Bruce! Get in the SUIT!
Snerk.
Here's one for Plei and Shrift:
Nightwing. Arsenal.
A constant always present:
They SO want each other.
'Selfless'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Bruce! Get in the SUIT!
Snerk.
Here's one for Plei and Shrift:
Nightwing. Arsenal.
A constant always present:
They SO want each other.
...first time here... and I find...
Comic-book haiku.
Yep, this is the right place.
With great power comes
Great responsibility.
My costume itches.
BWAH!
BWAH!
BWAHHAHA!
I've just written 44. May write more in the morning. I'll post 'em on my LJ tomorrow, after the reading.
Mary Jane Watson
sees the red and blue webbed spider suit.
She finally knows.
I seriously thought about trying a haiku based on the characters Kavalier and Klay came up with. Escapiste!
No more comic book haiku today. Too tired, and woke up sinusy. Bleh. The fortysomething from yesterday will have to do.
Will also be reading the Andy Warhol poems. Tried to finish a new one last night, but it just didn't come. No big. "Warhol Days" and "There is No Word for 'Fear of Culture'" are plenty long enough, and I've got a couple appropriate older pieces to throw in.
I know it's haiku day, but I'm going to sneak in a drabble.
Everyone in the house is tired, stretched to the last threads of patience, of composure. Hope left days ago, and now all that’s left is the sound of her breathing, raspy, wretched, and everywhere. The power has been out for hours, lines blown down by the wind. In the kitchen, an aunt and uncle share a bottle of wine over an old mulberry candle. In her room, people perch on her bed, stroking her hands, murmuring last promises. My mother sits quiet in the corner, afraid of the dark. Having said all my goodbyes, I leave before it’s over. Twenty minutes later, the phone rings. It’s done.
Oh, Lilty, lovely.
This scares me. I wrote it, didn't look at it, just highlighted it and told Word to count it. 100 words, first shot. Not changing anything.
Do-Over
If I could do it all again
Six years, do it over, have it back
Like a child with a ball, stuck between high tree limbs
Crying and stamping
Do-over.
Would I be more visible, more insistent
Would I care for you better, hold less tightly
Would I have become the centre of your universe
Your firmament's brightest star
Would you have loved me more, forgotten her
Would you still be alive?
It didn't have to end that way
Shouldn't have ended at all
My own doing, the child, the ball, the high tree limbs
Weeping into the morning
Do-over.