Spring CataclysmicSpring is in the death of me.Spring Cataclysmic by TheGlassIris
I am all flower and no flower. The air too
is complicit in its secret-keeping. All
either or's or either/or. My mouth
tastes like the word “whore.” Gardening day,
the shoots are budding, green onions
must be chopped before they sprout, many
common vegetables are edible when young, grown old
they are poisonous flowers turned to dust, they are
older now. The roots must be too deep in concrete;
the foundations are all coming apart. Leaving
and going. There are houses to be sought, trees
full of paperwork to be filled out. This whole world
is a mesh of leaves, forms, and envelopes. The whole world
tastes of shredded wheat. And I am both ink and combine harvester.
Gods Comforting the DeadImagine a thousand pieces, a museumGods Comforting the Dead by TheGlassIris
full of these wandering deities, each
holding their hands out to the desperate,
the deceased spies of the living world. Each
smiles kindly, words or two
full of grace, full of an unknowable beauty.
So much that they terrify the dead and dying.
“It's too good to be true,” they think. They hold themselves
like a knot keeping itself from unraveling, they
bind to earth, they bite down. The gods
make their move, we make ours.
How We Made Him HumanIt was the blood, see? Here,How We Made Him Human by TheGlassIris
in the main artery just above the chambered heart. Here,
where the child ends and the demons begin
that delicate crystallization, the adult
emerging from a blackened, charred husk
like some poor butterfly, the wings
reversed into thin paper. A picture
more like. A fragment of what was promised.
The adult emerges like a face in still landscape.
Angry, contorted, the eyes like little black coals.
The smile now, appears in defiance of all that is
any kind of joy, defined, then rebuffed.
His mouth is full of blood. He sups
on somebody's snapped neck.
He's fine with it. Says it
can't be helped. Said he was protecting
things, someone. Said
he's tired of protecting.
Demons, they walk the alleys,
black leather, red eyes, a clatter
of chains on jeans, smoke and cigarettes,
vampire teeth. He smiles, a look,
a faded reproduction of the child
he used to be. It's in the blood. It must be
stricken out. A pause, like a comma,
just a breath in time. A kiss
on those blood-r
TransfigurationIn class, the students stareTransfiguration by TheGlassIris
as the Professor turns a quick circle
in the air, waving the wand like one flicks on
the light in a dark room. Her desk
grunts in frustration, waddling unhappily
on cloven feet, its massive frame, now
ungainly and filled with tiny holes,
the hair like a million minuscule trees
leaking out. From multi-planed
There is a general
look of amazement
until she mentions
this is an art available
well-past their first year.
in disbelief. The professor
goes on, explaining
how they would not be turning furniture
into anything with snouts or whiskers,
amphibious gills, or even the most remote
resemblance of a spine. No.
Strict educational guidelines: For first-year students,
there are restrictions, rules, simplistic tests.
Controls and supervision abound. Only
small organisms, invertebrates.
Exoskeletons and six to eight legs for them.
She begins handing out buttons. Moans
of complaint issue around her. The air is heavy.
She throws back
Body SociopoliticBody Sociopolitic (6'3" In Stilettos and 122 lbs. Last Year)Body Sociopolitic by akrasiel
7, 8, I can't remember
A group of boys knock me down on the playground and steal my glasses. They give them back by the end of recess.
Skinny legs from dance and soccer.
#1 tells me I'm beautiful. He is three years older and teaches me orthography and the language of my body.
A girl in PE class asks if I shave my legs. Later that year, I start.
The school librarian says I could be a hand model. Wristbone like a burial hill, tendons that flex when I draw, long fingers tipped with long nails my friends envy.
None of the boys at school look at me.
My friend says someone asked if she shaves her arms. Our arms match our thick brown hair and we wonder who the hell would bother.
A girl in CAPP class with too many accessories says I could be a model. Skinny arms, skinny legs. Ribs and hip bones and collarbones poke through my skin.
