Sommer Nectarhoff's Blog, page 7

When you listen to too much Eminem...

You write stuff like this:

what’s for dinnertry grilledslacking lackwitcaught aimless crushed beneath the wheelspit out andstrung up on a spitroasted, blazed beneathteenage angst witha side of indecision 
gather friends and familytear him apartoh he’s tough chew on thiswith no remorseor justswallow him whole
and choke on it

A friend of mine saw it and asked me if I thought I was Marshall Mathers...
- 6/23/14
(nectarhoff)

When you listen to too much Earl...

...you write stuff like this:

Axe splitting savage, the Rapture
a ravaged peoples' apocalypse,Waste-wallowing followers,Slaves dying to catch a glimpse.
Bloody babbling rabblerscouldn’t addle an adder,Brutally back-cracked snakes,slithering, worshiping slaughter. 
Christ cries at his altar,serpents crippled and collared.cluttered scripture in tatters,servants shackled with Copper. 

- 6/20/14

(nectarhoff)

The Verb, To Have

Has 
HaveHad 
Had.
- 6/16/14
(nectarhoff)

Poetic Lyrics

Some songwriters are poets. Joni is one of them.

- 6/13/14

(nectarhoff)

One Man's Petals

One day I was walking down the road through the forest to pay my mother a visit. It was a splendid June afternoon, and the entire world was in bloom; the smell of summer filled the air! Rabbits hopped around beneath the trees and the occasional deer nibbled on the budding nubs of the bushes. All sorts of birds chirped above, and bees buzzed about with muzzles bursting with juice.

As I hummed to myself I heard a rustle in the brush to my left. Naturally, I stopped and looked more closely, wonde...

I Am Not A Strong Black Woman

The Lost Baby Poem
by Lucille Cliftonthe time i dropped your almost body downdown to meet the waters under the cityand run one with the sewage to the seawhat did i know about waters rushing backwhat did i know about drowningor being drowned
you would have been born into winterin the year of the disconnected gasand no car       we would have made the thinwalk over genesee hill into the canada windto watch you slip like ice into strangers’ handsyou would have fallen...

Pay Up

Just as will 
She always beWho says beautyLike soft silkBetween those thighs
It’ll be two hundred dollarsAnd what dignity you’ve gotNow pay upGo back homeTo nobody that loves you
- 6/3/14
(nectarhoff)

The Architect

From "22"
"What you ask of me is impossible!" cried the Architect. The God glanced down from his throne.  "That I can conceive of it suggests otherwise."And a world was born.
It had been raining for days in Kraków. The streets were flooded with shallow rivers flowing thick with dirt and trash. It was that dark kind of rain, where endless layers of black clouds turn day into night. The wind howled. The downpour would not stop. The people forgot what it was like to see the sun. And the storm h...

The Art of the Punchline

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island Minnesota 
by William Duffy
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,   Asleep on the black trunk,Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.   Down the ravine behind the empty house,   The cowbells follow one another   Into the distances of the afternoon.   To my right,In a field of sunlight between two pines,   The droppings of last year’s horses   ...

22

I just published my first book. It's called "22" and--big surprise--it's a collection of 22 short stories and 22 poems. Get it. It's good. I promise I'm not biased.

http://amzn.com/1499382839

Also the cover art is awesome so it'll at least look cool on your shelf.

- 5/23/14

(nectarhoff)