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Literature Text
my Dear i just noticed
my balcony is shaped
like wings
and the wind is billowing
the moon up, up to-night
in her dusty purple garb
and i think
no Dear i do not want
to leave here: where men
build bridges over oceans
and live inside of mountains
like river dragons
where the sun shines
not at all at noon but gleams
like an orange at sundown
where the moon walks home
surefooted to where my neck
cannot crane
my balcony is shaped
like wings
and the wind is billowing
the moon up, up to-night
in her dusty purple garb
and i think
no Dear i do not want
to leave here: where men
build bridges over oceans
and live inside of mountains
like river dragons
where the sun shines
not at all at noon but gleams
like an orange at sundown
where the moon walks home
surefooted to where my neck
cannot crane
Literature
for her.
it's midnight and I'm writing love letters
on my skin to the woman who raised me. it's midnight
and every limb has a story. all
my collarbone remembers is the frantic
hurry of your footsteps when it broke under the weight
of gravity and mistaken desire to fly and my
broken pink umbrella, long-gone, remembers too. my elbows
remember the firm pull of your hands in the grocery
store. my cheeks remember your makeup and
my clumsy fingers dipping in like paint pots and my neck
remembers all your strands of pearls. I remember
when you were young again and wearing
red and holding cups of tea in hands
that didn't shake yet and I remembe
Literature
immolate
the first step
to sadness is to
have.
[3]
poseidon
punctuates the bruised
shorelines with broken hearts and
shattered abelone
shell fragments.
sometimes the
shore creeps up, kisses
my feet. sometimes he rips through
the distance between
us, taking
what's his.
[5]
the air here
vibrates to a fire,
sparrow's heart humming in c
major. it does scare
me sometimes,
how i might love you
more than ibuprofen, or
the way the light might
oscillate
through an ether storm.
the person i am now is
not compatible
with who i
was before you. but
how do i scrape myself out
from under my own
fingernails?
[7]
we caught the
moon
Literature
saudade
Last week, you showed up with the thunder on my doorstep.
Your voice was so drenched with the rain that I almost didn't recognize the way you said my name. It hung in the air like an incomplete sentence, like something unfamiliar, like you were so lost from trying to find everything we left behind and piece it back together that you couldn't find me in your heart anymore. It was pouring and the power was out and I was so tired of watching the world fall apart from outside my windows that I let you back inside my arms and inside my senses, and your bones were shaking as you clung to me and told me how good it felt to come back home.
There wa
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31º12′N, 121°30′E
Shanghai at night. Done in the spirit of haikus, even if they're not in true form. The title should be with the º, but they're not allowed. The title is the longitude and the latitude (or the other way around) of Shanghai. Thank-you to my wonderful mum for the idea!
"dragons" refers to a story where the dragons gave people rain, and the Emperor of the Sky, furious, imprisoned them into mountains. The rivers that flowed from the mountains were thought to be the spirits of the dragons. "bridges over oceans" is referring to a bridge over sea I crossed, on taxi, from Shanghai.
Your thoughts are always welcome. Thank-you!
-edit:
A DD? Thank-you so much, ^lightningmonkey! And thank-you to you all for commenting and favourite (and even watching, crazily enough 
)! I'm still pretty convinced this is a dream, so it might take me a while to reply to everyone... also, I'm completely over the moon about this. Tickled pink. In seventh heaven. And then some.
!
-edit2:
The lovely ~TheDutchesse made an absolutely beautiful Secret Santa gift for me, featuring this poem! Thank you so much!
Shanghai at night. Done in the spirit of haikus, even if they're not in true form. The title should be with the º, but they're not allowed. The title is the longitude and the latitude (or the other way around) of Shanghai. Thank-you to my wonderful mum for the idea!
"dragons" refers to a story where the dragons gave people rain, and the Emperor of the Sky, furious, imprisoned them into mountains. The rivers that flowed from the mountains were thought to be the spirits of the dragons. "bridges over oceans" is referring to a bridge over sea I crossed, on taxi, from Shanghai.
Your thoughts are always welcome. Thank-you!
-edit:
A DD? Thank-you so much, ^lightningmonkey! And thank-you to you all for commenting and favourite (and even watching, crazily enough )! I'm still pretty convinced this is a dream, so it might take me a while to reply to everyone... also, I'm completely over the moon about this. Tickled pink. In seventh heaven. And then some.!-edit2:
The lovely ~TheDutchesse made an absolutely beautiful Secret Santa gift for me, featuring this poem! Thank you so much!
© 2011 - 2024 Vigilo
Comments118
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ImpactVigilo,
since you have requested critique for this piece, I will do my best to contribute something useful.
I think the first line of the third stanza is a line that weakens the force of your poem. Granted, I can tell the intention of this poem is not an intense one, but you might agree with me when I say that even the most contemplative, reflexive poetry is powerful in the way images and words are delivered.
These are my suspicions as to why that line seems weak, thought I could not say for certain:
A: the repeating of the word night does not seem as intentional as it seems accidental. In this case, repetition seems to move the poem, or the readers attention, backwards instead of building up the suspense or momentum of the piece.
B: saying that the moon's dusty garb is dusty and purple like the night is kind of off putting. It seems like you are trying to justify the brilliant metaphor, and in my opinion you do not need to justify it. "...The moon up, up to-night/ in her dusty purple garb" is an awesome pair of verses, perfectly capable of surviving without the reinforcement given by the following line.
I would encourage you to read the first three stanzas of your poem without the first line of the third and feel the change for yourself. I know how hard it is to trim our pieces, since we are so inevitably biased toward them, but in this case you just might be happy with the shedding of that verse.
Congrats on the DD, but more importantly, congrats on the piece itself.
Chapa