It's a combination of idea's from three plays..."Entertainng Mr.Sloane", "Kafka's Monkey", and "Waiting for Godot". Work in progress, but I'm posting what I have....enjoy.
Entertainng Kafka's Waiting
"Ladies and gentlemen of the academy",
three voices create one sound.
Different, yet connected.
"All I know is that the hours are long",
can one entertain my wait?
"he loves me", she says,
but do they know that is not true?
they entertain my wait.
As "I account my former life, as an ape"
"I don't seem to be able to...depart"
I guess I wait for a newer life to start
but "we're waiting" always always.
"you wouldn't put me away, would you"?
you wouldn't let my stories go to waste.
"I'm impressionable"
so entertain me
let me speak my story so long
because we wait, we wait.
and you entertain my wait.
"saved from what?"
"we are all born mad, and we remain so"
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Other Conversation
When class discussions get boring, I listen for things that people say without saying. Here is a combination poem of about 10 minutes of conversation. It's all taken completely out of context, but funny how you can make a poem out of it none the less.
The Other Conversation
Language substituting for props.
"I bite my thumb at you, sir"
Remember? Yeah, it's coming back.
It's especially her field.
It depends, says she.
Does that make sense to you?
Can you make a connection of that?
Well, yeah. A little confusion of absence,
they may be in the same time of creation...
but that's not.
It's written in more of a tradition,
this is teetering on the grounds,
it's more simple stories.
Buckle up, she says,
there were two takes of the play.
They were featured so heavily,
that gives you a sense of the reverence.
He had a circle of people around him,
at the time called a work in progress.
The afternoon would go on.
No, no, leave it in.
He had an embrace of chance.
Demanding, in terms of demands.
I think definitely the language,
this is an old for of new.
The simplicity of it, the everyday of it,
I think that's modern.
Is every edition just like this?
He wants the text to speak for itself.
They are all kind of sparse...
apparently.
He hung onto the script,
one of the interesting things.
Historically, he was blocked.
They're fabulous,
it's doodling.
Language is one of the modern things,
the poetic language and philosophical scpiel.
Not just the very man.
Nothing happens twice.
Just going with that...
that's it.
Sarrah Loyce, 26 May 2009
The Other Conversation
Language substituting for props.
"I bite my thumb at you, sir"
Remember? Yeah, it's coming back.
It's especially her field.
It depends, says she.
Does that make sense to you?
Can you make a connection of that?
Well, yeah. A little confusion of absence,
they may be in the same time of creation...
but that's not.
It's written in more of a tradition,
this is teetering on the grounds,
it's more simple stories.
Buckle up, she says,
there were two takes of the play.
They were featured so heavily,
that gives you a sense of the reverence.
He had a circle of people around him,
at the time called a work in progress.
The afternoon would go on.
No, no, leave it in.
He had an embrace of chance.
Demanding, in terms of demands.
I think definitely the language,
this is an old for of new.
The simplicity of it, the everyday of it,
I think that's modern.
Is every edition just like this?
He wants the text to speak for itself.
They are all kind of sparse...
apparently.
He hung onto the script,
one of the interesting things.
Historically, he was blocked.
They're fabulous,
it's doodling.
Language is one of the modern things,
the poetic language and philosophical scpiel.
Not just the very man.
Nothing happens twice.
Just going with that...
that's it.
Sarrah Loyce, 26 May 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
JoAnne
JOANNE
1 Corinthians 4: 10-13
“We are fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are so strong! You are honored, we are dishonored! To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty. We are in rags, we are brutally treated, we are homeless. We work hard with our own hands. When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it: when we are slandered, we answer kindly. Up to this moment we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world.”
Today, I met a woman named JoAnne. To most, she is an invisible woman, but too me, she is a person who represents something I would like to be. You see, JoAnne is homeless. She sleeps in the fire exit of a Tesco, she sells “The Big Issue” at Euston square, and she occasionally visits classrooms to share her experience. Though she looks tired, and cold, and though most days I might walk past her without a second glance, today JoAnne was an inspiration in a dim world, and I long to have some of the faith she lives on every day. JoAnne said nothing to me or my class of God, or having any faith in him, but she served as an example of unspoken strength. Though her situation may only relate to mine in a spiritual sense, I admire her. And so, I will tell you about JoAnne, and what a daughter of God she is.
