Monthly Archives: February 2013

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet #7


Another product of English class boredom! Took about ten minutes to write. P.S the word dreamed is pronounced dree-med.

Sonnet #7

In farms that line the dirty miners shed

That boasts of Dragons slayed outside it’s wall

Of tales so fanciful they’re mass did spread

I walk, bereft of shoes, through trees so tall

Collecting little stones to hit the beast

That in my childhood’s dreamed mind did know

I fell asleep and ate a banquet feast

Then journeyed on again to fight this foe.

His massive claws that tore apart the earth,

I see the scales that line his rigid back,

But suddenly I find the creature’s worth

That ‘gainst the green of grass his form did lack.

A veil of shimmer melts away his former wild,

And lo, my brother lost from former child.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


Erasure poetry


Sorry that I havn’t posted…

This is part of an erasure poem that I am in the process of making. Erasure poetry is made by taking books and crossing out words from each page to make a new work of fiction and or poetry within the existing work. Here is a little sneak peek of what I have erased! I am 42 pages into this 67 page book as of today. At the bottom is a funny example of erasure that I found whilst searching the internet.

A miniature history of opera

a birds eye and
clear drawn
features are remebered,
In a way that seems to
A music-lover
pose a mere outline map,
the detail
a fresh view of
artistic geography-
a skeleton map.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


Anna and the Silverbirch-dedicated to the many lost trees of Veterans Park



The city cut down the tree from my backyard
and saved the sawed bits to recycle
into money, what with the linnen so scarse, they say
with what else they can convey to me
it “died of a desiese”, they say
like the sick old man
who hangs
on the limbs of the branches
and as he hangs

when the sun’s gold reflects on his bruised cheek

I notice, and then the spirit of the tree says
it wants me to come away,and
show me an older time
the oldest it had been
as shade for two lovers
to share a kiss.
I take the rest of it’s memory
and bind it
carefully, and blistering my painted fingers,

I wrap up it’s contents

with my tears
and it’s own paper.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

About the current cinema



Is it just me, or have their been ALLOT of fairy tale-turned-horror story movies out there that have been made over the past year  (Red Riding Hood, Snow White and the Huntsman, Hansel and Gretel Witch Hunters, Jack the Giant Slayer, the TV show “Grimm”)

what do you think? Do you think that screenwriters are getting paid to make cruddy movies, or are you spitting in my face and getting out tickets to see these formulaic pieces of trash at the theater?

Honestly,  how much can one REALLY take of Brothers Grimm fairy-tale movie adaptations? After a while, they all sort of look the same.

Your annoyed friend,

Golden Star Poetry

Sonnet # 6


I don’t know why, but some of my poems have been getting quite gory and gruesome, and I hate it. I am also an official hypocrite now, because I absolutely HATE edgy, jumbled, gory prose.  In fact, I often find myself picking up a New Yorker Magazine  and mocking the tasteless poems they showcase. I think I just want to fit in…oh well. Darn stupid poet-pressure!

Another gory poem coming your way…

Sonnet #6 

The loneliness is stooped upon the grass

A touch of tatter’d longing where was none

And now  the world spins long and light and fast

A thousand moons have shown though be but one.

I whisper to an empty  face that dies

That leaves without goodbye to last alone

Your heart does melt like wax before my eyes

I grasp it’s void of closeness that has grown,

And slip away unnoticed through the cracks

With you to lead my way that spans quite far

I loose myself in blood and blues and blacks

We both are torn from life that leaves it’s scar:

I wake, the morning quiet, still,and warm

And breathe relieving breathes when you ne’er form.


Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

As the Blade Touches the Throught


I was inspired to write this whilst standing outside on my balcony to get some sun. There was wind blowing and the sun was warm and it was absolutely magnificent! Although the poem may seem gruesome a bit, it carries other deep  meanings of which I hope you can find. It is mainly a counter play on the story of King Saul and David.

As the Blade Touches the Throught

Left and right

this army of heaven goes

and past one star

their battlescene can reminice

a gnarled allegience

to no one in particular.

Their swords flash over my head

and as their clink echoes, my

blood turns into water.

My mind can take no more orders

that were lured into my dreams

and made me think of

the hypnotized me,

from a glance our swords kick upward

but on a closer examination

they have not been moving at all.

You told our soldior freinds

that a locket

kept a man hidden from his own destiny

and that the secret he kept

would never rub off.

You told me

that in all your life

you never kept your eyes away

from your own faults

and that the faults of the universe

could all somehow be your own.

Our eyes meet with such a vengance

that I wonder what to do next.

Our swords fling

but I am too quick to answer


you inquire,

as the blade touches the through,

faults sliping out;

and your last breath:

endlessly the clay puppets dance

on the clay tiles

of the stone turrets

all the people thought that the madmen

escaped again.

I knew that the madmen escaped again. But maybe it was a 

trick of light?

These faults you had

but did not know

they wandered for you

and drank from the same cups

and loiterd our streets

and sang.

They, too, were these madmen the

judges speak of, they say,

when the woman will all dance

at the victories of David.

Copyright 2013 Golden star Poetry

HAPPYNESS UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I just found out that I HAVE won something in the scholastic art and writing awards! I won a regional honerable mention in flash fiction, and regional Silver medal in another flash fiction ( nothing at all for poetry, though…). when I found out i was screaming with joy!

Now off to do homework and study for tests (boo).


Lighting the match (after Llyn Foulkes exibition)


I have never written a poem like this before….

Lighting the Match

hello she said to the clock

one day it left her bedside and ran away

Now her memory went faster than her mind could make it out
She wasnt mine
i wasnt hers
And the leftover days made their impression on me
She was stuck in an oil painting
Much like myself
Who was acustomed to lighting the match
To the unfinished canvas
And throwing away beer bottles
Into the fire place
And the sand and the glasses
not mothballs
Or dust
Or the old clocks who clucked their toungs
And beat her till she could memorize every second passing
Much like my mother who
Wasnt accustomed to this new life
This new existance of mankind
who had left her to breathe like a squandered battalion on the side of a muntain road
On the edges of a cool framework
And her fraying body
Who all thought I was gone.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


Stream of Consciousness #2


this boat breaks my heart every time I see it

you see it, right?

I am going blind, you say, i am going blind too, I say, this has to be a dream we both whisper, our mouths don’t even touch the roofs of our palates, we just lie there, limp, hanging,

you took an Advil as if that would help, we lay on the couch, our sight was gently diminishing. our eyes held steady for one more moment, then we were officially blind, i say,you know, deal with life-make it pretty, and you say i don’t know what that means sister i don’t know what that means

like only our mothers would tell us, like only our cousin from Barcelona  the third cousin you like. you said he asked you to come visit the flowers there once and you said you had no money and he said that he would give you money and

we stood on the stoop of his house like idiots you remember,

they were both alike,

they both came from Barcelona  they both had tongs for hearts, they both had eyes for glasses and trucks for goons. left handed, they were both left handed  there were two cousins and they looked alike and we both wanted to marry them and you said-

the artist was one

the painter was one

the writer was one

the poet was one

they both carried their brushes to their hearts

and their pens to their hearts

and they swore allegiance to us with the points of their spears

and they knighted us :WOMAN.

we were to stay inside now, not to watch the children play, not to watch the days go by, not to feel the sun creep over the sky, not to say hello or goodbye  not to feel like I might die like i might fade away seeing that my sight is gone now

we are one little sisterhood, two brothers marry two sisters what a nice pair what a nice pair what a nice pair they all say, they all say they see the picket fence and think that all is okay in Barcelona

in wherever you are, wherever you carry your hearts or wherever you fools are.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry