(no subject)
Some el poetry-o.
I recently started school (yay) and one of my classes this semester is Creative Writing. We've already had to write several things and I figured you guys might be interested in some of it.
The first poem, we had to do about a random object we use every day but don't necessarily think about much.
Necklace
Beauty is pain-that’s what they tell me
So I guess it makes sense to
Put a string
Around
Your
Neck
We’re all suicidal anyway
Suicidal, anorexic, bulimic, narcissistic, apathetic
Stupid
A lanky body with no bone structure
But still strong, still there
A call to glance at cleavage
Gold, pearls, rubies, plastic
Twine, cord, chain, thread
Go ahead and try it on
It’s only some decorated string
Or a noose
This second one, we had to do about a dream. It was supposed to be an "original" dream, so it didn't have to actually have been a dream you had but I used a day dream, sort of. I completed the day dream and filled in the blanks as I wrote the poem. The dream itself is usually much more vague. Enjoy this one!
Dream
As I stare up at her endless, aching eyes
I know. I have always known
She was born singing
She, this blonde in the clinging
Sea she calls her “Red Dress”
Is the Last Unicorn of her kind: the only
True singer left.
She lures men into this foggy, tinsel bar of theirs
Seducing them with her croon
But this seduction is not sinister
Perhaps not even intentional
After all, she only makes twenty cents an hour for her troubles
Then why does she stay?
The man in front gazes on, entranced
But spent and pained beneath
Unaware that he is sharing an expression with
Dozens
And they, too, are oblivious
He is the answer
And all the others, these
War heroes
She distracts them from what they are lately
Aware of because now,
In this romantic decade of nineteen-hundred-forty-
Painted tragic crimson with blood and lipstick and blushes
--They are no longer fortunately ignorant,
Rightfully innocent.
They are Killers
Trained and licensed
And it’s a cumbersome burden, being a killer
So they let Miss Mary seduce them
With melodies of Lost Lovers and other
Unglamorous aspects
While I watch on, a forgotten ghost
And lastly, we had to do an ode to a piece of clothing. My mom is an LNA (licensed nurse's assistant) and I decided to write about her scrubs.
Scrubs
My mother is a warrior
She wakes in her bedroom to the
Jolting chirp-an ungodly
Sound to hear at any hour-
Of her alarm.
And then she puts on her
Uniform
This uniform does not include
Stars, ranks, or any other
Glittering honorary distractions
Sometimes it features flowers or
Elvis or Simba
Matched with solid color pants
Pockets or no
Her dog tag is not a tag at all
But rather a lanyard
Clipped to a thin, plastic card
Hosting a bold, smiling likeness and a name
Her battle boots are just sneakers, nothing more
A sixteen-hour day demands
Comfortable shoes
My mother is a warrior
In her James Dean scrub top and
Ugly solid pants
As she drives to preserve lives at the
Nursing home
I recently started school (yay) and one of my classes this semester is Creative Writing. We've already had to write several things and I figured you guys might be interested in some of it.
The first poem, we had to do about a random object we use every day but don't necessarily think about much.
Necklace
Beauty is pain-that’s what they tell me
So I guess it makes sense to
Put a string
Around
Your
Neck
We’re all suicidal anyway
Suicidal, anorexic, bulimic, narcissistic, apathetic
Stupid
A lanky body with no bone structure
But still strong, still there
A call to glance at cleavage
Gold, pearls, rubies, plastic
Twine, cord, chain, thread
Go ahead and try it on
It’s only some decorated string
Or a noose
This second one, we had to do about a dream. It was supposed to be an "original" dream, so it didn't have to actually have been a dream you had but I used a day dream, sort of. I completed the day dream and filled in the blanks as I wrote the poem. The dream itself is usually much more vague. Enjoy this one!
Dream
As I stare up at her endless, aching eyes
I know. I have always known
She was born singing
She, this blonde in the clinging
Sea she calls her “Red Dress”
Is the Last Unicorn of her kind: the only
True singer left.
She lures men into this foggy, tinsel bar of theirs
Seducing them with her croon
But this seduction is not sinister
Perhaps not even intentional
After all, she only makes twenty cents an hour for her troubles
Then why does she stay?
The man in front gazes on, entranced
But spent and pained beneath
Unaware that he is sharing an expression with
Dozens
And they, too, are oblivious
He is the answer
And all the others, these
War heroes
She distracts them from what they are lately
Aware of because now,
In this romantic decade of nineteen-hundred-forty-
Painted tragic crimson with blood and lipstick and blushes
--They are no longer fortunately ignorant,
Rightfully innocent.
They are Killers
Trained and licensed
And it’s a cumbersome burden, being a killer
So they let Miss Mary seduce them
With melodies of Lost Lovers and other
Unglamorous aspects
While I watch on, a forgotten ghost
And lastly, we had to do an ode to a piece of clothing. My mom is an LNA (licensed nurse's assistant) and I decided to write about her scrubs.
Scrubs
My mother is a warrior
She wakes in her bedroom to the
Jolting chirp-an ungodly
Sound to hear at any hour-
Of her alarm.
And then she puts on her
Uniform
This uniform does not include
Stars, ranks, or any other
Glittering honorary distractions
Sometimes it features flowers or
Elvis or Simba
Matched with solid color pants
Pockets or no
Her dog tag is not a tag at all
But rather a lanyard
Clipped to a thin, plastic card
Hosting a bold, smiling likeness and a name
Her battle boots are just sneakers, nothing more
A sixteen-hour day demands
Comfortable shoes
My mother is a warrior
In her James Dean scrub top and
Ugly solid pants
As she drives to preserve lives at the
Nursing home