Lit blog

[SeattleRain]

my left hand is beginning to hurt

the muscles feel swollen and painful

ouch
ouch
ouch

step
away
from
your
keyboard...

slowly


slowly....

 

[SeattleRain]

okay so I was home for 2 weeks over Christmas vacation at my parent's place. While there, I added a bookmark to my Dad's computer, and I found that he had bookmarked some of my poetry. One of the sites http://www.theangrypoet.com/writings/poetry/vanburen/

had published "Down on Daddy's Blackbird"

Oh good lord.
How embarassing

I wonder if he thinks it is real. I think I need a pen name, or I guess just suck it up that if I am going to be a poet people that want to know personal things are going to know them, fact or fiction, fantasy or delusion



My kids are still little. I don't know how I will feel when they are all grown up, maybe it is not a big deal.

Down on Daddy's Blackbird

was it you who took me down
past the mountain of overturned topsoil
to the hood of my fathers 1950 Plymouth Special Deluxe
the sliver moon dipping the sky like salsa

hot light reflects from the cracked window
into your eyes
want to lick it dark
sip you down

but not yet

heel caught in bumper
you take tools from that old back pack
yes it must have been you
daring me to suck down my own toes
tongue tip nipple and nose flexing me loose

for that calf over shoulder stretch
baby-doll pulled up cold metal pressed
in a lip-bite whisper listen to that
creak of rusted hood
hollow pound of empty trunk
slamming closed over and over again


damn you can screech your tires into my dreams anytime baby
come throw me over your shoulder down balcony-balanced ladder

we can always wake up the old Blackbird
making sure Daddy doesn't see
what you are doing to me tonight
down on the hood of his first love
still dressed in her '58 tags
cracking glass like diamonds

 

[SeattleRain]

teacher said to write it a hundred times my chalk broke

I am done with you
I am done with you
I am done with you
I am done with you
I am done with you
I am done with you

 

[SeattleRain]

one of the things I do at the kids school is sell ice cream on Fridays.

all the little pre-k angels point to the picture
I point to my mouth and my ear
can you say "rainbow"
shy voices try to use their words
what a beautiful voice you have! thank you!
the spanish speaking classes come through
with their pointer fingers too
I ask them to try to say it "Sandwich" Rainbow"
Crunch

smiles with fallen teeth gaps
I knew you could say it
thank you
thank You

all the kids in my son's class want to touch me
they hold my hand
hold my leg
they are babies
in such a big world
F. wants to touch the sparkle on my shirt
C. wants me to fix his helicopter
their eyes their eyes their eyes
I pass out change
I pull nickles from my pocket
My sons bounce in their seats when I find their table
they feed me fish sticks
carrot sticks
stories
two hours later
I think
what constitutes success
and they come through my line
one at a time
Carlos and Austin and Itzumi and Jessica
they touch my sleeve
I hand them ice cream
I am the luckiest girl in the world

 

[vampiredust]

one of the things I do at the kids school is sell ice cream on Fridays.

all the little pre-k angels point to the picture
I point to my mouth and my ear
can you say "rainbow"
shy voices try to use their words
what a beautiful voice you have! thank you!
the spanish speaking classes come through
with their pointer fingers too
I ask them to try to say it "Sandwich" Rainbow"
Crunch

smiles with fallen teeth gaps
I knew you could say it
thank you
thank You

all the kids in my son's class want to touch me
they hold my hand
hold my leg
they are babies
in such a big world
F. wants to touch the sparkle on my shirt
C. wants me to fix his helicopter
their eyes their eyes their eyes
I pass out change
I pull nickles from my pocket
My sons bounce in their seats when I find their table
they feed me fish sticks
carrot sticks
stories
two hours later
I think
what constitutes success
and they come through my line
one at a time
Carlos and Austin and Itzumi and Jessica
they touch my sleeve
I hand them ice cream
I am the luckiest girl in the world

this is cute, Jenn

 

[wildsweetone]

okay so I was home for 2 weeks over Christmas vacation at my parent's place. While there, I added a bookmark to my Dad's computer, and I found that he had bookmarked some of my poetry. One of the sites http://www.theangrypoet.com/writings/poetry/vanburen/

had published "Down on Daddy's Blackbird"

Oh good lord.
How embarassing

I wonder if he thinks it is real. I think I need a pen name, or I guess just suck it up that if I am going to be a poet people that want to know personal things are going to know them, fact or fiction, fantasy or delusion



My kids are still little. I don't know how I will feel when they are all grown up, maybe it is not a big deal.

