lishesquex | Entries tagged with poetry

I would curse you with love
To see your nights swallowed up by longing
And have you focused to a beam and burning
I would curse you with love
To hear your heartsong restless and churning
Steal a year of your mind with wanting
I would curse you with love
To see your nights swallowed up by longing

///

I'm experimenting with different poetic forms at the moment. As usual, an idea for a poem usually begins with a line - in this case: "I would curse you with love" - but it often doesn't really take shape beyond a couple of lines. A triolet is useful because all it is is a couple of lines but shaped into a particular form. It's nice to have some time to experiment and tease out an idea.

Less than two more weeks of summer holidays and then it's back to work. But only for a term. And then freedom. Terrifying freedom.

It's been over 40 degrees here in Melbourne for the last week. The only time I can use my computer is from about 6am to 9am in the morning, and then the heat becomes unbearable. The rest of the day, I spend in the living room where there is (thankfully) air con, and I either watch TV or read. The Australian Open is on so Rianna usually commandeers the TV. Yesterday, she had to go into uni, so I got to watch a bunch of episodes of Star Trek: DS9. After a couple of years trying to watch this series, I've finally arrived at Season 3 and things are starting to get interesting with the Cardassians and the Dominion.

Yesterday was the 18th anniversary since Star Trek: Voyager first aired (back in 1995). Almost 20 years! I know I came to the fandom late, after the show had ended, but it still makes me feel old.

Current Mood: hot

Wrote this a while ago in 2008 as a prose piece. Rewrote it today to become poetry so that I can submit it to a place. What the hell, right?

///

Tell me, can the yearning for something

ever become so heavy, so dense, that

it crystallises

and makes the wished for

the longed for

the ached for

exist again?

And you say:

Imagine the vacuum of eternity;

Far too empty and far too cold.

It is held in the physics of yearning,

Cradled in space, stretched across time.

And in that universe,

The wishing is hydrogen

The wanting, helium,

And longing

Is the fusion that fuels the stars.

The hard iron ache

Will never leave.

Supernova breakdowns pepper

The vast expanses with platinum shrapnel.

And in all the many worlds,

Carbon recollection leaves its mark:

Filling your mouth with ashes;

Blinding your eyes with diamonds.

And what if it never was? I say.

The neurons travelled the path

Of that narration so many times

That imagination is made

A memory.

///

Current Mood: exhausted

I'll feast my eyes if not my lips
And take from today what I may.
I'll learn to follow the script.

And I have what six months equips
Me with, on this windy September day;
I'll feast my eyes if not my lips.

I think I might finally come to grips
With this levelheaded way.
I'll learn to follow the script.

What absence bloomed can now be fixed;
We still have much to say.
I'll feast my eyes if not my lips.

This wildweed dream I'll trim with snips
Till longing is whittled away
By learning to follow the script.

Though slow I rise from this eclipse,
I was glad to see you today.
I'll feast my eyes if not my lips
And I'll learn to follow the script.

~///~

Took the structure from a Marilyn Hacker poem, "Villanelle: Late Summer". And now that this poem is out of my head, I can finally go to sleep.

PS I know the constant repetition of "And I'll learn to follow the script" kind of it makes it seem like I'm just trying to convince myself and I'm not /actually/ over her, but it's all right guys, poetry is ~~always~~ usually an overblown magnification of a single germ of feeling/idea. I think I'm safely recovered. But I didn't want to let the feels go to waste when I could wrangle a good poem out of it.

Current Mood: sleepy

XVIII

I'll tell you what I don't want: an affair:
love, by appointment only, twice a week;
grimy, gratuitous life lived elsewhere
with others. When it's easier to speak
about than to you, when I think of you
more than I'm with you, more anxious than tender,
I feel less than a friend. There's work to do.
Artist, woman, I love you; craft and gender,
if we're antagonists, aren't in dispute.
Love starts with circumstance; it grows with care
to something self-sufficient, centered, root
from which the cultivators branch, the air
renewing them transpired rich from its pores.
Or so I hoped while I was celibate.

Marilyn Hacker, from Taking Notice

and

"two women together is a work
nothing in civilization has made simple"
Adrienne Rich, XXI Love Poems

Current Mood: drained

I'm still waiting for the memory to die
That lives in red dusks, in the husk of hope,
That howls and rages every dawn between
My first waking thoughts and the office door

But then I suppose a week isn't long,
After all, to heft and swallow a death.
To forget the press of lips, and her hands
In my hair, her laughter etching my heart.

I could write a list of the long shadows
Map a city of lights, longing, a life.
Kronos: Why aren't you enough? Destroyer
Of worlds and crumbler of things - I'm still here.

I'm still here, waiting, between the where I
Am and the when in which she might love me.

