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Literature Text
the sifters discover
among other flaws
lack of imagery,
absence of flow,
and scatter of adjectives.
deciding my poems
are nothing but pebbles,
they confiscate
paper and pen;
send me packing underwater.
for the moment
i get by
using squid ink,
writing only
for myself.
though sometimes
i might imagine
seaweeds nod
approval -
or that a starfish
sees my work
worth publishing.
© 21.March.2012
Literature
Always
Alone upon the hill,
you stand.
Winters hand,
grips your limbs,
cold wind ripping,
at your core.
Just a shadow of yourself,
stands before the world.
But fear not,
soon winters hold,
will be burnt sunder.
Once more the light,
will fill your core.
Once more you shall bloom,
once more the beauty,
in you shall shine.
and know this,
alone you shall never stand,
for no matter were,
no matter what.
Be it light,
be it dark.
You shall always,
have a freind,
in me
Literature
Rombos
por Romy Lara
El aire gélido se coló en la habitación y alborotó los papeles minuciosamente acomodados en el escritorio. Tronándose los nudillos de la mano izquierda, Julio se incorporó y cerró la ventana de un golpe. Afuera el cielo se caía pedazo por pedazo. Reacomodó el desorden que se había hecho en su mesa de trabajo, colocando cada documento en su lugar: los de etiqueta amarilla en la carpeta amarilla, los marcados con verde en la papeleta verde y así consecutivamente con cuatro colores más.
Procedió a sacar un cuaderno de portadas negras de su
Literature
This Heat
This heat is not a temperature
It is a weight, a drag on ones bones.
It settles around ones shoulders, limply hanging.
It is a slope towards shadows and places of rest,
A climb up level open cliffs called parking lots.
One steps inside, and over the course of long minutes
It uncoils and falls away in thick salty layers.
To go back and take them up again is herculean.
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do you worry that no one else appreciates your art? or that it might never mean anything to anyone else because it's poorly done? criticisms and certain structures could discourage anyone to write. pebbles are everywhere and so are poems. however, a writer goes on writing even when she's not sure why or for whom she's writing. it's bittersweet because she still expects some acknowledgement, a bit of recognition or a sign. the insecurities of being a writer... so, let's keep writing and dreaming, ok?
© 2012 - 2024 wispy-blue
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