I am not happy with that androgynous American,
money so ready to hand:
thoughtlessly generous or fanboy,
I do not approve
of how he slides into your life
without a sideways glance
to see who else might want to dance
and who's been waiting for a chance
to tell his honey-eyed idol
that she /is/ cute,
especially in short dresses with dark leggings.

PS - Starving Artist,
go work for CubeSoft.


[And that's as far as I got before the pizza delivery man showed up.]
Hmm. That whole yin/yang comparison would make a wonderful poem. I hope you'll both work on it and post.

Unlike smurd who can captivate us with a whole page of tightly rhymed beauty, I have trouble with long poems; I'm never happy with what comes out. But I'm not having luck capturing what I want in a shorter form. Here's one Kimiko verse I wish were better and/or shorter:

Were I in that page,
two dimensional, screen-bound
like you Kimiko,

I would tell you that
your striving is not in vain.
Your big break will come.

Every anime -
you'd do Sakura better.
Lain. Naguma too.

In my mind's hearing,
your voice is as beautiful
as those eyes of yours.

Eyes to get lost in.
Eyes to break a heart in two.
Eyes too pure for tears.

But a dimension
holds us apart. I can't fit.
I can only sigh.
I want to be serial artist,
in line and shading draw you,
call you,
Kimiko, to cup your chin in my hands
and reassure you,
whose voice I've never heard
and depth I've never seen,
but in your eyes:
you'll get your break,
you can do Sakura,
and the dimension that separates us
is no bar to caring.

You guys obviously don't have kids that wake you up at 5:30 am. Poetry in the middle of the night? While yawning?

A serial poem. Let's see, where did Quinn leave us...wanting to draw Kimiko...ok here goes:

Ah the temptations!
If I held the artist's pen
what would I alter?

A scary power.
Would I remove the worry
that shapes your resolve?

No, surely not that.
It defines you - makes you real.
I can't fight your fight.

I wouldn't enhance
your body - willowy, lithe.
Elven perfection.

Your hair, that the wind
ruffles where my hand should be?
Not a lock I'd change.

And your eyes? Turn them
my way, and I change, not you.
Clay in your two hands.
[A good point, Phaedrus. OTOH, turn-about is fair play...]

Turn your eyes my way,
and color me captivated,
trace my outline with a gentle hand,
and please:
draw me closer to you.

I look at games in the display window
across the street from your restaurant
and imagine I can hear what you're saying as you serve coffee
and I wonder if it's lamer to buy your games
or claim I'm not lame for saving money,

and then spend it like that arrogant American
to grab your attention
or order a cup of coffee and something nibblable
so I can watch you stare at the watery street

and sigh.


[ September 29, 2001: Message edited by: Quinn ]
Beautiful transition, and a poignant picture, Quinn.

Ok, we're drinking coffee in Anna Miller's. I tried hard to keep this serious and on topic, but I think my muse went out and got drunk.


This must surely be a dream
stirring coffee, adding cream.
Don't I know this restaurant?

Am I now in Piro's world,
inexplicably here hurled,
right into the place where I would want?

This is the place where stuff depends
on viewer - what's real shifts and bends
to suit each person's unique point of view.

Was that a wrecking ball that just went by
I thought that's what had caught my eye
or did a giant lizard just pass through?

That innocent goth girl over there
ribbon twined into her hair.
Why do I feel that she would drain my life?

She's beautiful, but is she perilous?
I can't decide; too scared to guess.
Ambiguity around this place is rife.

My waitress comes - it's Kimiko!
She pours me another cup of joe.
But something's changed, she's not like I once knew.

When last I saw her, lithe and thin.
Buxom now beneath her chin.
Padding, or another point of view?

[ September 29, 2001: Message edited by: Phaedrus ]
[Thanks, Phaedrus. I was kind of worried about the double line break working to shift from the emotion to its reason. That being said, you've managed to shame me into a tighter (well, rhyming, anyway ) form...]

