salienne: (you go squish now)
...which is probably good, because apparently, I'm going to be an old cat woman when I grow up.

Here is the poem I just wrote (it had to be a lyric poem that was "as light as possible"--bleh) as proof:

A Love Story in Five Parts

The night they met, the moon was high,
it grinned in silver-white.
She shuddered there, no purse, alone—
Did he give her a fright!

At first she thought he held a knife—
pale knuckles and a leer.
He wasn’t drunk, he hastened add.
She lived not far from here.

He walked her home, dipped her his head,
his hat tight black and thin.
She made a point from that point on—
street corner, midnight, him.

Some Mondays passed, like dust in wind
then Sundays, gas fumes, snow—
the moon, it laughed from high again
when next they met alone.

They went out dancing long that night
their hips like wings in sway—
he bedded her that night as well,
he swore to her he’d stay.

Well we all know how these things go—
the rise and then the fall,
their time like clouds, her lips, his sigh,
now cracking as it crawls.
salienne: (Default)
Okay, so, for IFP, we had to read Gwendolyn Brooks. And while this poem is about God, this part just screamed "Doctor" to me:

But who walks with Him?--dares to take His arm,
To slap Him on the shoulder, tweak His ear,
Buy Him a Coca-Cola or a beer,
Pooh-pooh His politics, call Him a fool?

Perhaps--who knows?--He tires of looking down.
Those eyes are never lifted. Never straight.
Perhaps sometimes He tires of being great
In solitude. Without a hand to hold.

*Jumps up and down pointing to that last line* "Fear Her" anyone? Rose, anyone?

And that last stanza: "Here you are, living a life day after day. The one adventure I can never have."

I need to write a fic. @_@
salienne: (DW Rose Tardis)
My latest IFP (introduction to fiction and poetry) poem. How obsessed am I, right?

Of Hamlet and Ophelia

Upon that first day he found her singing
Not a proper practice
Not for one of her standing.
For weeks he watched her,
She flitted through vision
Till he wrote fair scriptures
For one of her standing.

From school he would send her
Words and dried flowers—
The most beautified Ophelia
And violets, some pansies.
She would smile and sing then,
Press them to breast.
Then he came a’calling—
To him gave the rest.

But then father did find her,
Then brother was gone
Then lover
Then father—
Farewell Valentyne.

Whence willow she came
Whence willow she fell
Adieu, fair Ophelia,
In murm’ring she dwells.

Random, but about that last line--"in murm'ring she dwells" or "in murm'ring you dwell"? Any thoughts?


Oct. 11th, 2007 01:11 pm
salienne: (Default)
I need to study abraod. In England. *Bounces a lot* Thus far, Oxford seems to look most promising, and I think I'll end up doing something in English and perhaps Classics. Cuz dammit I need me some England, and that's pretty much the only stuff I can get credit transfered for (the English, at least). And both are very very fun.

Now if only November 1st could hurry up and get here so that I could talk to the study abroad person.

Oh, and on another note, I wrote a poem. Yes, me, writing a poem. Odd, non? It was after I got Frost's iambic rhythms stuck in my head, so it just sorta... came to me, I suppose? I had fun, anyway, and I'm sort of proud of it, so if anyone's interested, here it is:

Eternity and Silence met... )


Sep. 14th, 2006 06:58 pm
salienne: (not broken)
For creative writing class, we were told to take an image and follow it, to trust the imagery. We also had to get off of our trigging subject. I have now done that.

And I present to you, ladies and gentlement, the worst poem of my LIFE:
Cut for extreme badness )

I hate poetry. If this were prose, I could write something relatively GOOD. But NOOOOOOOO. -_-"


salienne: (Default)

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