The feeling of finally knowing I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

It has taken me a really long time to realize that I'm the kind of person who sticks around. In all aspects of my life. Really, I don't know why it took me so long to reach this conclusion. Four years ago I think I felt like a bit of a cop out. But now I actually think I'm the opposite. I stick around even when shit gets really tough. I don't bail but the thing is, I don't think I've ever been the kind of person who would bail. It's weird to spend four years trying not to be something or worrying about being something and then getting to the end and realizing that I never even could have been that person. I'm the person who stays. And that's not a weakness. It's a strength.

Dabblings

Everyone likes a rat friend (1.0)

No one likes a cracked-out lightning bug.

Conversations with Merlin

Conversations with Merlin

I'm supposed to be studying

An Open Letter To Merlin

So, I guess what happened was I got drunk last night and wrote a letter to Merlin, the character I've traced from origin to modern day over the course of this semester in my capstone class.

Dear Merlin,

Your beard annoys me. At least trim that shit down a little. Your spectacles are stupid, especially that half-moon pair you have. Though I’ve described your magician’s gown as “flowing” in several papers now, please understand it’s not necessarily a compliment. And why does it always look so shiny? Like that material graduation gowns are made out of? Merlin: part of the graduating class of 1136. And, another thing, Merlin: Can you please stop creeping on poor little Morgan le Fay? In most of the stories of your first meeting she’s like fifteen years old. And you’re like…two hundred and fifty. Now, I’m in no way a prude when it comes to relationships society might deem unconventional but two hundred and thirty-five years is a pretty big age gap. It’s just inappropriate.

Merlin, when you first appeared in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s writings, I was humored by your novelty. By the time I had slogged through all of The Suite du Merlin I was admittedly a bit less enthralled with the idea of you. Still, I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, by the time I reached Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur I wanted to kick you in the nuts. Okay, so T.H. White’s portrayal of you was a fun little reprieve in which you actually managed to be interesting, but that was rather short-lived, wasn’t it?

Honestly, Merlin, for someone with the ability to FLOAT THE STONES OF STONEHENGE I would just think you would be a little more interesting. And, one more thing, while I’m at this. What the fuck was up with your role in Arthur’s conception? You disguised Uther Pendragon as Duke Gorlois so Igerna would sleep with him. Merlin, I know I’m judging you by modern standards but dude…THAT’S RAPE. I mean okay, I know it was for the good of the kingdom and the future of England and all that. My only real point is that Uther was an idiot who came to you begging to be disguised so he could lay siege to another duke’s TWO castles and then repeatedly have sex with said duke’s wife, via tricking her by impersonating her husband. Merlin…sometimes you have to tell idiots no. SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO SAY NO.

Also, I demand to know how you did it, how you managed to disguise Uther. Some sources, and believe me, I’ve read them all, state you used magic, some have you waving a wand while muttering some crazy voodoo shit, some just say you used some cracked-out herbs. I mean, what the fuck? If you tell me it was polyjuice potion I’m going to be pissed as hell.

So, in conclusion Merlin: stop creeping, wash your robe, and go away. I’m really just so fucking sick of you. I think we need a long time apart from one another to achieve some clarity. Maybe a lifetime. Go sit in your cave, Merlin. There, I said it. GO SIT IN YOUR CAVE.

Love,
Pat Kelley

P.S. You’ll never be as cool as Dumbledore. Stop trying.

Poems Poems Poems

Later

After picking out our tree
we walk down to a nearby brook
to take a picture for the cards.

Later I’ll curse, bent over the side of the truck,
head in my hands as you pull briars
out of the seat of my pants.

Later you’ll curse, after your dramatic jump
across the babbling stream results
in a soaked foot.

But for now I breathe in deep,
and feel the snow crunch beneath me
as I lean into your weight.

Poems Poems Poems

The assignment was to write a letter poem.

Heads Up

I thought you should know
when your son, my god son,
and I went out for ice cream the other night
he brought up the subject of sex
as we were sitting there licking our
sprinkle-covered twist cones.

Having anticipated this moment,
having resigned myself to the fact
that it would eventually occur,
I had prepared what I thought
was a pretty decent speech
on the birds and the bees.

But, when Jake then brought up
the birds and the birds,
I, of all people,
had no idea what to say.

Poems Poems Poems

The One Where

I was thinking about
that joke we have,
the one where one of us
will say something in jest
and the other will snap back

You’re an asshole or
Well, fuck you, then
and follow it quickly with
I love you! Never leave me!

And how you did leave
and most days
we’re still okay.

Quibbley Reads "How the Grinch Stole Christmas"