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vaalski

July 2012

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vaalski: (Default)
I have both an iTouch (semi-elderly) and an iPhone (NEW AND SO EXCELLENT) that I keep with me fairly regularly, and I find that I compose poetry on them in place of the scraps of paper I've traditionally used. It's sort of a weird way to write, but I'm slowly getting used to it. 


Here's one--a tiny little love poem--from late last winter. 





Snow Day


The city is still half-helpless
with snowfall and you
are a long time gone already. 
Come home. The bed
is cold and I am empty. The snow
muffles everything when you
are not here and my back
hurts less from shoveling
and more from missing you. 






There are several scraps from around the same time period, which I present to show you how I make notes about what I'm planning to write. 


3 Feb 2011



my lover eats her breakfast in the dark
...
silk and lace against
the curve of hip and breast





10 March 2011



in the halfcold of night
sailboats on the river
and men in them












The rest of the notes/finished work mostly concern the daemonic/totemic poems I write on commission for my forum. I am verrry vaguely thinking about doing these for money or for proper art trades, but that is maybe a bit of a risky road to go down. Thoughts, TDF folk? (And I suppose anyone else who likes my work, but mostly them.) 
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vaalski: (Default)
I am much too proud of this very ludicrous poem.




I Don't Make Fun of Your Coping Mechanisms

1.
I am the saddest crocodile.
Since I was young all I've
ever really wanted was to 
be able to stick out my tongue
and touch it to my nose, the way
a little boy did once before
my mother rose from shallow water
and dragged him down to visit.

2. 
And of course no one takes
me seriously about how upset
I always get about this. You're only 
crying crocodile tears, they say.
But reptiles have feelings too.
I can't help it if I'm hungry even 
as I cry, and if it looks as if my tears 
are just a lure to bring you close.

3.
I suppose that you could say I eat
my feelings. Do I judge you for the way
you deal with your emotions, the strange 
and sharply human way you wail?
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On seeing each other,
we collided with enough force
to knock the breath
from my lungs,
so that I could still feel the hug
when you let me go.
And I held you
as hard as I could,
a hand reaching up
for the back of your neck,
the other arm wrapped
around broad shoulders.
I forgot to draw breath,
even when I could,
having dismissed it for the moment
as immaterial, unnecessary.
Oh my pirate,
I've missed you.
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my first moments
are clumsy,
movements arrested
twirls that leave me
in the wrong place.
but his hands
on my back
and her words
in my ear
give me courage,
and soon I move
with tangled grace
weaving in and out,
finding the rhythms
of my body
and the music,
and bringing them together.
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vaalski: (Default)
Today I:

forgot to turn off my %^&$ing 7:15 am alarm
was awoken at noon by the other alarm
got up at one
bored myself silly
found a forgotten and rather surprisingly recent poem (see below)
felt sick
had lunch at 4
ate dinner at 6.30
decided to go to a movie with Keli, Erin, and Austin
drove to the theater
discovered next show was at 10:20
had a long discussion about whether to see it later or another now
went into town
went to Seattle's Coffee Shop
had a hot cocoa
looked at pictures
was disappointed by a book with 'erection' in its title - there was no sex
went to a playground at 9 pm
played around for a bit
played hide-and-seek until 10
picked up Sateesh
met up with Max and Skye at the theater
watched the movie
came home


We're going antiquing tomorrow! And I will make brownies at some point this extended-weekend, and walk up to the thrift store, which I have finally located.










poem.


Saying Goodbye to Talia

I put up a gravestone, once
(Rest-in-Peace, my darling),
wrote Deceased by her name
and deleted her,
slow keystroke by slow keystroke,
from my life.
They asked me why I grieved.
She's just a character, they said,
just a girl you built in your mind,
one you didn't even make up.
It's not something that's easy to explain,
I tell them, myself barely understanding.
She was real to me.
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I am running high
on two-days-till-break,
on barely contained relief,
on smiles too bright
for my lips,
on cold fall air --
mixed together, they add
savor to my song
wings to my words
joy to my tune;
I feel as though
I might fly.
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my lips taste of chocolate
and oranges,
and when I laugh
it is with full-breath,
head back, mouth open.
the air tastes of fall
and change,
the feel of it
shocks through my body
like it does each year,
sweeter every time.

I relish the familiarity
of the looks I'm getting,
the raised eyebrows
from those who think
that I'm a little odd,
and the smiles from those
who understand;
I feel more myself
at times like this.


...on second thought, these are two different poems.
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centaur

the sun is melting-hot;
so too is the black horse's back,
from his morning outside.
mounted saddleless, i feel
as if the heat glues us together,
my legs to his sides.
horse and human becoming one,
becoming myth.
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Name Giver

You sit beside me
a silver silhouette in the darkness
moonlight bathing you
your eyes reflect it

I never thought that
I'd be able to sit beside you
regarding you as an equal
not a goddess, unattainable

It's still a shock
waking to find you beside me
it's more than I'd hoped for
to rest in your arms

You sit beside me
a silver silhouette in the darkness
watching the stars
that gave me my name
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Sep. 13th, 2006 07:12 pm

poem

vaalski: (Default)
crossposted (at 7.30 this morning) to [livejournal.com profile] jaolianas.

have I mentioned
that I miss you?
here in this
unfamiliar world
I rememeber all the things
I left undone, unsaid,
unwritten, unthought,
and I hope to find the strength
to do them, say them,
write them, think them,
starting with
just this:
I miss you and I hope
we can talk.
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This is typed from memory, so as soon as I find the actual hard copy it will probably change/revert to that.