For the lonely fanboy's thoughts, a dime:
If I were dreaming
then to each other we'd be beaming
name and number, 'twixt us deeming
each the other worth our time;

but this while Kimiko weaves
around a heart that grieves
a net of self-reliance
forgetful, in her defiance,
that her fear is not alliance:

that trust causes not betrayal,
nor her dreams another's love to fail,
but that on a silent hill or icy dale,
that when the darkness closes near:
all you need is b33r.

[Sorry. Started channeling Largo for a second there. Let me try that again.]

that trust causes not betrayal,
nor her dreams another's love to fail,
but that the losing hurts so much
because the having is so much.

And that the fanboy thinks he knows,
from having watched too many tv shows.


[ September 30, 2001: Message edited by: Quinn ]
Took me a couple readings to plumb where I think you were going. Heavy stuff. I'll follow and get serious again. (For me, that precludes rhyming, though. When I try to be serious and rhyme, it sounds like a bad greeting card.)


Her heart, a fortress,
thick walls guard it from all hurt.
Nothing bad gets in.

Nothing good, either.
Self-reliance has it's price -
numbing emptiness.

Pity the falcon,
mewed up within, for safety.
Kimiko, fly free!
[This one doesn't really go anywhere, but instead rather forcefully brings us back to the Anna Miller setting and the fanboy, so that the epic -- the direction of which we should discuss -- can progess. While I like lyrical poems, there's only so many of them that you can chain together before it becomes too static to be enjoyable.]

Watch the idol watch the rain,
smell the kitchen, wince in pain;
stir your coffee, drink it up,
watch the steam escape your cup.

Think of questions you might ask her,
to get to know her faster:
if a falcon caged by its defiance
refuses charity for self-reliance:
does it feed on bitter pride?

Shake off reverie, and wonder:
why did I hear a 'Zilla,
if all there was was thunder?


[ October 05, 2001: Message edited by: Quinn ]
I was stuck for a while, but Friday's strip gives lots of stuff to work with.


Some fanboys notice
the changes in Kimiko.
They loudly comment.

A devious glint
shines in her now-shifty eyes.
Yikes! She can hear them!

Back in the kitchen,
she measures grounds and water.
Revenge is brewing.

Kimiko returns,
quickly dampens their ardour
with steaming java.

Haughty and proper
she returns to her duties,
ignoring the boss.

Smiling again now,
she offers me a refill.
I make some small talk.

She glances downward
where she sees my scribbled lines -
napkins of haiku.

<What do you write there?>
"Pa-da-ing or another..."
<Looks like poetry!>

<Ano...that's nothing
<Just a shopping list.>

Desperately I
shuffle napkins, seeking a
safer selection.

<But I do have some
poems about someone I
admire. Shall I read?>

[ October 07, 2001: Message edited by: Phaedrus ]
[Okay, Phaedrus, you asked for it. ]

She was Presenting Falsely

The falcon delivers food for four,
asks about coffee, if they'd like more:
not meeting her eyes,
one creep lies:
<I think we are content.>

So she turns away,
and the creep does say
that his cup is full,
but her blouse is not:
<Do you think she was wearing padding?>

Back in the kitchen,
she measures grounds and water,
brewing her revenge:
If the size matters,
let me use my largest pot.

The four shriek.
[OK, I'm sorry, it's free verse again. ]


What'd you do during Erika's Lazy Afternoon?
Did you watch Nadesico
with your legs curled up
and your hair and the volume down,
to practice all the voices?

Did you sit on the edge of a bench
in a booth at Anna Miller's
and watch the shoppers,
chittering autumn chipmunks,
drift by, auburn and gold?

Did you wonder what it might be like
to have fanboys?
Think about never having to worry about railfare again?
The dork who gave you his?
How far down the street toward's Erika's store you got
before remembering that you can't yet pay him back in yen?

Or did you perch on your balcony's railing
and swing your legs in the breeze
and wonder what it was again
that you were doing here?

Did you remember what that guy
at work last night read?

"I wanted the girl
and to understand
what's so hard
to understand about that."

Did you watch the clouds go by
and think about Red Shoe Sunday,
or that beach, like a river,
you can't visit twice?

I wonder if you're the kind of realist
who expects
a knight in matte-black kevlar.


