Chase It - Get It

Qoute of The Day

chasej3 — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 13:06:42 +0000

“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing”

- Benjamin Frankliñ

My Fathers Hats

chasej3 — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 20:02:18 +0000

     Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
     on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
     the soft crowns and imagine
I was in a forest, wind hymning
     through pines, where the musky scent
of rain clinging to damp earth was
     his scent I loved, lingering on
bands, leather, and on the inner silk
     crowns where I would smell his
hair and almost think I was being
     held, or climbing a tree, touching
the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent
     was that of clove in the godsome
air, as now, thinking of his fabulous
     sleep, I stand on this canyon floor
and watch light slowly close
     on water I can’t be sure is there.

- Mark Irwin

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

chasej3 — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 19:40:32 +0000

Allow me to introduce myself.

They call me the back breaker,

the rope shaker,

the billboard breaker.

They call me the wireless TV connector,

the earth shaker.

They call me the perfect piece of the world.

They call me the United States President.

They call me the Steamer.

Allow me to introduce myself.

- Mark

Quote of the Day

chasej3 — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 12:48:15 +0000

“If we are strong, our strength will speak for itself. If we are weak, words will be no help”

- John F. Kennedy

In Summer

chasej3 — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 18:00:19 +0000

Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies’ soft blue,
And a belt where the rivers run.

And now for the kiss of the wind,
And the touch of the air’s soft hands,
With the rest from strife and the heat of life,
With the freedom of lakes and lands.

I envy the farmer’s boy
Who sings as he follows the plow;
While the shining green of the young blades lean
To the breezes that cool his brow.

He sings to the dewy morn,
No thought of another’s ear;
But the song he sings is a chant for kings
And the whole wide world to hear.

He sings of the joys of life,
Of the pleasures of work and rest,
From an o’erfull heart, without aim or art;
‘T is a song of the merriest.

O ye who toil in the town,
And ye who moil in the mart,
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong
Shall renew your joy of heart.

Oh, poor were the worth of the world
If never a song were heard,—
If the sting of grief had no relief,
And never a heart were stirred.

So, long as the streams run down,
And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
And sing in the face of ill

- Paul Laurence Dubar

The Wildlife is My Mother

chasej3 — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 17:43:55 +0000

When I am bored, she sends cheetahs

so we can race.

When I am cold,

she wraps me all around with vines and leaves.

Whenever I am hungry,

she drops apples all around me,

or when I’m injured,

she grows medical herbs to heal me.

When I want to get refreshed,

she uses her long leaves and flaps them back and forth.

The wildlife is my mother,

my beautiful mother.

- Alexandro

Quote of the Day

chasej3 — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 14:08:56 +0000

“The passing minute is every man’s equal possesion but what has once gone by is not ours”

- Marcus Aurelius

From on Being Fired Again

chasej3 — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 18:58:15 +0000

Ive known the pleasures of being
fired at least eleven times-

most notably by Larry who found my snood
unsuitable, another time by Jack,
whom I was sleeping with. Poor attitude,
tardiness, a contagious lack
of team spirit; I have been unmotivated

squirting perfume onto little cards,
while stocking salad bars, when stripping
covers from romance novels, their heroines
slaving on the chain gang of obsessive love-

and always the same hard candy
of shame dissolving in my throat;

handing in my apron, returning the cash-
register key. And yet, how fine it feels,
the perversity of freedom which never signs
a rent check or explains anything to one’s family.

- Erin Belieu

A Landscape of Differences

chasej3 — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 15:08:04 +0000

Today I am different.
As I view an ant on a gentle leaf,
I feel as if I am strangely different.
I feel like the ant is normal, like doing homework.

The paper would be a magnificent landscape with ink and lead to be its grass and trees.

As the grass grows, the pencil works harder and the same for shimmering green trees with the red and fiery cardinals.

The spring brings flowers up like me on
a trampoline, the winter brings snowflakes like a man that is parachuting, the summer brings the sun like a giant fireball, and the fall
brings leaves like a blockade of fiery arrows.

As this beautiful paper world grows, I become more unlike my past self. This is
always meaning that when my imagination grows, everything grows with it.

- Alex

A New Poet

chasej3 — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 12:13:09 +0000

Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don’t see
its name in the flower books, and
nobody you tell believes
in its odd color or the way
its leaves grow in splayed rows
down the whole length of the page. In fact the very page smells of spilled
red wine and the mustiness of the sea
on a foggy day – the odor of truth
and of lying.

And the words are so familiar,
so strangely new, words
you almost wrote yourself, if only
in your dreams there had been a pencil or a pen or even a paintbrush,
if only there had been a flower.

- Linda Pastan