Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I Snowflakes Falling on tongue Like they did when I threw Snowballs at boys during recess Freedom II Her smile When I come home How was your day today? Kitchen smells like butternut soup Safety III Prancing In the backyard Catching red butterflies Then watching them flutter away Gently IV Fire Camp songs and s'mores Ashy smell on sweater Crickets chirp and coyotes howl In awe V Berry Patches outstretched Sun on back as I bend Strawberries staining my soft hands Yummy VI Kisses Smooth as chocolate The glee of being loved As we waltz by the candlelight Relax VII Bubbles In the warm tub The smell of apricots Sticking close to my heated skin Cleansing VIII River Rushing quickly Through the winding forest How safe it is to be on shore Watching IX Night time No mascara Just me and my inner Thoughts, memories, wisdom, and soul True self X Beauty All the senses Tingle when I breathe in Earth is in equilibrium Perfect

I'll see you in my dreams For we've got no place else to meet Except in this one-sided fantasy Oh, a reverie so sweet I'll see you when you sleep For you're invisible when I rise Like a ghost, a lonely ghost Too shy to see with my own eyes I'll see you in the hereafter I'll see you in Armageddon I'll see you on Judgment Day I'll see you when the sun's setting Now, shush, I'll let you sleep In your cozy, little coffin Your lullaby is the night sky And the trees that moan so often I'll see you in my dreams When you visit me at night Our hearts will glow so bright Because, I know You're so afraid of the night

It's that time of year again! The best time of the year is when I review the top 10 books that I read from January to December. Note: these books were not necessarily published in 2016, in fact most of them were not. These are just my literary recommendations for my fellow book nerds. 10.  Gulliver's Travels   (1726) by: Jonathan Swift Favourite quote:  "I cannot but conclude that the bulk of your natives, to be the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the earth." Reason to read this book:  it's a classic , and it will make popular references to this book make so much more sense I had to include this book on here. I read it at the beginning of the year for an English class I was taking, but I totally fell in love with the tale. The whole story mocks the society in which we live. Gulliver is too big in one world, too small in the next, and is made slave to horses in one of the worlds! A bizarre an

During my undergraduate degree at U of T, I was completely and desolately lost. I had no idea what I wanted from life, academically, spiritually, or career-wise. During my second year, I decided to do my double major in English and "Ethics, Society and Law" (a pseudo- "pre-law" program) because those topics were (and still are) my two passions. I aimed to go to law school because 1) I thought of myself as a social justice warrior, striving for equality for people of all genders and races and 2) lawyers get paid well. My two opposing motivations for going to law school ultimately wore me out, and I ended up selling my LSAT prep book. I didn't even take the test. My back-up plan: a Masters in Public Policy. I was selected by a supervising professor to do my undergraduate thesis (approx. 50 pages) about an obscure painting located in Siena's city hall, and how it relates to medieval Sienese politics. After all that hard work, and after presenting at a thesi

I dreamt last night, I'm not sure why, About pink jellyfish in the sky. They'd shine and fade as they passed me by, These mysterious jellyfish that could fly. The sky was dark as the deepest sea, The night tides had shifted for me. Down was up and up was free, Above me was the most magical quay. Take me to a time when jellyfish roamed, To a time when dreams were my home. Like Aphrodite rising from foam, Carry me to that virtuous zone. Alas, the sky is stuck in one place, Everyday I wake up to the same tired face. I fear and I ponder, am I a disgrace? In this world without jellyfish all over the place. No, in this world, there are only stars in the sky, There are gloomy figures that pass me with a sigh. Men on the platform, waiting to die, They think about it when the train passes by. They think about what lies beyond this doom, Of mundanity, hatred, and car exhaust fumes. They imagine that going back into the womb, Is like spending eternity with jell

I couldn't wait to hear about the first female president of the United States. I could picture Clinton's inauguration speech: with tears in her eyes, she would promise to be a flaming beacon of hope for women and minorities in North America and around the world. But then, things got crazy. I didn't want to believe that Clinton's bigoted contender, Donald J. Trump, had any chance of winning the election. I was in denial yesterday night, but the results are official today: Trump is Mr. President, and Melania our First Lady. What an unimaginable downgrade from Barack and Michelle Obama. As an ESL-teacher-in-training, Trump's morals (or lack of) and stereotypes about immigrants, women, and visible minorities offend me immensely. His promise of "extreme vetting" of Muslim migrants, his plan of building a higher wall between the U.S. and Mexico, and his utter disrespect for the Black Lives Matter movement all unfortunately reflect the beliefs of the majori

