Saturday, September 08, 2007

Costly Transactions

I joined a facebook group: Anime and/or Manga Gave Me Unrealistic Expectations For Significant Others. Too true.

Costly Transactions
By Robert Park
January 12, 2007, 4:00 AM

Your eyes glanced at me in the library that day
You were reading the day's newspaper
Seated comfortably on one of those cheap maroon sofas
In the reading area
Were you learning about our troubles in Afghanistan
Or checking out the latest fashions
Perhaps a movie review or two
And maybe stories about last night's game.

But you weren't really reading, were you?
Eyes glancing up
Wandering all over the place
As if suddenly the library scene took on new artistic life
And resting on me now and then
As I searched for a research paper
Describing the implications of the Coase Theorem.
The effort it took
To simply glance at each other while the other wasn't looking
And make it seem like we weren't staring
Until our eyes locked by chance
Due to the miscalculations of our visual sweeps.

Awkward, no?
The eyes uncertain
Not sure what should happen
Or who should look away first
Which you did
Shyly sliding lower into the couch
Raising your newspaper and flipping the page
As if you didn't ever see me
And was simply flipping through that day's paper
Because it would have cost too much
To start a simple conversation.

The distance between us
The difference between our reading topics
The lack of knowledge and high risks
That made a simple conversation
Unprofitable and infeasible
So that we never ventured forward
To try to gain that profit that could have been had
Because we could not afford the transaction.

Sometimes you wish you had good credit
To get a good loan
And cover all the costs up front
Because it would make things so easier
Instead of doing what I did
Sitting by the window on the far side
And opening up the thesis
Which is how I finally found out
That Coase was a genius.

You Are Not Alone

What do you say to someone you want to be happy, but you cannot see yourself being the one to make that person happy?

You Are Not Alone
By Robert Park
November 18, 2005, 11:44 PM

A single snowflake falls
The air crisp and thin
Serenading the wind
It dances a hypnotic waltz
Fitting for the weather
That never wanted anything more flashy
And you catch it with your tongue
Running this way and that
To make sure that you don't miss
And proudly display your taste buds
With the snowflake already melted
Dissolved in the heat of your breath

The poor snowflake
A short life it lived
Careless and carefree
Delighted to meet you and the warmth of your smile
Until it was consumed by the same
And disappeared

More snowflakes fall
And you prance happily in the light heaven
Seeing the beauty of the iced water droplets
Envelop the landscape in a blanket
Keeping it warm
With a touch so cold
That cannot melt
Without the warmth of a human's touch

And so
The snow falls to you
Keeping you busy
Making you happy
You are not alone
That is why I am
This snowflake has melted
And can offer you nothing more

Eating Staples

In the road to graduation, you work, work, work, and then you graduate to do more work. Choose your work carefully, or it's a vicious cycle.

Eating Staples
By Robert Park
March 25, 2005, 10:20 AM

Rice is a staple
Polar to potatoes
When all I eat is wheat
But I just want some meat

The required nutrition
Sometimes so bland
Eaten in large quantities
No room for delicacies

Thirsting for life
Hungering for emotions
Tasting the same old
Devouring what I'm told

Supply and demand
Undesired disequilibrium
Looking for efficiency
Finding discrepancy

Plodding forward to what end
Breaking the ribbon
Finding the prize
Discovering it to be rice

At least it's not wheat...

Yearning for Courage

This poem was written in light of my thoughts in the last four years. How strange is it that even the thought still seems out of my league?

Yearning for Courage
By Robert Park
November 22, 2004, 3:00 AM

It is not the absence of fear
That manifests your bravery
But one would hope that the greater the fear
The more your bravery
Lest the fear overtake you
And bind you
Trap you
In a spiralling descent
Ever farther from the touch of heaven
That you seek
Giving you a new sense of meek
That has not humility
But tepid folly
Revealing your lack of courage
And showing the pathetic worm
That you seek to not be

If perfect love casts out fear
Then wherefore the fear
This is the paradox
That resides inside of me
Because the love is not perfect
And maybe never can be

Out, damn spot, out!
Why stain my hand
For no blood have I shed
But tears have bled
Because of the imperfection
You chain to me

And in this situation
May an ounce of courage take shape
In the form of a sword
That cuts to the bone
Resounding in my mind
Ringing true, to direct my way?

