I miss last year’s Creative Writing class
not because I miss writing creatively
but because I miss squeezing
reasons out of my hands
like pulp from an orange
trying to figure out why
his eyes bled
so much.
I miss last year’s Creative Writing class
not because I miss writing creatively
but because I miss squeezing
reasons out of my hands
like pulp from an orange
trying to figure out why
his eyes bled
so much.
mywordpool 
SO… did you figure out why his eyes bled so much? (Hint: Don’t squeeze his neck so hard.) 😉
Haha, oh Alice 🙂 That probably had something to do with it!
(This poem does seem a bit violent now that I reread it. Whoops.)
No whoops. The world has violence. Poetry reflects the truth of the world. Metaphors are a stretchy and clever way to express the truths of existence. Good job. You got my attention… in a good way.
Alright, minus the whoops 🙂 The violent, sticky, juicy metaphor can stay. You always say the right things, Alice. I can’t thank you enough for them.
🙂
heh…..heh…..heh…..
I’m with Alice all the way (no big surprise there, huh?).
It is most often the grit, the slime, the grungy, dirty, even naughty bits that sneak into my poems unawares that teach me the most about my self and my poetry.
These things are vital.
The viscera of life:
Please pardon my incessant quoting of myself and linking but the Bells Are Ringing bad enough to make me feel like Quasimodo!
“… the sublime animal that we are.” That’s brilliant.
At the heart of it, we really are animals. We’re messy and carnal and unclean. Life would be so boring otherwise.
Your self-quoting is very welcome here 🙂 As I’ve said before, I love to see how our ideas intertwine. Keep ringing those bells.