[x]

7 - The Pet PoetI remember when Mommy bought you
a black-haired pet for your sweet sixteenth.
Its bronze collar said its name was "Poet."
You fed it noise from the out-of-tune piano,
intense moments involving flesh and razors,
and the occasional walk by the lake.

At first, he knew only the wolf's howl,
purging blood and flames onto the carpets.
Everywhere was a smell of extravagance --
like that woman's cheap perfume on the train to work.
But you cried a little less,
smiled a bit more.
And that was when Daddy stopped
trying to send it back to the shelter.

Soon, you even started watching T.V.
(and enjoyed food, dressed nice, made friends.)
But T

unrequitedyou make my words
gather at the hollows
of my throat
until i choke on them.

my fingers ache to
hold you--
but my eyes ache to
cry.

you're nothing but heart break
wrapped in a bow
of something beautiful,
like the dust of grace from
fallen angels.

i drink a little faster and
cry a little harder
because the way whiskey and tears
mingle on my lips
tastes suspiciously of love.

The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.
Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,
Listening to the grandfather clock?
Watching him ticking away?
Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?
And with every sound he makes
More maggots eat his wooden flesh.

Every grain that falls is an eternity!
In the firelight you can see the glass.
The dust that coats the cracking bulb,
Listening to the sand that trickles down.
Listening to the passing hours.
With every grain that filters through
Another man sleeps eternally.

The sundial stands defiant!
From my leather chair I see it!
It stands defiant in the plaza below me!
Standing in the moonlit night.
Standin

I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;
Mami promised that she would, but she's tired
and screamed when Maria reminded her senior prom
is tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover, and you've always
done a better job of highlighting the subtle graces
inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."

I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"

so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business, waving her nails
in my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.
She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures, and the last

Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams

Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”

All-Seeing EyeAll-Seeing Eye

We’re not moving, but He is……

Smoker's EpiphanySlipping through a puff of smoke
exaggerated wisps slipping through my subconscious
and I am emptier than before, less than I was
something subtle and hearty

Softened
smoothened and soothing
it's almost relief

almost.

Equestrian StormEquestrian Storm

I was walking through Canterlot,
as rain beat my plot.
I just didn’t feel right,
before it came into my sight.

The princess of the night,
alone and broken.
What a pitiful sight,
out of my slump, twas awoken.

“Princess, why are you here why are you crying?”

“Because nopony loves our night, I would be better off dying!”

“No Luna no, now that you shouldn’t say!”

“And why ever not, what reason hath you that I should stay?”

“Celestia for one, your sister whom you love.”

“Right sure, the sister from whom to the moon I was shoved.”

“Lu

DilemmaToday in class
You moved to sit beside me
And my heart missed
A beat

Your friends followed,
All sitting nearby
And I sat in silence
Afraid of being judged

The presentation started
And I tried not to look at you
But instead peeked
From the corners of my eyes

The presenters spoke
And I tried to focus
On the droning voice
But you invaded my thoughts

What we had talked about last night,
What I should say to you,
How I should instigate the conversation,
If we were to have one at all

I peek over
And you look miserable
Sick, I remember,
And feel an instant sympathy

Time passes
And fear of being judged
By those around me
Keeps me silent

You

All Systems are Shutting DownI shut down
Kicking everyone out
I sit alone inside myself, while other pieces of me close the gates around my heart
And lock the door to my brain
I refuse to let anyone in; I pretend I’m not home
“Please leave your message after the beep…”
Beep.
“Where are you?”
I don’t know.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t know.
“When are you gonna let me in?”
I don’t know.

No wordsI don't like to talk.
I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.
When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.
There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.

VIIEncore un peu de cendre
Au coin de tes lèvres
Parolescentes

J'épluche tes souhaits
Tu laves le ciel
En vain

Et dans ce vent chaud
Des milliers de pétales
De peau

nothing specialthey tell you not to give up
because you have potential--
and to the ones who simply enjoy
you're probably fantastic
but to those who do
you're simply mediocre,
nothing to bat an
eyelash at.

you're not quite bad enough
to quit, but you're not
great enough to be
remembered.

a small dosage per daysorrow makes its way into my cup of tea every morning
and I add more spoonfuls of sugar into it,
hoping the sweetness will overpower the bitterness;

yet, this clever feeling still seeps through the sweet substance
and clings itself to the sugar's particles,
which in return races through my veins
and scatters in my blood,

making an entire day feel ruined
already.

Never open the window... Never open the window...

I see you're here.

Pay attention, don't fall. It's dark.

What? No, I don't want to light up the room. Yeah, nor open the window. It's useless.
And actually, the only light I need...
...is that one that is so distant for me.

She asked me why I was saying that.
But best of all, I knew that actually she didn't care
I saw too much faces ready to wipe away all my tears and all my fears
But best of all, I know that actually they didn't care.

Seems like destiny put me in this world to help others.
Oh, I'm tired, but I won't show you.
it has been four years, right?
Four years that I'm holding all of you on my shoul

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SW: Secondhand EchoesAhsoka glared at Anakin, lips pursed, headtails twitching. "Over my dead body."

He glared right back at her, the Senate dome in the morning-hazed distance behind him emphasizing his look of imperious irritation. He wore irritation well, Ahsoka thought. It went with the black.

"Come on, Snips, we've been over this. Padawans don't always stick with their masters. I spent a lot of time with Master Unduli during my training."

"That wasn't during a war. You need me here, and you know it." She pointed at him, then waved-grand gestures certainly weren't signs of the emotional control necessary for Jedi Knighthood, but they were appropriate here.

AC: The Thousand StarsThe stars were out in force tonight. A river of them hung over the bureau like a siege, peering through the latticework and rattling it with the wind. The pale forms of sleeping assassins lay scattered among the pillows. Malik was careful not to brush any of them with his feet, although he couldn't help dislodging the occasional tassel or thin-woven blanket with his boot.

(Kadar should be here now, wrapped in the cloak of the novice, dreaming of master's colors. Or maybe he would be out on a mission somewhere, in some other Dai's house, but Malik should be able to picture him better, should be able to see the outline where his weight had pre

earthlingHe leans across the Formica table in the DairyQueen and laces his fingers together. "You know, Princess…I could be your Han Solo." (It's stupid and he knows it but maybe his cockeyed smile and his unscarred chin will finally, finally look good to her.)

She laughs, dislodging strands of brown hair from her bun. "Look…I'm sorry. You know I like you, I really do. But…" She pats his hand, not looking at him. Looking out the window. "You're more like my Luke. And my Han…just pulled in."

Embarrassed, she stands and crumples her ice cream wrapper, throws it into the flaking red sarlacc-mouth of the trash can as she leaves. Han

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launching chains

by *Nemonus, Nov 28, 2011, 8:34:23 AM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

before

when your christening failed
we found another bottle, heaved it
against the side of the sea, watched the champagne
sizzle in the foam, and heard the rope snap.
crew scattered. the prince raised his hand, he said
something; I do not remember, but frowning
under his black hat he turned and later that day
rushed to his car. you denied princes the first time we
let you; or at least,
annoyed one.
I tasted the wasted champagne in the back of my throat.

We did not move fast enough
to accommodate you, and so you shied
at the gate, protesting the locks and walls
made for smaller ships. Looking up, I wondered
how many in the crowd were betting on you sinking beneath
the weight of the iron heart in your breast: silver coins passed
from hand to hand as it was all maps for me: New York waiting
on white paper far across the servant tides of seas strong-fettered;
you would do this and many more. We simply had to learn you first.
We had to stretch out along the gaps and connect the country.
In the future, all ships would be like this.
People would travel across on holiday.
You would mother industries.

They told me they could build you a heart, I
said do it now, then, and I saw the iron being pulled in
a few days later: to descend your small stairs and keep the thought of the sky in hand
is to take, also white-gloved, the sepulchral bat-winged majesty of your pumping arms
leashed close to your heart with the toothy gears:
apt for all quarters lashed and stars to port sailing toward the inky east.
Let's go home again.
Let's be mariners.

after

launching chainsby *Nemonus

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

For

. Requirements:

Dramatic monologue. Check.
From the perspective of someone from 50 years into the past or future... Check. He’s Isambard Kingdom Brunel, who besides having an awesome name, engineered pretty much all of the cool things in Bristol. It’s fifty years in my past and at least fifty years in his future from when the event depicted happened.
...and at least one continent distant... At the time of this writing I’m an American living in England: I’m writing as Brunel, an Englishman, during a (fictional) stay in America. I hope that counts.
...who has reached old age. Check.
Create a voice. Erm. I tried to avoid ‘to be’ verbs like the plague, and give a sense of someone who was making words that could possibly be poetry without ever having an intention of them being so. Other than that, creating voice has always been my weakness and there’s far too much of me in here.
Decide who their audience is. The ship Brunel designed, the SS Britain. Again, I can’t consider this a success because it’s not like I’ve never written anyone monologuing to transportation before. As odd as that sounds.
25-60 lines. Check.

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*glossolalias Mar 28, 2013

Featured: [link]

*Nemonus Mar 28, 2013

Thanks!

=DailyLitDeviations Dec 11, 2011

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article.

*Nemonus Dec 11, 2011

Thank you so much!

=DailyLitDeviations Dec 12, 2011

You are quite welcome!

`CrumpetsHarvey Nov 29, 2011 Professional Writer

It's not obvious that this is 50 years from the event, but since I think I can forgive you this. You're right that the voice is weak, but it's getting there. It's very clear here:
the prince raised his hand, he said
something; I do not remember
and here:
They told me they could build you a heart, I
said do it now, then, and I saw the iron being pulled in
a few days later
and there are other moments where it is there enough that, were that faint hint there all the way through, I would totally believe it, but sometimes it gets lost under the more poetic voice.

However I really like the idea of Isambard Kingdom Brunel addressing his ship, and the poetry is, in its own right, almost universally strong. I would like more voice, but other than that complaint this is very skilled work.

*Nemonus Nov 29, 2011

Thank you.

I know I have trouble with voice and am going to work on it even though I'm honestly not sure where even to start. Your comment was very helpful.

`CrumpetsHarvey Nov 30, 2011 Professional Writer

Hmmm... might have to write some sort of article on this. I don't know exactly what will kick start you into "getting" voice, but I've been looking around for ideas:

one thing to do is to listen to how people (especially strangers) speak aloud and notice anything they say that is different from how you would say it.

[link] This guy has picked up on 2 features: a person's job, and class. A person's job will probably involve jargon specific to their field. Isambard Kingdom Brunel, for instance, will know a lot of terms relating to engineering and use them every day. Their class (or level of education at least) will influence the range of their vocabulary, the grammatical choices they make, and what sort of slang they use (all classes have slang, but it varies considerably between them).

Where a character comes from will also have an effect, on vocabulary, grammatical choices, and speech patterns (I'm sure you've observed this as an American living in Bristol; then again perhaps you've done this to a larger extent than I've been able to notice, as a native Briton living 45 minutes up the M5

). And finally people have individual quirks which they may share only with their close group of friends.

After that it's just a case of identifying all the little unique features which together make up a distinct voice. A comprehensive list would of course be impossible, but you might consider things like how often characters use contractions (don't instead of did not), whether they are more likely to say "I sang" or "I was singing", "I lie down" or "I lay down" (present tense), "maybe" or "perhaps", "I didn't like to assume" or "one doesn't like to assume" etc. etc. and then sticking to this throughout.

Personally, I just try to imagine a character's voice in my head and ask myself whether I believe they would say what I have written for them to say or not.

[this is longer than I intended]

*Nemonus Dec 1, 2011

That helps immensely, thank you. If I could fave a comment I would fave this one. I will have to mull it over. Listening to people in real life is definitely an important exercise I should do.

For "the little unique features", do you think the character comes first? I think to a point you can't consciously sit down and come up with quirks like that until you have a character in mind and can come up with the reasons why they speak the way they do.

`CrumpetsHarvey Dec 2, 2011 Professional Writer

I think it's possible to start with a distinct voice and find out whose it is, but if you've got a vague character you need to develop it's best to get to know them and work on voice from there, rather than imposing features on them.

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launching chainsby *Nemonus

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