[ October 13, 2001: Message edited by: Quinn ]
I had a vivid image of Kimiko in the corner of her room, sitting listening to rain on the roof, all sad about her disappointment with Piro et al...

I thought I'd try a little experiment with rhyme,


Depths of feeling before,
that lead me into happiness,
or to pride and disappointment,
the depths of newfound sadness
do not compare to these.

They trouble me.
All alone in my room,
listen to rain against my roof,
soothed but feelings loom,
I'm slowly ill at ease.

Hanging my head low,
drowsily I ponder
amongst sounds trying to sooth me,
my thoughts slow down and wander
with my head upon my knees.

Nestled on the pillow,
I know I'll soon be sleeping,
I'm sure that in the morning,
I'll find that I've been weeping,
I hope that I...
springtime's wonderful
bloom cannot compare to her
pure, beautiful gaze.

her eyes of tawny
and golden hue lessen the
brightest summer sun.

red leaves, pink blossoms
fall about her, stirred by
the autumn zephyrs.

even in winter's
silence, you should be first; yet
there is another...
After reading all the great poetry in this thread, I couldn't help but to try my hand at it, so here it goes...

Kimiko, your eyes
reveal your inner beauty.
Kawaii beyond words.
Such a beautiful picture, and so sad at the end.

How easily she shelves her dreams,
with toys that she has long outgrown.
Is it as simple as it seems?
Just give it up, grow old alone?

You do so strive to meet your goal,
lead actress in the next big show.
Just as you fight for that voice role -
Please, gan batte! Go find your beau!

Do not assume you cannot win,
only because it seems too late.
Ping's not his girlfriend, she's his kin!
Call Piro up! Ask for a date!

He is still single, no time to spare,
Kimiko-san, pick up that bear!

I seem to be in some weird rut; near-sonnets in iambic quatrameter. I need to read more real sonnets and get that rhythm internalized.
(Writing about Kimiko these days seems to always fall slightly (more than once it did) short of what I intend, but here's a piece regardless. I am glad I finally got around to contributing to this thread. ^_^;;)

If only for a moment
I would like to go back and
Take a little while longer
To believe what I saw in
His eyes even though it is
Silly (I smile ruefully
At myself) these dreams are not
Important I have others
I can follow but for just
A little bit there I could
Call him to mind and I would
Find myself smiling in a
Manner that was not heavy
At all
_Kimiko's Teddybear_

A day after tommorow,
Kimiko will stare at the bedroom wall
and tell her teddy bear a new story,

a story she made up in her own head,
one that she's never told anyone else,
because she wrote it up about herself.

In the story Kimiko tumbles out
to her teddy bear in the afternoon,
while she's looking away from the mirror,

Kimiko is coming back from her job,
in a t-shirt and jeans, and this chic coat
she saw in a window the other day...

coming back from her not-waitressing job,
and on the train, nobody gets grop'ed,
and at home, there are no bills in the mail,

and the whole refrigerator is full,
and Erika is making Mizo soup,
with the sun shining into their kitchen:

And it's about who's happy to see her,
about her being happy to see him,
about knowing as they huggle closely

that he's enjoying the air off her hair,
feeling the curve of the small of her back
as she relaxes.

And it's public displays of affection,
and about love together in private
and making Erika-chan roll her eyes

when they greet each other
after a long weekend
with their sloppy kisses.

It's about how he smells like home
and like chocolate
and like roses

and the way that he wonders
how she always seems to know
when he's trying to suprise her,

as if that terrible anticipatory grin
did not by itself
promise many things of beauty.

Here, Kimiko pauses in her story,
as a neighbor walk by, and recalls:
"Anything that is made of chocolate

is good and useful," and smiles to herself,
and continues on telling her story
about the ways that her people love her --

and she wonders, sometimes,
if she should pity the fanboys,
whose love is such a small thing,

compared to the way he looks at her
in the morning
before she showers

and how hard he tries
undeterred by failure
to arrange a "perfect date"

and how she won't ever tell him
that his process
is her perfection.

Kimiko takes a long time
to tell her teddy bear her story
and when she's done

she puts him back on the shelf
with the rest of her dreams
and wonders if she can afford supper.


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