The Writing/Poetry thread

[thornyking]

The end is gorgeous. I'm glad you finished it 'cos it was worth it.
I really admire that you can write such beautiful words and it makes me feel, so I thank you as well for the generosity.

Also, I once ended a poem in rage with the word "DIE" tripled with scribbles. I find it really entertaining just to read stuff written long ago, and then that!

[Rhiflect]

Oh, Katie, you're a genius. I love the ending, you're great.

Half Moons?

Eyes lost in the night
I wander in the glitter wake
Of memories gone before.
Did you notice I held your arms in place?
Please remain, around my waist.

[sarah]

awww everyone is so good at writing (:

here is a poem based on Albert Fish (or the aspect of him taking the Bible very very literally, having dreams about Jesus telling him to sacrifice [kill and eat] children to save them from sin, and acting upon them.)

i'm not sure if i like it very much

five loaves of bread and one fish

and the mouth of Christ
moved with mine, got loud, louder, loudest
abusing me and telling me
to take their wine and bread
so i held communion
and took them in
and i would be the only way
for them to repent
and remove their sins
and send them into heaven

[jay]

haunting. i adore it.

[sarah]

ahh thank you very much

i thought it might seem a little contrived perhaps, i don't know

[Rhiflect]

I like it! The dingy, slightly psycho thing it has going on is wicked crazy cool

[dee]

why the hell not, I suppose. I'm considering writing a short story based on this concept. I wrote this about a year and a half ago when I was very bored.



If time was like money, I’d be wealthy.
I’d selflessly hand out seconds and minutes to the busy.
I’d donate 2 hours a month to Oxfam, or some other deserving charity, by Direct Debit, of course.
People would think me generous,
Noble even.

I’d never see any of my time, would never actually hold it in my hand,
but I’d know that it was there, to spend as I wished.
I’d gamble, losing more than I won but be delighted when the days started to pass more quickly because of all of those hours that I’d had to pay out.
I’d spend my time frivolously, with no regard for tomorrow.

It would be great for a while.
I’d never have enough time to be bored.
Time would move normally for those around me
But I’d be a few hours ahead, then weeks
Then months.

Years.

I’d be thirty before the friends my own age hit twenty.
Where did all that time go?
Yesterday, I was only a girl.
But in my new old age,
When those hours became years that I’d never recover,
I would see in the eyes of my still youthful lover,
There was nought I could do but repent and resort
To lamenting, in earnest, that life was too short.

[bridgetbegins]

May 1, 2008 20:14:51 GMT sarah said:

awww everyone is so good at writing (:

here is a poem based on Albert Fish (or the aspect of him taking the Bible very very literally, having dreams about Jesus telling him to sacrifice [kill and eat] children to save them from sin, and acting upon them.)

i'm not sure if i like it very much

five loaves of bread and one fish

and the mouth of Christ
moved with mine, got loud, louder, loudest
abusing me and telling me
to take their wine and bread
so i held communion
and took them in
and i would be the only way
for them to repent
and remove their sins
and send them into heaven

I'm really quite fond of this. It is gritty-grungy (that's not the right word, sorry...) in a good way.

This is one is tentatively titled "A Day Can Only Last"

it is days after when
they can’t find me and
they call in a fit of panic

they say, her car’s missing and
she doesn’t have her phone and
we don’t know where she is

and you say, I’ll find her
don’t worry and
then you press a kiss to

the top of my head and say
you know they love you, right
and gather me up in your arms and

kiss the top of my head like
a mother and then my lips, like not one
and then you start with the top of my neck

kissing away the bruises and the scrapes
and whispering little nonsense words and
chants, breathy in my ears, you say

it’s over and you’re safe and
for the first time since I’ll cry
real tears and you will not hush me

you will slide your knees behind mine and
press a kiss to the bumps behind my ear and
keep whispering

this day will be over by tomorrow

[Rhiflect]

You know i love it, Katie.

Blue-sky Blues

Two birds fly in complete syncronicity
The radio plays quietly in the corner
A plane makes cloud tracks across the sky.
People break out the food and dips,
This pineapple tastes so sweet on my lips
But there's nothing I wouldn't give
To have someone to share this summer with.

I like it but I think it's missing something, i'm not sure what though.

[Rhiflect]

Prefaced.

And it's all grey walls
And dirty clothes on the floor
And marks on the mirror, distorting you
And i'm so frustrated because I can't help you.
So I move through the waves, slow silence
And there's the same the next day
And there's more fag ends than last week
And I still can't look at you
And we know it's over
So I leave, in slow silence.

[Rhiflect]

bumppp

[bridgetbegins]

May 20, 2008 16:10:15 GMT Rhiflect said:

Prefaced.

And it's all grey walls
And dirty clothes on the floor
And marks on the mirror, distorting you
And i'm so frustrated because I can't help you.
So I move through the waves, slow silence
And there's the same the next day
And there's more fag ends than last week
And I still can't look at you
And we know it's over
So I leave, in slow silence.

Ho-hum... I'm not sure that I'm entirely appreciative of this. I think all of the ands are overkill (and my poetry is something like 30% and--). I like ... "and there's [sic] (should be are, love) more fag ends than last week."

It might do with a bit of rewriting-- I think if you minimize the ands, when you use them they have more power/distinguish themselves more. But that's just me, so...

