drunkvirtue (original) (raw)

Hey guys. This place has been dead, I know, and I've done an awful job at reviving the creative flow, but hopefully with the influx of members (thanks vestiges and the coming of spring and summer (!) we will all have the opportunity to work on our writing, explore new ideas, etc.

I've been thinking about the idea of prompts. Maybe just a general theme that everyone can take in their own directions (I don't think I want to make anyone try to write fiction if they don't have to attention span, I know I don't), maybe a specific line that one should integrate within a larger piece, I don't know. WHAT DO YOU THINK? Any input on how to sustain an active exchange of writing samples here is entirely welcome and appreciated.

In the meantime, please post any writing you've done recently, and comment a little!

20 November 2008 @ 12:59 am

So yeah, this is my first post here. I'd love to hear lots of criticism (hopefully of the constructive kind), because I really do want to get better at this stuff. But any and all input is very much appreciated. Also, I know this place is mostly for poetry but I hope one or two short stories isn't a huge deal :]

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18 November 2008 @ 03:20 pm

I want to do something more with this but I'm not sure what. Maybe it just sucks a lot and I should forget about it altogether. Tell me what you think, please!

I am awake, but not alive.

23 September 2008 @ 06:40 pm

hey everyone! this is something i wrote a little while ago. ( +Collapse )

21 September 2008 @ 03:14 pm

halp!

John Joubert (tentative title)

a dead boy at the end of the road: past the dead end. (a pun?) his mouth taped shut--inside, a pebble. remember the bend of my

back, the beach made of stones. we're stoned. remember the carousel. i am still on the carousel. part of the carousel. i am the majestic mare,

mid-stride. no. the goat painted with flowers. the boy at the end of the road: undressed. the pebble in his mouth tucked beneath tongue.

i lied when i said yes, me too. the boy at the end of the road: hardly hidden. the way hate walking ahead because a body might be stashed.

i listen for the mewing of kittens in dumpsters, wait for a call confirming the worst. the fear of coming home to blood on the floor.

the brother stole the pebble from the evidence room and moved it from pocket to pocket 'til he snagged a hole.

remember the tarps and cardboard that made homes beneath trees. like forts. like children would live and laugh there.

remember saying to me in secret: i am a good person. remember how i agreed. a pebble in my mouth. in my stomach.

( REWROTE IT AGAINCollapse )

21 August 2008 @ 10:13 am

You've coaxed my tendrils from the filthy earth--
I shiver delicately in the air.
You trellis my limp stems, but I despair
Of thriving in this sky of my unworth.

I grew in fertile places but grew lost,
Entangled in the brambles of this plot--
A shady place untended. Left to rot,
My blossoms blacken, wilting under frost.

Yet always toward the wan and distant light
I stretch. That pallid intermittent glow
Is screened by leaves in front of leaves, and so
I droop, and I make thorns throughout the night.

I live for water and the gleaming shears
In your gloved hand: the sun of all my fears.

( apron-wringingCollapse )

20 August 2008 @ 10:12 am

poppies, like red bulbs
petals billowing, open umbrellas in the strong wind
scarlet or the colour of thighs spread widely apart
calloused hands or cold what should be warm
this turning, this memory, this standing
where the season turns, on its axis
folds over itself, as a towel folds

where are the laundry baskets?
where is the cinnamon toast?

sticky-green, powder-white, liquid-gold
violence for the sake of violence
a chuckle while pain is inflicted
on a woman who can not defend herself
excuses like cotton seed puffs in the river current
to focus on the smooth greenness of the bank
to be able to love what would never hurt
the inability, the paralysis of the golden hour
sun flare, light
waking dreams, fitful sleeps

heavy-lidded eyes, shift from emerald to coffee
pink-soft lips whisper the morning vigil
of a woman, any woman

hello friends. i have been writing a lot over the last few days. i am shy to post though.

this is a very rough first draft. it is a sketch of what i would like it to be. my questions for you all and the feedback that i am seeking:

> > > 1. This is evidently vague and unspecific (two qualities that I am trying to stay away from in my poems) but do you notice any theme? If you had to take a guess as to what this poem is "about" what would you guess, if anything? > > 2. Do you have any advice on punctuation. Typically I like to include punctuation but this is fragmented. Do you suggest adding more words to create full sentences? Or using gramatically incorrect punctuation, (periods after incomplete sentences)? Or leaving out punctuation (aside from the question marks) entirely? > >

Thank you, thank you a million times over for your feedback. Also I've been going through our older posts and have begun making commentaries and will continue to do so. I am so glad to have you all, this community.

<3

06 August 2008 @ 01:12 am

I don't need to say this, but let me point out the distinct lack of activity in this place anyway. I'd like to thank those who have posted despite hesitation and those who have offered their earnest criticism so far...but let's face it, we're a small number. Come on, folks. Write more. Share more. Let it be my birthday everyday.

ALSO. If you guys don't want to post anything but actually do watch this community, can I be shameless and ask for promotion? We are all LJ friends with poetic diamonds. I want them here. Glistening under my iron rule (not really). If you guys could mention drunkvirtue in an entry in your journals sometime, that'd be greatly appreciated, and in gratitude I'll offer . . . holograms of Christian Bale.

02 August 2008 @ 10:46 pm

English written task: Ever been hypnotized?

Dearest love,

I’m sorry.

We rolled up the carpet so we could dance but the doves were falling from the sky. Your world had changed ever since you dreamt of the possibility where two of us kissed publicly in the city of Houston where conservatives lust for past and progressiveness is a joke. You told me that it’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, but every single story needs an ending, if there is a beginning there must be an ending. Too rational, too logical, you said and kissed me and I became afraid, afraid of your touch and smell,

afraid of us.

When I met you, you were scared. You were a policeman, and I was your partner. The stars were cheering for us, but we could not. Guns killed hearts, but you never dared to trigger yours until the day I told you I’m sorry the first time. I told I love you to someone who I barely knew so I could feel the words in my veins, lungs. She loved me back. I told you. And the only thing you could say that

I love you, too.

photography: unknown

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