whitereflection: (endless highway to the storm)
Title: A Love Song of Fight Or Flight
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
For [livejournal.com profile] paxlux (because she asked, though tbh it was going to be for her anyway ♥)


A Love Song of Fight Or Flight

He's a kick to the chest.

You're only truly alive when there's danger singing in your veins,
arias of adrenaline,
and he threat-sparks your thunderclap heartbeat with a gun report smile
that shoots you right between the eyes.
The whole point to living, you've learned,
is so he can kill you.
(And death doesn't feel right unless it's by his hand.)

He's a knife to the throat.

No one still living knew your weaknesses.
You had no blind spots. You had perfect defenses none could breach,
then you let him through.
You looked away and he slid shiv-sharp right between your ribs.
Now you're spread out, arms open come-get-me wide,
presenting yourself like an offering of pressure points
for him to bruise beneath his hands.

He's a blow to the head,
a fist to the teeth.

His lips pressed to your skin hit like a punch in the gut
until three whispered words
go pop-pop-pop
and shatter your sternum;
you'd never even felt the press of metal concealed by tongue and teeth.
You help him steady his aim, tell him to fire again, again,
already craving the taste of more blood in the back of your mouth.

He's a kick to the chest, and you're falling.
He's a kick to your chest,
and you fall,
and you fall,
and you

whitereflection: (john could be dangerous)

They sent you home a dead man
but forgot to put you in a box
so you'd know to stop moving
so you'd know to stop needing useless air
drawn in with keep calm-steady breaths.
They let you shuffle
like the living dead on those movies you watch
in the insomniac hours
before morning and after night;
but on three legs instead of two
you're no good
even as a zombie.

How fortunate you met the madman.

Mad genius, mad scientist
your Dr. Frankenstein
he fills you with a living man's blood
whenever he lets you stand near
injects you with adrenaline
with every word from his needle-sharp tongue.
His thoughts spark between your neurons
and he is your living Tesla coil
restarting your heart
with the lightning touch of his hand.
His gaze on you slams against your chest
like defibrillator paddles
shock jolting through your body
each time your eyes meet his;
when he speaks, you hear:

Rise up and walk. Rise up and run!

and, because it's him
you do.

(dvad 8-2-11)
whitereflection: (winchesters wide open skies)

Sunday morning,
just past 6
or 7
road dust on your shoes
creeping up your
pant legs
and you smell
like you've been rolling in a bonfire.
Some days
you think you sweat
charcoal lighter fluid.

(There's always salt on your
Some days
you think when you snap your fingers
you'll spark fire
At least then
you won't have to
carry all that with you anymore.)

Cleaning your tools of the trade
the plowshares
you both beat back into
gravel grinds
beneath your feet
as your stance shifts with the motions
(Your stance was steady
last night--
mountain wide, redwood tall,
you've grown up
solid as you
dreamed you'd be.)

Hum a song
you know he hates.
He whistles while he works
(some ancient tune you can't stand)
rebuilding guns
like Jenga puzzles
(take out the
but they don't fall down)
You're a discordant harmony.

Funny how it sounds
just fine
to you.

The world slams shut
hollow metal whomp
but everything you orbit is still
right here
He stands next to you;  you're taller
but he always plants himself as your
Shoulder pressed to shoulder
hip to hip
There's the bump of knees;
there's the kick of his boot
against yours.
You kick him back.

Sunrise spreads flames
across the sky
like wildfire
It's dawn, and you smell like

Mary, Mary

May. 24th, 2011 02:23 pm
whitereflection: (sam the thinker bw)

Oral Tradition

My mother is a fairy tale
a fable that never happened
She's the story no one will tell me
so I whisper her to myself in the dark
until I fall asleep.

My mother is a folklore of blood and fire
an interdiction teaching me what lurks in my shadows
so I can be a moral lesson to others
when I do wrong.

She is no happy ending
happily never after;
we her sons are brothers, grim.

(dvad 5-24-11)


Apr. 24th, 2011 01:47 am
whitereflection: (sam meditations (panic room))
what I did last summer

I bought the iPod
because no one told me I shouldn't
because no one complained it was a waste of money
because no one said
we don't have the room to carry around stupid shit like that
I bought the adapter
because no one used the cassette player in the car
because no one picked the music but me
because no one warned me
I'd start crying in front of some kid working at a Walmart
who stared at me like I was a freak
because they didn't understand what buying an iPod and a car adapter


Apr. 15th, 2011 12:23 am
whitereflection: (winchesters bobby funeral)


The last time they did a hunt in D.C.,
they visited The Wall
because it was Memorial Day
and they were thinking about their father
though neither of them said so out loud.
They stood in front of the monument,
flat and black and reflecting their faces
as if they were looking into a lake at midnight,
and Sam reached out to brush his fingers
over the cool gabbro stone.
"There's names on mine, too,"
he said. "Everyone's names.
They're all there."
Nearby, a tour group chattered about
mindless things as
Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist.
They stared at each other silently;
Dean didn't say
Don't scratch, Sam
and Sam didn't say
I won't, Dean, I won't
but the words were there anyway.
A few feet away, a middle-aged woman
held a sheet of paper up to the surface of the Wall,
rubbed it with a crayon
until she had a name to carry away with her.
Sam let his hand drop to his side, but
Dean didn't let go of his wrist;
he held on,
held on.
whitereflection: (winchesters exit (from behind))
Car repair is a shifter cable, which luckily can be fixed by today or (most likely) Wednesday. It's "inexpensive", which in transmission speak I guess translates to "you're lucky it's only $500".

