Submissions by absinthe
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Born
Tanaga 3
When the great scythe in the night
Jumps into sea then we might
Bury our children under
To wake them from their slumber
------
This is not an easy riddle so - The inside scoop: It is best to plant your seeds (especially string beans) when the moon is waxing crescent and the tide is at its lowest. Why?
The crescent moon mimics the shape of pods of beans hanging from the vine, and during low tide, the fertility of the shore is revealed ...
Jumps into sea then we might
Bury our children under
To wake them from their slumber
------
This is not an easy riddle so - The inside scoop: It is best to plant your seeds (especially string beans) when the moon is waxing crescent and the tide is at its lowest. Why?
The crescent moon mimics the shape of pods of beans hanging from the vine, and during low tide, the fertility of the shore is revealed ...
46 reads
6 Comments
Rain (An example of the generative use of the 2-sentence/line poem)
On a cool day of summer. In the morning of delight.
In the maze of pleasure. He is science, I am art.
As the wind caressed. As smooth as a plum.
The first drops of rain. I am home, I am found.
As the rain came down. I listened to its music.
I hummed a melody. Such utmost pleasure.
The beauty of a virgin. I opened, I drenched.
His fingers played me. As gently as a cloud.
In the morning of delight. I listened to its music.
Such utmost pleasure. He is science, I am art.
I opened, I drenched. As smooth as a plum.
As gently as a...
In the maze of pleasure. He is science, I am art.
As the wind caressed. As smooth as a plum.
The first drops of rain. I am home, I am found.
As the rain came down. I listened to its music.
I hummed a melody. Such utmost pleasure.
The beauty of a virgin. I opened, I drenched.
His fingers played me. As gently as a cloud.
In the morning of delight. I listened to its music.
Such utmost pleasure. He is science, I am art.
I opened, I drenched. As smooth as a plum.
As gently as a...
86 reads
13 Comments
Tanaga 2
Thus peept the civet in the
Drunken spree and quick did he
Jump the weasel out the bush
Cocksh me, boy, ya wee lil pussh!
---
Photo:
Greek (attributed to the Brygos Painter)
Red-Figure terracotta tondo (plate), ca. 490 - 470 BCE
Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK
ETA: I removed the image - it was too obvious!!!
Drunken spree and quick did he
Jump the weasel out the bush
Cocksh me, boy, ya wee lil pussh!
---
Photo:
Greek (attributed to the Brygos Painter)
Red-Figure terracotta tondo (plate), ca. 490 - 470 BCE
Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK
ETA: I removed the image - it was too obvious!!!
84 reads
4 Comments
State of Grace
I woke up at 4am. The flat looked unfamiliar.
Of course, this is his place. This is his bed and sheets.
The dawn peeked through the curtains. It illuminated.
His naked body in the shadows. My sleeping beauty.
I sit up beside him. The man I should have loved.
I touch myself in places where he'd kissed. For once.
For once in my life my nakedness means something. Beautiful.
Alive. This is the man I should have loved.
I walk to the window. Pretty cobblestones below.
I will stroll that path today. An hour before the wife comes.
With my umbrella....
Of course, this is his place. This is his bed and sheets.
The dawn peeked through the curtains. It illuminated.
His naked body in the shadows. My sleeping beauty.
I sit up beside him. The man I should have loved.
I touch myself in places where he'd kissed. For once.
For once in my life my nakedness means something. Beautiful.
Alive. This is the man I should have loved.
I walk to the window. Pretty cobblestones below.
I will stroll that path today. An hour before the wife comes.
With my umbrella....
74 reads
20 Comments
Just Shoot Me!
I'm at Chapter Seven now of Amy Tan's "The Bonesetter's Daughter." Ruth Young's mother, LuLing, has come to life as a difficult woman haunted by a ghost and a curse in her past. But then everything in Ruth's life seem difficult: her boyfriend, her boyfriend's ex-wife and two daughters, her clients and her ghostwriting job, her list of tasks. It seems that the harder she tries to organize and the harder she tries not to be difficult, the more things become difficult. Ruth just thrives on the difficult.
Life is a cycle of struggles and difficulties, we don't even have to try....
Life is a cycle of struggles and difficulties, we don't even have to try....
60 reads
2 Comments
Tanaga 1
Banyar my Burman with cat
How much you got ba 8 kyat?
Streets of Yangon they do bled
Banyar teeth and mouth to red
---
Finally, my first poem with rhyme and meter, thanks to the challenge/inspiration from malin's poems.
What is the Tanaga?
"Poesia muy alta en tagalo, compuesta de siete silabas, y cuatro versos, llena de metafora."
"There is high poetry in Tagalog, composed of seven syllables and four verses with frequent metaphors."
From Vocabulario de la lengua tagala, trabaxado por varios sugetos doctos y graves....
How much you got ba 8 kyat?
Streets of Yangon they do bled
Banyar teeth and mouth to red
---
Finally, my first poem with rhyme and meter, thanks to the challenge/inspiration from malin's poems.
What is the Tanaga?
"Poesia muy alta en tagalo, compuesta de siete silabas, y cuatro versos, llena de metafora."
"There is high poetry in Tagalog, composed of seven syllables and four verses with frequent metaphors."
From Vocabulario de la lengua tagala, trabaxado por varios sugetos doctos y graves....
66 reads
8 Comments
Effigy
To those who must roam in peril.
She learned her art amongst her sisters. The Sea Gypsies.
Whose romance with the waters ended with state-sponsored wars. Down south.
It was the flares of strafing bullets that took away their men. In the night.
The dancing lines of fire across the waters. Sparks on their fishing spears.
They took apart the boats that spared from bombing. Turned them into caravans.
They fell the colourful sails that adorned the sea horizon. Turned them into tents.
They conjured fires with sticks and stones. Danced the flames on their...
She learned her art amongst her sisters. The Sea Gypsies.
Whose romance with the waters ended with state-sponsored wars. Down south.
It was the flares of strafing bullets that took away their men. In the night.
The dancing lines of fire across the waters. Sparks on their fishing spears.
They took apart the boats that spared from bombing. Turned them into caravans.
They fell the colourful sails that adorned the sea horizon. Turned them into tents.
They conjured fires with sticks and stones. Danced the flames on their...
61 reads
10 Comments
A Garden Maze
She prepared the cloth in the evening. Then she got up early.
She was making a Hapsburg lace maze. It had 16 flower gardens.
She will sit instead of walk. She will sew instead of talk.
The hours will pass with her silence. Some morning rain will make her smile.
It will be white thread with some silver. Beads instead of French knots.
Her hair is white with age. Too many quiet years.
She feels someone touching her hair. A light caress against her ear.
The sound of birds pass her by. Oh she was just growing deaf.
She traced the pattern to the...
She was making a Hapsburg lace maze. It had 16 flower gardens.
She will sit instead of walk. She will sew instead of talk.
The hours will pass with her silence. Some morning rain will make her smile.
It will be white thread with some silver. Beads instead of French knots.
Her hair is white with age. Too many quiet years.
She feels someone touching her hair. A light caress against her ear.
The sound of birds pass her by. Oh she was just growing deaf.
She traced the pattern to the...
54 reads
3 Comments
The Other Man
I got myself some make-up, lipstick and kohl, because I thought that I could make me pretty again, and feel pretty again, and some lovely dresses, like when I was younger, over a decade ago when I was free, when I met a man who seduced my mind and body, but I settled down too soon, and put myself in this coop, this theatre of dry wit and humour, and I still think of that man, that other man, with the golden hair and impish smile, and when I think of him I want to be pretty again, but he is not here, my make-up and dress mean nothing, I am a sad old woman, trapped in a reasonably good life...
75 reads
17 Comments
Terror
Her life was a series of interrupted journeys
From the middle region to the south
It started when her mother shamed their name
By bearing a child without proper ritual
The woman with child fled here
To there
From here
Where there was shame
To there
Where there was war
It started when her mother shamed their name
The terror in her life has left her
With an abundance of both ecstasy and misery
The thrill of a day without disgrace
Or an evening without agony
In the twilight when her children are asleep
She mulls the...
From the middle region to the south
It started when her mother shamed their name
By bearing a child without proper ritual
The woman with child fled here
To there
From here
Where there was shame
To there
Where there was war
It started when her mother shamed their name
The terror in her life has left her
With an abundance of both ecstasy and misery
The thrill of a day without disgrace
Or an evening without agony
In the twilight when her children are asleep
She mulls the...
49 reads
8 Comments
Dance
Now I remember. His fancy began when I stepped on the stage.
While I talked about booty capitalists. His eyes fixated on my feet.
I wore a pair of flat sandals. My choice of comfort when travelling.
But it was the ankle bracelet that got him. He asked to see it.
To interrupt our conversation. I think it was about commodified knowledge.
He wanted to see my ankle bracelet. Barefoot, I sat on the chair.
I lifted the hem of my longyi to show him. It was beautiful silver.
Red cloisonnes dotted a wide strip of tiny silver droplets. It came from India.
...
While I talked about booty capitalists. His eyes fixated on my feet.
I wore a pair of flat sandals. My choice of comfort when travelling.
But it was the ankle bracelet that got him. He asked to see it.
To interrupt our conversation. I think it was about commodified knowledge.
He wanted to see my ankle bracelet. Barefoot, I sat on the chair.
I lifted the hem of my longyi to show him. It was beautiful silver.
Red cloisonnes dotted a wide strip of tiny silver droplets. It came from India.
...
155 reads
15 Comments
Betel Nut Beauty
I saw movement inside the house. About an hour after sunrise.
That is when he awakes. When I wipe my hands and face.
Every morning I anticipate him. I act like a little girl.
He comes on the balcony. He has coffee and looks around.
He surveys the garden. This is where I work.
Two men mind the wooded areas. I tend the flowers.
I was a betel nut beauty. I lived in a glass box.
The culturati debated. They said I was exploited.
I gave men cancer and palpitations. They gave me money.
He bought cigarettes a few times. But he does not smoke.
He...
That is when he awakes. When I wipe my hands and face.
Every morning I anticipate him. I act like a little girl.
He comes on the balcony. He has coffee and looks around.
He surveys the garden. This is where I work.
Two men mind the wooded areas. I tend the flowers.
I was a betel nut beauty. I lived in a glass box.
The culturati debated. They said I was exploited.
I gave men cancer and palpitations. They gave me money.
He bought cigarettes a few times. But he does not smoke.
He...
89 reads
7 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by absinthe