I am currently in love with the poetry of Laurie Sheck.
A Quiet Skin
Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the break and fled of things inside it.
Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assail
And ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits
Singling and singeing where they fall. I feel the stumbling gait of what I am,
The quiet uproar of undone, how to be hidden is a tempting, violent thing—
Each thought breaking always in another.
All the unlawful elsewheres rushing in.
*
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, September 27, 2013
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
More Writing
From another short story I'm working on:
Old cornstalks stroked and soothed his cheek as he passed, and he could smell the earth in their long, brown, dying veins.
(My photo)
*
Old cornstalks stroked and soothed his cheek as he passed, and he could smell the earth in their long, brown, dying veins.
(My photo)
*
Friday, June 27, 2008
Flowers
I've been working on some short stories, and I'm gonna cheat a bit and say it counts for this blog. And while I have no plans to publish the stories on this blog, I am going to have an excerpt. (And that is my photo.)
Flowers For The Dead (excerpt)
...The day woke with a storm on its way. I could tell by the way the sky slowed and grew heavy. The dark grey clouds pushed in, and the trees began to bend, the leaves glimmering like a thousand emeralds catching the light. I could hear the house react to the wind, hear its strain against the violent pushes of air. The wind wanted to come inside, wanted to take everything and carry it outside. I felt the wet heat build, as if the heavens were taking in a long deep breath. And I could hear Mama in different parts of the house, hurrying the windows she had opened shut again. I heard something slide and break, and her cuss because of it. Out across the yard I could see the woods swaying like grass and I pictured a great monster sweeping his hand across the tree tops. Then the Oak next to the house groaned and its large branches began to scrape, like claws of a thing that wants in...
*
Flowers For The Dead (excerpt)
...The day woke with a storm on its way. I could tell by the way the sky slowed and grew heavy. The dark grey clouds pushed in, and the trees began to bend, the leaves glimmering like a thousand emeralds catching the light. I could hear the house react to the wind, hear its strain against the violent pushes of air. The wind wanted to come inside, wanted to take everything and carry it outside. I felt the wet heat build, as if the heavens were taking in a long deep breath. And I could hear Mama in different parts of the house, hurrying the windows she had opened shut again. I heard something slide and break, and her cuss because of it. Out across the yard I could see the woods swaying like grass and I pictured a great monster sweeping his hand across the tree tops. Then the Oak next to the house groaned and its large branches began to scrape, like claws of a thing that wants in...
*
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
It's Not Halloween...Exactly
But, it did take a while to construct. A horror movie entry (including Halloween III...that counts, right?) on my other blog.
oh-the-horror.blogspot.com
oh-the-horror.blogspot.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
