Foyle

Let the games begin.

 

Imtiaz Dharker is awesome.  I want to go to London.  I’m going to start writing poetry again, eventually, once I get over the whole screw-poetry-forever phase that I’m going through.

As February Nears (not a poem)

Right.  Originally this blog was only going to be poetry, not my slightly-insane and very-much-boring chatter, but I mean… the whole point of a blog is to chatter, am I right?  I won’t be going all emo on you now.  This is still strictly poetry talk (although, as I said, this was only supposed to be poetry, you might actually see me mention some prose or, god forbid, post something I’ve been working on) but I think I want to go in a different direction and actually start mildly editing some of the crap I spew.  I’ll be spewing it daily from now until the end of February, as my pre-NaPoWriMo (don’t know what it is? google it.) month kicks off.  This is a joint effort between me and Lykaios (www.rainingfairylight.wordpress.com (I’m not sure how to post a link on here, but oh well)) because, well, I want to win Foyle this year (I’m going to win, determined-face-activate) and realized that I need to… practice.  A lot.  A lot more.

And once February is over, I’ll have a month to tune it down until April, the official NaPoWriMo month.  Although, if I were really adamant about going to England, I’d be practicing a lot more than I usually do, which is only like once or twice, of that, a week without motivation.  Like I said, I really do need to be writing more.

I’ve been writing poetry for nearly a year (it’ll be a year at either the end of April or sometime in May, I don’t quite remember when I started, but I know it was near the end of NaPo) and I feel like I haven’t improved as much as I should have.  Ah, well.  It’s probably just not my thing.  I wish I could say I have a thing, but in truth, I really don’t, which terrified me.  I want poetry to be my thing, goddammit!  Or at least prose.  I should write a short story.  I just have trouble actually coming up with ideas for shorts.  The only thing that’s been sticking in my mind is about a man named Elroy who has a panic attack when a man starts using the urinal next to him.  Titled The Rules of Society.

I want to write a series of interconnected shorts.

This is a poetry blog.  Shut up.

Anyway, when I mentioned earlier that I was going to start editing my poems, I might have lied a bit.  I won’t be editing, per se, but I’ll be going over my poems and writing down what I, personally, think is bad and good and what needs to be fixed and so on.  So, from here on out, whenever I post a poem, there will probably be a little bit at the end about my own thoughts on it.

Cold-Water Sensations

If we said our prayers. with our hands
side – by – side, then would god know we were
one?  If we could only. take a glance to show
that. we could be returning to the ages,
and millenia, and eons of every
body, who passed before us in the cold-water
sensations of falling, would god know
us for the untimely precipice that held our fingers loose
?
Where are your questions, your answers.?  Caught
in the back of your throat with a curved finger, or
.hung. .hung.             drowning past the water
line?
The walls are bare now, the ash we dusted
on the mantelpiece is gone now, and all we have for show
is our two hands, puckered up
.you pressed them to the globe again?.
and drawn across with blue and green pen.  You did mine,
and I did yours.
god remembers.
Or maybe he doesn’t want to forget. how. he
…….took us for adam and eve.
mis-
ery used to be loud at night, and now I can hear
my thoughts spinning into yours.