Perpetual Poet

The Crocus

2008-07-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

The Crocus

Something struck my heart once.
It wasn't a sting or a stab or a sticking of sorts
but a striking shard of sentiment
that made my heart stop.

It turned my meticulous monotony
into an operatic heart-wrenching melody
and although I cannot trace where it first began
the change in beat is ever fresh.

Following the musical rhythm, I found a garden
of boys and girls, chanting familiar chansons
with lungs so clear and innocent
that assumed the air from my own
and left me breathless.

In this moment, only my heart knew
how to slow down to allow me another chance.

I did not want another chance.

Like a toppling pillar
my life curved on a downward slope beneath the ground
awakening my dreams, putting to bed my delusions,
turning on the light of the afterlife.

My eyes stretched over the park, the kids at play, singing
songs of the earth of which I would soon be a part.
My life held a quiet semblance of truth
that I could find after all.

Pictures that filled my photo albums once
do not appear in the final cut of what I remember best
be it the subdued lions at the zoo
or my mother ironing her dress
all memories that have no meaning
in this last minute of dreaming

my heart opens its doors while my lungs close theirs
as a little girl brings me a flower,
a crocus, to which she was once deathly allergic
affects her not a single spot
since she embraced them for an hour
before she came to the garden.

She asks if I like the flower,
but I cannot speak.
I place her hand on my heart
for one last beat
and slip into the semblance of a smile
that fades her face from mine.

Andrew Vlasblom

They never grow up

2008-07-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

They never grow up.

And if they do, it's not by their own choice,
but by the choice ones who claim ownership
of the weaklings--the kicking, screaming, hatched fetuses
that have no say in the matter.

And if they did, they would choose to never age,
if only to spare themselves the pain
of perpetuating the process known as parenthood
and playing protagonist roles
while flying selfish colours of pride.

Misinfants of miscreants, why do you continue on?
Why not stop while you're ahead, fine-tune your present song?

Their weakness is their strength,
for in it they cannot grip
the weight of one small infant
struggling to bite its lip
amongst other things, of course,
like bullets and peppermints
and pieces of broken heirlooms
and family fingerprints
that are nowhere to be found

They cry now over the the most minuscule things!
Here, it's only hungry. The pacifier'll tide it over
'til morning.

'Til morning,
a storm rages
and threatens the hollow inside
so easily breakable
by the ravaging blizzard
that intensifies
and then

peace, met by a cold, pale hush.
The storm has settled, and all that remains
is an impeccably spread blanket of snow
covering its territory serenely
yielding such fruits as only winter can bring--

Grandma, look here!

Poor little thing, guess it was just too weak.
Here, fetch your Grandpa and a spade.
And open the window while you're at it,
it's gettin' mighty warm in here.

Poor little thing. Guess it'll never grow up.

She never grew up.

Andrew Vlasblom

I sold my soul pour un verre de l'eau

2008-06-30T22:24:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven't posted one of my poems in quite some time, so I figured I'd post a new one now. (Note: the title translates to "I sold my soul for a glass of water" in English.)

I sold my soul pour un verre de l'eau

I sold my soul pour un verre de l'eau.

Unable to perpetuate, I gave in
to the surrounding, sweeping presence
of solidarity, my solitude snapping
like a twig, with a twist

I gave up my life for melted ice
in a cup carved by unclean hands
from men of isolated lands
who will never know the Truth

The tears I cry exceed the cup, once dry
before it was filled with the substance
that sufficed to saturate the sustenance
that leeched my life from me

Free, they said, in this land
as if I'd never been before
Paradise closed his door
and left me to continue on
in life
or in death
all I get is more

Looming gloom will be here soon,
I'm one of them now, they reckon;
they're green and brown, like slime and mud
seeking to ensnare souls with shrubberies
self-seeking, without supernatural affiliation--
all this for one glass of water?

Dear God.

I have lost my place to cite
what is wrong and what is right.
My dreams betrayed my hope
for my hope was but a dream.

The breeze that skims my face
whispers calmer words that whisk
my weary eyes to a puddle
filled with mud.
Staring in, I see
a meadow of beating hearts
without a soul to be found
and my reflection
as the rain comes down.

Bonjour.

2008-05-31T13:53:00.000-07:00

Alright, so it`s been more than a year since I`ve posted anything here... marry me.

