Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Sunday, September 8, 2013
I managed to do 100 words exactly for one prompt (The Kremlin), and totally blew up the other two prompts (dead fish & an ornithologist; "what I found on the way to the laundry room in the basement"). I'm sure I could have worked the other two down to 100, I've done it before, but I kinda like what came out. The question is, will you?
What I found on the way to the laundry room in the basement: Lovely in My Eyes
The Kremlin: In the Shadow of My Father's Kingdom
Dead Fish and an Ornithologist: Copper Gulls
Keturah turned to her colleagues in disgust, tossing the dead fish at their collected feet. "This is why the birds aren’t eating. You’re feeding them dead fish! What kind of researchers are you?"
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Agreed! @KaiLeakes At @DragonCon I was panelling & said that I want interracial couples that *aren't* white_POC too! #DiversityinSFF
— Diana M. Pho (@writersyndrome) September 4, 2013
YES! Someone will want to read my kdrama-esque steampunk novel featuring an Afro-Japanese couple trying to navigate courtship in the midst of class, race and family & cultural expectations (basically in that order), with the help of the best friends who are Jewish and dark-skinned Indian, respectively, all while trying to stay one step ahead in the world of steampunk fashion.
I'M NOT WRITING IN VAIN! Woo. That's nice to know. Wanna see?
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Then Trayvon Martin happened, and a host of other shootings of young brown men in the city and around the nation. Tonight (technically last night, but I haven't gone to bed yet), Martin's shooter, George Zimmerman, was acquitted. Half my twitter feed is alive with the news and reactions to the news. I was doing okay--saddened, upset, annoyed--until Salli Richardson made this post on Instagram (sharing it via Twitter). Then the poem that had been kicking around, waiting its turn to be born, giving me false positives when I saw an adorable brown baby boy, came pouring out of me. And now I can't stop crying. Which is a problem b/c I need to be up at 6 for church (I'm slow).
12:13pm, 7/14/13, hours after the verdict, my beautiful baby boy
Friday, June 28, 2013
I made a recent twitter comment about the kookie things my natural hair was doing to me in public the other day, to the amusement of my fellow Twitter-OTers. (Mission accomplished.) That led to more silliness and a not-unusual question for ppl who only know each other online of "how long is your hair anyway?"
This shouldn't be a hard question to answer. I mean, it's hair. It's this long or that long. Except...well...my hair is kinky-curly.
What does that mean? It means my hair curls so tightly more than half their length is in deep hiding. I'm telling you there are people in witness protection who wish they were hidden as well as the true length of my hair.
To illustrate, here is a picture of my hair taken a few minutes ago. I've been wearing it in this style nearly all week (except today when I had it up in a little afro-puff). It's pulled back about 2-3" from my hairline by a very tight headband.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Sunday, May 19, 2013
It always makes me sad to hear others say that they have. Unlike other writer-y things, for me poetry has never a hobby or a life-goal or any of those things that you can pick up, put down, or change into something else. For me, poetry was, and is, more than what I did it was, and is, who I am. I am a poet. I don't know if I've always been a poet, but the moment I picked up that pen (it was Science class after all...pens!) and scribbled off that first angry/hurt/confused non-rhyming verse to and about my friends (see! all these years I've been consistent), a door opened in me that can't be shut again. I may walk past the room in which all my poetry hides, but I can't brick it up. I can pretend it's not there. It will come bursting out of me to be doodled on corners of notes, written on the palms of my hands, or repeated like a mantra in my head until I can get it out of me.
This must be how a dancer feels, or a painter feels. They can't not dance. They can't not paint. It is as much them as it is in them. Assuredly, I've gone long stretches without writing a single verse, rhyming or otherwise, but that doesn't mean they weren't bubbling and bouncing around in my head. I've been more likely to quit writing than I ever was to quit poetry.
What's your thing? Everyone's got something they're just drawn to, right?
And since this discourse was not the point of my post, here are the two, very brief, poems that I intended to share when I sat down, under the cut. If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you've already seen them:
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
The one thing that I haven't written all month, but totally love, is nonsense poetry. I find it really hard to start, and so rarely do them but I love nonsense poetry all the same. So here's my one and only nonsense poem, full of personal fangirlish name dropping, to close out the month after the jump.
Monday, April 29, 2013
I feel like
I've been cut open by a mugger
but surely this is surgery
Then why am I still bleeding
Why does the wound still ache and seep
every time I come near it
Where is my closure?
Where I'd the Person to come and sew me back up?
I had some needle and thread
but I hardly know where to begin
If Someone will draw me a diagram
I would gladly follow it
Or is the diagram right there
and my stubborn eyes refuse to read it?
