I just want to preface this by thanking Penelope, Bartleby, John, and ark. They all have been incredibly helpful in advising me how to clean up these poems of mine. This is what lit.org is all about and I only hope that I can return the favor to everyone else ...read more
The Gulls (uh...Reloaded?)
I'm trying to clean this up for a poetry competition, so any comments or thoughts would be greatly appreciated! =D
The singers tell of fortune,
elegent like the loop of gulls.
bobbing on the breeze,
I stop to watch.
They flow along.
The basement air is clouded with
a felonious smell
it's collaboration and
I can't help but flow along.
Gulls who brawl with lofty currents
drop from the sky,
I kiss and mend their broken wings.
Shattered from the fight.
I watch them,
and I learn from them,
I can't help but flow along.
I Really Need a Hand Here...
Hey guys...this is going to sound really terrible but I need everyone's help with something. My school publishes a literary magazine and I want to enter it. However, last time I picked my own sumissions, various people told me I didn't send in my best writing. So...I need to pick three of my best pieces of writing and clean them up enough to hopefully get in the magazine. It shouldn't be too hard except that I'm in a bit of a time crunch since the deadline is March 1st.
I know many of you are familiar with my writing and it'd be a huge help if you could tell me which pieces of mine you think stand any chance at all. The competition isn't too harsh but I'm a freshman so that's an automatic strike against me.
Anyways, if you guys could help out in any way I'd be forever indebted to you. Thanks and take care. =D
"From the Stories that I've Heard...."
"...you humans require more words."
I also love Grandaddy. They rock the alternative scene. ;)
Okay, so I have been keeping up to date about the little scandal that's being provoked by one of my fellow lit.org-ers. I've been trying my best to keep out of it, mostly to preserve my own dignity. None of my posts have ever been flamed (that I can remember) and I intend it to remain that way. But I can't get the thought out of my head as to why these people do these things. Is it some need for attention, is it a little game? Is the anonymous nature of the Internet a catalyst that results in people who act in disrespectful ways that they would never dare in the real world? I'm sure all the answers to this are yes.
Anyways, I don't want to analyze this situation again...I'm pretty sure I already talked about it in my blog, "Why the Giant Fell" in response to another one of these one time rebels. All I really want to say is that I ask everyone who reads this to simply turn a deaf ear to the stupidity. Oh, and I think we ought to get rid of the ratings system except for the Write-Off pieces. It's really more trouble than it's worth. But yeah...and good luck to the rebel...I hope you get this all out of your system now cause in the real world someone would have socked you right in the face by now. =D
What right have I?
Unabashed and unreflected intellectual relativism breeds indecision.
"Step up gladiator, take your place. Battle demons, watch out for that banana peel we left for you..."
The ringmaster snickers along with the crowd.
Compulsive turns to see what's sneaking up behind me.
Persperation dripping to the ground, sizzling angry heat.
Drums are pounding.
Out steps the lion from iron teeth of frustration.
Sword withers from the tense grasp.
Vomit rises through the throat as beasts charge in the colorful landscape.
The one weakness bares down on me.
Confusion wraps the air.
Reality is unclear.
The angry persperation sizzles in
my iron teeth of frustration.
And the ringmaster snickers with the crowd
as the poet screams for mercy from the thin air.
I beg for release,
drop my defenses and
submit to the demons that
only I can see.
I have no right...
An Important Meeting
Snow is spiraling down from the waves of dark grey above.
Each flake dances like a swinger through the edgy wind and
falls away when the breeze departs. The
evergreens surround paths that cut through grass long since covered in powder. Branches are crying
with a load that they cannot seem to sustain. The wind
comes off the mountain tops and stirs the depressed
branches. Every flake is jostled out of place and drifts
back down to a comfortable spot on the pad of white far
The busy city air travels up to reach the balcony of the
highest skyscraper. From such a height, it's only a slight
breeze but the dust flutters in it's soft caress and drifts from the height. Empty air below the dust gives way and the grey specks fall like tiny feathers. Far below, cars rush and honk at one another and people pound out rhythmic songs on the asphalt. The dust floats down, down drawing nearer and near to the rush below. On it's descent it passes windows were people glance out. Or argue incessantly. Or sit on the couch in front of their colorful screens. Huge building rise up over the pieces as they fall. Finally, the dust nears the onslaught of the ground and in a moment is resettled on the padded black jacket of a businessman on his way to a conference. He casually brushes away the dirt he sees on his shoulder and steps into a building for his important meeting.
What Do You Do? (A Poem for Danyul)
When a boy with a misspelled name
introduces himself to you.
Respells his name and then tells you
you should model sexy undies,
what's the correct reaction?
How do you cope when he smacks your ass
and pushes your buttons,
and alienates your friends?
You laugh and wonder how it is,
you two started talking at all.
And what do you do
when this boy looks at you.
The one dressed in black,
(with an attitude to match)
with friendship in his eyes?
How do you cope when you feel the
same look on your face?
What runs through your brain
when that same boy shows you he's really
a man of his word,
and of more than just jokes.
And silly games to drive you away?
When you know that you share more than
the need to tease others
and play vampiric video games
while mist covers the campus in a blanket of haze.
What do you do?
Well, I'll say that my friend,
that same man in black.
The same one who teases my friends
and trades insults like coins,
never let me decide,
he just slipped into my life
like a breeze after a blustery storm.
What I did was give in
and start caring again.
My trust lies in that misspelt name.
That man dressed in black.
The Ceiling's Intimate Detail
I see the ceiling in intimate detail,
the curves, the groves
the bumpy surface is rather intruging.
While you're on top of me,
My soul isn't breathing.
And you're awake.
I can tell you the awkward way
the moon slips in your window shades.
And why the shadows dance on your walls
just like Plato's famous cave.
But when I try to tell myself,
why you crawl along the wall
or why you slink along the floor.
Like Franz, so far from me and all I know.
My mind goes blank.
And I return
to that wonderous pattern
repeated on the floor.
The Angelic Measure (p. 2)
I wake up to the bright, joyful stars' light being hidden
deep behind what look like angry rain clouds. I can see
them out my window, dark and gathering with a vengenence
unlike any I have seen before. Sweat is dripping down my
brow and the clouds rush in to send me ...read more
A Start of Something, or Another Dead End
The Angelic Measure
The forest is dark tonight and the sky reminds me of when I was young. It spreads out, becoming wide and deep as if it's trying to consume me in it's velveteen currents. The moon glows and illuminates every blade of grass and every leaf in the trees. Just like ...read more
"And if you're going to heaven...
...please say you won't leave me behind. You know I don't need your attention. I don't need your pity or your grief. I'm not a slave to your affection, I'm a slave to your belief."
There is a young girl who walks along a dirt path. Her hair is barely shoulder lengh, black, and done up in a bun on her head. She smiles and strides down the path with ease although the path is hard and she has no shoes. The girl has walked many paths, and imagined many more in her mind, she knows ...read more
Why the Giant Fell
I'm writing this here because I feel I need to comment on the recent rabble-raising that's been going on as a result of a highly irked member who's gone on a blintz of anger that is (I'm sure) very unbecoming of his true nature. I'm writing not mainly to address him although I may throughout this ...read more
"And I Long...
...to hold you in my arms and sway. Kiss and ride, on the CTA."
Yay for more Wilco quotes. =D I'm incredibly tired right now. Ever since Thanksgiving break was over, I've been on full steam. Too many things to organize, and too many papers to finish writing. I'm disappointed in myself. I've only broken into the 90s on one of my college essays so far (not including in class essays), and that's a real surprise. I guess it's because in high school the teachers mainly grade on content (which I'm great at), but here in college they focus on grammer (which I suck at). I'm considering changing my major or transfering to another school. There is not a good creative writing program here and I think the only option should I stay at UNC will be political science. I guess I wouldn't mind that much, I am very interested in politics. =D
I think I'm starting to clear my head a bit although there are still alot of emotional hurdles to get over and past. Once finals are over I should be able to relax a bit more and really calm down. Get ready to make it over those high fences everyone says I can't jump.
On a sidenote, I love my friends here. Reading people's comments, stories, and poems (except love poems) really helps give my day a boost. Special thanks also go out to Smithy, Penelope, and Bob for keeping me laughing (and thinking too). Take care everyone.
A dream or vision or something...
There's something dark and hard around me. I can feel how it's warm inside here but it's too quiet and tight. There is a lot of pressure to move out of this place where everything is as simple as a dark shell and ...read more
Strings of Apathy
There is a mist and a sign and a hundred strings of apathy that are hanging in my view. I brush them away gentally and they fall back into place. I know what's going on here. I stick my tongue out at the colorful strings and cut them with scissors. They grow back into place. This time they are more brightly colored and putrid then before. Everytime I look at them again, they seem to ache my stomach more.
I hear voices in my head and sing the songs they speak to me. The doves are cooing in my ears as well and it's making it hard for me to think straight. I want to scream. I'm trying to keep up but I don't know how. The strings and the voices and the cooing are all taking away my ability to keep up. I'm drowning for certain. Those strings are hanging down like tongues out of a great, gaping maw of some hideous beast. I laugh at them. Those silly strings of apathy are so powerful. You would never guess that they could do this to me. They wrap all around my body and I smile as I drift away in their embrace...
"How you fight the lonliness...
...just laugh at every joke. Shine your teeth til it's meaningless and cover them with lies."
I'm definitely getting sick and tired of all my male friends. Or, should I say male friend who want to get laid. I can't talk to any guy around here without being interupted by some asshole making a lame pass at me. Nothing really sexual...but they try and snuggle up to me and it makes my heart flip over and my stomach tighten. I always feel like I might vomit when they do that. We're friends, not lovers I don't know why they don't understand that. And it's pretty lame when you have to use someone else's pain to try and get some. Just pitiful.
It's hard to because I don't really get along with chicks very well. In general, I'm too sarcastic and blatant for them. *sigh* I have afew good friends at home and one in particular (who is actually a guy) who have helped me through this.No one else around this shithole college cares. Ouch. Yes...that's my heart you just stabbed.
I've been listening to a lot of Wilco lately. They are another band who's lyricist is definitely a poet. Jeff Tweedy's writing style is amazing. While the majority of their songs are depressing love songs, they are original and creative as hell. That's what I wanna do...write love poems that are actually creative. It's hard...
You Stole My Tongue...
I'm looking in the mirror trying to remember exactly what it was that I saw there six weeks ago. Who did I think I was, why did I want to do this? I remember the way your hand felt wrapping around mine. The thought used to make me smile...though a bittersweet love I could still feel warmth at the ...read more
I Gotta Write This Down Somewhere...
Let me not pray to be sheltered from
dangers but to be fearless in facing
Let me not beg for the stilling of
my pain but for the heart to conquer it.
Let me not look for allies in life's
battlefield but to my own strenght.
Let me not crave in anxious fear to
be saved but hope for the patience to
win my freedom.
Grant me that I may not be a
coward, feeling your mercy in my
sucess alone; but let me find the grasp
of your hand in my failure.
If I throw caution to the wind, how will I ever find it again?
"Now She's Waiting...
for the right kind of pilot to come."
So true. Anyways, I realized today that I probably haven't done anything really productive in my entire life. I'm talking about something that really, really mattered. I'm working on fixing that. Involvement in politics and volunteering mostly constitutes for my contribution to society. It doesn't seem like much though.
I guess that's kinda my curse though, any artistic person produces things that they care about. However, the nature of their calling is in and of itself intangible. So, there are no solid rewards. Perhaps kind words from admirers (of which I personally have none), family, or friends. But, for the most part it kinda seems like one of those "pie in the sky" things. Very awesome, hard to actually reach. Impossible, really because art is something that is constantly nagging. It grows with you, it lives in you. It's a lifestyle, truly.
Anyways...that's my two cents. Oh, and I think that the guys from Savage Garden would definitely constitute as poets in my book. Not most lyricists would, but they do. Absolutely.
A New Plan
This write-off has inspired me. I'm going to go through my past write-off entries, take into consideration the comments of the readers, and rewrite them. Then, I'll publish them here and see if my fellows think I've improved them at all. =D Just fyi.
I love to write. I'm one of thse irritating people who would honestly say that it's the thing I love most in the entire world. I remember driving back up to college one lonely Saturday night, depressed and feeling worthless. My boyfriend (now ex) was playing the typical games with my heart and I ...read more
I can't live without you...if there was only one tiny thing I could do to help. I would give absolutely anything to light your dark world.