Those last two words are both a nod to the last post and a favored line from a favourite television sitcom. Donc! Now that I`ve succeeded in filtering out 0 out of the 0 people who still frequent this blog (including myself), I`m going to continue writing for the sake of a movie I anticipated for many, many months. It`s a movie I like to call Indiana Jones 4, though you may know it more commercially as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

The first time I saw the movie, my initial impressions were slightly jarred due to several reasons. One, no mere movie could live up to the expectations I had reserved for this film. Two, I saw it in dubbed Quebecois. Three, I was restlessly squirming throughout the film, but not because I was bored: my undergarments had shrunk in the dryer earlier and in my former excitement, I hadn`t realized it. So I went to the premier. Well, once I wasn`t excited anymore, the epiphany kicked in--right in the crotch. The viewing experience was, needless to say, an uncomfortable one.

I came out of the theatre that night not really sure of what to think. It wasn`t a bad film, but then, it didn`t really feel like a film; I couldn`t judge the dialogue based on my rudimentary interpretation of the Quebecois dubbing. Overall, the film and viewing experience felt rather unnatural.

Well, I went back to the theatre last night for a review. And dang. This is Indiana Jones. The second viewing experience felt as natural as when I imagine popping in a dvd of my imaginary friend karate chopping David Spade`s limbs off and then sewing them back on with strings of lava-spiked yarn. This really is fantasy at its best.

The film is flawed. I caught more mistakes and implausibilities the second viewing, for sure. But I love it all the more because of it. I still couldn`t judged the dialogue because once again I viewed the film dubbed. Harrison Ford`s voiceover sounds a good deal more aged than he. But no matter; no matter how old this man gets, he`s still got the spirit of Jones. His age was not a factor for disappointment in the film; he`s still the same Indy that you`ll see in the first three films.

However, the film loses its tight pitch several times throughout the film. I won`t spoil where, but it`s not as tight as the first three. It`s missing the excitement that the original trilogy packed incessantly with every line of dialogue, every shot of cinematography. This film is full of action, but the adventuring aspect that made the first three so engaging seems to be in search of Indy, but never quite catches up due to the redundant fast-paced action.

The musical score by John Williams is decent; no theme really stood out for me on this one. With every Indy film in the past, there are at least 1-2 memorable themes. However, this film misses the mark and recycles too many of the themes found throughout the trilogy. Personally, I find that music can really make or break a film; it`s a huge factor for me, one that has the potential to situate myself in the moment of every shot on film and set the emotional stage. This film doesn`t break because of the lack of new music, but it`s certainly not rescued by Williams.

For all of my complaints, I really did enjoy this film. I am an enormous fan of the 50s era, and this film certainly captures that era. Shia Labeouf performed well, to my surprise.

There`s more that I can say about this film, but I`m out of time for now. A shame, really since I was just getting to the good stuff. But essentially, there`s nothing more I can really say about this film until I see it in English. Until then, enjoy Indy at the cinema and see you in a few weeks` time.

Peut-être.

Aftermath

2007-05-30T17:04:00.000-07:00

(Post consummation) WELL so it appeared that the day for dear brother of mine and his newly wed wife went off without a hitch. Well, not quite. But I believe that was the intention behind the ordeal, so I'd say everything's alive and well. Save for some largely overused cameras. The event was heavily covered by photographers and family alike. As you might notice in the photograph below, multiple camerafolk indulged in their shooting techniques simultaneously. Poses were taken from all angles--and so were shots.

Should you ever be enrolled in Photography 101, bring this one to class for bonus points in your research project on paparazzi photography and sneaking side shots. Otherwise, you can check out the wedding party for Dave's and Sarah's wedding as pictured here.

"Well, they say when you marry in June...

2007-05-13T18:55:00.000-07:00

...you will always be a bride." (Seven Brides for Brothers) What a shame that my brother in blood is not eligible for the timeless title! His wedding day falls the first weekend shy of June, the 26th of May, two thousand and seven. But the fact that Dave will never forever personify an everlasting bridal gown is the least of his worries in what should be anti-anticipation for the upcoming date.

Last year, a particularly bad superhero movie hit the theatres on May 26th. This movie, helmed by Brett Ratner, was the third to a couplet of artistic efforts from filmmaker Bryan Singer. However, this third installment utterly disappointed. X3 (or XXX) took a stand, buckled, and fell flat on its face. Terrible film. So it seems that Dave has disappointment to contend with for his special date, but it doesn't end there.

