This blog is welcome to anyone and everyone, regardless of race, class, gender, sexual orientation, or political affiliation. Unless you don't like writing short stories or smelling bear. Or if you voted for the other guy. Also, I don't really like it when you leave up the toilet seat, so could you stop doing that? Muchas, muchas gracias.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Springtime Is So Confusing

I keep tripping over my heart, and when I pick myself back up off the ground I find that I've forgotten my original destination.

* * *

First, a disclaimer: I write what I write, and if I feel anything about you in particular, I'll tell you. These poems are not about any one man or the collective, "men." They're meant to capture how someone might feel about another someone. Sure, I've felt these things myself, or I couldn't have written them. But the quality of my feelings changes from moment to moment. The poems represent how I might felt have felt at a particular time and under particular circumstances. I am a different person now than I was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

Second, damned if I understand their meaning, anyway. My feelings in this matter are fleeting, and maybe the poems are really a way of representing how in spring, little storms blow through.

Third, I'm sorry to foist my poems on you. I am not a poet.


Stand Off

Well, you deserved it,
wouldn't you say?
Not that you really feel it,
that little bruise I gave to you.
Nothing hurts you.
All you feel is dread.

I feel it too --
the dread. I feel it
whenever you're around me.

I thought that you were different.
I thought that every person on this earth was different, too,
just as every star in the galaxy is different,
just as every mote of dust
is unique unto itself.



You are unique unto yourself:
that's what I prize in you.
Deep, in you.
A prize unto yourself
so deep
I'll never dredge it up.
You require too much of me, and I --
I want too much of you.



Are you tender?
I am odd.
I'm seeking tenderness in others.
I am very tender.
You are very odd.


Blogger purplesimon said...

Exquisitely written.

Those tiny droplets of thoughts captured some thing in me, I don't know what. Brought a tear; quite sad, but not morose. Reflective without mirroring others.

Just enough. I'm pleased to be the first to reveiw.

purplesimon out...

5:12 AM

Blogger ginab said...

Dredge, the impossible. There's the tear PSi speaks of, I think so.

I can't really say much right now because I am, look at that, I am at work.

6:31 AM

Blogger josh williams said...

ing: Poetic review. Real good. Thanks JW

7:12 AM

Blogger ing said...


Thanks for the review! I'm not sure what I'm getting at in these, but love is very frustrating. . .



Look at that, I'm LATE again. I can't seem to make it on time, not ever, ginab. I wish someone would bring me a cup of coffee.



Break it up into lines --


Poetic review.
Real good.

See how easy it is to be a poet? 'Course you'll never make a dime. Your book reviews will make you famous some day, Josh.

8:18 AM

Blogger Polyman2 said...

Your poems are your inner feelings,
laid bare. Never apoligize.

8:52 AM

Blogger crabcake said...

loooo ling I'll be back wehn I can read more better. I took medicine. Alllllll aboard the pink cho cho. woot woot!

don befraid. I am a ok.

9:03 AM

Blogger ginab said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

10:21 AM

Blogger ticharu said...

What gives? I thought you said you wasn't a poet? Those are great! Punnish us with poetry any time!

10:45 AM

Blogger ginab said...

No disclaimer baby, geez.

Otherwise (and I do have work to do) you have a special turn in "Stand Off". The permeating dread. Really, I like the suggestion that everything is a lie.

I don't mean I like that everything known and understood and whatnot is a lie. Just, I like what you do with this point in the poem.

10:48 AM

Blogger ginab said...

Oh and um everybody Ing won a competition and chapbook publication (yes?) of her poems.

I am not a poet.

Right. Whatever.

10:50 AM

Blogger AndyW said...

Clash is my favorite.
Probably because we are all odd.

1:00 PM

Blogger jungle jane said...

i love your poems ing! and i love your disclaimer too - that in itself is pure gold.

2:14 PM

Blogger crabcake said...

oh my. I apologize, Ing. I didn't have my glasses in the bathroom this morning when I took those meds and I accidentally took twice what I should have. Not good. I hope I can remember all the places I posted so I can say sorry to everybody. Geez.

