Calling All Lovers of Lars' Poetry

Ah, my two followers, and however many secret stalkers I have who may be reading this, the time has come for a very important event.

I have entered a poetry contest. Because it involves Billy Collins.

If you don't know about my Billy Collins obsession, do not fear. I'll share! But first, pretty pretty please click here, and create an account (if you don't have a figment.com account that is) and "heart" my poem. The top ten will be read and judged by Billy Collins. I am definitely not giggling in excitement every time I think about that.

See, my love for this American poet began with an animal issue. Yes. It all goes back to my animal problems, doesn't it?

My neighbors had this poor, neglected, mean old mangy dalmatian named Jake. He was about 1000 years old, and he could not stop barking. Ever. It was as if he literally had to make noise to survive. I seriously have never hated a dog so much as that one. He would growl if you looked at him over the fence, and whine if he was feeling particularly sorry for himself.

Then one day, my aunt, who is a writer herself, came to visit. Jake was displeased. My aunt, upon hearing the dog we'd all complained so much about, directed our attention to the copy of Sailing Alone Around the Room by the fireplace and read aloud Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun in the House.

A year later, I met Mr. Collins at a poetry lecture at the library. I was 11. The rest, as they say, is history.

Let's All Be Uncomfortable

This week is officially Let's All Be Uncomfortable week. I've had awkward experiences literally everyday of this week. Let's break it down.

Monday: Actually, let's not talk about this one. We'll just say it started with me reading library books in a park because I couldn't be in my house, and it just got more uncomfortable from there. Some things are better left unsaid.

Tuesday: Ok. Confession. I drown my sorrows in Taco Bell. And I eat there a lot when I'm not drowning my sorrows. My bff and I often go there for Taco Bonding Time, where we sit and spill our guts while eating tacos. Fun fact? The employees recognize me. I'm pretty sure they know all about my life. I'm also 100% positive I applied for a job there. Ginger Drive-Thru Employee Man gives me this knowing smile every time I go in. He definitely gave me one on Tuesday when I ordered the 1/2 lb potato burrito.

Wednesday: The Realtor forgot to call. I was patching and painting when the Potential Home Buyers arrived. After a quick escape, my sister kindly informed me that I'd been walking around in public, waving at people we knew, with an enormous amount of paint on my butt. Yay.

Thursday: Beluga decided she needed a new engine. For a one-car family, this is a disaster. When the mechanics simultaneously inform you of the time frame of the repair and ask you to fill out paperwork for a ride home, you often look like an idiot. The silent twenty minute drive home in the courtesy van is fun, too, particularly when you manage to get lost.

This will all be really funny. Next week.

To the Robin Who Came to Visit This Morning...

Dear Scruffy Bird,

It was ever so kind of you to drop by this morning. Just imagine my surprise to find you sitting on my porch, glaring at me as though I were a trespasser when I went to empty the compost! Squatting there with your horrible beady eyes, panting like a greedy dog, and oozing liquid, I suppose you were just resting; how silly of me to think you were slowly dying in my presence. If your behavior were not enough, the fact that you appeared to have been mauled by an unfortunately unsuccessful cat added to your incredibly disturbing nature. I do apologize for screaming and forcing my mother to come take care of you, but did you really need to take a dump before you flew away? Furthermore, your return visit to the lawn was not appreciated. As you can clearly see, we are trying to sell our house, and the presence of angry hobo robins does not increase our chances of doing such.

It's not that I dislike your species; on the contrary I find your brethren lovely. You, however, are the avian equivalent to a lecherous old man far past his due date in an asylum somewhere. I hope the neighbor's cats finished you off, because should I ever lay eyes on you again, I may be forced to bring the cats in myself.

With all due respect, get out of my life.

Sincerely,

Lars

Hmmm...

I seem to be putting a great deal of poetry up...

Oh well. It's my blog. I can do what I want to. :) I haven't named this one yet...suggestions?

With each hug

I am filled with meaning.

Each pair of arms

speaks to me,

tells of the journeys

the shared laughter

communal tears.

Every one bittersweet,

but I am not sad

I do not weep.

Then you hug me.

Your embrace is not

inside of your arms;

they are silent.

You embrace me

with your words

and the jar of my heart

is cracked,

leaking these journeys,

allowing them to swirl

and push behind my eyes.

This is the last time

we will dance together...

(eyes closed)

For a while.

For a while.

Unresolved Issues With the Animal Kingdom: Butterflies

Ok. I know what you're thinking. Pigeons are understandable, if a little extreme. Deer? A bit of a stretch. But butterflies? Those pretty winged creatures that grow from caterpillars? The ones that represent hope and beauty and freedom and delicacy and all things feminine and sweet?

Yup. Those are the ones.

They're awful, and here's why:

They are too big to be insects, but conversely too small to be animals. SO WHAT ARE THEY? Creepy. Yuck.

They are fragile. This relates to being a weird size; they can die too easily, but when they do die, their remains are large enough to be seen in disturbing detail. If one of those suckers gets squished on your windshield, you're likely to run off the road and crash as you will be screaming in horror, the way you would be if a bird were to smear itself across your car.

They're specifically designed to look like eyeballs, so that predators think they are large scary beasts. Oh wait. They are.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, they eat the carcasses of dead animals. They are carnivorous tee-ninecy beings which feed on the flesh of grizzly bear leavings. If that doesn't gross you out at least a little bit...I don't know what will. Probably only really brutal serial killer evidence photos.