Poem 2

A poem is observing what is around you and phrasing it in a cool, simple way.

Irish decorations...everywhere.

Wants con't...

A: Well...what do you want?

B: I have no idea but its not here.  It never seems to be anywhere that I am.  It's like my heart is 50 miles ahead of me in a car and I'm running as fast as I can in the direction I think my heart-car is. 

A: (solemn, thinking what he is saying is profound)...Maybe its time to sit still for a while and realize your heart is inside your body...

B: ....  ....  ....Yes, indeed.  And thank you for being so literal.  You obviously don't jive with Thoreau or any of those fellas, eh?  Okay.  How about physics: Newton: An object in motion tends to stay in motion.  In short, keep moving, stay living.  Ya?  Time to move.

Poem 1

A poem can be about anything...

Aardvark.

This

Post is for the three people who actually read this blog. I haven't been posting, as you can tell. I've been busy with the production of a play. That is over now. Expect more from me. Good stuff to come. Lots of stories and poems in the making. Look out. Have a great damn day.

Cheers,

Riley Shanahan

The quesadilla poem

When all Henry ate were quesadillas, it was difficult to become excited about eating another quesadilla.

But it is never the same quesadilla.
Just like every day is not the same as the last. There is a new world in each quesadilla. And there's always subtle variation:
Type of cheese (pepper jack, mozzarella, etc)
Consistency of meltage
Crispness to burn ratio
It's never the same quesadilla.
It is always a new quesadilla.
It's just hard to tell sometimes.

Henry also likes to eat pasta. Sometimes he cooks creatively but often lacks the time. So he finds the beauty in the ordinary, the obvious sublime.