Brain At Work

[lierdumoa]

One of the courses I signed up to take over the summer is a creative writing thing for poetry. I'd rather have taken a course in prose, but they weren't offering one. Oh, well.

Anyway, I had to submit six poems. I'm posting them below, on the off chance that anyone is interested in reading them. If you think they suck, well, try not to hurt my feelings too much.



Little girl

Little girl finds a little baby bird
Feeds it every day till she forgets
Remembers but remembers just too late
She holds the thing with little wings so limp

An accident, she says
Her momma only shakes her head

Girl tells herself next time she'll be more careful
Plants some flowers in a patch of dirt
She waters them but waters them too much
And dirt turns into sludge, turns roots to rot

Didn't mean to, she says
Her daddy, he just shuts his eyes

She goes to meet another girl to play
They play with dolls and dress them up in lace
Thread catches on a catch and pulls a rip
The other sees the rend and startes to cry

It's not my fault, she says
Her babysitter frowns her lips

Her Daddy gives her a set of dominoes
She sets them up in even little rows
And then, to watch them fall and fall again
She wonders why the world's so very fragile



Snow White's Mother

She birthed a daughter
Formed of blood and snow
With hair black like the shadow ink
Of aging forest wood
She bore her with a promise
Of cold beauty wrapped around a heart
As open as a waking eye
But far more blind
And in the borning room she saw
A huntsman and an apple
This child, she knew
Kin of Benjamin
Child of pain, of snow, of blood, of ebony
Would know the price of beauty
That all things have their price
But never know a mother's love
And in the borning room she, in dying, screamed
And saw last but an open blood-white face
Awake, with both hands open



Character Sketch

I have a funny, funny friend
Here's how she is from start to end:
She sings to break the quiet
But she never sings in tune
She doesn't like to diet
And she's convinced the moon
Doesn't hang in the sky at all
But hides under her skirt
If she were to trip and fall
I'd laugh until it hurt
Sometimes out talk is more like flirt
But mostly it's platonic
Sometimes she'll take her thoughts and blurt
Tourettes, I think -- it's chronic
She likes it when I call her up
Always puts out her hand to lend
I'd never want to give her up
I like my funny friend



Preferences

I like my clothes like butter
The kind that slide right on my body
Make me feel real fresh and slick
If they don't cut my breathing off
I know I'm dressed to win

I like my food like music
Variety and style and maybe a bit of talent
Complex as arpeggios
Simple like a mean, clean backbeat
I'll roll my hips and swallow down

I like my men like breakfast
Snap crackle pop in milk white sheets
Gobble him up like cheerios
If he's not into special k
We'll get along just fine



Clean

I'm so clean I think my sweat don't stink
I fart pefume goddmanit
Don't none of you forget it
I'm so sharp there's nothing I can't cut
Don't make me throw my wit
Oh, you know how I get
I'm so fast I'm there before you think
There's no way you'll catch me
I'm swift as I can be
I'm so mean there's no one I won't gut
Don't tell yourself I'm nice
My smile's as cold as ice

I backtalk like bitch
I'll make your breath just hitch
I'll stalk you like a cat
Yeah, baby, just like that

At parties I can throw a mighty scene
You won't find nothing on me
Now don't be getting ornery
Now people think that they are mighty keen
I shame them with my presence
I make them feel like peasants
They try to get dirt on me -- I'm too clean



Miss

Sometimes I miss him
The way he smelled
The space he filled
I liked the way his arms wrapped around
I liked his comfortable, rolling stride
His little brother walks like him, you know
It's silly, the things you think
The subtle things about a person
Like I remember the way he never bent at the hip
Would squat, that man, to pick up things
I remember the curve of his spine as he leaned over
It's silly, but it's good -- not like forgetting
Forgetting hass a much, much sadder feel
Little wisps of remembrance I try to catch
My mind like a swinging butterfly net
I swipe at the air and try to trap
That flitting, fluttering insect of a memory
Most times I get it down
Sometimes I miss

Comments

[joesther.livejournal.com]

I really liked the first one. Just shows how even the best of intentions can lead to sad results, with just a bit of bad judgement. Very well done. Poetry is a very delicate art for me: I've never been able to do it well, but I always appreciate it when it's done nicely. This one in particular spoke to me. Good job. :)

[lierdumoa.livejournal.com]

Aw. Thanks!

[lelenevity.livejournal.com]

Personally, I liked Snow White's Mother the best of the ones here, but I think I'll always love Envy the best (heh. talk about bringing back the past).