Villanelle--The Conundrum

I found this villanelle I wrote during undergrad which I remember being quite proud of at the time. This was my first and only attempt at writing one. I think I'm still rather fond of it. It's about coming out...or struggling to, I suppose. I named it "The Conundrum". A bit on the nose, eh?


"The Conundrum"

I know of fire and so well of rain
They both consume and inside burn so slow
There is a loss but also there is gain

Always an indicator is the pain
It helps to think that it might help you grow
I know of fire and so well of rain

The flames devour making you insane
Then hopeful rivers from the mind will flow
There is a loss but also there is gain

How surely then might you take my refrain
The truth is something never to let go
I know of fire and so well of rain

Ignited now so far past the mundane
The drizzle starts and better I should know
Fragility has passed with strength to claim

A balance there is ever to attain
The war inside tossed always to and fro
I know of fire and so well of rain
There is a loss but also there is gain

Poem--“This Is Some Dr. Seuss Bullshit”

I haven't posted on my literary blog since 2010. I guess there wasn't much to write about during all that time. Here's a new poem called “This Is Some Dr. Seuss Bullshit”. It is named as such because that was the response I got to my first draft of this poem. Apparently, I shouldn't try to make things rhyme. You might recognize some themes, it's all part of the same story.




“This Is Some Dr. Seuss Bullshit”



A decade you sat, crushing my chest with your smiles

All my words down on pages can’t catch up to your miles

You built better walls while I tried letting go

Neither escaping our endless slideshow


Time brought us closer as we drifted apart

Ten silly words and you hand back my heart

Sharing laughs over coffee like old times once more

This time I can kiss you without starting a war


Resting my head on the Sun’s promise anew

Truly nothing has ever been as easy as you

The void is now starved as love takes its win

We shall finally live out my “what might have been”

Poem--Parting From The Sun

I wrote this a few...days?...maybe weeks? ago. I don't even know how to categorize it. It's a short story I guess. Not really a poem of sorts, but maybe by some standard it is. I did learn one thing while writing this...short story I guess you'd call it...I don't like periods as much as I like seeing the separation of thoughts on the page through spaces. Weird, I know, but I like it. :) I hope you like it.


"Parting From The Sun"


When I close my eyes, the slide show begins

Images of you that have long since gone flicker in my mind’s eye

Your figure running out of the house as we flee to our escape

Lying on our backs in the grass watching clouds change shape

Your face over a cup of coffee cracking into a smile as we share laughter

But the moment that is clearest, still haunts me

My arms felt as though they were wrapped around the sun

It burned my very soul to grasp your figure for the last time in a silent embrace

Tears began to escape my eyes that I quickly squeezed shut so you wouldn’t see

I had to hold strong, even while having you ripped away from me

I had never believed in “soul mates” before the moment I first met you

Then I understood, because nothing had ever been as easy as us

Finally pulling away from you, I felt the fullness of the void begin to overtake me

You took my hand in yours and squeezed as you promised that this goodbye did not mean forever

But I knew the truth and my heart sank as I felt your hand leave mine

Then the rest of you left with it

Poem--I Saved a Piece of You

I wrote this poem over my last Christmas break. The poem is called "I Saved a Piece of You". The inspiration for this poem came at about 3am one night over my break for the Holidays. I was laying in my bed, my mind wandering and all of the sudden I was wide awake, thinking about this person who I literally have not talked to in years, but once loved very, very much. It made me sad, but it also made my creativity stir, so I wrote this free verse poem.



"I Saved a Piece of You"


In a random passing moment I remembered what I forgot.
When I opened up the box, there I saw
your barely legible script smiling back at me
and I realized...I had
saved it all.

Piece by piece I unpacked you from my chest:

Birthday cards, napkins, post-it notes,

Scribbled back sides of printed pages. Every

Significant or trifle thing ever written to me

In your own hand.

I kept it.

Most of them were silly things, scrawled out in a hurried note,
but still, every word rang with
your love.

I can’t believe I saved it all.
It’s been months.
It’s been years now.
So long since I’ve known your love or the feel of your hand
on mine.

And look what I held on to.
A sad attempt to keep a piece of you, of us,
with me.

I keep hoping that someday someone else will come along
and scribble out notes I’ll want to keep.
But no one’s come. Only you’ve gone.

