Poem #2

A poem about what I don't like:

To My Friends

Every little look you gave me
with your plastic little smiles and glazed eyes:
I get it now.

You lied.

I told you not to do it, to not hide
what you thought and felt.
But you didn't bother to listen.

You still did it.

Manicured little dreams,
pretty realities that are so empty--
They're crumbling all around you.

I tried.

Now you wonder why every look
is suspect, scrutinized in expectation;
But you can't say I didn't warn you.

I told you so.

A poem about clothing:

My Battlefield

I can see it, from where I'm sitting on my bed:
A single lifeless mass of knitted cloth and soil that seems
determined to crawl onto my side of the room.

I snarl at it, thinking to banish it with a thought,
But it remains, gloating in its filth as it toes the boundary.

Stupid sock.

Poem #1

Unwritten

The words spill down the page
Stark and curled
On the lined surface of the paper
Meaning. Meaningless.
Words.



Let Me Fall

Words imposed on music
A tuned thought
Heart crescendos with each beat
Breath catches
The soul falls into the rhythm and
Perfection is found

A Thousand Words

Currently at SUU the Braithwaite Gallery is a display of photographs from National Geographic, and it includes some absolutely breathtaking works. My creative writing professor, as part of our class, took us down to the gallery and told us to come up with a story to tell where one of the photographs was the climax of a story.

The story I would write would be based on the photograph that I considered to be the most striking: that of the Afghani girl.

I can see this photograph being the climax of a story about a girl who has lost everything and has been sold into slavery. She would struggle through the psychological difficulties of being without her family and friends, and she would also have to face the impending problem of becoming a piece of property. The moment of climax, which this picture would capture, would be when she is being sold and suddenly a bid of an unusually high nature is placed on her. She turns her head, and it is her brother who has just placed the bid.

Adventures in Creative Writing

Well, now, isn't this interesting? My blog has now become the host for a class of mine; rather, my creative writing will now be a huge part of this blog. Dr. Petersen, my creative writing professor, has determined that we get to keep everyone up to tabs on our writing. He, in an attempt to get us more comfortable with technology and also to allow him to see what we are working on, thinks this will be a brilliant idea. Hah.

I suppose this means that those of you who follow my blog are going to be inflicted with more of my writing. Eventually I am going to try and get pieces of my various novels up just so you can see what writing I am doing outside of class.

If nothing else, this should be an adventure. I will try to keep up on my usual blogging, too, which should be easier once I have internet in nine days. Here's hoping, anyway.