Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Fighting Tendrils of Space

LORETTA HASKELL (Word Count: 647)

Think beyond the constructed reality. Fight beyond the tendrils that tie us to the earth of normality. Poetry excels and divides the sands we dig our feet into.


Then hit rocks

With your toes

Dug into sand

The waves


Against pine

And cedar.

Curls of hair

That grace a neck and ears

Glasses upon the nose

That leave the undeniable

Dent in purple


Of a face.

Dripping down the walls

Is the blood

Of past lives

And the harping

Of time’s

Endless procession

Through my life

And into the next.

Find your inner demons

And take them to the dance

Fleeing everything

From the angels

To the foxes

And find what you always wanted

Waiting by the fruit punch

In the basketball corner.

Life doesn’t wait for you to catch up and catch on. It just moves, constantly flowing, in the directions of its choosing. I once tried to stem it. Tried to manipulate the paths. But it didn’t listen. I got smacked with its bitterest reality and it still moved on. Now I just sit back, and go loosely, enjoying the gleeful moments and treasuring the sour. Why should we plan so severely? Why should we constantly juggle the harshest realities? It is possible

To monitor

From a safe distance

In a risky location.

I’m dancing in thunder

And shaking through the puddles

It’s too beautiful of a storm

To waste it

Under umbrellas

And without the ducks.

Embrace the strange, awkward, and overly weird. There’s something to that. There’s something refreshing in writing left handed and embracing what you never knew, or felt, or believed before. I reach out and touch your skin

When you’re six feet under me.

There’s something strange in the way your face looks under water. But that’s all we need to see, the distortion, in order to appreciate the utterness of reality.

Will you run

To the end of the pier

Only to find


Inching beyond you

Instead of salty water?

Find what you didn’t know

And hug it to your thigh

There’s no better way

To meet someone new

Than to catch their attention

By being too odd

To bear.

The mind expands beyond our usage. We rarely see its outer folds and when the chance should occur, there’s always something holding us back and staying our motives. Being a sloth doesn’t aid our lives, it only creates the obstacles we seek to jump, only to find our legs are too stiff and wouldn’t have carried us to the jump, let alone over it. Being profound only goes so far. There’s nothing interesting in thinking like everyone else. There’s nothing fascinating

About being


And swimming up the stream

With the rest of the silly trout


I am not the completion of the circle, merely the start of a crystal. Good luck seeing through the facets, I will only show you what you need to know. There’s nothing interesting, in giving away all your secrets at once.

Park and ride

At the manor motel

I can’t see the road

When I drive with paper

And pen

Between me and existence.

Incongruities in nature

Are what make it so indefinably


Why must everything

Humanity creates

Be something



And stereotyped?

I don’t want to spend my life behind a desk, scratching a dull pencil against an even duller mind. I have a thing about living my life, not just watching you live yours. What would be the destination

If there never was a journey?

I can’t see two feet in front of me

But I can guide


Across the moor

Since I see your light

From here.

I can’t take a breath

And live

When you’re away

From me

When I can’t feel

What you mean

Or say

This is the life

The path

The moments

I choose to make my own.

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