I'll burn until just the ashes
Remain in my mouth
Oh, I'll burn for you, girl

I'll burn until my last hope
Has crumbled into soot
And the book is closed for good

I'll burn for remembered kisses
And for summerlit afternoons
Turned black and bitter at the last

I'll burn for your laughter
My sweet song of flames,
Till my frame twists and buckles

I'll burn for this mad hope
And the wild courage you ignited
Till all the world is dark

I'll burn until I'm out of air
Right down to the wick
And the heart stops spitting sparks

I'll burn until you pinch me cold
Till your final choice is made
Oh, I'll burn for you, girl

I'm half wild with impatience, girl
Like a stubborn harpist in the underworld
Rushing, fumbling to life and light,
Hoping her heart follows close behind, and maybe she is
Maybe she isn't

I've had nothing for a month but spectre dreams
And I'm hungry like a January wolf
Like wind and fire and a long dry summer
I could eat you whole, girl; no hunger is sharper
Than a promise half-fulfilled

I've grown dear to the thought of you
And though my neurons know you well
My hands, my mouth, would like to be acquainted
Don't be a stranger, girl. Feed me a plan.
I'm half sick of shadows.

Tracings

I have graphite on my knuckles
And the residue of tears
No words for you tonight
Just lines, just lines
And the finest sharpness

I surprised myself when I showed you
My tender tracings
It might have been bravery
Or just a belly up surrender
Fearless and careless

After all, what is there left to confess?
That your face is my bandage,
That I fear the rust?
Is it the presence or the absence of my love for you
That leaves this red powder?

Current Mood: indescribable

You drink your coffee black, hot, unsweetened
Laugh at eighty five decibels, boldly,
Piercingly loud, in a way that turns heads,
Like a woman who's completely unafraid.

Six feet of formal composition, perched
Between pure professionalism,
And impure fantasy: long boots, short skirt,
Red jacket, and an abundance of leg.

I can scarce meet your sunlit amber gaze
And drop my eyes to table/coffee/hands
But you have a pianist's fingers and my thoughts
Run uncooperatively southwards

Still, I am not tongue-tied with you; we speak
The same language. I find it wonderful:
Your syntax precise, your replies thoughtful,
I perceive the shape and shades of your words.

I want desperately to chip beyond your
Chiselled facade and find what lies beneath.

Current Mood: creative
Current Music: Trading Yesterday - The Beauty & The Tragedy

Today I spent the day with you
And wakened thus a dreadful void,
And found myself again destroyed
By love wreathed in a softer hue.

Like water, hours passed me by.
My once dry throat filled to the lip,
My wisdom bowing to the whip
With longing for a bluer sky.

You raise an ache I know too well:
From mornings lost upon an age,
Like linnets kept within the cage,
And many eves within my cell.

Fear not, my dreams shall take no form;
No quick'ning hope do they incite,
And in the journey of my night,
They are but tales to keep me warm.

On weary tides I search the seas,
To seek my life in other sites,
No longer 'neath your laughing lights,
But know you are the truth of me.

So I'm still on my Tennyson kick. I should probably explain. Yesterday morning, I listened to the In Our Time podcast about Tennyson's poem In Memoriam. When I got to work, I promptly looked it up and found that it was a SUPER LONG EPIC POEM. And then I forgot about it until home time, whereupon I downloaded the free ebook and started reading the super long epic poem. I love it already, and I'm only up to Canto LIV (54).

Here's LIV, which is probably one of the most famous sections:

Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy’d,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another’s gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last—far off—at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

Current Mood: thoughtful

So I sent off three of my poems to banQuetpress for their 2012 anthology. I'm not sure if they'll consider my submissions because they seem to be focusing on erotica in 2012 and my poems tend to be about love and rainbows and ~*~feelings~*~. Worth a shot though.

Had to write an author biography, which I find ridiculously hard because I neither consider myself an author nor important enough to rate a biography. But here was Ingrid's answer to my dilemma:

Lilian is a teacher by day, dominatrix by night. She enjoys selling both her body and her crotchless granny panties on the Internet. When she's not teaching English, or hosting Paint & Pain Panty Parties, she enjoys writing poetry about unrequited love. She lives in Melbourne with her parents, who still yell at her to keep both her music and her moaning down.

This is what I actually wrote:

Lilian was born in China but grew up in Melbourne. She is an English and History teacher by day and a reclusive blogger/gamer/crazy cat lady by night. She likes reading fan fiction, talking about Vikings, and writing about unrequited Sapphic love. Often, she dreams of doing bigger things, such as moving to Norway to write poetry by the fjords.

In other news, I watched Thor today and loved it. ( Review under cut - no spoilers )

I also watched Misconceptions (2008) courtesy of

lysachan. I really enjoyed it, even though it was pretty corny. I thought it was a really sweet movie. It helped that A.J. Cook was adorable.

Current Mood: indescribable
Current Music: Adele - Turning Tables

A poem about loss that just dribbled out of my brain and onto my iPhone before I fell asleep last night. Angst warning.

///

On quiet days I miss you
On rainy mornings
And sunny spring afternoons
And days when the sky is just so blue

On quiet nights I miss you
At traffic lights
Coming home from work
And when I listen to that same old tune

On happy days I miss you
With wistful thoughts
My partner in laughter
You've left a heart that cannot laugh alone

On sad days I miss you
Those lost hours
Without a friendly smile
When I long to hear your voice once more

I have to give the credit for the title of this poem to my guildie Cherri, who said this randomly after /dancing with Callysto's demon (I forget its name) as we were massacring Ironforge's deeprun rats in a raid group. The line stuck with me for a couple of weeks and eventually evolved into a poem.

I danced with your roaming demon
With her left hand on my heart
She vowed to hold it safely through
The raging tempest born that night

Thus by tender words was I caught
And with fateful chains held fast
And slowly but surely given to
The salted mercy of the tides

Discontent to live in darkness
Unwilling to unmoon the sky
I could but dwell the edge of dreams
And count the ever slipping sand

Year by year the light grew dimmer
I learnt the boundaries and the rules
But all my life I always felt
The beating of my demon heart

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Delerium - Fallen

Autumn is for you
That lustful haze of crazy May days
And five years, wasted tears,
From red leaves and dead dreams,
Moonlight mercilessly bright
On desperate goodbyes
And that doomed beginning of
Darkening days, of endless waiting,
Of petals empurpled in decay -
To crushed maple memories:
Lakes in your eyes
Leaves in my hair
A worm in my heart.
Your hands ended my plans
Carefree, careless, kjæreste.
The geranium born germ
Hollowed out secret chambers
I never knew was there.
Your passion, my poison.

Current Mood: melancholy

And so it comes to this stalemate again:
Lives lived apart, with yearning a frozen river
And a dam of jagged glass;
An overcast existence in fluorescent light
And a largely dormant sun;
The constant waning and draining
And the awful asymmetry of hope.

Yet all the raging of the heartfloods,
All the tides and whirling eddies,
Currents churning like restless fish,
The gasping of oxygen exhausted lungs,
Clutching at the last desperate minutes
Of a losing game long lost,
All that is mute.
In a silent stalemate of still life banality,
A hollow peace dwells
Waging quiet war against
All the iniquity of fate.

But when the dam breaks -
As now and then it does -
No repose is left unstirred,
No dream left untroubled by
Those lava-cooled landslides,
Sharp as obsidian: early morning memories
Inevitably resurrected
To taunt a tethered spirit.

Current Location: work

Loosely in Sapphic stanzas, although the stresses aren't quite right.
_________________________

Years ago I traded a reality
For an endless dream to dream eternally
Thrice I'm cursed to keep a love so cowardly
    As my cold reward

A fearful heart is a hard and barren land
No fruit will blossom on its wasted sands
But envy ripen and bitterly expand
    Seeds of chances lost

What karmic curse is this to love a spectre
What she has long forgotten to remember
To live a life years apart and to never
    Truly see her face

I heard her laughter in the wind today
Like the starlight in my eyes her image fades
Soon I will forget, we'll go our separate ways
    On diverging paths

But in the heart of fools hope does not abate
That dares to dream on the dreaded loom of Fate
What threads have crossed may cross at later date
    I will wait for you

It's strange, but I think my muse has finally returned. I've written fifteen poems this year. That's more than the last four years combined (2009, three; 2008, two; 2007, four; 2006, four). I'm filled with words all of a sudden. It doesn't matter where I am - on a plane, driving home, eating a banana at recess, brushing my teeth - they come unbidden to my mind. I guess this is a fairly good thing. Either that, or I'm having the angstiest year ever. *grin*

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: Aquarium - Northern Bloom

Today was the last day of the holidays for me. I went out to lunch with Jackie and Xin at Chadstone. Then I came home and played WoW with wickedkiwi and thrace_. It was a good day.

I'm about to go to sleep, and when I wake up again, I will have officially Started Work Again. This depresses me greatly. I've vowed to maintain a better work/life balance this year, but it's easy to say when I don't have 1981724 essays to mark, lessons to plan for, parents to call, meetings to go to, blah blah blah whatever. Yet.

Here is a ridiculous WoW poem to balance out my recent spate of emo entries:

Heartstruck by a Death Knight Dwarf

Your hair is like the leaves of Azshara
Your ample cleavage is large and amorphous
Like a voidwalker
When you orgasm, you sound like a murloc
You chip away at my defences
Like damage over time
Draining my soul slowly
You have mortal struck my heart
And no bandage will heal me now
Let me be your portal to pleasure
My sword is stronger and harder than Frostmourne
All of general chat will hear you scream my name
And trade channel too
I will bring you home, again and again,
Like a hearthstone.

Current Mood: tired

Galatea

What a fierce and awful hope hangs
Hollow in my chest, like rope,
A tightened noose
Which every morning wakes me
With a siezing anticipation
All marble and sunlight,
Lead-laced glass and blue sky
A flight with broken wings
To leave my sweetest purgatory.

Current Music: Damien Rice - 9 Crimes

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Psapphirical

the perimetres of our wandering are nowhere

Entries tagged with poetry

Triolet

Memory

Untitled

Poetry because I'm too tired

Saudade

Ashes

Half

Tracings

Red Jacket

Laughing Lights

And with no language but a cry

"I braved a hundred storms to leave you"

On quiet days I miss you

I Danced With Your Roaming Demon

The Geranium

Stalemate

Chances Lost

Statistics

Goodbye FOREVER

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