The Gazeebo

A Poet's Place

The Gazeebo: The Coming of a New Year

Hey all!

Have much to talk about, but sadly it is late and I’m tired so, I shall instead post two poems and update in my next post 🙂

The first one is untitled, for now… not totally sure what exactly I want to do with it. Continue reading


December 31, 2011 Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Gazeebo: Makers and Breakers… A Birthday Story

Hey guys!

So, today was my birthday.  My super awesome sister made me a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, while the entire time beating herself up for the way the pancakes looked.  They were great though so there was really no reason to freak out lol.  Well, after that I did a much-needed shave and such, back to smooth instead of my little five o’clock shadow thing.  I also put my contacts in today, for the first time in a few months, and man did my left eye scream out in pain today.  I mean seriously, I was wetting it, taking the contact out, cleaning it (and making sure it was wasn’t flipped inside out or anything), and putting it back in, eye drops, and still it whined.  Whatever though, it’ll get over its little fit in good time and figure out that it ain’t goin nowhere.

But, my original plan for today was to hang with my best friend (basically my brother) and that didn’t work out for certain reasons…  Though, I did play a little Mario Kart Wii and got yet another Grand Prix cup (I’m one away from completing the game.. my dad and I compete about those silly little things lol).

Tonight I saw a theater production, that my sister was involved in with doing the lights, called “Hello, Dolly!” – the main leading actress in the show, Dolly, is a match-maker (thus the reason for the title of the post); the acting was pretty good, the dances by the waiters were fun (and hilarious at times), and there were two different scenes where the cast surrounded the audience seating area and sang all around us, which was pretty cool.

One thing that surprised me a lot tonight was when my dad and sister came home (my dad went out to go pick up my sister after she striked the set of “Hello, Dolly!”) and they surprised me with a German chocolate cake, some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and a birthday gift 🙂  It was super surprising to me because (1) I didn’t really expect to get anything today due to the fact that my parents got paid today and have to work during the week and (2) I had told my mom I really wanted a slice of cake and she ended up texting them to have them deliver a slice from Safeway (she told me after the fact) so I was really only expecting to get that slice and call it a night.  Well, that was just really cool of them and am just really happy about all of that.  A good end to the day I suppose 🙂

So, here’s the poem; this one was written in a College Prep English H class I took in high school.  The assignment was to write a sonnet and I came up with this; I was a senior and kept thinking about how time went by so fast and how I didn’t want to “grow up” yet (I was different from several other of my classmates) so that’s the reason for the subject of this poem.  It definitely needs some editing so, here you go 🙂

Love for Youth

The point in life when things to do are low,

When you forget the fact that you will die.

To expand your horizons and just grow;

Growing the wings to be able to fly.

You will leave the nest, but you do not care;

Ignorance and freedom are what we have.

You want to leave those who birthed you, your way

To enter the real world; you’re not that brave.

But you disregard as you focus on

What this age is all about: friends and dreams,

When you are allowed to depend on mom

For necessities such as food and drink.

Youth goes away quickly; hold onto it

For you will have grown before you know it.

© Jesse McDowell Lungren


June 23, 2011 Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , | 1 Comment

The Gazeebo: ♪ Oh, Is There Not One Maiden Breast ♫


Watched the second night of Pirates of Penzance tonight 🙂  The title is a song from it and the sisters are just so hilarious to watch as they just fall over ‘Frederic,’ the leading male role that my sister, ‘Mabel’ the leading female role, kisses .. still can’t watch that without at one point turning away.. it’s so weird lol.  (Btw, the link I posted here is of a performance that sort of reminded me of the way my sister’s cast did the scene; the actual movie was not like it at all).

Well, like yesterday’s post, that’s all I have to share; so, here’s the poem.  I meant to write one today for this post, but alas I did not, so here’s one from Matthew Dickman’s book All-American Poem.  Btw, also like yesterday’s post, this poem is a little bit more PG-13 (or even more-so) – just a warning.