Maybe Land
I have been thinking seriously about allowing family members to read my poetry, but admit to being scared to death because, well, they are a very judgmental lot and why should I put myself under their noses so they can
pick apart my poetry, so they can lift their chins even more, so they can stomp their own biases on my words. Why should I lie down for a beating? They won't know what is real from what is made up. Sure they'll know the places, perhaps the events, but how will they discern the difference between me and my imaginative mind, apart from declaring that everything I've written is imaginative and that menopause must be coming early to me because that's when we take pills and the chemicals without and within mess with our minds and cause us to speak and write utter rubbish that isn't worth the price of a match. Delusion written by them would be their life story, life story written by me is delusion. Maybe I'll just keep it a secret, or maybe I'll censor what they see but that's not what I want to do. I want to write and to write free, to share what I write and to sometimes write about me. Oh yes, to write about you and to write about them. And yes, I want to mess with the words until they meld into a satisfactory gel that I can use to spike the spices of my own life story. So shall I show them, or not?

 

[Maria2394]

Dear WSO-

I encountered the same problem when I was 15. I had written a story about a teenager, a friend of mine, who was having trouble with drugs. My mom found my notebook, assumed it was me and beat the living shit out of me.
For years I didnt share my work. This was the first place I did, after 25 years and even that was difficult. . You all see everything, hence, the good the bad and the ugly ....Now I show them select pieces

With a disclaimer-
no, this is not ALL true, its bits and pieces worked into a story, of sorts, a poem. Do not automatically assume since I wrote a lesbian sex story that I am gay. I am not, but the relationships between woman fascinate me since I have never had a really close female friend. ( just an example of what I had to say once...)

Show them, let them see how talented you are, and if they are critical, remember, you are who you are, and you know who they are, let them judge as long as you know better. Youre a fantastic, sympathetic, empathetic, kind, talented person and if they cant see it, it is their loss.



julie

 

[Tzara]

Maybe Land
I have been thinking seriously about allowing family members to read my poetry, but admit to being scared to death because, well, they are a very judgmental lot and why should I put myself under their noses so they can
pick apart my poetry, so they can lift their chins even more, so they can stomp their own biases on my words. Why should I lie down for a beating? They won't know what is real from what is made up. Sure they'll know the places, perhaps the events, but how will they discern the difference between me and my imaginative mind, apart from declaring that everything I've written is imaginative and that menopause must be coming early to me because that's when we take pills and the chemicals without and within mess with our minds and cause us to speak and write utter rubbish that isn't worth the price of a match. Delusion written by them would be their life story, life story written by me is delusion. Maybe I'll just keep it a secret, or maybe I'll censor what they see but that's not what I want to do. I want to write and to write free, to share what I write and to sometimes write about me. Oh yes, to write about you and to write about them. And yes, I want to mess with the words until they meld into a satisfactory gel that I can use to spike the spices of my own life story. So shall I show them, or not?

Its a difficult question for many of us, WSO, particularly if you think your family will react badly or critically (meaning "negatively," not "reading with an eye to critique"). I think you have to make up your own mind.

My own situation is that my wife knows that I write things and have had some poems accepted in online magazines. I have shown her a very few, carefully selected pieces. She has not indicated any great interest in my writing and I have not encouraged her to do so. This is partly because she has no interest in poetry and partly because I still feel very uncertain about it. No one else among my family or friends even knows that I write at all, and I prefer it that way.

Note that this is spite of the fact that my writing, unlike, for example, Maria's or Anna's, is almost never "personal," whether real or imagined. A better term might be that it is not confessional. That it isn't has more to do with what I think I can write about rather than thinking that is a non-productive way to write. Some of my favorite poets, both here and elsewhere, write what I would term confessional poems (think of Yeats, to some degree, Plath, Kim Addonizio). I just don't happen to be able to write that way.

All of this might sound odd from someone who argues (as I have in the past) for open and unbarred commentary on poems--both mine and others'. And it isn't that I anticipate a negative response from anyone, but more of a bewildered one. Or perhaps bored. It just isn't something I care to share with family.

But emotionally, I am a very private person, which probably explains why.

I hope that whichever you choose--share or not share--you are happy with the result.

 

[Sara Crewe]

I hate to be discouraging but I must admit I did not have a great experience in sharing a poem with family for the first time. It was actually the very first poem that had been accepted for print publication and so I was very excited when I received my contributor's copy. My mom read the poem and assumed it was about my childhood (which it wasn't) was hugely hurt and slightly offended. She asked me if, " maybe from now I could use a pen name." That's about as far away from , "I'm proud of you" as it gets.

