Weblog
Thursday, 23 July 2009
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Due to my unplanned sabbatical, it has been a year since I last put up an issue of Write Me a Metaphor. I was busy with university, and moving out, and all the things first year uni students are busy with.
At any rate, I have started to catch up with submissions and have put up the site's fifth issue. The new issue is, I think, the most versatile and international issue we have had yet. I think that's wonderful, and I am touched by the works being sent from all ends of the world. Issue 5 features the poetic works of Danielle Jackson, South African poet Tendai Mwanaka, Maltese poet Patrick Sammut, Californian Felino Soriano, Zimbabwean Innocent Tinarwo, Quasi-Senryu poet Richard H. Williams, British teacher Patrick Carpenter and university student Emily Owens.
Please head over there and enjoy.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
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ccw prompt 166: i'm a huge plant lover and amateur botanist, so i want to see writing inspired by plants. any form, but write a piece somehow using plants as inspiration.
Roadside Flowers
he stands by the side of the road
his arms draped with jasmine chains
wearing a button-up shirt unbuttoned
and exhaustion in his eyes
his friend sells roses
long stems, offering up love
or maybe just a chance
and the heat slides over them
like blindness, dizziness and dehydration.
they wipe the sweat from their brown skin
offer a flower for a dinar
something to decay
fill the car with summer smells
bloom at night, fill the house
with flowers, slip them a note --
and barter, two perhaps, for one?
and one retreats, depleted.
the other does not even shrug
he hands over his bounty
slips the half-note in his pocket
weaves between the cars,
maybe another quick purchase
bathed in the glow of the traffic light's red
no hope, no future, just routine.
the cars drive toward the green.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
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new poem.
post dedicated to EchoofEmotion, who honestly gives me heart that some of my early readers are still around.
His hands lay dormant.
She spoke of patterns and stardust,
made him lie next to her in the dark
as the heat crawled past them,
howling at the moon
and provoking the sky.
The land dripped with sweat,
windows stained with its salt.
His eyes erupt. The sun does not
rise, and sudden stillness suffocates.
She dances by the wayside, writhing
in ecstasy. His eyes hold her, spitting ash.
Darkness hovers, waiting for the sky
to shed skins. Twilight dances in the breeze.
Her heart lay dormant.
She tattoos its likeness on her skin
and takes his hand in hers – her lips erupt
with fervour and meet his eyes.
The sun appears, frozen on the horizon.
Saturday, 18 April 2009
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There are no seasons, no April
mornings with dew-dipped roses
waiting to be shaved, no August
heat with summer dresses wafting
in the non-existent breeze. No spring
or summer, no twilight walks
on the beach, no footprints to follow.
There is no sun, no moon, no stars;
the sky itself has disappeared. There is
nothing that engulfs us, no vast oceans
or heavens that dwarf us, no edges.
There is only a peach sliced open,
flesh bright and vivid, full of sweetness;
and bruised apples on the ground.
Tuesday, 20 December 2005
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plagiarizer,
you think you can steal
our flames from our candles
without asking, that you can
take our brilliance, making it
your own, when we try so hard
to make our words shine.--20 Dec 05
Do not plagiarize. My words belong on my page, not yours unless you've asked permission and given me credit (obviously).
Plagiarizers are weak, pathetic fools; and I don't take too kindly to people stealing my stuff.
OpenWelts
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- Name: Laala
- Gender: Female
- Member Since: 5/13/2005
Connect
My book, a poetry and prose collection.
US$25 for an autographed copy, including shipping.
Since I don't live in the US, shipping costs me US$9.
Interested? Let me know through the message me link.
My online poetry magazine, Write Me a Metaphor
x365 is a poetry project where you write about a person who has touched your life each day for a year. It doesn't matter whether their 'touch' has been good or bad.
My x365, touchedx365
About Me
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Let me be your Persephone or the poison on Juliet's lips; let me be yours though I do not love you.
