Notes From The Train

What good is a day without night time?

September 19, 2011

surely no better than sunshine 
hidden by clouds 
that threaten to rain 
but never do more than drive me insane 
with dark when it should be bright time
What good is a cup without tea?
What good is a room without me? 
What good is a night
what good is a day 
and what good is a cup when you’re that far away?
What good is this life without something 
for even a nothing is something when nothing is something you see every day

© 2011 Megan Lucas

Recall: August 28th, 2011…

Good evening bloggers and rebloggers. This is my first text post. I’ve been going ape with the photographs and I know that might be the only reason you decided to click the ‘follow’ button and I assure you my text posts will be bulky but infrequent. 

I think it’s only appropriate to introduce myself properly so that you don’t feel like a stalker but a rather an acquaintance or, maybe someday, a friend. My name is Megan and I am a human being. I guess that means that my gender or sexual preference shouldn’t be of concern so I won’t even bother mentioning it. My description pretty much sums up what I’m about. I write poetry. I listen to old music.  I love to read. I drink tea. I am a Psych/English major very close to getting my degree but not close enough. If you need to know anything about me or yourself or you just need to vent, I’m always up for a chat, message me.

Well, this week was rather exciting with nature being angry at us again. The earthquake wasn’t something to write home about but it almost felt like Mother Nature was shoulder bumping the earth to remind humans of how powerful she is and that if we keep up with the way we’re living she can remove it all. I was excited about the hurricane even though that is not a very nice thing to say. I was looking forward to some kind of destruction; an uprooted tree, a flood even a power outage would have sufficed but all we got was a ten minute shower and a little rustle of the leaves. I guess I should be grateful for small mercies. Those of you who have been affected by the hurricane are in my thoughts and I pray that you find your way out safely. 

I haven’t written any poetry in a very long time and I’m starting to think I’m losing it; that magic that transmits from my fingers to my pencil. The magic that makes the lead dance on cotton sheets and produce beauty. Maybe I can only write when I’m in love. Maybe creativity is something that comes with confusion and frustration tangled up in some kind of happiness; the kind that accompanies involuntary smiles and fluttering abdomens. I don’t have that anymore. I don’t have the magic. I don’t have poetry.

On the other end of the stick, I stumbled upon an amazing artist today. The Norwegian born, Maria Mena combines sweet piano and guitar sounds with delicious lyrics that are relative to teenage and young-adult life and love and the perils that come with it. Her voice is pure and real and will make your soul weep if listened to at the right moment and at the right volume. She is so talented. I haven’t stopped listening to her.

The up and coming weeks are going to be very busy and activity-filled as I say my final goodbyes to my American Summer and prepare for my African one. You’ll be hearing more about that soon. I hope everyone has a great week and takes lots of photos. I hope you find the inspiration you need to produce whatever art it is you’re into, be it photography or painting or writing or life, always remember…inspiration DOES exist, it just has to find you working.

M

(Source: poeticexpress)

Bulbs Maybe?

From love sprouted words like dandelion
blooming so brightly and full.
Occasional droughts followed by snow
where more words from love would grow.
But winter killed life as I know it,
a lawnmower dragged them away
and hard as I try the blooms will not show
overpopulated by weeds of dismay.
Now my heart is in search of a seed
more hardy and lasting than love
one that still flowers without constant hours
of downpours that stem from above.

© 2012 Megan Lucas 

(Source: poeticexpress)

Poetry is a story that is so good, it doesn’t need full sentences.

We Are Ghosts

we are ghosts

you and me and them

and we walk through each other

and take a mountain

and leave a fraction

and shattered hearts 

and crumbling souls

are all that’s left

we are ghosts

you and me and them

destroying humanity

© 2011 Megan Lucas

Writers understand each other. We are unafraid to spill ourselves over into the cup of a fellow writer because there is this invisible connection between us. We share similar internal conflicts. Different as we are, we are the same.

30 Minute Letters

Dear person I hate,

Hate is not really that strong a word but the world seems to think it is and if there ever exists a person that makes me dislike them to a degree that the world thinks is too strong a degree to actually feel without being judged then I hope I don’t meet you. I hope I never experience what it is you would do that would make me dislike you so intensely. That said, I suggest that you stay away because if I do end up hating you then I’ll ensure that you know the exact meaning of the word.

Sincerely,
Meg 

Dear person I like

I am so glad you exist. 
Thank you for being. 

