Da-Da-Da.

How about a new Haiku?

This, a new Haiku
Is a dedication to
da-da-da-donkeys!

Kaylee A. Ferree



I know, it's amazingly brilliant. And you're thinking, "What the heck? Why didn't I come up with that?" Right? Yeah...thought so.

Silent Noon.

Silent Noon
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass,-
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
You eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms
'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorne-hedge.
'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.

Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly
Hangs like a blue-thread loosened from the sky:-
So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
This close-companioned inarticulate hour
When two-fold silence was the song of love.


from "Four Centuries of Great Love Poems." Compiled by Debra Starr. J.W. Edwards, Inc., US: 2006.


I thought this poem was beautiful. Love doesn't need sound. It just needs love.

Sorry. Again.

Yeah...

So I haven't posted for awhile. I know. I'm bad.

I was on Spring Break so I really didn't get around to waking up very early to think about putting a poem or something up here everyday. Then I came back to school and still didn't wake up in time to put a poem up here before I went to class...usually.

So anywho...Sorry. Maybe I'll get my butt back on my computer chair eventually and post a crazy poem. How'd ya all like that?

________________

In other news...

Shane and I might be trying to get a little group together to play in Wilcox this summer for the 4th of July celebration that we have on or around the 4th of July. This year it'll be on the eighth. If it actually goes through and stuff I'll let ya know and maybe you can come venture down and hear us play. I promise we'll sound awesome.

By the way - this is now your one stop shop for all your poetry needs and your information center on the Kaylee Ferree Experience (or so I've been calling it - our "band".)

So yeah, tune in. And we'll see you next time on...Kaylee's...awesome...poemlikebandstuff...blog!

Drawing.

Shane made this for me. It's poetic. Just look at it.

Just Need To Know.

Just wondering if I could ask you, if you read this, to let me know something.

I don't want to be just posting these poems for myself - I could just read them to myself out of a book. I'm just wondering who is actually reading my blog and actually cares to read it - no pity reading please.

Apologies and Verse One.

Sorry for the lack of poetry today. I hope you all weren't too discouraged. I hope, to make up for the missing poem, you will all enjoy the first verse to the song I am currently writing. The chorus, if you remember, is titled At Midnight - the previous post.

(So Far Untitled)
Kaylee A. Ferree

Laughing. All the flowers tickle
Elbows, knees and I can't think at all,
Save for all the ways I love you
To me, you are beautiful.
But that's over now.
The Spring-time of our Love is gone.



Don't worry. I am not writing this song about my current relationship with Shane. Far from it. I'm just piecing together bad memories of past relationships to make a, hopefully, decent song. Please let me know what you think.

At Midnight.

At Midnight
Kaylee A. Ferree

Baby, it's cold outside
And I feel so alone
Baby, it's cold outside
I thought I knew you were the only one
But you threw it all away like
The rain comes to wash away the lies
You told me.


This is actually the chorus of a song that I'm in the process of finishing.

I Have Ink In My Skin.

I Have Ink In My Skin
Kaylee A. Ferree

I got a tattoo
Last month. It is on my back.
No, it did not hurt.



This was based on a true story.

Slam Poet: Johnny Tornado.

Johnny Tornado (or Johnmark Huscher) spoke in our poetry class this semester. He is amazing. You can find his myspace profile if you'd like. In our class he shared with us one of his poems, Punk Rock Love Poem. It was amazing. I have it on my Myspace profile.

Instead of posting a written poem today I want to give you the link to my Myspace profile so you can hear this incredible spoken poem.

Bold Disclaimer: There is swearing, and much of it. If you don't want to hear s words or f words then please do yourself a favor and do not visit the link.

Punk Rock Love Poem: Johnmark Huscher.

I wish I could find videos of him to put on Myspace. Of course, I haven't looked very hard.

Oh, and thanks for the comments and feedback.

A Haiku For Spring Break.

Sorry, I've been slacking on my poems during Spring Break. Biiig apologies. Here's one off the top of my head...

A Haiku For Spring Break
Kaylee A. Ferree

Slacking on Spring Break
Is not fair to my readers.
I love Maggie's hair.

The Door To the Toy Room Always Open.

Door To the Toy Room Always Open
Kaylee A. Ferree

Two grand-daughters growing up
with hand-made teddy bears worn from hugs
and smiles. The door was never closed;
Grandpa's strong steady voice
rang in tiny ears. Yellowed books
held by young hands, cozy on the lap
of a teacher. The kind of teacher
that is a Grandmother. Markers
gripped tightly with learning hands.
Chocolate chip cookies and milk,
a feast for Princesses after their naps,
but those young hearts never slept.