Also last year on the same date, the 2006 Java earthquake killed over 5,000 and left over 200,000 homeless.

Then to cap things off, Augustine of Canterbury, an archbishop, died on May 26th, 604. An archbishop. Church wedding. Hmmm...

So here are the D's: Disappointment, Destruction, Death. Dave may show determination and dexterity in pulling this (among other things (refer to X3 symbolism)) off, but will the good D's deliver enough to outdo the bad D's? Only time will tell; but the fact that Dave's not eligible for that timeless title at the top of the show doesn't seem too promising.

Will history repeat itself? Tune in shortly after May 26th to find out!

N(e)o Matrix

2007-02-21T12:27:00.000-08:00

Mathematics with motion Picture
Meld to mold Algorithms
Majoring in metaphors, Philosophy
Minoring in martial Arts

One, an anti-archaic Allegory
Influencing modern pop culture, Never
Losing its impacting existential Debonair

Two, returns with reloaded Momentum
Capitalizing on hype, Anticipation
Undermines its major, majors in its Minor
And trades intelligence for mindless Action

Three, rife with redundant Adrenaline
Replete with repetition turned Repulsion
Whose title revolutionizes the term "Euphemistic..."

(Four? The chance to reveal revelations Newfangled
The chance to reconcile the trilogy Opaque
The chance to resolve the disoriented Themes...)

The algorithm miscalculated somewhere in the Matrix.
There is no way to balance the equation Arithmetically,
For trilogies come in odd numbers, and thus Cannot
Connect the neo one with the existing three Harmoniously.

Bushisms

2007-02-01T16:10:00.000-08:00

Ain't Becomin'!

I feel compelled - no, that's too strong - I feel compelled to apologize for my recent dealings with "bushisms" - that is, blatant disrespect for U.S. President George W. Bush in relation to his competence. For all of his lack thereof, he has handled a country that has endured terrorism, natural disasters, and lackluster politicians with considerable ease; in fact, there have been times when he made it seem as though any average George could do what he does. His country doubted him time and again, and each time he overcame the odds, more arose. Yet this man does not complain; long-suffering is among his assets. (Which could explain why he feels compelled to exert it over his country through continuously pushing the war in Iraq.)

Bush has been battered to death (metaphorically speaking), and bushisms have been recycled beyond use; the material is really beginning to reek of an uncanny genus. It's time to advance beyond Bush and let him finish his term through the grit-and-bear-it tactic. He may have the last word for the most powerful country on earth, but chances are he won't have the final word for the world unless he initiates "Cold War II: Armageddon." In which case nobody will be alive to say anything else.

Euthanasia

2007-01-31T07:09:00.000-08:00

A Written Euphemism

Have you ever considered the connotations of the term "euthanasia"? It's likely that if you're familiar with this term, the first definition that comes to mind when you hear this word is the willingful aid to end another's life.

But consider the term literally: When spoken, it distinctly sounds like "youth in Asia." Consider the fact that U.S. President George W. Bush is willingly committed to having American youth (young soldiers) in Asia (Iraq) where their future is most certainly uncertain, and how many of these young men have already "sacrificed" themselves for the cause of establishing "good government" in a foreign country. Could it be that "euthanasia" is a (rather obvious) euphemism for the willingful aid to end lives through sending young folks to dangerous territory? Now, I'm not saying that this will lead to their certain doom; Bush can't be certain whether or not they'll survive. Of course, David couldn't be sure whether Uriah would either.

I'm not saying this connotation rules out the first definition; euthanasia is an ambiguous term. When spoken, it's a giveaway for an injustice; when spelled, it's a written euphemism. Unless, of course, one spells it "youthinasia"; then it's simply a giveaway for an injustice misspelled, in accordance with the defiance of terminology act, initiated by the decider.

MSN: "Ok"

2007-01-28T14:23:00.000-08:00

Is it really okay?
From the amount of time I've logged into MSN (which I won't specify now), I've come to several conclusions on different responses from contacts to the messages you send them. The one I'd like to focus on in particular today is the simple two letter word, "ok." We see it day-by-day, and everytime it pops up, it registers in our minds: that response is not okay.