I think you are a poet. Those were beautiful. Your writing is elegant in it's sincerity.

2:29 PM

Blogger DorianGray1854 said...

Simply marvelous Baby!!

4:05 PM

Blogger Captain Carl said... be a true words smith......carvin out poems from yer soul......the Cap't especially liked Dredge.....

11:02 PM

Blogger sage said...

I like "Dredge," but won't try to make too much out of it. Your picture, the chain leading down into water, beautifully illustrates the depth. Good words Ing.

11:10 AM

Blogger matty said...

I'd say you are a poet. ...a damned good one. I love the way words can make a feeling bubble up from inside me. When that happens to me, I feel that the writer has created a bit of magic. You just did that.

"Clash" really held me.

1:31 PM

Blogger lryicsgrl said...

The quality that sets writers apart, I think, is the ability ( is this a quality?) to reach into or tap into that "thing" that we all feel, felt, or will surely feel.

>I keep tripping over my heart, and when I pick myself back up off the ground I find that I've forgotten my original destination.

Who doesn't feel this way, hasn't felt this way. But no everyone can express it so eloquently.

I also like the way each poem places no blame. Just the heartache of trying to love someone. We are each responsible for our own actions, inactions, reactions. Aren't we?

1:34 PM

Blogger lryicsgrl said...

oh my last word vert was: ickytu....

1:35 PM

Blogger Bloodgood said...

Do you do spoken words or readings anywhere?

4:15 PM

Blogger jungle jane said...

ing an audio post poem reading from you would be just fabulous. i would offer to do it - read one of your poems on your blog for you - but i am not sure that you write them in australian....

or maybe someone else will be a Guest Reader??

4:29 PM

Blogger Captain Carl said...

Arrrr....ay be willin ta give it a shot......but ya need ta reword it fer us sea folk...........

7:28 PM

Blogger Zen Wizard said...

Beautiful stuff...very cryptic...

8:37 PM

Blogger matty said...

Ing! Ing! Ing! Ask Jungle Jane to read one of your pieces!!! Yay!!!

...I still disagree with Alan. I think Mr. Berlin has issues of the mental sort. I can't believe we went home on a Saturday night at 9pm. ...sad.

Oh, I'm stil thinking about the atom bomb as a symbol of power and world domination. But, each time I think of world power I keep coming back to Madonna. ...and those pointy cone things she used to wear as she performed LIKE A VIRGIN.

...maybe I should do an audio blog of me singing that song.

10:21 PM

Blogger ing said...


I'm jumping response order for a sec.

How could Mr. Berlin not have psychological problems after having made himself into a pure object of desire?

(For all y'all: we're talking about Peter Berlin, a sort of gay icon in seventies San Fran, and a man who made himself into an image and [it seems] pretty much lived to be an object of desire, meaning, he styled himself as object or fantasy and I guess lived as such -- he loved the gaze and that's where it all ended; his interactions with others were mostly one-sided. Confusingly, he never seemed to have his own desires satisfied, I think because he wanted no one but Peter Berlin).

Sheesh! My evening didn't end at 9pm -- I ended up saying hi to Davi and his rude friend who praised my breasts before I headed off to Twin Peaks Bar to read Tobias Wolff. The woman sitting next to me at the bar was drinking Robitussin. I finally stepped outside for a smoke and was treated to one end of a cell-phone conversation; a man was screaming at his girlfriend because she'd chosen to stay home and watch the Olympics in lieu of meeting him at aforementioned Robitussin bar. Remind me Matty, and remind me often, never to date a man who calls me "dude". Another man asked me for my number, and I said no. He then asked if I was not single and I said that yes, I was. Duh!

Then I went back to tell Davi about the Robitussin thing and to ask his rude friend if he was on drugs, which, yes -- he'd taken his injured cat's morphine pills.

I hope you'll do your audio blog, I really really do.

If you and Alan are even vaguely interested in joining a reading group, let me know. I'm hosting one in the first week of March.

Man, I love San Francisco! It's never, ever boring here, is it?

11:36 PM

Blogger ginab said...

What's with mister Berlin's hair? Better to grab you with, my object darling?

