Lena Corazon

Flights of Fancy

Month: April 2014

#NaPoWriMo Day 9: “That Fragile Moment”

we’ve done it:
survived that awkward first date–
coffee in a crowded cafe, to be sure
that you weren’t a crazed psycho.
things went well enough in that
this-could-be-lovely kind of way
no room for a guarantee,
just an abundance of what-if and maybe, perhaps
and so we met again for something
slightly more real–
creatures and cocktails and science,
a chance to exercise conversation and wit,
to search for spark and possibility.

we’ve weathered strained smiles
stuttered stumbling
stilted silence
and shared those first secrets
hardly blackmail material
but truths that move just beyond
polite small talk
ones that scratch beneath the epidermis and
graze flesh, sensitive and living and warm.

and now we stand on the brink
of something tenuous and cautious, fragile
as a dewdrop on spun silk,
ripe with disaster and glory alike,
a portal to a new beginning
or, perhaps, yet another ending.

— —a breath— ——a touch—

if you take my hand
will i ever want to let you go?
or will i be impossibly tethered,
wings clipped, bound and chained
to a future interminable?

could we be a pair?
or will this flame sputter out
and die
too weak to withstand the breeze?

one false move
one tiny mistake
could cost us everything:
a sacrifice of mornings not yet lived
the death of kisses never exchanged
the loss of a million dreams and wishes
uttered into the empty night
present yet not, hovering
just beyond reach.

if love is a leap
then i have never
been inspired to jump

until this moment, with this ache
in my heart
growing ever deeper.

to leave you now would be
betrayal and cowardice both
so i stand with you
listen to the echo of your heart beat
with mine
and wait for the knowledge that this is
love
strong enough to endure.

NaPoWriMo Day 8: “Pure Inspiration”

I wait each day for the
spark
the moment when words will
trip and twist,
collide, collapse, congeal
transform from Mundane–

“I need change for a twenty”

to Profound–

“If I could change like this twenty,

shed my skin from a single bill,

wrinkled, crinkled, rumpled and worn,

into the many, the fresh, the new!,

then this life would be worth

the price.”

I search the ever-present noise
that fills the day-to-day,
scrying through the screams and the shouts
like the old fortune teller and her glass,
reading between the lines
of shrilly ringing phones,
blindly groping through Chaos so profound
tangible
it is like walking through molasses floors
an avalanche of puzzle pieces and lego bits
a sonic wasteland that destroys all thought
a minefield with no escape.

Exhaustion dogs my steps
sometimes suffocates with a hand inescapable
and if it doesn’t succeed, the litany of should-do-and-failed
will finish the job.

And still I search for words
listen with ears deafened to the glorious music
that comes from a phrase well-turned
a passage that is unflinching in its truth.
I long for the sweet kiss of a single sentence
try to wring them from my soul like blood from a stone.

There is nothing

—-yet—-

Nothing is never the Absence of Something
but the Beginning of Everything
Pregnant with Possibility
Rich with Could-Be
Inexhaustible with Chance.

So I wait
listen
grasp at words with greedy hands
cram them into my mouth
swallow without chewing
and pray for a moment
of pure inspiration.

Mixing It Up: #ROW80 Goals & #NaPoWriMo Day 7

ROW80LogocopyAnother Round of A Round of Words in 80 Days is upon us, and I am delighted to participate. For those who have never heard of this wonderful writing community, ROW80 is the writing challenge “that knows you have a life,” and allows we over-worked, over-scheduled creative folk to build our own goals.

After a rough and tumble year (or two… or three?), I’m all about treating myself with flexibility and care. I gave myself permission to take the weekend off from NaPoWriMo, because I’ve learned that placing pressure on myself is counter-intuitive. When I tell myself that I’m a failure, or that I’m lazy, or that I’m useless because I couldn’t wrest a few minutes out of my life to write, I ruin any chances I have to be creative for days, and sometimes weeks, to come. So Round 2 of ROW80 is all about being kind to myself (like fearless leader Kait Nolan writes in this awesome post), about allowing myself to make mistakes and to stumble without self-flagellation, and about actually remembering how to enjoy the act of writing, both academic and creative.

Before I get to my Round 2 goals, have a bit of a poem. I’m trying out a “lune,” a modified haiku form written with 3 words in the first line, 5 words in the second, and 3 in the third. And based on the subject matter, I’ll bet you can all guess what I was dealing with today…

“Migraine”

brain throbs incessantly

senses stunted, tongue silenced, thought completely eliminated

migraine strikes again

—-

And with that, here are my goals for Round 2:

Dissertation:

  • Finish 2 chapters by the end of Round 2.
  • Start coding data sources.
  • Hammer out an inventory of data sources.