Live not by your lover's words
but by your own instead;
even should he say he loves you
or promise that you'll be wed.
For just as you could not survive
on only what he's eating,
and just as his cannot be
the only heart that's beating -
Live not by your lover's words
but speak your own instead;
for they will keep on going
when your love for him is dead.


Barnwritten again, my first rhyming poem in a longtime.
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Cody
his longlean frame
and lolling tongue
remind me of
the wolf that was
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Character Sketches

blueeyed boy
tale, pale, blond
carriage driver in a modern city
with a dull white horse.
looks like death.

(walking-written 05/02)
tall thin girl
hair dyed rainbow
mild-looking; jeans with patches
and a theater-kid shirt
trailed by a small child
who looks like her. who are they?

(subway-scribbled 06/13)
girl, pretty. beautiful.
wiry real-red hair, braided
down to her waist. eyes slate/storm gray
fingers long, paint under nails
carrying an artist's portfolio.
she's seen me watching-writing;
she's moving towards me.
oh god. will she speak?

(park-printed 07/01)

"Hey, writer-girl. I've
seen you here before
with that black notebook,
those multicolor pens.
I've seen you watching."
"I write what-and-who I see."
"Yes. I thought you might.
Myself, I draw. Here - "
"This is of me."
"You are not the only one
who does character sketches.
My dear,
there are other watchers."
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“We can always meet again in dreams”

She comes to sit by me
blond-haired and quiet
tall and pensive, longlimbed,
my strong willed lifeline.
I’m sitting back-to-wall
little monsters purr-curling
around my ankles,
not biting, just waiting,
eyes wide-yellow.
She settles down, her hand
on my arm, steadying us both,
and says, voice accented,
You can’t help them all,
you know. You shouldn’t have to.
It’s too much for one girl.
But you’re trying, aren’t you?
Of course,
I say, to her,
and to the other people’s problems
(little monsters purr-curling)
that now surround us both.
I have to. You did. Remember?
I remember,
she says, softly.
And I understand.
I touch her hand, and smile –
and wake, but know
I’ll see her again soon,
in dreams.
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I curse Europe
for starting nasty trends
like guns, germs, and steel,
and for being superior.
To Mercury -
send Clare there
on a European tour.
That'll teach 'em.




(Doubleposted to bobisreal)
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Good morning, hi.
What?
No, nobody died.
No, I'm not depressed.
Why? Oh.
It's the black,
isn't it?
No, I haven't gone goth,
and no, nothing's wrong.
It's just what I put on
this morning.
No, I'm not rebelling,
and no, this isn't because
I hate Valetine's Day.
I see nothing wrong
with celebrating love,
thought I don't like
the suger-sweetness of
this Hallmark holiday.
Look, see this red sharpie?
Give me your hand.
There.
A valentine for you.
You're not all wrong,
my dears;
the black clothes
aren't totally unrelated
to Valentine's.
But it's not just me
being noncomformist.
My reasons are clear
and simple. For me,
this is a tradition;
just my way of celebrating
a friendship with a girl
who wore black
because Valentine's Day
was a massacre, once.
No, nobody died.
No, nothing's wrong.
This is just
how it is.

&hearts,
me
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On Falling (In Love and Otherwise)
For K&D

Our first meeting
was not a pleasant one.
I was in pain and scared
after taking a fall,
and you were playing hero
to an unwilling damsel,
who just wanted to get back on,
because when you fall off,
that's what you do.
Get back on.
But I was hurt, and badly,
a broken leg that would
cripple me, should I insist
on remounting the beast.
That was the first time
you called me kitten,
but it wouldn't be the last
(I scowled at you for it.
Remember? For a love-name given
by someone I hardly knew).
I don't know just when
I fell in love with you,
which is strange;
usually, I remember falling -
usually, I am afraid of it.
But here, it seems we
fell together, fast and hard,
and then caught each other
somewhere on the way down.




There's another coming, longer and a little less comprehensible to those who have not read Falling, which is what these poems are based off of.


&hearts
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Tempus Amitto

She shrugs her wings open
and stretches them,
the early morning sun
glowing through the membranes.
With a run jump and scramble
I am astride the beast,
settling my knees just behind
the great wing muscles.
With a leap and a bound
that jolts my bones and guts
she flings herself
off the precipice and drops;
my heart is in my throat
until she catches herself.
With a snap of tendons
the huge wings spread wide
and we soar together.
A scream rises in my throat
and a roar in hers,
and we sound them together.
She banks left and I fling out my arms
to echo her great wings.
Clinging with my knees
I feel, for one moment,
weightless, and free...
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So I went to Midnight Mass, and sang in the choir. The sermon was long. I was staring at the model nativity. It was very late. So I'm not really responsible for this.


It is an odd fancy of mine
that after the Baby's birth
the angel stuck around
like a friendly relative
loathe to drive home in the dark,
petting the sheep
feeding the oxen
playing with the donkey's ears
teasing the camel,
congratulating Mary
encouraging Joseph,
and joking with the shepherds.
And then, when he finally departed,
leaving the Christ-child
with a golden-white feather
clutched in one tiny hand.


So I got a blue and white kimono, and a digital camera, and some college stuff, and books. Also tickets to go see Great Big Sea in April from my grandparents. 4 tickets. And I don't have to take my family. Heee.... My bro got MST3K, and we watched that and it was hysterical. THE CAVE DWELLERS: Marvel at how little clothing they are wearing!

"Nice friends you got there, Otto."
"Thanks. I made them myself."

A cookie if you know which movie that's from, and an extra cookie if you know the actor's name who says it. I'll give you a clue: he was in Pod People and The Breakfast Club.
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i don't understand
how one moment
things can be
so sturdy and
so solid
and at the next
become gossamer
fragile
breakable
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