mneme: (Default)
I kinda dashed it off, but so it goes.

Trying to Forget

I gorge on poppies, stamens down to roots.
They fill me up, and yet I do not sleep.
My magic spent on hats and jumping boots,
But in my mind, the fears and doubts still creep.
I know my past: my sisters, ere the fall
(Despite my pain, my eyes no longer weep)
Before their deaths, that we created all.
I wish for death, and so this tea I steep.
Forgetfulness can't last, but it might ease
The weight of all this past, but it's not cheap:
My eyes, my magic, bounties that might please,
The folk of Oz, but truly it's no leap
To see that it's my sorrow that's the cause
Of everything that's wonderful (and terrible) in Oz.

Prompts: What's most recently been happening in the Namesakes webcomic (, and the first post, "Forgetfulness, sleep, poppies...", which I decided to take as a poetry prompt.

(Edit to fix the punctuation and clean it up a bit; the original poem was very much a single stream of consciousness in less then 10 minutes, with occasional pauses to find a rhyme word).
mneme: (Default)
This could probably use some more work, as I wrote it straight and didn't bother editing it aside from one line rewrite. But I've found that if I do that, I never go back to things -- so here you are.

(update: and, just to normalize the lines a bit, I've done a quick rewrite...and another rewrite).

The Bad Snail

-- for [ profile] batshua
Copyright 2012, Joshua Kronengold

I'm a very bad snail.
I like land more than water.
Sand bothers my skin.
My slime's more like sweat.
I have too many limbs.
I'm developing language
And outgrowing my shell.

Maybe it's the salt water.
Or the color of my skin?
It's enough to make you sweat.
Why does anything need limbs?
I wish I knew more language.
So I could describe my shell
And how to be a snail?

I wish I could scratch my skin,
Or at least wipe off the sweat.
I suppose that's a use for limbs...
And complaining one for language.
Maybe I should leave my shell?
Though that's bad for a snail.
Like a fish out of water.

Though I make water -- sweat.
I could stretch out my limbs.
Yet, to use stronger language,
I don't want to lose my shell!
I could be a better snail--
And snails live near water.
Don't want to dry out my skin.

Still, there's pain in my limbs.
I will make up bad language.
And struggle in my shell.
Could I not be a snail?
Except that makes my eyes water.
And tingles up my skin.
It scares me. I sweat.

Why can't a snail use language?
I could come out of my shell,
An articulate snail,
With stories about water,
And no itch on my skin,
Only just a little sweat,
Though they'd all hate my limbs.

Which push out my shell,
I am just an awful snail.
But I want to leave the water,
Feel the air on my skin,
The thought of it makes me sweat,
Puts a shiver through my limbs,
Fills me with hopeful language!

I will always be a snail.
Even though I like fresh water.
But not water on my skin.
Except, of course, for sweat.
I can walk--stretch out my limbs,
And sing out joyful language.
For I've broken my shell.

filk poem

Feb. 21st, 2012 02:46 pm
mneme: (Default)
[personal profile] uwf linked to Natalee Caple's "Happy Animal", commenting that the words were included for their sound rather than their meaning.

I agreed, but commented that were I writing it, I might have done more with the structure. So as an example, I wrote this.

Sappy Shamble

Copyright 2012, Joshua Kronengold (Inspired by Happy Animal by Natalee Caple)

Green birds love clean words,
And red birds love time,
Gold birds love old words,
And blue birds love rhyme.

Lizards love wizards,
And camels love sieves.
Night owls love light fowls,
And foxes love thieves,

The world loves the furled wing,
The moon loves the claw.
The sky loves the wry sting,
Of a thorn in my paw.


mneme: (Default)
Joshua Kronengold

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