Begging Poetics
childhood - present
Begging Poetics started when I was a young girl as I sat at my desk underneath the bedroom window alone in my room. My desk was organized with various pens and pencils I was gifted or lifted; various pieces of paper that I was gifted or lifted; and various rocks, sticks, plants, and bugs that I collected from outside. At this desk I would sit and write poetic musings that I would then hide away.
Begging Poetics continued into my youth and undergraduate years even after that room, window, and desk were gone. These poems slowly shifted from being hidden to being shared on this blog.
Begging Poetics became an individual performative commission from my first residency as a Nomad9 MFA Candidate. I created and copied my favorite poems onto paper, folded them into envelopes, put together a mail carrier uniform, and walked safely around the city of Hartford, Connecticut to give my free poems directly to people I encountered.
Begging Poetics continued into my youth and undergraduate years even after that room, window, and desk were gone. These poems slowly shifted from being hidden to being shared on this blog.
Begging Poetics became an individual performative commission from my first residency as a Nomad9 MFA Candidate. I created and copied my favorite poems onto paper, folded them into envelopes, put together a mail carrier uniform, and walked safely around the city of Hartford, Connecticut to give my free poems directly to people I encountered.
Would you like a poem?
1: Handwritten poem (pay-what-you-can)
2: Embroidered poem ($100)
contact: megandrivinghawkATgmailDOTcom
Visit my blog for photographs of the poems in their new homes.
coming soon...photographs of embroidered poems
1: Handwritten poem (pay-what-you-can)
2: Embroidered poem ($100)
contact: megandrivinghawkATgmailDOTcom
Visit my blog for photographs of the poems in their new homes.
coming soon...photographs of embroidered poems
some poems...*1.
The harvest moon in waiting, wanting more from the middle of the blue. *2. Holding me under. Surviving, barely breathing. Your fate on my chest. *3. A hole torn in me like the wind in a plastic bag of history. *4. Smell of campfire pierces inside of my nose like your memory. *5. I continue to write the pain to see what shows through blue waters’ blur. *6. The soft movement of my shadow over your hand lingers in moment. *7. Drowning in your hate and conditions of your love. Please remember me. *8. As your child, I used to sink below your shadow’s words to make your peace. |
*9.
I remember the dandelions and red leaves finding home in me. *10. Memory loom’s room. Sew today, sow today, so weapons can compose. *11. A space once prepared overtaken and fraught to reveal a safe space. *12. Sounding from the calm, a much too heavy burden to carry you are. *13. Everything ruins in the place where hate lives; so remember the light. *14. Send me to the moon. Slowly falling to earth; re- turning to myself. *15. Spider mother sent déjà vu dreams and sung-wove “the heart is gold” warp. *16. Silenced memories with weapons of domestic, charming, atrophies. |