I cared for the first bit and then talked myself through it basically by focusing on my own desire to continue writing and the positive response from readers who have enjoyed my writing. At this point, I let friends and family know that I write because it's not a secret but I wait for them to ask to see my writing. Most people don't ask and those that do are usually well-informed readers prepared to appreciate a poem for what it is.

 

[annaswirls]

I never had portulaccas myself, but my mother grew them. I always thought they looked like icing decorations and as I got older, I was frustrated by her choice of location for planting them, under the clump birch in the front yard. They never seemed to like it there, they never seemed to have enough leaves and their stems got tan and woody. It was one of those moments of realization in that transition between thinking your Mother is perfect to accepting she is just a mortal like the rest of us.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Maybe Land
I have been thinking seriously about allowing family members to read my poetry...snip... So shall I show them, or not?

Good question, WSO. One of those hard to answer ones where you get to choose the ending.

With poetry and prose and family, I'll show if someone asks to see but not before then (and not before at least a first revision, thank you!). Anne LaMott wrote a great writing book called Bird by Bird where she describes writing as your personal backyard. It's yours. You can plant dandelions or suntan naked or whatever you want. (I'm paraphrasing here, I'm sure she didn't say suntan naked, just a personal preference ).

But it's nothing you need to feel ashamed or embarassed about, or worry if you are being interpreted correctly. It's your yard.

And look, no clouds.

 

[clutching_calliope]

I never had portulaccas myself, but my mother grew them. I always thought they looked like icing decorations and as I got older, I was frustrated by her choice of location for planting them, under the clump birch in the front yard. They never seemed to like it there, they never seemed to have enough leaves and their stems got tan and woody. It was one of those moments of realization in that transition between thinking your Mother is perfect to accepting she is just a mortal like the rest of us.

The first time I tasted one of my favourites dishes my mother made for me and realized I could (and do) cook it better was the first time I realized she wasn't a god.

(Turkey fried rice and you're all invited next New Year)

 

[Maria2394]

Hubby called to let me know, he made it safely to Nebraska. he and his work partner for this job got snowed in somewhere around Kansas City overnight, but theyre okay.

all I can say is its a relief. I am glad they made it and that I finally have some peace an dquite here. Its been raining all day, a steady buffer that helps separate from the noise of the road. I am not used to living in the midst of people. I miss my two little acres of solitude and beauty.

I spent most of the day digging out my seeds and planting supplies. I have things scattered all over. I think pink hibiscus will be first....

I started during a break in the rain tday. Front yard removal of small pieces of trash and cigarette butt. I wish people wouldnt litter!
and while it was raing too hard, I folded eighteen sheets, scrubbed my bathtub and shower, scrubbed the bathroom floor, cleaned out the cabinets and fridge.

yellow jasmine grows wild all over this area and I plan on culling a few dozen of those smaller plants from a friends property and some of the star jasmine my daughter gave me for mothers day a couple years ago. If you have never encountered star jasmine, the scent, you miss a thing of sweet beauty. And it grows like mad!!


Im hoping that a few more jobs like that last open will enable us to get another couple of acres somewhere closer to the beach. The low country as its called here, is a nice place to live. I think so anyway, when I wwas pregant with our first daughter, we lived in Andrews, SC. In between 2 cemetaries. There was Myrtle Beach AFB about 70 miles away and we were on the route for their electronic bombing "missions". They had sensors planted in the area and used them for target practice.

It was like a free airshow dozens of times a month. Once, a huge helicopter hovered above the empty field next to us and about a 6 men rappeled down to the ground then climbed back up then they zoomed off. I loved watching them...

ive missed this

 

[RhymeFairy]

Hubby called to let me know, he made it safely to Nebraska. he and his work partner for this job got snowed in somewhere around Kansas City overnight, but theyre okay.

all I can say is its a relief. I am glad they made it and that I finally have some peace an dquite here. Its been raining all day, a steady buffer that helps separate from the noise of the road. I am not used to living in the midst of people. I miss my two little acres of solitude and beauty.

I spent most of the day digging out my seeds and planting supplies. I have things scattered all over. I think pink hibiscus will be first....

I started during a break in the rain tday. Front yard removal of small pieces of trash and cigarette butt. I wish people wouldnt litter!
and while it was raing too hard, I folded eighteen sheets, scrubbed my bathtub and shower, scrubbed the bathroom floor, cleaned out the cabinets and fridge.

yellow jasmine grows wild all over this area and I plan on culling a few dozen of those smaller plants from a friends property and some of the star jasmine my daughter gave me for mothers day a couple years ago. If you have never encountered star jasmine, the scent, you miss a thing of sweet beauty. And it grows like mad!!


