Sometimes in my daydreams
There are flowers in your hair
And we dance around like maniacs
On dewy Autumn grass
And I kiss you on the cheek
And we go spinning trough the air
Making love through smiles and laughter
But in real life you're an ass
August 31, 2007
August 27, 2007
More Musings on Words
I have always felt that words were ethereal beings, like transparent butterflies with fluttering wings, that swoop, dive, and flash throughout my head day in and day out. But once I summon the courage to catch those twittering, translucent insects and set them down on paper, they become still concrete statues. Deprived of their ceaseless energy, they are all the more beautiful upon being examined closely. Every time I complete the task of solidifying words, I am both heart-broken that they are condemned to an infinite stationary life and ecstatic that the world can finally see their essence clearly.
A Reflection on Words
My name is Rachel and I have wanted to be a writer ever since I learned how to read. I have greatly enjoyed everybody's posts so far. Sadly, my writing style is quite different from the wonderful poetry that has graced this blog, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway. I wrote this a few days ago, and I figured people might enjoy it since it is about the power of words.
I base this reflection upon one of my favorite quotes of all time; though it is not the type of quote that inspires one to persevere, to achieve, or to work together like so many that are currently in vogue, hanging of office walls and schoolrooms blackboards. Instead, it is the kind of quote that tells the truth with beauty, and that is all we can ever ask of ourselves or of life. This particular quote is handwritten in silver sharpie on bright orange poster board and is hanging on the wall of my new dorm room. Although the orange (my favorite color because of its energy, authenticity, and originality) badly clashes with the brick wall behind it, its beauty is not diminished. If the words were written in blood on a pile of nuclear waste, I would still be awed by their clarity and wisdom.
"A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work or art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language and not only read but actually breathed from all human lips - not represented on canvas or in marble only but carved out of the breath of life itself."
-Henry David Thoreau
Naturally, every artist is partial to their own medium; every artist believes their work to be closest to reaching the "marrow of life," to borrow another phrase from Thoreau. Following this line of reason, Thoreau then may only be preening and stoking his own artistic ego, making his art form out to be the best. But I prefer to think that he was writing more out of a desire to his own connection with the written and spoken word. Indeed, it is a connection shared by millions of human beings since the dawn of language. Language, the first art form, was born out of the necessity for communication. Although it still fills this capacity, language has since had bestowed upon it by creative humans the twin blessings of wisdom and beauty.
Language is the ultimate human art form. Since nearly all human beings can both speak and understand at least one language, all of humanity can shape and transform the ever-changing forms and styles of language. Flowery words are not required, only a desire (nay, a need) for self-expression. By expressing thoughts, feelings, and ideas in language, all humans participate in the creation of the greatest art work of all time: human discourse.
I base this reflection upon one of my favorite quotes of all time; though it is not the type of quote that inspires one to persevere, to achieve, or to work together like so many that are currently in vogue, hanging of office walls and schoolrooms blackboards. Instead, it is the kind of quote that tells the truth with beauty, and that is all we can ever ask of ourselves or of life. This particular quote is handwritten in silver sharpie on bright orange poster board and is hanging on the wall of my new dorm room. Although the orange (my favorite color because of its energy, authenticity, and originality) badly clashes with the brick wall behind it, its beauty is not diminished. If the words were written in blood on a pile of nuclear waste, I would still be awed by their clarity and wisdom.
"A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work or art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language and not only read but actually breathed from all human lips - not represented on canvas or in marble only but carved out of the breath of life itself."
-Henry David Thoreau
Naturally, every artist is partial to their own medium; every artist believes their work to be closest to reaching the "marrow of life," to borrow another phrase from Thoreau. Following this line of reason, Thoreau then may only be preening and stoking his own artistic ego, making his art form out to be the best. But I prefer to think that he was writing more out of a desire to his own connection with the written and spoken word. Indeed, it is a connection shared by millions of human beings since the dawn of language. Language, the first art form, was born out of the necessity for communication. Although it still fills this capacity, language has since had bestowed upon it by creative humans the twin blessings of wisdom and beauty.
Language is the ultimate human art form. Since nearly all human beings can both speak and understand at least one language, all of humanity can shape and transform the ever-changing forms and styles of language. Flowery words are not required, only a desire (nay, a need) for self-expression. By expressing thoughts, feelings, and ideas in language, all humans participate in the creation of the greatest art work of all time: human discourse.
bad at introductions
Well, I'm Christine. And I guess since Nathan is the one who suggested me into this, I'll post the one he likes.
I usually write with a rhyme and a structure, and it's usually pretty light and witty (or at least I try)
I write free verse and open poetry from time to time, but usually I don't show off things that honest.
