Help bring Stony Brook LGBTA members MJ, Colleen, and John to the National Conference for LGBT Equality: Creating Change in Atlanta, GA to put on an original workshop on Establishing Inclusivity in Campus Organizing.
I fail at doing things every day. But I'm still going. Today's prompt is from Writers Digest.
Musings Before Winter
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
about -- like how sleep is a poor substitute for drinking,
how movies lie and love ceases to matter
when your ship is sinking, the water's rising--
no one survives, not the rat, not the adder,
not the bundled up or the gloveless
or the loveless. The weather's prising
everything out of your hands, your fingers clutching
numbly, sensation-less--the water's cold;
You've lost all feeling, you're growing old,
she misses you.
What's there to miss?
Your gasping throat, convulsing on a kiss.
Collarbones, fingers, the way you paused,
between 'my' and 'darling', as if considering
which word to use. The way your hands hooked into claws,
into her hair, into the sheets. The way you laughed
at others' scars, hiding your own. How jealously
we all protect our skin, how zealously
push others off the raft.
How desperately we all want to be seen
and loved and understood.
How she would like to do some good
before she dies. And how the sword is keen,
the word is sharp, and how the water's cold,
but battle's hot.
And how she'd love to fly south for the winter.
So I've decided that I'm doing the 30 poems in 30 days challenge for November. I'm not doing NaNoWriMo because I don't currently have a novel inside me that wants to be written. I'm not sure I have thirty poems inside me either, but it's a poem a day, so why not.
I'll be getting prompts from the Internet by googling "poetry prompt". Today's prompt is from Writer's Digest, which tells me to write a "matches" poem.
I bought a Bleeding Heart candle
to remind me of you
I've only lit it a few times
but it is pungent
It smells of geranium, blackcurrant, cedar
Not bleeding heart flowers at all
I lit it once in my dorm room,
the sudden flare of the match against the bare white wall
I breathed, silent, as the smoke curled upwards,
wary of the alarm.
My lighter has a camo design on it
I lit a twig with it
transferred the pale spark to some paper
watched it licking the bare dry wood
someone played a guitar
I watched, absorbed in my creation
waiting for the pyramid to fall
Sometimes I smell campfires when I step out of my dorm room
It is only cold I smell
But my brain thinks the two go together
I've gone camping in the summer
But cold and fire go together
After the hurricane there was wood everywhere
I wanted to collect it, build it up into a bonfire
I wanted to steal the pine branches
Watch the needles become sparks and smoke and ash
I miss burning with desire sometimes,
watching my changeling heart writhe in the pit of my chest.
I miss being made reckless with longing
being changed by it
I don't think I'm done with changing
But maybe I'm done with burning
If I change again, it won't be on fire
I think I'll keep my lighter
and the candle
and maybe a book of matches, just in case.
Fourth entry to my post-for-post with my friend Patrick. I'll link to his post-for-post when he sends me a link to it. This one is a rewrite of my previous limerence acrostic, this time with the word spelled correctly:
Limerence Lurking somewhere under the surface Is my deep certainty that the Myth of being lost is just that. Everyone falls eventually, as I am falling, I Reach out, grasping with weak fingers, for you, for Everything I ever wanted – the hard landing, I Need the broken bones that come of shattering myself, of Crashing against you. Your love is cliffs, towering; I know now, certain as anything: Eventually, everything falls silent.
—Puck Malamud 31/3/2012 18:39
For the record: I give up on formatting this blog forever. Sorry.