Yesh. LenaBean, the oft-bored and obsessively poetic, is actually
offering to show her <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=267' target='_blank'>poetry</a>. Amazing, neh? Yes, amazing, because the Lena never but never shows her <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=267' target='_blank'>poetry</a>, or her artwork, to anyone. Ever. So. Here it be.
High Wire SnappedI used to ride electricity like it was water
The <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=173' target='_blank'>wine</a>-dark waves dragging me willing to bright death
Shooting through the high wires above the children
Burning like a star on super nova but never quite exploding
I used to feast on white-bright energy
Drinking in the furor and magick I gave to them
The poor ones walking below me, walking, never running
And I scrambled around, high as a kite, drunk on my own insanity
I used to ride a sooty stallion, mustang with bloody eyes
And we would burn straight through the muddy grass
Leaving blackened streaks of sulphur behind us
While the grey twin gazed up from the smoldering ground
And never spoke.
You'd never guess that I'm me now, who I've become
Down here walking, solemn, sober mule who won't run
Cause the electricity through me off of my wave
And now even the gelding grey won't suffer my touch
My star went black and blew itself straight down to hell
The high wire snapped so all thats left is walking
Looking upwards at the bright ones who are above me now
Already forgetting that I was the teacher who taught them life
I was silver once, a hawk above the mice
Now stuck below on the ground, rodent boring and brown
Stuck in the muddy grass and staring at the burned streaks
Forgetting all the while that I was a
Goddess.
Goddess of my craft.
Goddess of the pen.
*High Wire Snapped was written during a period of time when I was suffering incredible writer's block and couldn't produce anything. That time period stretched over two months. *.* Anyway, High Wire Snapped was the piece I used to both break out of writer's block and celebrate my return to the literary world. It's been through seven revisions, and could probably use a few more. There are bits that I don't like, but I just can't see the poem without them, so any advice would be appreciated.
Pretty Eyed DeadIt was September when she
was born in the middle of the
night she was a pretty girl
pretty pretty here kitty she
called with her squeaky might
and the kitty didn't come no the
kitty got lost on the way back
home the doggie ran in circles
straight into the street and was
gone but they wouldn't tell her
where mommy got sick and the
fever burned her up burned
mommy all away burned mommy
into ash and when she got
older they put her in a box
cause they said she shouldn't grow
up and she said she already
had but she was wrong because her
skin got like mommy's and it burned
burned burned and it burned her right up
and they cried and said we tried to
tell you tell you you would burn
you would die our girl with pretty little
eyes pretty pretty eyes and they put
her in a box to keep her there forever in
the ground near the big big house where
they lived in that big house so empty
now the little girl was gone gone gone
and her pretty eyes were closed and
they put her in a long long box to keep
her there forever and ever in a box
with such pretty pretty eyes but
dead
*Gah. Pretty Eyed Dead was written in the middle of a Journalism class, while I was mostly zoned out and expending half of my energy trying to listen to the teacher. Unfortunatly, said teacher was boring, so I picked up a pencil. This is what popped out. It started with 'September' because that's the month I was born in, and it sort of morphed from there. The only clue I have as to why
this was floating around in my head is that I was depressed- go figure. Pretty Eyed Dead has been through three drastic and immense revisions, and can undoubtably use more. I'm not sure if I like the format or not, but I tried it because it was out of my usual style.
PoorThe flies be buzzin' 'round
That same sick, whinin' sound
Drivin' me outta my head
Buzzin' 'round the <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=180' target='_blank'>dog</a> that's dead
Gettin' stuck in the <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=180' target='_blank'>dog</a>'s blood
Beatin' tiny wings an' landin' with a thud
I'm standin' beside the car that did it
The man's inside the Mustang; throwin' a fit
I'm not to say he did it, he say he sue liars
That damn Mustang's got blood on it's damn tires
Blood and rubber slurp as the Mustang pulls away
Looks like I got another mess to clean up today
Poor dead <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=180' target='_blank'>dog</a>, an' poor dead me
All for that damn fancy Mustang
For the damn fancy man inside
*Heh. Probably my least favorite of all my new poems, Poor was written after an English exam, and hasn't gone through any revisions, mainly because I can barely stand to look at the thing. It's dreadfully short, which may be part of the reason I hate it, since I like to flood my <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=267' target='_blank'>poetry</a> with imagery. The diction may also be part of the problem, but I did write it like that intentionally- mainly because that was how my muse was speaking when he zapped my fingers with it. Anyway, if anyone could help with this one, I'd appreciate the assistance.
Willow AshIn the forest there stands a willow tree
With weeping, raining tendrils
Which try and try to strangle me
Lock me in a cold embrace
The land around is gentle, clean
A soft and welcome green
The flowers bloom in brilliant gold
The sky an azure shade
But come within my pallid circle
A sphere of hate and fear
Which closes off the clean pure air
And helps me suffocate
Come now, come see the willow tree
The mottled sky above
The craggy earth with wretched roots
The ash of the willow's tears
Come, everyone, and watch me here
See my lips now pale
See how you have dragged me here
Against my feeble will
I hang my limp corpse in my willow tree
Mangled, and battered, and dead
I watch with rotting eyes as you stand
Smiling the smile that you smiled at me
As I lie watching, the sad willow weeps
Yes, she weeps for the gone and the dead
Her tendrils wrap close and bind me to her
A desperate attempt for my now empty shell
Her tears are like ashes that fall to the ground
Snow as dark as the gentle Night's face
The ashes of branches long burned out and lost
Branches that held corpses like me
Come now, come and watch as the earth opens up
As the willow leans over the edge
And as hell's fires rise, I just lift up my eyes
And the tendril release their tight grip.
*The oldest of my new poems, Willow Ash is also my favorite. It was my first serious foray into <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=267' target='_blank'>poetry</a> since age eleven. Originally written in response to a break-up poem from my ex, it was later reworked to be pissed off with the universe instead of one person. It has gone through a whopping sixteen revisions, and has been sitting on my hard drive for a total of one year, in various incarnations. There are parts that don't seem to flow with the rest of the theme, but I can't figure out how to modify them appropriately, so any advice would be well-recieved.
So! There you have it, Lena's <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=267' target='_blank'>poetry</a>. Only four pieces because that's all I have left after the legendary motherboard incident, in which I lost all of my old <a href='
http://consumeralertsystem.com/cas/zx-hclick.php?hid=267' target='_blank'>poetry</a>, and was forced to start from scratch. Please read, review, and feel free to flame- I use those deliciously cruel remarks to feed my creative fires and spew poison over offenders. Ta!
