mr-youse

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A Bitter Sestina by mr-youse, literature

Literature

A Bitter Sestina

It's been a while since I read a good story, not one used to teach some backwards concept, under the command of some near-dead stick, inflated with old belief. I don't think it's right. Don't we as students have the right to consume our own world, and read what we deem important? My belief, not a personal mantra used to discredit yours, is some dead men don't need to be dug up. Under a heavy blanket of history, my under- standing gets lost between a write- er's words and his intentions. Maybe it's dead language that trips me, or an avid read- er's constant deja vu, but tasting used thoughts bubbling from the belief of a grav

Leap Day, version 2 by mr-youse, literature

Literature

Leap Day, version 2

- Genesee County 911. - I have a student at Buell School that has been downed. I need an ambulance immediately! ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ On Leap Day, February 29, 2000, Alicia Judd wakes up to the sound of her neighbors yelling. She can't make out what they're saying, but she can discern five separate voices through her paper-thin walls, and by their muffled tones they sound on the brink of throwing things. Alicia grabs her plastic clock, the numbers spilling a red aura over her face and blanket, and turns off the alarm. Alicia rolls towards the window, the ancient mattress compl

The Shoe-box, version 2 by mr-youse, literature

Literature

The Shoe-box, version 2

When my grandfather passed away, I was asked to speak at his funeral. "You were the only family he had left," people insisted, lightly squeezing my arm as a gesture of sympathy. But the truth was he was the only family I had left as well. With him gone, there was nothing left for me but my empty apartment. I went to his house the night after he passed, like I had so many nights before, only his gruff voice wasn't there to greet me. I opened the front door and stepped into the cozy living room, eyeing the worn blue chair he spent most of his time in, now empty, and walked over to sit down next to it. On an old t

Leap Day by mr-youse, literature

Literature

Leap Day

- Genesee County 911. - I have (gasp) a student at Buell School (gasp) that has been downed. I need an ambulance immediately! ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ Alicia Judd wakes up on leap day, the 29th of February, to the sound of her neighbors yelling. She can't understand what they are saying but she can make out four or five distinct voices getting louder, their sharp inflections pouring through her paper-thin walls. She rolls over towards the single bedroom window, the ancient mattress moaning under her shifting position, and pulls the stained shade open. Outside, the broken glass in her tall grass gleans in the ea

..... by mr-youse, literature

Literature

.....

(don't follow me) she said and i dragged along her coattails with my nose in the dirt, breathing in her musky pheromones like angel dust. (trust in us) she cooed and my blisters popped thick pus into my battle scars, my feet bruised, head down like a servant. (i love you) she offered and jumped on a sinking ship towards Eden, hungry for an apple, thirsty for a snake. (what happened) she asked six-thousand-miles below, and me, i scratch at mirrors and reach for the scars on my pale face.

Notepad Haikus - About a Girl by mr-youse, literature

Like Father, Like Son by mr-youse, literature

she by mr-youse, literature

Esther by mr-youse, literature

Literature

Esther

you do not do, you do not do anymore, Sylvia, your thumb stump a lid stamp, redcoats feeding flowers (chrysanthemums, every one) a Lady of the Earth, box in a green field, fair skin and farewell to that jar, that bell who ate up all your air and pushed you head-first into an oven. Is this how you depart? singed hair and hospital wards, not enough for your thick words. to die a third time, like a Jew, are there marks of the boot-heel? was it a poem, like everything else, or were we not enough for you? Oh Sylvia, Ach du.

The Shoe-box by mr-youse, literature

Literature

The Shoe-box

After my grandfather died, I took his most prized possession - the last fragment of family I had left - and planted it in the garden outside my apartment building. It was an old brown shoe-box, corners wrinkled from years of fighting gravity, fingerprints eroded into the weak cardboard from endless hours of his cradling. It was the trophy that sat proudly in the center of his fireplace mantle. Once, when I was eight years old, I asked him about it. "Grandpa," I said, "what's in that old box?" A sly grin crawled across his old face, and he lifted the shoe-box off the mantle and sat it on his lap. "Well,

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A Bitter Sestina by mr-youse, literature

Literature

A Bitter Sestina

Leap Day, version 2 by mr-youse, literature

Literature

Leap Day, version 2

The Shoe-box, version 2 by mr-youse, literature

Literature

The Shoe-box, version 2

Leap Day by mr-youse, literature

Literature

Leap Day

..... by mr-youse, literature

Literature

.....

