John Wessel 9/22/2009
A map of the best ways to get around Ventura by bicycle.
Dad taught me how to ride a bicycle in, I think, second grade. My memory says that it hadn't occurred to me before then
and that no one had brought it up but that doesn't jive with another memory: a feeling of embarrassment that I was really
behind the other kids in learning.
Dad bought me a bicycle and took me to Chumash park to learn how to balance. At first,
he ran with me balancing the seat. The first time I managed to balance on my own, I didn't remember how to stop and
ran into a metal trash can in the middle of the path. Then Dad got lazy, told me I just needed momentum to balance and
started pushing me down a grass hill for said momentum. I flipped over the handlebars once and remember that it hurt strangely
less than it should have. I shouldn't blame Dad too much though; I looked at the hill and it's far shallower than I
remember it, almost not to be there. He probably gave me a shove too :(
...read the rest.
John Wessel 9/8/2009
This poem more or less sprang directly into my head two days after said incident. It has long vowels that give it a rise and fall, which I find whimsical.
Last Friday night, I was all alone.
I called some friends. None answered the phone.
So I mixed me a drink and typed out a letter
To a girl from Hong Kong I want to know better.
I wrote a few pages,
Of words for the ages.
When to my consternation,
Came a dreadful sensation,
Of spiked carbonation,
Twisting my stomach.
I threw it up.
...read the rest.
John Wessel 9/8/2009
I don't mess around with small talk and sometimes my interest frightens people. Writing my reassurances in rhyme probably didn't help... It's one of my favorites though!
If I wrote to you,
Of thoughts deep and true,
What would you think?
What would you do?
Would you doubt the intention,
Behind such attention,
Though your wit were not worth,
My creative invention?
...read the rest.
John Wessel 1/3/2009
The imagery of mortality looks like this to me. This poem is very nearly a sonnet, with the exception that the odd numbered lines have 9 syllables instead of 10. I lead with the stress on the first syllable of each line, making things sound impending, and the odd number of syllables helps when reading it aloud.
Death annoys immortal beings not,
Though even they must pay the reapers due.
Love to life as concept is to thought;
Observe the crop once cut will rise anew.
Picture endless interlocking rings,
Denoting every possible desire.
Each man is the cross of countless things,
All vying for the universe entire.
...read the rest.
