some poet

Since I am in a poetry writing class this semester, I foresee a significant increase in my poem production rate. I thought I'd post them here as I write them for anyone who cares to read.

The first day of class our teacher asked us to think about an abstract question that we might have been carrying around in our minds lately and then to write it down on a piece of paper. After that, we folded it in half and passed it one person to our right. After writing a random object on the bottom half of the paper, we passed it once more to our right. Our assignment was then to write a poem connecting the two seemingly unrelated phrases. This is how mine turned out:

The Audience Ponders
In what language to musicians think?
Sitting together under stage lights,
Writing alone in some back corner,
Banging pots together in the early evening,
Waiting on the pavement for someone else to notice
The smell before the rain.
01.15.09

This was the assignment due in class yesterday, where you had to pick one thing you love and another that you hate, then write a poem connecting the two.

Natives
The exoskeleton of darkened glass and metal hides the rider,
But cannot stop whispered words of war suggested by painted cheeks
Or the oversized tires humming a tom-tom beat on the road.

Leather second skin covers my feet, and the smooth sides echo
Every other pair, modern clones of a culture preserved by the brains
of men
Who confine life to pottery shards and mock scenes of home.

How will future generations piece together our devotion to off-road
vehicles,
Or our own assembly line of stitched leather slippers for the fashion
tribe?
01.20.09

Giving You Some Context

So, some of y'all are friends of my mother (redorgray's ELK), and some of you are my mother. I am just grateful for this place to communicate with my family and with the greater blog-world. My post is nothing too profound today; just some pictures from throughout my third college year.

This is my room last semester; my roommate had her bed over in the right corner, out of sight here.










And this is a rather terrible picture of my room this semester, with my bed on the left where the fridge used to be, and my roomie's on the right, where mine used to be.










Here's a better view of my bed,










my desk by the window now,










and one crazy amazing early birthday present!












And finally, the updated pictures of my family.
For a better look, come and visit. : )
I love y'all!

my promise

Perhaps these thoughts are the result of the cup of hazelnut coffee I drank this morning or the frigid air outside, but for once I feel emotion stronger than my cynicism and so I am writing it down. Right now in this moment I feel connected to moments in the past, but even more so I feel the presence of the future. I feel in my heart love for men, women, children whom I have yet to meet, who have yet to take breath in this world.

God is outside of time. One of the few statements I can commit myself to wholeheartedly, and in this moment I trust His promise. I do not know where my future home will be or whose hands I will hold, but I know there will be love and I feel it now in this moment, an echo reaching backwards into my now, a ripple reaching me from the far shore, a harmonic resonance that has nothing to do with my abilities and everything to do with who I am. I give my heart to God and He in turn fills it love from every time, from every moment, from every breath that was, that is, and that shall be.

I read my words and they sound hokey, hackneyed, and hopelessly histrionic. I know this moment will pass; my heart is not strong enough to know the full size of time every day, or even five minutes. But I write this now so that someday in the future when I meet people and love them I will have these words to show them, to show myself, to show that my love and the love of the Father has always existed for them.




My
thoughts.
My
heart.
My
promise.




(picture by redorgray.com)

hello world!

So, I think I'll keep a blog. How do you feel about that?
Well, it's not going to be all that regular, but sometimes it's nice to have a place to write where you know someone will read it.

If you're curious about my blog title it's inspired by one of my favorite poets, Emily Dickinson.

"A curious Cloud surprised the Sky,
'Twas like a sheet with Horns;
The sheet was Blue—
The Antlers Gray—

It almost touched the lawns.

So low it leaned—then statelier drew—
And trailed like robes away,
A Queen adown a satin aisle
Had not the majesty."

It's not my most favorite poems of hers, but I liked the sound of "Antlers Gray" and you know the rest.

Up until this point I've just used FaceBook for any mental dumping, but I think this'll be a bit nicer. Perhaps later I'll republish some of my thoughts here.

Later days,
~Laura

what's your favorite book?

“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”

I hate when people want to know my favorite books. Reflecting on my reading history, I find that I gravitate towards fiction/fantasy books of a decent writing caliber with some of my favorite authors being Anne McAffrey, Brian Jacques, and Alice Sebold. I also love John Green because of his general awesomeness outside the pages of a book as well as within. If an author, like JK Rowling, Stephenie Meyers and J.R.R. Tolkien write long series, the length of time I get to spend in the book makes me even happier.

When I read for an extended period of time, I feel as if my consciousness has been integrated into the worlds on the page. I have always claimed an overactive imagination which I think has something to do with it. Reading takes my mind into a different place, almost a meditative state, and if you've ever tried to get my attention while I'm deep within a book, it may sometimes be a minute before I register your attempts.

Movies have a similar effect, but they don't last as long and aren't as encompassing. I have yet to find anything that can illicit a comparative reaction in my spirit.

I do not really have a 'favorite book', rather reading itself is my favorite pasttime because it takes my mind completely away from the present. It is as if I have fallen through a hole in my reality into the one written and there I get to experience magic, mistakes I will never make, ones that I have all too often, flight, deep sorrow, rainy days in the middle of August and dragon fire in December. It's like a line from a song by Anna Nalick, "you can't jump the track; we're like cars on a cable." When I get the time to read extensively, I do jump the track. I leave the world, and a part of me always resists coming back.

memories

Friend, so fun you were
Always there for me.
You bought and held me
With your nicely nice.
Friend, you listened
To me when I said
No more and no more
Were we together.
Friend, thanks you, my heart.

---

An initially innocent song we sang.
Never knew it would stick so long.
Now ev'ry song sounds the same.
When can I leave, I long for roam.
Which wish will wake me away,
Let me finally forget you.

---

You had been hers for so long
Yet my heart sang, stomach swooped when
You asked me; I hadn't even planned to go.
Yes, we went and nothing happened.
Yesterday,
You called me, not her.
You touched me, not her.

---

Chocolate covered, strawberry sweet
Obviously older, yet you're young
Times together, now not

---

a poem by me about mo

green blades, arching blue, wide smile
not quite a circle, we stand together
throw to me, I'll throw to you
yellow fuzzy, gnubbly brown, spinning disc
we stand together, an amoeba

tell me your name, where are you from
a cord, a line, a rope, a thread
throw to me, I'll throw to you
have we met before today, maybe
a memory, a smile, a flower, a leaf

fleeting days, but spirits shared, laughter too
a pair, a group, a new family
give to me, I'll give to you
leaving time, the big goodbye, affirmations shared
a couplet, a phone call, a letter or two

in hometowns or on campus no matter, far apart
not quite a circle, but forever stand together
on the rolling green under perfect blue
a day, a year, a lifetime past
who knows when once again we'll meet, yet
remember me, for I'll remember you