I started writing something today, but I haven't finished it yet. Until I have a chance to post it, here's a haiku about something else I did today (I re-potted a spider plant).
Digging through soil,
Wrapping up a compact mass
With more of the same.
-Kat
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
It's a Haiku!
Sometimes I look back on this past year and I am amazed at how things have changed.
I'm not used to it,
But good things can come of it -
Spontaneity!
-Kat
I'm not used to it,
But good things can come of it -
Spontaneity!
-Kat
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Fall
Today at a bus stop I noticed something beautiful.
The morning is still,
I see something in a tree -
Leaves are raining down.
-Kat
The morning is still,
I see something in a tree -
Leaves are raining down.
-Kat
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Thrift Shop
Once a month I work at a thrift shop.
Three books and a toy,
Two shirts and a pair of pants.
That'll be nine dollars.
-Kat
Three books and a toy,
Two shirts and a pair of pants.
That'll be nine dollars.
-Kat
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Abstraction
Today I learned something new.
The board is a simple, square grid, nineteen lines crossed by another nineteen lines in opposition. The pieces are smooth, perfectly round stones, half of them black and half of them white. That is the entire physical presence of this game. The board sits in the middle of the table and the pieces reside in matching wooden bowls, one on each side of the board.
When the game is played it takes on meaning much greater than the pieces of wood and stone can while they are still. Each tiny crossing point becomes a citadel waiting to be captured and each stone is an army of invaders. Generals man the board and begin taking territory for themselves. The tension is almost nonexistent as they begin conquering lands on opposite ends of the earth, but soon one side wants what the other has and they move toward each other.
Soon a battle has erupted. Each side continues taking turns, but they no longer move over a friendly map. Now the black and white stones are placed with deliberation as each side desperately tries to hold on to places to breathe. A fatal move is made and a small pack of white stones die. They are removed and their absence highlights the gains for the black side.
The game continues, a constant struggle on each side, gaining and losing ground with quick placements of the round stones that are battalions and the sky all at once. New land is taken and old land changes hands. Countless battles are carried out and the map is in constant flux. Then the game is over and the pieces are simple stones once again. They are swept aside and laid to rest in their bowls, the wooden board is put up and the war just fought returns to being an abstraction.
-Kat
The board is a simple, square grid, nineteen lines crossed by another nineteen lines in opposition. The pieces are smooth, perfectly round stones, half of them black and half of them white. That is the entire physical presence of this game. The board sits in the middle of the table and the pieces reside in matching wooden bowls, one on each side of the board.
When the game is played it takes on meaning much greater than the pieces of wood and stone can while they are still. Each tiny crossing point becomes a citadel waiting to be captured and each stone is an army of invaders. Generals man the board and begin taking territory for themselves. The tension is almost nonexistent as they begin conquering lands on opposite ends of the earth, but soon one side wants what the other has and they move toward each other.
Soon a battle has erupted. Each side continues taking turns, but they no longer move over a friendly map. Now the black and white stones are placed with deliberation as each side desperately tries to hold on to places to breathe. A fatal move is made and a small pack of white stones die. They are removed and their absence highlights the gains for the black side.
The game continues, a constant struggle on each side, gaining and losing ground with quick placements of the round stones that are battalions and the sky all at once. New land is taken and old land changes hands. Countless battles are carried out and the map is in constant flux. Then the game is over and the pieces are simple stones once again. They are swept aside and laid to rest in their bowls, the wooden board is put up and the war just fought returns to being an abstraction.
-Kat
Monday, November 7, 2011
Night
It's been a little while, but I finally sat down and wrote a new piece.
As the wind blows through my coat and I pull it closer to my body, I wonder why I took a job that left me walking alone in the dark late at night. Far away are the sounds of a sporting event I cannot really bring myself to care about, but apparently it's going well - I've distanced myself considerably and I can still hear the cheers. I start walking a little faster, both to try to warm up and to get further away. It's really dark now, and I stick as close to the lamp posts as I can for fear of whatever unknown things might be in the shadows.
