A couple of fragments and something poem shaped.

So I think I've been putting off posting anything creative on here, but that is why I created this blog. So here goes. I welcome any comments.

This is a couple of fragments that have been circling in my brain for a few weeks now.

In the middle of the road the dog pulls hard on the leash and a sharp bark escapes from between his teeth. The owner is yanked forward before pulling back just as hard and the dog's front legs are lifted into the air. The owner smiles, embarrassed. The lollipop lady nods her head. I wait at the lights for the next crossing.

I watch her smoke on the train station platform. She brings the cigarette to her mouth, inhales and then exhales through her mouth and nose. The smoke is quickly stolen by the wind, away from her and away from me. she turns her head to look at me and I look away. she raises the cigarette to her mouth. I want to snatch her cigarette and throw it onto the tracks.

When I get home I close the bathroom door. I turn the shower on and let the room fill with steam. The figure in the mirror becomes foggy and indistinct that way. Nothing more than a vague outline of a body.

___

I did an exercise tonight where I focused on an object found in my house. It was my friend's tobacco pouch. This is the poem I wrote in the ten minutes after focusing on the object. (Disclaimer: I don't smoke!)


You left your tobacco here,
you call just to let me know.
But I'd noticed already.

The yellow packet stands out
on my kitchen table.
Soft and pillow shaped.

I feel like a cigarette
but you didn't leave any filters.
I was never any good at rolling anyway.

I lean against the back step
leaving the door open wide.
Touch your tobacco with cold fingers.

Then I did a cut-up exercise where I took the original poem and moved the lines around, trying to make it random and seeing what I got. I think I need to do this more to loosen up my writing.
This was the result.

but you didn't leave any filters.
you call just to let me know.
I lean against the back step
The yellow pack stands out
You left your tobacco here
I feel like a cigarette
But I'd noticed already.
on my kitchen table.
leaving the door open wide
Soft and pillow shaped.
Touch your tobacco with cold fingers.
I was never that good at rolling anyway.



2 comments :: A couple of fragments and something poem shaped.

  1. Love the poem.

  2. like!

Post a Comment