My muse: While sitting at my laptop wondering what to throw together fifteen minutes before Creative Writing class. And up comes a video by Esperanza Spalding. If you don’t know who she is, look her up.
I stand alone, mystified by the subtle harmony of our voices.
My neck beckons skillful hands; she’s a master at this game.
I’ve been crafted for her touch, rough and gentle hands caress my hollow maple body,
And I carefully fill the spaces in between the sharps and flats.
“Play your heart out.” She could write a story with her rhythm.
Shivers dance up and down my spine like electric spiders, as she pulls me into her vibrato.
We are deceivers with our muted melody, but the beauty in every song resides in the under tones;
Even if her hands can’t reach you, her voice will make your soul sing.
Assignment: Find a place that you wouldn’t mind closing your eyes in, and write a poem based on the details.
Place: My cold, dorm room, at night, with no lights on.
Place: Wondering what was really going on with the people I care about.
“The History of the Lost”
A raven visited me in the shadows of my dream one night, and asked “Why do you run from love?”
We are ghosts. Together and alone we wander the void in united solitude, filling the empty spaces in our thoughts with the echoes of single footsteps, our shaking voices, our desperate panting, whatever we can use to fight the silence that makes our ears throb with contemptuous paranoia. Every second of the dusky indistinguishable days and nights we are surrounded by an ever-present symphony of ethereal voices that reverberate through our turbulent consciousness, and are carried from the fearful questions we ask ourselves.
Why is it so cold here? Will I ever feel the warmth of confiding again? As I rub my shivering hands together, I realize that I’ve forgotten why I’m lost here in this frigid pitch black. While I constantly fear the silences between my shallow breathes, and hide in the corners of my solitude from invisible whirlwinds of self doubt, I can feel myself falling. Will my memories of seeing in color ever return? The soft kaleidoscopes of reds and oranges that burst overflow with every laugh and radiant smile, and the calm shades of deep blue that swirl behind our eyelids with every kiss.
Now I see only black, erratic marks of my regret, and the silhouettes of split faces marked with the crimson brands of human nature looking down on me with critical eyes. And the through the darkness, the voice of the foul sends a single word like a shock through my body, like a cold hand on my chest, and I am reminded. Betrayal. That is our fear.
We walk blindly in this darkness because we are afraid of opening our eyes. We are afraid of the things we see and more of the things we don’t. So we wear glass skin and porcelain masks daily and walk, speak and breathe with shallow-bitter laughter, afraid for our façade to crack from the inside. We are still falling waiting to hit the bottom. It never comes, because we’ve given up. We’ve declared ourselves traitors to our own hearts and sentenced ourselves to slow, chilly deaths.
Yet it is only when I am reminded why I am here that I can see an escape. I am reminded that though those we trust have tongues like swords, hiding from love is a sin to our souls. I’ve heard that love is blind. But I say we are the blind ones, and love takes us by the hand leading us through our darkest days. The world can still see us, even when we close our eyes. Lift up the fog, rise always, and never run from love.
This was the first poem I did for class. I had forgotten anything was due and in all my haste I jotted it down in around five minutes. Though if you look at it, it’s easy to see that it’s not really a poem at all.
I have a habit of being too curious, letting my questions get the best of me and my eyes lead my heart wherever they move, whether they glide and sweep across a room like calm bird’s wings, or dart around and about like fiery arrows shot in all directions. Now I can feel my attention being forced madly about this room as though my thoughts and feelings are drawn by a chariot of angry horses, stopping to rest atop the reflection of the dim yellow lights shimmering off of empty glasses. The sound of dishes clattering and multilayered tones of laughter all line the canvas of my observation like colors on a fresco painting, marked with the signature of pretty voices. Every moment I submit to the captivity of my senses, I fear one day my eyes will wander to a place I can’t return and pull my heart along like a shiny red wagon. But as sound of burning conversations overtaking soft jazz music are shut out, and my vision closes in on the pretty girl across the table with eyes like black pearls and a smile that both blinds me and makes me stare, I submit to the idea that tonight, I’ll be curious for just a little longer.
I registered for a Creative Writing class at the beginning of the year, which I thought was a Literature/Fiction based class. Turns out, it’s about poetry. I’ve been more or less writing Fiction since I was around 15 or 16, so this was a sharp adjustment for me. Still, I’ve been having a lot of fun. It’s like tapping into a different side of my thoughts and feelings, and being forced to condense them.