As I continue my solitary journey, passing between old and familiar buildings, I start seeing flashes of lightning all around. They're pretty far off at the moment, but they remind me of the predicted storms I heard about earlier and didn't pay much attention to. I wrap my coat closer to me again, although I am less cold than before, and keep walking.
I've made it pretty far now, and I realize I can't hear the cheering crowds anymore. Now it's nearly silent. It's late in the season, so there aren't many bugs out to create their evening music and there's still no one near me to disrupt the night air. A bit of thunder comes behind the most recent flash of lightning and I start to calculate whether or not I'll make it home before the storm hits.
The silence is deeper when it is punctuated by thunder, it's like the night is sighing between each burst of noise. Then, for just a second, lightning flashes right above me and lights everything up like daylight. The sensation is gone almost as soon as it has appeared, but it left it's mark anyway. I pay even less attention to my surroundings as I remember it and try to hold onto that memory and feeling so I can bring them back later.
I stop and look around me and realize I'm a lot closer to home than I had thought. Good, I think, I'll make it home before I get soaked. Then as I turn the corner to walk the last block home, the rain starts. I laugh out loud, thinking of the strangeness and simplicity of this evening walk, and then I break into a run to get to my door before I get completely soaked.
-Kat
As the wind blows through my coat and I pull it closer to my body, I wonder why I took a job that left me walking alone in the dark late at night. Far away are the sounds of a sporting event I cannot really bring myself to care about, but apparently it's going well - I've distanced myself considerably and I can still hear the cheers. I start walking a little faster, both to try to warm up and to get further away. It's really dark now, and I stick as close to the lamp posts as I can for fear of whatever unknown things might be in the shadows.
As I continue my solitary journey, passing between old and familiar buildings, I start seeing flashes of lightning all around. They're pretty far off at the moment, but they remind me of the predicted storms I heard about earlier and didn't pay much attention to. I wrap my coat closer to me again, although I am less cold than before, and keep walking.
I've made it pretty far now, and I realize I can't hear the cheering crowds anymore. Now it's nearly silent. It's late in the season, so there aren't many bugs out to create their evening music and there's still no one near me to disrupt the night air. A bit of thunder comes behind the most recent flash of lightning and I start to calculate whether or not I'll make it home before the storm hits.
The silence is deeper when it is punctuated by thunder, it's like the night is sighing between each burst of noise. Then, for just a second, lightning flashes right above me and lights everything up like daylight. The sensation is gone almost as soon as it has appeared, but it left it's mark anyway. I pay even less attention to my surroundings as I remember it and try to hold onto that memory and feeling so I can bring them back later.
I stop and look around me and realize I'm a lot closer to home than I had thought. Good, I think, I'll make it home before I get soaked. Then as I turn the corner to walk the last block home, the rain starts. I laugh out loud, thinking of the strangeness and simplicity of this evening walk, and then I break into a run to get to my door before I get completely soaked.
-Kat
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
Sleep
Sometimes I have a hard time falling asleep because I've got a lot on my mind. This is usually how I feel.
Tossing and turning,
There's a song stuck in my head.
I can't fall asleep.
-Kat
Tossing and turning,
There's a song stuck in my head.
I can't fall asleep.
-Kat
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Another Review
I went to see a play this evening based on the shooting at Columbine High School. It was very good, especially in it's portrayal of the mental states of the shooters.
I just watched a man
Descending into madness -
Yelling and sobbing.
-Kat
I just watched a man
Descending into madness -
Yelling and sobbing.
-Kat
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Waiting
Today I had a day of entirely new experiences for me. I went to the homecoming parade and game with some pretty big football fans. This meant we got to the game about three and a half hours early and spent two of those outside the stadium waiting to get in. While we were there I wrote this.
Music with a deep base has begun, it's almost time. The base punctuates the conversations and the calls to friends made by the multitude of people here. From far away they look like an unformed mob, but here in the midst of them rough lines begin to from. People are waiting patiently, this is as much part of the day for them as any other event.
