Odysseus

Thought about how Odysseus' wife must have felt when hearing about his adventures.

I know I'd be pissed.

Ottava rima completed for DFC '12 day 3. Again, not entirely happy with it (I'd love to spend more time getting to know these forms a bit better, but I'm still behind, so I'm still simply trying to catch up at present!), but I think it's better than the Isaac Asimov one I did the other day...

"I am no Witch-Queen, but I Bide My Time"

I waited for you, my Odysseus.
For ten long years I waited, all alone.
Men have called for me, lusty, pitiless -
and you, yes, you passed beyond all you've known,
found comfort in other arms - delicious,
weren't they? Distractions from the voyage home.
And, love, I'm no Medea, no witch-queen,
but I will bide my time, and act, unseen. 

Qualia

This is a canzone for day 2 of DFC '12. 11 syllables per line, rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef aa

Those two mathematical sets TOTALLY DON'T COUNT TOWARD THE NUMBER OF STANZAS just sayin'. I wanted to space the lines out to reduce the temptation to make this too singsong-y and keep the rhymes spaced out a bit.

Used the idea of set theory. See Georg Cantor (sneaky use of his last name, no?) if you'd like more info. I don't really feel like trying to explain math at the present...

Hope you enjoy! I'm not entirely happy with this, but there you are, I suppose. 

"You and Me - Set Theory"

{0=n-n}

"Truth," he said, "truth is pure multiplicity,"
and I suppose he was thinking of sidewalks—

I've been chasing concrete cracks round the city,
planting face, hoping for the growth of beanstalks

to clear out my heart-cracks of your name.
My cheek against the sun-warmed slabs of concrete

touches your cheek, sets my whole body aflame
with you—here, I see where earth and heaven meet.

{Ø{Ø,Ø}…}

My mathematician, if only you could sing
to me about the universe, my Cantor,

could tell me of the pavement to which I cling;
we are a set in stones, small and granular.

Though truth cannot be found in simplicity,
still, like sidewalk cracks, truth's in infinity.

Isaac Asimov

A rispetto! In iambic tetrameter. I chose to go a bit silly ^^
Despite the minimal imagery...I hope you enjoy, haha.

"A Love Letter, Written for but Never Given to, Isaac Asimov, From Mars"

I am still new to writing verse.
Forgive me, I know it's ghastly,
But you're my entire universe,
My love, you're the laws that bind me.

Mars is lovely this time of year,
Please, my love, come visit me here:
The red dust in our eyes like dew—
My heart-gears will turn just for you. 

Carbon

WHOA ANOTHER FIXED FORM PIECE? Crazy talk. This is an alliterisen, base syllables 11.

I'm doing a fixed form challenge this month, so expect more posts! I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them, internet. I'm finding the challenge of fixed form to my taste :)

"Carbon Winter Heart"

I welcome winter with still, stalactite heart,
a new creature of carbonite, mirrored and mirthless.
I grow grizzled and old, December-dead,
diamond-dreaming, but graphite-grained and losing myself,
organic only by carbon content.
Lacking heart-valves, void: free of my changeling-child,
I am fully frozen, a newly caustic queen. 

Buddhism

So. I wrote a sestina. It was hard.

The end.

Enjoy!

"December Buddha"

December cracks open like hazelnuts,
crinkled brown and brittle, dry from the fire,
cold-crisp and crunching as needles of pines.
As usual, wisdom comes just in time,
reminder to hold on to my forest,
to my stories, to make myself buddha.

I am lacking, no quiet rain-buddha,
born, as I was, a tight-curled hazelnut,
but I do send roots into my forest,
and in summer spread Colorado fire.
I find that more and more I pass the time
among the kings that are my totem pines.

In North Carolina, December pines
not for sun but for a softer buddha,
a figure to remind the month that time
ends not with January; hazelnut,
it curls in on itself, warm with the fire.
It is my roots, winding through the forest.

Some days I wait for rain in my forest.
I love how it trickles down my crown-pines
to soften days and keep away brush-fire.
In the spring I am not a flame-buddha,
want only streams for floating hazelnuts:
all my riddle answers are, "time, time, time."

The mackintosh flesh marks the passing time:
it still remembers which of the forests
was its home, that the roasted hazelnuts
were its brothers, and softening, it pines
for who I was in Virginia, a buddha
of spring, among the hay bales, soothing fire.

Then, I was water to cool the fire,
too small a paragon of space-time,
not seeing myself: quiet wind-buddha.
Now, December returns me—my forest,
in a whispered winter of silver pines
that will birth me again—a hazelnut.

I embrace my fire, my sprouting forest,
the water that with time stretches the pines;
settle as my buddha, my hazelnut.  

PUBLISHED!

I'm so pleased to announce that my poem "Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back" has been PUBLISHED! So so so many thanks to the wonderful staff at Alliterati!

If you're interested in reading the piece, or seeing some of the other WONDERFUL visual and lit pieces that have been included, take a peek at the emag version:

Open publication - Free publishing - More art

PS. This week's music: