bury (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Oct 6 2009

if i could bury myself in this, i would. i would suffocate myself with this. i would place it over my mouth, my nose, my eyes. i
would just let it be the last thing i breathe, the last thing i see, the last thing i think. i
would leave it
just like that. so i would never have to wake up without it one more day. so i
would never
have to look at it from a distance, from an unimaginable distance. i
wouldn’t have to
yell into the void between, the place where my voice never reaches, my words
never matter enough.
i wouldn’t question again why i stand on the fringe of it all, why i
assume
my bridges are too shaky, or my roots too heavy, my intensity too much or
of course, not enough, whatever the argument may be. or that i
am too much or
too little
never again a concern because,entombed in this, i couldn’t be
anything else
but the one who carried this so close it took over and
took my place, couraged me enough to
let go and just
be this
and nothing else, since
i
never really was the rest. i never really was anything else anyway.

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Hard to mend (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 15 2009

I told her to be careful of the dreams she weaves,
and all the things she makes herself believe

He said nothing when she said she felt
Nothing like this before with someone else
He let her spin and weave the fantasy
That made him more than he would ever be
Too many girls take love from a kiss
In which no trace of love exists

You should have seen the way she looked at him
But dreams come true less than they end

She wrote him letters
And she called his phone
He never answered and she felt alone
It really didn’t take that long to see
The guy she loved wasn’t reality
Too many girls lay down with men
To wake and find how quick dreams end

He let her cry, he let her curse his name
She let him know nothing would feel the same
Too many hearts aren’t broken by men themselves
But by girls who dreamed them into something else

I told her dreams unraveled can be used again
But it turns out that dreams are hard to mend.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 4 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Dreams.

My only sanctuary,
behind my eyes.
Am I going too far to believe
dreams can come true?

The only sacred thing in my world
are these fantasies
of what could be.

Stripped free of insecurity
expecting reality to be…
w\What’s reality?
In other’s eyes
it’s not the same.

But society’s reality
is far from everything I see.
And I’ll never be happy here

I’d rather drown in saline tears
than live in this sad excuse
of a society.

I will be free.

Alone
is better than captive.
And an imagined world
is fine with me.

Eventually everyone will see
the truth.
Or
I will depart.

I will find a place
to be
a dream.

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Never Trust Poetry (by Rebecca Chasteen) Friday, May 29 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to title your poems “Never (blank)” with you filling in the blank with a word or phrase. Then, write a poem based off your title

Never Trust Poetry

Never trust poetry
to say the things you need to say
to the ears you need
to hear them most.

Never trust poetry
to tell the truth
without it’s own twist,
making pretty to the ears
even the sad and ugly.

Never trust poetry
to navigate for you,
to do your dirty work,
to make your mark.

Never trust poetry
to settle it all.

Poetry is options,
variety of choice.
Poetry’s the vessel,
the Poet, at the helm,
must bear the rain,
take the salt in the wounds,
the wind, the sun…

elements can’t be written off,
but are written out
until they’re
something else.

Never trust poetry.
It’s
barely anything
but imagination.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/29/AprilPADChallengeDay29.aspx

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Bedpost (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, Apr 12 2009

List Poem

A chocolate lollipop
with caramel swirls,

A scepter holding powers
for little boys and girls,

The top of a carousel,

A woman with a round, bald head
and a neck
too long,

A murky crystal ball
in which
with the right lighting

One can see
it is E.T.’s finger-
pointing home.

This was also for the Creative Writing class. We were supposed to look at an object a make a poem from a list of things about it (or something like that, it’s been a few years now…) This is a great example of a poem I never would have written about a topic I never would have written about – but I still had fun with it!

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Waves Crash (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Mar 28 2009

Waves crash
-yea babe, like that-
Tides rise
-we climb-
Moon shines
-take your time-
Tides recede
-feel his heart beat-
Sun rises
-retreat to disguises-
Clouds form
-we’re all lukewarm-
Rains begin
-withdraw within-
Lightning flash
-just turn your back-
Thunder rolls
-consider letting go-
Trees bend
-no one wins-
Sands shift
-watch us rift-
Winds rush
-is there enough?-
Storm breaks
-fear fades-
Waves crash
-yea babe, like that-

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Burn (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Mar 16 2009

“But you touching me like piano keys
you can’t buy that movement” – Minus the Bear

Burn

We are so old, and young right now
we wait for, watch for nuances
in one another’s words and hands…

I don’t know that we ever have a chance.

Our threads intersect and intertwine
but despite their similarities, have yet to match design

Still,
moments like these burn
with belief
buzz
and the briefest fullness

I know you never meant to save me-
nor did I intend such a resurrection

But now something about it
carries me and
I archive every managed second,
shared breath
because of all things-
everyone needs something to keep believing

And this is one of the oldest stories

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If (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008

If I were Alice in the Looking Glass,
I wouldn’t look back
I would let my Jabberwocky fears
fight me through my tears

If I were Dorothy in Oz,
I wouldn’t click my heels,
I’d leave the Emerald City
and go to the poppy fields

I let my Cinderella fantasies
become a deeper part of me
but the slipper never fits,
that broken slipper, that broken dream,
and Prince Charming’s never who he seems

Peter Pan, come take my hand
fly me to NeverNever Land
I’ll fly with you, past the North Star
will the fairy dust take us very far?

Guess not.

Dreams begin so gently,
and end so quickly

Hopes just linger like cobwebs

Is reality what invades my head?

If I get lost,
don’t find me.
If I go crazy,
let me be.

I wrote this when I was probably 14 but it has always been one of my favorites. I’ve made very few, very small changes (blood used to flow around the broken slipper and the broken dream but that’s just a bit melodramatic for me now). Anyways, I’ve had this memorized forever, I love all of those stories and the fantasy of being in an alternate world. Of course, the characters always realize they want to be home after leaving home for a while, but the fantasy remains a good one. And of course, doesn’t every girl at some point hope to be rescued from what ever cell-like tower she perceives herself in? But I have a whole other slew of poems about that.

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