November 03, 2007

Back again with more poetry

Horrid little blog, but I intend to keep it. It's so easy to let such a thing slip, especially when people demand that you do such awful things as 'work' and 'socials'. It would be better for the sake of the blog to become a sociopath. Alas, I would lose contact with my readership, the world and food. I could live without the world, but food is necessary. As is readership. Please keep reading, I will try to be faithful to you.

Here is some poetry that I wrote for the sake of it. I liked playing around with the associations we make with nature.

I asked the willow

  (whose form was steeped

   In form of sleep)

Why did she cry at the water’s edge.

She replied,

  ‘Forgive me if you thought I cried,

  I am bent from laughing

  Which, like sorrow, leaves you spent

  Of energy.’

So I left her by the river side

   With mirth. But had she cried?

  Can it be that trees can lie?

Now for the week's assignments that I failed to put up. Sorry for the wait.

The first two are from the perspective of someone very small looking at something that appears massive to them. I wrote the first about something organic, the other about an inorganic.


Such mighty trunks

Great trunks

That reach out

Into the greater world.

Befuzzled arms

Such as you can grab,

With branches and boughs

Dark deep-rooted green.

A forest of befuzzled arms,

That reach out

(like me)

To the outer world.

Red Planet

Stretching out

Out out

This way that way

This way to eternity

That way to eternity

But less of an eternity

Much less of an eternity

Than the other one

But outstretching eternity

But moulded in a way

The green walls the hang

On the edges, high and green

Yet not as high as the sky

The ground beneath my feet pocked

There is a great white blob

Turned grey and printed with

The great meteor from above

That shoots down.

Here is the great mass monster

Behemoth that walks walks walks

Shining green backed with black shell

It might not recognise you

Hope it doesn’t

Look at it waddle

Slothlike rapidity

Then watch the stones

Set in stone, the whites

Whites but mostly greys

And darker, but not black

Not black by a long way

Not in traditional forms that tower

But the sharp forms beneath your feet

The feet that walk on eternity.

Finally, something written by someone who is massive, seeing a gigantic thing as small. I wrote this in the style of one half of a phone chat. Enjoy.


It’s just a little thing I foun.

Oh, nothing special.

It fits on the end of your finger.

No, it doesn’t bite.

I don’t know: not exactly pretty.

Small doesn’t mean cute.

Kinda sparkly, I guess.

Not shiny, just sparkly.

And it’s warm, too. Not hot, not cold.


I don’t know either. Maybe the sparkles do it.

Lots. I can’t really count them all.

They’re dots. If you lean in close, you can see them.

It’s not just sparkles. There are other things.

Rocks. Grains.

Fine then. I won’t let you see it.

Just kidding.

Like what?

No, no people.

Cause I’d be able to see them.

What, small people on grains?

Well, so am I.

I’d like to believe in candy rainbows, but I haven’t seen any of those.

Come aruond later, you can look for them yourself.

Ok, see you next week. Then you can look at

That little blob of space.

That's it for the moment. Aside from the assignments given for reading week, I'm working on a prequel to Aeschylus' Agamemnon that examines the departure of the Greeks with Cassandra in tow. You see, I'm one of the people who felt that Cassandra is a great character to examine, and that Aeschylus really touched only the surface of her story, one which I feel complex and worth investigating. Plus, I'll be able to write some feminist style rants about the unyielding dominance of men in Greek tragedy. Stay tuned, the intro is coming well and may be displayed for ridicule soon.


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