Im hoping that a few more jobs like that last open will enable us to get another couple of acres somewhere closer to the beach. The low country as its called here, is a nice place to live. I think so anyway, when I wwas pregant with our first daughter, we lived in Andrews, SC. In between 2 cemetaries. There was Myrtle Beach AFB about 70 miles away and we were on the route for their electronic bombing "missions". They had sensors planted in the area and used them for target practice.

It was like a free airshow dozens of times a month. Once, a huge helicopter hovered above the empty field next to us and about a 6 men rappeled down to the ground then climbed back up then they zoomed off. I loved watching them...

ive missed this

I love the beauty of nature
and your words. You
paint everything in broad,

great strokes
of yellow. To cover the gray
harshness of reality
with spit polish and shine.

Thank you, for your eyes
of wisdom, heart of sensuality
and the body of mirth, you plant

in lil gardens
all around my house.

 

[vampiredust]

need sleep

 

[Tzara]

I am so kind of jacked right now. I have a brand new computer—an HP laptop with a dual core Intel processor, 2 GB of RAM, and a screen that is so goddam bright I'd swear I'm witnessing the second coming. It's running Windows Vista (hey, my job is to know this stuff), which doesn't seem very different so far from XP other than these annoying gadget thingies on the right hand margin that I haven't yet figured out how to get rid of. I might keep the clock, though. It reminds me of high school. But this thing that keeps showing pictures of whales and antelopes has got to go.

No, this doesn't mean I will be contributing more poems. A fast processor does not translate to facility of poetic inspiration. It doesn't even translate to poetic respiration, which is actually, if one thinks about it, more important.

Cool new games. Just sayin'.

I'm sorry. Is it obvious that I'm happy?

 

[vampiredust]

feel sick

have thrown up seven times today

fatigue
fatigue
fatigue

 

[Guest]

feel sick

have thrown up seven times today

fatigue
fatigue
fatigue

I loathe to feel that way so I hope you are feeling better today.

 

[LeBroz]

.
.
.

I always have viewed movie critics as sad creatures who often must doze through a movie or are so busy eating their popcorn that they miss entire scenes. I'd read their reviews and wonder which movie they had watched because their review certainly often bore no relationship to the movie I'd see.

Now I'm seeing the same with the dynamic duo of duddle & amy, rushing to rack up comments as fast as possible. And in their haste to get these comments out I've noticed many comments that made no sense next to the poem to which the comment was attached.

Now I see the same thing on my little light poem, A Man and A Woman - I. I just read their incredible comments and I swear, either they didn't read it all the way through to completion or they are in such a rush that they have no idea what they just read.

It's obvious {at least to me} that they were standing at the end of the runway when the irony took off.

.
.
.
.

 

[annaswirls]

I have been conflicted over using a pen name out there.

My motivation for not using my "real" name is pretty basic.

1. Reputation: I live in a conservative area, and do not want my kids hassled because I use the word fuck or use His name in vain etc. I am also considering going back to work as a teacher, and well....

2. Expectations: I got the strange response from an editor-- that they would have taken my piece if it was someone else who had written it....? but more than that...

3. More expectations: There are an increasing number of editors have been published at Mannequin Envy, and I do not want to ever feel like my stuff was published because of my position there or as some sort of bizarre exchange. The more people we have submit, the more this happens, and I am feeling limited as to where I can submit.

but but BUT

I do not want to "hide" because I feel that people have the freedom of speech, and I am proud of that... I am what I am and want to be able to write without the feeling of censorship.

sigh

I just got my first acceptance under another name and I don't know what to do!!!! I wanna be able to be Jennifer fucking VanBuren!!! wherever I go.

eh hem.

I will never be able to run for public office

 

[Maria2394]

Anna!! You will alwaysw be Jennifer fucking van Buren!! one of a kind!

I understand, sort of, but I have one under anothername that there is NO way I would ever want my girls to google it and see it next to my name, I would die, lol. ( its on zygote under the name J L Wallace, you might remember it, , you wrote a cum poem after that one, what a wild time that was!! I think the place was virtully a float with cyber spunk,)

Oh, guess what me and manda did today?

well, her transmission died and while we were awaiting the news, we had mexican food then went to a porn store called Nancy's nook, where we looked at mosnter thick dildoes and all kinds of gay porn movies, why are gay porn guys always so hot? kinda bugs me,

but that made me wonder, have any other moms here ever gone to a place like that with their kid before? and does that make me a bad mom, I mean, she IS 23...

judge me, lol

oh yeah, my first real foray into the EditRed community today. I usually just post a poem here and there, but never went into the forum, I cant recall if I ever posted a bulletin in all the time I have been there... Mostly IM just a silent poster, when people comment on mine, I read theirs, theres no voting, so its pure FB--o vote drama every month or so...

