Behind me
is a monster
adorned in shadows
with autumn eyes.
His humid breath snags my neck
His claws of thunder clap
as he chases me.
My legs ignite into a run
My heart prowls its ivory cage
as I attempt escape.
The sky is scowling and heavy
The ground is scabbed and lonely.
When my legs crumple
When my heart softens to a tiptoe
I turn my head
to welcome
solitude.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Sestina by Ciara Shuttleworth
i read this poem in the New Yorker the other day and really enjoyed it.
You
used
to
love
me
well.
Well,
you-
me-
used
love
to...
to...
well...
love.
You
used
me.
Me,
too,
used...
well...
you.
Love,
love
me.
You,
too
well
used,
used
love
well.
Me,
too.
You!
You used
to love
me well.
You
used
to
love
me
well.
Well,
you-
me-
used
love
to...
to...
well...
love.
You
used
me.
Me,
too,
used...
well...
you.
Love,
love
me.
You,
too
well
used,
used
love
well.
Me,
too.
You!
You used
to love
me well.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Thomas on a Yellow Day (Revision)
I wrote this piece about two weeks ago, and just recently revised it. I think it represents my writing style well.. let me know what you think.
Thomas wasn't sure what it was that intitially drew him to her. Perhaps it was because she was beautiful, but it was probably because she was his total opposite. He wished he could stand so proudly, speak so easily to the man she ordered a coffee from.
Not that Thomas was completely inept at socializing. In fact, he was better than he realized at such things. He was attractive, sitting in a tasteful suit with an equally (if not more so) tasteful tie, and leather shoes. His hair was handsomely uncared for and his face was far better looking than the one he saw in the mirror.
Thomas sat in muffled admiration as the beautiful stranger walked away; as he was beginning to notice women often did. As she was about to cross through the doorway, she turned and her eyes fastened onto his. She threw a simple smile over her shoulder that fell into his lap. He hurried to catch that perfect simle, to hold it forever as his own, but it had faded away in the same manner as the woman who gave it to him. With no more than a second of contemplation, he sprung from his coffee table, leaving behind the four dollar latte he considered a daily indulgence.
Then they were together, accompanied by a yellow day, a flock of people, and a collection of people that tickled the clouds. She was all he saw. The wind and the sun danced in her hair until it was fire in the summer. He followed her.
It was after about a minute of walking that Thomas realized the absurdity of his action. What business did he have to follow this beautiful woman? And what, exactly, did he plan to do once he caught up?
The women turned around then, and noticed Thomas. For a fading moment, recognition lit her eyes. He decided that if those eyes were a room, it would have a fire place and velvet armchairs and windows with grand, closed tapestries. They were a nice accompaniment to her smile. Then she turned and was walking away once more, until she fluidly became the setting sun onto the horizon of the city sidewalk.
Thomas stood for a moment, then began collecting the pieces of a premature dream littering the ground. He looked to a regal blue sky and decided he needed another latte.
Thomas wasn't sure what it was that intitially drew him to her. Perhaps it was because she was beautiful, but it was probably because she was his total opposite. He wished he could stand so proudly, speak so easily to the man she ordered a coffee from.
Not that Thomas was completely inept at socializing. In fact, he was better than he realized at such things. He was attractive, sitting in a tasteful suit with an equally (if not more so) tasteful tie, and leather shoes. His hair was handsomely uncared for and his face was far better looking than the one he saw in the mirror.
Thomas sat in muffled admiration as the beautiful stranger walked away; as he was beginning to notice women often did. As she was about to cross through the doorway, she turned and her eyes fastened onto his. She threw a simple smile over her shoulder that fell into his lap. He hurried to catch that perfect simle, to hold it forever as his own, but it had faded away in the same manner as the woman who gave it to him. With no more than a second of contemplation, he sprung from his coffee table, leaving behind the four dollar latte he considered a daily indulgence.
Then they were together, accompanied by a yellow day, a flock of people, and a collection of people that tickled the clouds. She was all he saw. The wind and the sun danced in her hair until it was fire in the summer. He followed her.
It was after about a minute of walking that Thomas realized the absurdity of his action. What business did he have to follow this beautiful woman? And what, exactly, did he plan to do once he caught up?
The women turned around then, and noticed Thomas. For a fading moment, recognition lit her eyes. He decided that if those eyes were a room, it would have a fire place and velvet armchairs and windows with grand, closed tapestries. They were a nice accompaniment to her smile. Then she turned and was walking away once more, until she fluidly became the setting sun onto the horizon of the city sidewalk.
Thomas stood for a moment, then began collecting the pieces of a premature dream littering the ground. He looked to a regal blue sky and decided he needed another latte.
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