Please, I pray
Out, damn spot, out
For the fear you implant
Has no place in this heart
When this heart yearns for courage
To be loyal to a promise

One I wish to keep


This was written as a conclusion (possibly) to the first poem, Dandelions. Have I posted that? Damn. Perhaps I should post that as well. Heck, let's post the whole story. Erm, I'll post in reverse chronological order... Cynicism is in high gear today, it seems.
By Robert Park
May 15, 2004, 11:50 PM
Parched with the desert sun
No rain for days
You wonder how anything could grow
In this place
Where is the green grass
Or the flowers of beauty past
Did flora truly grow
In this wasteland
As I seek for water
Thirsting for a drop
To quench this torture
My eyes glaze over
And there is a vision
Of the garden past
In which I grew flowers
Tulips that would last
But above all else
There was a single pretty red rose
That choked and could not grow
And died pitifully
Because of the stupid dandelions
That I eventually wiped out
With every herbicide known to man
My garden has cracks
In the dry, hard, brown dirt
A depressing sight in its starkness
Clouds of dust are created by wind
Void of all beauty
And when the air clears
I see a single solitary dandelion
And I wonder why
Those things never seem to die.


I learned something sometime a little before the writing of this poem that shattered a lot of childish ideals. You know why appeal to emotion can create fallacies in your mind? It's because they can totally block out your ability to use your logic and enforce your logic. That can really suck sometimes.
By Robert Park
November 18, 2003, 12:47 AM
Did you see my heart?
I'm looking for it right now
I gave it away
So now I don't know where it is
Can you find my heart?
It's somewhere in the mud
Someone dropped it
So now I can't find it
Did you see my mind?
I'm looking for it right now
It followed my heart
And now for some reason it's lost
Can you find my mind?
It's wandering the world
Somewhere in Atlantis
Where you can't find what used to be
Did you see me?
I'm looking for me right now
Who I used to be
When did I disappear?
Can you find me?
I'll offer a reward if need be
Just want myself back
Forget everything and move on
Where is it all?
The man who used to be
And became broken
A child on his knees?
Confidence, calmness, and courage
It all disappeared
You can only hope the phoenix
Rises from the ashes
Where is that phoenix?
The mystical bird that can live
And soar like never before
I'm searching.

In the Secret Place

I always wonder why people try to appear to be so strong when they're not. Why are people afraid of showing who they are inside and that they are vulnerable and need help at times? It makes no sense, even if you are able to explain all the psychology behind it.
In the Secret Place
By Robert Park
September 21, 2003, 1:42 AM
Why do you try
With your small, delicate hands
To carry all your burdens
Why don't you cry
When your shoulders are tired
And you're weighed down by the trials
Why can't you sleep
When you feel like melting
Because the pressure is too strong
I wish you wouldn't do this
Let me carry you for a while
And let your troubles fall down
Your path is bound
It seems to not waver
How do you survive
In this cold?


This poem was written while I endured some heavy-duty depression due to various emotions. I couldn't do anything, my marks dropped drastically, which wasn't actually so bad, compared to some of the other stuff I went through. I wanted it to end and have my feet back on the ground so badly...
By Robert Park
October 27, 2003, 11:43 AM
A terrible turmoil, twisting temperamentally
Tossing me hither and thither like a rag doll
I wonder if I can ever regain control of this existence
When my sense of direction is so lost.
Rule number one, dammit, couldn't you remember?
Always keep your shields up, keep your distance
Don't let the thing grab you, don't let it come near
Or else the violence will show you no mercy.
It takes a toll on me, this tossing about
And I pray for it to stop, unceasingly
Since when was I a toy that one could torment so carelessly
And when will I forget everything that swept me so easily?
Of course I'm getting tired
But oddly, what drew me to this tornado
Keeps me here...
Maybe I can get used to it
And sleep...