8:20 AM

Blogger josh williams said...

Thanks ing
an inspiration
I shall move on
I shall comment again

10:39 AM

Blogger Spinning Girl said...

More of a poet than I.

5:48 PM

Blogger matty said...

Wait, did you go to The Glass Coffin or is this a different bar called Twin Peaks!?!?! LOL! I would have totally gone with you!!! I was so bored when I got home. Cat morphine pills, eh? Wow. And, yeah -- count me in for the reading group. Just tell me what i am reading. Alan only reads like sci-fi things or historical faction stuff.

yes, SF is like NY -- there is always something going on which you can watch at no cost and be wildly entertained -- and, even better -- it is usually interactive!

Peter Berlin has to be insane, but I like him. Let's figure out where that apartment building is and go meet him and listen to him talk about himself and show us all of his pictures. ...then, maybe, if we're lucky --- he will stand up, drop his clothes except for a leather jock strap --- stand against his living room wall. ...and, ignore us!, that would be an evening to remember! Are we on???

I mean, the guy is our neighbor!

12:55 AM

Blogger ing said...

Here's what I want to know: I would totally wear this dress, if it was made from silk. What do you think? It's beautiful, isn't it?

11:12 AM

Blogger ginab said...

I only believe in inner beauty, to be blunt. Clothes don't make the clown, you might say. Red silk any time, but would you really write Mahagony on the fabric or another word or phrase?

Easy lay? :-)

I'M KIDDING, of course, yeesh.

You're not at all.

11:20 AM

Blogger ing said...

Inner beauty, yes -- but clothes can be an expression of your inner beauty, which is how I feel about the Mahogany dress. 'Course you know me, Gina -- my soul is full of colors. I would definitely keep the word "Mahogany" on the dress.

In the presence of certain men, unfortunately. . .

11:34 AM

Blogger ginab said...

"You're a hard wood woman, and baby you will find a man"

Rubbish, I know, something about "Beth" and "hard luck woman".

I need to work. You soul spiller.

Is that a sliver in my finger?

1:13 PM

Blogger JackJumpedOverTheMoon said...


Foist away! An excellent choice of image to go with the works. Strange, fragmented, but overall a strong composition. You write like you enjoy your visual arts... minimalist, abstract, and colourful.

(Assuming this Mondrian thing is an indication of your taste in the visual arts.)


5:03 PM

Blogger josh williams said...

You have a mahogany dress
You put it on your body
Your body was not wearing the dress
You were just in your unmentionables
You are so happy to be in the dress
Your the one who taught me poetry


7:09 PM

Blogger matty said...

OK, then. It is settled, we MUST re-create the Mahogany dress. I think I saw purple to the elbow gloves and bracelts at Out of the Closet -- but how do we recreate the font?

We can have Alan shoot the pictures.

Maybe we can do a whole sort of Laura Mars glam shoot in The Mission!?!?! Turn a few cars over, start a fire and have you pose with arms reaching out for love --- pure, superficial 70's love!!

Send me magical vibes tomorrow at 3pm! I WANT this job, dammit!

11:21 PM

Blogger ing said...


You're experimenting with form! How beautiful!

Until your next comment, I shall miss you.



Don't even think about that kind of stuff! We jus' bloggin, yeah? ( :



Yes, rubbish.

And now I know something about hard wood -- I mean, now that I've seen that movie about Peter Berlin's pants. . . Actually, I think that was a cucumber and a balled-up sock.

Better a sliver than a splint, eh?



How interesting! I never thought of any of that stuff. . . I always wonder what readers get out of my junk, if anything.

Sheesh, is it C-O-L-D up there in Canada? It's freeeeezing here. Brrr!



It's no wonder I said yes. . .



Only on the condition that I can be fifteen feet tall, like Diana Ross was in Mahogany. I would like to turn those cars over with my long, long leg while I am extending my arms in aforementioned 70's love.

11:50 PM

Blogger ing said...

p.s: Bluh! I had to type in that word verification nonsense like five times before I could get it right!

11:51 PM

Blogger Henri Banks said...

Wooow i love that Pic

9:31 PM


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