April 2010
1 post
3 tags
The sky is falling
The end of the world was at hand and already my friends had succeeded in killing the gods. We ate their hearts and wore their flesh, taking into ourselves their aged powers (half-potent, but power nonetheless) and soon we were shooting arrows at the stars, our mouths were like black holes, drawing the luminous bodies down with booming voices. One by one they fell, scorching the crust of the...
March 2010
5 posts
2 tags
A poem about sadness
Here is a poem that tastes like loneliness the first time it makes a home in your heart. You let it enter, because we all start out open, the folds of our bodies eventually closing in only after we understand the consequences of spaces, of why we have bodies to contain ourselves, and of why, sometimes, absence is necessary. It will ache, but not just yet. Like being alone, this poem will...
3 tags
About the Typefaces Not Used in This Edition by... →
JSF’s one of my favorite authors. This is a story he wrote which I recently stumbled onto - sharing it with everyone :)
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Speaking in Hushed Tones →
my NEW writing blog (I’ll still update The Open Book) ‘cause I realized wordpress is kinder to line cuts (since right now my poems have very long lines. Ehehe.). :p
4 tags
The Story of Love:
0 begins with an explosion. 1 My great-great grandparents were making love and the First World War decided to happen. When they later found out of the nearby barrio blown into a million pieces, they were frantic for penance. They called to their gods, offering shrapnel, offering prayer, thinking people died because of how much we loved each other. It meant: they would forever equate love with...
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Why You Should Never Marry A Poet | Heather Bell →
Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea, vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will all never be enough. The poet wishes with her deepest bones and writes that she wishes she would have killed you in the supermarket. She wonders why she ever loved you in song. She publishes book after book. Each line detailing
how your hair is ugly and monstrous in the morning....
February 2010
7 posts
2 tags
zoe and the whole damn cake ❤: Sweetness, Stephen... →
Just when it has seemed I couldn’t bear
one more friend
waking with a tumor, one more maniac
with a perfect reason, often a sweetness
has come
and changed nothing in the world
except the way I stumbled through it,
for a while lost
in the ignorance of loving
someone or something, the…
2 tags
Freecut
We find out from someone in the morning class that she’s absent again. The third time in two weeks. The test draws near and no one is anywhere near knowing: interstitial cells, the makings of an ovary, et cetera. What’s the zona pellucida again? Joey says something about blastocysts but I’m too busy fixing my bag, another zipper left open. I pick up my notes from the bench and Cara says Let’s go...
2 tags
Why I Write Poetry
Because sometimes, giving daisies, or roses – red, red, red always red, is not so much the right present, as to offer larkspurs, or say – foxglove, carefully bundled – to mend a heart broken far too often. You need to know the nature of its edges, find the right place to plant your flower so it bears fruit. Because this is why, I had dreams of flying, of seeing the grey dissonance of nimbus around...
1 tag
Motion Along a Straight Line
This is how we avoid collisions: move in a perfectly straight line. Place your mind on the backseat, comfortably tucked under a safety belt. The only thing that matters is your body, moving along a straight line. Parallel to the motion of all other bodies beside it. My body, your body, moving without the slightness of tensed muscles, without the slightest wanting to swerve, or turn somewhere else....
2 tags
6 words for Valentines'
I’d date you but we’re friends.
HAHA SABLAY.
1 tag
Portraiture
See how what is being drawn out is no longer yours: you asked me for this. You, looking at your own face with disgust. You, who never sought to see the arduous necessities of catching light by surprise; an artist is made to learn these things. An artist’s hands are so used to aching, eyes knowing that the hardest thing to see is what’s in front of you. What the mind chooses to ignore the face is...
2 tags
Love's Not the Way to Treat a Friend, Richard...
poetry365:
Love’s not the way to treat a friend. I wouldn’t wish that on you. I don’t want to see your eyes forgotten on a rainy day, lost in the endless purse of those who can remember nothing.
Love’s not the way to treat a friend. I don’t want to see you end up that was with your body being poured like wounded marble into the architecture of those who make bridges out of crippled...
January 2010
6 posts
3 tags
Missive
Because this was the poem I wanted to write for so long: of things that made me believe in walking in the rain with an umbrella and being wounded when I least expected to, at the same time delivering just the right amount of aching. This is what’s kept me like this for so long, always caught up with memories of you smiling, you beside me: the inescapable inability to understand everything that...
4 tags
In Case of Babies
Do not feed it. Keep at a safe distance. Do not call it by its name, do not call it names. Instead, say that it has its mother’s eyes or its father’s chin. Such a thing is best kept with its mouth shut and toothless.
