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Hrm. Well, here goes, I guess.
May. 27th, 2003 01:11 pmI've got the first bit, kinda, for the poem for Professor Braddock. Everything up through the false cause-effect logic. I'm just stuck on the piece of talk and the adjective-noun thing. Have ideas for some of the rest of it but I'm trying to keep it in order.
In the branches of the tree there's a cathedral for the breeze
Glowing sunlight through green stained glass and the sermons of the bees
And the branches are pew benches with their sticky pads of sap.
After communion (gold-sweet honeycomb) I settle for a nap.
I dream of Grandpa Jessup cutting clouds through Germany
(In a storm a tree's a danger, not a cathedral, you see)
So I wake up to the green and gold and "Just a dream," I think.
(Thunder causes milk to sour; I don't want to call a jinx.)
"You have to be yourself, Jamie," but soon I'll be myselves
Once the cold hand of tomorrow empties out the leafy shelves.
Little Jumper doesn't know this yet; head pillowed on his knees
He lets his eyes fall shut again, goes flying with the bees.
The stony wind comes flying now, la belle air sans merci
And I hit the ground hard, shooting past the shrieking of the tree.
I wake up, sit up, choke back Grandpa's favorite Army oath:
Two roads may part now in a wood . . . but I can take them both.
It's supposed to be about the day I fell out of the tree and found out I was a mutant but I haven't gotten that far yet (that's what the prediction part is going to be.) And some of the lines were a lot like pulling teeth to write and they sound kind of random, I think.
If I edit this later when I come up with more stuff, and make it so people can tell what stuff got added when, does that count as showing the editing process?
(Edit, about 1:15 AM, which is gonna bite me in the morning but I couldn't sleep. Finished. Took me a while to come up with the non-English part and the allusion to another poem, but lucky for me Piotr posted all that Robert Frost stuff earlier.)
In the branches of the tree there's a cathedral for the breeze
Glowing sunlight through green stained glass and the sermons of the bees
And the branches are pew benches with their sticky pads of sap.
After communion (gold-sweet honeycomb) I settle for a nap.
I dream of Grandpa Jessup cutting clouds through Germany
(In a storm a tree's a danger, not a cathedral, you see)
So I wake up to the green and gold and "Just a dream," I think.
(Thunder causes milk to sour; I don't want to call a jinx.)
"You have to be yourself, Jamie," but soon I'll be myselves
Once the cold hand of tomorrow empties out the leafy shelves.
Little Jumper doesn't know this yet; head pillowed on his knees
He lets his eyes fall shut again, goes flying with the bees.
The stony wind comes flying now, la belle air sans merci
And I hit the ground hard, shooting past the shrieking of the tree.
I wake up, sit up, choke back Grandpa's favorite Army oath:
Two roads may part now in a wood . . . but I can take them both.
It's supposed to be about the day I fell out of the tree and found out I was a mutant but I haven't gotten that far yet (that's what the prediction part is going to be.) And some of the lines were a lot like pulling teeth to write and they sound kind of random, I think.
If I edit this later when I come up with more stuff, and make it so people can tell what stuff got added when, does that count as showing the editing process?
(Edit, about 1:15 AM, which is gonna bite me in the morning but I couldn't sleep. Finished. Took me a while to come up with the non-English part and the allusion to another poem, but lucky for me Piotr posted all that Robert Frost stuff earlier.)