I don't know
but in weary from
holding myself together by my fingertips
and coming apart every time I dare to let go
maybe I'm still in surgery
just promise me that there will be an end
Sunday, April 28, 2013
There were two poems for tonight, but the second didn't quite want to end so I'm still working on it.
4/28/13 doing laundry on a Sunday evening
why should i walk when I. Can. RUN!
why is tallness = to slowness
i am low to the ground
and i never crawl
(and when i do crawl, i do it fast fast fast!)
there are springs in my knees!
and springs in my feet!
when i move i've got to move quick
there are springs in my feet!
there is excitement in my chest
bursting to get free
and if i jump jump run run
twist shout and scream
maybe that'll get it out of me
maybe this time you'll hear the song the body sings
and join me
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Remember how I mentioned I tend to camp out on subjects for a while? Uh, so, yeah...here's a camp-er. What's funny was that I meant to camp at an entirely different location, but this popped up before that other poem could fully form.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
4/24/13 afternoon poem when I should be working
the truths I whispered to you
are truths only you know
Whether you begged them of me
out of interest
or to pull me off my throne
I am grateful
[to have been known]
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
I hope you don't mind
but I seem to be leap-frogging right through this friendship
skipping merrily through
all the boundaries I usually put up around me
Or maybe you don't notice
This is, after all
new for you, too
You don't know the hoops and blind hallways
the hedges, ditches and mounds
the guarded doors
the secret passwords
I usually keep between myself and the world
You don't know the simple tests for trustworthiness
the constant feeling out
and motive searching
(I'm such a girl)
you never will
(Maybe I'm putting too much trust
in an all too fallible being
and when the honeymoon phase is over
this will have come to a terrible end)
as I dance along the edge of caution
and wanting to pull you in
I want to be friends
I want to be your friend
I want the sweetness of new-made friends to never end
Saturday, April 20, 2013
1:30pm-ish epiphany while trying on clothes 4/20/13
Dear Revisionist History Friend,
I realize now it's not that you [always] revise the past
To fit the new you of the present
Calling false everything I know to be true
But that you spent so much time lying then
Trying to be everything you weren't
You can't keep track of it anymore
Friday, April 19, 2013
Found Poem: Music Notes
Sing 1st line
Long pause (they're waiting for me)
Sing verse normally
Do that again
Assymetry in the pause is nice
Long monotone blackbirds fly's
Come back to blackbird
Thursday, April 18, 2013
This is definitely the honeymoon phase of our friendship
(surely it won't last:
we'll find something to fuss and fight about
something we'll stub a toe on to make us shout;
there'll be some tick you don't like about me
and some habit I despise in you)
But though I know it's fleeting
I'm enjoy the process
of building up walls of synchronicity
against the days of aggravation and disinterest
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Thank You for letting me be who I am
For letting me shine in the fullness of Your grace, in the glow of your glory
For not breaking me into a new shape, though You smooth my edges
For not forcing me to be like any of the others You call
You demand my will
You require the living sacrifice of my life
You made me to love You
to worship You
With all that I am
With all that I'll ever be
And in return You have given me the certainty
That though I am so far from perfect
I am a treasure loved and adored without measure
By the One who could have anything
Thank You for stooping down
Close enough for me to call You
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
6:30pm 4/14/13, watching dramas as is my wont
I love you
when you are goofy
When you are silly & bouncy & sugar-high
and such a complete nerd
I love you then
Saturday, April 13, 2013
10:20pm 4/13/13, i thought i'd be writing about something else
all my biggest failures
seem to come
just before You expect the most from me
my prayers seem to consist only of
Try my heart again
I'm sorry i've failed you
I'm sorry i'm like this"
and i know You see
the inner me that gives me so much consternation
the parts whose motives guide my mis-action
even when i want & know better
but what do You see
in wretched sinful me
when You listen to my pryaers
and peer into the places
i'd rather keep hid
Friday, April 12, 2013
6:15am, 4/12/13, tired of fighting
I know that you see me Lord
That you have searched me & known me
That you know my downsitting & mine uprising
My struggles & my deficiencies
my heart's ache & easy joy
the pendulum swing of my temperamental emotions
See these too, Lord:
The lazy obstinance of my will against Yours
the pseudo rationalizations for having it my way
my unwillingness to open my hand & let go
my declaration that everything is mine, when it's all Yours
See me, Lord
See all of me
and knowing all my faults
still let me beg mercy from He Who Is Holy
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Uh, I'm pretty sure that this is unfinished and that I started channeling my creative oppa & unnie, who are much better at this than I am.
5:40pm 4/10/13 I don't know where this one came from
I'm not un-pretty
And apparently I've got that certain something
that makes the geek-boys swoon
(What do you mean most girls don't know
why Black ICE won't melt in June?)