We fall in love at weddings and auctions, over glasses
of wine in Italian restaurants
where plastic grapes hang on the lattice, our bodies throb
in the checkout line, bookstores, the bus stop,
and we can’t keep our hands off each other
until we can–
so we turn to rubber masks and handcuffs, falling in love again.
We go to movies and sit in the air-conditioned dark
with strangers who are in love
with heroes like Peter Parker
who loves a girl he can’t have
because he loves saving the world in red and blue tights
more than he would love to have her ankles wrapped around
his waist or his tongue between her legs.
While we watch films
in which famous people play famous people
who experience pain,
the boy who sold us popcorn loves the girl
who sold us our tickets
and stares at the runs in her stockings each night,
even though she is in love
with the skinny kid who sells her cigarettes at the 7-11
and if the world had any compassion
it would let the two of them pass a Marlboro Light
back and forth
until their fingers eventually touched, their mouths sucking
and blowing. If the world knew how
much they loved each other
then we would all be better off. We could all dive head first
into the sticky parts. We could make sweat
a religion. We could light a candle
and praise the holiness of smelliness. Imagine standing
beneath the gothic archways of feet,
the gilded bowls of armpits. Who doesn’t want to kneel down
and pray before the altar of the mouth?
For my part I am going to stop
right here,
on this dark night,
on this country road,
where country songs come from, and kiss her, this woman,
below the trees,
which are below the stars,
which are below desire.
There’s a music to it. I can hear it.
Johnny Cash, Biggie Smalls, Johann Sebastian Bach, I don’t care
what they say. I loved you
the way my mouth loves teeth,
the way a boy I know would risk it all for a purple dinosaur,
who, truth be told, loved him.
There is no accounting for it.
In fact there are no accountants
balancing the books of love, measuring
the heart’s distance and speed.
In the Midwest, for instance,
there are fields of corn madly in love with a scarecrow,
his potato-sack head
and straw body, standing among the dog-eared stalks,
his arms stretched out like a farm-Christ
full of love. Turning on the radio
I know how much AM loves FM. It’s the same way
my mother loved Elvis
whose hips all young girls love, sitting around the television
in poodle skirts and bobby socks,
watching him move across the screen like something
even sex dreamed of having.
He loved me tender for so many years
that I was born after a long night of Black Russians and Canasta
while Jailhouse Rock rocked.
I love the way my screen door, if it isn’t latched shut,
will fling itself open to the wind,
how the clouds above me look like animals covered in milk.
And I’m not the only one.
Stamps love envelopes. The licking proves it.
Just look at my dog
who obviously loves himself with an intensity
no human being could sustain, though you can’t say we don’t try.
The S&M goddess
who brings her husband to the mall,
dressed in a leather jumper, leading him through the food court
by a leash. The baker who scores
his wife’s name into the thin skin of the pumpernickel
before peeling it into the oven.
Once a baby lizard loved me so completely
he moved into my apartment and died of hunger.
I was living there with a girl who loved to say the word
shuttlecock. She would call
me at work and whisper shuttlecock
into my ear which loved it! The blastoff
of the first word sending the penis into space.
Not that I ever imagined
my cock being a spaceship,
though sometimes men are like astronauts, orbiting
the hot planets of women,
amazed that they have traveled so far, wanting
to land, wanting to document the first walk,
the first moan,
but never truly understanding what
has moved them. Love in an elevator.
Love in the backseat of your parent’s Chevette.
Love going to college, cutting her hair, reading Plath and sleeping
with other girls.
Sometimes love is lying across the bed
but it might not be yours.
And sometimes it travels into a hostile territory
where it’s hardly recognizable
but there all the same.
I know a man who loves tanks so much
he wishes he had one
to pick up the groceries, drive
his wife to work, drop his daughter off
at school with her Little Mermaid
lunch box, a note
hidden inside, next to the apple, folded
with a love that can be translated into any language: I hope
you do not suffer.

June 15, 2011 Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , , , | Leave a comment


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