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Walking out of the restaurant, I saw
him:
Grey haired, balding, bowtied.
Studying his menu with Talmudic
precision,
He looked to be on tenure track.
Some impulse in me desperately
wanted
To lean over his table, across the girl,
And breathe close into his ear:
"My god, I find you attractive,"
Just to see if his eyes would twinkle
For a moment above the grey suit.
Katrina
Alliasan
about the lovely Katrina's
poetic stylings? For now, click
here. I'm still working on the
whole "Forums" thing, so for
now I'll just print feedback as it
comes...
I used to let my words out unrehearsed,
Like actors improvising, from my pen.
I used to write my poems in free verse.
Not sure if this is better or is worse,
I find I want to craft, to form, to bend.
I used to let my words out unrehearsed.
And now they flow toward me, all immersed
Within a formal cadence, no loose ends.
I used to write my poems in free verse.
In even quiet moments, when immersed
In solitary rest, patterns descend.
(I used to let my words out unrehearsed.)
The formal forms, like yoga, hold my words
And twist them, force them, stretch them to extend -
I used to write my poems in free verse.
Some days I write, some days am written. Worse,
I find that even silence, forms transcend.
I used to let my words out unrehearsed;
I used to write my poems in free verse.
Katrina Alliasan used to
write odd ditties for the
'zines Spanokopitas,
Thought Crime and
Tri*VIA. Later she tried
her virtual hands at
music crit, starting the
online rag Katrina's
Musiczone. She
occasionally contributes
to Girlbroslandia.org,
which has mercifully
gone under the helm of
wiser and more
consistent editors.
When not writing about
music, Katrina's
less-virtual half writes
reams of unpublished
essays on the nature of
politics, poetry and
power-exchange.