A boy in PE class from the hockey team
5'7'', 176 LBS (170 CM, 80 KG)5'7'', 176 LBS (170 CM, 80 KG)5'7'', 176 LBS (170 CM, 80 KG) by chromeantennae
it’s six-seventeen in the morning
and the water is just getting hot again
(my mother wakes up at ungodly hours)
and as i wait to turn on the shower,
i catch my own reflection
looking back at me.
and i take this time to look in,
instead of merely glancing.
light azure cotton assures me i’m in shape
before i remove it over my hair
looking like a bird’s nest
combined with everest.
i drop the shirt to the tile
and run my hands over my torso
north, flowing like the nile river.
my brown skin doesn’t move against the traction
and i suppose that means it’s tight to the muscle
or the bone, or whatever it is
(i was never good with science or
biology or really physical education.).
but my eyes run over my hair,
my own eyebrows, expressive
as they rise and fall. move and contort,
they're the main reason
that i've never been able to hide
how i feel.
or appear sad when i'm merely thinking.
ears not all that wide
Astronauti.238,900 miles away
the Earth gleams in the darkness.
A cat's eye, opalescent blue
flecked with terra verdant,
fifty-two cream colors
Under a heavy lid of night,
it glares. Angry.
As if to say to the Sun:
I was dreaming
of all the fish
in my seas.
As if to ask why
it had to be woken.
Thoughts are protozoan here;
with glass-thin skin
transparent as the first lie
he ever told as a child.
I didn't steal that candy bar.
He can see the mechanics,
They divide like dreams,
Whole and unbroken
as they tear apart. If
he could stretch far enough,
he could pop his home planet
like soap bubble.
he's too small
to make much
of a difference.
238,900 miles away,
there is a small click.
A tiny latch
as his 14-year-old daughter
slides her seatbelt
She's learning how to drive,
and how to feel a new kind of terror.
of collision. Of bone
or brick breaking,
Lightyears at SeaHis whispered goodbyes caught fire
in the whites of her eyes as wild dogs
and empty oceans devoured him.
Standing still for years, she with
a waiting heart and waiting fingers
gave birth to ghosts with feathers.
Haunting in his sleep, swinging like
sharp jewelry and pendulums
carving cryptic messages upon his floor-
'You, with your tattooed baptism skin
and slithering tongue of sweet poison
left her aching ashes to mix with gunpowder.'
Hi, I'm Andrew Liu. I'm 19, a student at East Los Angeles College and Pasadena City College, and I love to write. That's me in the picture, staring at the Lansdowne Herakles held in the Getty Villa. If I look bemused, it's because he doesn't have a dick. I've been writing since middle school and I started taking it seriously around senior year, so, sixteen or seventeen. My favorite genres are urban fantasy (Harry Potter, Percy and the Olympians, Fablehaven, that sort of stuff) and fantasy (Cry of the Icemark, American Gods, Good Omens). I mostly write poetry. I switched over from prose because I could never manage to finish writing short stories. And I mostly write as a hobby. |
I'm also an English major. My favorite period is American Modernism. I've read T.S. Eliot, E.E. Cummings, Robert Frost, Wallace Stevens. I'm a big poetry buff. My all-time favorite pieces of poetry are pretty varied though: Cathy Song "Cloud Moving Hands", Sharon Olds "The Elder Sister" & "I Go Back to May, 1937", Sylvia Plath "Mirror" & "Fever 103", Mark Doty "Tiara", Elizabeth Bishop "The Fish", and Muriel Rukeyser "Song for Dead Children."
If I were to summarize my writing style in three words it would be: lush, dream-like, and intense. People have always told me that I'm very good at imagery and description, but not so much at editing or making sure my work flows effortlessly.
Other hobbies I have include video games, anime, and more reading I guess. All time favorite video games: Folklore (PS3), Bastion (PC), Dust: An Elysian Tale (PC), Persona 4 (PS2). All time favorite animes: Natsume Yuujinchou (Natsume's Book of Friends), Puella Magi Madoka Magica (Magical Girl Madoka), Nodame Cantabile, Ao no Exorcist (Blue Exorcist-manga only), and Magi (again, manga only). All time favorite books: Caramelo (Sandra Cisneros), American Gods (Neil Gaiman), The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald), Asterios Polyp (David Mazzuchelli), Like Water For Chocolate (Laura Esquivel), and Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury).
I swear I read and watch more than this, it's just I'm really picky and have strangely specific tastes. Ask me for writing critique and feedback. I'm more than happy to give advice.