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Anywho, here are the picture of Days 8 (too raw, possibly too personal) and all of Day 9 beneath the jump. Enjoy.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
8:22am 4/7/13, writing on a Sunday morning for Jomo
Let's make a memory of us
one that's strong & wild & free
Hard days are coming we know
and bad times won't wait
So let's make something that's just us
something so pervasive so unique so down in the bone
a memory of love to drown in & live on
if ever we want to leave
Lets make a memory of us
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
9:41am, 4/5/13 Our Conflicting Schedules
I miss the days
when I would curl up in your lap
You thought it strange
but let me do it anyway
because you always understood
(the way the abandoned would)
how important physical contact was to me
Thursday, April 4, 2013
11:14pm, 4/4/13 my handwritten love note is on the computer but it's just for you
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
11:40am, 4/3/13, trembling w/anger
I could list your offenses on a piece of legal
front & back again
(and oh the irony there)
Or I could put on the head of a pin
on a scrap of sticky-paper
and paste it on your forehead:
In the little ways you walk all over me
you show how little you respect
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
I hope to make all 30 poems in all 30 days, though I can't promise that I'll post them every day. I will undoubtedly post all of my poems at some point, whether I reach 30 or not. Anywho, here're the first two poems under the jump, neither of which I planned on writing when I was pondering my poems for the day.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
"I want to leave, Robert."
He looked up at her, at first surprised and then appalled. "Cecilia! Your elbows!"
She rolled her eyes. "Really? After four centuries it's my elbow--because it is only the one, Robert--on the table to provokes a reaction?"
"You know it's on the table, and yet it remains?"
"Yes, my love." He straightened, properly chastised by Cecilia's tone, and picked up his tea cup as it was the closest shield to hand.
"I want off this ship."
"But Fredericks is still pouring. Dessert isn't far behind. We've made it this far, it seems a waste to miss the dessert."
"Fredericks," Cecilia all but snarled the butler's name, her molars grinding on the harder sounds, "has been pouring for over four hundred years. If we weren't dead, we'd have wasted away waiting for dessert!"
"My dear! Do maintain a pleasant tone. Your sister is not well--"
"--and it would be rude to wake her."
"She's dead! And drunk! She's been drunk for four centuries."
"Clearly she needs the rest."
Disgusted, she threw her hands up. They were promptly entangled with a drifting bit of sea kelp, Cecilia swore as she frantically brushed the offending greenery from her person.
"Oh don't you 'my dear' me, Robert!"
"Well, what do you expect me to do?" he asked, his own ire finally rising.
"End the dinner! Get up from table so that we may all do so and finally, finally, reach our eternal rest. At this point I don't care whether it's in Heaven or Hell....it can't be worse than an interminable dinner party that never proceeds forward, and never changes!"
Robert stared at his wife, aghast. "I can't believe you find your friends and your sister so intolerably boring. And that you would say so where all could hear."
"Well, as you point out, Maria is fast asleep. She hears nothing. Likewise, Althea is paying us no mind. To my best recollection she hasn't spoken to us in well over two hundred years, if not two hundred and fifty. The other members of our party, if they are locked into the same milieu are at the other end of the hall, and there they shall stay until some sort of resolution to this meal is reached--if ever it is. So, yes, I do find our friends and my sister intolerably boring. And yes, I say where all can hear, not that anyone is listening!"
One of Cecilia's painted eyebrows rose. "Are you, dear?"
"Are you saying that I, too, am intolerably boring?"
She looked away, unwilling to speak.
"You are saying it, aren't you. I am the only person with whom you've been able to have meaningful conversation since Althea began monopolizing Fredericks and you find it beneath you."
"That's not what I'm saying," she told a passing school of fish. They ignored her, uninterested in the dinner party they and their predecessors had been passing for generations.
"I haven't been talking about you at all. For you are not intolerably boring. I couldn't have borne being married to you if you were."
"Then what are you saying, Cecilia. Mariah, Althea and Fredericks do not entertain you. And although I entertain you, or at least I am not as intolerable as those three, still you find some fault in my company. I demand that you tell me what it is. This is hardly the first time you've asked me to end the dinner."
Cecilia shook her head. That spooked the fish. "No it isn't the first time."
"So tell me my deficiency. I am here. I am awake. I am speaking to you." Robert set down his tea cup. "I am not boring."
"No, but you are a coward." She turned to face him. "Unwilling to face his mortality by simply getting up from table." Cecilia stood.
"Where are you going?" Robert demanded.
"To sit with Althea while I can. Until the cycle starts again, of course." She left.
Robert picked up his tea cup.