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[12 Jul 2007|02:30am] |
Some Bacchus, a dreamer with eyes flecked
with summer snow, red veins like chalet lines,
to become old ghosts of fathers, and their royal houses--
eaves icy with inheritance let remorse slide off slick into
daggers of frozen water,
women with legs like Alpine legend--(how they go on and on forever)
know better--whose mother's crime was a look like a solstice.
Let his kingdom, its dynasty of dementia and salmon sunsets,
disappear into bottles, let memory move pretty girls to exile.
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| this is all i do at work. |
[29 Jun 2007|02:29pm] |
a sapphic stanza (an experiment):
Night Manager
Call the night shift manager what you like, though
he is defined by the patine of half-light,
he'll watch the hand reach to midnight; orectic
gaze, with bedroom eyes.
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| Philosophy of Twenty: A Poem in Blank Verse |
[20 Jun 2007|07:56pm] |
Halloween night, I was in riot grrrl
dress, piss drunk at Piccadilly, blushing
pink through smog. I could taste the dank
air from street urinals and would smoke cloves
and purse lips like a question was forming,
"pourquoi?" The streets were sullied mirrors of
existential thought, "pourquoi?" Like why did
Godard wear his shades at night? Or why
did the luster light of Marxist ardor
become flat like the beer in our bottles?
Why does love move like traffic? Never
mind. That was the night I caught my finger in
a door of a nightclub. First, excitement.
A climax of awe and heat at the crease
and crush of bone had me laughing and shaking
with my breath. Blood and bass throbbed,
cigarette smoke, a hand brushed up my skirt,
before the pain that came late, like the dead
midnight train I caught alone. Teeth clenched, the
life that rushed violet to my finger's tip
sobered twenty years of outdated lines
about what it means to be alive. My
eyes search the metro sign with a Sartre-like
look, and asked the ghost that sat beside me
what it's like after the last rider leaves,
...said something unintelligible, pretty.
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[21 Apr 2007|04:57pm] |
how's this for a journal update? it's been a while.
i fucking hate you. i really wasted everything on you.
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| a random poem i wrote a while ago about my favorite book |
[19 Nov 2006|05:45pm] |
The Common
“I hate you, God. I hate you as though you existed.”--Graham Green The End of the Affair
Clapham Common, the sandwich shape of grassland,
a trinity of park ends: Battersea,
Balham, the dwellings of South London,
earth scarred by missile blasts; the old church and
paddle pools, a Eucharist. The body,
blood of sacrament-- but what of the missiles?
The rockets born of hate and love called for
neck-deep trenches. Wood planks held the ground like
crucifixes, the criss cross strength of raid
asylums. And when the fires fell on
London, the land looked like some constellation,
a triune called for a slut's attention, to bow
her head in persecution before the saints,
and Mary Virgin, her word-bellied lover
holds her breasts before the alter, demands
above treble and explosion, “Hate Him”
the war world, rancor reverent, listened.
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| update? what? |
[23 Oct 2006|02:56pm] |
1. Pick a Band or Artist: Belle and Sebastian
2. Are you male or female: Chickfactor
3. Describe yourself: Lazy Line Painter Jane
4. How do some people feel about you: Judy is a Dickslap
5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: You Don't Send Me
6. Describe your current boyfriend/girlfriend: "I don't love anyone" ;P
7. Describe where you want to be: Beyond the Sunrise
8. Describe how you love: To be Myself Completely
9. What would you ask if you had just one wish: My Wandering Days are Over
10. Share a few words of wisdom: We Rule the School
11. Now say goodbye: Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying
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[07 Oct 2006|08:01pm] |
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On The Lost Valley Trail God said, with white bags of stones on a hillside, ‘I was dropped from the sky by ‘copters,’ or was that the man, whose red-eyed sadness, wet with mountain mist, spoke when we asked about the distance ahead? No, God spoke from the white-wash spring over moss stones, ‘Can you see me now?’ the deafening sound of watercrashrock… ‘Or now?’ and he poked at me with teeth called boulders, in his three mouths they named sisters. A voice with terrible heights, golden green cliffs, auburn mounds, sky-sculpted valleys, his voice: Heard him loudest as I stood alone, the pith of the plateau, rubble-rock resting place. Silent, empty, ‘I’m this feeling,’ I caught up with my company. Rain and cairn stone understanding, A path of steep, wet stones in front of me.