A typical day for JoAnne goes a little like this. She gets up before 7am. If she doesn’t, the managers of Tesco will come make her move out of the emergency exit. She packs up what little she has – a sleeping bag, and a couple quilts – and is maybe given a bagel by the man who works in the pub across the way. She goes to the nearest tube stop and waits until she can hop behind someone swiping their oyster card and get through the gates. She takes the tube to Euston square, where she spends most of her day. She sells “The Big Issue” (the only legitimate way of making money if you are homeless) and hopes that people will donate food or money. She can’t have a sign, or cup, or bowl – begging is illegal in London. She might make between 8 and 15 pounds, depending on the day.
She has to use all of this money on food, so it’s impossible to save any money. Eating out in London is expensive, but it’s JoAnne’s only means of eating. She has no way to cook or keep any food, no kitchen, nothing. So if she’s lucky, she might get a meal or two for the day. From here, she typically heads back to the Tesco, again, having to use someone else to get onto the tube. She puts out cardboard to stay warm, gets in her sleeping bag, and covers herself with her blankets. She can’t sleep until 2 or 3 am, because the people in the Pub across the way are noisy and obnoxious. At 7am, her day begins again.
JoAnne spends most of these days unnoticed. “Regular” people pass her by without a second glance. They offer her little money or food, and when they do, they forget she’s a person. It’s easy as people with oodles to think, “well you don’t like what I give you, fine then, I won’t give you anything”. But JoAnne is still human. She doesn’t like bananas in the same way you or I don’t like hotdogs, or tomatoes, or pea’s. Why is it that because she lacks possessions, she loses her right to humanity?
It’s not a safe world JoAnne lives in. She’s been raped, beaten, and attacked before. She lives on the streets with no protection, and she finds it practically impossible to trust another person. But what kind of faith must she have to keep going, to make it through every day in such dismal circumstances. If you ask her, she will tell you her hope is her children. She has three, whom have all been taken from her life. She recently became able to see the eldest, and must wait until the other two are eighteen to see them. I find JoAnne to possess a faith that I lack, and I long for the spiritual homelessness that creates such unfathomed faith.
I guess what really struck me about JoAnne is that she didn’t seem to see herself as lacking in anything. She might be without food, she might be without appreciation, she might go unnoticed by the world, but she still had a purpose, something worth getting up every day, something making living worthwhile. And I wish that I could be homeless in that sense. That I could see beyond my material desires, and just live on the faith that Christ gives me. In that bit of 1 Corinthians I have above, Paul is talking about how the apostles are the scum of the earth, the homeless. Yet despite the trials, they bless, and they have grace, and they live knowing that this world isn’t it. I long to be that kind of homeless in this world, and long to live for the home Christ gives me in him. I long to become the “scum of the earth”, and to live for something different then the plastic people of the world, to have faith in what’s real, and to be able to show undying faith to others spiritually as JoAnne did to me literally.
1 Corinthians 4: 3-5
“I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of people’s hearts. At the time each will receive their praise from God.”
1 Corinthians 4: 10-13
“We are fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are so strong! You are honored, we are dishonored! To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty. We are in rags, we are brutally treated, we are homeless. We work hard with our own hands. When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it: when we are slandered, we answer kindly. Up to this moment we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world.”
Today, I met a woman named JoAnne. To most, she is an invisible woman, but too me, she is a person who represents something I would like to be. You see, JoAnne is homeless. She sleeps in the fire exit of a Tesco, she sells “The Big Issue” at Euston square, and she occasionally visits classrooms to share her experience. Though she looks tired, and cold, and though most days I might walk past her without a second glance, today JoAnne was an inspiration in a dim world, and I long to have some of the faith she lives on every day. JoAnne said nothing to me or my class of God, or having any faith in him, but she served as an example of unspoken strength. Though her situation may only relate to mine in a spiritual sense, I admire her. And so, I will tell you about JoAnne, and what a daughter of God she is.
A typical day for JoAnne goes a little like this. She gets up before 7am. If she doesn’t, the managers of Tesco will come make her move out of the emergency exit. She packs up what little she has – a sleeping bag, and a couple quilts – and is maybe given a bagel by the man who works in the pub across the way. She goes to the nearest tube stop and waits until she can hop behind someone swiping their oyster card and get through the gates. She takes the tube to Euston square, where she spends most of her day. She sells “The Big Issue” (the only legitimate way of making money if you are homeless) and hopes that people will donate food or money. She can’t have a sign, or cup, or bowl – begging is illegal in London. She might make between 8 and 15 pounds, depending on the day.
She has to use all of this money on food, so it’s impossible to save any money. Eating out in London is expensive, but it’s JoAnne’s only means of eating. She has no way to cook or keep any food, no kitchen, nothing. So if she’s lucky, she might get a meal or two for the day. From here, she typically heads back to the Tesco, again, having to use someone else to get onto the tube. She puts out cardboard to stay warm, gets in her sleeping bag, and covers herself with her blankets. She can’t sleep until 2 or 3 am, because the people in the Pub across the way are noisy and obnoxious. At 7am, her day begins again.
JoAnne spends most of these days unnoticed. “Regular” people pass her by without a second glance. They offer her little money or food, and when they do, they forget she’s a person. It’s easy as people with oodles to think, “well you don’t like what I give you, fine then, I won’t give you anything”. But JoAnne is still human. She doesn’t like bananas in the same way you or I don’t like hotdogs, or tomatoes, or pea’s. Why is it that because she lacks possessions, she loses her right to humanity?
It’s not a safe world JoAnne lives in. She’s been raped, beaten, and attacked before. She lives on the streets with no protection, and she finds it practically impossible to trust another person. But what kind of faith must she have to keep going, to make it through every day in such dismal circumstances. If you ask her, she will tell you her hope is her children. She has three, whom have all been taken from her life. She recently became able to see the eldest, and must wait until the other two are eighteen to see them. I find JoAnne to possess a faith that I lack, and I long for the spiritual homelessness that creates such unfathomed faith.
I guess what really struck me about JoAnne is that she didn’t seem to see herself as lacking in anything. She might be without food, she might be without appreciation, she might go unnoticed by the world, but she still had a purpose, something worth getting up every day, something making living worthwhile. And I wish that I could be homeless in that sense. That I could see beyond my material desires, and just live on the faith that Christ gives me. In that bit of 1 Corinthians I have above, Paul is talking about how the apostles are the scum of the earth, the homeless. Yet despite the trials, they bless, and they have grace, and they live knowing that this world isn’t it. I long to be that kind of homeless in this world, and long to live for the home Christ gives me in him. I long to become the “scum of the earth”, and to live for something different then the plastic people of the world, to have faith in what’s real, and to be able to show undying faith to others spiritually as JoAnne did to me literally.
1 Corinthians 4: 3-5
“I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of people’s hearts. At the time each will receive their praise from God.”
Friday, May 8, 2009
An Epic Amount of Poems
Okay, here goes. I couldn't imagine sleeping, so I thought I may as well type these up. Enjoy, hate, love, learn, what have you.
Challenge #2 - Use only song lyrics/titles.
And So We Shuffle
Measure your life in love,
time after time,
don’t forget.
It just takes a little faith,
and when the music starts,
I search for life.
Our shadows grow,
speak from my heart,
pretend that you’re feeling.
The time has come,
one single drop of rain,
and it’s crazy.
Possibilities,
like the stars,
guitar packed in the truck.
To run ‘round the wind,
what’s next,
once in love?
Surprise surprise,
turn your fear,
keep on thinking.
Looks like another silent night,
where did we go wrong,
when are you going to rhyme again?
Wake up sleeper,
you don’t have to do that,
it was so unique.
Sunrise,
makes her fly,
and I know I’m making something.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #3 - my least favorite challenge which turned into my favorite poem (maybe). Challenge was to write a poem regarding your emotions that alludes to a minimum of seven literary/biblical people/places/events.
Untitled
overwhelming discontent
running, but I cannot hide
reality swallows me like the whale
and like Jonah, I still cower,
facing the sea is easier,
than acknowledging what faces me.
I find myself at a crossroads,
like Alice, with two bottle from which to choose.
a choice must be made,
it's a fact I can't avoid,
so I close my eyes, and I drink.
Am I David or Goliath?
Do I fight or am I fought?
Do I conquer, or do I fail?
I return to the road again.
the road less traveled, the long road home
I fall before him and confess
denying my denial, I am Peter
I beg to return, and I am forgiven.
So I start back on my way.
I fight like a Spartan,
long and hard, to the death.
but can I conquer?
will I defeat this fear?
How do I prevail
What is winning in this world?
Is winning containing my Pandora?
or being wholly known?
Am I an Eddie, or shall I settle for half?
No matter the case, life's a riddle
told by a Centaur who knows more than I.
all that can be done is to choose a way,
and wholeheartedly run for the gate.
pray to my God, ask for forgiveness.
scribe my name in the book, please God,
'Cause I'm coming home one day.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #4: Write a dark poem, only talking about how love sucks. (Katie, my challenger, was asked to do the opposite.) Nyst be dark, angry, and/or depressing. (I don't make the rules :P)
Ugly Love
Love
is repulsive
a vulgar lie
it's a mutual misguidance
where two people think they've got it right
it starts out as a spark
and turn into a lustful lying flame
contently they lie, hoping that together they'll die.
I hope so too, please, see it through
and remove your idiocy from my life
"true love waits", no, true love hates
and it's truly a work of your mind.
it must take such imagination
to believe a thing like love could exist.
it must be a fanciful indignation, how dare you call love wise.
philosophers may fall, and lovers call out each others praise
but love will always fail, and fall under my scornful gaze.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #5 - what about next Tuesday
What About Next Tuesday
today I sit, and I write
I listen, and I contemplate.
It's Friday, I know, but what
what about next Tuesday?
Something important comes that day
I don't yet know what is, maybe
So I sit, and I stand
I draw, and I meditate
on things I may already know. but what
what about next Tuesday?
what is it that calls my attention so?
it's just another day, the weather
will be what it may, so why?
why next Tuesday? why won't
it leave my head? I'll wait until
next Tuesday. and I'll hope for the best
instead. of. dwelling
on next Tuesday. but what
what about the next, next Tuesday?
another fixation that may come into my head?
It's not that it's next Tuesday.
it's the wonder and the want. but what
what is it about next Tuesday's?
why much some question always be in my mind?
curse you! Curse you Tuesday!
and next Tuesday, an all Tuesdays
after that, Good day, next Tuesday,
I'll think of Monday instead.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #6 was the Attraction of Insanity...which I wonder if people will hate.
This last one is not a challenge, just a poem I wrote on my way home. (and yes, I know it changes tense)
Man on the Tube
You can see it in his face
he's remembering
it's a good memory, an old one
he relives it as I watch him,
he just looks off into space
and he smiles, a secret smile
as if he knows something you don't
and he does.
and you wonder what good memory it could possibly be
is it triggered by his music?
or is it something about the tube?
content to wonder, you write
and he dreams of that mysterious night
and you both just go on your way.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #2 - Use only song lyrics/titles.
And So We Shuffle
Measure your life in love,
time after time,
don’t forget.
It just takes a little faith,
and when the music starts,
I search for life.
Our shadows grow,
speak from my heart,
pretend that you’re feeling.
The time has come,
one single drop of rain,
and it’s crazy.
Possibilities,
like the stars,
guitar packed in the truck.
To run ‘round the wind,
what’s next,
once in love?
Surprise surprise,
turn your fear,
keep on thinking.
Looks like another silent night,
where did we go wrong,
when are you going to rhyme again?
Wake up sleeper,
you don’t have to do that,
it was so unique.
Sunrise,
makes her fly,
and I know I’m making something.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #3 - my least favorite challenge which turned into my favorite poem (maybe). Challenge was to write a poem regarding your emotions that alludes to a minimum of seven literary/biblical people/places/events.
