Who even knows what liminal means?
Reading between the lines, I know
that when you use that word,
you’re trying to impress me, to just brush
me with your intellectual prowess
leaving me hanging halfway
between desire and disdain –
I know you want to almost
touch me, almost arouse me,
leave me wanting.
This is for Sammi’s weekend writing prompt – 57 words this time, inspired by the word “liminal”. When I hear the word liminal, I reach for my revolver.
Not really. I just don’t think I’ve ever used it in a sentence or a piece of writing before, and I’m not entirely sure I know what it means…
There are no havens here
only the angry wind
hurling itself at the cliff
and the ocean
a white curdling
each rock a blade
each bay guarded
by stone teeth
For Sammi’s weekend prompt. I haven’t done one of these for ages…
With its high walls and heavy gates
that open with the gleam of gold
the flash of plastic
we have always lived here
secure in our large vocabularies
and convoluted grammar
and our knowledge of which fork to use.
We have always lived here
and wondered why others choose
to live in crowded tenements
and walk on muddy cart-tracks
to smoke on street corners
take pills and shit
to manufacture moods
when here, in this high tower,
the views are wonderful
and the breeze brings scents
of moonlight blossoms
come up come up
then shut the door
For Christine’s daily writing prompt at Go Dog Go Cafe – and for the dVerse open link night.
Christine prompts us to write a poem inspired by the title of a book.
Never seen such glassy eyes
I mean blank empty
because this pink plastic skull
teeny tiny waist
and this curved torso
is a cavern
legs can be bent
figure is fully posable
hands curve to hold
these eyelashes are fully nylon
this hair is fully stylable
these feet are trapped
although the moon is full, the stars are out
although the stars are out, there’s frost tonight
although there’s frost tonight, the fire is warm
although the fire is warm, the room is cold
although the room is cold, I’m not alone
although I’m not alone, I’m scared right now
although I’m scared right now, my hands are quiet
although my hands are quiet, my mind is spinning
although my mind is spinning, I know what to say
although I know what to say, I’m keeping still
although I’m keeping still, I want to run
although I want to run, the door is locked
although the door is locked, I have a key
although I have a key, the night is dark
althought the night is dark, the moon is full
although ms quickly asked for a list poem, i’m kind of ignoring her…
morning light shimmers
sea mist forms twisting spirals
seashell in my hand
A haiku for Sammi’s weekend writing challenge – shell, in 12 words! (and 14 syllables…)
I dreamed I wrote a poem that made you cry
I dreamed I wrote a poem that burnt the page
I dreamed I wrote a poem that flew away
I dreamed I wrote a poem that smelled of chocolate
I dreamed I wrote a poem in a field of poppies
I dreamed I wrote a poem about a dream
I never wrote a poem that made you cry
I’m sorry I wrote a poem that made you cry
We were all there when I wrote a poem that made you cry
I was ill when I wrote a poem that made you cry
I forgot to stop when I wrote a poem that made you cry
I was on the train when I wrote a poem that made you cry
We were all there when the dog made you cry
We were all there when I dropped the plate and made you cry
We were all there when I ran away and made you cry
We were all there when the fireworks made you cry
We were all there when your mother made you cry
We were all there when the postcard made you cry
I dreamed that I was sorry that I made you cry.
This was my response to an interesting little prompt from Miz Quickly.
It’s a long prompt, so you can pop over there and read it for yourself, and then give it a go if you fancy. I’m never quite sure about these very structured “list”-y poems, but I thought I’d give it a go. Having written it, I’m still not sure about it. I might come back and fiddle around with it at some point.
I would like there to be something in between
an exclamation mark and a full stop.
A full stop goes “duh”,
on the mat.
An exclamation mark goes
I don’t always feel that way…
I want something a little friendlier
and more enthusiastic
than a full stop.
A little less over-excited
And don’t get me started on ellipses…
the drifting off of attention…
the valley lift…
my dearest punctuation tic…
I question all the time? or do I?
The colon and the semi-colon;
they are not my friends:
I never play with them;
they turn their backs on me;
too snooty for the likes of me.
Dashes, though – I love them –
they just run and run –
like frantic puppies panting for a walk –
turn every thing I write
into an homage –
to Emily, of course…
Yesterday I was a chair –
a soft place to nestle with a book.
Today, I’m a table, spread with food.
Sit, eat. This is a generous house.
I was a bed, for months,
baby head heavy on my shoulder,
and most days I’m a bookcase,
carrying a rich burden of words.
I’m a cupboard. Open me.
See, all that shiny viscera,
and cups and saucers,
and my beating heart
and I’m the TV in the corner
of the room, with sound turned down,
and I’m a deck-chair,
leaning back among the roses.
This just tumbled out as my response to Qbit’s comment on my last post. It’s a bit ragged at the edges, but I thought I’d seize the moment.