All posts by pezoldo

The Music

The night, soon late, begs we return on home,
and voices on my ears bequeath a sound
that makes me feel like I am here alone
– so loud those fell cacophonies resound.

My heartbeat turns to drums, my skin to chord.
My eyes strobe light, my fingers string the notes:
this knowledge that the friends I’d ne’er afford
yet chose to have me join their open throats.

Though peace is far from this reverbing beat,
and soon annoyance washes out each word,
the music we lay down on this dark street
sings on inside my heart, in silence heard.

This tune becomes the body of my soul
and memory of a love I can’t control.

M.
June 12/17

The Crow

I recently was lent a copy of The Diamond Age, a novel by Neal Stephenson which explores a fantasy-like future in which nanotechnology and cultural constructs reign supreme. It was in this unlikely (and thoroughly enjoyable) bundle of pages that I found an intriguing poem – “The Raven” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whom I had studied in my grade twelve Literature class.

As you can likely tell by the title of this post, the poem struck a chord with me. The following composition is based on Coleridge’s “The Raven”, with my own ideas thrown in for good measure.

Underneath a stout walnut tree
There was of swine a great company.
They grunted as they crunched the wood,
Which, not long after, no longer stood. Continue reading The Crow

Williams Park

Thoughts on how friendships change with the passing seasons and years.

I.
I remember that summer as
both cold and hot we
waded through the ashes of
my mother dying strapped our
tears to leafy branches watched them
float down with the current defined
by movies watched from the bed
of a truck your head on mine we swam
as far away as Hope stuck together
like five petals on a summer rose Continue reading Williams Park

The Death of My Mother as a Movie in Post-Production

The camera pans slowly, no
more quick cuts because
by now the
director’s used to
directing, the producer’s
used to producing, the dead
are used to being
shoved into a little porcelain
cup in the dirt, coupled with
those little porcelain
pythos at the back of our
mental shelving units.

The take is edited so that good
parts come first, and bad
parts are hidden behind
them. The take is edited so that
we aren’t looking at the camera (by
accident) or drowned in
the British Columbian
rain-showers. The take is edited so
that the year is summed up in a
neat little montage, played against
a backdrop of David Guetta:
Titanium and Nine Inch Nails:
La Mer.

Can we please get a mic over
here to catch this important
moment before it degenerates into
something so profoundly unscripted
that we can’t use it in the
finished film? Thanks
very much.

The cast is set, with
lines memorized
and makeup applied, which is
kinda funny because the audience
won’t see the reality of
weeks spent rehearsing dance
numbers and musical
arrangements. Instead, all they
see is the finished product, sparkling
and a little too perfect, a full
year after the actual
event has occurred.

Post-production is always like a
unicycle trying to tap
dance: the question lies in how
to balance budget and performance
quality while trying to make a lot
of noise in time to the music and
also not fall down. They do get it right
eventually (it’s all about finding the
right person to head the team) and
there’s a few thousand dollars left
for graveyard flowers and college
tuition deposits.

I imagine it
now. The premiere. The theater
fills with anticipatory
remarks. The hush falls suddenly with
the rising curtain, and legal
guardians quiet their adoptive children:
the show has begun.

The fateful year of
production, now condensed
into two hours of select highlights
and all the important bits, plays
out in front of a sold-out
crowd. The end is
heartbreaking. The screen turns
black like six p.m. The credits roll
to thundering applause. A standing
ovation.

M.
April 25/17

Just Friends

[Inspired by Disney’s Beauty and the Beast]

I watch you,
ten rows down at
two-and-a-half-feet a row
Space
enough for friendship

Courting indifference
– uncertainty, adventure,
due diligence, rebellion –
whatever sugar we’re coating it in
these days
I feel lost in a world where
blue and gold
turn grey

Just friends
until somebody takes a chance
like I did
bending to a plucked rose,
still yellow
but fraying red

Torn between
thoughts and feelings
– neither being rational –
but pretending, all the same
that the mess makes
some sort of
Sense

Senselessness,
as in, unfeeling
pricked by a thorn
outward perceptions and
melodramatic music, TV shows,
movies you care nothing for
and beauty found
in people
smaller than their
circumstances

I am smaller, too
than I ought to be
Uncertain
of that same space,
frozen, locked away

And all I want
is to turn the key
poised precariously
ashen lock – torn, yellow curtain
longing
for freedom

M.
Mar 18/17
Picture: mild steel hibiscus blossom

Soulcrushing

Close your eyes
and think

Does it almost feel
like nothing
changed at all?

Try to let that
sink in
and open those
little eyes again

Go soulcrushing
with the best of them
Like when I’m
crying on the floor
at midnight,
wishing I had muscles
strong enough
to heave up dinner

Holding my own
fingers, cause
no one’s there to
hold my hand
as if it mattered

Screaming dead-aired
screams
Weeping without tears
as I –
Or as you, rather –
wait for the melancholy
to pass

Snot dripping down
your chin and into
your eyes
Mingling with your
shaking breath
and shaking limbs

Close your eyes
and think

Think about anything
but think about it
before you die

M.
Feb 20/17

Success

Bonus poem this week, owing to my unfortunately sporadic posting habits. This one’s part sincere and part sarcastic… just thoughts about the little things that make an ordinary day worth living.

Success

Today is a success
If I go to bed before midnight
but after nine o’clock
and fall asleep within an hour

Today is a success
If I eat vegetables with dinner
and don’t spend hours
wiling away on the computer
If I read before bed
If I make it through a TV episode
without crying

Today is a success
If the afternoon is productive
with video games
only serving to break up
the monotony of actual work
If I write two-and-a-half emails
and remember to save the draft

Today is a success
If I bother eating lunch
If I take a break from either
working hard or hardly working
If I don’t have too much dairy
(I’m lactose intolerant, you know)
If I have at least one conversation
If I manage to get outside the house
If I touch another human being
If I drink six cups of water
If I stick to snacks containing fruit
If I don’t draw blood
If I work on my self-proclaimed novel

Today is a success
If I get out of bed in the morning
If my sheets aren’t bloodstained
and my alarm works as planned
If I eat all of my breakfast
without throwing part of it away
and don’t spend too much time reading
before I turn to my chores
If I brush my teeth
and manage to smile

Today is a success
If I even wake up
If I remember part of my dreams
but not all of them
and if those dreams
retain some modicum of contentment

M.
Feb 24/17
Detail, acrylic on paper