Regardless, the class is amazing. I’ve been surprised by things my classmates have written, and ultimately surprised by myself. So I’ll be posting some of my poems and theirs here over time.
wake up the nations we need ventilation of tainted information gathered in the bottom of a nuclear reactor nothing nu or clear about the cloudy factors shady tactics army of paid actors, heart dry like cactus black rain back in the day prove disastrous we’re putting our children at risk data with an asterisk, call up the activists
greetings, sun salutations we give praise to the almighty knowledge from the ancient offering though some seek shelter in artificial stations, genetic mutations the installation of a new plant but this plant is no ordinary plant, nope she wouldn’t yield a flower or shed green leaves instead she showers daily in a deadly breeze spread like the zodiac sign after gemini the everyday workday folk like you and I once believed in this promise of a garden boy atom, girl eve of destruction tricknology system malfunction the angle is steep and the wheels losing traction who dare say they care about our safety as long as the food on their dinner plate tasty no time for supper as we shall suffer the consequence might as well enjoy the last cup of tea if you prefer the taste of metal in your mouth white blood cells on defense people condescend preemptive strike back across the fence I guess it all depends which side you’re on whether you feel locked up or free to move on confess, it all depends which ride you’re on whether you see pitch black or a light to keep on now come on
shake up the nations we need ventilation of tainted information gathered in the bottom of a nuclear reactor nothing nu or clear about the cloudy factors shady tactics army of paid actors, heart dry like cactus black rain back in the day prove disastrous we’re putting our children at risk data with an asterisk, power to the activists
alpha beta gamma rays anyway you like it now we’re living the omega days seems like we’re trapped in a sci-fi anime clean room by-products contaminate lab workers with laminates catch wreck too late to reach for the medicine cabinet the only fusion happening around, mass confusion need for deep contemplation cut through the noise mad concentration camps built on purpose of tax evasion politicians swear by their shifty cranium wicked wet dreams pure forms of uranium multiple platinum? enriched plutonium impropaganda from a sponsored podium uno hit like wonder, sound of thunder another faux pas, irreversible blunder thermal recording in a pressurized chamber tweak the heat meter, well see through you later bombs get smarter while soldiers get dumber and drive a hummer now winter hot like summer summer cold like winter, now who’s in the winner circle, hoops broken, ice caps getting thinner how do we stop a force so damn powerful have to counter with a bigger voice so let a mouthful of noise begin let them bad boys know they can’t play with the toys no more before they blow up in the face shrapnel flying everywhere in slow motion ricochet off the wall and sting in reality don’t let the mothers tally up the fatalities judgement soon come beyond the duality
so why let the silence kill a true utterance why make the homeless scrub up your gutter and who let the science bill the righteous teachers we let defiance lift a room full of creatures treasures are stolen then dumped in the ocean oh what we do to our motherland, caution murder she wrote in her will and an eulogy offsprings cremate her to create energy smoke rise holy figures burnt in effigy solar eclipse on the night of an apogee earth spin around the doomsday clock messing around now the whole building block is hot slanging rocks on the fly walking on a tight cable and gambling on top of the periodic table may fate bring together minds that are able to express from an independent label to rep a hard knock cradle, it’s time to rock a show let the name ring worldwide Rokkasho what we don’t need for sure, yet another Chernobyl leaks like Thorpe, until then remain hopeful my people, you wanna see the whole plot? like a constellation, you connect the dots see the outline of a master plan at hand train ride named desire headed for disaster charged like plasma, shatter like plaster because we want to get from point A to B faster sell your soul on an auction bid better yet set your cell on vibration kid this theater, has no spin like a turbine, no script except for this here by the genuine population the path we must take for a major alteration extreme consumption to wise moderation enough with the debating get up in the morning, just to see what we’re facing
enough with the debasing get up in the morning, just to see what we’re facing
wake up the nations we need ventilation of tainted information gathered in the bottom of a nuclear reactor nothing nu or clear about the cloudy factors shady tactics army of paid actors, heart dry like cactus black rain back in the day prove disastrous we’re putting our children at risk data with an asterisk, power to the activists
we’re putting our future at risk data with an asterisk, power to the activists
“…levels of serotonin in couples who are madly in love are comparable to people suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. So, also as long suspected, love is an obsession.”—Why Do We Fall In Love? (via amandarae)