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#1 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

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Posted 28 December 2006 - 02:33 AM

This is more of an abstract journal than anything: a collection of my thoughts and random tingles of inspiration...

- I'd like to thank Katie, who has been diligent in terms of reading all of my previous writings and commenting on all of them.

- I'd like to thank my sister.

Earlier works of mine, to warn you of what you're looking at:..

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jun 2 2006, 02:11 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
June 1, 2006

Static
- for little Swaye

The randomized pattern
Fails to discontinue.
Disturbing streaks
Ascend the plastic screen,
Leaving me here with
Undefined terms.
Invading the space
From its little cube,
I fear the spheres
That flicker in opposites,
Screaming the silence
Catalyzed by wires.
Soul attached to my
Breakable surface,
Over again
I reviewed your dead expression:
Such beautiful features
That never knew my heart.
I left with you
A piece of jade
To dissolve in the dirt
(on your skin).
Remembering slits
The wired copper
(instead of letting it bleed):
The angles collapsing
And colors imploding,
Leaving me to stare
At the default channel -
My way to forget the feeling
Of color.


QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jun 28 2006, 10:21 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
June 26, 2006

Puppet

I climbed in next to
Spheres without
An iris:
Ice dampened the sheets
And warped the wood
To sinking.
Erotic, the apparel
Of stone-kissed skin:
Through the nauseating
Exposure of
Conscious scars,
Relics are alien
To the object's tendons.
(Watch as I pull
away the rib cage:
no heart occupies
the idle sepulcher.)
Watercolor leaks from
My tear ducts:
Lust must come in colors.
My canvas, the skeleton I hold
Displays no retina
(though it understands).
My skin is the acknowledgment:
Why must I explain
That I'm here?
I implanted
Ribbons
Into its throat (for words);
They whisper only
To my head.
An imagined breath
Of "loved"
Eradicates reality:
This carcass is my
Puppet -
The stringless friend.


An example of one of my many "thought poems" (lack of pattern):

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Sep 18 2006, 03:42 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Paraphrasing
9/18/06

Bipolar archway
Extending off a stairwell:
Jars of lightbulbs / fastened
To the shivering table. / My
Bed stops floating
Once it hits the ceiling:
I haven't scribbled out
A word yet. / Amazing.
"Go to sleep. You are
such a liar." / (I can't
reach the bedpost?)
"Fetch [the dog] a ladder."
(I look like a geisha
wearing this facial cream.)
Cocooned in bed: insomnia
Left me / a Hallmark card.
Mother, this twin bed
Is too big for me.
(Drowning in the mattress.)
"No fighting me. Take these pills."
(There's / six this time, instead
of five?) Muffled words.
I swear this blanket
Has a needle, and it's
Kidnapping my mouth.
"Apologize for saying that."
(But I'm not claustrophobic.)
Half circles of amputated
Fingernails / drift with me
In the cotton air.
"Your life is meaningless."
(I lost the butterfly wing
to my earring. I'll shove a
new pair / into your face.)
The sky asked my permission
To rip the ceiling open.
God is wasting his time:
I already measured
A hollow space in the ground.
It's the size
Of Tory's twin bed:
I couldn't rotate the moon
To catch mine in high tide.
(But I'm sure / you'll
forgive me, love.)
Nails clenching their teeth
At painful acute angles:
They're making a funny-shaped
Box / that I'm expected to stay in.
"Who was over here
while I was gone?"
(He never left, mother.)
Descending
Into space,
Descending
Further / into space.
Melting into a comfortable position:
Sleep / will come.
(And you'll share it with me.)



QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Oct 7 2006, 11:48 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
10/7/06


Dark purple door knob: an
Off-white note / dangles from
Clear tape, formed by small
Spiders in / given time. My
Thoughts have spread to them, to
Influence their spinning / techniques.
I hope they understand my / sympathy
Towards their / sensitivity. (Those two
words / sound too much alike.)
"Your brain is no different than your
heart, lungs, or kidneys." (You should
really put / a fish tank in here. I'd
take more interest / in the air bubbles
than the fish.) Brochures lining
His walls: did he want / to be a
Salesman when he grew up?
"We sort of have to / live with you."
(I already told you / that I was so sorry.)
"Depression": even the light blue / paper
Looks sad. I want to ignore the fact
That his doorknob / is never opened
(and therefore abused), then nail it
(until it bleeds) into my blue door.
"Your words mean nothing." (Transplanting
weeds / from our neighbor's yard
to kill off these stupid daisies. Can't
hear you / right now.) "...Or there's going
to be consequences." (One, two, three,
four / five, six, / seven, eight, nine...)
The clock I just made / tick
Crawled up a willow tree's / fingers
- in pieces - and glued itself
To the tumor in its trunk, reassembled.
"And we won't be back / for a few more
days." I hear the ticking / stop pulsating
As you drive away, my / blue door
Above me, tied to / the rafters in our shed.
(Did I / break something again?) "It's
a sort / of purple color." (It says "domestic
violence": why did you / put a picture of
flowers on it?) / He stalks to the window,
Noticing his willow tree's new abnormality:
The spiders flee, my note / they spun
Reading "OPEN ME" / canoing past
Coffee-stained curtains. These knuckles
Turn white to grip them; I've got to / clean up
The vomit / my esophagus / keeps eating.
(Don't look / for a while.) Arachnids
Swim through in the air / as I hope
They'll land in my eyelashes: I realize,
Now that I'm / slowly counting
To one hundred, that I forgot / to
Give them my notebook
Full of goodbyes. (Your name / is
still ringing in my head...) One, two,
twenty-five, thirty-two, / six... Alarm.
The "coo-coo" bird is telling me
To run while I can. Tory...
[thoughts quiet; tongue counts]
Ninety-nine, one hundred...
(one hundred and one.)


..and this is the last poem I wrote prior to the one I shall be posting soon:

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Nov 11 2006, 10:08 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
For Tory.

Tree
11/11/06

Naive earthworms,
Tangled in green:
Envying / threads
Of grass. Higher
The spiders climb
Up through / my neck
To reach >> hollow
palms. My / thoughts
Hinder / their webs;
cause them / to sink.
I'm waiting
h-e-r-e, / to drop
butterfly's cocoons...

(..and when I see you,
everything. else. is. nothing:
that fence over there
wears chaplets of
spherical mirrors / and it
waits / for the death / of
my chlorophyll...)


Watching / birds, hoping they'll
swallow
the remainders
of my / forked wrists.

(..you are
my neighbor:
hello / to my
dearest friend --
what I'm lusting after...)


My skin / aches
To be peeled back
for sun: baby,
I have / so many artificial
Rings --> I've put there,
in hopes that you'll
Cover up / my tumor
By growing / into me
(and be my only circle)...

(Every year, we'd form
a shaky figure eight
and I'd / shiver for you
when winter / left us naked...)


How I envy / the
earthworms... They / could
Slither --> to you, and whisper
What was on their minds
while you / drank
puddles of rain...

(I guess I'm just
Waiting / for the death
of spring...)


#2 Zelda Princess

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Posted 28 December 2006 - 07:52 AM

Muscle Fatigue
12/24/06


Marker etched into
these schlera: eyelids
closing to / limit this
stinging. Optic nerve
begs for an image:
stop pulsing / eardrum.
You don't live by my lungs.

(She is not fair / to us,
the fingers tell my pel-
vis. And we, we feel
like our substance / would
be a better cornea
.)

Shut up, my vision: I
don't see that. Knees,
bend; tendons in these ankles,
move... Stop looking at your-
self / in the mirror.

(Let's tell her what
she needs to know, for she has
many things to learn. We'll
pluck out all her eyelashes
and weave them as a
halo...
)

Out of my barrier named
"Wi(n)dow", the trees
form a complex mound.
"This is our lightless
city... We even get rain."
{My hair / acts as
a dust pan: prizing the strands
of someone else's dream.}

(Make the vitreous humor
her blood. Wrists bend,
co-operate. We'll use
vertebrae / as the knife
.)

>> Reaching for your jaw (and)
pinching the nerves / at the point.
Please open your mouth, let me
kiss you...

(Temples stiffen; paralyze
nose from filtering
small particles of your
--> diaphram, that I'm
breathing.)

Tongue / floating
to the top of
your palate; vocal cords
softening...

(Toenails detach; climb up
my inner thigh:
I think it's you.
Heart . churns . )

>> Faster, love. I feel
alive. Yes, that's my
stomach...

(What is she doing?
I need a mirror.
Scapulae
turn to crabs; click together
as they search closet doors.)

Skin, skin: Handson', you have
such beautiful skin...
{Wrapping my legs
around your waist;
transferring speechlessness
to your tongue.}

(Static air pounces my eyes:
digs its claws / deeply inside.
Can't see you.
Nails / replace the selfless eyelids
that loved my irses:
..that wasn't you, who slowly
conquered my neck..?
)

Unzip, unzip: hyoid bone / splits.
Begging for / everything back with
quiet gestures. Please, please,
don't take that away from me...

{Skin crackles; hisses.}

"He never was present: you've been
dreaming again."
(Marrow gnaws
at my bones / until
they disolve into white flags,
tingling everywhere
to let me feel more
loneliness.)

>> Sutures cry alone
without the sympathy of
Cranium. "We were so convinced,
for a year ago, the blood supplied to her eyes
by tiny vessels / weren't there.
They looks like branches now."

(Ribs cough in unison;
heart falls into my lungs,
falls into my lungs.)

I go back to sleep,
dragging along
my heavy sutures...

(Halo of eyelashes
slides beyond my head:
it floats / to the fingerless stars
then falls apart
in their hands.)

#3 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

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Posted 28 December 2006 - 05:25 PM

QUOTE
I'd also like to thank Katie, who has been diligent in terms of reading all of my previous writing and commenting on every. single. one.


You're welcome, I love reading your poems, it's no problem...

I was glad to see this, I was worried you'd deleted all your old stuff...it scared me haha

I'm reading your newest poem, and I will comment, I just need to collect my thoughts first...

#4 BreakTheReflection

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Posted 30 December 2006 - 02:29 AM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Dec 27 2006, 11:52 PM) View Post
My latest poem, after a long period of writer's block...
Muscle Fatigue
12/24/06
Marker etched into
these schlera: eyelids
closing to / limit this
stinging. Optic nerve
begs for an image:
stop pulsing / eardrum.
You don't live by my lungs.

(She is not fair / to us,
the fingers tell my pel-
vis. And we, we feel
like our substance / would
be a better cornea
.)

Shut up, my vision: I
don't see that. Knees,
bend; tendons in these ankles,
move... Stop looking at your-
self / in the mirror.

(Let's tell her what
she needs to know, for she has
many things to learn. We'll
pluck out all her eyelashes
and weave them as a
halo...
)

Out of my barrier named
"Wi(n)dow", the trees
form a complex mound.
"This is our lightless
city... We even get rain."
{My hair / acts as
a dust pan: prizing the strands
of someone else's dream.}

(Make the vitreous humor
her blood. Wrists bend,
co-operate. We'll use
vertebrae / as the knife
.)

>> Reaching for your jaw (and)
pinching the nerves / at the point.
Please open your mouth, let me
kiss you...

(Temples stiffen; paralyze
nose from filtering
small particles of your
--> diaphram, that I'm
breathing.)

Tongue / floating
to the top of
your palate; vocal cords
softening...

(Toenails detach; climb up
my inner thigh:
I think it's you.
Heart . churns . )

>> Faster, love. I feel
alive. Yes, that's my
stomach...

(What is she doing?
I need a mirror.
Scapulae
turn to crabs; click together
as they search closet doors.)

