Damn I hate writers block.
I've been trying to ease myself back into writing non-poetic stuff over the last little bit and it's taken a little while for things to jell properly so I'm afraid you will have to wait a little bit for a new short story. For the moment however I still have some unused poetry sitting around so you can have a read of that while you're waiting.
Freyja
Dear Freyja,
old Edda told of thee
of withered hand
and feathered cloak
long moulted
and throne away.
Do you shiver,
dear Freyja?
With shoulders bare
and alters empty?
With hair cast off,
to wither in the soil?
Do you hate,
dear Freyja?
at the lovely maid,
or the virgin thief?
Who took from you,
all once you had?
Or are you proud,
dear Freyja?
A queen amongst
a special few?
Who still holds court,
clipped wings or no?
My dear Freya,
old Edda told of thee.
Of healing touch,
of red and gold.
a midnight queen,
a pretty lass.
A missing god,
long gone,
made new,
and people ask,
with open arms:
who now holds you?
Not really sure what I think of this one now that I'm reading it a bit after writing. The original idea came about while I was poking through an old essay I wrote on the archetype of the trickster in ancient mythology (one of the examples I used was Loki, which led to reading up on some mythological Norse poetry, which somehow lead to Freyja) and I seem to have got the idea I was aiming at across, but I think it still needs one or two alterations.
Anywho, have a read and comment etc etc.
Will have a short story up in a bit. Maybe even a nice little picture to go with it.
M.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Done and Dusted
Phew!
It took some doing but I've finally finished up with all of the major essays and assignments for the semester, and technically, barring one last exam, that means that I've essentially finished my degree as well.
Wow that went fast.
I feel like I should say something momentous to cap the whole thing off, but to be honest I don't think the whole finishing uni thing has quite dawned on me yet, so maybe I'll save that for after my last exam.
Still it's been an interesting semester and in terms of writing I think the blog as come along a little bit. I've learnt a couple of new things, and I think I've managed to open myself up to and gain interest in new forms of writing. Which can only be a good thing, otherwise I'm just going to be beating the same cat against the wall time and again and everyone, including me, is just going to get bored.
From time to time new stuff might include poetry, I ended up liking the unit I did on it a little more than I expected, though at the moment I'm still sort of digesting what it is that I got out of it, as pretty much all I can say for sure at the moment is that poetry as a medium of expression is a mess. A crazy, glorious mess where no one can agree on anything. This particularly applies on what is 'good' poetry and what is 'bad' poetry: everything has context and everybody seems to like different things - I can, for example, say rather comfortably that some of the stuff I read this semester was fantastic (the sort of thing you wish you that thought of first) while other stuff was horribly horribly bad (the sort of stuff that makes you squirm and then light yourself on fire) but I can only say that for me. Anyone else I would just have to tell them to read it and make up their own mind.
Where my own stuff fits in I have no idea (either in my scale or in other peoples - i'm hoping for somewhere in the middle), but I've had fun writing it so far so I may as well keep at it and see what happens.
That said, I've also done some editing on a couple of pieces that I've already put up and I did say that editing needed to become a bigger part of the blog, so here:
The Tree (v.2)
The wind blows uphill then wanders down
whispering promises of warmer weather.
The sun slips bonds and wallows in the snow.
Slowly waking, I feel winter’s hold decay.
Bare branches spread like hands,
while roots tremble and crack below.
Reborn, I stand with pride on fertile soil,
ready to cast my seed upon the earth again.
Rain comes, scatters like string, held
taut across the sky; virgin buds suckle and grow.
Voiceless I whisper to my children,
as they lie upon the shore of sleep. Soon. Soon.
I dance in the wind as the sun returns,
Young growth basking in its lazy glow.
Leaves unfasten and seeds uncoil;
to tremble in the heady breeze.
Spring turns summer and warmth becomes heat,
The sun rests heavy upon my crown of green.
Paralysed in paradise, without thought
Or care; I could stay this way forever.
But like all good things it does not last,
My children slowly crack and fade.
Dead leaves form a broken crown,
A memorial to what once had been.
I shake like beast that sheds its skin,
Then stand shamefaced and naked in the autumn breeze.
My children lay littered at my feet. Dry and dead;
My branches groan as the cold seeps in.
The wind picks up; the storms roll in, dancing madly
A neon glow that cuts the sky.
A static bolt, of serrated charge,
Seeks me out and breaks me and casts me on ground.
I smoke and splutter, a furnace makes my heart;
I high pitched pyre of searing sparks and bubble talk.
That writhes and turns as sap turns ash
and climbs as vapour into the sky.
The rains roll back, flames hiss. Too late.
I am broken and burnt; disembowelled.
With no hope of healing I give in. I am done.
The new snows bury me. A folded blanket under which to sleep.
