Espy
Wanderer
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#3
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Creative Writing class stuff:
worlds. (Had to include three words chosen from a classmate's list of favorite words.)
if moons revolve around planets and planets revolve around suns and suns revolve around each other
in a spiraling galaxy,
then do galaxies revolve around galaxies that parade in circles around the universe not caring for time and space
and marching at their own pace,
and do universes evolve and revolve
and play their game of where to have an infinity of infinities or a single singularity
which might decide that
these games are not fun and is tired of being picked on for being infinitesimally small...
...or are they all just dreaming?
"worlds" was meant to be read in one breath and really quickly. Unfortunately my teacher didn't quite like my tongue's speeding.
little lies. (For this one, we took one line from a classmate from the above exercise and used it as the first of a six-line poem.)
underwater. (A "response" to Sharon Olds's "The One Girl at the Boys Party", written from a different point of view.)
underwater, i can't see her face clearly;
as the number of ripples from the swimmers shoots off to infinity,
so does that of the facet the image is shattered into.
she dives in: the curve of a tanget, barely touching anyone else in the pool;
shoots off into nothingness on one end and points skyward on the other--
perfect form.
trailing that sinusoidal stream of bubbles, she does near kicks in the water
and draws a third parallel to the surface and the bottom.
the carrying capacity of the pool exceeded, she shoots up--then levels off,
grasping the opposite wall, she climbs out, with head and knees bent in the effort to not slip,
integral to my life.
she shakes her head at the speed of light, her hair a thousand graceful fibonaccis,
a million drops interrupting the almost-seamless field of cosines
and i can't differentiate between her beauty and that of the broken glass.
it's got a cubic shit-ton of math references, almost one on every line.
Punch (Much different from my usual poetry. We had to take a cliche, chosen at random, and create a poem revolving around it. This one's not as dark as the others, and silly bordering on ridiculous. It's got a tacky rhythm too. More practice with alliteration and assonance.)
I poured a pitcher of punch one day
at a pompous and pricey party,
was startled when the punch said to me,
with a grin, pleased and hearty,
"Why, what's your name, and where am I?
Who freed me from the freezer?
I know my flavor--it's fruit punch--
and I'm a party pleaser!"
So strange to me was this surprise, I stood and stared at it.
Looking the catcher in the rye,
I couldn't decide to drink a bit.
"Either way, let's shake hands--
at least the best I can." I told it,
for the greetings, "Thanks a bunch!"
It rattled its ice cubes--"Pleased as punch."
masks (Written for a slam poetry competition in the CWrit class. It's a group poem, hence the three-line series.)
Last edited by Espy; 10-15-2011 at 10:45 PM.
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Posted 10-03-2010, 12:33 AM
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