semiotic_pirate: (eyeball)
Thought I'd pop in and share. A poem that I was told would be published has finally hit the aether. It was published as part of a project to gather poetry about motherhood - both the good, the bad, and the ugly. It was put together by Sage Hill Press and the project is titled All We Can Hold.

If you want to read my poem, follow the below link. If you go today it will be the first one. If you go and it's past 4/11/16 just do a Find for "The Silence" (which is the title). It was something that came out of me when I was in a deep, dark well of pain. The only thing that I had to struggle to remember (the events are from 1995) was the shape of a blanket. It was the kind that you'd fold into a triangle before using it to swaddle a young infant.

Please be aware that this was a traumatic experience for me and it may stir up FEELS. Thank you for witnessing; don't be afraid to comment. It happened long ago and far away and I've peeled back all the layers to understand and work through the associated grief.

The Silence
. )


Nov. 29th, 2015 04:56 pm
semiotic_pirate: (Boom Da Yadda)
When my list of tweets for the day gets posted, you may note a couple in relation to a dream I had this morning. It was so good and full of story content possibilities that I took to LJ and wrote it all down, adding notes whenever I thought up a way to work it into a coherent whole that could be understood by a reader. I added depth and layers to it (which I inherently knew or assumed when I was in the dream) and then put more in there that I thought of afterward.

I then posted it private and made it a sticky post. (Did you know you could do that?) This way, if I'm inclined, I can work on it until it becomes a store I would want to try and get out there to actual, real-life readers.

It was fun.

In other news, I got two more wonderfully worded rejection letters for my poetry. Ah well.

Also. Don't be alarmed by other listed tweets. There was a lot of troll kerfuffles out there going on today, with trolls riled up by a woman's report of rape and the attack on Planned Parenthood. What's it called? Sea lion or something?

Further notes on life: I went to run some errands with DH and he had the Christmas music (from the 1940s) channel playing. It was pretty nice, even though it still feels like it's too early.
semiotic_pirate: (Pirate_Main_Icon)
Just added a new friend to my feed (we found each other via Twitter - Hi [ profile] ann_mcn!) and noticed that LJ has a bunch of neat new options. Like "contact me thru X if "this LJ User" does Y" and I was all o_0 because that's AMAZING.

Because of this, and my laziness in not wanting to learn all the ins and outs over on WordPress, I'm going to go grab the stuff I wrote there and put it over here. Basically about 7-8 posts of me writing Flash Fiction based off of a slew of Word of the Day sites. My own personal Micro Story Challenge. Loved all of it. It exhausted me and made me sad because I was eventually overwhelmed by workplace work and bits of drama, and I REALLY ENJOYED the writing.

That same feeling is what pulled back the reins on my enthusiasm to continue submitting my poetry out there, regardless of all the positive feedback I was getting in my "we need to reject you for now, because your stuff doesn't fit the theme we're going for this time around, even though I really liked your stuff" rejection emails.

I think I'm in a mild doldrums state this hour because I was up at 4:30 this morning and in by 6:30 to work nine hours today, in order to finish up the rest of a bunch of quarter-end reports that I worked 11 hours on yesterday. Plus, I must mention the fact that - due to some pesky uterine fibroids - I was suffering from extremely painful cramps yesterday and moderately painful cramps today. What fun!

Deep breaths scallywags, today's tale has been told. And to think, I almost used "reigns." *horrified look*
semiotic_pirate: (Beatrice - Hey Nonny Nonny!)
Comments would be greatly appreciated.

It has been too, too long since the muse has seen fit to inspire me. I've been stultifying my muse with math at work. My mind loves the math and the analytic work that I do daily on the job, but the muse decries my lack of beauty and inspiring surroundings. Thanks go out to [ profile] theferret for his inspiring bee escapades. The below is a slightly altered poem that I posted in his comments. All I did was rearrange the stanzas to better represent how I view the production of honey timeline to occur. I started with the last word of the last line rhyming with each other, then had the first letter of the last word be the same, then went off the deep end with a pun, rhyming with the last word of the first line.


Bees bees, fabulous bees
the clover is growing
amazed at the hum

Bees bees, elegant bees
the dancing in flight is
a joy in the sun

Bees bees, glorious bees
the wonders of buzzing
will soon be in stock

Bees bees, beautiful bees
the makers of honey
they are their own knees


Next up, planned to be posted in the next few weeks is a story mash-up between Ender's Game and The Hobbit. This is being inspired by my Sci-fi/fantasy book club (that I found through Meetup). This time around most of us are re-reading these two genre classics, though there were some new to one or the other. Before the end of the last meeting, where we'd decided on doing these two books we joked about a mash-up. It has inspired my imagination and has been percolating and occasionally spouting up an idea or two.
semiotic_pirate: (PirateWildGunnerKate)
Since I totally got caught up in movie madness and the pirate versus ninja conundrum yesterday, which ended up in me forgetting to post my poetry goodness, you will now be subjected to TWO poems at the same time.

