Monday, December 22, 2008
Will Suspend Blogging Here For Now
I have decided that for the present time, I will probably not be posting here on The BlueJacket Notebook. Instead, I will post my writings, primarily poetry but a few short stories as well on another of my blogs. This other blog is using the Wordpress platform, which I tried out and like so far. (Blogger, here on Google is a platform as well). So if you want, check me out at http://stephensites.wordpress.com/ and the name of the blog is Mind Clutter. Some of the poems there are here as well but I will maintain that site since it gets time consuming trying to post the same things at various different blogs.
Thanks
Steve
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
A Writer's Confession
I would never critique my own writing since I don’t really give a shit as long as I can tolerate it.
That would be like shooting oneself to end it all, or shooting oneself in the foot to stay out of the line of fire.
I would never categorize my own writing either since I don’t give a shit into what style it falls as long as I can tolerate it.
I don’t know enough either about the acceptable forms of poetry or even enough about my own form to attempt that.
Either way, when it’s all said and done, i’ll write my way and you write yours. I don’t know if you’ll be happy, but I believe I will.
© Steve Sites
That would be like shooting oneself to end it all, or shooting oneself in the foot to stay out of the line of fire.
I would never categorize my own writing either since I don’t give a shit into what style it falls as long as I can tolerate it.
I don’t know enough either about the acceptable forms of poetry or even enough about my own form to attempt that.
Either way, when it’s all said and done, i’ll write my way and you write yours. I don’t know if you’ll be happy, but I believe I will.
© Steve Sites
Monday, December 1, 2008
Mind Clutter
I sit, bent over, back sore and elbows stiff,
in front of the screen,
my mind sifting through files of clutter, searching
for bits of useful prose.
I should sleep, at 2 am, but i don't. Insomnia, as usual,
haunts me again tonight. So i reflect, i think, i write.
I bend down, hunkered over the computer, back sore
and elbows stiff. Searching for words
to express my thoughts.
Words escape me, decent ones anyway, most times,
but occasionally a few slip from my mind and down
my arms and into my fingers. I type them, all the while
reflecting and thinking and doing crude editing as i go.
I reflect, i think and I type because i feel I must.
Whether anybody else reads or likes what I write
is not really a concern as a sit there
with back sore and elbows stiff.
I write.
© Steve Sites 2008
in front of the screen,
my mind sifting through files of clutter, searching
for bits of useful prose.
I should sleep, at 2 am, but i don't. Insomnia, as usual,
haunts me again tonight. So i reflect, i think, i write.
I bend down, hunkered over the computer, back sore
and elbows stiff. Searching for words
to express my thoughts.
Words escape me, decent ones anyway, most times,
but occasionally a few slip from my mind and down
my arms and into my fingers. I type them, all the while
reflecting and thinking and doing crude editing as i go.
I reflect, i think and I type because i feel I must.
Whether anybody else reads or likes what I write
is not really a concern as a sit there
with back sore and elbows stiff.
I write.
© Steve Sites 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
For My Dear
(About this poem: This was written for someone i was close to a year or so ago, but is in the past now. I am publishing it basically unedited other than adding some crude punctuation and line breaks for easier reading, because what i put into it at the time was just pure emotion and i think that is the most appropriate way to present it here.)
For My Dear
I ask myself, it seems always, lately,
how life can be so strange
as it sometimes turns out to be.
How so many miles from me
a shining star suddenly
is seen by my lonely, wondering eyes
and that star twinkles at me
just at the right moment in time
and captivates me, and holds my gaze.
A star unlike any other, in the universe.
I just feel it is MY star, maybe for a reason only God knows, but it is mine. And as i thought of
it, more and more,
this star, my dear, is of course you.
You have became MY star, i hope,
and twinkle just for me,
though all can see your beauty and brightness
as they gaze upon you.
The star of mine, that you are, has truly
captivated my heart;
your beauty, your smile, your laugh,
your sweet words,
your everything, your soul
has captivated me.
And I dont ever want to let you go.
I find myself thinking of you
at every waking moment it seems.
I awake to you.
I hum to you.
I travel with you.
I work with you.
I eat with you.
I read with you.
I sit and think with you.
I lay down to sleep with you.
I dream with you.
I can only hope that now, it can all come true
and it will not be just in my mind and heart, but more.
So much more, soon, my dear.
I love you, my
bright, twinkling,
forever star!
© Steve Sites
For My Dear
I ask myself, it seems always, lately,
how life can be so strange
as it sometimes turns out to be.
How so many miles from me
a shining star suddenly
is seen by my lonely, wondering eyes
and that star twinkles at me
just at the right moment in time
and captivates me, and holds my gaze.
A star unlike any other, in the universe.
I just feel it is MY star, maybe for a reason only God knows, but it is mine. And as i thought of
it, more and more,
this star, my dear, is of course you.
You have became MY star, i hope,
and twinkle just for me,
though all can see your beauty and brightness
as they gaze upon you.
The star of mine, that you are, has truly
captivated my heart;
your beauty, your smile, your laugh,
your sweet words,
your everything, your soul
has captivated me.
And I dont ever want to let you go.
I find myself thinking of you
at every waking moment it seems.
I awake to you.
I hum to you.
I travel with you.
I work with you.
I eat with you.
I read with you.
I sit and think with you.
I lay down to sleep with you.
I dream with you.
I can only hope that now, it can all come true
and it will not be just in my mind and heart, but more.
