Friday, September 21, 2012

Spelunking


Spelunking

for J

This whole city
is big enough for us to walk
until I’ve got blood
in my shoes,
and empty pockets.
We map these streets
with stitches
connecting places we go in
step, in hand.
We wade together
through this swamp-wet air
holding on so we won’t
get lost.
We bring home peaches
and second-hand jeans
and we sweat under cover
in dark private places.
Your eyes run black
with love-smudged mascara
and we sleep just barely
touching.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Her Majesty

I wrote this a few weeks ago. One of the few things I've written recently that has not been heartbroken and melodramatic.


Her Majesty

Swans are vicious creatures
she says and there’s blood
under her over-long fingernails
in little brown crescents.
You write them like
they’re beautiful but
you know you’re not supposed to feed them.
She sits
with her back arched away
from the chair
and her neck white.
I can’t say
swans are sometimes royalty,
that in London parks
they belong to the Queen.
The only majesty in this room
is hers and so I say
Because they mate for life.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Derecho

Derecho
 
I sleep
between the wall and a barricade
of pillows
because she liked me
helpless.
In the thunder, she put my
naked body
in the other girl’s clothing,
set the rules
with silk scarves and not-yets,
told me her vices but not
the reasons.

Won’t you let me in tonight?
Lock the gate,
not to keep me
but to bar the rain.
In your satin,
sleep in my hands
like I’m the protector for once.
No secrets tonight,
just shelter.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Charlie Challenge: Beautiful Girls

Well, I took a day off and now I'm onto the You, Me & Charlie 30 day challenge. This is open to all forms of art, so maybe I'll get into some prose, but for now I have a poem.

Charlie Challenge, day 1: Write your personal manifesto. Mine is inspired by this quote from Sarah Dessen's "Keeping the Moon," a quote that I've loved since high school and yet keep forgetting.

"It's like the hidden secret that no one tells you. We can all be beautiful girls, Colie. It's so easy. It's like Dorothy clicking her heels to go home. You could do it all along."



Beautiful Girls

We are all beautiful girls,
a hint of
magick
all we need
to peel back the hurt.
You are my sorceress tonight,
take me
in your hands, your eyes
and free the girl beneath
this bruised skin.
We were born swans
so cut these ties and soar
beside me.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

April

NaPoWriMo Day 29, poem 31/30: I was thinking today about everything that's happened this April. The last few weeks of March were some of the worst days I've had in a long time, but as I've written these poems and carried on things have gotten better and better. I owe NaPoWriMo a lot. Here's the last poem, barring some stroke of inspiration.



April

April, born
in baffling cruelty,
sleeps soft tonight.
She waited locked
in her room while March,
that bitch sister,
lingered vicious.
She wrapped her cracked
skin in poetry,
stanzas like bandaids,
stitching the wounds with
long strings of words,
crawled into the open
of spring.
Born a fragment, she is now
some sort of sonnet,
a little unconventional,
her eyes to the future.
Her room is unempty
when she returns,
not retreats.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

space

NaPoWriMo Day 28, poem 30/30: I feel like it's a cop-out to use a haiku as poem 30, but I felt like there was no better form for a poem about small spaces. Regardless, I'm probably going to aim to write poems for the last 2 days!


space

small, I don't take much
invade and see me up close
no space left between





Friday, April 27, 2012

Perfect Perfect

NaPoWriMo Day 27, poem 29/30: Today's prompt was a nursery rhyme. While I didn't want to follow that literally, I did take inspiration from the description: "Most nursery rhymes have strong rhythms, use rhyme and repetition extensively, and aren't overly concerned with making sense." That really spoke to my feelings this week - things don't make sense but I'm not concerned, and every day is full of rhythm, rhyme, and repetition.


Perfect Perfect

if we're looking for
nonsensical
here it is-
I don't know when
I stopped
believing but it's been long
enough to forget-
now after years cowered in the dark
anonymous
can I trust in this
rom-com princess story
this instant's connection
a pair of perfect
perfect strangers-
flesh bone and hair
realer than God
too substantial for dreams-
I don't take much
convincing
to close my eyes and leap

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Why do you sleep with girls?

NaPoWriMo Day 26, poem 28/30: I skipped a found poetry prompt from earlier in the week, so I thought I'd go back to it. I combined text from the April Vogue (pages picked at random, some articles and some ads) and Jeanette Winterson's gorgeous short story, "The Poetics of Sex" (I started at the beginning and picked one line per page until the poem felt done). The title comes from the Winterson story, and the text I found kind of fit perfectly with my current situation.


