Sunday, April 17, 2011

Some Words

I needed a place to post my writings. That will now be here. I don't want to waste much time on a lengthy introduction (so much homework), and think it would be far more productive to simply start off with a poem I'm in the middle of editing.

(As background, this was a class assignment to write a Paean--that is, a poem or ode to a place or setting.)

Roll, bend and reshape, down a grade,
Deeper still, running hurt
A shade of herons play
Stilted legs, placid grasses
Flutter wings away from dirt.
    Our sounds they form a waterfall
    Down the rocks lushly walking
    Over hills, through where we lie
    On our sides we sigh and find meaning
    Patches of berries crippling on the vine
You can run all you need,
We’re free in the air and the sea is shallow
Calling my name to the rocks
Cormorants stand with wings up
Right hand: ruffled by wind and sand
And left: grasses and plains and land that crawls
    How large is that portal,
    That it holds hurt and birth
    Crests might build, rains might thaw,
    Returning children to the fickle laws
    They’ve seen everything, we set boats
    On their backs and they relax or buck
Ferns are deeper than the earth
Sometimes we dig into their hearts
And at the surface they hang their tips
Unfolding and silent, scratching the air
Millions of blades, self-similar and safe
We quiet for them and wait it out,
Because it’s raining again and a deer is dying
Somewhere in here a tree is falling
I can hear the drumming of its fine splinters
    I used to arch my back to the dusty ground
    Layered with pine and scented like musk
    A pulse can be shared and a line crossed
    We insisted on crying and filling something
    I was a vessel for fear and hatred
    You were the giver and fought hard to keep yourself
    I relaxed and then bucked unheard against you
Water can lazily weave a quilt
Crossing itself and binding and unwound
I can huddle against its sound and then curl
Myself harder when it rains and crowns
I am a vessel for water and land
Salts and leaves compose me,
My hands leave me decomposing
And I am a body for myself.


It needs some work. But I'm tired and unwilling to work more on it right now....It's being workshopped in a week. I'm also not sure what to title it. Bollocks.

More updates later, when I have more time!


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