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Jun. 24th, 2014 04:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m1k31c3this was from yesterday, i forgot to post it:
last day of who writing, day 8
5 minutes
cyclist
he kicks down hard on the clutch
a mighty roar thunders from the garage,
his hand torquing the bike to life.
the smell of grease and smoke surrounds him
freedom rumbling beneath him
free like the wind in his hair
sunshine in his face
the freedom of itchy sweat and itchy leather on a hot summer day
the open road splayed out before him for miles
he can smell the honeysuckle alongside the rolling hills
putting miles between himself and home
10 minutes
ballerina
the world spins for not even a second,
and then it is still while her body spins
she does this to keep from getting dizzy
to keep her stomache from churning
she cannot see the audience,
just dark silhouettes behind a blinding light
silent spectators and classical music
she smells perfume and sweat.
her toes are sore from standing on them so much
and her muscles are so alive and active,
she knows every inch of where her body is going
one of the audience members is captivated by her beauty
he can't help but to notice all of her shapely features
her toned legs under spandex,
skirt wisping up high when she spins
he has grown excited the way men do at the sight of young supple flesh
oscar wipes beads of sweat from his brow
biting his lip and wondering what it would feel like
to run his fingers through her hair
to grip it in his hands and pull her head back
sucking on her tender neck
his undergarments tighten
and it becomes difficult to sit still,
fire burning hot in his loins.
she can't be older than sixteen at most, he muses
she age of impressionable experimentation, he ponders
oscar hates the feeling of jumpsuit orange,
but he is unable to contain the rush of hormones
it all comes so natural for him.
he feels alone in a crowd of proud parents
beethoven closes in on him
i know that was a little preverted. but i had to go with something that i was more familiar with. it was easier to think in terms of the prevert than it was the ballerina. ha. sorry.
90 seconds
puppy
the smell of new car comes second to the smell of new puppy
when they aren't shitting and pissing all over the house
loving yips and playful nips
the softness of being licked in the face
tongue tickling further and further down my ear
their eyes the namesake of baby-blue
padded feet on my chest
*****
and this is from this morning
day 9
"when" writing
5 minutes
summer rainstorm
my backyard is turning into pools of raindrops
the grass is drowning, each blade reaching upward
hands waiting for a hand
big drops are pelting down everywhere
but the sun is shining from a small window of sky
casting light onto cumulous clouds
a rainbow is stretching across the overhead canopy
my shoes squidge with each jump
i'm mesmorized by the spring from a gutter
digging trench
that was sort of cool, actually... everything was steeped in the sense of sight. but i felt like it was a good picture
10 minutes
graduation
i remember it clearly
or at least as clearly as i was afforded,
given the occasion:
it was another georgia summer,
over two hundred young bucks
tucked into neat columns and files
we stood there for two hours
stiff and rigid, sergeant major's voice booming over the pa system
occasionally bowing to the strong georgia wind
i felt a tightness from my first time wearing a beret
it squeezed my head so much i felt dizzy and ready to give up.
we were all so dichotomized standing there,
our families an array of colors swaying(swooning?) in the bleachers,
while we stand tall, our colors blending into one another
a sea of army green washing onto the beaches of normandy
my feet were terribly cramped inside my dress shoes
all shiny and plastic and new
georgia pine and perfume wafting on the breeze
we were a crowd of impatient privates,
standing at attention for the sake of what we had just been through for the last nine weeks
two more hours, i thought, and then it's over.
then i get to move on
i feel like "when" writing is where i'm at... that's the writer i want to be.
90 seconds
funny to think we have to practice wearing a ball and chain
right before the iron clasps tight to our ankle
all the people gather to stare
aftershave and perfume floating in the air
what is missing is the live band
swaying in the music
carrying me through the night
the last night im alive
haha, i havent been to a wedding since donnie crites' when i was a little boy. i eloped. no rehearsal.