Why do you sleep with girls?

Like fairy princesses, false
eyelashes still in place,
you don't need to be
Rapunzel
to let down your hair
without ruining
your look along the way.
I feel I should call up
Film on the phone and
say, I've met someone,
her breath is blue
in the cold air.
Tempt, tantalize,
and enthrall,
I took her by her pony tail
the way a hero
grabs a runaway horse.
Imagine having nothing
to hide.
We are in our igloo
and it couldn't be snugger.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Born Green

NaPoWriMo Day 25, 27/30: I've been having a bit of an Elphaba week, so I decided to write today's poem about her and Glinda, and also a little about me.


Born Green

I was born green
and like all green things
I grew.
I grew silent
to hide away my
thinking.
I grew sharp edges
to keep out strangers.
I grew long hair
that I could braid
my secrets into.
Most green things
fear
romance,
which all too often cuts
them down in their prime
in the name of bouquets
and corsages.
I, too, grew scared
but still you've knocked
me from my roots
and plucked my petals.
Loves me, loves me
not.
You didn't expect
to unearth me,
the raw and the real.
I'm small inside,
small from disuse
and endless crouching,
but you bring me bread and water.
At night, I have no sun
to grow for
so you turn on the light.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Sleeping Stone

NaPoWriMo Day 24, poem 26/30: There was a creationist Texas school board member on the Colbert Report last night. I don't agree with anything he said, but there was one sentence that popped out at me and would not let me go. "What does a sleeping stone dream of?" (It might have been "rock," but I like the alliteration.) He was talking about atheists believing in nothing.

Well, I believe in a lot of things, and I dream a lot of things, too.


Sleeping Stone

What does a sleeping stone dream of?
She dreams - not
in color or grayscale
but in epic poems -
of hands,
warm soft hands to pull
her from the mud,
brush her clean, hold
tight.
She dreams of eyes,
ears, and lips
to take in the world
fantastical and real,
to see and adore
her earthbound savior.
She dreams that
deep within
there is a gem,
a geode, a trilobite,
magick.

Monday, April 23, 2012

We were born swans

NaPoWriMo Day 23, poem 25/30: Second poem for today. I came across the line "we were born swans" in a book and just needed to play with it.


We were born swans

We were born swans,
two by two,
beautiful and deadly.
We were born swans,
me and you,
deceiving at first glance.
We were born swans,
two by two,
we were built to love.
We were swans,
me and you,
although they called us
ducklings.

Mermaid

NaPoWriMo Day 23, poem 24/30: Didn't get around to working on poems yesterday, so I have two for today. Today's prompt was to take inspiration from a piece of art, so I went to You, Me & Charlie to take a look at their art section. I was enchanted by Maren Esdar's work, and "Carnivore - Fish" reminded me of the protagonist of my novel. This is based on both the details of the image and my plans for Elisa as the novel continues.


Mermaid

Her fragments
in the tangled kelp,
she points her feet and grasps
for flight.
One day
she will crawl
into the dry
if only for you,
but the beauty runs
from her hair and dress.
It lingers in drops on her
skin
before she goes.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Namer of Names

NaPoWriMo Day 21, poem 23/30: Today's poem was inspired by the NaPoWriMo hay(na)ku prompt (the form), a monthly prompt over at Rotary House Experimental (the topic), and an article from the January/February issue of Poets & Writers (the title). I realized that, if I had the chance, I have no idea what I'd name myself.


Namer of Names

It
rained hard
today and while

the
colors stayed,
the gutters clogged

with
words. The
___ shone and

I
waded into
the puddles and

let
the letters
pool around my

ankles.
I will
be the Namer

of
Names, I
will call the

___
in the
sky maybe Stranger.

There
are many
puddles to choose.

I
will slap
wet labels on

each
thing that
I can see.

I
can't hold
the letters long

enough
for a
name for me.

I'm
Believe, I'm
Love, I'm Poem,

I'm
Sorrow. I
have a lot

more
to search
before I find

me
so for
now call me

Anything.

Friday, April 20, 2012

The Legacy of Admiral David Glasgow Farragut

NaPoWriMo Day 20, poem 22/30: Inspired by the most noble Washington, DC, tradition. It was originally going to be a sonnet, but the beginning wasn't working for me so I messed around with the form.


