And now for something different?
So I'm taking a creative writing class this semester, but the main emphasis is on poetry. I've accumulated little snippets of stuff through our workshop, so I thought I'd throw some of it out there. A lot of it's not finished or really random, so don't pay much of it any attention. XD
Surrounding eyes with eager taunts and cheers
His amber froth, repeated.
Time came stretched among the table, divied
Along the forks and knives
'Til the edges tugged at his mouth, took it up
And the jittered music shook up his legs
Into a laugh.
--
Second-hand creeping up, stumbling down
Near the five
Onto the six
Minute watches (patient).
Encouraging father: "Just a few steps more."
But hour can scarcely see
Through the sharp ticks and implied yawns
"There's twelve of me here
in a dime-shape, mounted to the wall."
--
(edit of my professor's poem, I added a lot to it)
I burn, I burn
Fingers for wicks
Feathered out with scorched ends
This is the memory of you
The marks upon my hand
Aflame.
My corridor of time is dark,
Uneven.
What I aim to see
And what means I hope to grasp
Are distant
Phantom and fixed futures.
The stone floor cannot transmit
The desire to be and to later be
Only you had hold our our moment
The Certainty of us.
--
Behold the faceless man who walks as they do
With braided shoulders and knots in their backs
To the sound of the death-march
One-two, one-two, one-two.
His breath stills in the air, lingers in it like fog
And beneath their feet are the memories of someone
Mixed into the mud
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
His ankles are bruised, black and blue with wire wound taut
Shuffle, but never run, they say
Duck, but never look
Gunshots.
His head is bowed, neck hot with blood
The roar in the sky ruptures their ears like white sparks
Because they were told to
...
--
When I cried, he just smiled
And pressed my ear to the seashell.
He asked,
"Can you hear the ocean?"
But it was just glass
Just unnoticed dust on my fingertip.
Our lives were comparable
But in the end I wilted for it,
Collapsing into my world
while it bred
And he could only kiss me a false kiss.
With a hand to my face and
Promise in his voice
He said,
"Chin up, dollface."
It wasn't a seashell against my ear
Only a glass.
Only a love I could scarcely
pretend to be mine
With cracking porcelain
Swept up in being his guardian
Caught up in finding myself again.
Surrounding eyes with eager taunts and cheers
His amber froth, repeated.
Time came stretched among the table, divied
Along the forks and knives
'Til the edges tugged at his mouth, took it up
And the jittered music shook up his legs
Into a laugh.
--
Second-hand creeping up, stumbling down
Near the five
Onto the six
Minute watches (patient).
Encouraging father: "Just a few steps more."
But hour can scarcely see
Through the sharp ticks and implied yawns
"There's twelve of me here
in a dime-shape, mounted to the wall."
--
(edit of my professor's poem, I added a lot to it)
I burn, I burn
Fingers for wicks
Feathered out with scorched ends
This is the memory of you
The marks upon my hand
Aflame.
My corridor of time is dark,
Uneven.
What I aim to see
And what means I hope to grasp
Are distant
Phantom and fixed futures.
The stone floor cannot transmit
The desire to be and to later be
Only you had hold our our moment
The Certainty of us.
--
Behold the faceless man who walks as they do
With braided shoulders and knots in their backs
To the sound of the death-march
One-two, one-two, one-two.
His breath stills in the air, lingers in it like fog
And beneath their feet are the memories of someone
Mixed into the mud
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
His ankles are bruised, black and blue with wire wound taut
Shuffle, but never run, they say
Duck, but never look
Gunshots.
His head is bowed, neck hot with blood
The roar in the sky ruptures their ears like white sparks
Because they were told to
...
--
When I cried, he just smiled
And pressed my ear to the seashell.
He asked,
"Can you hear the ocean?"
But it was just glass
Just unnoticed dust on my fingertip.
Our lives were comparable
But in the end I wilted for it,
Collapsing into my world
while it bred
And he could only kiss me a false kiss.
With a hand to my face and
Promise in his voice
He said,
"Chin up, dollface."
It wasn't a seashell against my ear
Only a glass.
Only a love I could scarcely
pretend to be mine
With cracking porcelain
Swept up in being his guardian
Caught up in finding myself again.