So why not? It's a fairly versatile and ambiguous term, but if used in certain contexts, you "just know" that it's not right. If you're talking to anyone about any topic, whether you care about it or not, and the person provides the short response "ok" and leaves it at that, it perhaps leaves you to wonder: did that person care about anything I just said?

"Ok" does not signify interest, but a lack thereof, and therefore implies that the person doesn't care to hear further about anything on the given subject. "Ok" is like a shutdown, and the easiest possible one: they just have to type the shortest possible understandable word to signal to the recipient that they don't want to be continuously pestered by the redundant MSN message sound and the flashing -minimized- conversation box on the screen. Of course, "ok" can work if there's at least some indication of any further messaging, so don't immediately terminate your discussion on a given topic; but chances are that if you're spilling out your heart to a significant other and all you get is an "ok," it might be time to move on to better things - perhaps personal conversations?

Family Rock

2006-12-29T15:22:00.000-08:00

So I recently posted this on a friend's blog, and while posting I thought, why don't I post this on my own blog? Since when is this not blog-worthy? Who doesn't appreciate anecdotes? Maybe the "anal dopes"! Okay, enough of that.

So I'm doing the unusual as usual and happen to stumble over an old rock. (Sadly, very literally.) Now, this rock has been in the family for many years. It's come to be collectively known as the "family rock."

Now, do you ever wonder why family lineages are preserved by trees? Trees are far from flawless, and while it's nice that we have a generation who comprehends our imperfections, the whole concept is really starting to show its age. "Hey, check out my family tree! My grandparents were sourwoods, so our roots are a little soiled. My Fir[m] father married my El[A]mish mother, and so now as a result, we kids are really rebelling. My sister turned out to be a bi-- ...biRch, my brother's too much of a peach and I'm beginning to feel really sic[k-]a[-]mor[e] myself. Honestly, the wooden mentality behind it all is beginning to feel a little dull..."

Take the rock, and, "Well now, my family rock has really endured quite a rocky ride. We've had it a little rough around the edges, but have never been split so easily..."

Take the rock! You can't go wrong!

Dorm 1

2006-08-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

This is a special tribute to all the guys from Dorm 1 in the 2005-2006 year. This year, Dorm 1 will be occupied by a number of wonderful young women who will create a legacy of their own. This one is ours.

Dorm 1

The twilight mingles
With the setting sun;
The stars signify
The day is done.

A fresh dawn aspires,
The students all amass;
Before you know it, you've slept in
And missed your first morning class.

You rise to the sound of your alarm clock,
Reiterating that contemptuous sound
You've been hearing for the past hour,
With "snooze" on the constant rebound.

You aspire to make something of yourself,
And begin, logically, by taking a shower
Only to discover another dorm brother
Indulged the hot water for over an hour.
(No more hot water)

It's now nearly noon, you're in the kitchen
Eyeing the selection of food;
Cupboards, refridgerator, freezer, drawers -
Food, there is not; dishes, there are (which have, quite considerately, mildewed).

Noon now past, you proceed to class,
Remembering why you attend:
For the goodwill of academics, your ethics, morale!
(And 1/10 of your mark, in the end.)

It's two full hours of Bowald grandeur,
His laptop rule in place;
Should a student be seen with Solitaire on the screen,
He might leave without disgrace. (And fail the course)

It's now late afternoon - time to relax!
But what to do - how to decide?
Indulge an episode of Family Guy,
Or break a hole in the dorm's back side?

Out of food - to the food store!
Be sure to buy what we need:
Ten bags of chicken strip fingers,
Ranch dressing, and sunflower seed.

It's dinnertime, we'll make it work;
What to make, let's get creative!
Pasta's a primary choice, of course.
...On second thought, we'll go cliche; it's easier that way.

Dinner's on, the Hammer's gone,
Likely with his girl;
Nevertheless, we shall progress
And eat burned pasta, with a post-hurl.

Dinner's done, we're all gone
To do our individual thing;
Be it a party, a date, a drink, or a book,
Diversity is where we're king.

Our thing now done, and the night still young,
We sit down on a broke(n)-in chair;
Heart-to-hearts we have, we do;
There's much we have to share!

Be it the integrity of one,
Or the misfortune of another;
Where you're about to score a date,
Or you've lost one in a hangover.

Where a girl made you blush,
Or you had a pokerish rush.
Where you made a girl smile,
Or you scored a royal flush.

