I wrote today. For the first time in a long while. I wrote poetry, and didn't think. The words just came, and I didn't second-guess them. And when I was finished, I had 13 lines that surprised me. I can blame the music I was listening to, or my mood, or whatever, but really, it was just time to write again.
I haven't expressed myself through writing like that in years. Even my most recent writings have been with someone else reading them in mind, whereas this was just for me. No audience allowed.
Man, did that feel good.
~Dorkopotamus (aka Katy)
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, February 21, 2011
Monday, July 19, 2010
Remembering You - Villanelle
Oh love of mine will you return?
I know, you've left but please recall
i caught your eye and heart did earn.
Caught your eye when tears did burn
caught your cheek when tears did fall
caught my breath on earth and fern.
Yet, my breaking heart you cannot discern
pressed above your frame, slender and tall?
Dont tell me here i'm not free to yearn,
Away from you im not free to yearn!
There broken fists splash the wall;
Oh love of mine will you return?
Like wintry ice your fingers burn
Dont touch me there my faith's too small.
Oh love of mine, too late i've learned.
The wind blows my hair and my dreams will churn
beneath these trees once and for all.
On i grope beneath this canopy, my urn.
On i remain until, my love, you return.
I know, you've left but please recall
i caught your eye and heart did earn.
Caught your eye when tears did burn
caught your cheek when tears did fall
caught my breath on earth and fern.
Yet, my breaking heart you cannot discern
pressed above your frame, slender and tall?
Dont tell me here i'm not free to yearn,
Away from you im not free to yearn!
There broken fists splash the wall;
Oh love of mine will you return?
Like wintry ice your fingers burn
Dont touch me there my faith's too small.
Oh love of mine, too late i've learned.
The wind blows my hair and my dreams will churn
beneath these trees once and for all.
On i grope beneath this canopy, my urn.
On i remain until, my love, you return.
Monday, March 15, 2010
On Writing
So Kim's "August" post makes me want to post some of my own stuff, and some of the stuff we've written together. But I think I shall wait a bit instead. Let the creative juices flow, and maybe, just maybe, write something completely new!
I tend to only really write when I'm depressed, which I think is fairly common. But I've never really tried to write when I'm not in a pit of despair. I'm prone to trying to capture the bad moments with words, and not the good ones. They say to "write what you know", and unfortunately what I know best isn't very cheerful. For example, I think the last time I really wrote was when my father passed away - two years ago this coming May 15th. I wrote one of the best pieces of poetry I have ever written - a beautiful sonnet, that I love, but BOY is it a downer. I want to be able to write that expressively when I'm doing okay or even *gasp* happy!
Kim is actually the one who got me into writing sonnets - I've always been a fiction girl myself, although most of my best writing has been non-fiction commentary that I've written for school on topics like popular culture and feminism. I love writing; I miss writing. I always say this, and I always put off writing something new. Which, again, is part of the reason I'm loving this blog so far. It's inspiring me to write every single day. I think that eventually I'll surprise myself with something super creative.
Hey, maybe I'll surprise you, too.
~Dorkopotamus (aka Katy)
I tend to only really write when I'm depressed, which I think is fairly common. But I've never really tried to write when I'm not in a pit of despair. I'm prone to trying to capture the bad moments with words, and not the good ones. They say to "write what you know", and unfortunately what I know best isn't very cheerful. For example, I think the last time I really wrote was when my father passed away - two years ago this coming May 15th. I wrote one of the best pieces of poetry I have ever written - a beautiful sonnet, that I love, but BOY is it a downer. I want to be able to write that expressively when I'm doing okay or even *gasp* happy!
Kim is actually the one who got me into writing sonnets - I've always been a fiction girl myself, although most of my best writing has been non-fiction commentary that I've written for school on topics like popular culture and feminism. I love writing; I miss writing. I always say this, and I always put off writing something new. Which, again, is part of the reason I'm loving this blog so far. It's inspiring me to write every single day. I think that eventually I'll surprise myself with something super creative.
Hey, maybe I'll surprise you, too.
~Dorkopotamus (aka Katy)
August
Ok, so i enjoy writing (clearly) and have decided to be brave and use this as a forum to test out some of my works...get a feel for putting myself and what I love out there, getting honest criticism and feedback, and just have the experience (good or bad) of being brave at something, (and it may sound lame but this feels pretty brave to me.) Apparently no quite so brave, however, because im going to start with some stuff that a few of you have already seen, and then work up to some new and longer pieces. I write the way i think, therefore, puunctuation will probably suck....you know, as well as grammar, But content, that's what im hoping will be well critiqued.
This is short, and one i wrote a few years back...its relevant to who i am though, so i thought it might be useful not only as an example of my work but a bit about me as well...here we go...
(Exhales) "It feels like August." She rubs her forehead stiffly.
She gets restless at night, needs to be up and moving, but she couldn't possibly stay downstairs. There were three doors, countless windows, and all of them open. And, it was dark. Not the dark of a house at night but the dark breathiness that comes from outside – from those blasted, countless doors and windows flung open to the nights saturated wafts and breezes, bringing that night darkness seamlessly inward. The fragrance, the windswept chill, the glowing dimness; it was all too August for her - so she ran upstairs to the small back room and shut herself into the artificial darkness of the stuffy halogen lit space. This strange, cramped world, though maddening, was less emotive than the August freshness downstairs. "Damn" she spat, and shut the light.
~Kim
This is short, and one i wrote a few years back...its relevant to who i am though, so i thought it might be useful not only as an example of my work but a bit about me as well...here we go...
(Exhales) "It feels like August." She rubs her forehead stiffly.
She gets restless at night, needs to be up and moving, but she couldn't possibly stay downstairs. There were three doors, countless windows, and all of them open. And, it was dark. Not the dark of a house at night but the dark breathiness that comes from outside – from those blasted, countless doors and windows flung open to the nights saturated wafts and breezes, bringing that night darkness seamlessly inward. The fragrance, the windswept chill, the glowing dimness; it was all too August for her - so she ran upstairs to the small back room and shut herself into the artificial darkness of the stuffy halogen lit space. This strange, cramped world, though maddening, was less emotive than the August freshness downstairs. "Damn" she spat, and shut the light.
~Kim
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