So in addition to planning for NaNo this year, I have also apparently decided I am sick of trying to make the dual narrative of Under the Beautiful Star work and have instead, uh, started to write it as a novel told entirely in poems. I lay full blame for this on The Alphabet Conspiracy
, which got me interesting in the idea of a novel told through poems in the first place. It is going... okay, it's strange, ngl. ( Some excerpts: )
IDEK how this is going to work out, I really don't. /o\
Another poem from the hospital! Also, if you can figure out which verse of the Bible the title refers to you are... super cool I guess. Or you've just studied the Bible a lot. Or both.
We have waged wars of words, words, words,
And fallen from cliffs like suicides into the sea,
And when we were raised up, battered from our fall,
We raised our fists and voices to the sky,
And let the heavens tremble down upon us,
Like David calling blindly out to God,
And when we were exhausted down to whispers,
Like the wind stroking through the leaves,
We turned our words upon each other,
And jumped like suicides into the sea.
Also, all this out put recently has been basically due to having nothing to do, being as I'm half-way in between when I left the hospital and when I'm allowed to go back to work. I will not always be posting at this obnoxious of a rate.
So, while I was in the hospital I kind of took up poetry writing as one of the few things I could do that was not reading or going to trauma classes. I have several of them. I am going to post them in a hopefully not aggravating way, by which I mean not all of them posted in one day. Here is one that was heavily inspired by Pablo Neruda.
I was shaking trees like storms coming close,
Slipping cloud to cloud, lips like rain,
And hair like the water below, rolling,
Lingering on rose petals, the bells of angels
Singing soft mourning over your burial grounds,
Your dead doves, your bitter heart,
Singing one clear note, a round sound,
Resonating to shatter,
The spider web of glass on your little cottage,
And the spider spinning fiber like the very
Heart-strings of God, plucking life from the air,
In the world of never-been and will-be,
One fingertip the map of stars,
And comets like the scatter of freckles on your skin.
Visit me with your matchbox eyes, your tinder-flint skin,
Enflamed by touch, raising wild fires in nuptial hours,
Burning the bed to the ground and then making love on the floor,
Skipping stone to stone the torched hours,
Until we are consumed.
So this is my fiftieth post. (That is actually a really funny looking word, I'd never noticed before.) I mentioned it to lunik
last night and was like, "I would do something special for it but what would I do?" And then I replied to thedorkygirl
on my welcome post and thought, "I know what I will do! I will make a collection of all the poetry I have written! That way people can see it all without me having to post like 20 more poems, that would be a pain in the ass." Then I got to arranging it and went, "Man, this is really sad, I've lost most of my poetry due to the SUPER CRASHING DELL I had in freshman year." So it is a small collection. 13 pages, 27 poems, from 2004-2011. Although it is basically all from 2009-2011, with like five poems from 2004-2005 that were on a floppy disk and so didn't go with the Dell.
ANYWAYS. Here it is
in PDF form. If you would like it in some other form (because you hate PDFs?) just comment here. (Also, yes, there is a dedication even though that is SUPER PRETENTIOUS with a collection of 27 poems. But I promised lunik
a dedication page if I ever finished something, and I am considering this a mostly complete work SO SHE FINALLY GOT ONE.) The poems are arranged mostly in a chronologically descending order except for how I got like 4 pages in and went, crap I forgot some, and just didn't bother to go back and rearrange. But you can tell the really old stuff from the super pretentious formatting. (I was like 15, give me a break.)
I would appreciate comments if you download/read even if it is just to say, "u suck, die in a hole. >:|". Although that one would make me sad. :(
You may think of her as your winning number,
As long as you tell her she’s lovely,
Though not that you love her.
She does not like the taste of those words
Or the shape of their syllables.
She shines like a star that you keep in your bedroom,
On the dresser beside your table lamp.
She has lovely bones but is empty, mostly,
Aside from her skeleton and the wax and wane of her face,
And in her pocket she carries a little man,
Who fills her mouth with words she cannot taste,
And a taste she cannot rid herself of,
Though it does not suit her,
Like the jackets hanging in your closet that you bought
From a Goodwill in 1998, the year your mother left you,
Sitting at the kitchen table with her ghost,
And words that filled your mouth,
A token of the little man, hiding in your breast pocket,
Moving your tongue against your teeth too soon to be polite.