Friday, May 4, 2012

Original Poem: New Dress

New Dress
Rachel Marie Talan
fallen soldiers of love
have surrendered,
their bodies scattered over the floor,
a trail from the bed 
to the bathroom vanity.
Ben and Jerry,
beneath the bedside lamp,
are arguing who
has dibs on the silver lady,
lying at the nightstand’s edge.
The bed’s pillows are 
wrinkled and angry
and the TV has
been on for days, 
mourning the ends of
shows stuck in reruns,
characters never aging.
The walk-in closet
glows yellow
--a bulb about to burn out--
and hangers
are tangled bitterly
over the mouth of a
hungry hamper.
Then the front door clicks.
Footsteps up the stairs.
A box on the bed.
The TV off.
Purse slung
into a chair.
A look in the mirror
with a sudden smile says:
Nothing heals
a fractured heart
like the touch of
a new dress.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Silent, I Would Walk Barefoot Through the Forest Like a Native

Despite my feet always being ice cubes, I am happiest barefoot and free. While hiking, I often pretend I'm a Native American, sneaking around barefoot without rustling any of the leaves. But Josh makes me leave my shoes on because he insists that parasites, fungus or the black plague will soak up through the soles of my feet. And I listen to him because I know that even if those things didn't happen to me, I'd probably just stab my fragile feet with twigs or something because I'm not always the most graceful ballerina in the company

But shoes aren't so bad I suppose. And these are my favorites. Since purchasing them in January from The Paraders, I scarcely go a day without them...

Friday, April 27, 2012

Original Poem: The Kuleshov Effect

Recently, Josh did a stop motion video of me writing out one of my poems called "The Kuleshov Effect." Stop motion is done by taking consecutive photos and then playing them back at 24 frames/sec. It gives the film a choppy look, and with the antique effect Josh used, this really looks like an antique film (well, except for the two cars in my driveway). I hope you love it as much as I do!


The Kuleshov Effect
Rachel Marie Talan
Shelved books gather dust like old,
forgotten trophies. Sunlight streams through 
the open window,
a spotlight.
The author spins phrases on his typewriter
while the sun strikes his back with 
warmth, with pain. 
There’s a dandelion on the lawn. A 
lone survivor. All his friends, killed on
behalf of beauty’s war. 
She sits at the bar and takes her
first drink in fifteen years.
A penny is stranded, tail-side-up, in the gutter.
A cigar still burns in an ashtray,
smoke dancing up and away from its
abandoned form.
The metronome ticks atop the musicless piano. 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

"It would protect me on the cold walk into the village for milk"

This lovely 1950s trench coat has been so trusty and warm and perfect. However, as much as I adore it, I am ready to retire it for the season. I'm also ready to retire my textbooks (at least for a time). I'm ready to instead pick up my high waisted shorts, sandals, and my leather bound journal. How I miss writing and reading for my own pleasure. I'm ready for summer's freedom and adventures.

There are so many things I want to learn that I cannot find time for while I am still in school --- ironic isn't it? I made a list of resolutions when the New Year came about, but I feel like I need to make another one for summer.

And so...some hopeful summer plans:

x learn to really sew with my new sewing machine
x learn to skillfully operate the animation software I purchased for Meep and Merp
x translate my favorite French poems
x take a yoga class
x buy a bike

And knowing me, there will be many more. I'm too ambitious for my own good.

Do you have any premature summer plans like I do?


This outfit was worn awhile ago. But some of these images didn't appear in the original post. And I am still wearing this trench coat every bitter cold April day.

This post title is a quote from Billy Collins' poem "The Lesson."

Friday, April 20, 2012

Featured Poet: Gina Alyse

by Gina Apperson
To someone else
Dried flowers may seem better
Than a collection of random
Literary extracts.
An extract of honey perfume
May smell more welcoming
Than the crisp paper pages
My fingers hold.
A diamond ring that flashes
With every change of light
May bedazzle more brilliantly
Than the next metaphor listed.
In fact the next hidden meaning
Of this delicate language
May just go unnoticed
As clouds spiral day by day,
Making curtains in the air.
Such curtain, only of lies,
Would then feel softer
Than the quiet melody
Of missing voices
In the beryl skies.
And the sweet music that vibrates
Daily instead
Would sound better
Than the flawless flow
Of words voiced with strong soul
To someone else.
But never am I
This someone else.


Featured Poet: Gina Alyse is a delight. She keeps an eclectic blog where she catalogues her interests and daily musings, and she was kind enough to feature some of my work.  "Potpourri" has such a calm rhythm to it. I especially love the lines "as clouds spiral day by day, making curtains in the air." Such a lovely image. 

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

For Reasons, Most Wondrous

"To the garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber;

"The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, have brought me again,         5
Amorous, mature—all beautiful to me—all wondrous;
My limbs, and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous;

"Existing, I peer and penetrate still,
Content with the present—content with the past,

"By my side, or back of me, Eve following,  10
Or in front, and I following her just the same."

---- "To the Garden of the World" by Walt Whitman

Outfit Details:

Photos taken by Josh.

Earrings//Vintage, 1950s
Cardigan//Charlotte Russe
Dress (worn as blouse)//Vintage, 1980s
Skirt//Vintage, 1960s - via Vintage Archives
Shoes//Vintage 1960s
Handbag//Vintage 1950s