Poem: One Day at the U of A (and thoughts).


The swirls of the smoke coloured sky, scintillating and swarming as it deepens to ebony, a black blush of thoughts blanketing my mind. This is the evening time of reliving the ravages of day. 

I went out into the torrid of the thoughtless crowds, university students sighing and harassed by midterm exams. For a moment I held faith with them as I wrote, before remembering I was someone else.

Caught between two spheres, the adult who should be solidifying her career if not for a fatiguing sickness, and the ever determined student delving  deeper into knowledge once she learned the more you know, the more you do not know. 

A paradox indeed, that going to school for what seems like a seamless and unending time, has left me the truth: you know nothing even though you’ve been in school since you were six, you only can perceive that a person cannot know all there is to learn; no wisdom here but the air between your ears.

And I pass the swirl of bodies in modern university garb – ankle boots, and pea coats; skinny jeans and knee boots; sweat pants and running shoes. I do remember those days when I wore what they wear. Now I go out, I dress like an adult, classic, I think; but the staff on campus look at me as if I’m a young student, lights dim, it’s nearly been eight years.

But I found through my minds persuasion of lurid purple thoughts and intriguing segways, that there are many paths to knowledge and many ways to gain it; Pathways of pink and plenty into the working world, could be wonderfully convenient one day if I train myself for jobs with adult education. 

But for now I’ve accepted to attain the unattainable and focus on one course and apply for a masters, when next spring comes about. I figure that an MFA in creative writing cannot make me know nothing if it’s all fictious because I formed the story myself. I know what I know, especially if I made it up.

Clouds of cotton fluff in the air, sunshine soothing on my face, no wrinkles to create I wear serum with SPF. Still Green grass in October with orange fire and red fire leaves. I walk home, hop on a train, the bus. Hurriedly, pull myself beneath the covers. One day down, sleep in the breath of cold air tonight, arise fresh and freezing to winters bitter blow. 

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Poem: Waiting to Shop


I would be thrilled if I could go shopping, 

I enjoy it online or in some stores, 

I don’t buy too many clothes, but when it’s cold,

I like to buy opaque tights, blouses, and boots.

A few pieces that show I’ve kept up in fashion,

I am on trend, and I look put together,

See before you, the image of a fashionable girl,

But I’m trying to lose weight and go down a few sizes.

A problem because my wardrobe is built on 

All my favourite clothes but in my current sizes.

So if I buy even a piece or two more, that is just

More clothes that don’t fit at a size or two smaller

That gape at my waist, and look as if they’ll fall off me.

At least that’s how I imagine it would be,

I’ve got months ahead of me and the problem is,

I can’t do any shopping until I am sure,

What size I will be, or what size I will not be.

And it’s not an issue of money. I could shop if I want.

But the practical voice inside tells me, wear your wardrobe 

And wait for spring shopping,

Then you will see, if you’ll be how you’ll be.

Or if your clothes all still fit and you can buy the same sizes. 

A first world problem, indeed.