Monday, June 27, 2011

My Newest "Pet Project"

Ahem. *clears throat*

I love the art of Arthur Rackham. When I saw the watercolor image below in a textbook, many years ago, it intrigued me.

Such romance! Such Old World charm and fantasy awesomeness!
Then I learned that it was an illustration of a story recorded by the Brothers Grimm, called The Old Woman In The Wood.

The story is about a young woman who travels with the family she serves. There is a carriage accident, and she is the only one who survives. So this dove comes to her and gives her a key that unlocks trees where there are goodies and yadda yadda yadda - lots of crazy stuff happens that doesn't make much sense. The main characters - actually all the characters - are unnamed in the original story, which is only two pages long and leaves you going "Whaaaaa.....?"

So my newest project is to write a retelling of the story. So far, it is proving to be both easy and challenging because of the sheer amount of plot holes in the original story. I've gotten it to 3k so far, and my goal is 20k.

Wish me luck!!!! :)

Anyway, it's something to keep me occupied while I wait on grades for my class stuff....so I don't go crazy. Eeeep!


Friday, June 24, 2011

Poem - "Love"

Love -
You know, it's that thing I didn't think I could fall into
Because I supposed my heart was dead,
Beaten to death by stupid little boys
And then peed on.
The opposite of hate,
The cure for rage, that fierce state of being
That lingers forever shadow-like if not erased by something.
It's like a drug that makes you a crazy masochist,
So I apologize in advance
For the chaos I'll unleash -
It's nothing personal, it's just...
Well, you know, love.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Poem - "In The Mail Room"

That's right -
Go back to your cubicle box!
For this is the Mail Room
And you have no power here.
I am its magistrate -
The date stamp, my scepter.
With hospitality and kindness,
My will be done.
You will see.
This humble Mail Room
Will become Jamaica.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Poem - "Should I break"

Should I break,
It won't be like a table leg
Snapped off at the conjunction,
Easily fixed with hammer and nail.
No, should I break,
Some miniscule part of me will be lost
That will make repair impossible.
I'll break like a ceramic mug
Thrown against a wall -
My heart will be part of the dust
That can't be collected
Because the wind's already taken it away.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Where do the lines go?

My post today is titled "Where do the lines go?" because that's a question I've been asking myself and my world as of late. What I'm really asking is, "Where do the roads lead for me, as an English major seeking my master's degree?"
From what I've gathered, you need a Ph.d. in order to teach as a professor at a 4 year university. With a master's degree, I could teach at a community college. One problem with that though - the community colleges in my area are not currently hiring English professors. My current professor tells me that this is the situation all across America, and I wonder why. After all, our schools are not hurting for students.
But at any rate, the current system of things seems to be rendering a degree in English to be a relatively useless thing. So what am I to do once I get my degree?
Same thing  that I've been doing thus far, exhausting as it's been - fight the good fight, and keep writing. I'm gonna take the advice of a song by B.O.B. - "You just gotta keep screamin' 'til they hear you out."

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Poem - 15 Pages...

LOL! On the discussion boards for my class, someone posted that we should do a poetry slam. So far, I'm the only participant. Here's my quick little poem. It's about me working on the final paper:

15 pages is a long way to go, to flow
About Neruda’s poems and prose and how he rose
To the challenge of stealing the heart
Of humanity, dealing in verses and curses and
Splitting open dictatorial ribs, marinating them in blood and vingegar
And watching them burn, the flames licking higher,
the dire consequence of failure looming, darkness crowding the jungle of poisoned vines
15 pages is a long way to go, to flow, when you’re only eleven pages in,
Sources used up and hope growing dim
Success on the horizon, past a forest of knives and flashing orange eyes
Reels of text and web site lies,
Yes, 15 pages is a long way to go…

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Poem - Rum & Pepsi - *parental advisory*

*Parental advisory - this poem deals with alcohol consumption*

This is a poem I wrote a long time ago, when I was actually drunk on rum & Pepsi. I think it actually made my writing a lot better! Lol!

Rum & Pepsi

Half drunk off rum & Pepsi
Walking down streets I remember only vaguely
Like a half-dream, semblance of life only half-seen,
Staring into the leaves until the cold wind on my neck
Bites so hard that it reminds me I’m not dreaming.
Oh no. World’s beginning to turn – maybe now I’ll learn
To tell when enough is past enough,
But I dream of a chance encounter, somewhere here under the flowers
So I can escape the pain of waking life and stagnation and
Escape into the imaginary kiss, the bliss of believing that you
For one second loved me too
Instead of running to the ties that bind and bleed you and lead you
Away from me and eternity
Here I am again, alone, like a rolling stone –
Wherever I leave my coat and shoes is my home.
Wait for darkness to pass, but the good times and happiness
Are doomed never to last
And the loneliness and isolation that controls me, holds me, slow rolls me, knows me –
There ain’t no other way that I can be,  under these trees
I wasn’t born under a street lamp, city tramp’s not the way for me
I’ve got to be Leslie or I’m nothing,
Triumphant or I’m falling – cold feelings taking over, fighting the fever
The sun goes down, I feel it now – more than I did when I was running around,
The toxins seeping into my bloodstream
I mean the hero of my dreams – is just a figment brought on by too much caffeine
The only thing that’s real is the chill, to remind me that I’m human and what it means to be
Human is to hurt and deal with suck
And to work through isolation and be your own best friend
Even though deep down you know you’ll never be a supermodel –
They have fluffy hair with highlights and you only
Have a job that bites
And if you’re lucky, some one solitary thing to hold onto,
A life preserver, further from the truth but comforting in what it gives you –
Bloodstream weak but gives you purpose, calming a heart that would be nervous –
Service is never easy – would you believe it?
Even the saints didn’t have free passes, the half is that what is written isn’t real,
Only part-congealed, concealed from the masses and rose-colored glasses won’t discern
The things the looking-glass shows. You see, it knows –
Messages my soul was only half aware of, like what death is
And what I should be scared of –
Remember this, the savior is the part that understands it all, part for whole,
Sum of the indivisible and night-enthralled.
Peace is a poison, to lead you into deception, a false sense of security to make you weaker,
Trust me, I know – the state will not take weakness for an answer,
And blow for blow, it’s better to fight than
Always be wondering how it’d go, if it all went down
And you were left, facing the indispensible moonlight alone,
With warfare and moonlight playing lullabies on your soul.
Back I go, to wait upon the sunset that sun let go by.


Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Poem - How To Fall

"How To Fall"

by Leslie Soule


They say there's not enough love in this world -
So I decided not to worry
about the 15-page paper I've got to write on Neruda
and instead, I tried to fall in love.

I searched out form amongst the sculpted, coiffed figures
that passed me by and became sickened
by perfection and its influence on my tender stomach.
The queasiness would not dissipate
until I retched up consciousness into the trash.

The lunch room stank of base desires and unfulfilled potential
as I sat down to write,
seeking out my destructively angelic muse -
the one who eats Kit Kats as he throws blood on rainbows.

But he would not come.
So there I was, sitting like an empty gumball machine,
books piled on the table,
staring at me like scorned lovers.

Then I turned a page and fell in love.

Friday, June 3, 2011

New Blog!!!

Hello there everyone! Welcome to the New & Improved "Dusty Rose" blog, named after the tavern in Fallenwood.

I have copied all of the old posts from the old blog and have them archived on this one, so the old blog is no longer needed and I will now be able to set up blogs ahead of time to post on certain days.

Whew! Archiving was a lot of work. I am tired now. Me go sleepy sleep...