The sun is hidden by the massive facade, which towers over the waiters. It is a wall of bricks - red and black - punctuated at each level by a line of sandy concrete. It is outlined by the clear blue sky, a crisp delineation.
More people arrive with every minute, this concrete expanse is filling up. There are really only three colors here orange, black, and the shades of blue in everybody's jeans. The people stand in groups, but the groups periodically blend together or move apart. They all make up one living organism.
If I look beyond the crowds and the cheers, the college buildings are visible. Quiet now, they stand peacefully waiting for the end of the weekend when they will be put to use again. Made of the same red brick and sandy concrete as the stadium, they seem hardly touched by the festivities a mere stone's throw away. No one throngs around their door, anxiously waiting to enter as they hibernate through the weekend. They are older than the stadium too - they look on as the elderly look on the young at a party. They have many memories, but now they are content to sit back quietly and watch others create new memories.
-Kat
Music with a deep base has begun, it's almost time. The base punctuates the conversations and the calls to friends made by the multitude of people here. From far away they look like an unformed mob, but here in the midst of them rough lines begin to from. People are waiting patiently, this is as much part of the day for them as any other event.
The sun is hidden by the massive facade, which towers over the waiters. It is a wall of bricks - red and black - punctuated at each level by a line of sandy concrete. It is outlined by the clear blue sky, a crisp delineation.
More people arrive with every minute, this concrete expanse is filling up. There are really only three colors here orange, black, and the shades of blue in everybody's jeans. The people stand in groups, but the groups periodically blend together or move apart. They all make up one living organism.
If I look beyond the crowds and the cheers, the college buildings are visible. Quiet now, they stand peacefully waiting for the end of the weekend when they will be put to use again. Made of the same red brick and sandy concrete as the stadium, they seem hardly touched by the festivities a mere stone's throw away. No one throngs around their door, anxiously waiting to enter as they hibernate through the weekend. They are older than the stadium too - they look on as the elderly look on the young at a party. They have many memories, but now they are content to sit back quietly and watch others create new memories.
-Kat
Friday, October 28, 2011
Cookies
Today I stood on a street corner yelling "Free cookies!" at passing strangers.
Giving out cookies,
It's harder than it should be.
They don't believe me.
-Kat
Giving out cookies,
It's harder than it should be.
They don't believe me.
-Kat
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Desk
I sat down and wrote something new today.
From this perspective, the columns are giants. They reach up, stretching to hold the ceiling in its place. They are marble, with gray-brown lines wandering through spots of sandy-brown and red dirt. The floor mimics the marble, but with paler tones and straighter lines. The tiles criss-cross, dancing away to the wall.
Next to the door on the far right sits a desk. Marble lines its top and bottom, gray with shades of brown so light they're almost white. Above the marble which rests on the floor, wood appears. Almost sickly light-brown in hue, it flutes - inward first, constricting in uneven steps, then back out matching the movements in reverse. This could be the work of a craftsman, or maybe just a factory machine.
The wood makes broader strokes above this, large rectangles with smaller ones set in at even intervals. The largest rectangle sits facing directly forward, while smaller ones - two on each side - turn away, giving the desk its shape. Above these rectangles the wood moves in a final flourish, although one much smaller than it began with. Then it is topped with a thin layer of marble.
If someone were sitting at this lone desk, they may very well feel pinned in by the thick wood and marble rising to waist height. But nobody sits here. The desk stands solitary, unnoticed by the many passersby going in and out of the heavy doors, while it gathers dust.
-Kat
From this perspective, the columns are giants. They reach up, stretching to hold the ceiling in its place. They are marble, with gray-brown lines wandering through spots of sandy-brown and red dirt. The floor mimics the marble, but with paler tones and straighter lines. The tiles criss-cross, dancing away to the wall.
Next to the door on the far right sits a desk. Marble lines its top and bottom, gray with shades of brown so light they're almost white. Above the marble which rests on the floor, wood appears. Almost sickly light-brown in hue, it flutes - inward first, constricting in uneven steps, then back out matching the movements in reverse. This could be the work of a craftsman, or maybe just a factory machine.
