thepinewarren

[thepinewarren]

Working on my thesis (novel), knitting, enjoying good tea, slow-making.

How is everyone spending this weekend?

[thepinewarren]

It was a sunny morning and I went to the lake to see the bright autumn colours, but as I got near I entered a wall of fog so thick it felt like I was driving off the edge of the world into nothingness.

At the lake there were no colours at all, no shapes either, only pure introspective silence, so instead of walking I just sat here.

After you've looked at fog long enough seeing objects feels oddly demanding, like something you're actively doing. The fog dissipated slowly and reluctantly so at first some colours and shapes would appear, surrounded by misty emptiness. I felt a bit like a plant being offered a glimpse into animal consciousness, to see what the fuss is about.

[thepinewarren]

Write a poem that best reflects this current moment in your life

[thepinewarren]

MFA+bonus edition

[thepinewarren]

There's a tilt to your head that you get when you look at me sometimes. Your eyes become half-lidded and somehow darker than they already were. There's this sense of leaning toward, like you're pulled in by a gravity you don't want to resist but know you should.

I've seen these looks before. I time them like I time the space between lightning and thunder. Like I measure the space between the minute and hour hands.

I know you're not aware of them, and that makes them feel like my own secret. Small treasures to tuck away just for myself.

Then, one morning, over your 7-11 cup of coffee, you looked with intention.

I had to tear my eyes away. I couldn't let you see whatever I might not know was in them. I stared at my bagel instead, like it was somehow anything I could focus on. Like I was thinking about how it'd taste.

But fuck if you don't teach me how to go hungry.

Were you perceived?

And did you look back?

[thepinewarren]

There's this distance—

[small touches

closeness

not commented on

unsaid words

unheard words

am I making all this up in my head

is it a tangible thing

or is it

like the reflection of a bird on water:

fleeting

only looking like it was real?

what do we say

in the space from

your hand to my knee

what do we feel

in the space around

our words]

—between us.

Write a poem that best reflects this current moment in your life

[thepinewarren]

Spilled ink is trending? What year is it? Is it 2012? You want spilled ink? Here's some spilled ink...

Behind clenched teeth

I hold your memory

Tongue still under the weight

Like you are the coin

Destined to pay my ferry

Across the Styx

But I am not ready to rest

And the ghost of you

Chokes me

[thepinewarren]

Southern Mid-Atlantic Appalachian Mountains: a spine of the world that dreams of the ocean

There is nearly half a season's difference between the bottom of the mountain to the top ridges. Virginia bluebells carpet every space between the trees along the river. Eastern wood pewees hunt for ledges to nest upon and the pileated woodpeckers warble to one another. The redbuds are slow to wake this year. One week was so dry and cold a friend's house burned down when a spark lifted out of the chimney. Two weeks later the drainage ditches were flush streams in their own right.

Slow. I am tired. I want to step outside the incessant call of life away from this mountain and devote time to listen. To breathe the daffodil-sweet air. To lie in the sun next to our planters and wait for the seedlings to push up through the rich soil. To open the windows in the rain and let the cool breeze lift the curtains.

Spring where you are -

Location: (can be a general region like “Midwest” or “city” or something)

What it’s like: (observations, ecology, who is out and about, quiet moments, hiding places, etc.)

How it makes you feel:

[thepinewarren]

imagine the art that could be created if people weren't suffering just to survive.

[thepinewarren]

Alice Te Punga Somerville, Always Italicise: How to Write While Colonised - Kupu rere kē

[thepinewarren]

2023 is the Year of Poison.

We name our years based off our summers, based off the most prominent insect or similar we notice. This year, there was none. We had an extermination service come out—our third time using him, a good old country gentleman who like to talk a lot about his cats—for the carpenter ants earlier in the summer, and now there are no other insects who have been plentiful enough.

The wildfires cast even more into the air, drifting down from the north in hazy clouds that smelled of burning pollution. Even if we hadn't had targeted poison applied all around the perimeters of our house, would the smoke had the same effect? Even the trees here are turning early, tired and stressed from the wildfire haze so pervasive the whole season.

tell me how you will remember this summer

[thepinewarren]

As a society we have done thistles so dirty. Not even pollinator-plant zealots recommend planting thistles even though pollinators go absolutely crazy over them.

I saw 2 (two) Great Spangled Fritillaries trying to cram themselves onto the same thistle flower today as well as a thistle plant with multiple American Bumblebees on it. These things are a monarch magnet too.

I know what I'm gonna be gathering seeds from

[thepinewarren]

September Prompts

1. everything matters 2. house key 3. bread 4. college football season (again) 5. school bag 6. willow street 7. disappointed father 8. seaward 9. relapse 10. ruination 11. trilogy 12. asters & goldenrod 13. lamprey 14. final rites 15. trespassing 16. below 17. not a lover 18. study group 19. vantage 20. rosary 21. questions to ask your mother 22. observer 23. cool nights 24. ultimatum 25. lonely boy 26. burning field 27. glancing blow 28. harvest moon 29. the empty homes 30. warm colors

[thepinewarren]

cumulus ceiling

broken beams of blue and gold

support fleeting day

[thepinewarren]

source

[thepinewarren]

love is both a choice and an inevitability. it is a door that, once you open it, lets everything in: the sunlight, the rain, the moonlight, the insects, the snow. it is open windows through which laughter drifts. the kitchen with homemade bread and soup. it is the quiet of the room where you read next to one another. the tenderness and rapture of the bedroom. the clean steam of the bathroom. love is a house you tend and fix and add onto and live in every day.

[thepinewarren]

xxxi. killed - 8.31.22 @nosebleedclub

In these woods you either belong, or you are an interloper. Keep walking along your trail that follows the mountain's spine and do not linger here. There are old things that live in the shadows. They are always watching you, watching one another, watching the forest.

You know if you belong here, belong to these woods. Not in. To. Those old things still slip through the shadows, but now they look for you. Tread lightly and watch for nooks in the rocks where you step. A flash of dark, sharp teeth is all it takes. The poison slows you. The claws toy with you. The talons shred you. The weight crushes you.

In these woods you learn real quick to respect the shadows and the old things, or you won't be here long.