed to do
Girl, you are my majesty
I’ll worship you forever
Only known I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything that I do crave
Is lost inside your being
Now to find you,
Majesty,
I need to be your everything,
Fit the bill and fly the path,
Our equation, do the math,
Add us two and then subtract –
The worries and the hardships
Seen my feelings inside you, girl
Oh my, honey, what a world
What am I supposed to do?
I’ve stayed lost inside the secret you
And inside, I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything I’ll always crave
Is lost inside the secret you
©1998 John P. Fontana
Read More
Enter the poet; “Socially Inept”
Barrier
In an Information Age
Where knowledge roams free
And technowledgy rules
Wall
Srutting and fretting
An hour on stage
The flock of seagulls committee
Is cammanded by the ignoramous
Made to feel worse by those who care the most
Third verse
Third wheel
Cursed in a rambling ode of
Outsider Syndrom —
And unrequested serving
At a humble establishment
© 2005 John P. Fontana
For postierity
I wrote this poem with one person in mind and it’s odd that it has come true in every faccet.
….well, almost everything… until now.
Things might just be a scare but if not, it’s a serious issue has come up that coudl force a loss…. And no offense, but you were bound for it… Just because you reap what you sow.
Wedding Gift
So Josh and Michelle are getting hitched Sunday and now that I have some time to cram on the gift — I’m hitting a wall creatively. Not hitting a wall but my first intuition is that the poem I was going to give them, framed and with art, isn’t going to cut it.
I originally wrote this thing with a girl named Jamie Rose and her boyfriend from High School in mind. I wrote it because I felt guilty for having a crush on the chick when she was so in love with her boyfriend.
So now I am wondering what I should do — edit it where need be? Keep it as is? Bah! Choices, choices!
And let no one put assunder, for together they are a whole….
Pen to pad, long time gone
I’ve been trying to re-arrange my poetry page instead of ammassing everything I have by 10 poems-per-page. I don’t know why I am doing it exactly but I am doing it…. (all of this while I shoudl be working on Chantilly Lace gifts).
The thing is, I read over certain poems and I can remember exactly where and when I was when I wrote that poem… Some of them I rememeber exactly what I was feeling. I’ve lst at least one entire book of poetry because I lent it out to someone who would later betray me… And at the same time I still have 7 volumes sitting on a bookshelf that are just one big reminder of things in the past.
Some people had journals, some people just kept notes of there lives, some people blog… I wrote poetry. It was release and yet it chronicled things.
Anyway, the poem that gets me – and get sme every time – is Lost Inside… Just because of how I ende dup playing the words. I can remember writing this at my local library … There are a lot of poems with certain strengths to them that I persoanlly enjoy but this is the one that I like the most:
Lost Inside
Seen my feelings lost inside forever
Couldn’t we be good together?
Girl, you are my everything,
You’re all my wants and cravesLost inside the secret you
What am I supposed to do
Girl, you are my majesty
I’ll worship you foreverOnly known I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything that I do crave
Is lost inside your beingNow to find you,
Majesty,
I need to be your everything,
Fit the bill and fly the path,
Our equation, do the math,
Add us two and then subtract –
The worries and the hardshipsSeen my feelings inside you, girl
Oh my, honey, what a world
What am I supposed to do?
I’ve stayed lost inside the secret youAnd inside, I’ve lost my mind
Oh, why worry? Never mind
Everything I’ll always crave
Is lost inside the secret you©1998 John P. Fontana
Wedding Announcement Cover Boy
Ain’t it cool? I have one of my poems going on the cover of my friend Raquel’s wedding announcement list… because it’s about a beach wedding…
Roc, as we call her, is going to mail me a copy just so I can see how it came out on the announcement list.
Just a classic poem for a classic thought
Where She Went…
Were she went, I’ll never know
What a shame, My shame alone
Do you now how she feels?
Like a warm leather glove,
On a cold winters day
©1998 John P. Fontana
Poetic Meanings — just found out
You know, I was just going through something or other on the web and I came across a little factoid that just hit me a certain way that made me laugh and think at the same time about a poem I wrote a few years ago (song Poem) and how true the lyric is, in a sad way…
The song-poem was Java Jungle which I wrote at Palm Harbor’s “Java Jungle” coffee shop years ago when I was still very much a lyricist and poet. The song is just rambling verse that makes sense to me and probably me alone in some of it’s meanings but has a little niftiness to itself… if you can find the rhyme scheme and what could have been the beat or what the music could have turned into with the song…
At any rate, I’m going to post the lyrics now – then I will tell you more about that “ironic and funny” little meaning I didn’t intend that I just found out about…
Sally-man say:
“Who led the way,
“Across the Great Red Sea?”
