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 Posted: Wed Nov 23, 2005 5:03 pm
Well, I'm new here, and I'll probably only putting up things gradually. I'm pretty picky about my work.
I adore, welcome and need feedback. I appriciate any comment, even if it's just 'I liked it' or 'I hated it'. However, if you leave detailed feedback about the reasons for those feelings, you will make me almost overwhelmingly happy.
I'm not afraid of harsh words, I promise.
Thanks!
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Posted: Wed Nov 23, 2005 5:07 pm
What I learned at the River (Free verse)
Sparse trees clustered along the shoreline
desperate for even so meager a water source.
Grand Haven would call the Truckee creek.
In Reno, we just say 'The River'
Only inches deep where we let our feet dangle
The water icy and I felt like diving in.
(I knew a man who did: quadriplegic now,
but he got off the drugs.)
I wanted to twirl along the shore
to that bright Irish reel that sounded like dancing.
Arms spread out, feet frozen, and laughing.
You kept hold, tethered me to the rocks
leaving trails of demanding kisses up my arm.
I'd meant for the river to bring us back again
to the dim shaded groves and the towering trees.
I could still taste the dust.
Duncan woods, when I thought I loved you.
The doe eyed student, hanging on every cliche,
fragile admirer at your feet.
I accepted slices of apple
from patronizing fingers. A young seventeen.
Back in paradise, we would perch on mossy logs.
Naive, uprooted, it was just like love to me.
The desert knew better.
Tiny volcanoes spewing red ants,
quick gray lizards, the brittle sagebrush everywhere.
It grows without water or support.
Finding old roots, I grew without you,
fed by older knowledge. I too was battle born.
The Truckee River like a barely kept promise
giving just enough water for us to survive.
Women still stand on bridges
throw away their wedding rings.
I let the stone you gave me
slip from between my fingers.
I slipped between your fingers.
Dove.
(It hurt like hell but I got off the drugs.)
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Posted: Wed Nov 23, 2005 5:13 pm
Wow. First, I'm very glad you decided to join!
I loved this poem, and if I were to rate it, I'd have to give it at least an 8. At first I was a little confused by the parenthesis surrounding the second verse, but now I understand them, and I must say, they add alot to the flow of the poem, and make it seem more like a story. It's brilliant.
I hope to see more of your work soon.
Happy Scribing,
:Nesce.:
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Posted: Wed Nov 23, 2005 5:31 pm
Nesce Wow. First, I'm very glad you decided to join!
I loved this poem, and if I were to rate it, I'd have to give it at least an 8. At first I was a little confused by the parenthesis surrounding the second verse, but now I understand them, and I must say, they add alot to the flow of the poem, and make it seem more like a story. It's brilliant.
I hope to see more of your work soon.
Happy Scribing,
:Nesce.: I'm glad you liked the use of parenthesis. I was a bit iffy about them, and tried taking them out, but I liked them overall. Thank you for taking the time to comment.
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Posted: Tue Nov 29, 2005 11:35 pm
Late December and Dara had begun to see being wet as a permanent part of her being, intrinsic as breathing. In downtown Sacramento it rained daily, an endless miserable drizzle that made her miss snow; at least it created beauty. Maybe Odin hated her, that was it, she had angered the storm god and he had decided to drown her. Slowly.
"May Loki screw your wife." She muttered, giving the clouds a dark look. Her green umbrella, with its loosely hanging broken tines, dripped water down the back of her neck and soaked her braid.
The streets were barren, skeletal trees lining the streets. The homeless huddled in doorways, panhandling lethargically, their usually vocal demands silenced by the heavy blanket of clouds. In the summer, the old town area were she lived was filled with music. There were old black men playing jazz, and the violinist who played sad Celtic tunes by the Undergrounds, Dara's favorite coffee shop. It was silent now, but for the sound of cars splashing down the cobblestone streets, colourless but for the occasionally garish umbrella.
Shivering in the damp, it seemed as if the internal and external had merged, and she was no longer sure if the weather had caused her mood, or her mood the weather. At least she wasn't alone, everywhere she looked, people walked with their heads lowered, shoulders hunched, bodies lined with tension. It was no great thing, to feel isolated among them, to feel lonely. It was in summer, when the tourists walked laughing down the wooden sidewalks, that Dara felt her loneliness most keenly.
Stepping under the overhang of her workplace, The Garden of Enchantment, she shook off her beaten umbrella and opened the door to the soft ringing of bells. Warmth, the scent of incense and candles, too many scents to pick out one, the spicy sweet haze could not be bought and brought home. Dara had tried.
