Monthly Archives: February 2013

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 5


Sonnet # 5

Around my house and through the valleys deep

The shards of snowy glass that pave the stone

While all that breathes is soundly in their sleep

I measure how the yellow stars have shone.

Whenst I have ‘woken in the break of day

When dawn’s new eye escapes in endless light

A cold beginning that has gone astray

Turn’d now much hotter than the sun is bright.

I see the plains burn up and so the grass

To run, to where? If only I was told

By houses, farms and cities now I pass

And to myself I very chiefly scold

From ice to fire went my world astray

The mountains shiver and burn up, they say.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Conciousness


As an apple-


I don’t know which of you is orange

or just simply the word


like today mother wants me to bind her twelve books, but I said “no, mother, you do it yourself” and she shooed me away to the corner and

left me overnight I was still raw when I came out i held an apple balanced on my finger she says look sunny when do you come out? i said look, ma, when will you let me out, I’ve been savin this apple for you all night long and

I thought It was so sweet, but i saved it for you i saved itforyou

listen, orange, my pal Gregory and my pal Adam are both oranges and i am not human and i have no mother and i cannot balance other oranges on my fingertips all night long.

x   x x   xx x   x   x   x x x   x x    x x x  x   x x x

hey listen one night the light of the evening fell onto the orange light of the morning and i said to myself in a whisper when do you tell them when do you let them know? my mind sinks back to your embrace i feel your hands on my face you said the world is held on my fingertips and i cant sustain this i cant sutustain this life of ambiguity you agree? slowly i wonder why we are held in an embrace i wonder if he had thought of it before i came, and when this world cant sustain me or him or anyone, really, but who knows? the apple an i share something more than he does maybe i can put him on the grass instead of eating him.

xx x x   x x  x x x x x x x  x x x   x x x x    x x x

maybe tomorrow,

she says

and that will be the end of our conversation

does  she  want a partition or a divide or a dam built on the side of her house?

but no she says she wants his black eyes his black hair his voice

she wants to know him but not know him   since she already doesn’t  know

him but she likes to pretend that he is smart and talks about

things like sociology or Camelot or agriculture but the only

thing that comes out of  his mouth is

its a dog

i believe you have shown a trigonometry

what  it was a cylindrical?

take this to a barber shop

she smiles

she slaps herself

she regains her  composure

she does not  let herself love him

she gets near to it several times

but she does not let herself love him

until she gives up on herself

and realizes  the utter waste

this has been on her time.

 Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry



I”m not going to school today because Of some utterly insane reasons:

This morning when I woke up I felt horrible and weak.

okay, I thought. big deal. ask mom what to do..

so I do. I drink some water with lemon. I feel better.

I think: okay, now. why not take a relaxing shower, RIGHT??

wrong. mom comes in to brush her teeth. I start to feel faint. I tell her.

she says to come out of the shower.

now this is the strangest thing:

I have only felt faint once before (in a jacuzzi with a full body swimsuit!!)

I felt like a 6 ton weight was on my head,

I was cloudy

I felt nausia

I wimpered “im going to faint! I dont want to faint, I’ve never fainted before…..

The next thing I knew, I heard “get up, get up, get, up” and I first thought I was dreaming and then i realized


I guess there’s a first for everything…….oh god. And what a truly crazy morning.

okay. Hope you are shocked enough 🙂

Your nervous friend,

–Golden star Poetry



P.S -there is supposed to be a break every two lines but unless I upgrade this blog, I will never be allowed stanzas (boo hoo)


This blackberry darkness turns faery ghost white,

And the dawn shakes the dust off the cold hungry night.

And the demons and goblins and witches agree,

And the moon rising up and the sun setting down,

And the black of the evening comes in with a “BOOM”

And the thousands of eyes coming into the town.

Little lakes leave their poise and their placid overlay,

Stretch out hundreds of years to the rock and the bay.

And I ponder, beside these, on rocks by that pool,

Near a thunderstorm’s clash when the morning is cool

And the summer’s awaiting to pick and be plucked,

Int his vast open world, there the baskets are tucked

And in Summer when hotter the juice of a fruit,

Set to sonnet and music and Zither and Lute

And the blueberries blue, and the blackberries white,

when they crush, when they melt, leave unturned in the light

And in Swarthering winters, they wither and die,

Left to moan in the cabins, to yearn and to cry

But their songs never cease, in the cabins they frost,

And in frozen young Winters the berries are lost.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Office Workday (written in mid-2011)



post 1

Mr. Richardson stood from his chair, put the note on the door, strode down the hallway, and descended the old rickety staircase that led to the main offices. Once on the ground floor, he walked to the meeting room where he held gatherings with the staff members once or twice a week, depending on the amount of issues there were to discuss.

He opened the door, and stepped in.

Chapter One

Slowly, Mr. Richardson walked to his chair. Once he was settled, he stared at the cushy chair in front of him, and glanced at his watch. He was 10 minutes early. Noticing his awkward emotions in that still, silent room, he was glad to find all the staff members shuffle in. He nodded and smiled. People finding their seats, a soft murmur. When everyone was in their places, he cleared his throat and spoke. The discussion was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The strange, monotonous day seemed to have doubled it’s length. The hot, un-air conditioned cubicles and desks were in a foul mood, and everyone was sticking to their seats. Even though  fans were brought in from the basement floor, nothing changed. The faint clacking of typewriters could plainly be heard. Everyone was quiet.

