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June 25th, 2006

01:33 am
Fairly soon,
we shall all
have lost our
just long enough
for us to think:
been. so lost.

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December 13th, 2005

12:12 am
ready to revise.Collapse )
Current Mood: cynicalcynical

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November 27th, 2005

09:52 pm - For anyone that's interested
For any of you that remember reading any of my work, I thought I'd just let you know that I've recently published by first book to sell at my shows and readings.

I've also made it available for purchase online.  See this post in my journal for further details and a few samples!

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September 19th, 2005

04:48 pm - hey folks
I know this is kind of random buuut I agreed to help with layout for a zine that may or may not get off the ground -- it's to help raise money for Hurricane Katrina relief, and I suppose that it's not all bad that we haven't gotten things up and running yet, as money will be needed for a long time. However! We need good writing for this zine. There seems to be a dearth of it being posted in the community. So I'm soliciting. I don't know if any of you have written any poems about Hurricane Katrina, or even poems about hope, etc., would work, but I'd like to welcome you all to toddle over to poisoned_rain and submit whatever you might have.

Katrina's Relief
Help out at poisoned_rain

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September 1st, 2005

07:23 pm - a post inspired by a post in order to inspire other posts
If this community keeps popping up in flists enough, it has to get active sometime, right? Right.

Here's what used to be a sonnet (and what mr_quackenbush insists still is), which was actually written at the bequest of the aforementioned pser whilst he was busy corrupting me. As in we were having an IM conversation Saturday. The poem is named "Saturday" (a moment of minute creativity). Just wanted to see what you guys think of it!

sky mottled gray, grass shag carpet
air creeps in & warning
i'm stuck by the phone scripted marionette
this morning
no phone call
skinned knees but the bandaid box is gone
this house on stilts has lost stability
it tilts in tumbles on the lawn
splinters in shag carpet bleed dirty feet
down down soak grass grows red patches
i laugh and laugh in the madgirl's uncooked meat
tapeworm my inside it unattaches
my fingers i dial somehow
three rings you answer I hang up now

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August 31st, 2005

09:30 pm - Sometimes, stuff just happens to you...
My Pancake Wife

A Sunday like any other,
we slipped through Franconia
and into Sugar Hill
on our first trip to Polly's Pancake Parlor,
the closest thing pancakes have to a rock concert.
This was evident by the max capacitied dining area,
alive with the fervor of long distance travelers
in for a fresh maple fix.

Suddenly, there's Meredith.

She weaves me tales of the sampler.
Of buttermilk and buckwheat
and oatmeal and cornmeal,
available plain or coconut
or blueberry or walnut,
with my choice of sausage,
ham, or cobb smoked bacon.
She slowly guided me in
to breakfast selection,
angelically prescribing: "You get six pancakes,
and you can choose three different kinds."

I order buckwheat and oatmeal and cornmeal,
all plain
to preserve the purity of the pancake experience.
I note that each waitress
makes the pancakes for her own tables,
and when Meredith returns
and places my plate in front of me
with only three pancakes on it, she says:
"I'll make the other three when you're done these,
so that your whole meal
will be hot and fresh."

That's when everything hits me at once.
My God.  That's what this feeling is.
I look up to truly take her in for the first time
and see that her eyes sparkle azure
set against cream skin
and framed by her long, curly hair.
And I'm in love.
I'm suddenly alone
in this crowded dining room
where I can't see anyone but her,
not even the other four sitting at my table.

I want to ask her how common this is.
How many men have been completely overcome by her?
How many fought the urge to propose to her right there,
as I am at this very moment?
I want to ask her if she'll let me love her forever.
If she'll be my pancake wife.
If we can live in a cabin in the woods
and when we wake up each morning
if she'll ask something like "Coffee, tea, or me?",
but two of the three choices will be pancakes,
and we'll make them together,
and then make sweet love down by the griddle
as gentle as flipping one of those very pancakes,
or as sizzling as the cobb smoked bacon
I bite down onto
in an effort to cease falling madly into Meredith
and the sweet seduction of her fresh
and piping hot
breakfast presentation.

I eventually return to the table.
My body remained seated,
but I had clearly been elsewhere.
I say to my friend that when Meredith comes back,
if he wants to know where I've been,
he should look her right in the eyes.
He should look deeply and tell her "Thank you.
Thank you for this wonderful meal.
Thank you for this breakfast of pancakes
you have so lovingly provided for us
in complete selflessness,
with concern only for our bliss
in this place of pancake nirvana."

And when she does return,
and he does look her in the eyes,
and he does thank her,
he looks at me with an expression of how right I was.
I look at him and don't have to say "Back off,
because she's mine.",

as my look says all this and more.
It's all I can, as my mouth is full.
Full of the sweet cornmeal love
tenderly composed just for me
by the sweet, delicate hands of Meredith.
My pancake wife.

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August 23rd, 2005

08:48 am - Not really a cross-post, but a link!
I just posted a four poem post with audio in my journal.  Three of the poems even have a backup band!  There's also text for all to read along.

Check it out over yonder.

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July 30th, 2005

02:56 pm - Oh, there is three of them!
Here are three "experimental" pieces I read at the local Beat Night a week or so ago.  As almost always, they're "out loud" poems, so take page presentation with a minor grain of salt.

The first one is based on interviewing people on the subject of the poem.
The second one is collection of good lines from bad poems pieces back together randomly to make an entirely new poem.
The third is based off of a birthday card and more interviewing.

...It'll all make sense when you read them.

1... 2... 3!Collapse )

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July 3rd, 2005

03:09 pm - a poem and a start
Lets see if we can make this community active again

Your Majesty

You struggle with your footing on the rocks as a king
Awkward in your crossing to where you have been ruled to go
Little waves creep into your wounds and light the sting
Carrying your sovereigns commands above the rivers flow

With blackened bruises and red scratched hands
You stir the liquid to disturb the decay from beneath
Exposing the wrinkled reflection of your face streaked in sand
Cuts crossed over your cheeks pulled back to show teeth

Like a ceremony you dip your head into the sea
And the salt slides into wounds to awaken the ache
Your flesh cowers in agony and you drop to your knees
Bowing in welcomed suffering for your queens sake

Limping in the sea are the fragments of your tragedy
A splintered scepter and blood clots washed on the bank
In this misery you wander to find your majesty
Lips with agony and you move from where your crown has sank
Current Mood: artisticartistic
Current Music: I bet it Stung- Tegan and Sarah

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July 1st, 2005

06:39 am - First Time Poster :)
I've made one critique. I know the community calls for 3, but it seems so inactive that I didn't want to comment on something thats over 2 months old. If the powers that be deem it necessary I'll sift through older posts and comment.

This poem is very fresh. I haven't toyed with it much, but I'd like some direction in line breaks and punctuation. I'm also curious to see if you enjoy or hate the alliteration.

*Truck Stop T-Girl*

The neon twitched "Twenty Four Hours"
as taillights
turned brake lights
tires boiled the gravel drive

Sending dust laden steam
the view
of late night tummy rumbling salvation

She bumped the door shut with her backside
and sashayed
her way
to the smoking section

Her fag end flung left to right
hypnotizing haggard truckers
hunkering down
for some crash curing caffeine

"Right on" she said, as I produced a light
to the cigarette a second ago was mine
It drooped
damask stained
between her masculine lips
pursing ever so slightly to keep it in place

Her skin rippled
revealing a veil of concealer
barely camouflaging the bristles blooming
Every spike
exposing her

(9 comments | Leave a comment)

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