The wood makes broader strokes above this, large rectangles with smaller ones set in at even intervals. The largest rectangle sits facing directly forward, while smaller ones - two on each side - turn away, giving the desk its shape. Above these rectangles the wood moves in a final flourish, although one much smaller than it began with. Then it is topped with a thin layer of marble.
If someone were sitting at this lone desk, they may very well feel pinned in by the thick wood and marble rising to waist height. But nobody sits here. The desk stands solitary, unnoticed by the many passersby going in and out of the heavy doors, while it gathers dust.
-Kat
Monday, October 24, 2011
Cookies
This evening I baked many dozen cookies with my priest. That event inspired a haiku.
Baking late at night,
Sometimes weird things wander off.
Where's the cookie sheet?
-Kat
Baking late at night,
Sometimes weird things wander off.
Where's the cookie sheet?
-Kat
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Fall Leaves
Today I made up this place in my mind.
The reds of fall are so varied, it seems they can't all actually be called red. There are hues of orange and yellow speckled here and there among the fiery bright red and the deep wine red scattered across the garden path.
Standing at its head, the path appears to wander aimlessly away. First it angles to the right and bends around a large tree. On the other side of the tree, the path widens to accommodate a stone bench. This time of year, that bench holds the cold of each night throughout the day. Around its feet leaves are piled up, dropped by the ancient tree and stacked by the wind. The path continues on, moving to the left now, away from the tree and disappearing behind a small hill.
There are many trees here besides the ancient one standing in the path, and they all add to the preponderance of red on the garden floor. It's late in the season, the trees are grasping at their last few leaves and their spindly limbs mourn the loss of their warm layer. A few birds rest in the trees, watching as the sun sets. Coming up behind the setting sun are storm clouds. Dark blue-black, they already contain thunder and lightning and soon they'll drown this garden with much needed rain.
It's time to leave the leaf carpet, the empty trees, and the chilled stone, and come back to this garden another day.
-Kat
The reds of fall are so varied, it seems they can't all actually be called red. There are hues of orange and yellow speckled here and there among the fiery bright red and the deep wine red scattered across the garden path.
Standing at its head, the path appears to wander aimlessly away. First it angles to the right and bends around a large tree. On the other side of the tree, the path widens to accommodate a stone bench. This time of year, that bench holds the cold of each night throughout the day. Around its feet leaves are piled up, dropped by the ancient tree and stacked by the wind. The path continues on, moving to the left now, away from the tree and disappearing behind a small hill.
There are many trees here besides the ancient one standing in the path, and they all add to the preponderance of red on the garden floor. It's late in the season, the trees are grasping at their last few leaves and their spindly limbs mourn the loss of their warm layer. A few birds rest in the trees, watching as the sun sets. Coming up behind the setting sun are storm clouds. Dark blue-black, they already contain thunder and lightning and soon they'll drown this garden with much needed rain.
It's time to leave the leaf carpet, the empty trees, and the chilled stone, and come back to this garden another day.
-Kat
Friday, October 21, 2011
A Play
I went to see a play this evening, and this is my review in haiku form.
A tricky story,
Full of strong words and struggles -
Laughter and sadness.
-Kat
A tricky story,
Full of strong words and struggles -
Laughter and sadness.
-Kat
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Wind
The weather has been changing lately. It inspired this piece.
At first it is just the wind. Rushing through the trees and around the buildings, and moving my hair and the edges of my clothes - it overpowers everything with its presence.
Slowly other things begin to come out from behind the wind. Someone is walking by, their steps getting closer and closer, before fading away. A bird is sitting in the tree above me calling out into the wind. It's song stops, maybe it flew away. Rain is coming soon. the air smells so clean, as if the whole world has had its impurities removed. The smell of a coming rain is a promise that everything will be new again.
Far away, drumming starts up. The same patterns repeat over and over as the band practices. They give rhythm to the unpredictable wind, their sound stays constant while the wind moves the trees first one way, then another, in no particular manner. Closer than the drums, but not close to here, shouts begin as an impromptu football game starts up. Friendly calls of plays and instructions are followed by cheers as one side or the other scores.