So much more, soon, my dear.
I love you, my
bright, twinkling,
forever star!
© Steve Sites
WHY?
Ask a bird, if you could, in its mind, how do you fly?
Why do you fly?
Ask a bee, if you could, in its mind, how do you make honey?
Why do you make honey?
Ask the sun, if you could, in its mind, how do you make light?
Why do you make light?
Then ask me why.
© Steve Sites 2008
LAMENT FOR LOVE
A lament for love.
That bloomed and lasted from years ago,
when youthful, innocent thoughts
were of never being spent apart
nor ever far away.
Thoughts of growing old together,
souls encompassed, two minds joined as one.
A lament for love, an end of which i could not see, would not see, nor believed to be, separated
by any earthly means, time nor measure.
A lament for love that now, three years past,
brings a remorseful curse to my lips, at times.
A curse of that love of long ago, that had no end
in those youthful, innocent days.
This is my lament for love.
© Steve Sites 2008
That bloomed and lasted from years ago,
when youthful, innocent thoughts
were of never being spent apart
nor ever far away.
Thoughts of growing old together,
souls encompassed, two minds joined as one.
A lament for love, an end of which i could not see, would not see, nor believed to be, separated
by any earthly means, time nor measure.
A lament for love that now, three years past,
brings a remorseful curse to my lips, at times.
A curse of that love of long ago, that had no end
in those youthful, innocent days.
This is my lament for love.
© Steve Sites 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
How Do I Write?
How do I write? Why do i write? A question asked, at times as if writing must always follow some particular reason or well laid out pattern or harmonious scheme.
As an academician might arrange notes and evidence around him, spectacles at the ready, brow furrowed in preparation for the serious business at hand of writing some consequential piece of scholarship.
I write because I have something I want to say. As nature's beasts and beings have a purpose, a reason upon which they don't bother to stop to mediate, contemplate or speculate. Not for flattery, prizes nor spurious adulation, I write because I have something to say, for my own satisfaction.
© Steve Sites 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
More Posts Soon!
Please excuse my not posting more to this new blog at this time.
At times it's very difficult to form rhythm and rhyme.
When you're working on two blogs and life must go on.
Keep working at all times and you'll find you're alone.
Because obligations around you, remain to be served. And you sure don't want labeled an internet nerd.
I've got several things going including my rhymes.
Oh Santa, if listening, please bring me more time.
At times it's very difficult to form rhythm and rhyme.
When you're working on two blogs and life must go on.
Keep working at all times and you'll find you're alone.
Because obligations around you, remain to be served. And you sure don't want labeled an internet nerd.
I've got several things going including my rhymes.
Oh Santa, if listening, please bring me more time.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Gravestone Poem
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP;
I AM NOT THERE. I DO NOT SLEEP.
I AM A THOUSAND WINDS THAT BLOW.
I AM THE DIAMOND GLINTS ON SNOW.
I AM THE SUNLIGHT ON RIPENED GRAIN.
I AM THE GENTLY AUTUMN RAIN.
WHEN YOU AWAKEN IN THE MORNING'S HUSH
I AM THE SWIFT UPLIFTING RUSH
OF QUIET BIRDS IN CIRCLED FLIGHT.
I AM THE SOFT STARS THAT SHINE AT NIGHT.
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND CRY;
I AM NOT THERE. I DID NOT DIE.
Text of a gravestone in Wapley Churchyard in South Glouchestershire, England. Taken by Adrian Pingstone in July 2006 and placed in the public domain.
This image has been released into the public domain by its author, Arpingstone. This applies worldwide.
I AM NOT THERE. I DO NOT SLEEP.
I AM A THOUSAND WINDS THAT BLOW.
I AM THE DIAMOND GLINTS ON SNOW.
I AM THE SUNLIGHT ON RIPENED GRAIN.
I AM THE GENTLY AUTUMN RAIN.
WHEN YOU AWAKEN IN THE MORNING'S HUSH
I AM THE SWIFT UPLIFTING RUSH
OF QUIET BIRDS IN CIRCLED FLIGHT.
I AM THE SOFT STARS THAT SHINE AT NIGHT.
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND CRY;
I AM NOT THERE. I DID NOT DIE.
Text of a gravestone in Wapley Churchyard in South Glouchestershire, England. Taken by Adrian Pingstone in July 2006 and placed in the public domain.
This image has been released into the public domain by its author, Arpingstone. This applies worldwide.
I Am Not A Poet
I do not consider myself a poet.
Any wizard or wonder of wordsmithery.
I write emotions at times, when the need hits me.
I am no respecter of rhyme or meter.
No student of poets, old or new either.
Few I would point to for inspiration, approbation.
Sometime pure emotion is the best motivation.
I do not consider myself a poet.
But one with emotion who cannot stand stoic
I am not a poet.
© 2008 Steve Sites
Any wizard or wonder of wordsmithery.
I write emotions at times, when the need hits me.
I am no respecter of rhyme or meter.
No student of poets, old or new either.
Few I would point to for inspiration, approbation.
Sometime pure emotion is the best motivation.
I do not consider myself a poet.
But one with emotion who cannot stand stoic
I am not a poet.
© 2008 Steve Sites
Highly Recommended Link
Occasionally i run across something on the net that i think people just need to see. Below is a link to one of those sites. It's called Photos that Changed the World and definitely warrants a look.
http://photosthatchangedtheworld.com/
http://photosthatchangedtheworld.com/
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