Chapter Three

Though most of the staff was quite tired, some decided to bring in cold drinks to the parched mouths of their brethren workers. The offer was greatly appreciated, and soon, everyone was back to chattering about, doing business on the telephone, and typing up important information. In short, the office had been brought back to life. Mr. Richardson kept an eye on everyone from his perch at the top of the banister. Putting on his spectacles, Mr. Richardson heaved a sigh and went back into his office.

x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x

Not moments later, a cry broke out from the first floor. Mr. Richardson stepped out and called “Hey! What’s going on?!” Immediately he could see what had happened. Betty, one of the best workers in the office, had spilled a cup of scouring hot coffee on her leg. The burn was huge. It was bleeding on the marble floor, and her friend Anna was caring for the wound with a damp cloth . All eyes turned to Mr. Richardson. He looked embarrassed  Suddenly, he blurted “out! Everybody out! ” Then to Anna he said “I’l call the paramedics, no need to worry-  you’re excused.” “and you, Mrs. Adams,” said Mr. Richardson, looking at Betty harshly “be more careful next time”. The damp cloth was abandoned, and Betty’s blood was seeping through. Mr. Richardson picked up the telephone. Looking away from Betty, he dialed Zero, said a few hushed words, and hung up. Betty was kneeling on the floor, weeping.

They both heard the sirens.

Copyright  2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 4 (Winter of 1680)


Sonnet #4  (Winter of 1680)

Around the camp of soldiers wide and thin

A voice that whispers through the forest floor

In angst one boy wakes up as it begins

And as he hears it’s sound, it is no more.

A pounding and a thrashing wakes them all

But slow receding as it did before

Again what comes when Fairy Nymphs enthrall

To lift a veil of ignorance and gore

They stand with open arms outstretched to him

The milky pale of skin against the night

The boy does want to kiss the maidens few

But quick as come, they fly away in fright

One boy is still, and shivers in the cold

And waits to see them till he turneth old.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

A Tree Analogy


This is an older poem of mine (and one of my favorites!)

A tree analogy

A tree analogy:

I whittled down slowly,

like whittling down myself.

I feel the peeling

bark chopping

and the soft moss embeds

and the sticky sap attends

and I feel a sharp kick to my

left ankle.

The deft “swacks!” of the ax

and I watch this chopper closely.

through the pain

I am unattached.

I notice my cries as if from afar

I find

a distance from myself,

the self I used to love.

Lifting my hands, my limbs, their limbs,

the limbs of my branches,

I stretch out like pressed linen

like a newly starched shirt

engraved with a monogrammed name

each time the monogram sticks to me

each time with the foreboding sense

of firm steadiness to identity,

though I do not know who I am.

And, so, I make a tree Analogy:

I whittled down slowly,

not knowing what to make of myself.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 3


This one is based on Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell!

Sonnet # 3

What comes of matters when they are not here?

Your eyes averted to the sword-ed scene

That makes their vivid presence disapear

As if, in time, your thoughts mak’d what has been

I spy a country churchbell’s ringing sound

That echoed none if empty spells were cast

Below the deck of ship a storm’s rebound

Is settled in the early morning vast.

If not for wanted ways of wizardry

We say these things belong to God’s own strength

But if we speaketh of the witchery

T’would be quite hard to lecture short in length!

(I know these things are but a mystery,

A longing ballad without history).

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Notes on the depression: Parts One and Two


As you may or may not have read, my first post on this blog was that of a poem relating to children living during the great depression. I find this topic exceedingly profound to write about, and there have been other absolutely perfect examples out there (A death in the family by James Agee-plus the gorgeous musical adaptation “Knoxville summer of 1915″ -I advise you look it up if you haven’t already). Recently I wrote an addendum to that poem. They are quite strange, and probably need a good deal more editing, but hopefully you”l like them as much as I do.

An added commentary: the word” petrichor” was not coined until the mid 60’s, so that part of my poem is  historically incorrect…


Notes on the depression, Part One

How about mother wears her coat

as it drapes around her head, and

you wonder why this rain

can’t stop falling through the cracks of the sidewalk

and can’t mother let the rain become

older than her wrinkles

that are as smooth

as cream

so it melts dead

like frosted snow in the winter before the rain starts

and you just learned that the

smell of rain is plants making

oil of petrichor-

yes you get a whiff of petrichor and know it’s going to rain

and you say that to your freind and she’s so impressed,

oh how EVER know that sal, how EVER did-

but mother with her wrinkles

she doesn’t know the word for the smell of rain

or she doesn’t have and umbrella,

or just a coat or a piece of newspaper?

Read the rest of this entry

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet #2


This sonnet, like the last, is quite Shakespearean! I must admit, the sort of ambiguous feel of his sonnets (or at least, to our modern English-speaking tongues) makes them quite enjoyably mysterious (and such is the same with these sonnets which I have composed)! I hope, dear readers, that you will read these poems with great gravity and take the time to decipher their true meanings.

yours sincerely,

-Golden Star Poetry

–and a side note: the reference to salt pillars and looking back on fires refers to a story in the bible in which Lot, a biblical character, and his wife,  are instructed by G-d to not look back at  Sodom and Gomorrah being destroyed, but Lot’s wife disobeys G-d and does look back, turning into a pillar of salt.

Sonnet #2

Your eyes are fading in the sunset rimmed

And ice pervades the pupil that was there

Your hands a stonework long and limm’d

Your face so dark that shadows grab your hair

I try to see beyond the mountain west

And hilly landscape in the golden east

But none can make a home that you like best

No cure can calm this coldness in the least

My arms are pillars in the southern skies

And yours that salt returned, from stone

You had to look but one away what lies

At fire raging vast through the unknown.

I hold you in my hands and see you fall

where went our love that seems not here at all?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry