self-absorbed, i'm cute, me

She Dreamt She Was A Bulldozer

She Dreamt She Was Alone In An Empty Field

Poetry Scraps (Archival)
self-absorbed, i'm cute, me
lowestofthedead
In a vain attempt to keep myself writing each day I long ago took up the habit of writing a poem (or two or three) each day just to keep my writing muscles flexed. It is my intention to take the best of these scraps of poetic nonsense and post them here for your (mostly Kelsey's, since I expect that she will read my entries as religiously as I will read hers...and am reading her archives) amusement. Expect more of these entries as I accumulate scraps, and in the mean time here's a few halfway decent ones from throughout the past few months.


Sunlight skitters
You pass through shafts of light
Materializing and dematerializing
Free from constraint
A haze that might be a person
Or a figment
The light hits you
Refracts back
Enters my eyes
And suddenly you exist
A still moment
Like the sun
Rising over trees
Or a loved one’s last breath
You are both tiny;
As subtle as the beat of a butterfly’s wings
And as large as the world
I’m set off balance by
The words escaping from your lips
They seem reluctant to leave
As my eyes are to leave yours



Never before
And never again
One night only
A hushed disagreement forms backstage
And in the catwalk the crew is tense
The sound booth operator is hair trigger
The “On Air” sign is frozen, lifeless
But not for long
The audience holds their breath
As the actors take their places
One man, one woman
On a stage normally as devoid of life
As a lunar landscape
As untouched
As the stars
But tonight it is vibrant
It is filled with a thousand colors
With lights up the actors spring into motion
Their movements are awkward
it is clear that this has not been rehearsed
But the emotion is raw, and real
And when the curtain comes down
There is not a dry eye to be found
The performance that night was no act
So, when a second, third, fourth night is announced
The line goes around the block
Each person hoping to witness what most could only see
Televised on a screen
But their hopes are dashed, for now it is an illusion
As real as the cardboard sets the actors stand in front of
No one knows where the magic went
But, having evaporated
It never returns




“What do you deserve?”
Were the last words I heard
And I haven’t heard
A human voice since

She left early that morning
On a train creeping slowly
Through the fog
Like a cold wind
Or a knife

When I hugged her
It was clear that it had already
Been over
For a long time
It was like hugging
A cardboard box
Full of thumbtacks

What do I deserve?
Am I a good man?
I looked at the cross
Still on my wall
For answers
But I haven’t put much stock
In religion
Since the bombs fell

I can’t chase her
The trains don’t run anymore
Is that what I deserve:
To sit here day after day
And write letters
To a girl with no address?

I’ll go and look out
Across the desert from my
Front porch
Once more
Hoping that each rustle of leaves
In the scrubby, little trees
Is you...
Or at least
Is someone



More to come.


Tags: ,

Oh, yes, I did indeed...
self-absorbed, i'm cute, me
lowestofthedead
If you all haven't noticed by now it's fairly easy to get me to do something on the internet. With the exception of Myspace (yes, I really do not have one and never have) if enough people tell me a certain website is worth joining/watching/reading/etc I will do it because the internet is my second home and I have nothing better to do. This LiveJournal business is a plus because I enjoy writing and therefore will have no trouble finding things to do with this brand new account name and password to remember. That's about it for now, hopefully there won't be many more of these expository journal-type things, as that's not my norm and not how I intend to use this platform for the most part, although I may make exceptions.

I'm sorry you wasted even a small portion of your day reading this; here's to a more interesting second entry.

~Lion

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