So, aside from working on Beowulf!Project (a class dealy where I'm going to blog as Beowulf, which is awesome) I've written some poems.
...Stop laughing at me. *Eyeroll*
They're a tad mature.
I was rather tired that morning and some strange vein of inspiration came up and was all, 'Yo, lets write some verse' and I did.
Perhaps it was the potassium. I had had a banana for breakfast. Even though I hate bananas. I was just hungry.
Anyway.
"Thawing"
Beneath sheets of ice
Sunlight spots the errant bulb
and whispers through.
Golden fingers brush under the ice,
bringing the petals to part
Any sound of former cold
Lost in red-pink hues of flower flesh'd
pushed tight against the earth now,
burrowing to seed.
"Storm at a Thousand Years Peak."
We had held together
our ten hundred years in snow
in rain, in shine, in gray.
Now?
Each asleep
in the crook of each others arms,
breath bringing dew.
Betide us, some force
forgave our hazy minds in slumber
no outward rot branding us from the world,
feted in our illusion,
nor did inward we ring as though oaks-
but like dawn, we crept, careful in pale shades of light.
No change brushed our skin-
only our eyes, mouths- corners upturned
laughing little birds.
We were filled, unstrangers to one another then
For the snow veils of our day held long
but melted quickly, wilting
with all the flowers I had held
thus, slept, slumbered we smiling.
We woke in some strange crux of summer
tongues foreign in our mouths from no use
languages drifting through our ears like strange songs.
Our hair was longer
but our nails were kept,
through natures like clawing
where in sleep- or like to sleep- hands roamed.
We murmured goodmornings in soft noise
lost to throat, ear, or poet then
found in upturned dog's ears and dark, deep nights.
our tongues rested in the pits of our mouths
but found comfort quickly.
We moved together, to bade off the cold
to slake thirsts like beasts in nature
vocals redoubling that ideal.
We paced like thunder in harsh storms
your were enough to catch every bolt of lightning
every quake of clouds, at length.
Floods came duly.
The storm caught us at tails end trembling
Unused to such noise,
such commotion.
We fell to one another like boulders in a pit
breath harsh, tinged by penetrating sunlight
eyes cast, finally now-seeing surroundings
but alighting only
where he breathed o'er me
an utmost shelter from our tempest.
September 22, 2010
June 29, 2010
Update from Beyond the Grave. Also, Quesadillas.
Howdy all. :'D I figured I'd step back into using this now-dinosaur since I need something to occupy my time.
I've had some goals for the summer to conquer, thought I should share:
-Learn to Cook (Done! Deliciously, too.)
--Through which I've made many desserts and foodstuffs. I'm ever sharing a 'recipe' (eh, more of a throw-together) for Quesadillas my mom and I are obsessed with. They will make you fat.
-Learn to Sew (Innnn the works.)
--Working on learning to make a catsuit. Because I like to start big and with things I don't fully understand.
-Learn to Drive, Goddamnit (Also in the works)
--Er. Uhm. Nothing to see in this subheader.
Anyway, onto the quesdillas.
Required stuff:
•Deep frying pan or skillet (for bacon and quesadillas)
•Colander/strainer; For bacon draining of grease
•Knives for cutting bacon, spreading beans, cutting quesadillas.
Food Schtuffs
•Tortillas, any size, flour or corn- Whatever you like. Two for each quesadilla, duh.
•Bacon. Lots of bacon. We generally use a whole pack for a couple quesadillas.
•Sour cream! Optional!
•Cheeses! Whatever cheese you like on quesadillas, I guess. But if you don't know, I suggest cheddar or a 'Mexican' mix of cheeses in a bag. Yep. It's cheap cooking.
• Butter. To fry them in. If you don't use butter you are a communist without tastebuds or a soul. D: One stick will do, you probably won't use all of it.
•Refried beans, black or brown. One can.
•Green onions! Those spriggy little bastards! I love them. Few springs, chopped.