This is the revised The Toy Room. I had to shorten it from thirty lines to twelve lines; and the syllables per line had to be shortened as well. I don't know which one I like best.

Chickens Deserve To Die.

Chickens Deserve To Die
Gayle Morton

5 am in the cold frigid daybreak
In rubber boots 2 sizes too big
To do a job not worth the payback
Rancid chickens fluttering in filth
Too stupid to know what's happening
But smart enough to fight back
Claws of steel scratch severely, slowly
How Flesh flies in the chicken coop
Outside comes the end and not too soon
One chop, two chops dead, done, next
Watch the legs wiggle as life leaves
Drain the blood as hounds dig in the feast
My voice may sound cold, but trust me
The chickens deserve to die

"Car.il.lon: 2006." Morris Publishing, Kearney NE. 2006

I think this one explains itself.

The Toy Room.

The Toy Room

Kaylee A. Ferree

The only two grand-daughters all grown up now
No one to play with the old, forgotten toys
The hand-made teddy bears worn from hugs and smiles
Their arms still outstretched, pleading for one last embrace
Strong sunlight through the window illuminating
The child’s small rocking chair, legs covered in bite marks
From the family’s old beagle named Velvet
Remember the old, roughly upholstered couch
Not comfy or snuggly enough for naps
And remember the sharp smell of legal pads
Grandpa’s office over-run by cute dollies
The closet was a forest of unworn clothes
They covered the childish toys of young hearts
Board games, Barbie’s, and puzzles missing pieces
Hours spent running a miniature plastic farm
Pages of books yellowing on the shelves
Stories read a hundred times not growing old
Young hands holding Go, Dog Go! and Hop On Pop
Learning how to read on the lap of a teacher
The kind of teacher that is a Grandmother
The door never completely shut while playing
Hearing Zoobilee Zoo left on the T.V.
The strong voice of the Grandfather ringing loud
Singing old western songs – his voice not shaky
Snacks of crackers and peanut butter or
M & M’s and soft chocolate chip cookies
Spending the rest of the day with new crayons
The only goal was to stay in the lines
Wish to return to the cozy old toy room
The only two grand-daughters all grown up now

This poem has been shortened and revised to turn in for our midterm assignment in my Poetry class. I will post the revised version sometime. But first, please tell me what you think of the original. I would love feedback on these poems, even if they're not mine. And remember, let me know if you want to read any other poets or a certain genre of poem. Thanks.

Kay.

The Infirmament.

The Infirmament
Dean Young

An end is always punishment for a beginning.
If you're Catholic, sadness is punishment
for happiness, you become the bug you squash
if you're Hindu, a flinty space opens
in your head after a long night of laughter
and wine. For waking there are dreams,
for French poetry, English poetry,
for light, fire although sometimes
fire must be punished by light
which is why psychotherapy had to be invented.
A father may say nothing to a son for years.
A wife may keep something small folded deep
in her underwear drawer. Clouds come in
resembling the terrible things we believe
about ourselves, a rock comes loose
from a ledge, the baby cries
and cries. Doll in a chair,
windshield wipers, staring off
into the city lights. For years
you may be unable to hear the word monkey
without a stab in the heart because
she called you that the summer she thought
she loved you and you thought you loved
someone else and everyone loved
your salad dressing. And the daffodils
come up in the spring and the snow covers
the road in winter and the water covers
the deep trenches in the sea where all the time
the inner stuff of this earth surges up
which is how the continents are made
and broken.


-The Best American Poetry: 2000. Rita Dove. David Lehman. Scribner, 2000.



This poem is the best we have studied in my Poetry class this semester. It is pretty close to a written slam poem, only shorter. I would love to post more actual slam poems here, but they're just not the same written opposed to spoken. Maybe we could all go to a slam competition sometime.

Poetry.

The theme of this blog is now Poetry.

I will try to post a different poem each day - and I will try to do so in the morning so you'll be able to start your day out right - with a healthy dose of written art.

I will start today - once I finish this post informing you all of my decision.

If you know of any poets that you would like to see here please let me know and I will do my best to get your requests posted.

Thanks.

Kay.

Announcement.

As you can see I have a new blog link in the right hand column of this page. Shelly's Blog. You all should check it out.

And I will, soon, be getting to posting my real blogs soon. Within the next week, I hope.

Good-night all.

Sorry.

I still haven't really decided on what I'm going to do with my blog. I think I might post poems - like a have a poem of the week maybe. And that would give me a chance to post some of my own poems and get a little feedback on them.

And then I thought, maybe I could do a poem of the week and then do something else daily. *shrugs* I just need to figure out what I would do daily - apart from "work was okay today, I have homework, goodbye" type stuff.

Thank you all for the suggestions and I'll get something up and running soon-esque. Promise.