Uncrossed Bridges

This poem was written while I was searching for something but was to afraid to reach out and grab it because of the possible consequences. Whether or not I did the right thing in the end will possibly be forever up to debate, until time comes to an end, and all answers are revealed.
Uncrossed Bridges
By Robert Park
September 3, 2003, 2:00 AM
A long time ago
A bridge was constructed
So that people could cross a chasm, you see
Lasting for all eternity
It was a bond for peoples from different locales
It was strong
But uncrossable.
Does that make any sense?
Why would one make a bridge
That one would not be able to cross?
You wonder
What was on the other side
That made the need to build so attractive
Still when I look at this bridge
I wonder what's on the other side
What future lies there
What conclusion would be made there
Who knows the future
It's something unknown
I want to cross the bridge and see
But it hurts to walk
It hurts just to look at it
The pain from the bright lights
And the darkness combined
Creates an illusion that penetrates
How do I find my way across
When there are barriers blocking the way
And an omen stands at the end of the journey
Telling me not to come
When it is that future and that side's treasure
That warns me not to go near


Do I really need to explain any background for this poem?
By Robert Park
Unknown Date
Confusion reigns
Whenever you don't understand what's going on
It's a natural thing
Like weeds growing on your lawn
Stupid dandelions
Always flitting everywhere
Conceiving new life
That you never wanted
They populate your lawn
And take over
Until eventually
You can't even see your grass anymore
And you wonder
Did you get transported to another world?
Or are you really someone else
Living in another home
Different from the one you thought was yours
Maybe you were never that person in the first place
And it's all because
Of the unnecessary dandelion seeds
That get blown all throughout your place
Growing anywhere they please
Planting themselves
Stealing the water
Stealing the life source
Killing what should be there
But you know what,
Those dandelions can be pretty
Really pretty
After all, you wonder
Are they really weeds?
Or are they flowers
They do bloom
And you could pick those petals all day long
Saying the words
She loves me
She loves me not
I want my own lawn back
These dandelions need to go
So that a real rose can grow
But first,
Where's my home?
And should she get the rose?

Epiphany of Waste

This poem was written a long time ago. It asks why people waste their talents. Well, sort of.
Epiphany of Waste
By Robert Park
Date Unknown
I'm wasting time
Writing poetry
When I could be working
Accomplishing a life story.
How do you create a story
When your direction is wary?
When your vision is nary?
When your desires are folly?
When things must be done
Because you have things to do
Why do you waste time
With stuff you should not do?
When time is lacking
And you're just slacking
Why do you avoid that
Which is most important?
It's a mystery
But a paradox underneath
When your true desires are revealed
And you care not for a legacy.

A Hopeless Future

This poem was written after conversations with a variety of friends on the pettiness of our futures. Why are we so unwilling to risk it all and go for the gusto? Fulfill our dreams? Exit our comfort zones? We know that we won't be satisfied otherwise. And yet...
A Hopeless Future
By Robert Park
4:05 AM, March 7, 2004
Getting into the ratrace
Is not what you would expect
The number of rats that exist
Running hither and thither
Create a pungent stench
Such that you're permeated
And don't notice it.
Then when you stumble into the park
Smell the flowers
Feel the spongy, dew-tipped grass
You realize how much you stink
Reeking of the worldly filth
That seemed so appealing
As it would to only a rat.
And you look at yourself
Your reflection shining in the pond
Sordid in the grime
Smelling of the leftovers
That you scrounged from society
And contrasted with the crystal
That sparkled as the water's surface.
Then all of a sudden
You're chasing aspirations you never had
Wanting to catch a dream that was never yours
Seeking that which has meaning
All to have a reason for living
And failing, you crawl wounded
Back to the comfortable filth of the ratrace.
A leopard cannot change its spots
And an animal should not leave its habitat
For a rat cannot thrive, let alone create
In the environment in which it cannot live
And instead chooses to live the easy life
Leeching off of the cesspool
Of society's leftovers.


This poem was written I believe in grade 11 or 12. I'm not sure what I was going through to write these words at the time, the poem itself is a vague memory of mine. But I did enter it into the contest at, that thing was huge back then. :) I remember web banner ads all over the Internet for it. It's a Petrarchan (Italian) sonnet.
By Robert Park
Unknown Date
I saw a bird flying high in the clouds.
It wheeled, dipped, and soared majestically.
A wild eagle it was, born free, so free.
To the earth it verily would not bow.
Pride it had, screeching defiance out loud,
Claiming its space, its rightful territory.
King of the skies it was, gliding with ease.
Would it come down when rain came from those clouds?
I was once an eagle, flying so high.
Then the weather changed and I was brought low.
How could this happen to one who could fly?
The heavens did fall and not in light snow.
Must I fall down to the ground and just die?
Must have some shelter, survive, have some hope.

