Original Poetry

"Birthplace"


When the wind moves through our trees, that's when they tell me
to think of Africa.

there's something different—
it's a soul drummed into withered slabs of ex-crop;
footprints of cattle, birds in every aching joint.
you were Wilberforce's song, across this ocean, but even I can't taste
you—perhaps you'll pluck my eyes in
and leave me for your buzzards, the lightheaded
spiral and buzz of insect wings, and famine like pain in the back
of my skull. the dizzying sear of salt-etched soil and bison birthing; I'll never lose sight
of the fragrant brush of long grass, but here in my history I am little more than trees. trees and
damp sky, but I still think on your thunderstorms

and the way your heels would strike the ground like rain, your screaming in the lashing wind

And the pounding of your souls in the dust
to sting my sight of you, the kind to cloud my
lungs and cake my nostrils, aye

A shroud of sun-tossed dust
and your harsh breathing
and Africa
and the way you ran with
your eyes at the mountains



--
Copyright 2011 J Coate

"Girl in the War"

Paul said to Peter, "You gotta rock yourself a little harder.
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire."
"But I got a girl in the war, Paul, her eyes are like champagne.
They sparkle, bubble over, and in the morning all you got is rain..."

-Josh Ritter


I think my general rule of thumb is to do more research for each individual story than what may even show in the final product. Leading up to my writing this last night, I had tabs open on my browser on everything to bus schedules to CTA military discounts, what's on a dog tag, tattoo logistics, etc. Tends to make the computer run all wonky slow after a bit, but I guess that's the price I pay for trying to be a perfectionist. :P

Casey Rockford's shown up on this blog before, she's one my very oldest characters and I feel bad for making her cry, but this was not a good day for her.

Anyhow, I'm entering this in a contest, the prompt was to create something inspired by a poem or song lyrics. Josh Ritter's "Girl in the War" is amazing and powerful and beautiful and I thought it fit.
--

http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/242/8/9/girl_in_the_war_by_judah_leonardo-d48dh8k.html

--
This work is copyright 2011 J Coate and can not in any way be used without my expressed, written permission.

"Girl in the War" song and lyrics are copyright to Mr. Josh Ritter.

"Tuesday Morning"

Before you ask... yes, the title was inspired by the Nathan Rogers song, posted below, but as I think it bears extreme relevance to the piece I would not necessarily classify it as copyright infringement. If you disagree, feel free to tell me... it's only a working title.

And yes, this is somewhat of a coincidence. I don't constantly have this subject on the brain, the nature of my blogging just makes it look like I do.

This was written for my portfolio. It was difficult to compose and that's really all I have to say about it.


--

http://judah-leonardo.deviantart.com/art/Tuesday-Morning-196159949

--

*Mac and Angela are not based off real people. I did not want to take liberties with actual lives. This is not a strict account of history, it is simply a speculation and an exploration of human emotions.




Copyright 2011 J. Coate This work may not in any circumstance be used without my expressed, written permission.

So I'm a bad blogger. Did we already establish that?

... I need to get back to my posting-every-Thursday routine. Or something like that. I'm not going to apologize for the prolonged silence (life happens), so have some original poetry instead.


"Northern Passage"

Silver boatman, sing to me
eyes on the horizon, wrapped
in a shroud of the morning wind.
Grey the sky and grim the rain,
trickle-down ice over
the wilderness of wounded water,
Russian frost that cracks the air.
Chains in a cloud-churned sky.

Sing to me, silver boatman.
As the sunlight turns to ashes, let
it touch my upturned face,
whisper from Cherubim burning.
Tracks like tears down a sallow cheek,
let me taste the homeward lifting,
shifting of numb fingers on the
side of my little vessel, storm-tossed, wanderer. Sing to me.

Silver boatman, let me be.
O moon of winter,
toss your stars over the moving water, your
shadowed cape drawing o’er sight; bury the dead.
The bells of Skellig over rock and wave.
Let the gulls cry, words for me, shriek my soul what
cannot be said. O God.

Silver boatman, take me there.

Waiting Game

The first draft of "So You Thought You Couldn't Cut It" is complete. Turned in, and I've yet to hear from my publisher about any revisions that need to be made. Have I achieved the mythical perfect first draft? Ha, somehow I doubt it. It's only a matter of time before some boo-boo is discovered, and I am sent back to the drawing board.

In the meantime, I wait. I wonder how long it will be, until the book gets published. Until I can say that I'm professionally a writer. It's no small thing, aye?

I've been writing like a mad thing these past two weeks or so--knocking off a new piece of flash fiction every day. I'm averaging 2.5-3 pages a day. It staggers me, but I love it all the same.

Perhaps it's a bit of affirmation that I'm meant to be a writer.

I'd love to boost my followers here, purely to develop a base of supporters to help me as I start this journey. Any of the current followers feel like helping me out? Spread the word, post on Facebook. Let's make this a team effort, because I know I can't do this alone.

Ah, but I'm in a sentimental mood after having written a short romance today. I feel like sharing this, I do. So be at peace, readers. Be well. Tell someone you love them today.

<3