"Most of us, even if only for two minutes in our lives, have experienced at some time or another an inexplicable and random sense of bliss, unrelated to anything that was happening in the outside world..." (Elizabeth Gilbert) That moment of bliss happens from time to time It happened to me today when I was walking through the forest Fully feeling everything with my five senses Feeling the gravel and crunch of dead brown leaves beneath my boots Hearing the creaky moans of the old trees in the wind Seeing hues of fire, gold, and bronze Smelling the morbidly sweet smell of decay Tasting the moist air on this October day If October were a person, she would be beautiful But not beautiful in the mortal, conventional sense She would have chestnut brown hair, ragged Tangled with twigs and birch bark Her face would be hollow, delicate, like petals in the fall Her dress would be tattered, drooping at her shoulder Moths, caterpillars, and spiders caught in the fibers o

Murder is not an accident It is premeditated, filled with cruel intent Not a clumsy tumble down the stairs Murder is not guilty until proven innocent You are not jailed for being at the scene of the crime Murder is not an error in judgment: it is malicious It is not the innocent mess-up of forgetting to take your pill Or using a condom that is defective Murder is forcing women to use coat-hangers Or to seek an unlicensed doctor in the back alleys In order to rid themselves of something they never asked for Murder is silencing the voices of coherent adults Who have the right to vote To work To run for president Murder is telling them that they do not have the right To their own wombs Due to out-of-context words written in an old book And the bloody and destructive need to keep up traditions Traditionally, murder can be an accident When a woman goes to work, does sports, when she is pregnant And has a miscarriage by accident Traditionally, murder can be guilty until

I am obsessed with life, and with finding the meaning of it all. This is why I adore poetry and literature. Certain philosophical quotes stick in my psyche and I can fish them out whenever I feel like I am drowning in my uncertainties. It is also why I love music. Certain songs, lyrics, instruments, and even sounds whisk me back to different places, different people and times in my life. Anytime I want to escape the present, I can turn on the stereo. But poetry, philosophy and music are not the meaning of life. It is just an interpretation. In fact, the older I get foggier the meaning of life becomes. When I was little, I had no critical thinking skills. Most kids do not. We swallow up everything we are told by the authorities towering over us (teachers, parents) like candies. The first time I learned about "heaven" was in the fifth grade, in Catholic School. My teacher taught religion class every afternoon, and we discussed what happens when we die: we go to the pearly gat

I am so tired of seeing the same person in the mirror every day Roof over my head? Check. Water and food? Check. Family? Check. Healthy? Check. Stable boyfriend? Check. Check. Check. Check. Why does it not seem like enough... It is because I am an angsty twenty-something See, we were raised during an interesting time when flip phones were a luxury in the eighth grade And MSN Messenger was the way to communicate Now, do people even communicate? There was a time when jobs were a tad easier to find Now we sit in a lukewarm pool of our depression and sulk over the youth unemployment rate We believe in nothing, no god to save us, no future for the earth's creatures and plants We just wait for the sun to devour our planet and for the oceans to flood all the major cities like it does in the movies, a modern day tale of Noah We are pessimists, us twenty-somethings What do we believe in? We don't believe in love Love is oppression! Love does not comply with our overly

I have two lovers named Chaos and Joe One is predictable and the other's not so Chaos is wild, with a scraggly old beard Joe has fetishes that seem a bit weird Chaos has issues and takes pills of all sorts Joe likes the usual: a fine beer and sports Chaos makes me feel like one big mess While Joe makes me pitiful and depressed They still love me, sending me flowers and cake Hoping I'll be in their beds when I awake Alas, I can only exist in one place in time With Chaos and vodka, or Joe and red wine Will Cupid please strike one heart of the two To save me from this sad pit of blues? Joe, oh Joe, I see us marrying one day I see us on rocking chairs with hair all grey Chaos, dear love, I see adventures await That will never land me in Heaven's pearly gates Sometimes I want to watch the sunset with Joe Other times I want Chaos curled up at my toes We want it all: a chaotic stability A paradoxical, magnetic indivisibility We want the Chaos that life throws

As a young person, my attitude towards life, others, and myself in general is constantly in flux. And I'm learning, over and over again, the old-age adage "if you keep doing things the same way, things will stay the same" (or something along those lines). It's true: if you don't change your attitude, your behaviour remains the same, and you are stuck in a never-ending replay of a car crash that you can easily avoid, but choose not to. From various life experiences, these are the "Seven Deadly Attitudes," if you will, that might not necessarily keep you locked in purgatory, but which will make your life on Earth feel hellish. 7. Anger No one likes an angry person. Someone who is perpetually red-faced is not nice to be around, but he is mostly harming himself. Having an angry attitude towards life means, roughly: lashing out at others and using anger to disguise more vulnerable emotions, such as pain and sorrow. Basically, you puff up like a porcupine