This first poem was inspired by the first time I heard about the Shagbark Hickory tree. It made me recall some moments in my childhood growing up in an "inner-city" environment.

Did anyone else run away after reading Tom Sawyer? Yeah. To the stone embankment of the Merrimack River, right next to the major hospital in the center of the city, miles from the apartment I had recently moved to, I had brought my best friend and talked about building a little shack out of driftwood and living off the fish we could catch. The long walk from the neighborhood to where we ended up was rife with memorable moments - there was this old guy walking along with a whole bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, who shared his bountiful bucket with us... The cops that were parked on the side of the street that gave us a bag of freshly roasted peanuts... That friend decided he had to get home for dinner and took off for home while I decided to go visit some friends in my old neighborhood, some miles further away.. Those same cops were the ones that were taking a statement from my Mom when a person (mother of a friend from my previous neighborhood who was very surprised when I showed up on their doorstop to say hi) drove up and dropped me off at home. Man, did they look surprised. Now that is a memory that I will always enjoy.


I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Shagbark Hickory.
The name rolls around in my mouth
like a favorite food.

Where did the Shagbark Hickory grow?
Not near to me.

Though the flavor of the name makes me wish
that I and it had grown together.

(c) SP

This second poem was written in response to an exercise challenge for that creative writing class - one of a couple that was completed that personified an inanimate object. I believe the other one was about a drink coaster. You'll see that one a while from now, if I stick to my alphabetical order mode of presenting the stuff on file. We use telephones every day in our lives and we never wonder about how they would feel if they were to be sentient... mostly because they aren't and it would be a waste of energy to contemplate, but - this was an exercise to put words into the... well, to animate something normally inanimate. This was written before I had a cell phone and had only experience with land lines but it was after the advent of answering machines and caller ID. The stage has been set.

Ballad of the Telephone

I ring out for joy!
Use me! Touch me!
Cradle me in your hand.
Whenever you cannot hear me,
I faithfully record, day, date, time
whatever babble is spoken
I keep it secret for you
Signaling frantically when
you walk through the door.
See my blinking light!
Let me tell you who
before you are bothered
Let me protect you
from unwanted advances
Even as I become a smaller
digitized, preprogrammed
convenience for you to enjoy
Depend upon me, I need you
As we grow old, together
My buttons, always large enough
lit from behind, for your comfort
dial tone, like a beloved’s whisper
Prelude to the kiss of companionship

(c) SP

As always, I welcome your comments, constructive criticism, and derision of my work. Because I can, and it will only make my poetry skills stronger.

Poem #8

May. 29th, 2008 03:36 pm
semiotic_pirate: (masked wine taster)
The following was an exercise based on a Shakespeare sonnet:

An Uneasiness

I think I could have loved you presently
And though for this you riddle me with darts.
Naked of reticence you took my heart;
Nor will the Gods of love forgive the lies,
And oaths no less brittle, quarrel with sighs.
Your careless art, so thick about my hair.
Were you not still my hunger’s rarest fare,
I would indeed that love would longer stay.

Such as I am however, I have brought;
An anguish, pride, this lustful burning thought.
Forget the hardened darkness whence he came,
Flatten your words against the speaking mouth.
Go forth when falls the night, laboured its birth,
To dye the morning rose after the rain.

(c) SP

Poem #7

May. 28th, 2008 11:24 am
semiotic_pirate: (masked wine taster)
Here's your daily dose of bitter pill poetry, brought to you by the personal archives of moi. This was part of my sparse, black & blue period, neh?

am i ?

blocked away
from sight
from view
unfeeling bitch

(c) SP

Poem #6

May. 27th, 2008 11:38 am
semiotic_pirate: (Default)
Just a warning - this poem is a bit longer than those I've posted previously. It was prompted by a news article I had read at the time - probably about WWII Holocaust survivors and atrocities in general. I use a lot of language, specifically to give the poem a certain feel to it. This is definitely not in the simple and concrete imagery category of poetry. Yes, I created a few new words... In the old english style, not in the new Bushian way. Most of the poems you will be reading (except those marked as new) are older than 2001. I do plan on creating new material, but I want to primarily get critiques on past works for now.

[ profile] shirad, I thought you would like to take a closer look at this one. Let me know what you think. All of you out there, let me know what you think!

Am Ha-Holekh Va-Met
"The Ever-Dying People."