When you raised the stakes to 600 cents
And couldn't stop right there;
When you said "10 bucks or nothing"
And then nothing was your share.

When Canada's team would lose in the Olympics,
There'd be no consolation.
When "Cleanest Dorm on Campus" trophies
Required immolation.

When all-nighters became a regular occurence,
Or loud music became a regular disturbance.

When dishes required cleaning,
And food required buying;
When it was mentioned we'd get straight A's
If anyone among us felt like dying.

When we reached the breaking point
And became sane once more;
We realized we'd have Dorm 1
Not each time we walked through that door;
But each time we'd see the ones who comprised it
From the year '05 - '06;
That bond is believed unbreakable,
Unlike the dorm walls (which could've used bricks).

Heart-to-hearts over, it's time to turn out the light
Or watch Stephen Colbert divulge why he's so bright.
Beyond that, the day is done.
And though the next day has not yet begun,
I have no doubt more adventures await
The diversity that is Dorm 1.

Integrity

2006-07-24T01:44:00.000-07:00

Integrity

A "heavenly" house
A coveted corvette
A wide wallet
A warped worldview

A profound principle
An ethical emblem
A sentimental symbol
A moral mentality

I list these components, as they comprise
The integrity of both the ignorant and wise.

For what is integrity?
Is there a definite norm?
If so, should we assume
That role and conform?

Or is integrity relative,
With each to his own
In discovering what brings
That fulfillment alone?

Perhaps it depends on the cultural influence,
Which effectively seems to devoid us of prudence.

The Samurai may find fulfillment in dying
For saving their princess, or, at the least, trying.

The Amish may opt for primitivity
While striving to serve a higher divinity.

The Consumers may wish to contend with their peers
For sportier transport and swift shifting gears.

The Purists may delight in indulging what's "right"
Only to conclude that they're not all that bright.

The Philosophers may divulge the fundamentals of life
Only to ask themselves, "What's the point?"

For what is the point?
Why that completeness?
Is integrity but a means
Through which to cover a weakness?

Collectively, we're marked by mortality.
For life is but a timer, waiting to expire.

Renewal

2006-07-24T01:17:00.000-07:00

2 1/2 months aside, it feels like just yesterday that I posted here. Still, much time has elapsed; many events have transpired. Through it all, mood shifts have been prevalent; I'm particularly fascinated by how our hormones seemingly cater to the events which complement (or cumber) our current states. We've been joyous, we've been furious. We've been content, we've been miserable. We've been clowns, we've been serious. We've been lunatics, we've been sober. We've been intelligent, and we've imitated an arguably illiterate world leader. And through it all, we've somehow become stronger (or weaker, depending on your moral integrity and/or metabolic rate.) It never fails to amuse me!

That said, I've returned from an absence which many would deem inexcusable. May I take this opportunity to say: Bienvenue dos, moi!

New APS Poster

2006-05-06T18:14:00.000-07:00

Well friends, today I unveiled my first official poster for the Alive Poets Society, an association which I will bring to life at Redeemer University College in the upcoming academic year. The original concept of this poster featured the lines "Meticulous Melodies Might Mesmerize... but Peculiar Poetry will Penetrate Past the Point of Percussion." Well, I ran out of room, I guess you could say - and, as the purpose of a poster is to simply attract spectators with a simple tagline, I cut it down considerably. Enjoy this for now, and you can be sure more promotion will surface in the upcoming months!

(Note: Click the image for a full-sized poster.)

May

2006-05-01T15:51:00.000-07:00

May

May. A time of renewal.
A time for enjoying, running through the cool
Long grass, stress aside
With the lack of school.

May. A time of believing.
A time of perceiving creation as being a form
Of everything that makes life worth living.

May. A time of hope.
A display of grace
That comes with replenishing the face
Of the earth, in wondrous scope.

May. A time of employment.
A time of fulfillment
To match all enjoyment.

May. A time of rejoicing.
A time of proclaiming
The glory of a King now ascended.

May. A time of healing.
A time of sealing the old,
Bringing life to the new,
Through the impact of positive feeling.

May. A time to surrender.
A time to remember
That we have a Saviour.

May. 'Tis a wonderful season.
All events occur for a reason.

Remember this May that come what may,
You have a purpose in life; that is to say,
A good work has begun within you -
So begin making a change today!

