hotel view, 1:30 am

Yes, this is Brandon. Actually posting a new poem. :D Last night, I was listening to music in Room 574 of the Westin Los Angeles Airport (me, my dad, and grandma were in LA for the weekend because I had a Jeopardy! audition...anyways, not the point...), and looking out the large window at the street and whatnot, and I thought, "Hey, I should write a poem about this mysterious, interesting-looking view of Los Angeles." So I did. :) It is yet another poem inspired by California (I believe this is my third or fourth CA-related one), but I actually wrote it while sitting down, not in a car for once (haha...), it's not necessarily about nature, and after I wrote it, I noticed it was stylistically a bit different than what I've done before (then again I always say that, and could be wrong... :) ). Anyways, enjoy!


hotel view, 1:30 am
there's a world outside my window
it's almost 2 am
the cars have picked up again
humming, moving in a rhythm
irregular and arbitrary
ebbing, flowing
back and forth, white and red,
muted colors, spinning wheels,
pass me by.


a nice view of the city
it's after 1 am
lights poking through the dark sky of a nameless color
hundreds, thousands, millions
palm trees with their green
momentarily borrowed
to a distant shore
there are shores near here
but i only see the lights
a few--on wheels--pass me by.


it all goes on forever--the lights and the moving
it's halfway between 1 and 2.
the city is deciding between
waking and sleeping.
breathe in, breathe out.
the roads, the houses, the buildings, the palm trees--
they all
pass me by.
even as i sit here
with a world outside my window.

Enough

That face which haunts my brightest dreams
of shining light and things to be
That hand which guides my wandering feet
down winding paths, past closing doors
That voice which beckons silently,
through all my years it calls to me
Those arms which wait and promise love
beyond the gates flung open wide
All these I long to see and hear
and touch and know above all else...

...but until then
I have
Enough.

The Lonely Angel

This is a new poem, fresh, never before seen by human eyes!

...other than my own, of course... *awkward cough*

I wrote it just this morning, 5:50 a.m. Why am I up before 6 writing poetry, you ask? Because I Can.

enjoy.


The lonely, wandering Angel
straining for the light
The darkness gathers round us all
with only you to fight
Closer, nearer , creeping in
your seconds growing few-
one thousand ways to save the world,
but who’ll save you?

Bill Murray + Poetry Reading = Epic Win

Hey! I'm finally making a post! And it's my first blog post with video too. Anyways...I found out about this video on EW.com, and it's a fun little thing where Bill Murray reads poetry to (and hangs out with) the construction workers that built the new home for Poets House, which according to Wikipedia is "a national literary center and poetry library based in New York City." Now I want to go there, since it's free and whatnot. :) Thought y'all might like this, since it's related to poetry, and I don't quite have an original poem to share at the moment. :D

Surrealty

Here's a short poem I wrote last year when something I wished for actually happened. And no, I'm not telling what it was! ;D

"Visions dance before my eyes of what could hardly seem to be
yet dare I trust remembrance when it, too presents such fantasy?
Illusions fade, the truth’s revealed before my ever reaching heart
and there I see my dream is real, a living, breathing work of art."

I

"Triumph!" says I

"This day have I defeated

The beast known as

Blogspot!"

Goodness Gracious!

We are so terrible!

It's been forever since either of us posted anything, and I don't know about Brandon, but I certainly don't have any excuses for this sort of behavior. Bad Rose, bad!

Anyway, here's a sonnet that I wrote, well, for me really, but I used it as an English assignment also.


An’ Sense Be Yielded Up

"What joyous shouts shall issue forth from those
whom true Love’s bolts will pierce with ready flair
‘Tis cert’, on such as they a fair wind blows
an' sense be yielded up unto the air
For who can turn away the sounded call,
when heart strings twang and Providence intrudes?
And strength hath who to bear sweet Echo’s ¹ fall,
to persevere ‘gainst all of Love’s foul moods?
Such madness! None its fury can approach,
which, lovers, drives to desperate, disparate mains ²
Mere words could not themselves the subject broach
that cleaves the heart and rends the soul in twain
Though Love be not the most productive scheme,
it may be Life’s most inter-active theme."

¹Echo- in Greek mythology, pined away for love of Narcissus, who had eyes only for his own reflection, until she had no more substance than just her voice.

²Mains- the open ocean; high seas