The Garden was a maze of shelves overstuffed with figurines, mystical jewelry, occult books. Packs of tarot cards were stacked in unstable pyramids, colourful silk scarves hung on the wall, tied to silver rings. To her left was a display case filled with bright porcelain dragon figurines: dragons roaring at wizards, dragons in flight, dragons wrapped possessively around their golden hoards their serpentine necks twisted to gaze at her. To her right a rack hung with plush velvet cloaks in dark greens, sharp silvers and gentle blues.
The store was bare of customers, unsurprising on a Wednesday afternoon. Jason stood behind the jewelry display laying out a Celtic Cross pattern above a display of silver ankhs. With all the silver crosses, ankhs and Libra symbols that hung around his neck, he looked like he was part of the display. Every movement he made glittered.
"What's the news?" She asked, rubbing her hands together for warmth. She leaned against the glass case, careful not to touch the cards.
"Cups, The Empress, The Lovers. And not a sword in the mess."
"Falling in love before you think again?"
"Who says I was reading me?" Jason had a way of smirking that always made her uncomfortable.
"Is the schedule for next week up yet?"
"Dara what haven't you been telling me?"
"Nothing. Jason, seriously, schedule. I need to know if I work Sunday."
"You've got the Three of Cups crossed by the Devil."
"I've got to know if I have time to meet my mother for lunch."
Jason sighed, turning away from her to rummage in the drawers behind him. The bright charms woven through his black hair caught the light and seemed to come to life. Dara had never been able to pull off the effect, her own thick hair simply tangling and hiding the jewelry from view. She had finally settled for securing her braid with a leather thong, crows' feathers dangling at each end. It wasn't nearly as dramatic, but no one could compete with Jason when it came to first impressions.
The schedule binder was a heavy black monstrosity, the cover decorated with runes and pentagrams in metallic gold pen. Jason flipped slowly through the pages, demonstrating exhausted patience with a heavy sigh. "You work at 2:30. Now are you going to talk to me?"
"Jason, listen, I'm going over to Undergrounds, do you want me to bring you something back?"
"You're not going to stay and meet me company?"
Dara glanced at her watch, the hands already at 12:40. "I can't. But I'll drop back by, if you like."
"What's the rush?" He tapped the Seven of Cups, "Stop hiding, Dara."
"Can we talk about this later? I really do need to run."
"To get coffee."
"Yes." She grabbed his hand, squeezing it quickly, "I'm not going to do anything stupid."
"Be good."
"Never." Twiddling her fingers in a quick wave, she retreated to the door, "I"ll bring you tea."
The cold air was an assault after the comfort of The Garden, though the rain seemed to have stopped falling, hanging in the air instead, a thick watery mist. Glad to be saved from the struggle of resurrecting her umbrella, Dara glanced back for a moment through the window hung with dream catchers and wind chimes. She couldn't see Jason, but could guess that he was still puzzling over his cards. The Devil? No. She wasn't holding herself back. Jason's uncanny accuracy was finally showing flaws.
It was only a short walk to Undergrounds, one block up, on the other side of the street. True to its name, the door opened on to a winding staircase, leading down into what had once been a basement. The walls were made to look like rough rock, dim lighting adding to the cave like atmosphere. The tables were clustered at the edges of the room, leaving the center free for the bands that played most nights. Like The Garden, Undergrounds was nearly abandoned, only a few couples hidden away in the booths.
Janey was behind the counter, her back to Dara as she wrote something on the blackboard that served as a menu. Her cargo pants were the colour of violence, the boy's t-shirt she wore slipping loosely over one of her slight shoulders. Just off the stairs, she paused, shifting restlessly. Janey was messing with her hair, turning as she tried to push the mess of blue tipped blond spikes out of her face, she looked toward the stairs and gestured Dara over.
"Hey! You braved the weather." She spoke softly, voice sneaking under the music that filled the place, Bowie singing: Smiling and waving and looking so fine, don't think you knew you were in this song. And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor. The Undergrounds was all about playing music loud enough to be heard, and then some.
I guess I was thirsty." The floor was stone, and her footsteps were too loud, echoing through the room. She slowed, setting her feet more carefully, trying for silence and failing.
"In this rain?"
"I wouldn't drink it. Even the sky is poisoned."
Janey laughed, a low, throaty chuckle, and turned to start making Dara�s usual, a latte, heavily crowned with foam. Earlier plans churning in her mind, she only watched, incapable of making the usual small talk. She wasn't holding herself back, but Janey smiled razorblades.
