Original Poem: New Dress

New Dress

Rachel Marie Talan

Tissues--

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.

Zzzzzipp.

A look in the mirror

with a sudden smile says:

Nothing heals

a fractured heart

like the touch of

a new dress.

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.

Cut.

The author spins phrases on his typewriter

while the sun strikes his back with 

warmth, with pain. 

Cut.

There’s a dandelion on the lawn. A 

lone survivor. All his friends, killed on

behalf of beauty’s war. 

Cut.

She sits at the bar and takes her

first drink in fifteen years.

Cut.

A penny is stranded, tail-side-up, in the gutter.

Cut.

A cigar still burns in an ashtray,

smoke dancing up and away from its

abandoned form.

Cut. 

The metronome ticks atop the musicless piano. 

Cut.

Original Poem: Clumsy

Clumsy

by Rachel Marie Talan

My poems are always so clumsy...

The words sort of

trip

over

each 

other

in choppy rhythm.

Are they even poems at all?

Just weak collections of lines.

The writings of others

know exactly

what they're about.

They've skipped adolescence

and stopped falling over their own feet.

Their text,

black, straight, organized,

stands erect

in perfect,

rectangular columns.

Not mine though.

Mine finds a way of

slipping

off

the

page.

____________________________________________________________________________________

As promised, this is the poem I had published in Nota Bene. I really enjoy playing with the positioning of words in my writing, and I absolutely love concrete poetry, which is a form of poetry where the words are placed intentionally out of alignment on the page in order to make a picture. It's quite fun. To me, poetry has always been like doing a puzzle.

Original Poem: Paper Tyranny

Last Friday I went with Courtney to a poetry reading in southern Wisconsin. The café was delightful and only carried organic products. I confess, I ate cheesecake and a cinnamon roll for dinner that night. The server told me she admired me, but there's nothing to be admired about a 20 year old eating sugar for dinner and then blowing bubbles in her milk because she's so nervous about reading a poem in front of an audience that she has lost all her common sense. 

But I digress...

It was my first time performing at an open mic, and I felt quite brave afterward -- like a gladiator of poets. The poem below is the one I read...into the microphone...that made my voice really really loud...so everybody could hear every single word I said...

Paper Tyranny

Rachel Marie Talan

We are paper dolls

in a paper world, and all

must fold before you.

Your wicked lips, like

paper clips, are click-clicking 

over paper ears. 

Crumpled citizens

listen and watch, faces blank

with unprinted fears.

Your scissors above

are casting shadows and dread:

Snip. Snip. We’re all dead.

I'd also like to thank everyone for the sweet words of encouragement you gave me on Monday. All of you are just swell :)

Original Poem: The Death of Love

The Death of Love
by Rachel Marie

Your hands on my waist.
We never dance,

but we laugh.
We laugh at each other.
We laugh at our friends.
We laugh at Love.

We hold him up by his shoe strings
and torture him with jokes and fairy tales
and stale valentines.

Because what you do to me isn't love.

Love does decades of forgetting.
Love does fear and pretense.
Love does anger and hate.
Love does loneliness and disaster.

But you.
You do something else.

I'd like to grab Love by the earlobe
and drag him around the room a few times.

I'd like to open a ninth-story window
and drop him onto the pavement.

Head first.
Smack.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Don't let my charming cynicism fool you. This is a love poem. I adore Valentine's Day. And I have a half dozen beautiful, romantic poems picked out for this month-long love fest.

Original Poem: This Poem Is Broken

This Poem Is Broken

by Rachel Marie Talan

Head tilted with the

slant of writing —

I craft “To Do” lists that

never get “To Done.”

I write letters to no one,

ink screaming out of the pen,

only to forget my signature.

All my poems are half-written,

as though the ends have just

broken off and been lost.

And I swear I’ll find the glue

to fix them someday.

Even this poem is broken:

it’s missing a corner,

right here, at the

__________________________________________________________________

Many of my poems end up self-depricating. Should I be concerned about this?

An Original Poem: "Loose Change"

Loose Change
by Rachel Marie Talan

I don't keep track of dates
-- I never was good with numbers.

I measure time in moments:
some delicate,
some solid,
some old
and tattered.

I collect them
in glass mason jars
and line them up
in little cupboards.

But moments with you --
I cram those inside my pockets.

They sing against one another
like loose change.

_________________________________________________________________________________

It's been quite awhile since I've written a poem. It feels good to exercise that skill again.

Recently I was notified that my poem "Clumsy" is going to be published in Phi Theta Kappa's 2011 annual literary publication. So that was quite validating. After submitting to so many publications and being denied, it's relieving to be accepted. If you don't want to wait until the publication is printed to read it, you can find it here on my blog.

I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks for reading.

A Bit of Rubbish

Though I am a bookworm who truly does enjoy learning, the academic situation tends to drain me of my creative capabilities. I've been working on a short story for the past month, and though I have a working outline, I've only written a few substantial sentences. And as far as poetry goes...I've written nothing but utter crap since summer. I know all writers experience blocks sometimes, but it's still rather depressing.


But perhaps this pitiful inkling of a poem is the beginnings of a creative awakening:




"Microphone"


She moves of your volition,
her face close, closer.
You pick her up,
hold her slender body to you.
Warming under your palms,
she's part of you now.
Lips moving against her,
your voice breathes,
screams into her.




I submitted a piece to the local newspaper two months ago. I've been told it will be published, but they cannot tell me exactly when it will be (which irks me a bit). So that will be exciting to see my name in print. I'll be sure to let all of you know when it is finally published. Hopefully that will encourage my pen to befriend me again.