Untitled
overwhelming discontent
running, but I cannot hide
reality swallows me like the whale
and like Jonah, I still cower,
facing the sea is easier,
than acknowledging what faces me.
I find myself at a crossroads,
like Alice, with two bottle from which to choose.
a choice must be made,
it's a fact I can't avoid,
so I close my eyes, and I drink.
Am I David or Goliath?
Do I fight or am I fought?
Do I conquer, or do I fail?
I return to the road again.
the road less traveled, the long road home
I fall before him and confess
denying my denial, I am Peter
I beg to return, and I am forgiven.
So I start back on my way.
I fight like a Spartan,
long and hard, to the death.
but can I conquer?
will I defeat this fear?
How do I prevail
What is winning in this world?
Is winning containing my Pandora?
or being wholly known?
Am I an Eddie, or shall I settle for half?
No matter the case, life's a riddle
told by a Centaur who knows more than I.
all that can be done is to choose a way,
and wholeheartedly run for the gate.
pray to my God, ask for forgiveness.
scribe my name in the book, please God,
'Cause I'm coming home one day.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #4: Write a dark poem, only talking about how love sucks. (Katie, my challenger, was asked to do the opposite.) Nyst be dark, angry, and/or depressing. (I don't make the rules :P)
Ugly Love
Love
is repulsive
a vulgar lie
it's a mutual misguidance
where two people think they've got it right
it starts out as a spark
and turn into a lustful lying flame
contently they lie, hoping that together they'll die.
I hope so too, please, see it through
and remove your idiocy from my life
"true love waits", no, true love hates
and it's truly a work of your mind.
it must take such imagination
to believe a thing like love could exist.
it must be a fanciful indignation, how dare you call love wise.
philosophers may fall, and lovers call out each others praise
but love will always fail, and fall under my scornful gaze.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #5 - what about next Tuesday
What About Next Tuesday
today I sit, and I write
I listen, and I contemplate.
It's Friday, I know, but what
what about next Tuesday?
Something important comes that day
I don't yet know what is, maybe
So I sit, and I stand
I draw, and I meditate
on things I may already know. but what
what about next Tuesday?
what is it that calls my attention so?
it's just another day, the weather
will be what it may, so why?
why next Tuesday? why won't
it leave my head? I'll wait until
next Tuesday. and I'll hope for the best
instead. of. dwelling
on next Tuesday. but what
what about the next, next Tuesday?
another fixation that may come into my head?
It's not that it's next Tuesday.
it's the wonder and the want. but what
what is it about next Tuesday's?
why much some question always be in my mind?
curse you! Curse you Tuesday!
and next Tuesday, an all Tuesdays
after that, Good day, next Tuesday,
I'll think of Monday instead.
-Sarrah Loyce
Challenge #6 was the Attraction of Insanity...which I wonder if people will hate.
This last one is not a challenge, just a poem I wrote on my way home. (and yes, I know it changes tense)
Man on the Tube
You can see it in his face
he's remembering
it's a good memory, an old one
he relives it as I watch him,
he just looks off into space
and he smiles, a secret smile
as if he knows something you don't
and he does.
and you wonder what good memory it could possibly be
is it triggered by his music?
or is it something about the tube?
content to wonder, you write
and he dreams of that mysterious night
and you both just go on your way.
-Sarrah Loyce
The Attraction of Insanity
So, this is another one of the poetry challenges. I've done several, and I will post them all eventually, but this one has caught my attention. Though it's a little...odd...compared to my typical writing. I find myself loving it. It's a bit insane, but that's the point. The challenge of this poem was to write from the perspective of an absolutely, insane person. To go all out. And I did. And I like the result. (It's long).
The Attraction of Insanity
Get back! Get back I tell you!
Step away from my bridge.
Stop it! Stop it now!
Don't dissuade me into your fridge.
Yes, your fridge, I mean it.
Stop looking at me that way.
All you do is cold and stagnant.
Waiting. For what day?
Waiting for the end, you see.
You want what I welcome freely.
Suicidal? Not so! Get your judgment out of my way.
You fear what I relish, I won't wait to be thrown away.
