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Literature Text
xi.
I saved all my best words
for you.
(You deserve so much more.)
x.
You were angry
before I could have a chance to explain.
Had you stayed, I could have told you;
I only meant that you were a puzzle.
(I just can't figure you out.)
ix.
You've been where I have,
but you were never in this deep.
Or at least you never told me about it.
(So please;
don't pretend to understand.)
viii.
I write about space
to fill it with all the stars
you never look at.
(Stop watching your feet when you walk.)
vii.
If I'm holding too tightly,
it's only because I'm afraid.
(Everyone leaves.)
vi.
It's a cliche;
but it's not me.
It really is you.
I'm only that vulnerable around you.
(I can only be that vulnerable
around you.)
v.
It took me a year to realize
I was lying when I said "not like that - "
I meant it exactly like that.
(You clever boy, you, figuring it out before I did.)
iv.
I want to know what you saw in me
that made you stop. I want to know
why you think I'm better than I am.
(Maybe if I saw what you saw,
I could stop hating myself so much.)
iii.
I forget my umbrella on rainy days
just so you'll have to share.
(Sometimes I'm thankful for your chivalry complex.)
ii.
I think I taught myself to write
just so I could tell you I love you
without stumbling all over my words.
(And maybe one day I'll be brave enough
to tell you with a straight face.)
i.
Or maybe I'll always be a coward.
(I'm jealous of you.)
o.
I saved you all of my best words
but you don't want them
when they're from me.
I saved all my best words
for you.
(You deserve so much more.)
x.
You were angry
before I could have a chance to explain.
Had you stayed, I could have told you;
I only meant that you were a puzzle.
(I just can't figure you out.)
ix.
You've been where I have,
but you were never in this deep.
Or at least you never told me about it.
(So please;
don't pretend to understand.)
viii.
I write about space
to fill it with all the stars
you never look at.
(Stop watching your feet when you walk.)
vii.
If I'm holding too tightly,
it's only because I'm afraid.
(Everyone leaves.)
vi.
It's a cliche;
but it's not me.
It really is you.
I'm only that vulnerable around you.
(I can only be that vulnerable
around you.)
v.
It took me a year to realize
I was lying when I said "not like that - "
I meant it exactly like that.
(You clever boy, you, figuring it out before I did.)
iv.
I want to know what you saw in me
that made you stop. I want to know
why you think I'm better than I am.
(Maybe if I saw what you saw,
I could stop hating myself so much.)
iii.
I forget my umbrella on rainy days
just so you'll have to share.
(Sometimes I'm thankful for your chivalry complex.)
ii.
I think I taught myself to write
just so I could tell you I love you
without stumbling all over my words.
(And maybe one day I'll be brave enough
to tell you with a straight face.)
i.
Or maybe I'll always be a coward.
(I'm jealous of you.)
o.
I saved you all of my best words
but you don't want them
when they're from me.
Literature
left
there comes an evening
each october
when spring is broken:
winter sweeps back in,
swallowing the coast.
the hours are drawn,
long, and quiet -- save
for storming wind --
where pride recedes
to leave the heart
ill-watched, unguided,
for this eve only,
to remember what it has lost.
hands, thick with cold,
shallow-lung'd and lonely,
waiting for chamomile to steep,
sleep to steal:
as the night ticks through
each moment is meticulous,
sliced clean from next
by key-stroke --
throat-formed,
shaped on tongue to fit:
each syllable is moulded
carefully composed,
pressed to curves by thumb
and folded
until, at last,
something of beauty is wrought
Literature
Largesse
Imagine spraying the donation box grey,
Making it a gravestone and
Bow as if to pray;
But instead inscribe "He gave generously"
On the face of Paternoster square.
Remember to strip the cube clean,
Don your human skin
And bring our carrion
Luggage to be picked apart upon arrival.
The crows would like us to queue at gate nine,
And fill our pockets with cash,
Diplomatic immunity works well, so
We'll be patient until we crash.
The Empire of the Crow is a devious place,
So please remember, Sir, to keep
Antebellum in mind, we can't maintain this pace.
Literature
leavetaking
i.
the world is brighter where
dregs of strangers' revels remain --
i keep this half-light for my own.
ii.
i'll stay until the wind sighs a scotch-and-smoke
cliché, til the Muscadet's slipped from the lip
of my wayward
hello.(i know you're there before you do.)
iii.
your night is told in
patchouli-pulse wanders; mine,
in whorls of liqueur-breath. come
close and i'll find the warp
through the weft, the trails telling tales
in synaesthesia --
Platinum Blonde's been 'round and gone.
iv.
(-- closer, find syllables strewn
in an exhale's wake; stolen from my throat-
ful of careless farewells, spin and sway
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
(But I will always write more.)
A variation on a theme (but I'm not telling).
The Rules:
+ List 11 things you want to say to 11 different people.
+ Don't say who they pertain to.
+ Feel free to comment, but don't confirm or answer anything.
+ Never discuss it again.
Was going to play it straight, but it didn't work out. And because I just can't seem to write 100% autobiography, not all of it is true. One day I'll go back and write a real one, according to the actual rules. In the meantime, have fun deciding what is and is not true and who it may or may not go with.
(Sorry to keep dumping depressing things on everyone
)
(Good Lord this is a lot of parentheses.)
TWR Critique: [link]
Questions: Should it have been prosetry instead? I feel like it easily could have been. Does it work as a poem?
Which stanzas work the best/ are your favorite? Which are the weakest?
A variation on a theme (but I'm not telling).
The Rules:
+ List 11 things you want to say to 11 different people.
+ Don't say who they pertain to.
+ Feel free to comment, but don't confirm or answer anything.
+ Never discuss it again.
Was going to play it straight, but it didn't work out. And because I just can't seem to write 100% autobiography, not all of it is true. One day I'll go back and write a real one, according to the actual rules. In the meantime, have fun deciding what is and is not true and who it may or may not go with.
(Sorry to keep dumping depressing things on everyone
)(Good Lord this is a lot of parentheses.)
TWR Critique: [link]
Questions: Should it have been prosetry instead? I feel like it easily could have been. Does it work as a poem?
Which stanzas work the best/ are your favorite? Which are the weakest?
© 2011 - 2024 SilverInkblot
Comments33
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I personally adore this little lit game of eleven thoughts for eleven different people (and if you're interested, here's my version, [link])
What I really enjoy the most, is that no matter how many of them I read, they all share a similar characteristic: the ability to connect simple, simple ideas to create a lovely, complexity of ideas. Separate each stanza could stand on it's own, but essentially, the stanzas are their strongest when they stand together.
My favourite stanza was:
viii.
I write about space
to fill it with all the stars
you never look at.
(Stop watching your feet when you walk.)
As for the weakest stanza, I don't feel like there was one. The first and last stanza seem insignificant alone, but as I mentioned earlier, with the rest of the poem, they simply add to the overall greatness.
I really enjoyed your version! (: