Erm, i have stuff to talk about, but i might as well upload my belated trio first; there’s no trace of the roomies, which means i have the phone to myself. Here goes…
by krisis
Personal
Simple Refrain
(or, Upon Reading ‘Ella Mason and Her Eleven Cats’)
I have learned to keep my secrets like Ella and her eleven cats,
As if shuttered against hurricane season and a gossiping ear.
People make queries that disregard the gender of the spinster created.
Though only words, for no good reason my answer takes forever
Because nothing is secret that is already heard.
I wrote a letter to Miss Sylvia in the shape of a song
While i was locked out of my house. My front step was a podium,
My pen a Pandora box. How could she have known that
I had just spent another sleepless night, ready to explode
A razor’s edge away from my fears?
Because nothing is secret that is already heard.
When i set that one down on paper
I was pretending my thoughts were clouds that fade away.
But i have found that if i keep them bottled up they distill down
To a simple refrain.
I’ve never really owned 11 of anything — maybe more
Or less, though. I can surely count my secrets on less than
Ten fingers and just one toe, but i’d rather just send them
Back Home.
Atlas
(after Plath’s Edge)
The mind is sleeping. A mighty Giant stands in quiet surrender, The air of spartan arrangement Is crisp in the curves of her muscles, Her bare Shoulders are claiming: We will not topple over, i know. Two gaping spaces stretched strangley silent Each one in A state of crumble, emptied. She still holds Her torch to light the same sky Of steely jagged mountain majesties stiff and resisting the winds of change, cold of winter seeping in. Her set lips reveal nothing, Visage fixed on endless clouds beyond. She is weary of the weight. Her brow furrows, green.
I’m not too artsy on here anymore… have some poems.
Wow, that was frustrating. But, anyway… wouldn’t you know that the five days that my websight was down for the count were probably my five most interesting days this quarter? I hardly even know where to begin. It’s almost as if my life doesn’t become real if i don’t sit down to blog about some aspect of it, even if that aspect is totally apart from the bits i really want to remember. Blogger is like some twisted notary public of my life, and ineed it to witness things before they are real.
And, here’s a question for you: what is the thrill of a secret if you don’t tell anyone?