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Literature Text
I worked the midnight shift last night. It was the sort of night where you body feels so heavy that your mind just starts floating away. I was exhausted, worn. Sleep reached for my heart like a vigilante reaching for a gun, and I couldn't stop thinking of you.
You filled my head with poetry.
I could write something beautiful, that it was a clear night and the stars were out, that the moon shone above me like a love song in the sky. But it wasn't. The clouds were low and heavy and the streetlights painted the sky orange.
It was the kind of night that makes you feel trapped. The kind when there's no one alive but you, no sound but your heartbeat, a wolf howling and a siren in the distance. The kind when I decided that the world isn't big enough for us. The nights that turn into sunrises – the sunrises that break apart the horizon and pull the breath from your lungs.
You know the nights I'm talking about.
The nights when the wind lashed our lips like we were sky-sailing to the stars. The nights for trespassing, for climbing buildings and laughing at our vertigo. For singing too late and smiling too much. The nights for falling in love some day.
For cross dressing and throwing up our hands at the world. For holding hands and falling down and flying away, talking to strangers and stumbling through life.
The nights where we realized maybe we don't have to grow up, and maybe we'll last forever. When we held those perfect moments up to a match and struck a chord.
The nights when we set the world on fire.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling brave, I'm not afraid of growing up. Because you gave me the best childhood there ever was.
At 1:43 I saw a shooting star. Instead of wishing, I whispered your name.
You filled my head with poetry.
I could write something beautiful, that it was a clear night and the stars were out, that the moon shone above me like a love song in the sky. But it wasn't. The clouds were low and heavy and the streetlights painted the sky orange.
It was the kind of night that makes you feel trapped. The kind when there's no one alive but you, no sound but your heartbeat, a wolf howling and a siren in the distance. The kind when I decided that the world isn't big enough for us. The nights that turn into sunrises – the sunrises that break apart the horizon and pull the breath from your lungs.
You know the nights I'm talking about.
The nights when the wind lashed our lips like we were sky-sailing to the stars. The nights for trespassing, for climbing buildings and laughing at our vertigo. For singing too late and smiling too much. The nights for falling in love some day.
For cross dressing and throwing up our hands at the world. For holding hands and falling down and flying away, talking to strangers and stumbling through life.
The nights where we realized maybe we don't have to grow up, and maybe we'll last forever. When we held those perfect moments up to a match and struck a chord.
The nights when we set the world on fire.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling brave, I'm not afraid of growing up. Because you gave me the best childhood there ever was.
At 1:43 I saw a shooting star. Instead of wishing, I whispered your name.
Literature
poetry, again
Spoiler alert: this is not poetry.
Print 15 copies. You just killed a tree.
Put this in mass-produced magazines.
Slaughter a forest – arboreal genocide.
This is not poetry;
this is lexical vandalism; this
is getting away with murder.
Fire your editor & set
fire to your dictionary.
This sentence is a Death sentence,
but death shouldn't be uppercase.
Capital punishment: life fragment (incomplet)
Shit, I don't think I executed that properly.
Correct the syntax & execute it again.
This time: sharpen the guillotine.
Type a noose around this poem
& hang it
on your fridge like gallows,
smothered by two magnets.
Con
Literature
it rained one year ago today.
so i thought i
was invisible; and i
could hide from you and
your glances that cripple
and
break me.
-
so i thought you were
deaf; and you couldn't
hear me and i didn't
have to hide my words
along
with my actions.
-
so i thought i was
gone; and you weren't a part
of me anymore, but you found
ways
to stay inside of me when
i was
inside out.
-
it is cold outside and i'm
sitting on your porch
waiting for you to
come home
again; i remember one
year ago today, when we stood together
in the streets; in traffic.
we felt free.
we felt safe.
Literature
Cold
Trace curls and flourishes
of hoar-frost over my skin.
Unzip me with icicle fingers and
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Inspiration
It's true, I worked the midnight shift. Out in the city at night, my thoughts started wandering. Like a group of kids lost in a forest, they found their way back, I guess.
I wrote this as a tribute to the nights we had. In some ways it feels like they're long gone, you know? and in other ways it seems like they'll never end.
Technique
I've wanted to write this for a long, long time. I just never felt like I had time to get it done. Yesterday, ~Solarune messaged me to let me know that ^thorns' Word Wars chat event was happening with #theWrittenRevolution. I dropped in for the last two rounds and – amazingly – wrote this. It was an incredible fifteen minutes, and I think I'll be eternally grateful to ^thorns and the rest of the tWR admins for putting the chat event together because it forced me to write – for the first time in months.
The title is a reference to a song (and album) by Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago
(For the record, I like him before he won whatever award he won.
)
I could write down all of the memories that inspired this, about watching the sun rise on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, or playing on a swing set kicking our feet at the moon, but I really don't want to. Those memories are better left a close and distant perfection. :]
P.S. Listen to this song.
Special Mentions
*WanderingHere, of course.
*IndigoSkyes helped me critique this in a really wonderful way.
Thank you.
Groups
For #theWrittenRevolution members (critique): Is my writing too disorganized here? Do you get something out of it, even though you don't share the memories I'm referring to? What did you think of the transition from the night during which I was working and the reminiscence of the nights we shared?
Other Deviations
half of myself
© 2012 Jonathon Reed
deviantART | Society6 | Tumblr
portfolio.jonathonreed.com
It's true, I worked the midnight shift. Out in the city at night, my thoughts started wandering. Like a group of kids lost in a forest, they found their way back, I guess.
I wrote this as a tribute to the nights we had. In some ways it feels like they're long gone, you know? and in other ways it seems like they'll never end.
Technique
I've wanted to write this for a long, long time. I just never felt like I had time to get it done. Yesterday, ~Solarune messaged me to let me know that ^thorns' Word Wars chat event was happening with #theWrittenRevolution. I dropped in for the last two rounds and – amazingly – wrote this. It was an incredible fifteen minutes, and I think I'll be eternally grateful to ^thorns and the rest of the tWR admins for putting the chat event together because it forced me to write – for the first time in months.
The title is a reference to a song (and album) by Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago
(For the record, I like him before he won whatever award he won.
)I could write down all of the memories that inspired this, about watching the sun rise on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, or playing on a swing set kicking our feet at the moon, but I really don't want to. Those memories are better left a close and distant perfection. :]
P.S. Listen to this song.
Special Mentions
*WanderingHere, of course.
*IndigoSkyes helped me critique this in a really wonderful way.
Thank you. Groups
For #theWrittenRevolution members (critique): Is my writing too disorganized here? Do you get something out of it, even though you don't share the memories I'm referring to? What did you think of the transition from the night during which I was working and the reminiscence of the nights we shared?
Other Deviations
half of myself
© 2012 Jonathon Reed
deviantART | Society6 | Tumblr
portfolio.jonathonreed.com
Comments17
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This is a beautiful piece. 
You have a wonderful talent for creating stunningly vivid images, and I loved the carefree feeling the entire piece emanated. In the second line, should it be 'your' rather than 'you'? It was just something I picked up on. Other than that I think this is gorgeous. Wonderful work!
You have a wonderful talent for creating stunningly vivid images, and I loved the carefree feeling the entire piece emanated. In the second line, should it be 'your' rather than 'you'? It was just something I picked up on. Other than that I think this is gorgeous. Wonderful work!