pour the waves (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Oct 12 2009

Some days,
the music just has to be loud
loud enough
to drive out all temptation to believe in lies
to drive out the numb that doesn’t try

The music just has to be moving enough
to keep me moving
has to remind me of
everything that matters
everything that moves
there is never
nothing
I can do

I can do
something with this
even if it’s
just feel it
even if it’s
just be here

be here
and don’t leave
don’t obliterate myself
on rocky shores
don’t release my grasp
don’t follow their lead
this is what there is to believe-
this is all there is
and this is all that matters

some days
the music just has to be loud
loud enough
to remind me

I just have to be needy enough
to pull it in
anxious
angry
enough
to demand more

pour the waves
pour the waves
pour the waves

my skin is bare
my throat is dry
my stomach waits
my heart aches

pour the waves
pour the waves
pour the waves

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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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Field Work- documentation is so important (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Oct 3 2009

There is a psychology to everything.

You’ve got to know
I gather my field observations
and slide them under my microscope…

you’re still driving me crazy
your hands are still warm
warm
on my skin

they are still
the only hands I ever really want

we don’t even have to talk
I can hear your thoughts
we could go forever
we could sit in silence
it’s really all the same

That’s what I already told you

That’s just the truth of us

there’s not a stitch
wrong with what we sew

we hold our borders well
until-
for just a while there
I thought we were mindless
we were
shaking everything down
we were
going to lose all our senses-
drive away,
never come back

I get it
I’m right there with you

I’m placing your hand in mine-
it fell into me this time;

you
aren’t ice
you don’t just shimmer past

what would you have done
if your name rolled off my tongue?

That has me drinking
That has me holding on

my god,
you are
exactly…

you need more time, so do I

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big children, small adults (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

Can I just say,

it was unfair

to let me be

such a small adult.

love was not enough

to show me the ropes

A child’s decisions

should be questioned.

Didn’t anyone see

the child in me?

Didn’t anyone

lack enough belief?

It was obligation,

everything I did

It was preservation,

everything I hid

It was fear,

every time I ran

It was grasping

to understand

everything you couldn’t tell me

while you were so consumed

You didn’t see the child in me,

but I saw the one in you.

And I knew if I lost it,

if I let go

there’d be no one to come and get me

no one would know

what to say

and no one would realize

till much too late.

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Pandora’s box (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

I listen to angry music

way too loud

dig my nails into my skin

diverting the pain

until it is safe

until the knots are gone

until the threat of unraveling has subsided

and I’m breathing again

it is then

I’ve regained possession

I cautiously

return to living

and carefully

step around

the pandora’s box

that looks like you.

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A day without him is not a wasted day (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 15 2009

You try to look past
all the things he’ll say
that always end up
making you feel this way.

But you know inside
it’s kinda wrong
until you hear his favorite song
and go back to when
you felt so loved
and you just don’t want to be
the one to give up.

In your mind, you rationalize
the things he does
and convince yourself
that your love is enough.

You look at him
and see the man
you’re sure he is deep down.
You’re sure if you just stick around,
that man will come out.

But the boy he is now
is always tearing you down
then picking you up
and dragging you around.

You say “Maybe it’s not his fault.”
You’re heart sinks to the floor
as you realize you’re caught.

He calls the shots,
He makes the rules,
He picks you apart,
He knows what to do
to keep you
just broken enough
that you never get your strength back up.

So much of who you’ve become
has been you wanting to be his “one”

And you’re scared to death
that if you lose him, you’ll lose yourself
And you’ll never find you again
or anyone else.

But that’s not true.

When do you say ” I’ve done all I could”
and step out on a limb and do what you should?
When do you decide
this version of love is wrong?
When can you not think of him
when you hear those songs?
When do you feel that you’ll be okay
that a day without him is not a wasted day?
When do you realize this is less
than you will accept?
When do you break free
and take that step?
You give and you give,
When do you give it up
and let go
of the love
that keeps you so torn up?

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The Axis (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Aug 15 2009

The sadness

just

carries-

same as always.

The same ache,

and there’s no one

waiting.

We are worlds apart,

galaxies between.

And somehow

that doesn’t dull the drive,

the curiosity,

the hunger,

the need.

It doesn’t slow the sadness

at my axis-

that which I spin upon-

can’t separate myself from.

Who would I be

without this?

Would I stop moving?

Would I combust?

Would we…

Of course I can’t ask that

we still have lightyears to cross.

We have so much darkness to navigate,

so many rocks and ice and  flames.

I can’t do anything with this

but repeat it.

All these arrangements of letters and words,

to say the same thing.

Of all the things that change

this isn’t one.

This is

strange gravity,

pulling, spinning, ignoring me.

You are

so far,

so much.

I can’t touch anything

without the greatest efforts and manipulations-

just for seconds of hope I squeeze from your stars.

I miss everything we never are.

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Haiku Tuesday, Jul 28 2009

I need roots, not vines

what’s the use of wings if I

never get to fly?

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 2 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 17, in 11th grade

I hate this whole fucking place.
That’s a lie.
It just felt good to say.

I hate the past.
It makes me want
for things I cannot have.

I just want to stay here,
in my anger,
in my hate.

I hate myself.
I despise the way I cry like this
and the way I’ve lied
I’m such a bitch.
I appear so nice.

I’m just deceitful,
selfish,
and weak

Hiding behind smiles,
the right words,
and pride

I can’t blame anyone else
for the mess I am inside

I’ve pushed everyone away
cause nobody tired
enough to satisfy my longing

I want for what I may never have
and the disappointment of that
fuels these tears

My desire and will are fading
as the truth of my ugliness outshines them

This part’s become too much for me to play
I want to quit
I want to go away

I’m so blessed, no one can fathom
How I’m so empty
and discontented

What’s so fucking wrong with me
that I can’t manage to just be happy?

Why do I want things that seem so out of reach
when so much is laid right in front of me?

This lonely, selfish hatred
seems to be the foundation for the insanity
that will surely one day
overcome me

I can’t be what I’m not.
I don’t know what I am
I want more, but I don’t think anyone offers what I demand

The tragedy of my life
is I look nothing
like how I am inside.

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Honestly Trying, Waiting, Counting on Careful Belief (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, May 28 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a sestina.

You pick 6 words, rotate them as the end words in 6 stanzas and then include 2 per of the words per line in your final stanza.

Honestly Trying, Waiting, Counting on Careful Belief

I can’t believe
how honestly
you try
waiting,
careful-
because anything, everything counts.

You’re sure that if you care
enough you’ll never have to try
to stop believing
in the precious counted
beauty you honestly
expect to come back to you, if you just wait.

I know you’re trying
your very best to carefully
conserve everything you have waited
so long for, believing
in the last layer of love, that everything counts-

even the littlest things count,
the long ago stolen glimpses, carefully
hidden, trying
to reshape honest
to allow for belief.
It was an accident, the waiting.

The waiting
was forgetting to try
to believe
there’s nothing that counts,
there’s no caring.
But that’s not honest.

So it turned belief
into a game of waiting.
And words were tried
so carefully
that they were never honest.
So what counts?

You wanted to believe it was waiting,
that what counted was trying,
But honestly, there was never the option of careful.

I’d never heard of a sestina before, so this was new! It was kind of tricky, but definitely fun. I used my six words as the title because it worked out that way, that wasn’t a requirement. I actually really like this. It kind of reminded me of the stained glass journal activity.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/28/AprilPADChallengeDay28.aspx

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