Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

This is some advice I’ve received about writing poetry. I’m just relaying it:

  1. Concrete images trump metaphorical or abstract concepts. “Red grit bricks” trump “the voice of God,” “calloused knuckles” is better than “soul.” No one knows what a soul looks like. Concrete images are usually examined under the lens of metaphor anyway.
  2. It takes years to cultivate your voice. Try new and different things. Try traditional forms. Experiment with perspective and tone. Stay on things for a while. Try writing lists for a month, then try sonnets, and then try love poems.
  3. Write early in the day, or late at night. What you think is great in a moment may turn out to be crap later. Come back hours later and look at what you’ve written. Keep what you like. Cut what you don’t like. Don’t just try to change it. Get rid of it.
  4. Your heart is the center of your poetry. Get in touch with that, and let it pour out. You have time to rein it in later.

Happy writing. 🙂

Advertisements

I’m not sure if I’m isolating myself

in my shut mouth, my closed door,

by the groups I hang out with,

in my flannel shirts, in rehearsals.

I keep thinking how nice it would be

for two arms to wrap around my waist,

pull me close to a warm chest,

a beating heart.

If I open my door,

there’s no guarantee I’ll open my mouth.

Kiss Me and See

Posted: September 16, 2015 in Love Poems
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am the ember

to your flower;

but I can’t stay red,

and you won’t remain evergreen.

Let’s use each other up

while time allows

our beauty to be seen.

i dredge you up

take a look at your Facebook feed

God, i’m so stupid

i fall for faces

and only faces

i fall not in love

just feel and reel because

my pulse picks up

but you’re voting for Trump

you’re so stupid

brain fried by California sunshine

drunk on forty’s you find on the street

or get from a guy with a shaved head

who you give head in a port-a-potty

That last bit is semi-speculation

but i can’t help but feel bad

because you don’t know what you’re doing

as you grab glowsticks

and hit up a pride parade

hang out with your frat boy bros

and blow each other cuz there’s nothing else to do

since there’s a drought

And i hate that i actually felt

something for you

It’s only because of the way you look

Everybody makes mistakes.

I didn’t expect to be so scared.

I’m just going back,

but there’s so many new things in my life.

I want to explore,

and yet I’m scared of the unknown.

I want to succeed,

but I’m terrified of failure.

I’m hoping someone will be there

to lend a hand and help me through this.

Please tell me this isn’t dread, just nervousness.

of when your eyes connect with another’s

and heat jumps through your body

and you want to know them,

and you want them to know you;

you want them to want

to understand

like you want to

understand

them.

I listen to music with the lights off.

It’s like being asleep,

like lucid dreaming–

aware of the sounds,

but only the sounds, the notes.

I close my eyes

and the music fills me up.

My ears are what hear it;

my heart is what feels it, and pumps

the feeling that is more than just one feeling

throughout my body

and my head is empty,

devoid of probing thoughts,

but quickly filled

with music

and feeling.