×

6Either way

It is past seven and there is a rumor that you are coming home.

When I saw you last, I found
that word in your mouth. It was
foreign, a small success for your vocabulary.
I stalked it all the way back to the house,
sucked it clean and dry and no longer holy,
hanging by a horrifying thread.

What will be the first thing you speak of tomorrow;
what wills your growth, what wills you to change?

If we are wanted,
if the earth swirls right, almost cloudlessly,
if you should find my hand and whittle out
a new word—

If you hiss
like a turntable
as you try to spin me round and round—

It is only seven; I trust you w

petrichorNiobe weeps.

gold scattered rough across
cracked earth and the last
remains of summer - they fell
like leaves in the arms of the wind.

some scents cannot be captured.
the gods bleed onto rock,
and the stone sends her prayers
in return: petrichor.

listen - the heavy thud of
rain on parched ground;
the monsoon sealing life back in;
the sky bows and kisses earth.

Niobe weeps.

BIRDIf I regret anything, it is the reticence of birds--
my reticence, the uncertainty of the word "today,"
which rusts like the flute before Judith one.
If there is a time to undress, it is now,
but my thoughts close in on me, like a tunnel,
and I lose sight of everything except the wind.
Beneath it all, my hollow bones
are icy blue, each joy expunged--
I feel it keenly, here, and there.

SoftThe rain comes in
from the mountainside

and the musculature
quietens. The birds, the beasts,
the slanting cliff,

the light, the restless
hollowed emptiness,

the bits of lava and bits
of heartbeat and bits of
racing animal mind.

It quietens.

The rain comes in like a slow blink.

How Book Club Ruined My Self-EsteemYou didn't even look at me.

I saw you there, I saw you.
Your leg was crossed over your
other leg
and your eyes were halfway closed
and
you were leaning back in your chair
like you weren't afraid of
falling over
like the rest of us are
because you aren't afraid of anything,
but you must be,
because I know our souls are
similar,
and don't ask me how I know,
I just do.

You didn't even look at me.

I tried to make myself accessible
in a way that wasn't too accessible,
but it didn't work,
obviously,
because you didn't even look at me.
I gazed a good while
at your profile,
but only your profile,
the bumpy nose and the hai

Morning - for Carl SandburgThe morning erupts
on little cat feet
A flick of the tail
a breath exhaled
too fast at the end of a leap
and then

A paw,
placed on lid's soft fan of lash
breath whirring, throaty, warm
nose
to
nose

eyes still closed

Then open

Thwack –
A stunning velvet attack
innocent lids unwarned
warm sheets no safe haven

The morning erupts
on little cat feet.

Recycled DreamsI was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.

It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.

It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupia

The Purpose-Driven Plot Pt. 1

Part I - The Big Four: Exploring Plot Types

Before we start, it will be prudent to know what kind of plot you seek for your project. There are four main types that we will explore here:

- The character-driven plot.
- The event- or situation-driven plot.
- The world-driven plot.
- The concept- or theme-driven plot.

The character-driven plot is employed in stories that are propelled forward by the learning, changing character or characters. Harry Potter is an example of character-driven plot. I have one friend who is absolutely certain that this is the future of literature, because of the way we view and understand the human psyche.

The

On conversationsI
have upset the order
of things, birds
fall fast and featherflappingly from
shaken skies, and leaves
curl backwards into trees
which snap
from frost in summer, my heart
is a bell that rings until
glass shatters and frost falls
fearful on the ground and I
just do not know how
to tell you.

leavetakingi.
the world is brighter where
dregs of strangers' revels remain --
i keep this half-light for my own.

ii.
i'll stay until the wind sighs a scotch-and-smoke
cliché, til the Muscadet's slipped from the lip
of my wayward
hello.(i know you're there before you do.)
iii.
your night is told in
patchouli-pulse wanders; mine,
in whorls of liqueur-breath. come
close and i'll find the warp
through the weft, the trails telling tales
in synaesthesia --
Platinum Blonde's been 'round and gone.

iv.
(-- closer, find syllables strewn
in an exhale's wake; stolen from my throat-
ful of careless farewells, spin and sway

Senryu Series 111.

election day
choosing the devil
I know

2.

first date
her parents question
our future

3.

road trip
the kids unpack
a squabble

4.

massage therapy
another old knot
of heartbreak

5.

deep recession
I add more spice
to the ramen

6.

televangelist
available on Itunes
salvation

7.

job well done
from the boss...
blue moon

8.

18th birthday
a postcard
from the army

9.

cemetery
even here
the poor section

10.

midnight diner
everyone feeds
the jukebox

11.

haunted house
we let the youngest
go first

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youmakemesodamntenderYou make me so damn tender!
I urge to wrap the coolness of night within me
And - maybe - re-awaken you inside my quivering womb.

All I can think is:
The roads are wet; you're half-blind;
you're tired; you're young.
Don't die.

My womb shakes once, twice.

Back, So Sudden, So SlowReturning home after six weeks
I'm surprised by these disperse (mis)comparisons:-
The grubbiness of sterling coins,
The very very oldness of them
And the frailty of my Grandmother's voice -
So small, so far away.
The dirty stench of countryside
Manure and grass and grit and shit,
Beautiful, unexplainable shit.
A tight threnody of an embrace with my mother -
Like we're back to wearing matching jumpers
In Poor ChristmasTime.
Like we're back six weeks.
I'm so changed, I say,
So very new
Fresh
Undifferent
So much the same.

And I just want to kiss the fucking carpet,
Intake the Englishness of it.

I've been stained by the half

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Shadowprintsby *larroney

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Found Poetry.

'Shadowprints' - definitely new favourite word. It was a term for 'x-ray'..

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Submitted on: February 21, 2011
Image Size: 441 KB
Resolution: 2048×1536

Views: 6,646
Favourites: 348 (who?)
Comments: 36
Downloads: 46

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Make: Nokia
Model: 5800 Xpres
Shutter Speed: 1/33 second
Aperture: F/2.8
Focal Length: 4 mm
ISO Speed: 97
Date Taken: February 21, 2011

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Daily Deviation

Given 2011-10-19

Shadowprints by ~larroney ( Featured by `Halatia )

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*Angie-Pictures Nov 1, 2011

Beautiful work! Congratulations on the DD!

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~mcnoodlebottom Oct 22, 2011

Found poems are always fun.

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~GravelsGargoyle Oct 19, 2011 Student Artist

_{you're fucking kidding.}

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*SwanofWar Oct 19, 2011 Professional Writer

I'm sorry, I really don't get this......

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~KiwiiBird Oct 19, 2011

Ahh amazing! You make it look so effortless

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~Charmed-Ravenclaw Oct 19, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

Intriguing...

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~universalteenie26 Oct 19, 2011 Student General Artist

I love newspaper black-out poetry.

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~happyblueimp Oct 19, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

Very cool! I love the story in this. And I agree, "shadowprints" is an awesome word!

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~scizwig Oct 19, 2011 Student General Artist

this made me think of Dadaist poems. it is awesome.

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*larroney Oct 20, 2011 Student Writer

Cheers

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