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#1  ENGL 2023 [P] + Revisions I'm taking Creative Writing this semester (and not for credit >:[ just prereq) and we're doing poetry right now, so here are drafts of three poems I've done for it so far. "use two similes": "Oh Yes, Oh Me." Angels are crying outside my window. Their tears seep into the muddy ground, But not into my heart. In fact, I get a porcine pleasure, As I wallow in their mud, exfoliating my soul, Three shades blacker than a CEO's. Children in Africa scream for their mothers already dead of AIDS, But I can't hear them; My iPod is turned up all the way. Perverse and contrary, I am hedonism. What can your country do for me? (If the answer does not involve Sunlit pleasures and enviable sums, Then get off of my lawn.) Still there remain some deluded Fans who believe that perhaps There may remain some good in me. I haven't seen it. And you'd think that I would know best, Now wouldn't you? Being moral would be unbearable, Having that itch you can't quite reach. The knowledge of a tiny speck of good Fouling up my sin. Disgusting. But I have no doubts. My corruption Is quite pure. All I need to satisfy my self is Self-satisfaction. Smug stepped off the stage When I entered the room. "write about a trip and compare it to your sins": "20 Minutes to Charles de Gaulle" This roach of a coach skitters towards Paris; The morning sun warms its shell in the misty dawn. I have my seat, driver's side left, 5/9 the way back, But somehow I feel I should be riding below. Three hours from Besançon, and I still don't know. You can't learn a whole culture when you're afraid. Being told "Sauf bus" and "Interdite" day after day Is enough to cause you fear. Don't go here, don't be there, Don't even think of being like that. The lot we left from was just as it was A month earlier when we came. Returning there with nothing gained, and so much lost-- Tears spilt on lettres formelles, no more Maternal Grandfather. No fluency, no new friends, and definitely no more Traveller's Checks. I was caught on a closed circuit, Unchanged as the day it began. But I am changeable, and this is no way to live. The circuit leading back to NWA will be close But not closed. The next time I'm in Charles de Gaulle, I won't be sitting there Crying alone. "describe someone in one word and have them describe you in many": "Mother and Daughter" What is mother? She is able to read To converse at length on Early English History, To farm, Faire la cuisine, And that's not to mention Cooking too. Why is she, with All of these skills, Incapable. Mother Incapable is a recluse. Not just succumbing to the Inutility of Age, but also To her inner demons. My daughter only tells me That she needs something. She is Taking but Rarely Giving. I do not complain because she is My Pride. She is Comedienne. But sometimes I feel mistreated, the butt of her jokes. Doesn't she see the pain she causes? It is me she labels Incapable, but She is incapable of not labeling me. We get critiques in class, but I would welcome additional insights. We have to revise them for a portfolio and these have a long way they could go |
02-12-2009, 12:39 AM
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| Former Site Staff Former Staff | oh saglet!~ "no abstractions": Noon The oak stands so high above. Boughs haloed in the noontide sun. At the bottom of this hill to climb, I am so far below. Herds of cattle have trod this path. My toes dig into their dirt. Off the path are briars and thorns, So there I cannot go. The hill is strewn with rocks Erosion could not break down. Standing on this earth for hundreds of years, Remaining a hundred years more. Halfway to my tree, The clouds already seem low. But they shine in the sunlight Beaming as I climb. Past a vanguard of vines, Guarding the hill from the rains, A copperhead undulates onto my path. Barefoot, I stop in fear. He pauses, as though he would speak, My body is tight from fear. I had only a score of steps to climb. Instead he writhes on. Hidden from below, my love waits. He kisses me beneath our tree. He whispers soft and clasps me tight, Caressing my soul to the sun. |
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02-23-2009, 06:11 AM
