rivernymph's profile
AGE:
26
LOC: Spartanburg, SC
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: December 30
LOC: Spartanburg, SC
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: December 30
My name is Amber Wood. I am 26 years old. I am a divorced mother of one who is now back in school. I am pursing my BA in English, minoring in secondary education. Hopefully, someday I will get the opportunity to pursue my masters degree and teach at the college level. In the meantime, I want to learn as much as possible and become a better writer in the process.
What I will mostly post here is poetry. This is because I am left with little time to put any substantial amount of work into any of my other projects at this time with all the school work I have to do. I do not feel that poetry is my strong suit (I am much better at short stories and essay writing), but that is another reason I want to post it here—I have always loved poetry a…
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she was a juvenile delinquent: rebellious and naive If I told her once, a thousand times but she still refused to leave Although we fought with her and called her bluffs, we always took the bait. Indeed, she made us laugh and made us cry and kept us up too late. But how her child-eyes sparkled, even while painted black-- for the joy that poured from her spirit, and all the stories she wove with her clear wit-- nearly outshone all she lacked: like morals and endurance, direction, worldly sense...
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Living on top of what was underneath You, if sustained alone by what would grow Could retain all right to claim disbelief Of the disregarded corpses below For like ancient superstition And like your religion, too, You knew damn well that you'd find Hell If you were to take to digging But dig you did as you ran in place--a Fine, new, shallow grave. And I, too, now claim Disbelief; glad for your closed-casket, I Recall how your eyes and your smile just Floated on top of what was underneath.
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Acute perception doesn't make you crazy. . .
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"Quiet, Baby; Mama's trying to think."
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Illusion will end, but ailment remains. So when dreams awaken and laughter wanes, for another to witness and relish the pains of a being that's growing and dying the same-- is that not the most lasting love of them all; not to be caught, but mourned when we fall, not to be answered, but heard when we call, to be still more admired when that which would appal spills out apon the more concious plain I want you to know, accept, and retain all of the streams--from bonine to insane that I purge f...
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Well, I just came to check our your profile as you left a review on mine. . .and wow! I love this. I read the comment below mine, and I have to disagree--it doesn't matter who the woman is or what she's like; it could be any number of people. . .it is any number of people on any given day. However, perhaps it would be even better if you took it further--but, no, not to me, I love it as is. "Gravity knows all."--That will stick with me for sure. That will be one of the quotes that will consist...
I really love this premise. The opening line drew me right in, and the last line made me smile. Good job. I would consider expanding this some; what would the speaker show his lover proof of?--his imperfections? I would add another line before that last line to clarify that. Also, "negative. . .paper." that line could benefit from a verb explaining that the speaker wants to create that condition, or either an explanation of who or what possesses these negative integers. Finally, you switch fr...
First of all, I want to say that the imagery and feel of this story are concrete--from the moment I began reading about Jamie's messy hair and the mother invoking Christ I was there in that house. Great job. Also, I love the line "Every movement is a hesitant response. . ." I suggest you tweak the line about his muscles hurting that ends "bunching together like sheets after a bad dream" to something like "that I had bunched together after a bad dream." Just because sheets don't bunch themselv...
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