grace's (somewhat) poetic drivel.

[grace note]

this is going to be a place for my writing. i'll keep the short stories, flash fiction, essays, and so on out of it, but stick to freestyle poetry and haiku. later on today i'll put some of my older things up. most of what'll go up has already been published, chapbook style.

also if anyone would like a little haiku for their sig or profile or anything, i can write one for you if you'd like. smile you'd just have to let me know how you want the content (funny, serious, smexy, etc) and, how many 'stanzas' you'd want.

*** AN IMPORTANT NOTE ***
while my writing does not violate TOS, and is generally PG-13, i will say that some of it is kind of sensitive subject matter. not ALL pieces, just a few. i will mark the top of any post with a sensitive poem with a star, so you can choose not to read it if you are not wanting to be triggered negatively!

thanks, hope you enjoy!  

[grace note]

here, i will open with a little limerick i wrote for the guild, last night before i went to sleep (it popped in my head). razz

we're older than most gaians think,
it's true, we can legally drink!
but we come here to play
and build friendships that stay;
that outlast any flash or a blink.  

[grace note]

** batch 1 - "utmost sensitivities"

~ medic-sick : nov 03 ~
(written shortly after i got my EMT basic, and went on a call that's a bad way to start your career.)

my eyes sting from too much trauma-smoking,
& too little sleep.
mine is a cocaine-conscience birthed by hyper-fear
& flashing lights
that not even nicotine can soothe.

horror stories stir the girl trapped underwater, still;
but here i am, regardless (unable to save her) --
tucked in a room lit by a single bulb that swings
(back & forth (back & forth)
like a pendulum,
silently ticking out what little time is left.

(they call this "debriefing," but really, it's torture.)

but its counting hangs
hidden from me while i'm drawn into smoke-screen dreams
that burn my retinas with their firely promises
of becoming a hometown hero,
of saving what couldn't be saved.

stumbling, i count down; i pretend
i can't see her, still(ed); a rag-doll ensnared in weeds.
tumbling, i trip & fall, i claw
for no surfaces, & i'm submerged in sleep...

...i drempt of drowning:

of the girl whisper-hissing that she was taking my body
away from me.
she was using it so she could kill me -
but i would relish the trip down.

~ sky-secrets : nov 03 ~
(written on my rooftop, while watching a lunar eclipse.)

we hang in a canvas of velvet:
pin-pricked light suspended in tenebrous ink.
we cannot be contained, although They try --
tombs of M-81 and M-92; solitary graves of AI-219 and HZ-103.
names like Altair and Nihal, and one bought for Alice's mother,
three years passed.

we are souls long gone,
hand-picked by Nature Herself, in efforts
to sprinkle sugar-diamond drifts on the soured planet
we were plucked from.

but trust, what They call HZ-103
is really Alice's mother;
the piece of paper they gave alice represents some baby, stillborn; oh, how science and industry mislabel the sky!)
i would know --
she and i spend our time and nights together, flying rampant.
we taunt Virgo, fearless of his warrior's grip on Spica;
we deny him sips of night from the Little Dipper,
much like Hydra torments the Crow, lording over
a mere cup of water.

but outranking us all is Luna --
a gracious maiden waxing,
bearing Her full-milk belly, piece by piece,
night by night.

then, waning --
She believes she gave too much of herself.
She turns shyly, sliver by sliver,
night by night,
to the darker side of space, swearing never to do it again:
but She will always do it again...
even Goddesses never learn.

She forgets that we surround Her, witnesses
to Her every mistake; that there's no escape.
that, while the dead can speak,
no one listens... not even Her.

(we will carry Her secrets until the galaxy dismisses us
in a frenzy of mottled gases:
a supernovae lightshow for worlds below us to see--
it would be like them to find beauty in the loss of others.)

and even when She pulled your mudball's shadow
over Her pure nakedness like a black slip-dress,
She was still howling in her decency:
totality means nothing when the world below watches
what is otherwise overlooked
every other once-a-month.

~ Maximum Security : Sept 03 ~
(this was written while watching silence of the lambs!!)

come into my cell. make yourself at home.
thrum your fingers along the bars,
it will become the drumbeat for
the useless symphony that spins in your head.

breathe in the stale silence of
twelve men before me.
trail your fingers along their etchings of
temporary territory.

sit. stay awhile. the mattress is
thicker than paper, comfortable like concrete --
the screech of spring-metal is not unlike
that of your beloved, mere seconds before i...

...where are you going? i haven't
had a chance to share with you
the delicacy of her rope-thin muscles!
the bread of bricks and water of sewers
have nothing on the way she fell apart in my mouth,
washed down with wine
older than these four walls.

~ knocked out ~ : july 02
(remnants of my first concussion...)

not like the slow, smeared threads of a
carbon monoxide blanket, wrapped up in a
lexus quarantine,
this was three seconds 'til pseudo-death.

step. turn.
and the scent of cold soil, the taste of chilled grass
that never registered:

i finally found peace and quiet in the numb
of concussion.  

[grace note]

batch 2 - haiku/limericks (1)

3/03 (written on the back of a glove in ER)

it is the purging
of life-blood, but emphasised:
hematemesis.

2/06 (sample for johnny weir's website..)

magic-laced, he skims
pearl-smooth ice like an air-sylph,
his soul on his blades.

5/06 (..what then later got accepted for his book, yet to be released)

beneath countless eyes,
secrets are scribed in spirals
for a crowd of one.

to watch is a breach:
it aches to the bone, to see
something so sacred...

...& i, a sentry,
as he breaks his heart on ice
for his love to heal.

4/06 (a lame hallmark moment...)

a steadfast beacon
whether life be fogged, or clear,
is a mother's love.

some silly limericks i sent to johnny when he was down, after the olympics. smile

j-we is a boy some call Tink
(though the USFA calls him "Jinx")
they feel he's too bold,
yet he's taken our gold
THREE TIMES, despite what they think!

soul-gripping tales are scribed by his blades
on the ice, though they aren't all charades.
be it serpentine whispers,
or squalls of triple-flip slivers,
you will know when his gauntlets are laid.  

[aria_amina]

Those were all gorgeous. Although the silence of the lambs one was creepy....I still liked them. You're a great artisit gracie!  

[aria_amina]

When you going to post more here? Hopefully soon!  

[Amethyst Moontree]

Those are beautiful poems Grace. Ive never written a hiku style poem. looks very intresting.  

[Tazzy Wolfstar]

The poems are ver beautiful. I enjoyed reading them. They were an interesting group. Thank you for you poetry.  

[grace note]

thanks, you guys. smile

i will post more up here soon, once i get it from books onto my computer.