-Christine
Father'd have a steaming fit of anger at the sight
and I would fight the quivers at the corners of my mouth
But all the world would maybe seem a little more alright
if you would peddle poems on the corner by my house
Stand there in your leather coat, and wait for passers-by
Ask them how they're feeling- if they're looking for an out
Deal 'em all the good shit. Let 'em know that you're their guy
to ask for peddled poems on the corner by my house
I usually write with a rhyme and a structure, and it's usually pretty light and witty (or at least I try)
I write free verse and open poetry from time to time, but usually I don't show off things that honest.
-Christine
Father'd have a steaming fit of anger at the sight
and I would fight the quivers at the corners of my mouth
But all the world would maybe seem a little more alright
if you would peddle poems on the corner by my house
Stand there in your leather coat, and wait for passers-by
Ask them how they're feeling- if they're looking for an out
Deal 'em all the good shit. Let 'em know that you're their guy
to ask for peddled poems on the corner by my house
August 20, 2007
Love Poem: A Series
Hello old friends and new friends. I have a little time after class so I figured I'd try to get this blog started and share with you something that I've been working on.
I had a rather exciting revelation a month or two ago when I realized that the reason I had never written a decent love poem was because of how I was trying to write it. It's not that I'm not moved by love (I am to a crippling degree) or that I have nothing to say about it, it's just that I was trying to write a logical, well-rounded and cohesive love poem. When I started thinking about it, I realized that is not how love comes to me. It comes in fleeting feelings, it changes everytime I come into contact with it and so I decided to write a thematic series of poems. I started a new notebook, and I've been numbering verses; alot of them are only two or three lines long, but I know that I'll have at least a few that are pages along by the time I'm done with this.
I'm now gonna post a few, there's nothing special about them, they're just the ones that catch my eye at the moment.
3
You're the girl that every man in America
Wants to stay at home and watch crappy TV with
5
When I am old and rich
and can afford to commission a sculptor
he'll make a marble statue for my elegant hallway
Immortalizing you in my arms
legs around my torso
and your breath tickling my ears
6
I hope that you understand
that no matter what happens
or where your life takes you
You could do no wrong in someone's eyes
7
I loathe shopping
and I wish that
whenever I had to go shopping
instead I could just go
to the beautiful woman store
and walk around and watch
beautiful women be beautiful
8
Most women have a
futile battle with my ego
but with you, I never even
stoof a chance
9
Have you ever seen
someone with one arm
and you have to use
all your energy just
not to look at
their missing limb?
Well, everytime you come over
I'm biting my tongue
just to stop myself
from saying, "I love you.
I love you, I love you,
I'm crazy about you"
That's all for now. Hope to hear from you all soon.
I had a rather exciting revelation a month or two ago when I realized that the reason I had never written a decent love poem was because of how I was trying to write it. It's not that I'm not moved by love (I am to a crippling degree) or that I have nothing to say about it, it's just that I was trying to write a logical, well-rounded and cohesive love poem. When I started thinking about it, I realized that is not how love comes to me. It comes in fleeting feelings, it changes everytime I come into contact with it and so I decided to write a thematic series of poems. I started a new notebook, and I've been numbering verses; alot of them are only two or three lines long, but I know that I'll have at least a few that are pages along by the time I'm done with this.
I'm now gonna post a few, there's nothing special about them, they're just the ones that catch my eye at the moment.
3
You're the girl that every man in America
Wants to stay at home and watch crappy TV with
5
When I am old and rich
and can afford to commission a sculptor
he'll make a marble statue for my elegant hallway
Immortalizing you in my arms
legs around my torso
and your breath tickling my ears
6
I hope that you understand
that no matter what happens
or where your life takes you
You could do no wrong in someone's eyes
7
I loathe shopping
and I wish that
whenever I had to go shopping
instead I could just go
to the beautiful woman store
and walk around and watch
beautiful women be beautiful
8
Most women have a
futile battle with my ego
but with you, I never even
stoof a chance
9
Have you ever seen
someone with one arm
and you have to use
all your energy just
not to look at
their missing limb?
Well, everytime you come over
I'm biting my tongue
just to stop myself
from saying, "I love you.
I love you, I love you,
I'm crazy about you"
That's all for now. Hope to hear from you all soon.
August 19, 2007
The Holy River Manifesto
I am not a writer of manifestos. I barely believe in anything enough to declare it publicly. In fact, rather than try to articulate any personal goals, I would much rather drink several glasses of cheap wine, smoke a pack of cigarettes, and fondle myself to the media's latest coverage of whatever scandal Lindsay Lohan is currently involved in. However, after a recent decision to take myself more seriously – though not too seriously, obviously – it occurred to me that while I have tried to define myself as a poet over the years, I lacked a community that could nurture that hopeless drunken romantic inside my soul that relied on words to fool beautiful women into sleeping with me. This is not to say that I wish to form a writing community solely in hopes that more women will sleep with me, although I certainly would not mind if this happened. Rather, I feel that only as a collective can we further the development of our art. It is with this belief that I call on my peers, the next generation of poets and writers, to join together and in some way shape what will become of all of us.
The Purpose of This Site
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