Andrew Vlasblom
Copyright (C) 2006

Music

2006-04-21T14:27:00.000-07:00

It's been quite some time since I posted my last poem... so it's high time for an update!

Life is ever-evolving, and at times it feels overwhelming when attempting to take it all in. But how often do we remember that everything happens for a reason? Life's a song, and everything that that has transpired over the years has found its place in the melody.

Music

It's a song that makes the heart sing.
Immaculate melodies which bring
Clarity to perspective - the fine tuning required
When defining and refining our worldview.

The soul drinks while the brain thinks;
The heart loves while the hands restore.
Every instrument within us plays a part
In keeping us in tune with the score.

The song of life is a mixed composition,
Blending the highs and lows
Of life's ever-evolving "ecstasy."

The devil desires to dictate our minds,
While the Spirit speaks spiritual splendor to our souls.

The song becomes one of a raging storm;
A fierce battle; a stirring conflict.
The tune becomes unstable, and quivers.
The foundations shake as the song powerfully soars.
The pinnacle of the terror is heard;
And then, all is silent.

The music dies.

Yet the song is resurrected, for the storm has subsided;
The battle is won; the conflict resolved.
Peace is established, and hope is renewed.

The melody is rich with mercy,
And the love of the Lord is beyond compare.

Life is renewed; the song is reborn.

Music is in the air.

Copyright (C) 2006
Andrew Vlasblom

Update

2006-04-09T11:13:00.000-07:00

Wow...it's been some time since I last updated this page!

Well, what can I say? I've been extremely busy lately - fortunately, the play which I've been working on for the past while, titled "The Lives We Lead," played out very nicely this past Thursday! Many thanks to Mark, Evan, Joy, and Emma-Jane for their amazing compliance and ability to perform. Working with these guys was pure fun, and they're very cool.

As much work as this was, I didn't realize how much I enjoy organizing/writing/directing until now. Being able to bring my vision of comedy to life made me realize my deep appreciation for God's gift of humour to us - that we're even able to laugh is such a blessing! Of all the blessings I count in my life, I seem to forget this one; but it's likely the one I'm most thankful for. Quite frankly, if humour was not a part of life, life would get old, fast - as you know, they say that laughter adds years to your life. ;)

When will I create another play? Too soon to be seen. Will it be comedically oriented? You can bet your humour on it. ;)

Ash Wednesday

2006-03-01T20:12:00.000-08:00

Well today being Ash Wednesday, I do believe it would be appropriate to post something pertaining to the day at hand. So here's a work which I've very cleverly titled "Ash Wednesday." Enjoy!

Ash Wednesday
By Andrew Vlasblom

Ash Wednesday. The first day of March.
What a way to begin the season of Lent.
Forty-six days remaining 'til Easter.
'Twill be a blessed event!

But let's focus on today for a moment.
The Day of Ashes, Dies Cinerum.

So we acknowledge this day. Why?
How does this relate to the Christ who came to die?
Shall we take a look behind the event
And why we recognize this period "Lent?"

Nah, let's not.
Instead, what I'm going to do
Is tell you how I would interpret this day
And how we might truly construe.

When I think of the origins of "Ash Wednesday,"
What immediately comes to mind?
For myself, the words "Ash" and "Wednesday" stick out,
And so I process the two combined.

So logically, I would then consider
The origins of each word.
I'll define, keeping in mind
These are definitions you've likely not heard.

"Ash" is translated by some
To be a post-burning residue, folks.
I, however, see it as more of an acronym:
An "Aforethought Scandalous Hoax."

The word "Wednesday" is said to have been derived
From the planet Mercury.
I say, let's stay earthbound
And look at this literally!

Mercury, we realize, is the smallest planet,
Closest of all to the fiery sphere;
The size is perhaps Wednesday's stature,
And the closeness resembling ash austere?

Anyway...

Dividing the word, I find Wed-n-es-day
And in each section, a heart:
Translates to me, "Wed on this day."
So then, 'til death do us part! ...?

So with these two words defined,
From my point of view, I see
That combining these words makes for
A seriously wrong kind of comedy.

With all this said, my take is that
"Ash Wednesday" is a name in disguise
For the innocent girls all over the world
Receiving fake proposals from guys.

It brings a tear to my eye.

Yet perhaps from the fiery tears of the girls,
There lingers a subtle residue;
Forming ash that burns their innocent hearts -
Never again will they ever subdue.