Alright, now you've got the ingredients, here's the work.
How-To
• Cut up bacon and fry it on medium.
I like mine chewy, my mom likes it crunchy.
Have a colander on hand to drain it when it's done. Clean off your frying pan or skillet.
•Prepare quesadillas seprately, now. This is how I go:
Tortilla -> Beans -> Bacon -> Cheese-> More bacon -> Green onions
•Butter up the frying pan. Let it melt over it all evenly.
•Chuck in your quesadilla!
•Flip quesadilla when brown or golden.
•Remove when other side is browned or golden...ed.
•Add sour cream if desired.
•CONSUME.
Thats about it. :'D
I've had some goals for the summer to conquer, thought I should share:
-Learn to Cook (Done! Deliciously, too.)
--Through which I've made many desserts and foodstuffs. I'm ever sharing a 'recipe' (eh, more of a throw-together) for Quesadillas my mom and I are obsessed with. They will make you fat.
-Learn to Sew (Innnn the works.)
--Working on learning to make a catsuit. Because I like to start big and with things I don't fully understand.
-Learn to Drive, Goddamnit (Also in the works)
--Er. Uhm. Nothing to see in this subheader.
Anyway, onto the quesdillas.
Required stuff:
•Deep frying pan or skillet (for bacon and quesadillas)
•Colander/strainer; For bacon draining of grease
•Knives for cutting bacon, spreading beans, cutting quesadillas.
Food Schtuffs
•Tortillas, any size, flour or corn- Whatever you like. Two for each quesadilla, duh.
•Bacon. Lots of bacon. We generally use a whole pack for a couple quesadillas.
•Sour cream! Optional!
•Cheeses! Whatever cheese you like on quesadillas, I guess. But if you don't know, I suggest cheddar or a 'Mexican' mix of cheeses in a bag. Yep. It's cheap cooking.
• Butter. To fry them in. If you don't use butter you are a communist without tastebuds or a soul. D: One stick will do, you probably won't use all of it.
•Refried beans, black or brown. One can.
•Green onions! Those spriggy little bastards! I love them. Few springs, chopped.
Alright, now you've got the ingredients, here's the work.
How-To
• Cut up bacon and fry it on medium.
I like mine chewy, my mom likes it crunchy.
Have a colander on hand to drain it when it's done. Clean off your frying pan or skillet.
•Prepare quesadillas seprately, now. This is how I go:
Tortilla -> Beans -> Bacon -> Cheese-> More bacon -> Green onions
•Butter up the frying pan. Let it melt over it all evenly.
•Chuck in your quesadilla!
•Flip quesadilla when brown or golden.
•Remove when other side is browned or golden...ed.
•Add sour cream if desired.
•CONSUME.
Thats about it. :'D
May 14, 2010
Run
"You ever hear a rabbit scream?"
He shook his head. The larger man grinned.
"It's no Frith they're callin' 'fer-" He licked his lips thoughtfully, "They want that darkness. The darkness, y'know, they remember. The red, red, warm darkness.."
The weight of this interlude was uneasy; the smaller man shifted. The bigger man grinned.
"They kin recall the womb."
The jest of this was lost on the smaller man, for he did not know of rabbits well, nor their ways.
"I reckon," said the bigger man, leaning back heavily into the brick wall, exhaling a pungent cigar stench into the night air, smoke curling upwards in thick, snake motions to the bitter winter skies,
"We're all lookin' 'fer that darkness."
He shook his head. The larger man grinned.
"It's no Frith they're callin' 'fer-" He licked his lips thoughtfully, "They want that darkness. The darkness, y'know, they remember. The red, red, warm darkness.."
The weight of this interlude was uneasy; the smaller man shifted. The bigger man grinned.
"They kin recall the womb."
The jest of this was lost on the smaller man, for he did not know of rabbits well, nor their ways.