Skin, skin: Handson', you have
such beautiful skin...
{Wrapping my legs
around your waist;
transferring speechlessness
to your tongue.}

(Static air pounces my eyes:
digs its claws / deeply inside.
Can't see you.
Nails / replace the selfless eyelids
that loved my irses:
..that wasn't you, who slowly
conquered my neck..?
)

Unzip, unzip: hyoid bone / splits.
Begging for / everything back with
quiet gestures. Please, please,
don't take that away from me...

{Skin crackles; hisses.}

"He never was present: you've been
dreaming again."
(Marrow gnaws
at my bones / until
they disolve into white flags,
tingling everywhere
to let me feel more
loneliness.)

>> Sutures cry alone
without the sympathy of
Cranium. "We were so convinced,
for a year ago, the blood supplied to her eyes
by tiny vessels / weren't there.
They looks like branches now."

(Ribs cough in unison;
heart falls into my lungs,
falls into my lungs.)

I go back to sleep,
dragging along
my heavy sutures...

(Halo of eyelashes
slides beyond my head:
it floats / to the fingerless stars
then falls apart
in their hands.)


This poem is amazing, Jess. I don't really know what to say about it...haha just that it didn't have a dull moment in it. I love all of it, all the lines about different body parts were really good. Everything seemed so alive. I can't really say much more, sorry. You write beautifully, remember that.

#5 Rogue Psychology

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Posted 30 December 2006 - 02:37 AM

pretty good poem. im impressed yes.gif

#6 Zelda Princess

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Posted 28 January 2007 - 01:14 PM

This one's called "I Have No Idea What This Is / Worst Poem I've Ever Written".

1/27/07


The trampoline / is now diseased:
my sores have given birth
to bastard fluid, --> painting
my tendons green / as I
{jump} and {spin}, {jump} and
spin... (Grass of earth, how do
you live? You can coil, you can wince
into concrete arms.... Are you sharp? are
you quills? Does the earth require love / from you?)
Tree above?--oh, stop asking that question:
yes, I can recite / the seasons backwards.
Depression, Anger, Lust, Hatered.
(I wish . the latter . were dead .)

--
Creak. Creak.
I can see--...
(drum, drum)
..between your ribs.
(hmm, hmm...)
And yes, I stained--...
(crash, crash)
..your virgin soles.
(drum, drum)
--
To tree above: what is
the sun? It nailed my head
into mid-air / while I was small,
laughing on daddy-got-me-a-trampoline,
and when I fell
I couldn't breathe.
--
(Ba.a, ba.a)
Airplanes fly (creak. creak.)
up to the angles
(hmm, hmm)
--
Summer will crawl / into my legs,
bursting / with the rockets
that lubricate my feet. I was
looking forward to summer... looking forward
to a beautiful summer with--...
(Hinges in my neck tighten; tree slurs
some messy words. They / want me
to stop spinning now.
The grass / doesn't want / to bathe in vomit.
They cry for "rain".)
--
(drum, drum)
But you aren't (crash, crash)
going to... (creak.)
cry, oh...
(hmm, hmm)

#7 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 28 January 2007 - 01:39 PM

A poem I never finished...


1/1/07


Termites yawning; stretching
their fetal / positions. Sprouting
from / the pores / in
my hands / on the que
of each --> quiet
click, click, click.
(Lightswitch rehangs / its head,
hatching stars
within eggshells
every . other . expansion .
of our solitary / pupils.)
Pulping / the flesh
of each other's tails, the
termites are growing
and turning
into bridges.
(You're sleepless tonight,
like traffic light signals
recycling their colors.)
A cold garland of skin
makes my stomach wince,
walking softly / over my
breasts and resting
in ice... (I search for a head,
wondering if it's you, then ask
if you're going to sleep there?)
"Wires, they are," answer
the insects, searching blindly
for my door.

#8 BreakTheReflection

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Posted 29 January 2007 - 05:20 AM

What in the world? I thought I had replied to this last poem...*sigh* the curse of having self-diagnosed juvenile alzheimer's.

anyway, on the to commenting!