A decade of ashes and honey
stable view-holding of beliefs
clutched, light shining from Zion
smoldering pessimism, found in darkness
gripped & illuminated with holy anger
the merest inference of life, tasted
the Great Retort, filled with turbulence
tilted up for the abyss to drink & swallow
overwhelmed, drowned, in an apocalyptic season
a mordant attempt at calm

Affectionate traditional brethren
breathing deep of virulent panic
speculate morbidly about disaster
sink into excitability, a viscous pool
the sky is falling, falling
imprecise roof of authenticity
shingled with inflammatory analogies
laid out without restraint
used to produce a Final Solution

Do not be surprised, tricked into submission
bowing down to propaganda’s shadow
simple souls gathered by manipulation
ghastly premonitions twisted by politico
grotesque recreational insecurities (buy! sell! fear!)
political argument is disguised with historical fiction
thou shalt not forget? generation to generation
typological thinking, timeless war against extinction
mythifying adversarial situations

A brutal gloss of extreme heartlessness
spread by pitiless (revolting) intellectuals
proposing “symbolic” action
extraordinary messianic expulsions
with moderate insinuations through flesh
to possessed and coveted land
forcibly obliterating all differences
(we all look the same in blown up pieces)

Israel created to deny Amelek
justifying nothing through built up rage
calamities victim turning its mind
to the logic of statecraft
matters of prudence and principle
wading through blandishments of pluralism
acknowledging fierce, unembarrassed pursuits
a vexing manner of exercising strength
futility of a splendid death, accurate
dost thou comprehend this?

Adversity increasingly recognizable
uneasy sensations, a dissonance of hysteria
panic given certain plausibility
transformed by the truth of “progress”
wounded repudiation tricked by corruption
disillusionment a comfort, a false lucidity
a commonplace identification of commemorative culture
preparation for the worst spiritual challenge
possessing a natural knowledge before our eyes
liberal orders of theological conflict
an expectation that yes is the answer

Disappointed temptation
dispenses eschatological commentary
a certain prestige denoting realism
anti-normal existence with many causes
mendacious inconstant leaders propagating poison
direr days of small regimes and injustices
rescue yourself from despair and never cease to be

(c) SP

Poem #5

May. 26th, 2008 09:26 pm
semiotic_pirate: (boat on land)

Fear the darkness
flowing past islands
of treasured experience

Plumes of time
silt-crystal oxbows
of discontinued memory

All that came before

Do I know you?

(c) SP
semiotic_pirate: (Default)
This was written for that class I mentioned. It was an exercise where we would mimic a particular poem and poetic style. I chose William Carlos Williams' The Red Wheelbarrow. At least, that is what I think I based it on. Can't be sure now because I don't have any notes on it. It also reminds me of Carl Sandburg's The Fog.


hung under

clawed feet

darkness folded

New Poem

May. 23rd, 2008 10:38 am
semiotic_pirate: (huzzah! turtle)
So... I created something new and wanted to share, since it is apropos and timely. Rough draft. Let me know what you think of it people!

Poem #2

May. 22nd, 2008 07:35 pm
semiotic_pirate: (masked wine taster)
A Paean to Cephallonia

Milky emerald waters, bedded in limestone
The pure, pellucid quality of the light;
complete immersion in the somnolent
pace of the thirty-one square mile island.
Pilgrims carry the ill
over the blackened, gnarled, olive-wood form
of St. Gerasimos’ corpse.
Oleanders flower, and bougainvillea froths
Floor marked out with stones;
Hold a panegyric ballos dance,
With tricky kicks, smacks, claps and flourishes.
The men leading, the women circling
with handkerchiefs.
So picturesque, with a background tinkle
of goat bells.
semiotic_pirate: (masked wine taster)
This will be the first post of my poetry. I don't know if I have posted it in the past... I've been officially published once and hope that someday I may publish again (whether individual poems scattered about or volumes/chapbooks of my own work).

I'm not sure if I should start an opt-in/out type of filter for this, or if I should friends-lock them, make them public, or what. I don't want to post them to an exclusive poetry community, I joined a few of those back when I first came to LJ and *shrug* didn't get much constructive feedback. I would love to have a group of people like the creative writing class I attended (poetry specific) years ago but don't see this happening in the near future.

So I turn to you. My smallish circle of LJers, because you have been supportive in the past. None of my stuff is of epic proportions. Some of it seems like dross to me, and some like diamonds. I will not reveal my opinion of them because all people read poems through their own filters. You tell me.

I have 114 poems that I've saved out of who knows how many actually written over the years. Note: I tend to sometimes use the actual shape the words form as well as the words themselves when writing a poem. Call it a style. I hope to begin writing again, getting some fresh perspective and creative goodness happening. We'll see. Now, however, we will start with "A" and work our way to "Z" of the current collection:


Ink on paper
The first page, savored
A child’s first footstep

Pages layered into past, present
Future; Preciously bound together
Memories, experience, hope.

Paragraphs and chapters
Joined by blank spaces
As sleep interlocks days

The End, unwanted

The author bio
Read like an obituary.

(c) SP


semiotic_pirate: (Default)

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