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Great Prose and Poetry

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QUESTION

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
When Body my good
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door
and wind for an eye

with cloud for a shift
how will I hide?

—May Swenson

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Wed Apr 24, 2013, 1:29 PM
Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in - Leonard Cohen.



~*~

001 -- IntroductionThere are times I wish I could start at the end. Endings are what people cling to; what we remember when the book has been shut. It's the ending we talk about with our friends and stay up until the early hours of morning pondering about. Perhaps that's why endings are so beautiful—it is only then that we know the truth of all which came prior.

If only our beginnings could be as simple. What are we when we start but a blank sheet, ready for anything to be written. Some of us will be etched with beautiful design, calligraphic texts of love letters sent and responded to; others hastily scribbled upon and then crinkled up and tossed into t


The Beginning Never StopsDawn
and ancestors.
This is just the beginning.

I am a child,
but it's only a matter of time
before awareness pays.

See life in the rocks,
roses in the sunshine,
and the boy who lit the stars.
the music she hearsout past town
the girl
dancing in the dark
is hanging by a moment,
a mirror of the past and future.

a trick of the light
and a little closer,
within her grasp
is shining
our good morning.


you need to have a plan...so here's to
conventional wisdom.
1. relocate
to some forgotten shore.
2. fall desperately in love with
     i. the ocean
     ii. the sky
     iii. the honey sunrise and
     iv. the steelgray winter dawn.
3. sink
soul-deep into the water and
breathe.
4a. search out the requisite words
     i. from behind white and blue curtains
     ii. and underneath clam shells
     iii. and in the wakes of fishing boats, and
4b. pluck them from the ceaseless
scrawls of sunlight
against the slopes of waves.
5. make time for
     i. poetry
     ii. and other
        selfish
        pursuits.


To Him, With Loveintimacy is airing out
those facts you have held
against yourself,

allowing someone else
to draw his own conclusions about
your vain pursuits of existence.
Sixteen Sketches of Local Personhood one.

By Method of Loci, Nick remembers the different faces
of every man he's ever slept with, placing them like mannequins
through his childhood home. In the cluttered foyer is the boy who asked him
for his virginity, but in the attic, his husband of one year by law but many more
by virtue of dedication and love reclines against the diamond-shaped window,
backlit by dusty light while smiling with his arms wide open, his legs stuck straight like
The Cross that hangs beside him, a wooden thing abuela brought back from Mexico.

two.

Tamarah cleans the gutters with her hands because the hose
won't work like it used to and the sun beats down


Poem for a MotherWhen I was four
I'd follow you into the bathroom
on sticky feet,

press my little bird hands
into the back pockets of your jeans
while you were washing dishes
at the sink,

babbling on: Mommy, Mommy,
I love you.

Then there was the youth
who played Simon Says
to your aerobic routine.

I took jumps to your steps,
laughing as I tripped,
I wanted to go
where you went

I practiced to be
who you were.

The world split sideways
and I stumbled out
a teen traumatized
by the gory birth.

I'd've sworn you did it to me:
the red plague of my face,
the heartache,
the inexplicable serrating rage,

I beat at you as an extension
of self.



Green FingersUnexpectedly,
Glorious chrysanthemums.
I'd planted carrots...


fun with gender roles: the deadly knighti was four and a soft little empath
without a sex or even form;
not quite what was called for.
someone would come and fix me.

i must have gone well with dark stained
70’s mahogany, ubiquitous lime carpet
and temperamental backgammon sets
that were never to be handled,
much less, spilled with candle wax.

if not love, then give me tools to live.

though our deadly knight was always gone,
some perfunctory war on technology
calling him to live in his office,
in another life,
in another woman,
in another home,
i still believe he taught me something.

it was a noble savagery, i found
playing football at eleven.
i could pound another human
humiliation1

the nerve you must boil in,
kempt and coddled
and fed into your place.
you’re told it is your holy right
to be lead about from thigh to neck
and planned into some laughsome bride.

                                                                                        2

                                No one approaches my opposite pole.
                                                         I follow you to home,
                                                                            to sleep,
                                                  into your twin dimension,
                                               


Peace*

Miss Wallace could have compressed the entire file into one four-second video: Elliot and Jack standing in the clearing, watching Peace's empty body fill with rain.

Instead, she created a new memory bank and named it "Mortality."

Her knowledge of the subject was limited to the definitions they'd fed her at Parent Programming: a condition of impermanence, potential for termination, the impossibility of repair.  Descriptions of life, not the end of it.  They told her she wasn't manufactured to understand death.  What, then, was a twelve-year-old boy who had been emptied of his internal organs?

It was nothing




StayStay with me;
wait with me a while

until the world
is a saner place,

hold my hand,
tell me you love me

The night is all too near

We are all
moving into darkness

I need you
to stay beside me,
hold me close

until the worst of it
passes

If it passes

Stay with me


~*~



Innuit Prayer

I think over again my small adventures, my fears, of all the vital things I had to give and reach and yet, there is only one great thing, the only thing, to live. To see the great day at dawn and the light that fills the world.

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:icon0hgravity:
*0hgravity 2 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you for the fav ^^
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:iconflummoxative:
~Flummoxative 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks very much for the :+fav: on Stay Dreaming. :heart:
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:icondrippingwords:
=DrippingWords 3 days ago  Student Writer
Thanks so much for the fave! :huggle:
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:iconintricately-ordinary:
~intricately-ordinary 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the fave! :iconawwloveplz:
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:iconladylincoln:
`LadyLincoln 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for :+fav:ing my latest work, I always appreciate the support.

:heart:
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Mood: Humor *analillithbar 5 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
:iconthanku-plz::iconfavbounceplz:'s
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:iconconcora:
*Concora 6 days ago   Writer
Thank you for the favourite of Van Gogh. Have a lovely day. :rose:
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:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat 6 days ago   General Artist
thank you so much for the fave(s), dear friend! :cuddle:
your support means so much! :heart:
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:iconleyghan:
*leyghan 6 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
You're very welcome. :tighthug:
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`thetaoofchaos May 16, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:heart:
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