Creative Writing:

  • Read 1 piece of fiction each week.
  • Figure out how to move forward with TELL ME NO LIES.
  • Write at least 20 poems for #NaPoWriMo.
  • Start blogging in May–maybe with weekly book reviews? The jury is still out on this one.

-oOo-

I’m still trying to keep things simple, as you can probably tell, but with the way things are going at the moment, simple is most definitely best.

I’m looking forward to rocking the ROW with the rest of y’all! Anyone else participating in NaPoWriMo this year? Any big goals slated for this Round? Can’t wait to see how everyone is doing!

 

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#NaPoWrimo Day 3: “But Even Under These Conditions Man Can Reveal”

For today’s poem, I used one of Kelli Russell Agodon’s NaPoWriMo prompts:

Open the closest book to you to page 46. Count down 7 lines. That is the first line or the title of your poem.

The closest book to me was a copy of Emily Post’s ETIQUETTE; the line in question contained the wonderful fragment that I’ve used for the title, and as one of the lines in the poem itself. It opened up an interesting way to explore the question of male privilege, and how that privilege harms not only women, but men themselves.

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boys don’t cry

because emotion

is

foreign

sissy-stuff

only girls–

irrational and

silly

sweet, with sugar

and spice smiles,

countless neuroses

bubbling over

feelings that

explode–

ever experience.

 
boys become men

tough

strong

softness has

no place with them.

 

and these are the lies that we are fed

the falsehoods that

entrap

ensnare

justify a world where

women cannot lead

and men cannot feel

two different species

perpetually estranged

 
but even under these conditions man can reveal

sinew and bone

muscle and tissue

a heart that

squeezes

flexes

contracts

trembles with the enormity of

love

and desire that

is more than

skin-deep

 
because we are stronger

when we can be whole

when we can

transcend

the myths that

hamper

constrain

damage

and we are more powerful

when the old dualities

male/female

rational/irrational

mind/body

dark/light

are dashed to dust

for then only

love

will remain.

#NaPoWriMo Day 2: “Water Haiku”

wet river wide runs deep
soaks a soul parched and thirsty
words fill every breath

#NaPoWriMo Day 1: “Tales Twice-Told”

Happy National Poetry Writing Month! For all 30 days of April, Flights of Fancy is going to be filled to the brim with poetry, and I cannot wait to get stared. I adore prose, could write short stories and novels forever, but there’s something deeply visceral about stripping back language to its bare bones, slashing away till there’s nothing left but feeling and emotion. As poet Mina Loy once said,

“Poetry is prose bewitched
a music made of visual thoughts
the sound of an idea.”

That being said, for this first day of #NaPoWriMo, I’m toying with bridging poetry and prose, using poetry as a tool for fleshing out character and backstory. Today I draw inspiration from Tempest Dumont, the heroine of my steampunk tale, TELL ME NO LIES. While Tempest spends most of TELL ME NO LIES recovering from heartbreak and trying to track down a crazed killer, “Tales Twice-Told” explores a bit of her past, chiefly her chance meeting with a rakish, dashing, and an all-too-dangerous airship pirate. 

“Tales Twice-Told”

 

He told her once

that Home was prison

and she believed him

because Love had never grown

between the four walls where she had been born.

 

“Home is the Coward’s last refuge,”

he said,

“a fortress to hide from Nature and Neighbor.”

 

He’d found his Freedom in the skies

untethered

untamed

He answered only to the Elements

and thrived on their Chaos.

 

He called to her,

a Man freed from Fear,

and promised a life that could be her own:

“Clouds will line your Parlor;

stars will be

Blossoms

in your Garden,

the

Heavens

themselves will be yours.”

 

He gave to her

wings of Bronze

strong, stealthy and true

born from

Genius

and the need for escape.

 

She left the World of

too-weak

too-scared

never-good-enough

stole away

in his winged Chariot.

 

For the first time in her short life

she found Happiness

that was neither lie nor pretense

but was as real as the

Coal

fed to its Furnace,

the massive Gears that tilted and

whirled

in its Engine,

the scalding Steam that poured

from its Pipes.

 

But Dreams are not all they seem:

The Heavens can be cold

unforgiving

and Freedom from the world

may be a Prison in disguise.

 

The most dashing

Hero

can be revealed as Villain

and Tales

twice-told

may not always be True.

 

 

 

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