The wind picks up, dropping the temperature as it passes - it's starting to get really cold now. When the wind starts going like this I feel it can move mountains - it certainly tries to move me. It gusts through the trees and then dies down again. The other sounds come back, but they show the effects. They seem more muted, more weary, they feel the powerful force of this wind.
The clock chimes, and my short reverie must end. I stand up and the wind pushes me on my way.
-Kat
At first it is just the wind. Rushing through the trees and around the buildings, and moving my hair and the edges of my clothes - it overpowers everything with its presence.
Slowly other things begin to come out from behind the wind. Someone is walking by, their steps getting closer and closer, before fading away. A bird is sitting in the tree above me calling out into the wind. It's song stops, maybe it flew away. Rain is coming soon. the air smells so clean, as if the whole world has had its impurities removed. The smell of a coming rain is a promise that everything will be new again.
Far away, drumming starts up. The same patterns repeat over and over as the band practices. They give rhythm to the unpredictable wind, their sound stays constant while the wind moves the trees first one way, then another, in no particular manner. Closer than the drums, but not close to here, shouts begin as an impromptu football game starts up. Friendly calls of plays and instructions are followed by cheers as one side or the other scores.
The wind picks up, dropping the temperature as it passes - it's starting to get really cold now. When the wind starts going like this I feel it can move mountains - it certainly tries to move me. It gusts through the trees and then dies down again. The other sounds come back, but they show the effects. They seem more muted, more weary, they feel the powerful force of this wind.
The clock chimes, and my short reverie must end. I stand up and the wind pushes me on my way.
-Kat
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Anniversary
I got some of the inspiration for this from a day sometime last year when I spent some time on a rainy Friday with my mom and a librarian reading the titles of trashy romance novels in the back of a library.
"I really don't want to do this," he said, trying to beg off our anniversary celebration. I stared him down and handed him the book.
"We're best friends and it's our one year anniversary - you are doing this," I replied settling into my half of our reading nook.
Our reading nook is a spot he carefully carved into his garden years ago. On three sides it is surrounded in spring blooms and lush summer foliage, and the fourth side is open to view the rest of the garden. The thick leaves block out all the sounds other than the wind gently moving through them. It was a beautiful fall day - the sun was shining but it was cool, and it was the last few weeks before these leaves would turn and fall. Soon the garden would sleep for the winter, and this nook would sleep as well.
He settled back into his pile of pillows and glared right back. "I just don't know why you feel the need to make this a celebratory thing - it's not really something that puts me in my best light." He was trying to stall, but he knew I wouldn't let up.
"A year ago today I found you here reading a trashy romance novel. That opened up a whole new side to our friendship, and we're celebrating" I replied. He closed his eyes, likely remembering the day I walked over unannounced to borrow something and found him out here in that compromising position.
"Fine," he said, "I don't get why you're making me do this but I know you won't let up."
"Good." I replied, opening up my own copy of the book for when my turn came. "Now start reading."
He began with the title - "The Greek Tycoon's Disobedient Bride," he announced in a grudging, but appropriately melodramatic voice, before proceeding to read aloud chapter one.
-Kat
"I really don't want to do this," he said, trying to beg off our anniversary celebration. I stared him down and handed him the book.
"We're best friends and it's our one year anniversary - you are doing this," I replied settling into my half of our reading nook.
Our reading nook is a spot he carefully carved into his garden years ago. On three sides it is surrounded in spring blooms and lush summer foliage, and the fourth side is open to view the rest of the garden. The thick leaves block out all the sounds other than the wind gently moving through them. It was a beautiful fall day - the sun was shining but it was cool, and it was the last few weeks before these leaves would turn and fall. Soon the garden would sleep for the winter, and this nook would sleep as well.
He settled back into his pile of pillows and glared right back. "I just don't know why you feel the need to make this a celebratory thing - it's not really something that puts me in my best light." He was trying to stall, but he knew I wouldn't let up.