Notepad Haikus - About a Girl by mr-youse, literature

Like Father, Like Son by mr-youse, literature

she by mr-youse, literature

Esther by mr-youse, literature

Literature

Esther

The Shoe-box by mr-youse, literature

Literature

The Shoe-box

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we're better off pretending by paperheartsyndrome, literature

Memory by Perfectly-Indelible, literature

Literature

Memory

Dreams are shattered Never to come true. All our hopes Have left with you. The sun has set The day is gone And it seems impossible To carry on. But even though it seems, Like nothing is right. And day has permanently Changed to night. We know that you’re with us And you’ll never leave. You’re here when we cry And you’re here when we grieve. You blessed us with a family Who are always here. To help one another When nothing seems clear. You left us your memory, So clear and so good. To cheer us all up, When nothing else could. This isn’t goodbye, This is only the start And until we’re uni

spongebob son of leonard cohen by thePeanutVendor, literature

Literature

spongebob son of leonard cohen

well shake it up baby- twist and shout; but don't tell your gal when you're on your way out- 'cuz that's what I'm talkin'bout. victim of salsa: your gambit eyes. blues in the morning sun, and the grade school kids singin, "all is one, all is one." the TV flashes and the poetry's recited- but my mind's way down low, at the jukebox and down the line of some foggy Frisco morning- or some Georgia scented night.

the cocooning of pangea by etre-aime, literature

Literature

the cocooning of pangea

tell me about continents and oceans and i'll tell you about highways and planes. continents - fall apart you say, oceans - destroy them and i say: but look, that isn't an ending, that's just change. pangea was beautiful, it didn't need to change. and i say: we all need to change, even beauty must adapt. and i say: i adapted, pangea adapted, why can't you? all that distance, you say, all those miles. there is an ocean between us. and i say: highway

Deviation Spotlight

estlin by mr-youse, literature

Literature

estlin

born a cambridge mouse, were you kissing angels with your quill feather dusting over cheeks, gardens bowing ever deep to birds who cry in Just- spring? could you smell the virgin words? smiling at La Ferté-Macé with B., in an enormous room, did the angels kiss instead? you were a child of ezra and gerty, we thought, but found your hand with sam and will (your heart and member elsewhere), still praying for your favorite dead priest (bitter all utterly things sweet) as the sunken shadows of afterthought came prancing up the river Styx. you rubbed lightly words on a page that anyone and noone may hold hands side b

estlin

mr-youse

About mr-youse

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United States
Deviant for 15 years

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My Bio

My Prayer

God make me the poet of simplicity,
Force,and clearness. Help me to live
Ever up to ever higher standards. Teach me to lay
A strong,simple,big-rocked wall
Firmly,the first of all,
And to fill in the fissures with the finer stones and clay
Of alliteration,simile,metaphor. Give
Power to point out error in sorrow and in felicity.
Make me a truthful poet,ever true to the voice of my
Call,
Groping about in the blackest night
For ever clearer,dearer light,
Sturdily standing firm and undismayed on a Pillar of
Right,
Working with heart,and soul,and a willing might,
Writing my highest Ideal large in whatsoever I write,
Truthfully,loftily,chivalrously,and cheerfully ever,
Fearfully,never.

-e. e. cummings

Current Residence: dorm room, america
Favourite style of art: anything where people try something new
Operating System: linux
Favourite cartoon character: strong bad

Favourite Movies

anything by the coen brothers

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

muse

Favourite Writers

e e cummings

Tools of the Trade

journal, computer

Other Interests

music, poetry, computers

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mr-youse

Feb 12, 2011

from beyond the grave

0 min read

hope everyone is doing well. i'm graduating in a few months. gonna be kicked out into the real world. it's just starting to set in now, since i spent the better part of yesterday and today hacking my resume down from two-and-a-half pages to one. am i employable? i guess we'll see in a free-verse and form poetry class now. don't really like the teacher, which is a shame. however, got the chance to write a sestina, and it turned out pretty good, which was nice. so, i'm gonna post it along with the recommendation to try it out, you learn a lot about how words and sentences can fit together. shameless self-promotion: my friends and i have a ga