to be read to the tune of comic 262



Genki Delusions: Kotone's Song
by: Jon Keim (J.Random)
began 2002 0524

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jiggle my keys, the stupid thing sticks.
a click from the lock, it's the end of the day
breathe out a smile and cast off a sigh
shed care from my shoulders as I cross the doorway
it was just work, just a day on the job
just one more page in this domestic essay
I'm living, I'm making it, I should be happy
so why'm I so tired from making my way?

shuffle the purse from table to closet
flip through the mail, can't have disarray
now water and pot and ramen and stove
mixing the makings of dinner today
pop open the milk-tea I bought at the station
sit in the window for the sun's very last ray.
light leaves the horizon, just skyline remains
a sudden exhaustion makes the room sway.
three minutes 'till dinner, so strange that I'm sleepy
so I think, until then, I'll find someplace to lay

climb into bed and I'm feeling good
the ramen is done so the stove's timer plays
fifteen minutes later, still staring at ceilings
I'm sure all the ramen has boiled away
but I'm too afraid to disturb the moment
my calm resolution, this happy delay.
my countenance cracks, now I feel it coming
and soon my false face has fallen away
pressed into the pillow, wet silent with tears
barely believing this life gone astray
alone, unimportant, I'm no one worth knowing
adrift here in Tokyo, my own castaway
with nothing worth doing, no landmarks to guide me
maintaining existence is mockish display
genki delusions of lives better lived
shroud mine in their shadow, make everything gray

wrenching this sadness back into my heart
this life that's so small, well who is to say
this pain that I'm feeling, this floating and spinning
who says that life never happens this way?
This has to be normal, just too much to bear
for my foolish, weak heart made of paper maché

sit up in my bed, pull my hair from my eyes
the face on the clock reflects my dismay
I had no idea how long I had stayed here
how long my emotions have held me at bay
I'm such an idiot, with half the night wasted
lost to this utterly childish display

clean myself up, eyes are locked on the mirror
I can't quite get this one hair strand to stay
but it's no use to put down it's rebellion
I'm together enough, now head down the hallway
to survey the damage that I've done to dinner
my ramen has practically turned into clay
pot goes in the sink, it's time to start over
takes so little time that it's perfectly okay
boil the water and dump in the noodles
and dinner is only three minutes away
minutes that pass uneventfully now
now sit down in front of this frugal array
and if I'm still sad, well, I'll never know it
extra salt that my ramen will never betray




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Oi has this poem ever been a long time in the making. Slow muse. ^^; Anyway, hope you liked it.

Without meaning to sound *too* overly self-important I'd like to say a couple thanks: A big arigato to Tanetris for editing help. Without his suggestions only the first three stanzas would exist, and poor Kotone would still crying in bed at the end of the poem. Also, I'd like to thank the crossword solver that's built into my PDA's spell-checker. Without the ability to search for "*ay" and "*ey", all that rhyming would've been utterly impossible.

*SNIFF*

You're a cruel man, JRL. How dare you make me feel so strongly for a girl who isn't real!

There's only one thing I can say to this....

(ref: Brownfields, Greyfields)
Burn my eyes with acrid dust,
Shower my hair with grains of rust.
The deafening shock of hammered steel
Will cover the sobs from what I feel.

These mammoth hearths, these iron looms
Are like the world's industrial womb,
The mother of cities in distant lands.
This is no place for my impotent hands.

What use are you? What have you done?
No cities built! No trophies won!
I apologise. These hands are not to blame,
The fault is their possessor's shame.

That I have been afraid to try,
To spread my wings and dare to fly.
That timidness made me turn and flee,
From life's challenges and cruelty.

And so I began to fade away,
To lose my depth, and turn to grey.
Until I'll simple cease to be,
No fearful girl, no more... me.

So I beg you, though I've kept you ill,
My poor hands, please be my will.
I've created nothing for my name,
It's up to you to make my fame.

To build, to sculpt, to weave, to dance!
To chase that dream! To take that chance!
And while you work at that, could you.
Mend this frail girl, too?


Oh, and by the way, this is my 1,000th post.

heh, just a quickie caus i really liked the depressing mood that JRandom set
oh btw, my sig is from "The Poet's Advice" by John G. Neihardt


and yet, the city still as coldly burns
I never knew the coldness of its light
a thousand lights in neon, green and red
enough to blind the darkness of the night
but all I want is warmth, that I cannot find
this weary life in which nothing seems right
the blankets are cold, I toss them aside
refusing to let tears again blur my sight

step out on the balcony, the city athrobs
with slumbering life, a myriad of light
the strangest feeling comes upon me as though
I'm looking at life from a distant height
what are they doing? why are they here?
anonymous faces, smiling, polite
is there some meaning to life that I'm missing?
or do I just think too much of my plight?

this sudden weakness surprises myself
what is the matter? I was always alright
well not quite alright, but I've learned to ignore
the emptiness that threatens to tear me inside
a cold breeze blows past, I shiver a bit
my nightgown is really too thin for tonight
but I won't stay here long, just long enough to let
the chilly night wind freeze the tears in my sight

OK, here's my contribution, for anyone who, like Piro or Kimiko, has ever felt love to be an uphill battle:

Our Lady of the Snows

She stands, and from her somber, silent peak
A funerary wind shies down the shrouded slopes,
Ether dried, and shocked by the astral cold
Of her dreaming summit, whose lonely flags
Slap with revenant hands the rarefied air,
Marking men's brief visits there.

Who now shall climb the lost, forsaken ways?
Barred and broken are the paths of old.
The swirling mists that wrap her riven skirts
Are clammy shrouds for the bones of the fallen.
Heart's blood stains the daggered, stony wards;
They drink the lives of those who, yearning for
An open trail, trespass upon the holy ground.

Bleak and certain, the burden of the wind:
Hear! Keep close in thy heart this tragic truth,
That never will the mountain call to thee;
It's silent presence calls of itself,
And draws response in each man's burning need.