*****
what is really cool about today is that i can see what it is they mean by "finding your voice." i can already feel my voice, but this is the process of learning to use it on command. what is also great about this process is, today i am able to understand why it is that people say "write what you know." i never went to graduation. i know nothing about ballerinas. but i remember graduating basic training. and i know what its like to be a pervert. so i went with my gut there. i think that was the right reaction.
at the end of this fourteen day exercise, i intend on analyzing my attempts so far. look for where my strengths and weaknesses are - listen for my voice. it's in there, somewhere. definitely.
also - thinking of asking angela to do some with me? i trust and respect her enough to bring her in on this. or, at the very least, she can start her own dreamwidth. or not.
last day of who writing, day 8
5 minutes
cyclist
he kicks down hard on the clutch
a mighty roar thunders from the garage,
his hand torquing the bike to life.
the smell of grease and smoke surrounds him
freedom rumbling beneath him
free like the wind in his hair
sunshine in his face
the freedom of itchy sweat and itchy leather on a hot summer day
the open road splayed out before him for miles
he can smell the honeysuckle alongside the rolling hills
putting miles between himself and home
10 minutes
ballerina
the world spins for not even a second,
and then it is still while her body spins
she does this to keep from getting dizzy
to keep her stomache from churning
she cannot see the audience,
just dark silhouettes behind a blinding light
silent spectators and classical music
she smells perfume and sweat.
her toes are sore from standing on them so much
and her muscles are so alive and active,
she knows every inch of where her body is going
one of the audience members is captivated by her beauty
he can't help but to notice all of her shapely features
her toned legs under spandex,
skirt wisping up high when she spins
he has grown excited the way men do at the sight of young supple flesh
oscar wipes beads of sweat from his brow
biting his lip and wondering what it would feel like
to run his fingers through her hair
to grip it in his hands and pull her head back
sucking on her tender neck
his undergarments tighten
and it becomes difficult to sit still,
fire burning hot in his loins.
she can't be older than sixteen at most, he muses
she age of impressionable experimentation, he ponders
oscar hates the feeling of jumpsuit orange,
but he is unable to contain the rush of hormones
it all comes so natural for him.
he feels alone in a crowd of proud parents
beethoven closes in on him
i know that was a little preverted. but i had to go with something that i was more familiar with. it was easier to think in terms of the prevert than it was the ballerina. ha. sorry.
90 seconds
puppy
the smell of new car comes second to the smell of new puppy
when they aren't shitting and pissing all over the house
loving yips and playful nips
the softness of being licked in the face
tongue tickling further and further down my ear
their eyes the namesake of baby-blue
padded feet on my chest
*****
and this is from this morning
day 9
"when" writing
5 minutes
summer rainstorm
my backyard is turning into pools of raindrops
the grass is drowning, each blade reaching upward
hands waiting for a hand
big drops are pelting down everywhere
but the sun is shining from a small window of sky
casting light onto cumulous clouds
a rainbow is stretching across the overhead canopy
my shoes squidge with each jump
i'm mesmorized by the spring from a gutter
digging trench
that was sort of cool, actually... everything was steeped in the sense of sight. but i felt like it was a good picture
10 minutes
graduation
i remember it clearly
or at least as clearly as i was afforded,
given the occasion:
it was another georgia summer,
over two hundred young bucks
tucked into neat columns and files
we stood there for two hours
stiff and rigid, sergeant major's voice booming over the pa system
occasionally bowing to the strong georgia wind
i felt a tightness from my first time wearing a beret
it squeezed my head so much i felt dizzy and ready to give up.
we were all so dichotomized standing there,
our families an array of colors swaying(swooning?) in the bleachers,
while we stand tall, our colors blending into one another
a sea of army green washing onto the beaches of normandy
my feet were terribly cramped inside my dress shoes
all shiny and plastic and new
georgia pine and perfume wafting on the breeze
we were a crowd of impatient privates,
standing at attention for the sake of what we had just been through for the last nine weeks
two more hours, i thought, and then it's over.
then i get to move on
i feel like "when" writing is where i'm at... that's the writer i want to be.
90 seconds
funny to think we have to practice wearing a ball and chain
right before the iron clasps tight to our ankle
all the people gather to stare
aftershave and perfume floating in the air
what is missing is the live band
swaying in the music
carrying me through the night
the last night im alive
haha, i havent been to a wedding since donnie crites' when i was a little boy. i eloped. no rehearsal.
*****
what is really cool about today is that i can see what it is they mean by "finding your voice." i can already feel my voice, but this is the process of learning to use it on command. what is also great about this process is, today i am able to understand why it is that people say "write what you know." i never went to graduation. i know nothing about ballerinas. but i remember graduating basic training. and i know what its like to be a pervert. so i went with my gut there. i think that was the right reaction.
at the end of this fourteen day exercise, i intend on analyzing my attempts so far. look for where my strengths and weaknesses are - listen for my voice. it's in there, somewhere. definitely.
also - thinking of asking angela to do some with me? i trust and respect her enough to bring her in on this. or, at the very least, she can start her own dreamwidth. or not.
