"Newly" Published Stuff

I haven't posted anything in a while. And, truthfully, I don't know what to write tonight. I have a couple projects that I'm working on at the moment, but nothing worth posting about.

Apiary published one of my poems a couple months or so ago, and I forgot to post it. Enjoy.

APIARY Post

Please leave some love on APIARY's page. They are a great publication (and not just because they published my shit).

I'll knock another post out of the park later.

Cheers.

~Torres

Past Work Doesn't Matter

"The only thing that interests me is what I'm going to write tomorrow night."

--

It's also nice to hear that other people begin to feel sick if they go more than two days without writing something.

I've been on a good kick for the past couple weeks. I've been able to write every day. I don't care if it's one sentence, one phrase, or just one word. It's always the right sentence, phrase, or word.

 Because I'm lucky enough to find creativity every day, the dark days have been few and far between.

Enough for now. Here's a new poem.

______________________________
List poem are cliché

I love this shit.

I love this poetry and prose shit.

I love the way that my brain says “stop what your doing and put this down on paper because it’s time to make love without having to wax your carrot.”

I love it when the poetry is simple and you don’t need a dictionary.

I love when the booze mixes with hot august weather,
and it’s raining outside,
and I can just sit in my underwear and let the beads of sweat roll down towards the page.

I love the smell of just-before-the-rain moonlight.
I love the smell of old books.
I love the smell of oil on typewriter keys,
and licking my envelopes shut.

I love the minute of silence I get after the poem is down--
before the world crawls back in--
and my brain
and heart
and balls
become separate entities once again.

I love being broke.

And I love when the words don’t come
and I just sit there
and listen to my own heartbeat.

I love how people don’t take the most important thing seriously anymore

I love it even more because a brilliant man--
before he killed himself--
said that words and verse
can and will save this world.

I love him for saying that.

I love writing.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Final read.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.

Acceptance.

Because it evokes a fire in me.

It is poetry
that helps me cope
with this mortal coil
that I have been given--
not by choice--
and not by creator,
but by personal genius.

I love this shit.
_________________________

I love you.

~Torres

A Modesty Proposal

"Be proud of what you've done, but don't look back. There's still plenty of work to do."
--

I like that quote. It's the exact way that I look at my art. When you get published... it's awesome. Enjoy it for about 2 minutes, then let it go. Think back on it when you're at your lowest, but other than that, keep moving forward. Keep working. Better your art.

Maya Angelou said that modesty was a terrible personality trait for writers of merit. I think that's a bunch of shit. There are too many narcissistic writers, artists, what-have-you. The last thing we need, aside from bullshit, is another asshole blowing it out on a regular basis.

Again... I ask you to be modest, despite your talent level. You do not know everything. And, more importantly, you have more work to do.

Time to shut up. Here's a poem.
_________________________________

Like Termites

If you give them the chance
And make the opening wide enough,

the poet's will come out
of the woodwork.

From patched roofs
to upscale coffee bars
with microphone functional,
they will come.

A field of dreams
for those the rest of humanity
fails to understand--

but were always curious about.

Those
who put down the books
and pick up the pens.

Those
lucky enough to lose their jobs
and worries along with it.

Those
With strong friendship
and family bonds
especially among themselves.

Those
with wine stained portfolios,
and the love of their lives
taging along--
never behind--
but right beside them.

Those
who have emerged from bookshelves
and books shops.

Those
who continue to live
though their gypsy hearts have given out.

Those
are the ones
who never leave.

And we know
who we
are.

 __________________________________

Yup...

~Torres 

Down, But Never Out

Depression...

It doesn't go away when you're a realist.

I remember being really depressed as a kid. I also remember having 42 board games in my closet and no siblings to play against. I remember having a busy, always inquisitive brain that would not, and still won't, quit. Being a teen didn't help at all. Not when your heroes were offing themselves left and right, and the six o'clock news was blaring from every room in the house.

I don't watch television anymore. The people like me aren't the ones that I see on the screen.

Nights like this spent alone (11:16 p.m. on a Monday, currently) is when it finds its way into my apartment. Melancholia brings her photo albums full of wasted years and sits next to me on this beer christened couch and puts her hand on my shoulder. She leans in close and whispers bitter nothings. She removes my armor and pulls me from the things that I am grateful for. She makes me self-destructive. She won't let you in.

I find myself waiting for the sun to rise.
I find myself longing to seize a new day.
But first,
I show her out. 
Then,
I find
myself.

Writing it down is the first step.

I feel better already.

~Torres