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Mar 31, 2008
Mar 30, 2008
Under My Bones
I've been doing daily writing exercises lately in an attempt to get back into, well, writing. I have a couple websites I've been using with some interesting prompts. Saturday's was, "Choose a poem you like. Take the last line and use that as the first line of your poem." I had a poem in mind but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. I could only remember the vague concept of it, so I'm sure that will drive me nuts for a few days trying to pinpoint what that was. I ended up using "i carry your heart with me," by e.e. cummings.
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
In silence and in secret (for you or no one knows)
Taken with me when I left one day
(amidst our summer's throes)
I vowed to never glance at it (looking back can serve no end)
But when I was alone with it
I couldn't help but hold it in my hand
To part with it would be too much
(so I chose to tuck it deep away)
Under my bones (inside my heart)
Where I still carry it today
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
In silence and in secret (for you or no one knows)
Taken with me when I left one day
(amidst our summer's throes)
I vowed to never glance at it (looking back can serve no end)
But when I was alone with it
I couldn't help but hold it in my hand
To part with it would be too much
(so I chose to tuck it deep away)
Under my bones (inside my heart)
Where I still carry it today
Mar 24, 2008
She the Phoenix
Love hesitates based on what it knows.
What came before pulses through its veins;
through the barren, rugged terrain.
The shells of those left behind -
made brittle by the sun.
Love hesitates and waits on the memory of a dream;
of a desire for something it knew for so long but lost,
and forced an end.
It hesitates at the memory of the loss and the open veins and
the pain.
Love hesitates and hangs in the air with the moisture
above a kiss in the rain.
It walks among the frozen moments like a ghost
lost in time.
Love hesitates because it knows no other way than
but to wait.
It hesitates and dreams and longs and hopes and dies.
Love knows that only in death can it find life again;
yet it hesitates -
at dying.
What came before pulses through its veins;
through the barren, rugged terrain.
The shells of those left behind -
made brittle by the sun.
Love hesitates and waits on the memory of a dream;
of a desire for something it knew for so long but lost,
and forced an end.
It hesitates at the memory of the loss and the open veins and
the pain.
Love hesitates and hangs in the air with the moisture
above a kiss in the rain.
It walks among the frozen moments like a ghost
lost in time.
Love hesitates because it knows no other way than
but to wait.
It hesitates and dreams and longs and hopes and dies.
Love knows that only in death can it find life again;
yet it hesitates -
at dying.
Mar 22, 2008
Mar 20, 2008
Mar 19, 2008
Mar 3, 2008
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