The Legacy of Admiral David Glasgow Farragut

O, Admiral Farragut, that great man,
I know not your tale of battle and fame
but I know the green grasses of the square
that so squarely wears your name.
I know all the trucks that ring you around,
blue, pink, orange, red, silver, yellow, green,
with their smiles, punny names, and aroma
so much to choose between.
O, Admiral, look down upon us all,
with your gravely carved eyes delight at once
at the suited throngs with their ready cash.
We're waiting in line for lunch.



Note: For those who don't know, this is in honor of Food Truck Friday (also called Farragut Friday), when many of DC's food trucks gather at Farragut Square. And I do actually know who Farragut is. He's well known for saying, "Damn the torpedos, I must get my CapMac."

Aria

NaPoWriMo Day 19, Poem 21/30: I finished my book on the Metro tonight, so I had nothing to do but write a poem. Trying to go for some more concrete images than usual.


Aria

You sing, your eyes
like green means go traffic lights.
You sing, your feet
planted, high heels caught
in concrete.
You'll never leave your hands
in Hollywood
so this will do.
You sing, hand to stomach,
feeling for air and voice and life.
You sing, and your hair -
not chestnut not mahogany
just brown - falls in ribbons
down your naked shoulders.
You sing, and my skin
puckers with the weight of your melody
and tenses every inch of me.
You sing, and my hands
sting from so many ovations.

Burning Troy

NaPoWriMo Day 19, poem 20/30: Today's prompt was to write the opposite of an existing poem. Yeat's Leda was mentioned as a suggestion, so I came up with an idea for a conceptually opposite take on Leda's twin daughters, Helen and Clytemnestra.  I've been trying to write something about them for a while, and this is a good start!


Burning Troy

Light your torch from mine, sister,
and we'll burn Troy to the ground.

Born unwanted,
at least we came in twos.
No place empty when you
and I are there.
I see you daily,
your goddess face and pauper heart,
and touch the glass in place of your hand.

Unwanted, but my face
could send men to death,
your bodice catch
the fallen kings of Greece
yet we were not born to love
like that,
we were not made to be adored.
With our eyes
like the sky before a storm,
with our feathered haircuts
white-blonde and wild,
Mother told us to be ugly
but girls never listen.

Tonight, escape,
burning the walls around and between us.
We were not born to hate
like that,
but the only way
is blood and fire,
sex, deceit, endless
cunning.
Maybe the flames will scorch us too,
burn off the beauty and leave
just the good.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Hush

NaPoWriMo Day 18, poem 19/30: Today's prompt was to write a lullaby, and this came to me in bits and pieces during my day.


Hush

Lock the window
darling
and peel off your facade.
You can hang it in the closet
next to the hearts
I pulled from my
bloodied sleeves.
Let go
and down
and show the effort
beneath your mascara
and contacts,
tattoo and cool kid
sneakers.
I promise not to look.
I'll be sleeping
in the next room
to bodyguard
your dreams.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Under Construction

NaPoWriMo Day 17, poem 18/30: Today's prompt was a multipart, very complicated thing, so I ended up working with just one part of it - using a line from a song. So here it is, inspired by Lady Gaga's "Judas:" "I've heard love is like a brick; it can build a house or sink a dead body."


Under Construction

I was scratch
until you made me.
When did you lay the first
brick?
Maybe when all I knew
were your words
when you were acquaintance
then psychologist
then pimp.
Maybe on Broadway
between the late crowds
when you palmed the hollow
of my back.
You built me stone
by stone
when you kissed me
on your broken couch,
in the Metro station against the concrete.
When my lips met
your teeth and your hands
gave in.
When you called me
slut
with love not malice
since you knew I was
pure
since you built me.
That was when you placed
carefully
the keystone
that completed my arch.
These rocks weather
without your care,
long past
eroded.
I gather the bricks
year by
year by
year,
build ever upward
in want of completion.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Undertow

NaPoWriMo Day 16, poem 17/30: Today's prompt was a poem inspired by a picture. I went flipping through the photography in recent issues of The Sun and happened upon this beauty by Rita Bernstein in the April 2012 issue. Once I saw it, there was no way I could choose any other picture. I borrowed the title from the name of the gallery on Bernstein's website.


Undertow

She lives
in the word "institution."
Spare metal bed,
deflated pillow, white
and black and gray, it could be
college or hospital, ward
or dormitory. She says
when you lie with your head at the foot
of your standard issue twin XL,
when you're too tired
for feeling,
it doesn't matter what you're in for.