There is something special about coffee shops. The ambience. The grainy smell. The chatter of young lovers and old friends in the background. The stability of it all. The simplicity. Most breakups take place at coffee shops (true fact). The sun blaring down, scalding coffee at my lips, trying to gulp it down to get the conversation over with quickly. Secrets murmured. Coffee cup left half empty (or half full, if you will). Reunions occur at coffee shops. Gift exchanges. Christmas time. New seasonal special: white candy cane mocha with gingerbread biscotti. The smell of creme brulee wafting through the air. Cheap tinsel on the walls. Hungover morning after New Year's Eve: a stop by the coffee shop, a large cup of roasted heaven. Injected like a drug, warming every vein in the body. Then there are days spent alone at the coffee shop. Bent over a stack of textbooks. Fifth coffee of the night, and not the last. First dates at the coffee shop. A mixed sense of hope, and despair in the p

A duck sat by a river looking at its reflection Wondering, where will I go? What do I do? When I die one day will anyone remember me? Will I catch a bite tomorrow? Will the nice ladies from down the block come in their bright sundresses and feed me stale bread crumbs while gossiping about other women? Why am I a mallard? Why can't I have been a beautiful swan, elegant and to be envied, instead? Why must I make such hoarse, pathetic sounds? Quack! Quack! Quack! Putting aside all that, why can't I have been born a male duck instead? With their striking green plumage, the purple glitter on their wings, and their mustard yellow beaks? Why must I be a little brown critter? I look like a sad mop! Where will I be five years from now? Ten? Will I have ducklings, or will I be long digested in a fox's stomach by then? What rivers will I swim in, and which ones will I never have the chance to visit? On what day will I swim my final swim? So many things going through the

What is it, that you want out of life? Have a job, have a husband, a wife? You want everyone to know your name? Will you deal with depression that comes with the fame? Will you deal with your parents when they get old? Will you be able to breathe when your fingers get cold? It's a cruel world, they say, this is true We're floating on jetsam without having a clue It's a cruel world filled with killing and pain With injustice and horrors that we shun in vain I want to do something, I don't want to sit still I want to fill something that cannot be filled I want to do everything and it overwhelms me so much That I get soft and decrepit to the touch 'Cause another part of me wants to chill and just float Hoping that another person will steer the boat Floating, floating, not an island in sight Floating and weeping deep in the night

Hooray. I graduated from the notoriously soul-sucking, snobbish, yet also beautiful and prestigious establishment that is the University of Toronto. When asked, "what have you learned in your four years?" nothing remotely related to academia comes to mind. I could say that I learned about wacky political philosophers and their undying sexist theories. I could tell you that I acquired "critical thinking skills," improved my writing and grammar, and can now read a Victorian novel in one day without a problem. But the things that I was taught in my classes are not the things that have stuck with me the most. All my various experiences of growing up and "discovering myself" in the maze of U of T can be summed up in one lesson: Sometimes, the things that are good for you don't feel good, and the things that feel great are leading you down the wrong path. This is an elementary lesson that we learn as four-year-olds. "Eat your broccoli, Susan! Even i

What do you do when everything you have been working for For let's say, the good past eight years Goes up, up, up To reach a climax The tip of the rollercoaster The momentum The adrenaline That goes down, down, down and around In grooves and loops and exciting angles What happens when that climax Never comes? And you're left there, facing upwards, in a halt Simply trying to not fall back down to where you came from See, I've tried, I've really tried I've prayed, and I've bled and I've cried I thought I got better in all I did I improved my writing I improved my relationship building Busted my bad habit forming Achieved all the grades I wanted to Made friends, lost friends, travelled around Wrote a mammoth 40-page senior goddamn thesis Then I applied to my master's program and I got Waitlisted And the uphill battle came to a stop A deafening screech of the wheels Silence What now? Panic Well, I thought I was smart enough, pret

The present is all that exists The candle does not rise as it burns It collapses onto itself The bird does not stop singing because, two weeks ago, it got its feelings hurt It sings now because this morning is all that exists History has brought us monuments, Mozart, and star-cross'd lovers Which haunt and awe us today, but cease to exist in tact They are just relics Like an empty wine glass with lipstick stains Or crumpled petals and flower remains Like old movie tickets hidden in a drawer Or a stolen sweater that smells like cologne Yet the present is all that is real That is tangible, that is whole The heart beat, the hum of the fridge, mango hair spray An itch in the neck, a twitch of the nose, a cat's meow Is all of reality Mundane and sublime The aged fruit of old time Rotten berries on the window sill will keep on rotting Good old pals will continue being forgotten The past should not be disturbed The birds, the squirrels, the r