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| Former Site Staff Former Staff | free prompt: Delicate Our race is ten minutes away from asphyxiation. We are so fragile. Little boys play with their mortality. How much does it stretch, Can it bend, Will it tear? Little boys are so mortal. They won't bounce back from cancer Or icy lakes. Little girls shy away from their mortality. Pretty flowers never hurt anyone, Safe and soft, Smell ester sweet. Little girls are so mortal. They protect their dollies but not Themselves. Little adults experiment with mortality. This many snorts of cocaine will kill, Abandoned buildings yearn to fall down. Dominatrices sometimes whip too hard. Little adults are so mortal. Driving fast, looking for the ultimate Lethal thrill. Little parents feel their mortality. Family and job worries tighten the noose. How many spoiler tantrums can they stand? How many cheating spouses? Little parents are so mortal. They deny it away while they Defend their kids. Little grandparents are friends with mortality. They have met Death many times. He has come for their parents, Their children, their friends. Little grandparents are so mortal. Soft and full of fleshy folds, Are they content to die? |
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02-23-2009, 11:43 PM
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| Former Site Staff Former Staff | Revision: Mother and Daughter i. What is mother? She reads her fiction alphabetically. Keeps a notebook with the names Of every one of her cows. She always makes the broccoli casserole Each Thanksgiving and Christmas. Why does she, with All of these skills, seem Incapable. Incapable Mother hides in her cave. Smoking her Marlboro Lights 100, Succumbing to the inutility of age, And the demons who have haunted her Since 15. ii. Sometimes I feel my reason for existence Is to answer my daughter's demands. I wash her clothes, lend her cash; I really would give up my kidneys If she would have them. Only once have I complained. Spilling forth with teared-up face This frustration that I feel. My greedy daughter hides in her cave. Typing away to her internet friends. When was the last time she saw the sun Or loved someone just for loving her? |
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03-02-2009, 02:56 AM
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| Former Site Staff Former Staff | Updates: Delicate People When Death came for you, my niece, I was not ready. You toddled off, grasping a bony hand; did it feel like mommy's? You never knew that death could hurt; the cancer in your belly was just a tummy ache that never stopped. Little niece, your family sends their love. When Death came for you, my friend, I was not ready. Three hundred summer nights discussing God and life You said there must be someone, waiting to let us into eternity. I said nothing-- would I could ask you now. Sweet friend, your friends send their love. When Death came for you, my father, I was not ready. Strong hands that would pick me up, smooth my hair, became Weak hands that trembled while you moved, became Still hands, crossed over your chest, cold to my touch Daddy, your children send their love. When Death came for you, my lover, I was not ready. We swore to never part, to go everywhere, do everything. But you have left me here, and there is no one else. To watch your ashes fly in to the sky. My dear heart, your wife sends her love. When Death came for me, I was not ready. I learned his time, plotted his patterns. Still, I could not believe it, that my time was now. What remains of me in that old life, I do not know, But my family, my friends, my husband, They are here and have given me their love. Mother and Daughter i. What is Mother? She reads fiction alphabetically by author, Keeps a notebook with the names Of each cow in her herd. She makes the broccoli casserole Every Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mother hides in her room, Smokes Marlboro Lights 100s, Succumbs to unipolar disorder. Dragging down fences on her tractor Seemed like a good idea at the time. (The neighbors rebuilt them after she Checked herself in at the psych ward.) ii. I have sliced nine thousand potatoes, Sprinkled ninety thousand grains of salt Over fifteen years of after-school snacks For my daughter. My girl hides in her room, Types away to her internet friends, Succumbs to scoliosis, victim of posture. Her existence occurs on a screen 17.5" on the diagonal. Sometimes I feel my life Is an answer to my daughter's demands. Wash her clothes, lend her cash; Give her both my kidneys If she would take them. Courtly Procession The oak stands miles above. Boughs anointed by the noontide sun. At the bottom of an ancient hill, I have so high to go. Herds of cattle have lead the way. My toes dig into their dirt. Wild brush surrounds me, briars and thorns Bow before my pliant hide. Halfway to my tree, the clouds Are at hand's reach, so low. They shine in the sunlight, And regard as I climb. The old hill is strewn with rocks Erosion could not break down. Any monarch would be glad To have so many gems in his vault. Concealed by tall courtier grasses, my throne awaits. A tumble of stones and a crown of leaves. I sit beneath my tree and am still, I know that here, I am king. |
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05-03-2009, 07:36 PM
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