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| my first poem in London |
[04 Sep 2006|10:47pm] |
|
Orphic Love Song
You were a blackbird that kissed the window
into splinters your lips like lancets left
a violent mess. Your feathers, glass sugared
and phalanx arched from shock, I saw your eyes
once wine-dark red turn opal in the open
light. You were the sanguine shape of return,
spice-jar sill rites to perform. But to hold
your body to the ground, I would not think
to wrap around rose oiled gauze or
papyrus, or have you sit like a sand-stone
sphinx watching soulless, hollow-eyed all my
clothes on the line, my porch ivy climb.
Nor would I leave you, to be swallowed by
your own blood bog, to be unearthed like a
soot black pome. I'd rather take the place of
the window, let the light pass through, and fail
my rescue, to look back, my songbird, on you.
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| Here by Philip Larkin |
[02 Sep 2006|10:35pm] |
Swerving east, from rich industrial shadows
And traffic all night north; swerving through fields
Too thin and thistled to be called meadows,
And now and then a harsh-named halt, that shields
Workmen at dawn; swerving to solitude
Of skies and scarecrows, haystacks, hares and pheasants,
And the widening river s slow presence,
The piled gold clouds, the shining gull-marked mud,
Gathers to the surprise of a large town:
Here domes and statues, spires and cranes cluster
Beside grain-scattered streets, barge-crowded water,
And residents from raw estates, brought down
The dead straight miles by stealing flat-faced trolleys,
Push through plate-glass swing doors to their desires -
Cheap suits, red kitchen-ware, sharp shoes, iced lollies,
Electric mixers, toasters, washers, driers -
A cut-price crowd, urban yet simple, dwelling
Where only salesmen and relations come
Within a terminate and fishy-smelling
Pastoral of ships up streets, the slave museum,
Tattoo-shops, consulates, grim head-scarfed wives;
And out beyond its mortgaged half-built edges
Fast-shadowed wheat-fields, running high as hedges,
Isolate villages, where removed lives
Loneliness clarifies. Here silence stands
Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken,
Hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken,
Luminously-peopled air ascends;
And past the poppies bluish neutral distance
Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach
Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence:
Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.
-
I dont really know what all of this means, but it's kinda how i feel, i think.
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[19 Sep 2005|01:39am] |
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I'm a Cuckoo.
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| Landslide |
[12 Aug 2005|01:50am] |
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
i like letters. lots.
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| meem listens to music. |
[11 Aug 2005|01:30am] |
okay. okay. i'm ready.
ready to let go of a few
and hold onto some.
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| four days from now... |
[07 Aug 2005|10:26pm] |
I'll be in St. Petersburg.
and missing you all, but hopefully having the time of my life.
if u want to see me before i leave, call me. 8667965
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| open up them address books.... |
[02 Aug 2005|02:40pm] |
Michelle Myers
Campus Box 1515 , Eckerd College
4200 54th Ave S.
Saint Petersburg, FL 33711 - 4700
my new address. 10 more days....
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| August 12 |
[29 Jul 2005|12:53am] |
how can i show you how much i love you
in just two short weeks?
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| For all you visual learners... |
[19 Jul 2005|03:45am] |
if you didnt actually read my long (once in a lifetime) post, here are some illustrations to sum things up.
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| She was shivering so hard, it looked like there were two of her |
[19 Jul 2005|03:36am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 awake |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Mt. Goats- Pet Politics |
] |
Wow. I'm up late. It's to be expected since I woke up at 1 PM today. I wanted to sleep through the afternoon so i didnt have to think about going to work. but i went to work. for like the fifth night this week. I've been kinda miserable.
But I'm done wiht working nights for like 10 days, and then i have about a week left. so it's all wonderful now. I just want to see my friends.
I want to celebrate my dear and special friend Kayla's birthday. I havent seen you in quite a while my love. I miss you and I'm sorry I havent called. (working, you must understand). I can't wait to shower you with gifts and hugs and love! Because you are pretty and lovely and my friend times twelve.
And Ana, I await the morning we have breakfast together. Waffles + Ana = Love.
And Jessie, I bought you earrings of your own. i hope you like them and I hope I see you soon enough to give them to you. :}
Oh, and Melissa and Alex need to just...keep staying away from me. Because they are creepy and i dont like them. ESPECIALLY ALEX.
Rachel. Sleepover. asap. we'll listen to moon and antarctica before bed time. and you need to burn me some Rufus.
Lily? What's a Lily? Oh yeah! I remember! That pretty, smart girl with the words and the squeeks. We must unite!
Ashley. keep that hair red. and give us a call.
And Justin!!!!!!!! I promise not to call you to talk any more all this week. I'll just talk your ear off in person and love it. :}
Red Rock Pizza Rules.
So does The Mountain Goats cover of The Silver Jews's "Pet Politics"
and so does Milla Jovovich.
so remember.
i am a princess *::.
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