Angsty poetry
Yup. You read that right. Sometimes when I have funky days and I want to put the feelings into words, I get these weird metaphors and stuff. Although I don't like having those weird sort of days, I have to admit that looking at the poetry in retrospect is interesting. I guess that's part being a writer--we have to plunder our own feelings, experiences and moments. It's almost like stealing from yourself a bit, although the work is entirely your own. I've commented before that my best papers are written when I'm angry or annoyed. They become very pointed and focused. My problem is trying to harness the intensity so I don't have to have an bad/weird/funky day to write interesting things. Oh, well. For the curious, here's a sample:
How can I feel so empty--
No sadness. No anger. No fear.
No worry. No thought. Nothing.--
But feel such a heaviness over me?
I am weary, gray-eyed, faded.
I move and seem to live, but only focus, only see the distant horizon.
As my gaze travels ahead, it floats
In a cloud of gray, frozen, but not cld.
It is merely weighted void.
And no, I definitely do not feel that way now. Actually, I didn't entirely feel that way when I wrote it. I sort of took a phrase from my mind and played with it until I came up with some structure and it came together on the paper. I thought the use of dashes was a interesting. I've never tried that before. Ultimately, poetry is one of those things that I don't really do unless I have an idea and I want to try it out. Some of it is really, really bad. This is probably mediocre. I'm not sure, since I don't really keep my stuff together. I suppose I could be like Dickinson and become a neurotic xenophobe, keeping all of my poetry in little packets. Somehow I think the reclusive part would drive me crazy after awhile.
In other news...Ester and I have our little plants growing. They're getting taller, a bit, but I'm not sure how big they're going to get. They've been here for nearly a month now. I wonder when we'll get to see flowers.
The internet here is driving me crazy. Pages don't quite load the first time so I have to keep hitting the refresh button. It's not just me, either. I'm glad that I don't have a lot of online work to do since that would make things really obnoxious.
Refuge is tonight. I'm always excited about that. :-)
How can I feel so empty--
No sadness. No anger. No fear.
No worry. No thought. Nothing.--
But feel such a heaviness over me?
I am weary, gray-eyed, faded.
I move and seem to live, but only focus, only see the distant horizon.
As my gaze travels ahead, it floats
In a cloud of gray, frozen, but not cld.
It is merely weighted void.
And no, I definitely do not feel that way now. Actually, I didn't entirely feel that way when I wrote it. I sort of took a phrase from my mind and played with it until I came up with some structure and it came together on the paper. I thought the use of dashes was a interesting. I've never tried that before. Ultimately, poetry is one of those things that I don't really do unless I have an idea and I want to try it out. Some of it is really, really bad. This is probably mediocre. I'm not sure, since I don't really keep my stuff together. I suppose I could be like Dickinson and become a neurotic xenophobe, keeping all of my poetry in little packets. Somehow I think the reclusive part would drive me crazy after awhile.
In other news...Ester and I have our little plants growing. They're getting taller, a bit, but I'm not sure how big they're going to get. They've been here for nearly a month now. I wonder when we'll get to see flowers.
The internet here is driving me crazy. Pages don't quite load the first time so I have to keep hitting the refresh button. It's not just me, either. I'm glad that I don't have a lot of online work to do since that would make things really obnoxious.
Refuge is tonight. I'm always excited about that. :-)