Madrigal
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Posts posted by Madrigal
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Well, the definitions of prose poetry and poetic prose aren't quite... defined. I guess I should've called this narrative poetry. From what I understand prose poetry is poetry with narrative and prose elements, while poetic prose is prose with poetic elements: such as heavy use of metaphors and figurative language. I've been trying to write poetry that doesn't need too much explanation these past few months, trying to make the crossover from poetry to prose. Hopefully I'll achieve this someday, as my brain tends to think in rhythm and rhyme.
Maddy (:
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I have some trouble writing prose... it just doesn't come naturally. Everything I write wants to be a poem. So I figured I'd start writing some prose poetry and work my way up. These are only exercises... so if someone asks, I didn't write it ;).
On Monday I tied my shoes and the door I swung,
The air was calm, the growth of darkness had begun,
And I looked up, the stars were bright
Though not so clear as yesternight.
I lifted up my left, my right, quicker
I ran through the light, the lined lamp?s flicker
Marked the way, the sidewalk firmer
Than yesterday, so I made my legs limber.
Halfway through the jog I saw a flash
I heard a thunder first, the crash
My ears did hear, but on I went
As the winds picked up and started to vent.
I turned into a dead end, the wind
Ran through my hair, and like mint
The air went down my throat
While the tree above me like a boat
Did swing its branches ominously.
And they snapped so hard, I was so scared.
How quickly had my luck turned--
What was a harmless jog became a hunted
Voyage through thundered street.
And the winds picked up and light
Flashed above, no longer was I limber;
I remember my fear of its timber.
I never arrived home, for God
Reached down that night;
I was hand-picked.
Maddy (:
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That's freakin' awesome :D.
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I pretty much echo what Des said. Didn't expect a happy poem about the closet! Very touching <3.
Maddy (:
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Thank you, Bruin and Des. I'm experimenting at the moment, trying to see what works and what doesn't.
Maddy (:
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We were at the marketplace,
You and I, and our worn feet:
We stared up at the oranges
And the carrot juice and beet.
There the cookie crumbs
Became one with the dust
And the cheesecake bits
Encrusted on the floor?s pits.
There was burnt milk,
Caramel?s such sweet smell
And there were eyes
And ears, mouths would yell
?Keep an eye on the boy
And a hand on the food?
For as I had no toy
I had a stealing mood.
There was a pit in my stomach
And it pulled so hard
And it pushed and tugged
It screamed so loud.
I looked down and saw my feet
They had no grace
The pebbles stung
So did my face.
The wind was warm
But I cared not.
I was hungry no more.
And so I walked back
To the darkness? of the alley
I crawled on the black
And kept no tally.
It was my home
But for one more day
I could forget the groans
And there I lay:
Hunger torn asunder.
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What do you hide, titan?
Is there a criminal inside
One so slippery, so translucent
That even his dark soul bears no resemblance
In your transparent windows?
Is there evidence of murder
In your colored face,
Or are your arms stained
With the blood from the criminal?s case?
Are you the shelter for orphans
Or homeless souls that would otherwise wander
The streets of New York
Or work the corners of Denver?
Or are you empty,
Are your walls web-ridden
And white-washed
Like my soul?
Or are you full of trinkets,
Of old books and photographs of a wasted childhood
And outgrown clothes and worn-sole shoes
Like my soul?
Or are you the reflection
Of countless souls.
Of those who travel without destination.
Are you simply a spatial metaphor?
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Paris Hilton you mean?
If that were the case he would've gotten a lot more than just the swine flu!
Maddy (:
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Just like the thread that forms a rope
Entwined are the insults in a swirl
That we call memory.
For the bridge was not the cause
Nor was the truck or its twirl
Nor was it solely the fault of hope:
A wish for a sweeter melody.
It is your thoughts I find amusing,
Beliefs and falsified promises of heaven
That you truly think you?ll earn audience with the King.
Look closely at the thread,
The one behind his neck,
On its face your name,
Inscribed in scarlet fleck.
You insist on calling it suicide
But there will come a day
When in his presence your resolution will stray
As you realize it was homicide.
Suicide is nothing more than second hand smoke.
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U.u I hadn't read this. Beautiful poem, Des. It's the kind of poem that makes the hard moments bearable. Thank you very much for the feeling.
Maddy
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Do you mean he looks like a monkey? LOL (as in your avatar!)
Maddy (:
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There?s a tide
So strong
So violent.
The fishermen flee
In their small brittle boats
And happy are the trees
To see near them oats
For they know that the earth
Will forever be close.