Strange, yet inspiring, Ash Wednesday would seem;
Its premise is blue, yet its message serene.

So for all those who've been
Debating this day...
I hope I have influenced you
In a positive way!

If not, just know that I do understand;
This text I've composed primarily offhand.
At times I know I'd do well to expand;
But my goal was simply to not be bland.

Now I know I've completed that goal.

Copyright (C) 2006

The Last Day of February

2006-03-01T12:02:00.000-08:00

What is now the first day of March was formerly (as in yesterday) the last day of February, March's direct predecessor. Anyway, I am posting this now as I feel it is important that we reflect on past moments in time. (And because I created this blog entry a day late.) So I have dedicated this poem to the final day of the month now past.

The Last Day of February
By Andrew Vlasblom

'Tis the last day of February.
Why am I writing this now?
I should probably be reading
From an acquired textbook. Wow.

I feel like writing a song
But the words just aren't there.
Why should I write what I can't discern
To be a testimony fair?

I think I shouldn't; But I will.
Perhaps this does reflect
On my contradictory actions
And my tendency to forget.

It's a psychological disorder
And yet it keeps me steady.
If I was to never contradict myself
I think that I'd never be ready...

...to face insurmountable odds,
Like falling down a hill;
And quite contrary to the fairy tale,
I haven't a sister named Jill.

How that's relevant, I haven't a clue.
(I rarely do) (But that's irrelevant too...)

So what's the purpose of this schpiel,
This amount of text that seemingly
Has no purpose but to pass the time
And waste it simultaneously?

I guess it's debatable that it revolves
Around writing a song, but the words just aren't there.
Yet I've written this so far
And somehow it comes together. Fair?

Or perhaps it's a controversial topic
That deals with contradiction.
I feel that I shouldn't be writing a song
Yet it seems to have come to fruition.

Or perhaps it deals with amnesia;
I made mention that I forget...
Yet I remembered that I wrote that.
So in that regard, I'd say I'm set!

Or perhaps it deals with my sister,
Or lack thereof, in jive?
I think not, for in this respect,
Regarding sisters, I have five.

And lastly, perhaps it deals with
How clueless at times I might be.
And yet I seem to know this -
...So perhaps it's in my perception?

So I broke the pattern.
....
So what? Just goes to show I'm unorthodox!
Got a problem? Didn't think so!

Copyright (C) 2006

And So It Begins...

2006-03-01T09:17:00.000-08:00

The 1st day of March. Ash Wednesday. So begins the blog of a perpetual poet, and the dawning of a new genre of poetic complexity, yet simplicity; freedom of speech yet restrictive; creative writing, yet plagiarism in a sense.

For what is completely original? What's not cliche these days? Is it possible to create a work of art so inventive, unorthodox and unstylistic so as to circumvent all manner of unoriginality?

Of course. The answers in sequential order are as follows: Me, me, and yes, I do it all the time!

To address the first issue, complexity yet simplicity. Very nice. However, complexity is usually individually assessed, no? Ditto to Simplicity. So the answer is simple, as it would seem that both are to be marked according to one's own perception. That seems straightforward to me. Yet another may disagree!

Freedom of speech, yet feeling restricted. Am I restricted? By no means, no. Would I parade in the city streets and declare myself to be the Prime Minister of Canada? Likely not. Could I? By all means, yes! Provide competent compensation and I'm there!

Creative writing, yet plagiarism in a sense. Okay, do a Google search online using any portion of this text. See if there are any matches. There inevitably are. Did I use any of those sources in creating this blog? Nope. Don't believe it? That's your problem.

So you see, to every issue there is an answer, yet to some degree marked by uncertainty. (Except for mathematical equations, which while having a concept so simple, can translate into problems so complex that one might be tempted to abuse themselves by yanking their hair out. Which raises the theory that mathematics may indeed be a cause of violence and self-destruction; Math = representative of Euthanasia? Hardly, with violence being a factor...?)

Anyway, I conclude my opening spiel with these words: In everything, be diligent. Except for the unvirtuous things. Because unvirtuous things translate into nondiligence. And being diligent in nondiligent things kind of contradicts itself.
-Me

Now if that doesn't answer your question about plagiarism, I'm not sure what will. Just check out the credited source!

(Is nondiligence an actual word?...)