Love,
Meg

Dear ex boyfriend

n/a

Dear ex best friend

We have grown. It’s a pity that it had to be apart. I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve it. I hope one day you can see it too. 

Til we meet again
Meg 

Dear best friend

You are the breath in my lungs, the wind in my sails. It is from you that I learned what love means. You are selfless and kind and humble and no one could have shown me a better way to live than you. You are the epitome of beauty and you showed me that ugly does not exist in the physical, it is a word used to describe what comes from within. Thank you for carrying me for nine months. Thank you for baring all of that pain and the pain of my childhood years and that of my teenage years. You are the most amazing person in the world and I love you.

Best Friends Forever
Poncho 

Dear *anyone*

Always remember that beauty comes from within and it doesn’t matter what people tell you the only important thing is what you tell yourself. Now go to a mirror and say you’re beautiful. Don’t stop doing it until you believe it. I promise you have the ability to convince yourself.

Stay strong
Love Meg 

Dear Santa

I want coal this year. 
Make it happen.

Meg 

Dear mom

I hope the poetry never goes away. I hope you never stop reciting. I hope one day to be like you in every way imaginable.

I love you to the moon and back
Poncho 

Dear dad

What a journey. Because of you I know what it feels like to cry for real. I know what it’s like to want to run away. I know what it feels like to be afraid. I also know what it feels like to smile and laugh and let go. I know what trust is. I know what courage is and wisdom. I also know that hard work pays off and you have worked so hard to make things as good as they are now. Thank you for that. You are the strongest man I know. It’s time to come home now.

I love you so very much
Poncho 

Dear future me

We did it. We wrote it and now they’re all reading it, not to mention watching it. The movie was amazing. They could have done a better job capturing the essence though. But we know how it is, the book is always better than the movie. Hows that third one coming along? Writer’s block does not exist, do not make it an excuse. We look great by the way. Pilates paid off. And oh the places you have been. I’m looking forward to it. The world is not as scary as people say it is right? I hope not. Save a spot for me at the premier. 

Stay amazing
Me 

Dear past me

Great job. I like us now. Apparently we only get better. You did good.

I love you no matter what stupid choices you have made.

Always,
Me 

Dear person I’m jealous of

Keep doing that thing you do. It makes me want to be a better me. 

See you on top
Meg 

Dear person I had a crush on

You should have known better.
That’s all 

Dear boyfriend 

See you soon?
=) 

The Photographer Guy

Amidst the blur of multiple conversations
Too many smiling faces
I found myself 
Lost in flashes of his blinding light
Drowned in phosphenes
This was one of those dreams
I knew I’d wake up before I’d experienced the night
I watched as he moved around
From one laughing face to the next
His mouth and brow
Imitating expressions he intended to capture 
In this time capsule he possessed
A portable portal into the past
His delicate hands controlled
This box-like brush that painted a beauty 
Only his eye could behold
A digital Van Gogh
Whose name I would never know
Whose art I would never see
Whose single-handedly orchestrated manoeuvre 
Could easily snatch the present me
I sat fearlessly 
Daring him to pull the trigger
Begging him to take my soul
He passed over me
And I watched them all die 
By the hand of the photographer guy.

© 2012 Megan Lucas

(Source: poeticexpress)

The Wait Goes On

We used to play cops and robbers like nothing could ever stop us and we turned this drab and grey little world into something we could smile at. He wore a pretty little top hat and when I’d touch it he’d say ‘stop that! I’m getting my Fred Astaire on’. Then I’d just get my stare on and start looking at him sideways, smiling, wondering about his queer ways and how I never ever saw it. Ignored it. How could I be so blind. It’s him and I’ve been waiting all this time trying to find that ‘one’ that the media engraved into my mind was so important and they said I’d never find him. They said I’d have to kiss green frogs and wait for years inside a tower for my prince in shiny armor, so I waited. Got agitated. Took it out on him. Not once did he turn his back on me. It’s him you see. What an epiphany. All I have to do is wait for him to realize that it’s me.

© 2011 Megan Lucas

Pitcher This

The table I sit at holds a glass

It used to be full 

I drank it

I’m drunk

This life it makes me high 

And your idea of glass-half-empty

glass-half-full

is but a joke to me

because truthfully

I carry the pitcher

Bottomless

and I fill the glass when its empty

I drink its contents when I’m thirsty

I am in control

Oh and by the way

If your glass isn’t full

Don’t ask me to fill it

Get your own damn pitcher

© 2010 Megan Lucas

(Source: tinxx)