When Kyle Wilkerson fell from the sky, no one noticed. He laid in the dirt for over a day, just sucking on his thumb, hungry. But think about it: a limp sack of blood, cartilage, organs, still forming bones, all spills from a woman's vagina... it's screaming like it is the end of all things... a man in sterilized white cuts the thick chord that links the mother's soul to her child. What is normal about that? So when you think about all the mess of birth, what happened with Kyle doesn't look as strange. Yelping, you clawed your way out of the Darwinian swimming pool; Kyle quietly landed among rows of sheathed corn in Iowa. So we gave you the attention you demanded, and left Kyle to the care of the crows in the field.

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What do you think? Good or no?

Well, two poems and one song. I've written half of them and I am having trouble figuring out what to do with a sort of ending. I figured I could post them in here so people can see what I'm doing. Hell, maybe someone will have an idea. You never know.

As yet untitled, here is a half-finished poem about prayer, which may actually be two quarter-finished poems, and which may or may not even be worth finishing.

Untitled

God, I never pray.
I try so hard not to pray,
and curse when my hands clasp at close of day.

Then, when I kneel,
I try so hard not to feel
As whispers are ripped off my lips like an orange peel.

Still, a tangible transcendence hovers over my clay shell
covering me in honey bees that plummet into my body,
and hum within my pierced organs until my lungs yell
that they’ve swollen like tomatoes, until I burst with piety.


Then there is this song, which, despite sounding wonderful, I really can't figure out where to go with.

Grace Song

I once stood scared
At the foot of an infinite mountain
Under-prepared
Under a height I could not place.
Then I was repaired
By the hand which had moved me there
And which had once scarred me:
an infinite grace.

And now I try to climb
Up these cliffs as sharp as knives
But as I crawl forward I slide
Back and these actions form my life.
Still I will try
To reach a mountaintop sunrise.


And there is, actually, another Slam poem in progress. Problem is, the second verse is much better than the first, and, it basically drops off in the middle of the third verse, which is where I got stuck.


A Baptism

Let's not talk
let's just walk down to the water
where we might question why we wonder
when, now that the silver lines along the walkways,
which descend into creation’s color
and place a rainbow glaze around our days
have been torn away, each day looks just like every other.
Such that our many routines rob us of meaning
And we can only wonder why we bother.
For isn’t life just another blunder
where we've been pressed into the blender
by the fingertips of God
who is now flipping the switch on.

Though now the river’s rippling waves have begun to shimmer.
The sun's rays gaze in through the ether;
it’s beams gleam upon this once darkened stream,
this once murky water
and now my soul will burst with wonder.
Each rung among the many that compose
The step-ladder to my spine—they shiver, they shiver.
And now I take back all my blather
And bow before God’s glorious splendor.
We walk along the water here;
God shines down light to drive out fear.

Or at least so it appears,
but can this feeling heal the sears
that have singed into my sides and eyes
and burned my body’s faith blind?


So yeah, hopefully some of these will be popping up as bright new deviations soon, and completed. Usually I am good with endings, though, and I am having a LOT of trouble with these. Well, we'll see what happens.


EDIT:
I did come up with an ending (and a title) for the first one. Its now called Compulsion. I will come back to it tonight and probably upload it some time tomorrow.

Anyone hiding out there?

Just curious.

Mostly prose now. I tried to upload a few things, but the deviantart format is really horrible for prose. If anyone is interested, I can send someone a few of the stories I've written via attachments as a word file.

They run about 2,500 to 5,000 words. IE: 7-15 pages on a word file. Let me know.

Is coming in two weeks. Which means I will be able to be on this site a little more for a bit.

I am interested to see what people on here have been writing. But I don't see what the point in going around and reading deviations at random, when I could run into something that doesn't represent the best of a person's work.

If you would like, put what you think is your best deviation on this journal and in the next few weeks I will read it and give what response I can.