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Lithle
(-.-)zzZ
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09-18-2007, 05:40 PM
On All We Have Missed Out On
Never has your name appeared
marginalized in my notes,
with desperate repetition.
A one word letter to a boy.
Notes didn't pass between us
nervous in high school hallways.
Anyway, I was never
good at those careful, complex folds.
Where are those midnight battles?
Love unfolding to reveal
the darker side of passion.
But I can't find the hate in us.
Are we strange, then? Let's be so.
Spend our midnights lost, shopping.
Laugh at ferrets or zombies.
I'll write you hope, you draw me dreams.
I'm told that the last stanza needs work, perhaps pulling the note imagery into it? Not sure how to go about it though.
What I Learned at the River
Sparse trees clustered along the shoreline
desperate for even so meager a water source.
Michigan would call the Truckee creek.
Two feet and sharp rocks at its deepest
only inches where we let our bare feet dangle.
The water icy and I felt like diving in.
(I knew a man who did: quadriplegic now,
but he got off the drugs.)
I wanted to twirl along the shore
to that bright Irish reel that sounded like dancing.
Arms spread out, feet frozen, and laughing.
You kept hold, tethered me to the rocks
leaving trails of demanding kisses up my arm.
I’d meant for the river to bring us back again
to the dim shaded groves and the towering trees.
But I could still taste dust.
Duncan woods, when I thought I loved you.
The doe eyed student, hanging on every cliché,
fragile admirer at your feet.
I accepted slices of apple
from patronizing fingers. A young seventeen.
Back in paradise, we would perch on mossy logs.
Naïve, uprooted, it was just like love to me.
The desert knew better.
Tiny volcanoes spewing red ants,
quick gray lizards, the brittle sagebrush everywhere.
It grows without water or support.
Finding old roots, I grew without you,
fed by older knowledge. I too was battle born.
The Truckee River like a barely kept promise
giving just enough water for us to survive.
Women still stand on bridges
throw away their wedding rings.
I let the stone you gave me
slip from between my fingers.
I slipped between your fingers.
Dove.
(It hurt like hell but I got off the drugs)
Might require some Nevada history to understand the finer details, but for now, I will leave it without any notes.
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Lithle
(-.-)zzZ
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09-19-2007, 05:36 PM
Now, for some structure. What follows is a Villanelle.
Reno, July to October 2003
We lived for starlight that desert summer.
Coyote cries, the dry smell of sagebrush,
the ache of bare sand in all directions.
Under the casino lights we’d linger,
deliberately lost in manmade dusk.
We lived for starlight that desert summer.
We’d sit in your beat up car ‘til sunrise
Both knowing too well what day would give us:
the ache of bare sand in all directions.
In dawn’s soft gold you’d leave me at my door
and promise you’d be back by set of sun.
We lived for starlight that desert summer.
Our twilight life like a fairy story
with time to play at not falling in love.
We lived for starlight that desert summer
the ache of bare sand in all directions.
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ladyumbra
\ (•◡•) /
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09-20-2007, 10:29 AM
I love Villanelles, you have made me very happy.
I also really liked On All We Have Missed Out On . I can't really explain how I felt reading it just that it left me wanting something and yet satisfied?
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Lithle
(-.-)zzZ
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09-25-2007, 09:17 PM
*grins* Villanelles are fun to write, mostly. I don't mind poetry to form, as long as it's not a Sestina. I hate them. I even hate reading them. But I suppose that's a personal prejudice. They just... never flow right to me. They always, always feel forced.
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Lithle
(-.-)zzZ
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09-25-2007, 09:50 PM
What follows is a sonnet, or an attempt on a sonnet. The revised version is... somewhere, but I can't seem to find it. I think I mostly altered the second to last stanza. It's been awhile. Still, this is the version I have with me. So this is the version I'm posting! It's a bit more angsty than I usually like, but hell, I was in an angsty place.
Reflections On Cell Phones Battery Life
The dial tone, I’m reduced to ribbons,
just dying for a taste of your warm skin.
Such sharp loneliness begs to be written,
recording the way delight and grief blend.
Both blood and tears taste of bitter oceans,
the familiar flavor is on my lips.
My skin or soul, somewhere I’ve broken
I need to be more than just talked through this.
See, one and one is one and I am one.
I’m won and lost to abrupt division.
Whether myself or fate, something’s undone
so I curse the gods and repent my sins.
The sound of you is all that’s left for me,
No hope to grasp, I’m left to gasp and need.
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