"in a blue room as thunder booms we lay,
hips pressed together and legs intertwined
my hands show the lines of the fontanels, crushed white
held up to the sky so that they might be illuminated
(should chance and science take the moment to collide)

a kiss like a swallow, quick and fleeting
finds itself to the junction of neck and shoulder
possible to imagine it was just the short-lived passing of fingers
ghosting over the whorls of lips and braces and shells of ears
(how exactly does one mend a broken heart with a ten-blade?)

we ponder and I listen to her voice wash over my shoulder
as she tells me breathlessly of yesterdays breakfast and
trips to the ocean and I cup my hand around the side of her face
trace the curve of her cheek as it flares out to meet her nose
(press my hand to her chest so I can feel the two hearts beating)

in the morning, it will be too early when my alarm clock drags us
from slumber and, I will leave her in my bed, tousled and bleary-eyed:
she will hug me from behind as I dress and not let go, make it
near impossible to find clothes that match, so close I can hear eyes smile
(later, yawning, wish we were still in bed, wrapped around each other)

come home to a silent house and an angry note and can only just make it
back upstairs, to a twin bed drenched in blankets and half a universe of stars
fall asleep with a pillow clasped to my face and batting down almost tears
wake up to a blinking light left quietly on the answering machine
(it’s just me, wanted to say I miss you already and I’ll see you soon)"

[Rhiflect]

Oh god, yeah, thanks for pointing out the 'are' thing Katie

I like the 'and' parts, sorry, it's just the way i imagined it in my head, with the overuse of the word. I don't know, maybe you're right though. I love that one, by the way, especially the broken heart/ten-blade thing

[bridgetbegins]

Jun 12, 2008 20:00:19 GMT Rhiflect said:

Oh god, yeah, thanks for pointing out the 'are' thing Katie

I like the 'and' parts, sorry, it's just the way i imagined it in my head, with the overuse of the word. I don't know, maybe you're right though. I love that one, by the way, especially the broken heart/ten-blade thing

See, I way overuse ands.

That isn't the issue for me-- it's the way they're the same place in every line. There's no need to apologize-- it's your writing and your decision. In my opinion, when you say and at the beginning of every line, it begins to take away from the poem-- the and becomes somewhat annoying and all of that. But that is just my opinion, so...

[Rhiflect]

Oh, ok, yeah, i see what you mean. I'm not going to change it because I like it that way, but I do see what you mean

[Clare]

A follow up to the photograph I posted in the other thread (sorry, it might be a little long):

To Be A Woman

Is this what it means to be a woman? To have the smell of your body coming from me, to have your bite marks on my skin, to feel brutalised by you? I wouldn’t say that I love you, but you give me something that I thought I would never find. A feeling of being sexy, being attractive without being drunk. Even when you’re holding my arm over the stove, you’re turned on by me. Or turned on by whatever it is you do to me. When you put your hands around my throat last night in bed and choked me, was that an affirmation of my femininity? Does that fear I have, does that – more than biology – does that make me a woman? Forget the way my body is formed: my gender is in the thoughts in my head, the dry feeling of disgust in my mouth when you slide your hands over me, the revulsion at your assumption that you own me. To be a woman is to be constantly terrified.

The memories of last night make me want to vomit. One of your hands over my mouth, the other around my neck, your hips thrusting against mine, delicate smears of blood on the bed sheets. A scream half vocalised, but I knew no one could hear it. It wasn’t quite rape. I have to hold onto that thought. It hurts there, between my legs, and there are fresh fucking flowers blossoming over my breasts. It hurts to piss. You have turned the most sacred parts of me into pornography, into a crumpled Kleenex on the floor.

Shit, and now I’ve started to gag, convulsing as my body tries wildly to purge you from my system. I can smell your semen on me, like rotting meat and stale sweat. The scent sticks to my skin and no matter how hard I scrub, I can still smell you. I wonder for a second if you’re clean, but then I realise it doesn’t really matter because you’re slowly destroying my body anyway. If you’re going to kill me, I’m scared it’s not going to be quick – that would be just like you. Fear seizes me again, and more vomit cascades from my limp body, curled over the toilet bowl. I don’t want to die. I whimper as a fresh bruise on my arm brushes against myself. Turning my arm over, I realise it’s a bite mark. I can’t stop vomiting.

You couldn’t look into my eyes as you corrupted me. This is the one victory I have. You own my freedom, the inside of my head and even my naked body. But you can’t have the look of disappointment in my eyes, whatever you do to me. This is mine, if only this.

To be a woman is to be controlled.

Edit: re-written.

[jay]

god, that was haunting.

i saw it all in my head in flashes and... it brought me to tears. i don't really know what to say.

[Clare]

I'm sorry if it was rather disturbing, I probably should have warned.

[birdwhistle]

You probably don't care, but I don't think it got the ending it deserved, from "Shit, ..." onwards. Not as in "MAKE IT A HAPPY ENDING", Jesus, no, but it felt like you were withholding from some final thought. I was sort of wanting a last line that daggered the douchebag of a subject right in the gut, not necessarily to indicate your victory but at least something with that sort of sharpness.

Mjeh. Again, though, I don't imagine you're too worried about making it a perfect piece of prose.

[birdwhistle]

I also feel half the poetry that happens in this thread happens in bed. That's not a criticism. But I will be happy if someone leaves that territory and does so beautifully, for a moment, too.