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Experimental works, prompts, mostly raw and new writing. A place to hang them while they dry.
The Writing Vein
Go to my main website The Writing Vein.
I have a submissions calendar page. These are culled from P&W, Duotrope, CRWOPPS, emails and friends. Feel free to add the Google calendar in its entirety to your calendar or add specific events.
I have a submissions calendar page. These are culled from P&W, Duotrope, CRWOPPS, emails and friends. Feel free to add the Google calendar in its entirety to your calendar or add specific events.
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2010
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April
(32)
- napwrimo: april 30
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- Razor's Edge for 4/16/10
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- Razor's Edge for 4/2/2010
- napowrimo: april 2
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April
(32)
5 comments:
For That Woman online with the so-called middle-American perspective on rural issues
*
You remind me of my mother
In the old days
Before she woke up
Before she learned
That she didn’t know much
At all
About anything
Before she became
Like the starry nights
And she forgot all the names
Of the constellations
Because
they no longer looked the same
when she found out
they weren’t really constellations
Before she became free
Of tyranny
And beliefs
Of churches
and rituals
Of ranchers
and ideas
Of teachers
And education
Of hippies
And other ideas
Before she let go
Hands out front of her
To push away the darkness
And swam away
(posted for Jenny)
Being Normal
by Dot.
She told me that being normal feels boring
She is so used to the buzz of ADD and the
hum of colors vibrating against her skin and
words dancing on people's shoulders and her
imagination carrying her to see behind the walls
where emotions hide and
dreams take refuge
and hopes wait to be born
and now
with the veil removed and clarity
of what they call normal
she wonders if she can paint again if
she can see the layers of amazement if
she can hear the spoon and the lamp post and the crack in the sidewalk
when they tell her their names
when they sing her a song
when they guide her hand to paint the layers
will she see
hear
touch
feel
will she?
Jail letters from my brother who seemed confused that I would not testify for him
by Deb
The plain brown envelope
burns even my callused fingers
exploding flash of absurdity
trip-wired and
weighted with the generations
of turned faces
the room rocks
a loud crack!
I look down and find
sanity has carelessly
poured itself out
reworked, reconfigured
congealed again
into a lethal puddle
the false rainbow
oily slick
word after word after word
crawls up my thighs
crushing my heart
reaching for my throat
Jenny,
Quite powerful, the image in the last stanza struck something deep for me. Deb
Dot,
Another sigh of satisfaction as I read this one. "where emotions hide and, dreams take refuge, and hopes wait to be born"...ahh...Deb
Deb and Jenny - Your poems are powerful.
Jenny: wow to the last stanza; all of it really - but the end and "before she learned that she didn't know much." I think even readers who don't know the story, would have the same feeling at the end.
Deb: your last one, too. It starts out strong and gets even more so. How you've written this, when it gets to the end, I, too, feel the crawling up, crushing, reaching. Nicely done! A wow to you, too.
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