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jan 28 2007, 05:14 AM) View Post
This was something my sub-conscience ventilated, I guess... I have only a slight outline of what this is, and I also think it's the worst poem I've ever written... doesn't make any sense, but I'll post it anyway...
1/27/07
The trampoline / is now diseased:
My sores have given birth
to bastard fluid, --> painting
my tendons green / as I
{jump} and {spin}, {jump} and
spin... (Grass of earth, how do
you live? You can coil, you can wince
into concrete arms.... Are you sharp? are
you quills? Does the earth require love / from you?)
Tree above?--oh, stop asking that question:
yes, I can recite / the seasons backwards.
Depression, Anger, Lust, Hatered.
(I wish . the latter . were dead .)

--
Creak. Creak.
I can see--...
(drum, drum)
..between your thighs.
(hmm, hmm...)
And yes, I stained--...
(crash, crash)
..your virgin soles.
(drum, drum)
--
To tree above: what is
the sun? It nailed my head
into mid-air / while I was small,
laughing on daddy-got-me-a-trampoline,
and when I fell
I couldn't breathe.
--
(Ba.a, ba.a)
Airplanes fly (creak. creak.)
up to the angles
(crash, crash)
at thirty-five. (hmm, hmm) *
--
Summer will crawl / into my legs,
bursting / with the rockets
that lubricate my feet. I was
looking forward to summer... looking forward
to a beautiful summer with--...
(Hinges in my neck tighten; tree slurs
some messy words. They / want me
to stop spinning now.
The grass / doesn't want / to bathe in vomit.
They cry for "rain".)
--
(drum, drum)
But you aren't (crash, crash)
going to... (creak.)
cry, oh...
(hmm, hmm)
* "Airplanes fly up to the angles at thirty-five" is apparently something I said when I was four... It's been bugging me what I meant...


Wow. Your poems always leave me speechless. I loved this, the rhythm of it is just amazing. I like all the sounds you threw in, they really added life to this poem, I could imagine everything so well. I like how you used something you said when you were four to build a poem around. This will sound stupid but its like the limits of reality don't exist in your poetry. You make everything seem possible...

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jan 28 2007, 05:39 AM) View Post
A poem I never finished... Also no title, I apologize...
1/1/07
Termites yawning; stretching
their fetal / positions. Sprouting
from / the pores / in
my hands / on the que
of each --> quiet
click, click, click.
(Lightswitch rehangs / its head,
hatching stars
within eggshells
every . other . expansion .
of our solitary / pupils.)
Pulping / the flesh
of each other's tails, the
termites are growing
and turning
into bridges.
(You're sleepless tonight,
like traffic light signals
recycling their colors.)
A cold garland of skin
makes my stomach wince,
walking softly / over my
breasts and resting
in ice... (I search for a head,
wondering if it's you, then ask
if you're going to sleep there?)
"Wires, they are," answer
the insects, searching blindly
for my door.

-unfinished-


Again, you can make anything seem possible.

"Termites yawning; stretching
their fetal / positions. Sprouting
from / the pores / in
my hands "

I could almost feel what that would be like. I will sound like a nut, but I just feel...excited about your poems, haha. You should put a book together, Jess. I would definitely buy it. I wish I could explain what I think about your writing...but, words fail me. Just keep up the amazing work...

#9 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 17 February 2007 - 02:37 AM

This poem was deleted due to wtf?ness.

#10 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 17 February 2007 - 03:56 AM

This response to the poem above was deleted due to wtf?ness.

#11 BreakTheReflection

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Posted 20 February 2007 - 06:29 PM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Feb 16 2007, 06:37 PM) View Post
- A story poem, involving four characters: C1, C2, C3, and C4... Note that C3's thoughts are in "thought poem form"... this is really long... I apologize...
..And Our Daydreams Were Concurrent
2/14/07
C1: A lump of gray
scuttles / across my dresser; pauses
at the edges, feet laden
with dust.
Its antennae / fold;
sneeze
dry air
as I watch
the walls 'round --> shrivel
into prunes. (They [almost]
shot their guts / into the
stained-glass eyeballs
above / this room.
Would've made
the owner of this head
blink.)