Yes, I intend it. What's that you say?
Hah! Me the crazy one, 'cause you're the one to say?
What's so crazy about my freedom,
my unabridged fate? It ends with unreason,
wiping clean my dirty slate?
Hah! I laugh as you imagine
that I'm the crazy one.
I live without your fear.
No, I don't hesitate.
Back away! You're much to close
take another step away.
I've gone off the deep end? No,
not yet anyways.
What makes you so afraid? Stop!
Stop thinking of me that way!
I'm freer than you'll ever be,
and I'm not afraid to say.
No, I welcome it. Such as death,
might welcome the plague.
Yes, it isn't pretty, to think of life that way.
But what is? What's beauty that isn't fake?
It's out here, it's up there, it's living without such hate.
I hate, you say? What, what do I hate?
Myself, you say? Well, if true,
you've come much too late.
Too late, yes, I've said it.
Too late for the standards of your world.
Too late instead of early,
that's what happens when you hesitate.
I see you roll your eyes,
my honesty doesn't make me blind.
You see, that there, can't you see what you do?
You've decided what's for me, it's true.
But what will happen to you?
If I jump, you might go crazy,
and then possibly you'll see.
It's not my vision that's hazy,
I've just found the key.
The key? You laugh. But I can unlock what you cannot.
Yes, I can unlock what's truly in my soul.
What is that? You ask, but why should I tell?
What reason do you give me?
Why is it that your thirst is what I should fill??
Oh yes, your thirst. You long for what I have.
That's why you're here, you see.
Yes, you find it attractive, my insanity.
Get back! You come too close if you want to hear my words.
See? You step away. That's right, you're doing good.
I hold what you cannot have.
You long to be in my spot.
You wish for my freedom, my utter "insanity".
That's right, I mock you, I laugh at what you say.
You're attracted to my spirit, because you can't take it away.
Yes, yes, you wish I could be you.
That my thoughts might fill your mind.
You think me repulsive, yet you're jealous.
So turn, turn your face away!
Get back! Get back and step away!
You think I'm that distracted?
You think I'm utterly disturbed?
I see you and your men, as you surround me on both sides.
You think that you can stop me?
Hah! I laugh in the face of your pride.
I've made my decision, and I'm done.
Done leading a smothering life.
Say goodbye to my children, give my well wishes to my wife.
Yes, I've a family I must leave.
Shme they chose to remain in strife.
I'd ask them to join me,
but they'd say I'm asking for their life.
One more step and I go! It's no effort from me.
I'd just be filling my life's destiny.
Yes, I've got it.
The attraction of insanity.
I fill my heart with freedom,
and now I take my final leap.
-Sarrah Loyce
The Attraction of Insanity
Get back! Get back I tell you!
Step away from my bridge.
Stop it! Stop it now!
Don't dissuade me into your fridge.
Yes, your fridge, I mean it.
Stop looking at me that way.
All you do is cold and stagnant.
Waiting. For what day?
Waiting for the end, you see.
You want what I welcome freely.
Suicidal? Not so! Get your judgment out of my way.
You fear what I relish, I won't wait to be thrown away.
Yes, I intend it. What's that you say?
Hah! Me the crazy one, 'cause you're the one to say?
What's so crazy about my freedom,
my unabridged fate? It ends with unreason,
wiping clean my dirty slate?
Hah! I laugh as you imagine
that I'm the crazy one.
I live without your fear.
No, I don't hesitate.
Back away! You're much to close
take another step away.
I've gone off the deep end? No,
not yet anyways.
What makes you so afraid? Stop!
Stop thinking of me that way!
I'm freer than you'll ever be,
and I'm not afraid to say.
No, I welcome it. Such as death,
might welcome the plague.
Yes, it isn't pretty, to think of life that way.
But what is? What's beauty that isn't fake?
It's out here, it's up there, it's living without such hate.
I hate, you say? What, what do I hate?
Myself, you say? Well, if true,
you've come much too late.
Too late, yes, I've said it.
Too late for the standards of your world.
Too late instead of early,
that's what happens when you hesitate.
I see you roll your eyes,
my honesty doesn't make me blind.