Lost Dreams

This was written in grade 12 or early university, as I thought about the transition from the past to the future. Entering university was supposed to be a big step, but I wondered at the time how it would actually make me grow as a person. In all honesty, it seemed like some of my most creative years were behind me. One thinks of John Keats' poem, When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be or John Milton's On Having Reached My Twenty-Third Birthday.
Lost Dreams
By Robert Park
Unknown Date
Do you remember
a little boy, he wanted to be a cowboy
and then a ninja
because ninjas were cool
(they still are)
but when cowboys and ninjas are of no use
in today's world anyway
what does he do?
I think you remember
a little girl, barely four years old
she played with dolls
because dolls were cute
(they still are)
but why do little girls take care of dolls
even when they still cannot take care
of themselves?
How do you remember
the instincts of bygone past
the internal drive
of imagination and creativity
(when you had dreams)
when you become encased in systems
and become jaded
too much to care?
Until we get there
(wherever there might be)
we can keep our vision straight
(unless it's uncertain)
but the journey has its own rewards
(so they say)
a thought for those who don't make it
(maybe me)
because we lost our childish visions
(and hit reality)
Say it isn't so
(don't make that history)


This poem was written in grade 12. Now abide these things, faith, hope, and charity. But the greatest of these is charity. In today's English, it's better translated as love. But the original word charity exemplifies exactly what kind of love we are talking about here.

By Robert Park
Unknown Date

A myriad of colours before me
Life can be so bland
How long has it been
How long
Since I last saw one
One flower
Many flowers
Filling the air with their fragrance
A hint of spice

This beauty
Hidden from me
Not hidden but forgotten
In despair
And the trials of schedule
The world is too much with us
He did say
And the little things
We have forgotten
How easy it is
To forget the hard work
Of a busybee

This bee worked
Its forelegs rubbing together
Doing something or other
Drawing nectar
All part of the magical process
To make that special substance
The little things
That we often forget
And I wonder
For the life of me
How one can survive
Without acts of love and care
In humanity.

Bright Moon

Have you ever seen the brilliance of a full moon? It's totally something else and far brighter than when the moon is partially in shadow. You can see a halo around it as well, giving the moon a very noticeable shining effect, such that it contrasts totally with the darkness of the night.
Bright Moon
By Robert Park
Date Unknown
It was full
It was bright
It sparkled through the night
Why waste time with silly rhymes
That confine the visage
To something
Short of sublime?
Bright circle
Enveloped by a halo
Its rays streaked
Radiantly it shone
Is it any wonder
That this desolate rock
Reflected the sun?
And yet, taking up the sky
Being so dominant
I lifted my eyes
And realized
The moon may shine
But the stars define
The skies that we lie under.
What a sky, what a vision
What lies beyond
A question never answered
By the limited minds
Of our finite people
And yet I believe God was right
When he said, "It is good."

Sonnet 12

This was written in grade 12. Do I really need to say anything?
Sonnet 12
By Robert Park
Unknown Date
The sky does rain, the sun does shine, at night.
A conflict I can’t really understand
Because it could be thoughts’ or love’s demands
Causing failure to contemplate the slight.
I can’t forget that laugh, the sound that makes
Me so entranced as if a flute did sing.
Those eyes that sparkle, shine and swiftly bring
A light, a cloud, so that my heart’s opaque.
That smile, capricious, radiant, and bright
Distills emotions from within, afar.
Simple life was till I met this fair star.
Why is it now complex since she came nigh?
And then a thought enters into my mind.
Does she even think of me, am I blind?

Poetry will be imported into the normal blog now

OK, I've decided that I will import all poetry into the normal blog, and get rid of the poetry blog, now that I can do tags in Blogger.

Really, I should just be moving to Wordpress, shouldn't I... too lazy. :)