"Go on... you can roam freely
in your prison now."
(I look down at my
quiet legs, crossed as though
cement is wonderful
to sit in
, and I wish them more
[triangular], for if I were
a cricket, I could
sing when attacking / the skin;
when looking for
words underneath...
--
C2: With my yellow wings, I strum
'yield, yield, yield' as the / sun
chokes on the gravity in its head
that attracts heavy colors
during sunsets.
I sing and I sing
and I sing when / feathers of dawn
retract, as nocturnal traffic lights
lull me awake. The tide of atmosphere
is low tonight: we all sink into
the hadal zone
, perhaps to hear
moonlight lick the surface...

--
C1: My moth
flies over to / a wire
clenched by the North
and South wall's [teeth]
;
reminds me of a / star
straddling power lines...
(I do not walk, but crawl
to the white, twisted
tube...)
--
C2: The buzz of
coughing lights / draws me near.
Black, the road; yellow, my wings.
Here, I'll fiddle / for you...

--
C1: ..Now reversing birth; I have dug
my fingernails into / the optical nerve,
and how it feels
like a womb.
Ripping the tissue (hearing cells
scream), pray I climb into < vision's stomach
and sew it closed. Like / a tunnel, I see
through the pupil...
--
C2: To the misseltoe, I now sing:
"What initials do you bear? why
do women brave such wooden arms
to amputate your fingers?

Mis-sel-toe, mis-sel-toe: you are
a disease..."

--
C3: Surveying my mis-matching
socks to smile... One black, one pink:
no one would get this...

(..Oh, she lied to me.. she lied to me..)

>> The walls / are drowning in red:
the bed is beneath us, but I don't
feel it anymore... parallel--floating here?
--
our hearts web the ceiling
and our stomachs birth
blankets...


(Then remember my eyes; watch / how fast
the ground is going by... Turn -> my face
to her mouth (and) watch / the spiders
crawling into her throat [with]
moss and lichen on their backs...)


<<..and I feel like we're gears
in a clock / with a smooth, smooth
stride... so warm
... and I can't describe
how. I. know. you'd
look at me...

(Tory.. our souls would be the sperm
and our eyes would be the egg...)

(..Now her lightning slurs
turn to silence. Her face is white
and purple?
)

"Mommy, am I
pretty?.."
--

. . .causes of the crash are still unknown. The driver, mother of four, may have been under the influence of drugs or alcohol, though daughter refuses to testify. . .recent-ex-husband claims "suicide". . .

--
C1: The room {flutters}; I am
re-born
. The gray moth
whizzes past / my naked head,
[breaking] the stain-glass irises
above --> to enter at-
mos-phere.
--
The moth, C4: ..and I'll choke, and I'll
kill / your every croak. Stop your wretched
singing: her every bone is what you aimed
to break.

--
C2: My singing did nothing, but now
my wings scream red, to halt. The traffic
cannot see this. What did you do? what
did you do? Feelings are not supposed to
leave the head.


------------------


I am speechless at the moment. I loved all of this poem. It was all put together beautifully. I loved the rhythm and the flow of all the lines. And as usual, you filled this porm with so many original images and ideas. There wasn't a dull moment here. You have the ability to tap into my imagination with your writing. I can see everything you write about so clearly. I look forward to seeing you add more to this...this is one of my favorites from you so far, Jess...I wish I could say more.

#12 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 07 March 2007 - 04:36 AM

Thank you, Katie.. I really appreciate comments like that...

This came from one of my dreams.


6/3/07


RED RIBBONS
flying through my head
it's so funny how he makes you laugh
oh, it's so funny that he makes you laugh.

"mom.my. where's. myy . suit.case?
daddy's gonna shoot her
'cause she's a deeeer
and mommy / there's a
waterfall
and i'm . a . tadpole."

(girls laughing)
"Jessica, you got a letter..."
hahahahah
someone can't find you.