Way back,
The long way back,
Back home
Tell Mom and Dad
That I’m going mad
Sitting here on the porch
Deep toking’ a dead roach
Fabulon
And Mickey and Brand,
Across the great land
Living at the center of life
Metropolitan life
Ju-Ju-Ju-Ju-Juniper chaos,
Had a little seance
To find her kindred soul
(Only she’d be so bold)
Cold hard wind, yeah
It’s stained with sin, yeah
Only known as the doldrums
The silence hums
Play on
Easter day
Saint Jude’s Parade
Lennon Lad,
Lennon Lad,
Lennon Lad
The kingdom’s your to have
Silence abounds
© 1997 John P. Fontana
So what’s the big deal? Well, I could break down the meaning of each stanza and verse to you but some of it is boring and some of it – as I already alluded to — should make sense only to me (Mickey and Brand across the great land, for instance, is a reference to friends of mine who used to come down to be with family here in Florida, I would see them every summer).
The lyric that I found funny is one of the closing lines… I talk about Easter Day and St. Jude’s Parade and then make a reference to “Lennon Lad”. This is all talking about Julian Lennon. “Jude” being direct reference to “Hey, Jude” which was written by Paul McCartney for Julian during the time John Lennon was divorcing Cynthia Lennon.
The entire line was actually supposed to be reference to St. Crispian’s Day, I believe I had seen Renaissance Man not very long before I had written this poem and I was very fond of Shakespeare at the time after a year of his works being passed on to me through Ms. Ciccone at East Lake High School.
Well, St. Jude got worked in there and the reference to Julian was made — “The kingdom’s yours to have” and silence abounds… That’s saying that Julian could have easily followed John Lennon’s footsteps and gone to the top of Rock and Roll but failed to do so… Of course, Julian is still involved with music and still battles demons involved with his father and his childhood… That being said, there are reason the kingdom was never entirely inherited by him or by Sean Ono Lennon for that matter.
The ironic – funny twist that I keep making reference to is St. Jude. I didn’t know who St., Jude was nor did I ever think to find out… I just threw the name out there for the rhyme and for the reference (Jude, Jules, Julian) and only recently (reading another Rick Reilly article) found out who St. Jude is:
The Patron Saint of Lost causes.
So, Lennon Lad, the kingdom may be yours to have but from what the Java Jungle tells you, it’s a lost cause trying to inherit it…
The Greater Pastime
Old poem… don’t really have an entry due tot he torture of the give and take….
Baseball… The greater Passtime…
The grass is green,
and newly cut,
on a bright and glorious day.
The stands are full with people cheering,
who came out, to watch them play
The pitcher, the catcher, the rightfielder,
The man at shortstop and second base,
These and the others are called upon,
To boost the home team’s play.
They go through the innings,
And at the end: haven’t both teams won?
For to play the game of baseball,
is the most glourious thing to be won.
© 1992 John P. Fontana
Another Glimmer Train contest
Poetry.
Anyone who knows me knows I did a good deal of poetry in my time and that I have a collection of some of my favorites on the site . I’ve been encouraged by others to go and have my poetry published and have tried in the past – only to be discouraged.
Well, I’m willing to give it another shot with Glimmer Trains LAST Poetry Contest.. I figure I have two outstanding (no pun intended) submissions with them as is, why not add a third or a fourth.
That’s where YOU come in though.
You see, I could easily submit one of my favorite poems on my poetry page to them, but I don’t know if that would be wise because it’s not the favorite that my friends have. Actually, I’m not sure what people’s favorites are on my poetry page. Give me your thoughts on this, I could use some guidance from people…
5 Senses
5 Senses
Taste
– The words
– The longing
– The emotion
Feel
– The flavor
– The Memory
– The Realization
See
– The sweet nothings
– The touched
– The aching for more
Smell
– The Love
– The romance
– The desire
Hear
– Her perfume in the wind
– The kiss on the cheek
– His hand across your bare skin
© 2003 John P. Fontana
Ego
One moment you can have your ego coddled by the powers that be, the next minute you can have it torn down by a barb. One minute you can feel really good about yoruself and the next minute someone can fuck it up for you in one way or another.
That’s Saturday for ya!
I was feeling really good about myself after getting my latest assignment back from Lou… Especially when he pushed the fact that the story was such a piece that it was worthy of publication now…
Oh, there were edits I needed to make, but tte story content was so vivid and so identifiable that it just was great…
Certain people will coddle their own ego knowing what the piece was about and knowing they told me to write about that specific subject.
Then? What happened? Well, lets just say I deflated and deflated pretty fast for that matter when I felt strung along by the powers that be, people, things, etc. Oh, I could make mention of things I’ve previously complained about recently in here (Medical, medical, medical ) but it was more out of my control than that is (and that is very much out of my control).
THe poetry that’s shown up here was written in May and early June when I had the creative juices going. Sometimes posting a poem is easier than writing a journal entry — of coruse it is, damnit, becasue you don’t have to write anything original off the cuff like regular long winded journal entries are written….