1 tag
that thing again
Stop falling in love with ghosts.
The old woman is always angry.
My secret ran away last year.
1 tag
6 word confession
It hits you all the same.
3 tags
Fantasy
Confession: I dream of terrible things I would love to do to you. On some instances you are pinned to silken sheets. On others I am the one trying to breathe. Sometimes you will try to kill me. In all occasions everything happens quietly; the only sounds are those made by our chests, by our hearts beating at our chests, and the unreliability of our breathing. How much they consume me: these...
2 tags
The Prisoner, Charles Simic
poetry365:
He is thinking of us. These leaves, their lazy rustle
That made us sleepy after lunch So we had to lie down.
He considers my hand on her breast, Her closed eyelids eyelids, her moist lips Against my forehead, and the shadows of trees Hovering on the ceiling.
It’s been so long. He has trouble Deciding what else is there. And all along the suspicion That we do not exist.
December 2009
8 posts
1 tag
Domestic Drama
Everything I had hoped to learn on intimacy fell apart when I was seven years old. Give or take, it wasn’t the kind of thing that hits once: my father, coming home late; my mother, running out of names to throw at my father. Furniture being tossed like weightless dolls. My father, slamming doors; slamming my mother to a wall. My sister whispers sometimes the story of how father almost pushed...
2 tags
On Inadequacy
After Rachel Marra’s 2nd 6 Word Memoir People care too much. Too wrong, is it? How much do we know about things that we call necessary? No one ever talks about what’s beneath the entendres we’ve effortlessly woven into our daily lives. Is it because we have become so skilled, so used to disguising what we desire? When I call you friend, or, lover, what do I really mean to say? Perhaps the...
4 tags
When the dead talk
When the dead talk, it is under a patch of earth where voices are safe and muffled. Having died, these people know the countless failings of being alive. And the infinite hazards to consider: what would it mean if the ears of the living were to feel the strangeness of something once familiar ghosting at its edges?
Jesus I am sorry this stupid line kept eating at my brain since last night I tried...
2 tags
Unwritten Law, Louise Glück
finefeather:
Interesting how we fall in love: in my case, absolutely. Absolutely, and, alas, often— so it was in my youth. And always with rather boyish men— unformed, sullen, or shyly kicking the dead leaves: in the manner of Balanchine. Nor did I see them as as versions of the same thing. I, with my inflexible Platonism, my fierce seeing of only one thing at a time: I ruled against...
2 tags
Because-
you could have been in 1927 India, an English aristocrat seeking gold more than mythologies and its many-armed gods, and my family had long left for a shore with tainted sand, a warm place and yet they brought their valises and coats to remind their bodies of a place they used to know as home. My family, leaving: hopeful and happy in their hopefulness. Taking away all chances of us meeting before...
2 tags
Elevator Operator
Because when I was younger I wanted To be an elevator operator: dreaming of stars- distant Stars, things that cannot be taken By the hands of scientists, of lawyers, or anyone who is a stranger. My own galaxy, perfectly enclosed In the four walls of this transitory room Where you are but a passing passenger- Don’t you see? With the push of a button, I control gravity.
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This is Not a Spring Poem:
Every poet should write a Spring poem. -Louise Glück
Yes, but consider us who have never felt the bright rays of Spring: would we be condemned for lacking a proper word- your time for youth, your appointed time for passion, because we are without your seasons? Here: all we know is the endless slew of rain and heat- here: our kind never die of cold from Winter. Our bodies: much too used to...
1 tag
November
I see a moth on the floor of our house: wings spread flat on the ground, before a broom sweeps it away. A yellow shade, a sunflower. I recall what I have been told about the presence of moths: it could be my great-grandfather, hailing from the afterlife of India, mysterious and quiet, delivering a message; it could be my great-aunt who died before I even met her (they say she went crazy, after...
November 2009
2 posts
1 tag
The Burning Girl
Here, a story I wrote a few months ago. Of the 3 people I let read this, 2 liked it well enough, the other loathed it. Will get to editing this soon. Comments would be swimmingly.
—-
You’re not quite sure how exactly it happened but one day Cee came into your life. One moment you were sitting there watching a broken-down video of A Clockwork Orange and the next she’s splayed in front of...
1 tag
apology!
and so school proved to be more formidable than I imagined. @_@ I think I’ll just turn this baby into my writing blog ^_^’
only a few people know about it anyway haha
October 2009
2 posts
4 tags
1 tag
Test post
….everyone has to have one. Well, before I get to post anything I have to get the scanner fixed. Dumdeedoodum… Next week, next week…