When the next spring comes I barely wake,
Anchored only by the bits not black and burnt.
The snow melts and digs me up, both living bits and dead,
I feel as if a skeleton, all blunt and tamed.
Time passes. I spend it most in sleep.
New growth springs up all around. None is mine.
New noises fill new trees. A distant buzz.
In the distance older growth is trampled down.
They come with hard eyes and cold iron that cuts,
They calmly take to me and those around.
I feel distant fear, I shake and shudder
at the sudden force, the biting axe.
Rough hands break me down
and say I'll find some use. Perhaps a chair or table?
Something polished and refined.
I know it won’t be me.
Anywho, got plenty of time to kill now so new posts should be coming thick and fast - with plenty of new stuff to kick around.
Till then,
M
It took some doing but I've finally finished up with all of the major essays and assignments for the semester, and technically, barring one last exam, that means that I've essentially finished my degree as well.
Wow that went fast.
I feel like I should say something momentous to cap the whole thing off, but to be honest I don't think the whole finishing uni thing has quite dawned on me yet, so maybe I'll save that for after my last exam.
Still it's been an interesting semester and in terms of writing I think the blog as come along a little bit. I've learnt a couple of new things, and I think I've managed to open myself up to and gain interest in new forms of writing. Which can only be a good thing, otherwise I'm just going to be beating the same cat against the wall time and again and everyone, including me, is just going to get bored.
From time to time new stuff might include poetry, I ended up liking the unit I did on it a little more than I expected, though at the moment I'm still sort of digesting what it is that I got out of it, as pretty much all I can say for sure at the moment is that poetry as a medium of expression is a mess. A crazy, glorious mess where no one can agree on anything. This particularly applies on what is 'good' poetry and what is 'bad' poetry: everything has context and everybody seems to like different things - I can, for example, say rather comfortably that some of the stuff I read this semester was fantastic (the sort of thing you wish you that thought of first) while other stuff was horribly horribly bad (the sort of stuff that makes you squirm and then light yourself on fire) but I can only say that for me. Anyone else I would just have to tell them to read it and make up their own mind.
Where my own stuff fits in I have no idea (either in my scale or in other peoples - i'm hoping for somewhere in the middle), but I've had fun writing it so far so I may as well keep at it and see what happens.
That said, I've also done some editing on a couple of pieces that I've already put up and I did say that editing needed to become a bigger part of the blog, so here:
The Tree (v.2)
The wind blows uphill then wanders down
whispering promises of warmer weather.
The sun slips bonds and wallows in the snow.
Slowly waking, I feel winter’s hold decay.
Bare branches spread like hands,
while roots tremble and crack below.
Reborn, I stand with pride on fertile soil,
ready to cast my seed upon the earth again.
Rain comes, scatters like string, held
taut across the sky; virgin buds suckle and grow.
Voiceless I whisper to my children,
as they lie upon the shore of sleep. Soon. Soon.
I dance in the wind as the sun returns,
Young growth basking in its lazy glow.
Leaves unfasten and seeds uncoil;
to tremble in the heady breeze.
Spring turns summer and warmth becomes heat,
The sun rests heavy upon my crown of green.
Paralysed in paradise, without thought
Or care; I could stay this way forever.
But like all good things it does not last,
My children slowly crack and fade.
Dead leaves form a broken crown,
A memorial to what once had been.
I shake like beast that sheds its skin,
Then stand shamefaced and naked in the autumn breeze.
My children lay littered at my feet. Dry and dead;
My branches groan as the cold seeps in.
The wind picks up; the storms roll in, dancing madly
A neon glow that cuts the sky.
A static bolt, of serrated charge,
Seeks me out and breaks me and casts me on ground.
I smoke and splutter, a furnace makes my heart;
I high pitched pyre of searing sparks and bubble talk.
That writhes and turns as sap turns ash
and climbs as vapour into the sky.
The rains roll back, flames hiss. Too late.
I am broken and burnt; disembowelled.
With no hope of healing I give in. I am done.
The new snows bury me. A folded blanket under which to sleep.
When the next spring comes I barely wake,
Anchored only by the bits not black and burnt.
The snow melts and digs me up, both living bits and dead,
I feel as if a skeleton, all blunt and tamed.
Time passes. I spend it most in sleep.
New growth springs up all around. None is mine.
New noises fill new trees. A distant buzz.
In the distance older growth is trampled down.
They come with hard eyes and cold iron that cuts,
They calmly take to me and those around.
I feel distant fear, I shake and shudder
at the sudden force, the biting axe.
Rough hands break me down
and say I'll find some use. Perhaps a chair or table?
Something polished and refined.
I know it won’t be me.
Anywho, got plenty of time to kill now so new posts should be coming thick and fast - with plenty of new stuff to kick around.
Till then,
M
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