"Something on your mind?" She asked, as she slid the drink across to Dara, "Or are you still thinking about rain?"
"You get off at one today, don't you?"
"Same as every Wednesday. How's the latte?"
"Excellent." She had only toyed with the mug, tracing her fingers over the handle, not lifting it. "You gonna be busy?"
"After work? No. I still don't know anyone around here."
"Hey!"
"Except you. But hell, you don't write, you don't call."
Janey's number was recorded in her cell phone, and she called it to the screen enough to have memorized it. She'd never once hit the send key.
"We could hang out after you get off. Walk to the park."
"Dara, it's raining."
"Only misting now. And I've got an umbrella."
"I've seen your umbrella."
Shifting uncomfortably, Dara took her first sip of the latte getting only the mild taste of foam. "Well, nevermind."
"I didn't say no. Lets hit the park. Eat the children."
"Slim pickings, it's raining."
"We'll make do."
Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of more customers, and Dara retreated to a booth with a wave, watching Janey deal with the cluster of decadent black butterflies. They spoke too quietly for her to hear, but Janey was obviously listening attentively, arms on the counter, head tilted slightly to one side. Unexpectedly, she laughed, her head back, exposing the pale skin of her throat. Dara, sipping at her latte, found herself choking.
Smothering the sound of the coughing as much as possible, she fixed her eyes firmly on the table, tracing the grains in the wood with a fingernail she'd chewed to nothing. That would set her mother off, at Sunday lunch, they both knew she only bit at her nails when something was bothering her. They hadn't been long since winter started, before that. Back when it had still been sunny, but Dara could no longer remember the last bright day. Her thoughts were clouds.
"Brooding?" Janey could make 'hello' sound sarcastic.
"Considering the weather."
"Don't." Reaching out, she grabbed the edge of one of Dara's flowing, envy coloured sleeves. "Kyle's here. Let's go."
She stood, schoolgirl awkward, shrunken from twenty to fourteen, all knees and elbows. Stepping wrong, she managed to get her gypsy skirt caught on her shoe, black fabric swirling in a cloud around her as she stumbled. Janey's steadying hand on her arm only further confused the matter, she froze, thinking if only she could hold still, the light touch wouldn't leave.
"If that's your idea of walking, maybe we should stay here."
"I, I'm fine. Just, umm, dizzy. Stood up too fast."
The staircase seemed narrower than she remembered, walls everywhere, pushing the two of them closer, claustrophobic. Caught between rushing for open air and dragging her feet, Dara managed an even pace, leaving the darkness in favor of wet winter air. She looked everywhere but Janey. Eurydice had faded. It could happen again.
The mist had lifted, bringing back the distant silhouettes of young skyscrapers as they cut rifts in the low hanging clouds, revealing promising patches of barely remembered sky. She stared, letting it sink in; remembering that spring would come again, with its bright birds and young leaves. A hand cut across her vision, fingers wiggling, leading her gaze back to Janey.
"If you stare at the sun, it's all you'll see."
"I wish it was."
"C'mon, if we don't hurry, someone will have eaten all the fat ones."
Janey talked about work as they walked, the customers they got, good and bad. A man had tipped 1.25 for a .75 bottle of water, a girl came in everyday and stayed for hours, but only spoke to give her order, always different. Dara hung, not on her words but her voice, reminding herself to nod at appropriate moments.
As they passed The Garden, her promise came back to her; she brushed her fingers over the doorknob. She could duck in and not come out again, leave the afternoon to hang forever, unsullied. She could keep the sunlight, the freedom of Janey's laughter, the way the light got caught in her hair. December would be back by nightfall, but as they walked it was April. She wanted to steal time, a tiny bubble of possibility caught in crystal to stare at on dark days. They kept walking.
"Janey?" The park was over the next slight hill, and every destination was an end. There was nothing more to say, so she laughed, a soft nervous sound on the false spring air. Reaching out, she caught Janey's hand dragging her the first few confused paces into a run. They were both laughing the low sound of Janey's chuckle getting tangled up with Dara's hesitant birdsong. The park grew ahead of them, a door; and Dara no longer knew whether she was running toward something, or away. The air tasted like spring and promise, and maybe like rain.
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Posted: Fri Dec 23, 2005 10:27 pm
Eeek! I love it! Ive only read the poem so far, but it's so crazy good! heart heart I'm going to try to read the other one later, but Imight not, 'cause I'm lazy... sweatdrop
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