đhello everyoneđI hope your sunday is cool and fine. similar to how people clean their homes or closets or reorganize their bookshelves, I tend to declutter my documents spread across various clouds, usb sticks, and desktops. I came across some poems I wrote during my mfaâs summer class called nature writing. unfortunately, due to the pandemic, I was stuck in my room with my window open hoping to get the rare cool breeze during the day writing about nature. if the pandemic didnât happen, the original plan for the summer class was to rent a cabin in yosemite, take hikes and pictures, camp out, and wake up extremely early to look for a pack of wolvesâthen write about it all. I know. it might be the coolest writing class in all of america. and I didnât get to do any of it. itâs ok though. yosemite will still be there (hopefully) by the time I save enough money and time. anyway, here are two of my poems written in the summer of 2020. I have plenty more on my macbook, but itâs not charging or turning on. I think it might have died. đȘŠđ
The Tree Beyond the Screen has a thousand wings jagged, plain, and green burns in the sun but never needs to drink
Quiet at the Stream Never many visitors beyond the lone runner-- his feet pounce on the gravel road, his flesh taut with muscle--or the park ranger, plump and kind, seated on a horse as brown as a horse should be. Even the stream is quiet with life: the fish keep their heads and bodies under, no flies to swat, just slick rocks and water that is smooth and clean. I always bring a book to keep my mind occupied, but never I read past the first page: I find sitting there does just fine.
ooh. I also find a space poem I wrote sometime during my mfa. fantasy poetry is so fun to write because you have the freedom to play with diction, syntax, and punctuation while also writing beyond the limitations of reality. this is a favorite of mine that I want to actually expand on enough to write a fantasy poetry collection out of.
II.
I embarked on this ship for a new home,
quieter and clean, but soon found signs of
human lifeâeven in spaceâgreatly roamed;
passed the moon, the dark side dim from above,
I saw a pile high of silver glintâwink
at me, smugly. It was trash of all kind:
scratched teflon pans, green straws and coffee cups,
ripped wrappers, scraps of metal, towers of cans shined,
books of every size gaily floated high. A welcomed find,
I stopped my ship mid-flight and waited for
them to draw near, a new world to explore.
this was actually the very first fantasy-space poem I wrote during my mfa. I intentionally titled it âII.â because I wanted to create this air of mystery towards both the story and the narrator. even now, three-four years later, I can see how young my writing was and the things I would change now. itâs interesting how fast a writer grows and their writing matures. itâs also incredibly exciting to take this poem back to the drafting board and play around by editing it or expanding on it.
to all the writers out there: what is it like to read your old work? do you immediately go into editing mode or enjoy it for what it is? does it bring back memories to the time of writing it? has an old, incomplete draft (prose or poetry) ever become something more? let me know in the comments below!
weekly roundup: if you missed my posts for this week, here they all are:
a piece of flash(ish) fiction
my first encounters with the sapphic story
podcast recs
well, that concludes todayâs post. I hope the rest of your sunday will still be cool and fine. I will see you all on wednesday for either some more poetry or music recs. đžđŻ
until next time,
mere
I love this! Found you through Locked In, but wanted to comment because fellow writer. Your poetry is gorgeous and I would love to read more of your work, especially if it's mythology themed.
I love love love your poetry, especially quiet at the stream. Simple yet still invoking all the feels. Can't wait to read moređ