(my little brother's all dressed in white,
holding a green lightbulb
and looking for me)
"he makes you laugh, but not me?
Jess, where are you?! I feel like
a grasshopper
and miss you
terribly
." (he looks in a closet
that bursts open, gray moths
flying out.) "..Jess?"

i'm a little girl
standing before a beige and green house
remember that off-white skirt I had?
daddy walks over; pinches my waist;
and forgets about brother. "it's perfect,"
he smiles/grins.


a little church in the middle of nowhere
tumbleweed
parking lot
tarantulas
inviting one up my arm


red ribbons,
red ribbons:
mommy used to tear out my hair
strand by strand
"sorry"
then crown me queen
of the far side of the rainbow.


(here, I turn into a red deer
after running naked through a neighborhood
with only beige and green houses
birds are singing
but everything else is dead
i want my bird / so badly
i scream his name
and forget about brother)

BANG

(girls laughing)
ahahahaha
you've got a shiny stare

oh, red ribbons
haha, i've gotta bullet
where my veins used to be.


("mawmmy", i squeal,
"i miss your red ribbons")

#13 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

    Sylvia Plath

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Posted 11 March 2007 - 03:12 AM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Mar 6 2007, 08:36 PM) View Post
Thank you, Katie.. I really appreciate comments like that...

..This poem came straight out of the blue. It's never happened to me before, but while I was dreaming, my voice narrated a poem as some strange images went by... it only took me a few minutes to remember everything I said... this is kind of repetitive though, I'm sorry... didn't edit anything from my dream:..
6/3/07
RED RIBBONS
flying through my head
it's so funny how he makes you laugh
oh, it's so funny that he makes you laugh.

"mom.my. where's. myy . suit.case?
daddy's gonna shoot her
'cause she's a deeeer
and mommy / there's a
waterfall
and i'm . a . tadpole."

(girls laughing)
"Jessica, you got a letter..."
hahahahah
someone can't find you.

(my little brother's all dressed in white,
holding a green lightbulb
and looking for me)

"he makes you laugh, but not me?
Jess, where are you?! I feel like
a grasshopper
and miss you
terribly
." (he looks in a closet
that bursts open, gray moths
flying out.) "..Jess?"

i'm a little girl
standing before a beige and green house
remember that off-white skirt I had?
daddy walks over; pinches my waist;
and forgets about brother. "it's perfect,"
he smiles/grins.


a little church in the middle of nowhere
tumbleweed
parking lot
tarantulas
inviting one up my arm


red ribbons,
red ribbons:
mommy used to tear out my hair
strand by strand
"sorry"
then crown me queen

of the far side of the rainbow.


(here, I turn into a red deer
after running naked through a neighborhood
with only beige and green houses
birds are singing
but everything else is dead
i want my bird / so badly
i scream his name
and forget about brother)

BANG

(girls laughing)
ahahahaha
you've got a shiny stare

oh, red ribbons
red ribbons are flying from my eyes
no more fleshy orbs
haha, i've gotta bullet
where my veins used to be
.


(mommy, i miss your red ribbons...)


This was really interesting. I love the way this was written. You turned a crazy dream into a poem perfectly. I loved all the images...I could see everything so well. I'd like to see more poems from you like this, Jess...

#14 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 02 April 2007 - 09:33 AM

Poems from my parents' theses for their master's degrees in English...


[mother; 1988..]


JETS AT PATELY BRIDGE

Two jets, cold-steeled and graceful,
fly over the forge at Pately Bridge,
and I am scattered.

They did not even break the sound.

Parts of me are crumbling
at what used to be my feet.
My heart frizzles in their jet blast,
my left eye hides in an ivy leaf,
my ring finger floats in the river--
the ring gone,
not caring about its former palm.

Even here, where I thought I could forget
San Diego and a husband
flying over the Pacific,
the jets find me.

My mouth plants itself in dirt,
moss-covered. It shall become
a cedar, tall to the sky,
but rooted to the secret caves of earth.

How opposite am I now
to jets. I think that I
will call my body parts together,
slice my footprints through the ground,
turn my gaze toward rocks
as a branch bends earthward.
Then I will not notice planes
which pass in screeches,
but leave only a misty trail.



