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MOTION THOUGHTS
Sunday, September 09, 2012
damn you allergies
watery eyes, runny nose
all day long: ACHOO
Labels: haiku, poetry, writing Friday, March 28, 2008a birthday (poem by christina rossetti)here's a song i recorded the other day. the words are not mine but by christina rossetti!i'll probably redo the vocals soon.a%20birthday%20%28poem%20by%20christina%20rossetti%29.mp3 Wednesday, November 07, 2007I) Pathos in the CafeterisII) Signs I've Changed This Week III) I'm Becoming a Scout! I) As you all well know, I come from the Memphis. Memphis is an urban center in the Mississippi Since I first arrived at Interlochen, I've been hearing about Wok Night. The idea behind Wok night is that teachers set up cooking stations and make delcious pan cooked vegetables that we can eat instead of cafeteria food. Labels: poetry Tuesday, November 06, 2007Name that Quote. Ten Points or More, I Swear it.how nice to feel happy again.this time cold fingers don't clench a fading heart. there is heat in the smiles of my rebellious compatriots. they are young, strung and pretty. and though i used to feel shitty, it takes but a short time to unburden my soul. "torture comes and torture goes" but what one must do is outlive the woes, and hold on to some glorious, ephemeral, shimmering sliver of hope. i know it can feel so pointless to look towards the glowing dawn, but we must. and give our trust to the ones who help us to our feet when the night is black and we trip over our own tongues. trading beers for tears, songs for longing sighs. so like i said, it's cold out, but there's a dr. pepper on the table, and anna's reading fables, and i'm feeling more than able to carry on. Saturday, September 08, 2007sinking into the sweet lavendarof my mama’s purple pillow it’s the best place in the house to stare at the back of your eyelids the soothing singing of the shower head floats through the closed door next door i know mama is inside preparing for her favorite part of the day, almost time to sleep, to prepare her body and soul for the chore of tomorrow’s striking resemblance to today my mother loves her bath time “kill me kill me kill me kill me” loud, tinkling voice bounces off the white tiles it’s true that i can’t help but smile “I LOVE YOU I HATE YOU I LOVE YOU I HATE YOU” it’s true, i always knew the faucet turns, the water stops i lift a heavy body from bed steam rushes through the opening door but just before my glasses fog i glimpse the mirror, my own face flinching in surprise, next to my mother’s, warm and washed and well i am her distorted echo, broke up and kicking back same thoughts “i’m goinna bed” she gives herself to the sheets, the comfort or the night i flip the light Labels: family, mother, poetry, sleep, water, writing Tuesday, September 04, 2007"menstral moon charts" haiku seriesmenstral moon charts areimplications of distant ovarian worlds -- women still contain the old world magic men lost in simple machines -- men cower under their control over Nature's deaths and orgasms Labels: haiku, poetry, women, writing Sunday, May 13, 2007My Motherfound a babyin a bucket of sidewalk chalk, talking nonsense and perhaps this was how we met. I forget. Labels: poetry Tuesday, April 24, 2007the summer comes caked with blue jewel pools.your garden hose spills for days until the yard is a bowl where you hang, supine and planet-faced, weighing less than in space. The summer rises runed, taroted, charted in the humming still of June rooms: I say we go away. Where's the fresh water in this place? Our cards are played, our fortunes made until the sky glows orange-white from plaza lights and the neighbors are Byzantines and Gypsies. Memphis spreads out slow from its winter clench. Arms unfold, the benches creak and crow in fronts, new-mowed grass tells its headless story. I'm picking up once the moon is limestone. I'm leaving for the quarry. Sorry, white legs. Sorry, coat pegs, The days are hot for the taking. The black spade of rot iron doesn't shape so menacing. I need these calluses for climbing, goat curses for skirt lining, chicken magic for my mancala eyes, shining. Labels: Memphis, poetry, water, writing Saturday, March 10, 2007Hands so Little, Depression so GreatRosasharn and Dewey Dell skippin’ down the laneO’ those two’d skip to Timbuktu to undo all the pain Of a blooming, pink baby’s veins in her veins Of a cold, blue baby washed away by the rain. Take me in the secret shade, take me in the truck He took me for a pretty whore ripe to be plucked And that was swell, but truth to tell-- I was fucked Left me inside out, and -- out of luck, O’ You put your arms around me, but it wasn’t any good Now, I’m naked in the wilderness beneath a red hood, And I don’t need a man; I can chop my own wood, But you could do so much for me if you just would The buzzards are cawing, the men are squatin’ On their hams watchin’ hundreds of peaches go rotten If it kills me, I’ll pick til the sack froths with cotton Til it’s full like I was of one to be begotten. One beautiful mornin’ the road unfurled, Sticky, we were kissing in the heat like syrup. One mornin’ he went missin’, my hair uncurled, Wide-mouth frog, hair of the dog, I am a stupid girl So unlike my tight-lipped mother, Body thrown down now in the swollen river This is hell, my belly swell, pop and burst all over Hold my hand, momma, cause it hurts all over Sweat glued my matronly thighs to the seat Sweat stained my dress; too tight, it bound me And God wouldn’t tell me what your name should be Or why he gave us fruit if we’re not suppose to eat Still, I’m clinging tightly to the ballad’s last lilt Hold tight, hold tight, to the basket hilt, Though I have been spat, sucked, and split. I am full of guts. I am full of milk. I tried to slam the door, but you stopped it with your foot, And ran your dusty fingers down my cheek caked in soot, And put your arms around me. But it wasn’t any good. And you could do so much for me if you just would. writ by Cadet Morgan Rose Labels: poetry, water, women, writing Saturday, January 27, 2007BanjoThey cut me into pieces like birthday cakeI raise my hand in protest and say it's a mistake "I'm a girl! I'm a girl! I'm a girl!" I scream, "So take me off your dinner plate!" (This is my story, and it is true I swear I do not fabricate) Once I was married to golden dreams. I am wizened widow, I am baby minow In the rapids of a stream.
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