"I reckon," said the bigger man, leaning back heavily into the brick wall, exhaling a pungent cigar stench into the night air, smoke curling upwards in thick, snake motions to the bitter winter skies,
"We're all lookin' 'fer that darkness."
March 16, 2010
Old Sestina
Written for a class.
--
Over the crested hills rose the sun,
The golden rings stretched long before
The countryside peasants had time to wake.
Across their land, traveled night
Who, into the horizon gracious fell,
And his tendrils of blue escaped to the sea.
Those who traveled sought
To tend their land, impoverished sons
Who in their landless debt fell
Upon the feet of kings to be, for
They lamented the long lost nights,
Their sorrows kept them long awake.
The kings would rise, hearts awake
And through their royal haze did see
The coming of the colder nights.
And on their horizon, stood the sun
The answer which lie before,
And to their feet the king fell.
The lamentations the people felt!
The sorrow that tormented their wakes
The strain to be, for
Each kingdom that sought
Each sweet, rising son
Knew nothing of their valiant knights.
The tired, restless knights
Who were made, no, fell into
The trappings of the son.
The knights, awake
Who forever sought
The kindred childhoods before.
And such long roads, before!
The gallant knights
Who with tired eyes sought
And with weary feet, fell to
Each stumbling mire, a wake.
Each desperate man, a son.
The knight roamed and sought onwards,
A wake which fell to its knees—
Before the son would rise again.
--
Over the crested hills rose the sun,
The golden rings stretched long before
The countryside peasants had time to wake.
Across their land, traveled night
Who, into the horizon gracious fell,
And his tendrils of blue escaped to the sea.
Those who traveled sought
To tend their land, impoverished sons
Who in their landless debt fell
Upon the feet of kings to be, for
They lamented the long lost nights,
Their sorrows kept them long awake.
The kings would rise, hearts awake
And through their royal haze did see
The coming of the colder nights.
And on their horizon, stood the sun
The answer which lie before,
And to their feet the king fell.
The lamentations the people felt!
The sorrow that tormented their wakes
The strain to be, for
Each kingdom that sought
Each sweet, rising son
Knew nothing of their valiant knights.
The tired, restless knights
Who were made, no, fell into
The trappings of the son.
The knights, awake
Who forever sought
The kindred childhoods before.
And such long roads, before!
The gallant knights
Who with tired eyes sought
And with weary feet, fell to
Each stumbling mire, a wake.
Each desperate man, a son.
The knight roamed and sought onwards,
A wake which fell to its knees—
Before the son would rise again.
March 14, 2010
Gotta Write More
Or not. You see, schools been stupidly busy, so I haven't been writing a whole not. Not creatively, anyway.
I have a long collection of bits and pieces reflecting on literature I've been reading for classes but honestly, no one here wants to read what I thought about Cameron's Verbal Hygiene book. Not even me. And I wrote the notes.
But, beyond that, being and English major is filled with...Er. Some excitement. There's a lot to be read and analyzed and a lot of challenges I've never faced before, but doing the best you can, you know- Always a good thing.
Anyway, here's what I hope is a creepy thing to make up for reading my personal bullshit. Written on-the-spot, so I don't think it's too amazing. :/ OH WELL.
---
I probably should have left earlier. I'd forgotten about Daylight Saving's time- I'd lost an hour, and everything was dark outside now, at only seven. My, how time flies; it seemed like only a week before I was trudging through feet of snow and cold and bright, dismal, fluorescent feeling sunlight fighting through grey clouds.
It was around then I'd started to notice the footprints. We'd always had squirrels on campus, and they were always active, but these were a little bigger, like some strange dog's. The back left print always dragged. It was almost a continuous line between each set, when they hadn't been plowed over. They were never in the grass.
Now at Spring's start, there was no sign of the strange anomaly. The birds chirped earlier, and any rumor of beasts had been quelled by the quickening nights. Everyone was getting lazier, less cautious.
I know I was. That's why I was regretting leaving before dark. It's a small campus, to be sure, but it still had all it's dark pockets. My suspicious nature crept up behind me and was set to follow me home. It's only a few blocks, I rationalized, and there are plenty of people around to witness.
But they aren't the only witnesses tonight.
There's a scraping noise on the sidewalk.
Like something metal, dragging slowly. I can see sparks from the corners of my eyes. Sparks and ...And what looks like hair.
It smells damp. Moldy. Sick. I'm afraid to turn around now. I hear breathing.
Perhaps it's just a kid with a ball bat or something. God knows they don't shower enough up here. I walk faster. I'm under a pool of light. There are buildings here. It'll leave me alone.
The smell gets stronger.
The buildings are dark.
It's not going to leave.
I quicken my pace---
And it follows suit.
I can hear it now, I'm nearly at my door and the key's sticking- I need to get inside before something happens. I can feel it's breath on my neck.
It's warm and putrid.
The key rattles- I turn the handle--
There's a click! I can get in, I can get in and be okay and safe and-
Its breath is much closer now.
The door isn't opening in time.
--
Ehhh. If I had more time to expand on the idea I'd love too, but I don't, so I'm not sure what to do from there. I should have drawn out the walking scene some, but consider it a work in progress. A template. A jumping off point.
I'll probably not get back to it, but one can hope.
I have a long collection of bits and pieces reflecting on literature I've been reading for classes but honestly, no one here wants to read what I thought about Cameron's Verbal Hygiene book. Not even me. And I wrote the notes.
But, beyond that, being and English major is filled with...Er. Some excitement. There's a lot to be read and analyzed and a lot of challenges I've never faced before, but doing the best you can, you know- Always a good thing.
Anyway, here's what I hope is a creepy thing to make up for reading my personal bullshit. Written on-the-spot, so I don't think it's too amazing. :/ OH WELL.
---
I probably should have left earlier. I'd forgotten about Daylight Saving's time- I'd lost an hour, and everything was dark outside now, at only seven. My, how time flies; it seemed like only a week before I was trudging through feet of snow and cold and bright, dismal, fluorescent feeling sunlight fighting through grey clouds.
It was around then I'd started to notice the footprints. We'd always had squirrels on campus, and they were always active, but these were a little bigger, like some strange dog's. The back left print always dragged. It was almost a continuous line between each set, when they hadn't been plowed over. They were never in the grass.
Now at Spring's start, there was no sign of the strange anomaly. The birds chirped earlier, and any rumor of beasts had been quelled by the quickening nights. Everyone was getting lazier, less cautious.
I know I was. That's why I was regretting leaving before dark. It's a small campus, to be sure, but it still had all it's dark pockets. My suspicious nature crept up behind me and was set to follow me home. It's only a few blocks, I rationalized, and there are plenty of people around to witness.
But they aren't the only witnesses tonight.
There's a scraping noise on the sidewalk.
Like something metal, dragging slowly. I can see sparks from the corners of my eyes. Sparks and ...And what looks like hair.
It smells damp. Moldy. Sick. I'm afraid to turn around now. I hear breathing.
Perhaps it's just a kid with a ball bat or something. God knows they don't shower enough up here. I walk faster. I'm under a pool of light. There are buildings here. It'll leave me alone.
The smell gets stronger.
The buildings are dark.
It's not going to leave.
I quicken my pace---
And it follows suit.
I can hear it now, I'm nearly at my door and the key's sticking- I need to get inside before something happens. I can feel it's breath on my neck.
It's warm and putrid.
The key rattles- I turn the handle--
There's a click! I can get in, I can get in and be okay and safe and-
Its breath is much closer now.
The door isn't opening in time.
--
Ehhh. If I had more time to expand on the idea I'd love too, but I don't, so I'm not sure what to do from there. I should have drawn out the walking scene some, but consider it a work in progress. A template. A jumping off point.
I'll probably not get back to it, but one can hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
