Some of these are old, some new. These are all things that I don’t think are going to turn into proper poems, but I like too much to discard.
———–
slivers and laughter
I shattered like glass
aground on the wreck of your love
———–
gleaming droplets trembling on orange petals
flowers after rain
———–
it’s bouncing off walls
and slamming closed doors
Content note: cancer, surgery
It’s weird, getting breast cancer when you have an ambiguous relationship to your breasts – suddenly you’re thinking about them constantly when you’d managed to largely ignore their existence. I mean, cancer sucks regardless, no doubt about it. But breast cancer is one of those really gendered cancers, and if you’re a person with gender issues anyway, the whole process is very odd. And disconcerting, and very very cisnormative, not to say cissexist.
What have I read this week?
This is a novel about a gay boy growing up in a small poor French village. It’s inspired by the author’s life. I found it kind of depressing, to be honest. It’s well written, but I can’t say that I enjoyed it.
This is a fantasy novel about a young woman named Amalia who is the heir to a powerful member of the Council of Raverra. She harnesses a fire warlock, which means that the two of them are tied together for life – the book focuses on how she deals with the combination of her new duties and her duties as her mother’s heir. I liked Amalia as a heroine, and the world is interesting. This was a fun book, and I’ll definitely be reading the next one.
This is the sequel to Foreign Devils, and the final book in the trilogy. I enjoyed it a lot – I felt it was a good conclusion to the story. It does end in such a way that there definitely could be more stories with these characters, but their current arcs are finished off nicely.
This is another new one.
wet leaves on paving slabs
dissolving slowly to mush
autumn chill on my ungloved fingers
unprepared for rain
dry golden brown leaves
crunching slowly underfoot
the sun’s low angle
the lengthening nights
autumn enfolds me
flips warm to cold in moments
today sun
yesterday rain and fog
tomorrow uncertain
heading towards winter’s aching bones
and far from the heat of summer
This is another new poem.
The perfect word drops from the pen
From subconscious to paper in one swift movement
It illuminates and elicits emotion all at once
Dazzling the reader with its rightness
And yet, is it perfect?
Perhaps there’s a better choice
Giving a more perfect illustration
Perhaps I should start over
Revise and re-edit
Reword and replace
Search for the perfect the truly perfect word
The right words in the right order
To convey meaning so exactly it’s like telepathy
It exists, doesn’t it?
Somewhere, perfection
Waiting to be captured
Waiting to be discovered
Waiting for me
So I thought I’d add another project to the blog. This one is going to be monthly, and the idea is that I choose a word and then write a (most likely) short piece involving the chosen word (poetry or prose, but I’m going to try and write more prose, since I already have a fair amount of poetry here). The idea is to get me writing more regularly.
The piece could be about the word, or use the word, or be inspired by the word.
I will consider suggestions, if anyone wants to make any.
This month’s word is inchoate, meaning “just begun and so not fully formed or developed; rudimentary”.
I decided to write something quite silly for the first one.
I hope you enjoy it.
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Inchoate, his feelings swirled within him. He could not decide what to do. Should he have crisps or chocolate? He couldn’t afford both, but he didn’t want to make the wrong decision and open himself up to regret. After all, he’d impulsively bought that chilli-flavoured chocolate the other day, and he still regretted it. It was lying around in the kitchen, barely nibbled. He didn’t really know why he’d purchased it – he hated chilli. He was determined not to make that kind of mistake again.
What did he want? Sweet or salt? The crunch of crisps or the smoothness of chocolate? It was not a decision to be made in a hurry.
“Hey! You’re holding up the line!”
He jumped, startled, and looked around. A huge queue had formed behind him, and it seemed as though they were all staring accusingly at him. He grabbed the closest item, paid, and left without making eye contact with anyone.
Outside, he opened the bag to see what he’d bought. He sighed.
“Pork scratchings. And I’m a vegetarian.”
What have I read this week?
This is a nonfiction book about the Wars of the Roses. It’s a pretty accessible read.
Things I have learned:
Favourite quotes:
Katherine had been born in 1401 in Paris of a demented father and a nymphomaniac mother, Isabeau of Bavaria.
It was perhaps fortunate for her that Douglas was murdered not long after his return to Scotland, which meant that she could no longer rely on substantial Scottish support.
Tiptoft remains one of the most enigmatic and repellent figures of the age.
This is a children’s book, a retelling of Sleeping Beauty with a bit of Snow White thrown in. This is a lovely illustrated version, with illustrations by Chris Riddell. I enjoyed it, but I am a fan of Gaiman’s work anyway.
The first thing an inkwarrior child learns is the Code. It’s the first thing they learn when they begin to speak. The Code binds all inkwarriors, regardless of what political differences they may have.
The Code is simple to remember, hard to master. It goes thusly:
An inkwarrior writes the real, keeping it safe from chaos. An inkwarrior wastes no words, writes no lies, holds nothing above their calling. An inkwarrior goes where they are needed, shows no favour, takes no bribes. An inkwarrior owes allegiance only to themselves and to the real…
Meril paused, sighing. “Must I keep repeating this? I know it by heart!”
“If you truly knew it, you’d not be mooning over some wizard! You’re an inkwarrior, Merril. You cannot love a wizard.”
“But I do!”
“You’ve never even spoken to them!”
“I… That’s true, but it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter? You’ve no idea who they truly are. And they’re a wizard, so, y’know, evil.”
“How can you say that?”
“Wizards dabble in chaos for their own aggrandisement, Meril. Everyone knows that.”
“Well… I’m sure this wizard is different.”
“Doesn’t matter. They won’t give you the time of day. They hate us as much as we hate them. After all, we do spend a lot of our time undoing what they’ve done.” Paro sighed, seeing the determined look on Meril’s face. “You should forget them. It can’t go anywhere.”
Meril shook her head stubbornly.
“You need to study, Meril. The first exam is in two days!”
“Maybe I don’t want to be an inkwarrior.”
“So? An inkwarrior child becomes an inkwarrior. Just as a wizard’s child becomes a wizard, and a carpenter’s child becomes a carpenter.”
“And that is why our bookshelves are so wobbly,” Meril retorted, “because our carpenter has no actual aptitude for carpentry. Why can’t I become something else?”
“Because it’s ordained. Do you want to fight not just the inkwarrior guild, but the priests and the king too?”
Meril stared stubbornly back at Paro, but said nothing. He sighed, and pulled down a thin book from the overflowing bookshelf.
“Read this. Maybe it will change your mind.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the story of the last person who tried a change of career.”
“It’s not very long.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
This is a new poem. It was somehow inspired by going to see The Dresden Dolls on Halloween. Not quite sure what precisely inspired it; maybe something to do with all the people in masks and costumes.
I paint one hundred portraits of myself
and cut them all to pieces
because those faces are all lies
where’s the darkness?
where’s the anger?
where’s the complexity of me?
I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve
or my sins on my face
every mirror I pass I smash
because those reflections ain’t true
where’s the hatred?
where’s the violence?
where’s the hurting parts of me?
the face in my photographs
is just skin over bone
those blank eyes convey nothing to me
where’s the passion?
where’s the sorrow?
where’s my legacy of trauma?
no image tells my true story
two dimensions is too flat
bursting through those boundaries
i’m real or i’m not there at all
here’s my weariness
here’s my wonder
here’s the whole complicated me
What have I read this week? Not much, once again. I’m changing the titling of these posts, because I keep losing track of which number I’m on. Future posts will just have dates.
This is the sequel to The Incorruptibles. I enjoyed it, although I found it slower going than The Incorruptibles. I am definitely going to read the third one, though, because I really want to know how everything turns out.
Random Ramblings 