There's so little of her
if I raised the lace from her torso
if she'd let me touch her
I could rest my fingers between
her ribs
but she sleeps with her hands
between her unsubstantial thighs
for protection
not pleasure.
Like a houseplant, she grows
with her face to the sun
and dreams of water.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Song of

NaPoWriMo Day 15, poem 16/30: Today's prompt was to write a parody of an existing poem. There was no one I could possibly choose but Walt Whitman. I have always disliked him - he's too grandiose and self-obsessed. Because of that, he's kind of the perfect foil for me, seeing as I have a hard time loving myself as much as I should and mostly see my worth through other people. I chose sections 1 and 7 of "Song of Myself." This might be a little stilted, since I was sitting with the original in front of me and "translating" line by line or stanza by stanza, but maybe once I distance myself from it I'll be able to sort out some parts to keep. Some lines are taken directly from the original.


Song of

1
When I loathe myself, I sing myself,
And disbelieve these words I write,
For every atom of me as good belongs to you.

I feel about for a soul in the dark,
I pull down the blinds and lean in the dark.

My legs, my breasts, my ears, my womb,
My mind and heart fight the natural shape,
I, now twenty-five years old, begin,
Hoping pain will cease ere death.

My brain that rejects logic and science,
That clings to pills and talks and fears,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
I check nature at the borders of myself.


7
Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform her of the pain that waits, and I know it.

I shun the dying, I avoid the infant, I hide beneath my dresses and my hair,
Despite it all, I can see the beauty,
I love the ocean and the cliffs, the twisted trees.

I will never be a planet - I am just a girl,
Small and finite in this room all to myself,
I do not feel immortal, but do not wish to die.

Every kind I try to be, every shape I fill,
I am the child singing to her dolls,
I am broken and I am rigid,
I am the shy girl who lets the boy kiss her,
I am the shy girl who lets the woman kiss her,
I am the lover at your door without her bra,
I am not immortal, but I'll write you to life,
I am myself when I'm in your eyes.

Undrape, you are not guilty to me, nor stale or discarded,
When translated, your name is a word that means hope,
My name was born when you first breathed it.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

No poem today

Busy day, and now I'm exhausted and feeling lousy. Fortunately I wrote two extra poems early on.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Confessional

NaPoWriMo Day 13, poem 15/30: Halfway there! Not a prompt, just something that came up today.


Confessional

Keep your trust
yourself, jail
your secrets.
Once you uncork your
dark
and pour it between my
blistered lips,
force the bitter
past my tongue,
it will poison me for life.
I will never speak,
never shine
my torch in your shadows,
but I will eat
your words and let
them erect their walls.
My secrets are
skin-shallow, my scars
show as soon as I
unbutton and unclasp
but your addictions,
fixations,
trysts and toxins,
broken laws, broken hearts
crawl through these veins
and shiver me
inside.
I cannot bless you
for your sins.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Tension

NaPoWriMo Day 12, Poem 14/30: Today's prompt was a translation poem, something I love doing. They pointed me to Poetry International Web. I picked the Netherlands as my country because I've been reading a lot of Hans Christian Andersen recently, and I picked the oldest poet on their list: Hanny Michaelis. I picked a poem at random, and it ended up leading me to this. Not anywhere near as beautiful as the original but it's a start!


Tension

Creature of the street
I met you waiting in this hell
with your feet unshod and
with false-teared eyes
that see with jealous wonder
the empty night
that spans the men who broke you.
Without the opinions of the wise,
the cracked view of the over-knowing,
into your bed you climb,
returning me to what is lost.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

metadata

NaPoWriMo Day 11, Poem 13/30: Taking inspiration from a technical document at work.


metadata

enhanced
i see your formalized
form
hard-edged in the fluorescent
 
this is the lowest level of
abstraction
you say
 
we are basic compared
to information and
knowledge
 
clearly you've never been
 
you can give the explicit
description but only
of desired relationships
of any abstract
thing
that exists or did or
might
 
i tell you love is
not
in the interpretation of data
 
but you say it increases
she who receives it
that its value is
its ability to affect
an outcome
 
not an outcome
i know
and when i touch you i think
your surfaces will slice
me through
 
we are more
complex
than data about
data

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Flash fiction on Rotary House Experimental

My little flash fiction piece about an emotionally unhinged pet beaver was selected as Rotary House Experimental's March 2012 prompt winner! Check out the great prompts and projects going on over there, as well as my piece.

she will change

NaPoWriMo Day 10, poem 12/30: Today's prompt was to start with a line from an existing poem. I went to my Yeats book, since one of his poems was the inspiration for this blog, and chose a poem (mostly) at random. This poem begins with the first line of "Young Man's Song," part IX of "Words for Music Perhaps."