And the winds become violent
As the moonlight punishes
And the flower?s deep violet
Turns black.
And the flow of time seems to slow at its gaze
For the moonlight has rage inscribed on its face.
Its eyes no longer craters, but silent volcanoes.
And the waves are helpless at the God?s command:
Their tears are useless, their cries fall bland.
Just when destruction seems to loom?
The moon retreats and leaves no doom.
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I?ve heard of growing up
But jaded as I was
Since early childhood
I never really did.
Carmen would just look--
Her fingers sharp, a hook--
At both of our faces.
She?d know of all our fears
And notice the trail of tears.
And like a river through wonderland
Or a fault at Disneyland,
Our eyes grew tired.
They ached in silence, orbs swollen
And lashes worn, happiness stolen.
And it is now I?ve learned
That our maturity was innate:
After our luck turned
We started growing down
And noticed the smile on the clown
And we licked the empty plate.
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RIP Michael Jackson. I'm a lover of all types of art; his music and showmanship were singularly unmatched.
Maddy (:
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Obviously the person being exorcised is either acutely psychologically damaged, under the effects of a drug, or both. I'd like to have a little more faith in Christian extremists, but I just can't. I wouldn't be surprised if that church released this video in order to create some sort of 'gay panic' in the community, so they could perform a larger number of exorcisms and gain more following. Thank God (not theirs, obviously) it backfired.
Maddy (:
edit: just read Cole's post. I agree.
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Eee, sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound that serious. Like a lot of people, I have considered suicide, but I'd never kill myself. This poem is just the product of a fleeting idea, magnified.
Thank you for the kind comments.
Maddy (:
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There was a time,
when I was five
the blade was sharp
and it called to me.
It promised to vanish
this pain in my chest.
But I didn't know...
my grip was lost
and this knife hit the floor.
Release was the goal:
I did not know the word.
Then there was the hate,
that's when I turned eight...
and I had one more reason
to build my own prison.
I thought I had friends
but that one word I lacked.
They'd mock me,
my sister, my mom, my dad.
It is at school
where I've learned the most:
I've learned to dodge blows,
I've read new words
and I've learned not to cry.
It was there I first heard this:
you're gay.
And since then, this stigma
like scarlet has followed
and preyed on my frame.
Their voices would change,
mine was just as high.
Perhaps I was special,
perhaps I was not.
And it was at twelve
that I learned the word suicide.
And I learned it would follow me
for the rest of my life.
I've had many chances,
from when I was five.
I've chosen to live,
to appear happy.
But never will i discard this feeling
of shame and regret.
I've made excuses:
My parents would miss me.
That was a lie.
My sister would cry.
And I knew she wouldn't.
My friends would...
and that claim I just couldn't finish.
And today was the most recent
appearance of the thought in my mind.
I envisioned the deed
and started to cry.
Not because I couldn't, but because today I really had an excuse:
I refuse to die like they'd have me do.
And I owe some money.
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Excellent :D.
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I looked at the site at the link quoted, and found a familiar name. On the right side of the page is a list of bloggers, and Dan Kirk is at the top of the list.
I think Dan is actually one of the co-creators of the site :). I remember the site being announced either in his blog or his forum.
Maddy (:
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That's what I get for not scrolling down on the main page... gotta love the Homer moments.
*reads*
Maddy (:
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Is it possible to post a link? I'm assuming it's either at James' personal website, or over at GA, since I can't seem to find it.
Maddy (:
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And here it is also, posted under the flash fiction forum.
Maddy (:
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Good advice! Thanks for sharing :).
Maddy (:
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Don't really know what to say, as everybody's already expressed how great this piece is. I did love it though.
Maddy (:
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Thunderstorm
in Poets' Corner
Posted
I've actually done my fair share of 'trying'. I'm somewhat successful with short stories, but both my flash fiction and my novels always slip into the poetic... and I don't like that, as it makes me feel self-obsessed. I've thrown quite a few chapters into the recycle bin as a result of this annoying self-awareness. I guess what I'm doing is trying to find that fine line between pure narration and self-indulgence. I'm a bit tired of, as you say, jumping into the pool, as my efforts to write a novel have always resulted in time wasted. So I'm now doing various things to get accustomed to narrate things instead of just throwing whatever comes to mind into paper. (Understand that writing poetry to me comes as naturally as writing this reply... it's as simple as answering a query or replying)
My goal isn't just to write a good story. My goal is to be content with what I write, and therein lies the challenge. And, of course, I thank you for your suggestion :). Perhaps I will do both, if I find the time.
Maddy (: