fifty frenchmen can't be wrong (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
some_stars) wrote2011-01-30 08:08 pm
some_stars) wrote2011-01-30 08:08 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
as I am in a creative writing class again, I will now resume posting my efforts. This being the beginning of the semester, they are still pretty questionable.
This one is developed (slightly) from an in-class exercise. The title is horrible, but follows a theme we were looking at.
Euthanasia
The brown cat lay on the loveseat
next to the open crate,
on her side, with her eyes closed
in the room with the moon-and-stars wallpaper.
The trashcan behind the exam table
was surrounded by pink tissues.
The vet left for five minutes,
then came back and with both hands
scooped up the brown cat,
but she could have done it with one.
When I got home,
in the driveway rolling back and forth
there was the fat-bellied black cat
who stood up and trotted towards me.
this one is an as-yet-untitled response to a homework exercise, which was to write four four-line stanzas, with one line about a season/month/weather, one about food, one about TV, and one mentioning feelings. My difficulties with the last requirement are evident and probably say something pointed about my mental health.
January's ending soon.
I forgot about citrus season for the second year in a row.
The DVR is still recording that show I liked two months ago.
The cat died a couple weeks ago, but I haven't felt it yet.
Halfway through this week the temperature will drop.
I special-ordered fifty packages of discontinued ramen.
I've been watching this episode over and over for sixty-five days.
It no longer makes me cry.
I used to think I liked winter more than summer.
Turns out I don't like anything.
Last night I didn't like that stir-fry,
pork and red bell peppers over watery rice.
Each season brings its own depression
and already I'm anticipating spring,
the Hot Pockets and canned soup and toaster waffles
and the TV shows starting up again.
This one is developed (slightly) from an in-class exercise. The title is horrible, but follows a theme we were looking at.
Euthanasia
The brown cat lay on the loveseat
next to the open crate,
on her side, with her eyes closed
in the room with the moon-and-stars wallpaper.
The trashcan behind the exam table
was surrounded by pink tissues.
The vet left for five minutes,
then came back and with both hands
scooped up the brown cat,
but she could have done it with one.
When I got home,
in the driveway rolling back and forth
there was the fat-bellied black cat
who stood up and trotted towards me.
this one is an as-yet-untitled response to a homework exercise, which was to write four four-line stanzas, with one line about a season/month/weather, one about food, one about TV, and one mentioning feelings. My difficulties with the last requirement are evident and probably say something pointed about my mental health.
January's ending soon.
I forgot about citrus season for the second year in a row.
The DVR is still recording that show I liked two months ago.
The cat died a couple weeks ago, but I haven't felt it yet.
Halfway through this week the temperature will drop.
I special-ordered fifty packages of discontinued ramen.
I've been watching this episode over and over for sixty-five days.
It no longer makes me cry.
I used to think I liked winter more than summer.
Turns out I don't like anything.
Last night I didn't like that stir-fry,
pork and red bell peppers over watery rice.
Each season brings its own depression
and already I'm anticipating spring,
the Hot Pockets and canned soup and toaster waffles
and the TV shows starting up again.
no subject
no subject