[two petrarchan sonnets.. written by my father, 1990]


THE RAKE

Blue shadows fill my window: now the night
Is fresh with ways for me to stay awake.
I watch the hedge stems dandling on the rake
That grips the glass, and in the shawl of light
From passing cars, the bamboo spines ignite
Like fingers stiff with pain. The fingers shake
Against the rigid pane, and in the wake
Of a sudden wind, the rake slides out of sight.

I think of how my fingers ripped your hair,
How I slapped your cowering face and pushed your head
Until you broke that window. . . . Now I stare
At my hand. Deep lines. Imagine bones that thread
Like spines or words. I squeeze the shadows bare
And turn from you, embrace my empty bed.


THE MOTH

Lights out. Upon my bedroom wall the mirror
Has emptied out, so black that if I stood
In front of it I'd see no face. I've pulled
The drapes; a trapped mother flutters in the sheer.
And suddenly my hands are gray, as a tier
Of headlights fogs the room, soom thread-like fold
Of haze, some poltergeist, a light so cold
It could even make the darkness disappear.

That could have been your car--I felt absence
When the light passed; my wings sheared off; the night
Closed in on me; and I could smell the dense
Uncertain fog, the sedentary blight
Like a stale smoke, the dusty present tense
Of you. And as you passed, the mirror turned white.


#15 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

    Sylvia Plath

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Posted 02 April 2007 - 05:15 PM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Apr 2 2007, 02:33 AM) View Post
..I stole some books off of some dusty old shelves today, from a depressing little room that swallowed too much dust... I wanted to post a few.. because these poems come from my parents' theses from their college years, to graduate with an MD in English... I guess it's to compare my writing style with that of theirs...
[mother; 1988..]
JETS AT PATELY BRIDGE

Two jets, cold-steeled and graceful,
fly over the forge at Pately Bridge,
and I am scattered.

They did not even break the sound.

Parts of me are crumbling
at what used to be my feet.
My heart frizzles in their jet blast,
my left eye hides in an ivy leaf,
my ring finger floats in the river--
the ring gone,
not caring about its former palm.

Even here, where I thought I could forget
San Diego and a husband
flying over the Pacific,
the jets find me.

My mouth plants itself in dirt,
moss-covered. It shall become
a cedar, tall to the sky,
but rooted to the secret caves of earth.

How opposite am I now
to jets. I think that I
will call my body parts together,
slice my footprints through the ground,
turn my gaze toward rocks
as a branch bends earthward.
Then I will not notice planes
which pass in screeches,
but leave only a misty trail.

[two petrarchan sonnets.. written by my father, 1990..]
THE RAKE

Blue shadows fill my window: now the night
Is fresh with ways for me to stay awake.
I watch the hedge stems dandling on the rake
That grips the glass, and in the shawl of light
From passing cars, the bamboo spines ignite
Like fingers stiff with pain. The fingers shake
Against the rigid pane, and in the wake
Of a sudden wind, the rake slides out of sight.

I think of how my fingers ripped your hair,
How I slapped your cowering face and pushed your head
Until you broke that window. . . . Now I stare
At my hand. Deep lines. Imagine bones that thread
Like spines or words. I squeeze the shadows bare
And turn from you, embrace my empty bed.
THE MOTH

Lights out. Upon my bedroom wall the mirror
Has emptied out, so black that if I stood
In front of it I'd see no face. I've pulled
The drapes; a trapped mother flutters in the sheer.
And suddenly my hands are gray, as a tier
Of headlights fogs the room, soom thread-like fold
Of haze, some poltergeist, a light so cold
It could even make the darkness disappear.

That could have been your car--I felt absence
When the light passed; my wings sheared off; the night
Closed in on me; and I could smell the dense
Uncertain fog, the sedentary blight
Like a stale smoke, the dusty present tense
Of you. And as you passed, the mirror turned white.


Somehow your writing seems similar to theirs, but more surreal. It was interesting to see these poems. I was curious, did they know you were posting these?




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