My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Friday, July 20, 2012

4 Can I Have This Dance?: You Made Your Bed

Title:  Bones
Artist:  Little Big Town
Album:  The Road to Here
Genre:  Country

Notes:  I decided with this installment to switch genres once again.  As I mentioned in my first CIHTD? while I have a somewhat eclectic taste in music, country probably outweighs the others.  I have always enjoyed this group--just thinking about their songs has my head bopping up and down; their always fun!

An Aside:  This week at dVerse Poets Pub (a wonderful place for poets from around the world to create, learn, grow and share poetry) they have been celebrating their one year anniversary.  Yesterday's event involved selecting a poem submitted over the course of the year to any of their prompts.  While perusing the different submissions, I came across a poem (and prompt) that I had missed while on my hiatus.  And in doing so was introduced to a new form:  Framed Couplets.  So, crazy me--seeing as how I am not crazy about writing with rhymes--decided to give it a go.  I mention all this so you will forgive the monstrosity below. 

You Made Your Bed
Should you listen close you'll hear the bones;
wooden doors can hardly squelch their moans.
Spawns of deeds you've done that now decay--
haunting you no matter where you lay.
Don't believe the closet door will keep
groaning ghosts away, for they shall creep.
Running scarred will not keep them at bay;
nonetheless you'll try to breakaway.
But there is no place for you to hide,
'cause they're yours--within you they reside.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

5 Last Call: Escape Back Into Hiding?

Escape Back Into Hiding?

How long
before the demons once again
take hold?

their unfurled talons
claw at the inner wall

Every scratch
tears at the resolve
built to protect

How long
before the paranoid delusions
find purchase?

they hop-scotch
along the outskirts of the mind

Every jump
ignites a trail of synapses
meant to be forgotten

How long...

How long...

How long
before this all consuming battle

the peace saught with withdrawal
fades from grasp

Every move
to regain a sense of semblance
opens the doors
to the demons
to the paranoid delusions

But to close the doors
means giving up the fight
means loosing any sense of self

how long
can this war rage on
before there is nothing left
of me?

This week dVerse Poets Pub celebrates it's one year anniversary.  I still recall walking through the door on shaking legs; I just made it...number 157 out of 164.  d'Team  over at dVerse Poets Pub is an amazing group of people whose time and efforts are extra-ordinary.  I'd like to thank them for providing such a welcoming and open environment to share, learn and grow.  Take a moment and check out what they have to offer, as well as exploring a wonderful collection of talented writers for this week's anniversary OpenLinkNight.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

0 Time Capsule: Alone I Sit

Title:  Alone I Sit
Date:  09/10/94
Setting:  In dorm room during freshman year of college
Form:  Free Verse

Alone I sit.
Laughter echoes down the hall;
Somewhere, not here.
Suddenly I am flushed
with loneliness—
I turn the music up trying to drown them out.
Alone I sit.
Happy voices cry out from down the hall;
Somewhere, not here.
Overwhelming, my face is flushed
with tears—
I close my ears so as not to hear them.
Alone I sit.
Laughing, talking, enjoying one another’s company;
I know they’re there—not here.
Alone I sit full of tears—not laughter,
Consumed in silence—not talking,
Burdened with sadness—
Alone, I sit.
Notes:  I can still picture myself sitting at the desk in my dorm room as these words flowed.  Considering the date, I was probably only in school--away from home--for about two to three weeks.  I was still trying to find my way in this new place with no one around who I knew.

I chose this poem this week for two reasons.  The first is that is seemed fitting given the progression of the last two Time Capsules that I find my way out of high school and into college.  While this alone would not lead me to choose this seeing as how I wrote quite a bit of poems in college (even if we restricted it to freshman year).

Out of all those I could have chosen as I shuffled through my poetry folder, this one demonstrated, in a way, why I rarely revise a piece of work once it has been written.  I figured after last week's entry where I posted my first ever poem that involved a rewrite after completing the poem that this would be a good follow up.  This here felt like a good example of how much time I spend in the initial write to make it what I want.  The first draft--or ramblings--possess the essence of the final poem.

Artifact I:  The first write.

Artifact II:  The redesigned poem constructed during the same sitting.