Poetry Masterwork

So I'm in a creative writing class right now and I just turned this in today as my "Poetry Masterwork." So this is the best I can do at this point. Let me know what you think.

On Arriving Home

A prevailing wind brings with it hints of pressed olives and sun-raised wheat—

the smells of Ithaca.

It fills the sails with speeded flight and caresses time-torn faces.

Of home it breathes, of solace it sings.

The gentle waves lap at the hull,

and push and glide the leaning shoulders to familiar shores.

These few eager travelers, orphaned by fate—

they all smile and thrill—

all but one.

This Odysseus finds a full home so empty,

halls lined with profane suitors

no baptism of blood can purify.

For this warrior has been bathed in flame;

Has borne a bronze crucible—bears it with him still—

battlefields in mind and memory of soul-cracking horror.

Now his haft-calloused hands

find it hard to embrace old companions,

muscle-memory gone, replaced by scars and sinew and salt.

The tired years pass and he now holds a squalling child, where dying men had lain,

And looks past the uneven ends of a stolen life,

on to the horizon, the call of which beckons still.

[Keep following, cuz they be rapin' 'errbody up in here.]

Perhaps I'm Bipolar

You know, I'm usually pretty private about my emotions. But I just got a wave of happy. Sometimes it happens. Lest this disintegrate into a cliche boring blog about how awesome my life is, I'll tell an allegory.

This reminds me of our ridiculous Schnauzer who possessed the biggest ego of any canine I've ever encountered.

Excluding purse-dwellers, most dogs get dirty. Schnapps did. We would plop him in the tub and spray him down--one hand on his back to stop him from shaking off, and the other pouring copious amounts of No Tears shampoo into his fur. He would look up at us with a wide-eyed stare of pure humiliation. I didn't think dogs were capable of emotion until seeing his look that seethed with what I can only describe as unadulterated indignation. Judging from his expression, you'd think we had dressed him up like Lady GaGa. But he would emerge from this experience a new dog. His scrawny frame all too visible, he looked like a glorified sewer rat.

*

But here is the kicker. This little guy would then run around the house in a maniacal fashion, rubbing his wet beard and ears on the carpet. After this little ritual, he would engage us in a "game" both parties only partly understood. He would run around and then stop in front of us, his butt in the air, his forepaws on the ground. This is when we would try and grab him and he would rear up and nip at our hands before sprinting top speed around the house again. His new freedom did not last long, however. Soon he would be scooped up by mom to be brushed. He hated that. Afterward, he looked all fluffy and not manly at all. No matter, the next day he was back to his matted manly self.

 *

The point is, no matter what weighs us down or dirties us, soon we'll be happily bounding to our next crappy moment. So enjoy it while it lasts.

*Artist's Rendition. NOT ACTUAL PICTURES.

[Keep following. I'll be back to normal soon enough and you can feed off my negativity like emo-vampires.]

The General Rules #3 - Smells

One may not instantly understand the importance of this topic, or even how it relates to dating, love, relationships, and other matters of the heart. But you will understand when I am finished.

Let's start with the obvious. Personal Hygiene. I've had the good fortune to travel to different countries across the world. I've had the good fortune to live abroad for extended periods. I've had the good fortune to learn about new cultures and ways of conducting myself. I've had the good fortune to learn about customs and practices different from my own. I've had the good fortune to walk down cobbled streets and peruse open-air markets during a Swiss spring.

But I have also had the sore misfortune of riding crowded public transportation during a humid German summer. I've tasted with my nose the odors of a hundred ethnicities, and breathed the sour spice of too many Italian armpits. This was only my misfortune because I had the good fortune of being born right here in 'Murrca--Land of the Free, Home of the Deodorant Stick.

Now that you know of my experience in this field, I may speak in an authoritative manner. It really isn't a huge problem here, but because I still encounter the rogue human who refuses to shower, and insists upon arresting the noses of those around him with a vapor cloud of BO, it needs to be said. Bathe yourself often. It doesn't take long. The days of Papal prohibited Ablutions are over. It is 2011, give it a try.

After scrubbing various orifices, apply deodorant. Even if you "don't plan on sweating" or "don't think you need it." You do. Everyone does. Everyone smells. Any deodorant or anti-perspirant will work. Except AXE. Axe body sprays are like the annoying new guy at work, we all tolerate him because we have to. We give him the benefit of the doubt because he is not familiar with the unwritten worker's code. But secretly we all want to get the new guy fired. I've never witnessed anyone call out an Axe-wearer for smelling like a trash can coated with grandpa's aftershave, so I guess I'll be that guy. YOU SMELL LIKE A TRASH CAN COATED WITH GRANDPA'S AFTERSHAVE.

Moving on to Cologne, and ladies, to your perfume. In the book How to be a Gentleman, we find this statement that speaks for itself. So there is no need for me to go on and on about how horrible it is when guys or girls wear too much scent and how too many guys insist upon dumping gallons and gallons and gallons of Acqua Di Gio on their already AXE-coated tanning bed-brown skin, so much so that it becomes the only thing that an entire crowd of people can smell for the next three weeks. I won't need to talk about that because this quote is so good.

"A gentleman considers cologne intimate apparel. It should not cause comment, positive or negative, among other people in the room. Instead, it should be saved as a pleasant surprise for people with whom he makes close physical contact. A gentleman understands that cologne is, after all, an accessory. It is not to be used as a substitute for deodorant... When used to excess, cologne is annoying and raises questions about what smells are being covered up. Anytime a person can identify the brand of scent that a man is wearing, he is wearing too much."

The same applies to you ladies, if I can tell that you are wearing Vera Wang Princess from fifteen yards away, it's gross. The problem with scents nowadays is that they are expensive, so everyone feels the need to let everyone else know what they are wearing, so that everyone else will know how much money they have. When the truth is, too much of even the best scent can make you smell like the toothless carnie who runs the ferris wheel.

We live in an age of smell-excess. If you don't believe me just head in the general direction of your local mall, and about a mile off you will start to smell the rhino-nuclear explosion that is Bath & Body Works. That place is like the Chernobyl of the nasal community. So please, for my sake, for all our sakes, and for the sanctity of our noses, use moderation. Also, destroy your AXE.

[Keep following, your love IQ just went up 10 points]