Fight Lines
So I was up at an hour that
is between dawn and lunch… I couldn’t tell, it was all such a blur to me that
my "wake up" shower lasted 20 minutes with me mumbling as I scrubbed
and thinking of things and people instead of focusing on my day ahead. Actually
it was quite nice to be up at a sane hour in the morning for a change (even
though I didn’t get to sleep until midnight). I’ve been stuck in this unending
trend of getting up from 10:30 to Noon and having rather unproductive days because
of it.
Well, actually, this day
hasn’t been too productive either so don’t think everything was much better
off with me getting up at a sane hour and being able to term the start of my
day as it truly was – the morning.
SO I went to see Doc Smith
and his merry band of medical matrons who masterly manipulated and mutilated
my moxie by keeping me waiting for an hour after the time I was scheduled to
have my appointment. Of course, Dr. Cahill’s passing was most likely the cause
of things being tied up at TGH, so I’ll forgive them for this.
Unfortunately it’s a lot
harder to forgive my body for what it’s putting me through and putting my doctor
thorough, who isn’t quite certain what the cause of trouble is for me or where
to proceed. And there’s a lot of trouble for me. Even more trouble than I mentioned
to him and trouble that can’t be found on MRI images (well, at least this set
of them).
But all in all, a fight
line is being drawn. Action is going to take place soon enough. The powers are
aligning – some for me, some against. Of course, I have to battle on much as
the poem says. I’ve got too many places to go, things to see, people to do..
It’s such a demanding existence, I tell ya! :-p
I had Keith read my first
rough draft of my Non-Fiction assignment (mind you, there are 5 of them and
I was just trying harder with one) and basically he told me it was crap
Of course he also inspired a re-write that put the story more in the first person
about going through the trials and tribulations of a Bucs fan over the years
and the end result was 920+ words and a much better story. I’ve gone through
it once since I wrote it, will have to go through it again before I get up the
nerve to print this story out and send it to Lou.
Personally, I don’t want to keep doing Non-fiction, I want to learn how to become
more charismatic in my writing (as my last assignment feels cold except through
the story’s twists and turns) and keep on chugging with fiction.
Be Honest With Me
Be honest with me
How many times –
– Does a sparkle energize?
– Does a ruby’s glamour cry?
– Does an angel comb it’s wings?
How many crimes does it
Take to scrutinize
Old men hiding secrets
And their oil companies?
Tell me what defines –
– The tying of fresh binds?
– Silly little love songs?
– My desire to appease?
Where are all the women
And their honey-pots of gold?
With amber-waves of auburn hair
And gentle, pleasant souls?
Fortune running over me
And none the less is saved
Shadows edging harmony while
Fools and morons play
Be honest with me
I am not what I may seem
Lusting change
And Lightning games
With nights of ecstacy.
© 2003 John P. Fontana
No true entry because this old poem sums things up…
What Am I….
What am I supposed to do?
Just call her name
And get off the train –
Loneliness
Southbound
Cartoon Express
A fixture through the mess –
Her face, and my memory there of
And the desires unquenched
As the fifth Beatle
Who has never crossed Abby Road
Artfully dodging –
Responsibilities
That take place in love:
Speak
Feel
Express
Not repress
To me It’s all a fantasy
Like a child going through a toy chest
© 1997 John P. Fontana
Californiacationed
I’m back…
After getting caught up at home (read – unwound, read the paper, got bored to shit, etc) I’m here giving you the update on what went down during my four day trek through Jim Morrison’s City of Light (or City of Night, take your pick).
First and foremost, the flight to LA was good – we had pretty good conditions and we also had a basically empty plane that made a stop over in Albuquerque, New Mexico before going on to LA. There was, however, a rather gross incident on this flight I would rather forget – a kid sitting across the aisle either spilled a drink or wet his pants, he proceeded to stand up on his seat and disrobe all the way to his bare ass. Now, nudity is pretty cool in some lights, but I do not want to look at a child’s penis, nor do I think they should be allowed to get naked on the plane in plain view of everyone else…
What he didn’t do, and I’m glad he didn’t, was run up and down the aisle screaming “Nekkid time! Nekkid time!”
Anyway, on the second leg of the flight — I enjoyed a soft drink instead of the bottled water which I had been drinking for most of the flight. I also had my father repeatedly flip me the bird. Gee, thanks Dad.
When we got to LA, everything was great up until we got near St. Vincent Medical Center – traffic was snarled and we were frustrated as hell by it, not only that but we went to the local grocery store to pick up some things for our stay and we found out that there had been a MAJOR accident involving buried utilities. Some of the street lights on the way had been out, the stores themselves were shut, there was police tape from here to San Bernardino and we basically had to go back empty handed.
Anything else of worth on that trip? No really, the settings of my ABI were changed and they’re a bit fuckered at this point. I’ll get used to it of course but it will take a while. I also wrote a new poem that I’ll probably put on the site soon enough, but I want to go about doing some web work and see if I can get the new design for this page (yes kiddies, new design — maybe) together.