Before I went to university, I thought the whole four-year experience would look something like this: And on the odd occasion, there would be a little bit of studying involved, like this: (Seriously, why are university students always smiling in the grass in all university pamphlets!?) But, my university experience pretty much looked like this: When I first started university, I was striving to be the best, and I was thriving after repeated failures, visits to the writing centre, visits to professor office hours, and countless hours spent studying. Now, I'm just surviving university. The eager motivation I had as a freshman, second year, and even third year student has now worn off. The illusion is gone: of endless partying, drinking, carefree nonsense... well sure, I did some of that too, but I always felt a perpetual guilt when I wasn't studying. I didn't settle for Cs, I aimed for Bs. Then I stopped settling for Bs and only accepted As. I pus

At ten at night a fair lady releases her flowing hair And opens her window to let in fresh air Not knowing that a fairy has come in with the breeze Who will describe all that he senses and sees The fairy, hid behind a bucket of salts Watches her as she exposes her faults The chipped red paint on the nail of her toe Revolts the poor fairy, but he refuses to go For she starts to unzip her speckled blue top And her two heaving breasts break out and drop Never a more putrid sight did he see Than nipples the size of mulberry trees She then removes her lashes, her eyebrows, her lips Then, yawning, into her bed she sleepily slips The fairy, wanting to take a closer look at the doll Flutters up to her ear and begins to crawl He travels right into her big, waxy ear And discovers great galaxies there In her head she has worlds so vast and sublime That make him forget the odiousness of her slime She has novels and poetry stored to the roof of her skull Mathematics, biology, a

You're beautiful, you're brilliant, I love you Let the rain pour from the heavens Travel into your heart and escape through your eyes Let it purify Let the flood erode all roads Dead-ends, avenues, chi-chi boutiques Chocolate and coffee and lobster and beer Will melt into the flood and disappear The waters will burst into the banks The houses, the pet stores and the cars They will be purified Ratty dogs will swim upstream Neighbours will cower in each other's basements Telling tales of childhood simplicity Telling the children about cotton candy and bliss And the parents will curl up and kiss It is all purified When the flood ceases and the light hits their eyelids They will see a world they do not know Without its dead-ends, or avenues, or gourmet coffee shops Without parking tickets, Visa cards, or angry cops They will be purified You're beautiful, you're brilliant, I love you

It's that time of night, either 11 or 2, When I start to get the headboard blues There's nothing more awkward, we can agree Than hearing your neighbour in ecstasy I'd rather be woken to birds in their nest Than a pursuant "yes, yes, YES" The sound makes you too human, too real I've seen you check your mail, and I've heard you squeal I've seen you walk your dog and I do confess I get uncomfortable when you say the word "yes" The headboard noise is probably the worst I stare at the ceiling; ah, I've been cursed I play some music and curl into a ball Waiting patiently until you finish your brawl What you do in your home is your own affair Just letting you know: I'm also there Creepy, right? Those are apartments, you see But let me nag you, if only indirectly I'd rather listen to five kids crying at once I'd rather hear twenty-five basketballs bounce I'd rather be woken by a tiger's roar Or of a teenag

As Father Snow turns the world blue-grey I think about tulips on a snowy day I think about Spring even though she is dead Father Snow captured her and tore off her head He transformed the world into ice and metal All beauty that remains is one tulip petal Each year the sad couple kisses again And the world is saved from frostbite and pain And the heart is kept from heavenly song If only for a moment, or not even so long For there will be a day when the tulips will prime In the middle of winter; it will be the time To surrender to the snow and humbly pray And allow the late Spring to show me the way When the heart is lost and the sky is grey I can only think about tulips on a sombre day

2016 is a big year for me and for most friends my age. 2016 means I'll transform from "Olga Taratuta, High School Graduate" to "Olga Taratuta, B.A." 2016 holds my future in its sweaty palms. The words "job," "money," "graduate school," and "scholarships" seem to have dominated my pool of vocabulary. 2016 is where I become a real adult, not the OSAP mooching fraud that I am now. But adulthood is a scam. It is a fable told by society to keep the economy in check. Adults are seduced by money. We become promiscuous, lurking the streets to make a buck.  My original goals for 2016 were to: A) Get into graduate school B) Get a job C) Get an apartment D) Save, save, save! Then I realized that all those goals are money-driven to some degree. They are but cookie cutter resolutions, such as "exercise more" or "lose 5 pounds." I will not make money by aiming to make money. I have realized this