Start by dividing the field with
a neat line of no colour,
straight – the only way – man-made
and focal it becomes – horizontal
Horizon, immanent, basis.
Give appropriate names throughout
your new found land (so as not to
discover a backwards sky)
then have lines perpendicular cut up
and shape a city scape
(and if mirrored in water – a heart beat)
Discipline is your only friend – intricate
designs with no heads or tails but
glass warnings clearly embedded
– Discipline your only frame
Discipline your only frame.
The dice gave me a plane, a tower, a hand, a falling star
BONUS : The text to speech version of it because it fits.
My body a touched screen swiped
away bearing the imprint of your fingers
Wired wireless at the centres of all things
all things which matter which are not matter
Reflexes uncut – reflected shapeless
in shop windows premium ad copies
(that special space where you see yourself
I myself as well as beyond us – inside)
A zen network holding us above
at a distance at no angle allowed
– clouds have no angles after all
but only friendly, reassuring imagined shapes
Pinned to my shifting location I go
through the motions of the free-to-play program
Move after move after move – a deep
game of chess, only the white side is left empty
I went wirecutting.
The dice gave me a telephone and a parachute
“Look, look how it grows,
How fast, and soft, and strong,”
(The ad reads : take a trip back
to days of oceans below earth
and distance and waiting
and smaller designs)
“How naturally out of sequence
Beautifully out of shape
Fumbling around its own stumbling pattern”
(Possibly ever-elusive – I cut Dad off
in thought, where he cannot chide me
for an attempt at imposing
concepts against temporality)
“Wonderful ! And to think
They were all indifferent to it
Back then !”
I stand – stranded – vacant witness
to the revived phenomenon
the museum audience in awe
stirring something which –
is not remembering.
That shall wait – until we buy
the never-the-same-in-the-morning figurine
from the souvenir shop,
under the fiberglass dome
– If stones could still be plucked
from street soil,
no doubt I would dream
of smashing it
and not even
count the pieces
The single die gave me a tree.
It seems I deserted this blog recently. Exams took most of the free time and then some stuff in here got submitted to magazines and therefore removed. And there was that one poem which I did not enjoy even after some revisions and trashed for now.
I’m a rather lazy person, and that’s an understatement – I can’t bring myself to find the right words to define my laziness. But it’s more than ratherly. Anyway, to try and keep up some writing activities I recently decided to do some prompt writing, where the prompts would be decided by rolling dice – Story Cubes dice.
For those unfamiliar, Story Cubes is a toy/game consisting of nine dice in a box. Each die bears six different pictures, totalling fifty-four images ranging from a rainbow to an arrow, a bee, a sad face, a smiley face, etc. The basic way of using these is to roll the cubes and tell a story by connecting all these pictures. There’s virtually no rulebook so you could do what you want with them. I decided to try and write some poetry.
The deal goes as follows : twice a week during four weeks, I will publish a poem based on rolling the story cubes, and then I’ll publish a final poem – giving nine poems in total. I will roll one die for the first poem, two for the second, three for the third, and so on and so forth – the final poem will therefore have to encompass nine images. It will probably end up a weird mixture of a Kyûbi and Pictionary.
I’ll post a picture of the cube(s) which served as prompt each time. Some will be blatantly obvious, I hope to make others more devious.
There you go. Onwards ?