Welcome to the Labyrinth

Now as the train bears west,
Its rhythm rocks the earth,
And from my Pullman berth
I stare into the night
While others take their rest.

Bridges of iron lace,
A suddenness of trees,
A lap of mountain mist
All cross my line of sight,
Then a bleak wasted place,
And a lake below my knees.

Full on my neck I feel
The straining at a curve;
My muscles move with steel,
I wake in every nerve.

I watch a beacon swing
From dark to blazing bright;
We thunder through ravines
And gullies washed with light.

Beyond the mountain pass
Mist deepens on the pane;
We rush into a rain
That rattles double glass.

Wheels shake the roadbed stone,
The pistons jerk and shove,
I stay up half the night
To see the land I love.

Theodore Roethke

Anyone here had a go at themselves
for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists
with a blade in the bath? Those in the dark
at the back, listen hard. Those at the front
in the know, those of us who have, hands up,
let’s show that inch of lacerated skin
between the forearm and the fist. Let’s tell it
like it is: strong drink, a crimson tidemark
round the tub, a yard of lint, white towels
washed a dozen times, still pink. Tough luck.
A passion then for watches, bangles, cuffs.
A likely story: you were lashed by brambles
picking berries from the woods. Come clean, come good,
repeat with me the punch line ‘Just like blood’
when those at the back rush forward to say
how a little love goes a long long long way.

Simon Armitage

If he and she do not know each other, and feel confident
they will not meet again; if he avoids affectionate words;

if she has grown insensible skin under skin; if they desire
only the tribute of another’s cry; if they employ each other

as revenge on old lovers or families of entitlement and steel—
then there will be no betrayals, no letters returned unread,

no frenzy, no hurled words of permanent humiliation,
no trembling days, no vomit at midnight, no repeated

apparition of a body floating face-down at the pond’s edge

Donald Hall

I think that I shall never know
Why I am thus, and I am so.
Around me, other girls inspire
In men the rush and roar of fire,
The sweet transparency of glass,
The tenderness of April grass,
The durability of granite;
But me- I don’t know how to plan it.
The lads I’ve met in Cupid’s deadlock
Were- shall we say?- born out of wedlock.
They broke my heart, they stilled my song,
And said they had to run along,
Explaining, so to sop my tears,
First came their parents or careers.
But ever does experience
Deny me wisdom, calm, and sense!
Though she’s a fool who seeks to capture
The twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I must go on, till ends my rope,
Who from my birth was cursed with hope.
A heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But mine resembles a mosaic-
The thing’s become ridiculous!
Why am I so? Why am I thus?

Dorothy Parker

Here in this spring, stars float along the void;
Here in this ornamental winter
Down pelts the naked weather;
This summer buries a spring bird.

Symbols are selected from the years’
Slow rounding of four seasons’ coasts,
In autumn teach three seasons’ fires
And four birds’ notes.

I should tell summer from the trees, the worms
Tell, if at all, the winter’s storms
Or the funeral of the sun;
I should learn spring by the cuckooing,
And the slug should teach me destruction.

A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug’s a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away?

Dylan Thomas

Any authors, books, book/movie combination you’d like to see, send it in. I’m bored, therefore I am taking gif requests.

On a different note, apologies for no Saturday Poetry Slam. Tumblr ate up the queue, but we’ll just pretend tomorrow is Saturday. ;)

rjyoungwrites:

I sit in a cave writing.

In my perfect world, there are no doors, no windows, no sun, no moon, no night, no day. There is simply a blank sheet of paper and the impulsion to fill it with my own substance, my own being.

Writing is lonely. Anyone who has ever said writing is anything else is lying to you and, worse, to themselves.

Writing is hard work. It is easy to write bad copy, to meander and roam all over the page like a 15-year-old just receiving his or her permit. To be as good as many of us want to be it takes repetition and patience. The latter is harder to come by than the former.

Revision is harder. To edit yourself is the hardest technique we master. Making three words into one, finding the correct phrase and cutting the fat of your copy you are made to reckon with yourself.

Concentrating on the page you will find out who you are and what you believe. And most times, you will learn things about yourself you never knew; things you never wanted to know, things you thought you always knew.

You will learn something.

Literature Creep is turning six months old soon. Frankly, I’m feeling less than stellar about having to take so many breaks from posting here. The natural conclusion?

Giveaway!

Since not all Lit. Creeps are alike, I’m aiming to put together three packages over the next week or so. You will not know what these packages are themed or contain until later this month. However, chances are in your favor that there will be something you’ll enjoy.

This giveaway is specifically for those who are following before I make the three separate giveaway posts. Yup, just for my current creeps.

Further details to come.

literaturecreep:

Well, this is the official answer to the majority of asks I’m getting that seem to start with “where are you?/why aren’t you posting?/is everything ok?”

• Serious family medical issues are happening
• Those books above: 3/4 of the reading I have to finish before July
• First round of editing on my behemoth single spaced manuscript 
• Sadly, I could keep these bullet points going with reasons

I don’t want to give a definite date as to when things will pick up here. Of course, I’m not leaving, but I am busy and really stressed. I figure things should gradually get easier over the next few weeks and you’ll start seeing more regular posts. Wish me luck.

Also, don’t forget to catch up on all the lit. creeping you’ve put off until summer! :) Feel free to submit things and leave questions/comments/whatever in the ask.

Reblogging for those who haven’t seen. The queue is set.

I was raised by
Chitterling eating
Vegetarian cooking
Cornbread so good you want to lay
down and die baking
“Go on baby, get yo’self a plate”
Kind of Women.

Some thick haired
Angela Davis afro styling
“Girl, lay back
and let me scratch yo head”
Sorta Women.

Some big legged
High yellow, mocha brown
Hip shaking
Miniskirt wearing
Hip huggers hugging
Daring debutantes
Groovin
“I know I look good”
Type of Women.

Some tea sipping
White glove wearing
Got married too soon
Divorced
in just the nick of time
“Better say yes ma’am to me”
Type of sisters.

Some fingerpopping
Boogaloo dancing
Say it loud
I’m black and I’m proud
James Brown listening
“Go on girl shake that thing”
Kind of Sisters.

Some face slapping
Hands on hips
“Don’t mess with me,
Pack your bags and
get the hell out of my house”
Sorta women

Some PhD toten
Poetry writing
Portrait painting
“I’ll see you in court”
World traveling
Stand back, I’m creating
Type of queens

I was raised by women

Broom in hand, she screamed:
“Gal, I’ll knock your head off
And roll it out the back door.”
Hand on hip, I stood defiant.
How far could a broomswept
head go anyway?

I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over energy,
the way water goes rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped

Or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave,
burning-down but not burnt-down

The red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting long after midnight

The Outsiders

The Hunger Games

Les Miserables

Marvel comics

Well, this is the official answer to the majority of asks I’m getting that seem to start with “where are you?/why aren’t you posting?/is everything ok?”

• Serious family medical issues are happening
• Those books above: 3/4 of the reading I have to finish before July
• First round of editing on my behemoth single spaced manuscript 
• Sadly, I could keep these bullet points going with reasons

I don’t want to give a definite date as to when things will pick up here. Of course, I’m not leaving, but I am busy and really stressed. I figure things should gradually get easier over the next few weeks and you’ll start seeing more regular posts. Wish me luck.

Also, don’t forget to catch up on all the lit. creeping you’ve put off until summer! :) Feel free to submit things and leave questions/comments/whatever in the ask.