This is actually the second poem I attempted. The first was written in a moment of rage and sadness this morning, but I now know that what I was so upset about was actually not true. So I kept the first few lines and rewrote a poem based on today's mistakes.

she will change

"She will change," I cried
but I speak mistakes
fluently.
For a flicker
she's different
but can't unravel
the days and years
of story.
Her naivete has lost
its adolescence
yet it just won't grow
up yet.
She believes
invisible ink promises
and secondhand
hearsay.
She wishes for a small
alteration, just
one,
a miniature heart
tattooed on the blue-white
of her wrist
but she is too afraid
of hurting.

Monday, April 9, 2012

The Lady Chuffrey Reflects

NaPoWriMo Day 9, poem 11/30: persona poem prompt. My choice of persona was kind of lazy, but I like how this came out. My choice of character was Gregory Maguire's Glinda.

The Lady Chuffrey Reflects

There is no prison
like a lie.
I'm not often clever
so I chant the words
I've linked just
so.
There is no prison
is no
prison
like
a lie.
I've been often
locked
in stays and
skirts and
men's embraces and
public
personality
celebrity
opinion.
If only I could speak
the words
to set me
free.
Come, courage
come, honesty and touch
me once again.
The longer I hold
out
the less
of me I have.
There is no life lived
in your absence,
there is no
prison
like a lie.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Run Out

NaPoWriMo Day 8, poem 10/30: Vaguely inspired by the color prompt yesterday, but I'm very tired so I didn't feel like really milking the color.

Run Out

Yellow is not the color
of fear
but of silence.
I sit beneath electric-banana walls
and wish us back
to the days
I allowed myself to speak.
I had words words words
to seek you
to touch you
but your yellow corner stands
bare
and I've run out
of promises and wishes
and lies.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

The Defense

NaPoWriMo Day 7, poem 9/30: I was traveling today, so didn't do a prompt. This was inspired by Lance Bass's tweet yesterday that it's been 9 years since the infamous Britney and Madonna kiss.

The Defense

She's guilty
until proven
good and I have
no evidence.
When you spend your life believing
you've got nowhere to go
back to.
I can't lockdown
her chastity
so I'll open the doors
close my eyes and hope
she'll be back someday.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Animal

NaPoWriMo Day 6, poem 8/30: Wasn't feeling the Marianne Moore prompt, but it did get me thinking about animals. This is about how some opponents of gay marriage say that if same-sex marriage is allowed, the next step will be people marrying dogs.

Animal

If I ring
your finger, they say
we might as well be animals.
Just say the words
that bind us,
predator and prey.
Declawed
we tear at each other
ripping away these female
bodies, shredding
their laws and fashions.
Show your white teeth, call
me minx, bind me up
and cage me.
I might be feral.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Opening Night

NaPoWriMo Day 5, poem 7/30: Today's prompt was opening day of baseball. I'm not a big baseball fan and I actually just wrote a short story about baseball last night, but I had the idea to write about the opening night of a show and a special first in my life: my first love. I've been trying to write this scene for about 6 years now and I've never been satisfied with what I come up with. Finally, I think I've got it.

Opening Night

She has the paint
to cover up that virgin skin,
to rim soft eyes until they see
the last row,
to make her lips sparkle
crimsonly.
From seventeen to showgirl
in all of ten minutes,
she is an oversized version
of herself, a character
that shares her name.
She beautymarks her cheek,
throws a handful of glitter
to the air
to catch on her hairspray
and her painted face,
to dust
my little black shoes.
I love you
is not in my dictionary tonight
so I won't say a thing.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Red

NaPoWriMo Day 4, Poem 6/30: This one is based on today's prompt - something in the style of the blues song. Not really my style, but here goes.

Inspired by all the Jeanette Winterson I've been reading and the red-haired woman who always shows up to break someone's heart.

