Posts Tagged ‘Post’

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. 🙂

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.

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.

So I survived my first year away at college. *deep sigh of relief*

I know its kind of a lame excuse, but I was busy a lot of the times, or just focused on other things, that’s why I haven’t posted on this blog in about six months.

Now that it’s summer I plan to fix that.

You’ll be seeing some new poetry soon, although I can’t promise I’ll be able to churn it out daily. But stayed tuned anyway!

If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

Last night I had an anxiety attack.

I fell asleep at eleven,

woke up at 2,

and couldn’t go back to sleep.

I was hung up on

schoolwork, relationships, my place

in life. Not so much wondering

as letting it all spiral into chaos within my head.

At lunch I felt depression settle in-

the feeling of Not Feeling.

I told myself that I wasn’t going to wallow,

that I was going to feel things

because I was better than this,

but my body barely listened.

And all I want is for a friend to listen.

I may be in a new place,

but I want to keep my old, good friends.

I don’t want to feel ignored,

isolated,

alone.

Here’s a plank to think.

A response to an oral: an assembly.

Assemble quickly,

silently, or not so.

Better to think than preach, so they say.

So they say there’s a way. Even in.

An even you don’t. You catch.

An assault of lights.

A wink. A thousand brights. Yellow globes of strobe.

Yellow burning white.

Little planets.

Comets. Of whirring and flash

there is no worry.

And so to stick to mind.

And so stick a tongue, so stick a lip;

there are worse, and there are white lights.

And there are purses, there are people.

Where there are purses, there are people.

Mind not the blinding, the light

from up.

Think aloud.

“So they say.”

You say.

And there’s applause.