The Gazeebo

A Poet's Place

The Gazeebo: There is a Beauty in the Senses… Yes?

Hello all!

School has officially started and was already assigned to write a poem for my Intro to Poetry class – YIPPEE!! 🙂   My other classes are great as well, including history, business, guitar, and music theory.  What’s nice about this semester is that none of these are general education requirements, thus meaning I actually want to take every single class I’m taking 🙂  It’s a beautiful thing when you have that kind of freedom, wouldn’t you agree?

Oh and by the way, I posted another review on The Examiner today – called “Review:  All-American Poem by Matthew Dickman.”  So, obviously, I wrote a review on All-American Poem, the only book of Matthew Dickman’s that I personally know of.  It is just so beautiful though and I highly suggest that all of those who enjoy poetry in the slightest, to read it.

Anyway, on to the poem.  The assignment was over imagery… thus the reason for the title of this post 🙂  I’m posting the extended version of it because I really like the wholeness of it, versus just what I was allowed to write for the assignment.  Though, for any of those who are interested, the assignment version ended with “swung shut” in the eleventh line.

Continue reading

January 24, 2012 Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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

Hello!

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.

Love

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

Welcome to The Gazeebo: A Poet’s Place

Hello!

Well for an introduction to The Gazeebo, it comes from an idea I did a little while back with this guy I knew, and my sister.  You see, we have a gazebo in our backyard and I’m a huge poet and he and I decided we wanted to do a little poetry slam so the gazebo seemed like the perfect place.  Of course, as a poet herself, my sister joined in and we had a wonderful time at it 🙂  The melted flower candle as the icon here is from that night.  Well, I’m still enjoying poetry and will always enjoy it so I decided to create a blog that allowed for a little place for fellow poets to check out and (if everything works out properly) maybe even post some of their own poems (whether it be through comments and the such or whatever) to be critiqued by me and other fellow poets.  I just took a poetry class over at the University of Arizona and thoroughly enjoyed being able to expand my own literary creativeness, if you will, along with helping my peers in expanding their own with critiques from me, and (of course) getting openly critiqued.  I personally love when someone has something to say about my writing whether it be just compliments, feelings, or even comments on how to improve it.  I believe that very few of my own poems are officially done.

Anyway, now that that little intro is done,  I have also added areas within The Gazeebo where I provide updates on fires in Arizona (AZ Fire Watch), along with other places (Fire Watch), and also have a little area where I provide updates of a diet that I’m doing while I move toward my own victory (To Victory!).  Finally, there’s the tab where I have excerpts from a piece I’m writing called “The Ramblings of Mr. Packard” (Mr. Packard).  I also urge you to look at the navigation bar at right where I have added a bit of info about every little piece of stuff on my blog 🙂

To start out this blog fresh and new, here’s a poem I wrote at the end of that poetry class I told you about, an idea I had after reading Matthew Dickman’s book, All American Poem.  Enjoy! 🙂

Summer

The sun is out, the time for flip flops and

swim trunks and a dip in the pool.  Don’t forget

to buy your Coppertone sun screen – SPF 50.  I’ve been waiting

all year for the that first cold jump and the accompanying shiver

before the repeated diving to the bottom to grab

the rings warm me up.  It’s the time for competing

with our swim caps on.  100 freestyle and 50 breaststroke

but don’t forget the 100 Individual Medley, such a lovely mix

of it all, so fast it makes your heart want to jump out of

your chest, while your ears tell you of the screaming above

the surface.  You know your parents are there on the deck,

clapping, waiting for your hand to hit the wall, followed by the

rush of water as your body comes to a stop.  It’s an American time,

baseball season has started while you’re in the water.  But

you don’t care because you’re going out tonight

with that girl whose tan faded away over the winter –

All the while, I’ll be at the movies, happy about the

air conditioning after the win in the water.

We’ll be having a snow cone tomorrow

when we go to the park, my sister and I

and then we’ll go home to our dogs who’ve

laid out in the misters, their paws wet with mud because

of their pool, but it’s this summer, along with a few trips up

north to the cabin, that I look forward to as the last

school bell rings for the year.

© Jesse McDowell Lungren

June 6, 2011 Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , , , | Leave a comment

   

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