I have gotten some good feedback prior to this, some that made no sense but was well meant , but now a weird one popped up, claims he is "the Light" and the one true poet and he "judged" me. said my work lacked ( I am paraphrasing here) everything good and showed mostly a lack of craft and imagination, etc, etc etc. Then he accused me of being in some club I never heard of and says he wasnt invited...I was going to tell him to take his meds, then I remembered I needed to take mine, so I was polite and diplomatic. I think.

Sometimes Literotica is a weird little place, but its home, god that sounds lame, but its true




j

 

[vampiredust]

but now a weird one popped up, claims he is "the Light" and the one true poet and he "judged" me. said my work lacked ( I am paraphrasing here) everything good and showed mostly a lack of craft and imagination, etc, etc etc. Then he accused me of being in some club I never heard of and says he wasnt invited...I was going to tell him to take his meds, then I remembered I needed to take mine, so I was polite and diplomatic. I think.


j

that guy sounds like an asshole (even for an over-doped one)

 

[Maria2394]

good morning!

I'm off to get my girlie for the weekend. The rental car has a great stereo I hope she doesnt mind some Nick Cave on the way back, I hear the boatman calling ...

oh, Vampiredust, I was told that the guy I referred to is the resident religious nut, to just ignore him. He says Emily Dickinson visits him and tells him what to do...now I believe that people can and do communicate with other worlds, dimensions, whatever you wanna call them, but I doubt that Emily cares enough to guide his every move, but who knows, maybe it is her afterlife mission to rid the world of bad poets through him.

I was joking about the meds, VD, making fun of myself, lol. you know what I mean....me and my zoloft, its a love hate relationship. I start to feel "right" then its classic, is like, I dont really need this shit, so I stop then realize, I really need that shit, its a vicious cycle

 

[annaswirls]

thanks Julie

and lol on the zygote! Did I know you were there? I dont remember your name. I am losing my memory so quickly.

I would have died before going to a porn store with my mother. I remember one time I was talking to her on the phone in college when some frat went streaking through the quad, so I told her and she asked me "Is it true all men are created equal?" and I nearly DIED of embarassment, the thought of my mother visualizing cock like that.

hmm


still do not know what to do.

Anna!! You will alwaysw be Jennifer fucking van Buren!! one of a kind!

I understand, sort of, but I have one under anothername that there is NO way I would ever want my girls to google it and see it next to my name, I would die, lol. ( its on zygote under the name J L Wallace, you might remember it, , you wrote a cum poem after that one, what a wild time that was!! I think the place was virtully a float with cyber spunk,)

Oh, guess what me and manda did today?

well, her transmission died and while we were awaiting the news, we had mexican food then went to a porn store called Nancy's nook, where we looked at mosnter thick dildoes and all kinds of gay porn movies, why are gay porn guys always so hot? kinda bugs me,

but that made me wonder, have any other moms here ever gone to a place like that with their kid before? and does that make me a bad mom, I mean, she IS 23...

judge me, lol

oh yeah, my first real foray into the EditRed community today. I usually just post a poem here and there, but never went into the forum, I cant recall if I ever posted a bulletin in all the time I have been there... Mostly IM just a silent poster, when people comment on mine, I read theirs, theres no voting, so its pure FB--o vote drama every month or so...

I have gotten some good feedback prior to this, some that made no sense but was well meant , but now a weird one popped up, claims he is "the Light" and the one true poet and he "judged" me. said my work lacked ( I am paraphrasing here) everything good and showed mostly a lack of craft and imagination, etc, etc etc. Then he accused me of being in some club I never heard of and says he wasnt invited...I was going to tell him to take his meds, then I remembered I needed to take mine, so I was polite and diplomatic. I think.

Sometimes Literotica is a weird little place, but its home, god that sounds lame, but its true




j

 

[annaswirls]

I went to my first poetry workshop. The prof called parts of my poem sophomoric and prosaic and he used the term Kludge for my phrase "mucky gutter water"

hahah!

And you know what, I LOVED it. Every minute. And the two other women writers there were also rough, as we were with their poems.

I love the internet of course, very helpful and I feel a sense of friendship and professional relationships here, but it felt so good to have someone sitting right there with my poem tearing it apart line by line. Either this is going to make me a better poet or make me crazy.

All I know is that writing well, writing mindfully, is really fucking difficult.

He gave us homework the motherfucker.



Shadow.

same title challenge
fuck.