A lively group of teachers in a coffee shop where I write some nights, and an imagined discussion about their lesson plans PROBABILITY by Victoria Nations “So you’re saying we're going to use poker chips and a Crown Royal bag. In the science room. With the kids.” “Right. The kids will love it.” “The science room at … Continue reading Probability
PREY by Victoria Nations The fluorescents warn me Teasing with flickering no one else can see Rushing sounds in my head Like Hearing the ocean inside a shell The vibrations push me Threatening if I sway back and forth To keep the seasick rhythm So I struggle to hold myself still The air gets darker … Continue reading Prey – A Poem for Storms and Migraines
Daniel Kraus's recent article about authors who write longhand really struck me. The authors describe how writing longhand slows them down and makes their writing tighter. They describe the tactile satisfaction they get from the task, how the work they produce is tangible. Their descriptions are compelling When I write (fiction, poetry, or reports for my day job), I typically write on … Continue reading Writing Longhand, Editing with Doodles and Diagrams
ABANDONED HOUSE by Victoria Nations Abandoned house with Sun bleached board face Drooping and gapped from Years and years of rain and heat Crinkled so it Cracks, so its Filmed windows tilt Up at the corners Gabled window Turned up and Still cute after all these years Mostly centered over the Black double doors Falling … Continue reading Abandoned House – A Love Poem
Where would you sleep? The museum has a vaulted ceiling and columns reaching so high they look hazy from the bottom floor. Everything seems to be made of stone, despite accents of polished wood and glass. Arched windows are stacked in rows along the uppermost walls. Their lines are delicate, but you know they would … Continue reading Friday Writing – Where Would You Sleep?
CLATTER by Victoria Nations The whine of wind pushing the The clatter of palm fronds and The clacking of bluejay beaks on The scritch of roach legs against The rustle of leaves caught in the Damp Dark Boot jacks Reach your hand in there I dare you
Sometimes stories lurk behind things. I went to a festival the other night, and we cut through a side street of old storefronts with dusty windows. There was raw red brick and arched doorways with iron gates. There were lights from the parade just a block over, but the side street was almost too dark to photograph. The street was inviting, stopping me … Continue reading Ghost Stories Lurking in Doorways
THERE ARE GHOSTS IN THE GROVES (I) Victoria Nations There are ghosts in the groves, and some call me to come, and others warn me away, and they whisper when they think I notice them, and most of the time I ignore them, but sometimes their voices spark memories that are too clouded to call … Continue reading There Are Ghosts In The Groves (I)
How could you not love a tiny fly called a punkie? Especially if it's the reason cacao trees produce fruit, which becomes the mouthwatering chocolate so many of us are indulging in today? And punkies are adorable, if you find hunched over little vampires adorable like I do. Ceratopogonid midges have a large, humped thorax and their … Continue reading Love Bites and Chocolate
I go to the bookshelf and take off no clothing and take down a book and strip myself bare I go to the bookshelf and surrender on my knees, raise arms in supplication and roll my eyes up I go to the bookshelf and lean bodily against it and rub my face on it, purring … Continue reading I Go To The Bookshelf
Victoria Nations 