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About Varied / Hobbyist IsabelleFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 5 Years
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holds memories of sickle moons and shining cars.
All day it hears carts rumble, children scream.
It watches bodies carry produce back to the mountains,
the cars following telephone poles like a river.

It might tell you that these people could be in an ant farm,
if the ants were slower, and smoked,
and looked as if they forgot where they were going.

When there are no bodies to hold, it closes its eyes
and imagines better colors for the stretched-out grey.
It knows without looking what smoke coils through its slats,
what stories human weight tells.

It liked things better before it was touched, cut and bolted down,
before the warehouses, and the metal teeth before that,
and the forests before that.

It would rather not have the hollow-tin silence of highway and gravel,
but the silence it once had when it was a whole body, still able to hear the birds.
The Hannaford's Bench
An object poem I wrote for class. I got really into this.
I watched a cartoon woman break down into the two women who lived inside her,
the ones in love, watched her explain this to a boy as fusion.

She was the embodiment of this love,
two lovers so close they shared the same arms and legs.

I wondered how close we as humans could get.
Or what, in other words, was fusion?

Fusion is my head on my best friend's shoulder,
watching my other best friend perform poetry to bass-
    the magic in the air to prove it.

Fusion doesn't need bodies-
might be when my eyes keep company with the setting sun
    on the leaves,

is when I wake to him crawling to our bed
    and we talk in the dark.

It's not sex-
not something so overrated as sex,

but think of the campfires you've had,
the conversations that have drawn on,

the times everything went still,
until you and them felt like the only people in the world.

We can't share a body in fusion but you can tell
when it happens-
    can feel it when its charged in the air.
When You Feel It, You Know
Any Steven Universe fans out there definitely know what I'm referring to, and thus, what I've been inspired by. I hope it makes you think. :heart:
So today in my poetry class, my teacher brought up a really interesting point about writing poetry. He said that you don't really write about stuff, that poems aren't really about anything, but that poetry comes from whatever subconscious things are laying around inside.

He made a distinction between our emotional, instinctual "lizard" brain, or "id" if you will, and our more intellectual problem-solving brain, and said that when you give your brain a problem to solve or an experiment to work with, the subconscious, poetic stuff of the lizard brain will come out. That's why prompts are so useful--the intellectual brain is kept busy trying to write with a certain form (like a sestina, for instance) or left trying to write a poem only using certain words, or stuff like that, and while that part of the brain is tackling that, the creativity of the id can flow. (In fact this is probably why poetry therapy works so well--poetry therapists give their clients prompts to write with as well, like starting a poem using an existing line to start with, or choosing a part of an existing poem that resonates with them and jumping off from there.)

When I was walking back to my dorm room, I thought about all the times I had ever managed to write successful poetry. And I realized that while I've had moments where inspiration had spontaneously come to me, that hasn't happened too often and those moments have been far and in between. More likely what has happened is that poems have come from little challenges I've consciously or subconsciously given myself, like "write about the dress your friend gave you to figure out why you don't feel you deserve it" or "freewrite by the lake because it's pretty there and you feel like writing" or "write as many haikus as you can" or "write sentences that all begin with the same letter, and go through the alphabet that way" (that last one came about when I REALLY wanted to write but had some writer's block. It yielded some pretty wild stuff). What I'm trying to say is that most of the time that I've ever written a successful poem, it came more from me actually assigning myself a writing task than it did from pure inspiration.

I'm not saying that spontaneous inspiration doesn't exist, but it is rare. Now I know why all my teachers have always pushed prompts and forms on us: because if we challenge ourselves, if we give ourselves a task to do, the actual writing will come forth. So go ahead, if you've ever wanted to try to write a sestina, or if you've ever asked yourself a silly question like "what would it be like to fly out the window and bounce off the trees" or "I wonder what music is on the ipods of the American Idol judges" or if you've been carrying some conflicting or confusing or just painful or strong emotions around, take any of it and treat it as a task or challenge to yourself, and work it out through writing. I know that's what I'll try to do as a poet from now on.
Thoughts on Poetry and Writing
This is not a poem! It's as the title says--the revelations I had from my class today were too important both to myself as a poet and for the implications they had for my thesis on trauma and writing for me not to write down. I hope these thoughts can help other writers out there who might be struggling (as I always have) with not writing nearly as much as they want to. So much makes sense to me now that I've realized all this.
The story goes
that a man wishes something away
without understanding its integral importance.

He watches as his life swirls into chaos without this thing
and is lucky enough to wake up
in the forgiving arms of sleep.

What really happens to us
is that we slowly rub ourselves against the grindstone
trying to dissolve our faults,

every day we hope that life
can grind us down
to the essence of our true selves.

We hope, too,
to get the things that we want
but we know

that a wish
like a rainbow
has no tail end.

The eyelash falls
the dandelion scatters
11:11 jumps to 11:12

and life
moves on.


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Aglyra Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2015
Thank you for your favorite :huggle: :blackrose:
transe Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2015   General Artist
Thank you for the watch! :aww:
LayaAmaranthi Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much for the favorites and the watch. :)
I hope you're having a good day. :D :D (even though it's Monday : p XD )
Ahness Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank You very much for the watch! :hug: :)
CircleDreams Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2015
Thank you for the fav of my poem. :aww:
Sonicgirl582 Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2015   General Artist
Cheers for faving my water lily photo! It truly means a lot, so thank you. :love: :D :)
Aglyra Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2015
Thank you so much for the watch! I really appreciate it :huggle: :blackrose:
Life-takers-crayons Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2015
Thank you so very much for the watch :)
ShihSnTz Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you very much for the fav. It is greatly appreciated. :)
forgetyoself Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Sure thing. Keep up the good work!
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