(no subject)
Joke
The jester gives
a deadly grin that
fills with rot and time,
when king and queen
both lift their hands and
make the final sign.
And courtiers turn and
view the light
that filters through the grime
while bells that jingle
tilt to side and
sing their final chimes.
And do you watch the
man in paint who
made the final crime?
Chime, chime, the
sign of time that
breaks you into
words and rhyme and
calls the final
break in time that
makes the final,
pithy sign.
A circle cruel that
splits and cries
and searches deep for
last reprise.
But can you see the
man in paint or
only glints of eyes?
Only such as
I can say, or
such that that implies,
will lend you knowledge
brought in time by
men with coins for eyes.
The dead that know,
the dead that sigh, and
anxious for the
final sign look
wise not to the
dripping skies but
down to earth from
which they rise.
Only men with
coins for eyes can
understand what
sight belies.
Sing that solemn,
dirge-like rhyme.
The jester grins and
starts again among
the dead that
stop and smile.
~The only poem I've written that I like.
I've decided my favorite poet is T.S. Eliot, my favorite book is Catch-22, and my favorite author is Terry Pratchett. Yeah, just decided that. Okay, glad I've got that all figured out. My life now has meaning.
This past week I've actually spent a good amount of time developing a story line for a new story I want to write. Normally I come up with some characters and write until it gets good (or, you know, readable so that my readers don't want to poke my eyes out). I don't really look over the chapters I've already written because it pains me. I already have tons of stories in progress, only two of which I actually update on fictionpress with any kind of regularity. Why do I keep starting new ones? I guess I'm just not satisfied with what I come up with. One of my stories, and ironically the one that more people read, hurts me to read because I think it's so bad. I update because people keep reviewing but I don't like the story. At all.
This time I've come up with a bunch of characters that I'm already starting to like because I'm actually developing some personalities, maybe some personality flaws that make them different from each other. I've come up with names that I think reflect the kind of people I'm trying to create. And my tentative story line involves a fire that occurred a few months before my main character moves into town. Arson is suspected but the case was closed for lack of evidence and my main gal figures out that the person responsible (the fire killed 3 people) is one of seven people, an unlikely group brought together specifically because they know what happened and can't tell anyone.
The fact that I should be taking American Government notes right now doesn't really enter into the equation. But school-wise, I got an 88 on my last Psychology test, and in addition to the extra credit it should balance out the Ds I got on the other two.
I've watched about five Disney movies in the past week. And I can't seem to sit down and read anymore, even though I've been reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamotte pages at a time. I only realized lately that I seem to have a growing stack of books on writing. Maybe they'll be helpful. Maybe I can stop sucking as a writer.
The jester gives
a deadly grin that
fills with rot and time,
when king and queen
both lift their hands and
make the final sign.
And courtiers turn and
view the light
that filters through the grime
while bells that jingle
tilt to side and
sing their final chimes.
And do you watch the
man in paint who
made the final crime?
Chime, chime, the
sign of time that
breaks you into
words and rhyme and
calls the final
break in time that
makes the final,
pithy sign.
A circle cruel that
splits and cries
and searches deep for
last reprise.
But can you see the
man in paint or
only glints of eyes?
Only such as
I can say, or
such that that implies,
will lend you knowledge
brought in time by
men with coins for eyes.
The dead that know,
the dead that sigh, and
anxious for the
final sign look
wise not to the
dripping skies but
down to earth from
which they rise.
Only men with
coins for eyes can
understand what
sight belies.
Sing that solemn,
dirge-like rhyme.
The jester grins and
starts again among
the dead that
stop and smile.
~The only poem I've written that I like.
I've decided my favorite poet is T.S. Eliot, my favorite book is Catch-22, and my favorite author is Terry Pratchett. Yeah, just decided that. Okay, glad I've got that all figured out. My life now has meaning.
This past week I've actually spent a good amount of time developing a story line for a new story I want to write. Normally I come up with some characters and write until it gets good (or, you know, readable so that my readers don't want to poke my eyes out). I don't really look over the chapters I've already written because it pains me. I already have tons of stories in progress, only two of which I actually update on fictionpress with any kind of regularity. Why do I keep starting new ones? I guess I'm just not satisfied with what I come up with. One of my stories, and ironically the one that more people read, hurts me to read because I think it's so bad. I update because people keep reviewing but I don't like the story. At all.
This time I've come up with a bunch of characters that I'm already starting to like because I'm actually developing some personalities, maybe some personality flaws that make them different from each other. I've come up with names that I think reflect the kind of people I'm trying to create. And my tentative story line involves a fire that occurred a few months before my main character moves into town. Arson is suspected but the case was closed for lack of evidence and my main gal figures out that the person responsible (the fire killed 3 people) is one of seven people, an unlikely group brought together specifically because they know what happened and can't tell anyone.
The fact that I should be taking American Government notes right now doesn't really enter into the equation. But school-wise, I got an 88 on my last Psychology test, and in addition to the extra credit it should balance out the Ds I got on the other two.
I've watched about five Disney movies in the past week. And I can't seem to sit down and read anymore, even though I've been reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamotte pages at a time. I only realized lately that I seem to have a growing stack of books on writing. Maybe they'll be helpful. Maybe I can stop sucking as a writer.