This poem is for my friend Andrea Scott, a brilliant and talented actor/playwright who also happens to be a big Christopher Hitchens fan. It is a “found text” poem pieced together from an article she first shared with me by Christopher Hitchens, “Why Women Aren’t Funny” published in Vanity Fair. Thank you Andrea for donating to my fundraiser: http://fundraising.operationgroundswell.com/rongfu. I hope you like it!
Female Laughter (taken from Hitchens)
Be your gender what it may
Man, does she ever make ‘em laugh
Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her)
Is not so kind to men
In fact, she equips many fellows
With very little armament for struggle
Swift to locate the unfunny
Men will laugh at almost anything
The sweet surrender of female laughter
Is almost masculine by definition
If you can stimulate her to laughter
I shall not elaborate further
I am writing poems for every donation I receive to reach my community fundraising goal with Operation Groundswell. Check out my fundraising page for more info: http://fundraising.operationgroundswell.com/rongfu
I have some very exciting news to share with everyone. On May 26th, I’ll be backpacking and volunteering across South-East Asia with a wonderful non-profit organization called, Operation Groundswell.
This 6 week long adventure will help fulfill two of my lifelong dreams. The first is to try backpacking, which I’ve always been terrified of doing on my own, so going with Operation Groundswell is the perfect ice breaker. Plus, I’ll be able to help out local charities and NGOs during my travel. Like in Chiang Rai, I’ll be working with The Mirror Foundation, an NGO dedicated to aiding northern Thailand’s marginalized ethnic minority groups. The second is to contribute in the effort to help endangered wildlife species in a hands on way. In eastern Cambodia, I’ll be volunteering with The Elephant Valley Project to help rehabilitate rescued domestic elephants and preserving the jungle for the remaining wild elephant population! I’ll be feeding elephants, washing elephants, shovelling elephant poop… BEST TRIP EVER!
I can’t wait to embark on this adventure and to share it with all of you. But before I leave, each traveller is responsible in fundraising $750 in community contributions and I am in need of your generosity to help reach my goal. This money goes directly to support local NGOs and charities such as The Mirror Foundation and The Elephant Valley Project.
To donate, help spread the word, or learn more about what I’ll be doing please visit my fundraising page: http://fundraising.operationgroundswell.com/rongfu
Every donation and share will be greatly appreciated. In addition, for every donation I will write a poem as my way of saying “Thank You”. Every sponsor is more than welcome to request a poem on any subject, in any form, for anyone. The poems will be posted on this blog over the course of the coming weeks. So keep checking back for daily poetry, it’s for the elephants.
In the meantime, check out this awesome video about Operation Groundswell!
let her be
i’m tired of all the ongoing debates
about how a woman should be
sick of voices shouting to
define female identity
of hands reaching
for control of
let that be
of being a woman
beyond the grasps of
suffocating laws and beliefs
sisters let’s smash the ceilings and
ascend from the rubbles unrestricted
This poem was written in celebration of International Women’s Day (March 8th, 2014). My sincerest gratitude to all the wonderful women who have graced my life with their love, wisdom, laughter, and food… delicious home made food.
she takes a stick and
draws a circle in the
sand around her feet
pretending it was a rabbit hole
to which she would fall
she spreads her toes into the sand
as she imagines her descent
into the land of wonder
where she is the protagonist
and colourful characters keep her company
and inanimate objects have more life
in them than any of her friends
and where she can take mushrooms
that would literally make her
higher than the CN Tower
she digs further with her toes
until a cold dampness greets her soles
and sends a shiver through her soul
as she imagines triumphing over tyrants
and outsmarting the crooks
and finally feeling as though she
was worth something
as though the story would be for naught
as though she was the reason
that the land of wonder exists at all
how she wishes that were true
if only the rabbit hole is as real as the ones in her heart
and if only closing her eyes
and digging her toes into the sand
could conjure the ocean to wash away all of her disappointments
would she be happy then?
she’s afraid to know
so she keeps her eyes closed
and keeps digging into the cold dampness beneath her feet
until her nails are broken
and her delicate toes are blistered
He wrote poetry on her skin
Confessions and bawdy jokes
Secrets on the back of her neck
His stories covered her black and blue
Until the pen ran dry and he out the door
She laughed while watching him circle the drain.
I wrote this today while waiting to take my G2 driving test.
She walked in with salt on her jeans
Her momma “tsked” at her carelessness on the salt slicked streets
She smiled and said, “Momma, I just came from the sea.”
Oh yeah, and I passed my test!
There is a shitty elevator in my dreams.
It travels in all directions and at different speeds.
I am never quite sure how it works,
But I am certain of one thing:
That it will never take me to my floor.
Despite knowing how shitty this elevator is,
I always end up riding it.
It will toss me around like a salad,
Then dump me some place far from home.
I have spent so many dreams,
Trying to find my way back.
But only find more obstacles in my path;
Like road closures due to floods,
Or missing the last train,
Or being driven around by a cabbie,
Who keeps changing directions and switching lanes
Insisting each time,
That he knows a “better and faster way”.
I mean, C’MON!
I just want to go home.
Why is the world so terribly inconvenient?
My needs are simple.
My wants are clear.
Why must it be so difficult to have them fulfilled?
Then just when I am about to fall off the precipice of my sanity,
I wake up,
And I’m home.
Despite of the warnings, Cleo crept into the cellar. Her foggy breath led her down the spiral stairs to the cold concrete where that dreadful event was rumoured to have taken place.
Her skin prickled with anticipation as she set foot on the concrete, only to discover that someone had already covered this ground just moments before.
The stench of cigarettes crept toward her from the dark. The fumes latched onto every fibre of her clothes, ripped them apart, and exposed Cleo to her fate.
From outside the cellar, Markus and Lonnie finished the last of the Jägermeister. They called down to Cleo with impatient cries which were received by drying blood.
Nine hours later, the police arrived at the cellar in response to a tipped call. All they were able to find was shattered green glass.
I like my food to touch one another
I like to wear at least two colours
I like to watch movies by myself
I like books to crowd the shelf
I like it when I make you laugh
Because you are my other half
He kissed me…
On my left eye…
His aim was pretty bad…
Considering the two drinks he had…
Thank the gods…
Wouldn’t want pink eye…
Or have my cornea scratched…
Though my mascara did get smudged…
Said he’s sorry…
He was kinda nervous…
Never thought I’d like him…
I laughed and moved in closer…
Stood on my tippy toes…
And I kissed him…
Gently on his…
“What’s the harm?”
“It’s not me.”
“How’d you know?”
“I just do?”
“Then I will.”
“You look great.”
“Oh thank you.”
“You look happy.”
“He is cute.”
I never said.
I hope you’ve enjoyed my latest trio of poems or “poetry farts” as I like to call them, because let’s face it, I’m not really a poet. But if you liked this post then feel free to share it and subscribe or follow this blog for more of my gassy poetry and other musings.
The noise was gone
For a split second
The world took a breath
It felt infinite
In that split second
Began to transmit
Into simple beings
Tripping over themselves
To complete a
After that split
Lifted from mine
The noise returned
And the world shrunk.
Last night in my dream, I was walking in a crowd down a grassy hill towards a stage where an announcement was to be made about an upcoming show. Just then, someone tapped
me on the shoulder.
I turned around and it was none other than Jack Black. We were long time buddies in my dream. So naturally, I gave him a piggyback ride down the hill. I called him, my Jack Black Backpack.
It was a wonderful dream.
Benjamin was a lonely boy
He had only one toy
It used to belong to a cat
Who died from being fat
The toy was a windup mouse
It lived inside a shoebox house
Benjamin named it Kelly
She was always a little smelly
They played night and day
‘Til Benjamin was old and gray
When Benjamin unexpectedly died
Kelly, the windup mouse, cried.