Haiku Sonnet

It took me a long time to do this one, but I finally succeeded in writing a haiku sonnet. I'm very proud of it. It is untitled...

Here comes the rain
No time to hide my face again
Nowhere now to go
Taking all I know
Praying not for my own will
Far beyond my skill
Nothing left to choose
And there's nothing to lose
The outcome is just
And do this I must
Standing strong, never to shake
Facing my mistake
Never in the shade
Wanting so not to fear this
It's the price I've paid
discov'ring love's austereness

Short Story--Stolen Moments

This story I posted on my facebook page as well as my other blog and everyone loved it...I think it's a great way to start off my literary blog...it's called "Stolen Moments":

There it was:  the bookstore. This was the best of all escapes, as far as she was concerned. Excitement filled her chest as she pulled the cold metal handle of the heavy wooden door. Walking through the foyer it hit her, the best smell in the world; the smell of brand new books. This was the difference between a bookstore and a library: all of the books in the bookstore, and their smell, had the potential to be yours, to be owned. This fact made the bookstore sacred to her. Stepping through the threshold of the store she paused and took a deep breath in through her nose. The visceral response made the corners of her mouth turn upwards. She loved that smell. It was worth parking the car and getting out in the rain just to have smelled that smell. As she opened her eyes the smile on her face grew even larger; the store had two levels. "Perfect" she thought, "just perfect." Her vision first landed on the wall of art books to her right. She walked over and scanned the covers of the photography books. Breathtaking pictures of sunrises and human hands filled the shelves. She grinned even harder. She picked up a rather large book with pictures from National Geographic magazine. Like a flip book, she quickly ran the pages over her thumb and inhaled. The scent of ink and paper filled her senses as she set the book back on the shelf. Turning slowly she took in the first level: art, news stand, maps, food, journals, and reference. Nothing that she particularly wanted to spend her short amount of time on here so she walked past the information counter to the escalator. Taking her first step onto the moving stairs, her eyes lusted over the display of Moleskin journals. She made a mental note that it would be nice to take a closer look at them on her way out, if there was time. The second floor held a whole new world of discoveries. Religion, self-help, audio books, science fiction, non-fiction, biographies, auto-biographies...books on everything she could think of. To her left was a large sign that read "Fiction/Literature" and she headed straight for the stacks that lay beyond. As she made her way through the stacks she observed titles and all the famous authors: Austen, Dickens, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, O'Connor, Poe, Steinbeck, Walker...all with their spines smiling back at her. As she turned into the last stack in the section, her hand trailing along the tops of each novel, she stopped as her gaze fell upon her favorite section: Theatre. She stood in front of the small section and took her purse off her shoulder, dropping it to the floor. Her hand reached out for "Othello" first because Shakespeare filled the top two shelves. She scanned its pages and read the first few pages of her favorite scene. Placing it back on the shelf, she squatted to look at the lower three shelves. Here were names she knew like old friends: Albee, Beckett, Brecht, Chekhov, Churchill, Durang, Ibsen, Ives, Mamet, Miller, Pinter, Sartre, Shaw, Simon, Wilde, Wilder, Williams...all had pages of stories she had read a million times, picked apart, skimmed through, or never touched. There were anthologies, books on acting and directing, single plays, monologue books, books of just one act plays; everything a theatre geek like herself could wish for. She chuckled softly at how excited she was just looking at three piddly shelves of books. But her heartbeat quickened as she picked up an anthology of ten minute plays she already owned. She loved this book. Any story that can make you feel emotions that you cannot put into words in ten minutes was absolutely brilliant. She found one of her favorites and read it quickly. Smiling, she carefully placed it in the small upright space it came from on the middle shelf. Having sat down on the scratchy carpet of the cool second level, she shifted her weight as a loud beep emitted from her pocket. She dug her phone out from her pocket and saw that there was a new text message. A short laugh escaped her as she read the message. It was time to go. She gathered up her belongings and ran her fingers across the spines of the perfect books as she headed down the aisle. After stepping off the escalator and crossing to the door she sighed as she turned, her back pushing against the giant door, taking it all in one last time. With an involuntary smile, she pulled up the hood of her raincoat as the space of pavement grew between her and her few, lovely stolen moments in the bookstore.