"A year ago today I found you here reading a trashy romance novel. That opened up a whole new side to our friendship, and we're celebrating" I replied. He closed his eyes, likely remembering the day I walked over unannounced to borrow something and found him out here in that compromising position.
"Fine," he said, "I don't get why you're making me do this but I know you won't let up."
"Good." I replied, opening up my own copy of the book for when my turn came. "Now start reading."
He began with the title - "The Greek Tycoon's Disobedient Bride," he announced in a grudging, but appropriately melodramatic voice, before proceeding to read aloud chapter one.
-Kat
Friday, October 14, 2011
Driving
I went driving with my mom around Stillwater today, and it inspired a haiku.
Where does that road go?
Let's start driving and find out.
Into the country.
-Kat
Where does that road go?
Let's start driving and find out.
Into the country.
-Kat
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Strangers
Have you ever had someone come up to you and just start talking with you, like you already know each other? I find that absolutely weird when it happens. And I wrote something.
"I think I have you in one of my classes," she said as she sat in the chair across from him.
"I have no idea who you are," he thought while making a polite reply. They fell into something of a conversation; basic subjects, and safe ones. As the conversation progressed, he was surprised to find out how much this woman was willing to share with him. He stuck to topics that could be easily found in a google search, but she seemed willing and even wishing to share secrets with him that he would only tell his cat. This conversation was becoming awkward.
He continued to listen with half his attention, and bestowed the other half on the busy coffee shop they sat in. She was going on about her most recent fight with her boyfriend, while he saw the line at the register growing steadily at a rate faster than it shrank. The espresso machine hissed every minute or so breaking the white noise of all the conversations going on around them.
He took another sip of his bitter coffee and tried again to focus on this strange woman across form him. She was gesturing wildly now, speaking about a teacher she swore was crazy. He nodded his head and made some sound come out of his mouth, but she didn't seem to be looking for a response, so he let his mind wander away again.
"Why are coffee shops always brown?" He thought, looking at the brown walls, floor, tables, and chairs. They were different shades of brown, but all very brown. He found himself staring at a swirly brown pattern in the tuning out the world around him.
"Well I should be heading out," she said, grabbing her purse and standing up. He pulled his eyes up to her, just as she was turning to go, without even a good-bye. And he realized that, as much as he knew about her now, she didn't even know her name.
- Kat
"I think I have you in one of my classes," she said as she sat in the chair across from him.
"I have no idea who you are," he thought while making a polite reply. They fell into something of a conversation; basic subjects, and safe ones. As the conversation progressed, he was surprised to find out how much this woman was willing to share with him. He stuck to topics that could be easily found in a google search, but she seemed willing and even wishing to share secrets with him that he would only tell his cat. This conversation was becoming awkward.
He continued to listen with half his attention, and bestowed the other half on the busy coffee shop they sat in. She was going on about her most recent fight with her boyfriend, while he saw the line at the register growing steadily at a rate faster than it shrank. The espresso machine hissed every minute or so breaking the white noise of all the conversations going on around them.
He took another sip of his bitter coffee and tried again to focus on this strange woman across form him. She was gesturing wildly now, speaking about a teacher she swore was crazy. He nodded his head and made some sound come out of his mouth, but she didn't seem to be looking for a response, so he let his mind wander away again.
"Why are coffee shops always brown?" He thought, looking at the brown walls, floor, tables, and chairs. They were different shades of brown, but all very brown. He found himself staring at a swirly brown pattern in the tuning out the world around him.
"Well I should be heading out," she said, grabbing her purse and standing up. He pulled his eyes up to her, just as she was turning to go, without even a good-bye. And he realized that, as much as he knew about her now, she didn't even know her name.
- Kat
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Conversations
Stuff happened today that I wasn't expecting to happen, so I wrote a haiku.
Just chatting a bit,
We should probably head home -
Two hours later.
-Kat
Just chatting a bit,
We should probably head home -
Two hours later.
-Kat
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