You see, that there, can't you see what you do?
You've decided what's for me, it's true.
But what will happen to you?
If I jump, you might go crazy,
and then possibly you'll see.
It's not my vision that's hazy,
I've just found the key.
The key? You laugh. But I can unlock what you cannot.
Yes, I can unlock what's truly in my soul.
What is that? You ask, but why should I tell?
What reason do you give me?
Why is it that your thirst is what I should fill??
Oh yes, your thirst. You long for what I have.
That's why you're here, you see.
Yes, you find it attractive, my insanity.
Get back! You come too close if you want to hear my words.
See? You step away. That's right, you're doing good.
I hold what you cannot have.
You long to be in my spot.
You wish for my freedom, my utter "insanity".
That's right, I mock you, I laugh at what you say.
You're attracted to my spirit, because you can't take it away.
Yes, yes, you wish I could be you.
That my thoughts might fill your mind.
You think me repulsive, yet you're jealous.
So turn, turn your face away!
Get back! Get back and step away!
You think I'm that distracted?
You think I'm utterly disturbed?
I see you and your men, as you surround me on both sides.
You think that you can stop me?
Hah! I laugh in the face of your pride.
I've made my decision, and I'm done.
Done leading a smothering life.
Say goodbye to my children, give my well wishes to my wife.
Yes, I've a family I must leave.
Shme they chose to remain in strife.
I'd ask them to join me,
but they'd say I'm asking for their life.
One more step and I go! It's no effort from me.
I'd just be filling my life's destiny.
Yes, I've got it.
The attraction of insanity.
I fill my heart with freedom,
and now I take my final leap.
-Sarrah Loyce
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Poetry Challenge #1
So, my friend Katie is a writer much like myself. We decided on our last four hour train ride from Scotland to London, that we would each make a "poetry challenge" for the other to write on the trip. Here was Katie's challenge for me:
Write a poem incorporating four bible verse you like, one line from each verse. This poem must be "dark".
And here's my poem:
Untitled (I lost count of what number..)
a reflection
an outside glimpse of what is
a glance in second person
an opportunity for harsh scrutiny
"each heart knows it's own bitterness"
but what might a reflection reveal?
the underbelly of the bitter,
where the softness tries to hide?
what's the wisdom of this reference,
this outward, inward glance?
what's the reason for reflection,
when hearts use it too advance?
"where is the philosopher of this age?
can he see his sinners soul?
No. He remains blind despite reflection,
he remains within hearts lies,
furthering the hearts disguise,
so run from your reflection,
"and so deceive yourselves"
push away chance of correction,
and "devote yourselves to prayer"
but know that prayer without intention
helps filthy hearts succeed;
allows them to hide despite reflection
and lets their bitterness become their need.
The quoted lines are the bits from verses. The verses include: Proverbs 14:10, Colossians 4:2, James 1:23, and 1 Corinthians 1:20, in case you were curious.
More to come, as I have yet another challenge to work on.
<3 Sarrah Loyce
Write a poem incorporating four bible verse you like, one line from each verse. This poem must be "dark".
And here's my poem:
Untitled (I lost count of what number..)
a reflection
an outside glimpse of what is
a glance in second person
an opportunity for harsh scrutiny
"each heart knows it's own bitterness"
but what might a reflection reveal?
the underbelly of the bitter,
where the softness tries to hide?
what's the wisdom of this reference,
this outward, inward glance?
what's the reason for reflection,
when hearts use it too advance?
"where is the philosopher of this age?
can he see his sinners soul?
No. He remains blind despite reflection,
he remains within hearts lies,
furthering the hearts disguise,
so run from your reflection,
"and so deceive yourselves"
push away chance of correction,
and "devote yourselves to prayer"
but know that prayer without intention
helps filthy hearts succeed;
allows them to hide despite reflection
and lets their bitterness become their need.
The quoted lines are the bits from verses. The verses include: Proverbs 14:10, Colossians 4:2, James 1:23, and 1 Corinthians 1:20, in case you were curious.
More to come, as I have yet another challenge to work on.
<3 Sarrah Loyce
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