Red

I'm waiting for a red-haired girl
Not any kind of red-haired girl
One who walks by and brakes my world

She's got my heart tangled up in her hair
Thousands of hearts tangled up in her hair
I know she's taken, for once I don't care

I'll follow her, wind, sleet, or snow
Right behind her, wind, sleet, or snow
Cross Europe, cross space, wherever she'll go

She loves me little, I give too much
She loves me sometimes, I love too much
I'll do what it takes for her look or her touch

One day she'll vanish in the crowd
One day I'll lose her in the crowd
I'll cry her name but it's just too loud

My eyes are tired, my body aches
I'm just so tired, everything aches
I'll stand by the water and watch for her wake

Gamble like that and you'll only lose
Bet on your heart and you'll only lose
It burns but I've finally found my Muse

I'll write her, write her day and night
All locked up alone through the day and night
For once the words all come out right

Three

NaPoWriMo Day 4, Poem 5/30: No prompt, just came up with this on the Metro this morning. So go easy on me, it was only 8:30 AM.

Three

I live a life of three
me and you and someone you love
me and you and someone hurting me

when I was young it was apparent
friends will never work in three
why should love be different?

you loved me before you let her know
you loved another holding me
line up the next, then let go

it's been three times that I've been burned
it's been three times I haven't won
it's been three times I haven't learned

three turns have I lost and hurt
three turns of embarrassed tears
three turns and you're not the worst

time to love not you but me
to take a rest, to muddle through
to start again this life of three
or someday just a life of two

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

something old something new

NaPoWriMo Day 3, Poem 4/30: weddings

This was one of the best poetry-writing experiences I've ever had. It illuminated how I feel about weddings and marriage in some unexpected ways.


something old something new

I never planned
for this
I for all my
imagining
never thought of dresses
or flowers or love

I had no intentions of
first dances
I was happy
to dance alone

I like any good young
rebel
I never wanted it
until it was
forbidden



at twenty-one I believed
in fairytales in
a white princess gown
and silver shoes
and pink roses

once I knew there was no Prince
Charming
I wanted the ever after

I don't know where
we stand
what end of the aisle
to await her
but with the whole world between us
I will see her face
I will go to her and swear
I won't let go

Monday, April 2, 2012

At This Moment

NaPoWriMo Day 2, poem 3/30: inspired by the #1 song on the day you were born. Mine is "At This Moment" by Billy Vera and the Beaters. I've never actually heard the song and didn't get a chance to listen before I wrote my poem on lunch break, so I just used the title for inspiration.

At This Moment

At this moment
I have given up on giving up.
At this moment
I want sun on my pale skin
and satin shoes in the grass.
At this moment
you are in the square, the quad,
the Mall reading Eliot
and laughing at my words.

At this moment
you can fall asleep behind oversized
sunglasses
and I will keep watch
and put dandelions
in your hair.
At this moment
no one looks
and you don't care about my name
or the blank space between
my legs.
At this moment
for just one moment
you blaze
then disappear
leaving blind spots in my eyes
and ashes on my tongue.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Triolet

NaPoWriMo Day 1, poem 2/30: triolet (ABaAabAB)

It's been a while since I've tried rhyming, never mention crazy patterns, so bear with me. I spent about half of the time writing this biting on my pen and making suggestive (or, you know, dorky) faces at my Lady Gaga poster.


Triolet

I told you I'd never write of this
but now I just don't want to forget
the skimming hands, the bruising kiss
I told you I'd never write of this
the clever fingers, the abyss
your voice when you'd say "not yet not yet"
I told you I'd never write of this
but now I just don't want to forget

Carpe Nihilum

NaPoWriMo Day 1, poem 1/30: carpe diem poem


Carpe Nihilum

I am much more likely to seize
up
to lock the day out
and scatter words
on the floor.
I draw blood
on my lips and fingers
unable to stay
whole, afraid
to bleed out.
Rather than seize
your heart
your body, I mew
softly for attention
and lose daylight
through a sieve.

NaPoWriMo

I'm doing it. Watch this space.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Headshot

It's been a while, I know. Must become a better blogger.

Headshot

Few constants in my life,

but back before I knew

myself

I loved a man

for his green eyes.


Let me now linger on yours.

Hardly green

for all the brown and gold

hidden in unmatched patches


But pull away, free you

from my scrutiny.


Call them

green like his,

but with the benefit of your long lashes,

pink lips curved up at just

one corner.

Your freckled skin follows the curve

of your neck, continuing

to so many places his skin

could never dream of.



(The last line is not supposed to be small, but the formatting is being very screwy tonight.)