jackshoegazer: (Leisure/Chair)
For my writing workshop, we were told to write a bad poem.  Since I am not a fan of structured poetry and especially not fond of sonnets, I decided to try and write a sonnet about love.

Sonnet on the Theme of Ice

Your lips are cold like something made of ice,
And when I push back, your lips freeze to mine,
And my heart thinks that’s not so very nice,
It beats alone, like me, tonight, with wine.

I am stymied and corrupt but I think,
That your love could rub and butter me up,
But alas, my tears fell in the mixed drink,
And you drank from my sorry martini cup.

So now I’m drunk and I remember you,
And how I kissed you years after you died,
But listen closely, don’t you misconstrue,
My soul was never so drunk as my pride.

Like ice to keep the vodka freezing cold,
Your lips were warmer than my heart’s black gold.

I actually kind of like it, sadly.


May. 11th, 2011 03:23 pm
jackshoegazer: (Default)
One morning we looked

We had never looked

Before is the name
of the beast we conjured
by looking

All we can do is strive
to stay a hair's breadth
before it.

One eye back, moving
jackshoegazer: (Writing/Die)
There is a certain
feeling I walk away with
more often than not
when I see the ruins of houses
and cabins and stores
and the abandoned home
with walls cracked and broken,
windows missing and
the porch door on one hinge
and a faded sign swinging,
knowing that at one point
someone built it and
loved it and lived it.

Now I understand why we bury our dead.
jackshoegazer: (LSD/Structure)
For my chemistry class (a non-major chemistry class, which I am beginning to regret taking) I have to do a project on three elements. One of the things that I needed to do for this project was "something creative - a poem, collage, song, etc... yours or someone else's."  So, rather than dig around the internet for a poem about tin, tellurium, or xenon, I wrote one.  It's not exactly about tin, but it plays a prominent part.

jackshoegazer: (Writing/Typehead)
Here is the last poem I did for this semester. Some of you may recognize parts of it. At one time it was two separate poems and then I used both of them in a short play I wrote and then I took this part of the play and turned it back into a poem. How's that for plasticity in art!

Aquatic )

jackshoegazer: (Pope/Robert Anton Wilson)
The last poem for my creative writing class is a prose poem and of all of my projects this semester, this I am least content with.  Maybe you will think differently.

jackshoegazer: (Writing/Typehead)
This week's theme was the use of sound.  This is my result:

jackshoegazer: (Writing/Typehead)
This week the assignment was to write a poem inspired by a Weekly World News headline. The headline I received was: GOD'S AUTOGRAPH SELLS FOR $500 MILLION. This is the result:

jackshoegazer: (Writing/Typehead)
For the second assigned poem in my creative writing class, we each had to bring in a small object which we were willing to give away forever, something that had a story behind it - something meaningful. We had to go to the front of the class, hold up our object, tell its story and then whoever wanted it has to "bid" by giving a reason why they wanted it.

An older woman in my class stood up and offered a metal bookmark with a green string. She said that she is very organized, knows where everything is, knows where everything came from and who gave it to her and that she was giving away the bookmark because it didn't have a story. She didn't know where it came from, it didn't mean anything and she didn't want it.

Naturally, I was the only person who bid on it.

So, I've been thinking about this for over a week now, trying to write a poem about it. Under the cut is the result.

But first, the bookmark:

jackshoegazer: (Writing/Typewriter/Girl)
For the remainder of the semester, we will be writing poetry in my creative writing class. I may have mentioned I am not terribly excited about this, but am going to muster as much enthusiasm as I can. Especially in light of the fact that some people in the class, and one in particular that I'd like to boot upside the head, keep whining about how much they hate poetry and "the grotesqueries of the subjective."

The first assignment was a first-line swap.  We wrote the first line of a poem and then the whole class basically randomly traded.  The line I got was "Tonight, dinner can't come soon enough."  Below the cut is my result:

This is Poem Number One )


Mar. 8th, 2008 10:15 pm
jackshoegazer: (Random/Blocks)
i walked through
of melted ice on sun-warmed
and saw the sky
reflected in each
and so i strolled
through heaven stepping
from cloud to cloud.
jackshoegazer: (Writing/Poetry)
over breakfast she said:
"you are like a river in winter;
you look solid,
stable, and
but under the surface
you are running away."
jackshoegazer: (Writing/Poetry)
i was mesmerized this morning
by the shadow of snowflakes
as they
fell under the street lamp
and for a moment
i saw
a balance;
particles of light
dancing through the air
by dark photons playing
on the pavement.
jackshoegazer: (Writing/Poetry)
i feel perfect
and other times
i feel
another existential crisis
coming on.

maybe its ennui
my saturn return
a mild depression
brought on by
seasonal affectiveness
as the days
grow shorter.

or perhaps
i am just pissed
at my neighbor
who honks
his car horn
at 5 am.

but i am thinking
(which is different from
that this is
growing pains
not physical
(my knees don't hurt)
but mental
(my head hurts)
when i am done
i will be

so I fool myself.
jackshoegazer: (Writing/Poetry)
i hate
to start sentences
with i
because it feels
to talk about

i have
spent too much time
and thus negating

i think
the reasons are obvious
the ego is the focus
of our consciousness
and we set the
so small.

i fear
i am frightened
i am afraid
of thinking
of being
jackshoegazer: (Earth Hat Body)

he was talking over her
babbling, explaining.

she screamed.
"I'm an ocean, goddammit!"

he stopped, halted, confused.

she said-
"but all you want to do is build castles in the sand
and leave footprints in the surf."

she walked out
closed the door.

stupid war

Jun. 4th, 2007 07:54 pm
jackshoegazer: (Writinghead)
so many lives
washed under the tide
of a history
they will never
jackshoegazer: (Earth Hat Body)
i have discovered
that angels don't understand
the turning of the tides
and God misunderstood
the movement of the stars
so when he created
the heavens and the earth
he had no idea
his horoscope said
it would be a bad week
for new endeavors.
jackshoegazer: (Empty Shell)
i am writing about writing,
which is a writer's cop-out
or maybe the only insight
i'm allowed.

my throat hurts and everything is broken.
sleep is only an enemy
for those who have forgotten
how to receive it as a friend.

this is the fourth poem.
the others have been erased
but their ghosts still linger,
invisible to the blind.


jackshoegazer: (Default)

February 2012

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