literature

my storybook

Deviation Actions

mackwrites's avatar
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Published:
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Literature Text

let me linger, right here, on
this page; this word, right here,
this one, where you are.  I can’t wait
long enough for the next chapter, and
I can’t bear to turn the page.  

A picture book.  That’s you.  I can
trace your face through the illustrations.
Freckles and speckled water-paint,
shapes and color and pockets to open,
glitter pours out like your laughter.  

- - -

I want to be the blaring trumpets
the white banners and the sunlight,
the golden sunlight, allowed to thread
fingers through your hair, I want

just to look at you.  To hold you
inside, in the place where I melt
bits of my heart and weld them
against memories of you, until I
confuse you for the mechanism,
always knocking at my chest.

Are you really there?
This person is the best to write about. You can use color and fabric and tapestry and scent; cinnamon. Sunflowers. Daisies. Catching sight of a butterfly. Picking the ghost of a dandelion and giving it to the wind with your lips. ...I love 'em. There's no darkness, shadows, corners; metal teeth, barbed wire. Sometimes it's okay to write about those places, but I think I'm better at this one. After all... it is the best place. (speaking of which... the last line is meant to be the question "is this too good to be true?" in a way).

- - -

I have actually been writing. Lots of prose. But I was also on vacation last week (extreme hardcore hiking was prompted from my weak and out-of-shape body. I'm wimpy, a limp noodle sucking life through the computer screen) and then this weekend I had an Antioch retreat which is hardcore in itself. So, call me exhausted! It doesn't help that I figured out my process before vacation; now it's harder to get back into the mode, (not mood, to be clear).

ANYWAY. My prose. Is like that soup that Chef Ramsay (Hell's Kitchen) tastes and is pretty good, but not quite there, and the contestant ALMOST wins the mini-contest (can't think of the real term) but then... someone else gets it. My prose has eyes only for the finish line and moves like the best runner, entire body burning with energy and power, only to realize someone else has won the race. It's okay, because the runner has stretched themselves, have felt that great feeling, but they still lost.

Yar?

I guess I decided to post some poetry because I'm okay with being mediocre when it comes to poems. I just feel so close with the prose; I want to get all the way there... and sweep you off your feet. *crooked grin*

That's all, ladies and gents.
© 2009 - 2024 mackwrites
Comments14
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TwistedAlyx's avatar
Well I love your comments, first of all. I do get that feeling from your prose, but I do believe that you can get there & then some. :) The point is losing the one race, it's that you keep races until you finally win. ;)

This is a lovely poem. Some nice imagery. And I love the metaphor; I can relate to that. I want just to look at you...