Sometimes I make things and they turn out okay.

I like how I started out the month intending to write a poem a day. Ahaha.


weather vanes

sun just warm enough
beer by the side of the road
toast the first clear day

poltergeist rattles
the windows, funnel cloud rends
the roof; nature wins

breath frosts in the air
though bones are smoldering ash
wind smells of burned leaves

wisconsin ice storm
driver and shotgun take turns
scraping the windshield


Apr. 7th, 2011 03:48 pm
whitereflection: (winchesters my life in your hands)

your hands on my skin:
no bandages or stitches
could heal me so well


Apr. 5th, 2011 02:36 am
whitereflection: (winchesters digging in the dirt)
cemetery, silent.

shovel thunks
dirt thuds
wood cracks like dry bone
wind shrieks
shotgun blasts
salt hisses like sandy rain
match snaps
flame whumps
fire pops like cheap fireworks
voices murmur
footsteps fade
night quiets like they were never there.
whitereflection: (winchesters exit (from behind))
Tangled? Awesome♥ Friend Kelly asked to borrow my 1st season SPN DVDs. Even more awesome. Which makes how I'm so stupidly melancholy today even more incomprehensible >_< Ffffffffff, I still haven't gotten around to buying the DVDs of Totoro or Whispers of the Heart. Why do I never remember this until I need them most?

Guild finally got heroic Chimaeron down. Finally, finally, finally.



pale moon shimmers on
a black metal pond:
wherever we drive
our midnight sky is with us


Apr. 2nd, 2011 02:25 pm
whitereflection: (winchesters diner)
Title: special of the day
Pairing/Rating: Sam/Dean, PG

special of the day

I did not have the pie
the diner said was eight-time champion,
winningest in Colfax County.
I did not eat the cherries
so perfect tart they made you moan
(just like you do for me),
sauce glistening on your lips,
red as some barfly's lipstick.
I did not crumble the flaking crust with that
lucky fork:
the crumbs of pastry in my mouth
came from your skin.
The taste of summer-ripe, homegrown fruit,
sugar-syrup sweet,
I licked from your tongue
(It's the flavor of your mouth
that's the most delicious.)
The filling that's slick and sticky on my lips
was painted on me by your kiss.
But I did not have the pie.


Apr. 2nd, 2011 02:47 am
whitereflection: (supernatural impala highways)
Title: Go
Characters/Rating: Dean, Sam, G

over interstate stretched gunshot-straight
to the horizon
a flat grey graze wound
through the flesh of some midwestern state
your brother called and said, I'm sorry
I'm sorry
can I come home?
trigger-pull firing you, and you
with a stomach twisted into
cloverleafs and roundabouts
until the road ends at his highway-bend smile
a slow curve into will you forgive me
Engage safety, unload
you drove his home to him
you drove home to him
The guns are locked away and the engines that roared
are cooled and silent
not even pinging
Now, at last, you can
whitereflection: (sam burning in hell)
Dealing with a cold the last few days, been extremely tired and thus have been doing close to nothing. Also it's messed with my sleep schedule, which is probably obvious. Lucky that there was nothing social scheduled this weekend.

Due to a comment on a thread at that spn poetry community, was introduced to the concept of erasure poetry (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erasure_poetry). Admittedly, I've only ever had one creative writing class (high school, very basic/general), but all those high school and college AP and honors English classes...? I feel like my education was so lacking, that I'd never heard of such back then.

Anyway, decided to attempt one, using the lyrics of Kansas' "Carry On Wayward Son" (it seemed appropriate). Sort of an exploration/reflection on 5.22-6.11 Sam.


"Carry my peace, rest no more"

I rose ever higher,
but flew too high

My eyes still blind,
my mind mad,
I hear voices
when I'm dreaming
I can hear
a reason my charade is wise--
I don't know
stormy emotion

Tossed about
like a ship,
the ocean winds' voices say,
"Remember nothing
The splendor lights your heaven,
waits for you
My son, you are done
don't cry, don't cry."
whitereflection: (supernatural impala interstatehighway)
J.K.'s Solstice Hard Cider (http://organicscrumpy.com/) is damned amazing, especially warmed. Tasty, I say, taaaaaasty. I almost never drink, and one reason is because it's hard to find alcoholic things where I like the flavor. This was awesome. Bought another bottle at the store today. :| I rationalized it as it's only going to be around a short time during the holidays. Split the one last night with mom, but she only wanted a small amount, so I ended up with about 2/3 the bottle. I'm heavy and was quite full thanks to so much foods, but yeah, I was very...mellow. :p (But truly, so very tasty.)

Re: WoW. Finally got my dk to 80, so I can ignore him until I level his alchemy come Cata. Am continuing to fall so hard for the new Orgrimmar. And ohman, I am kind of stunned at the detail they put into the female goblins' hair (no pcs yet, but the npcs all have the new appearances). It really puts the hair on other female toons to shame--really hoping the hairstyles get shared via barbershop with belves and nelves at the least.

Definitely avoided shopping areas today, though got a good number of gift things ordered online. So I'm doing much better than many previous years. And it's past Thanksgiving so I can allow myself to listen to my Christmas music YAY \o/ Happy happy.

Poetry for mininano/wrisomifu, the sort that could be read as original but is really about Dean&Sam. :p

And yeah, I had the song stuck in my head )


Sep. 25th, 2010 11:11 pm
whitereflection: (supernatural and the end is near)
Two for [livejournal.com profile] spnland's recent "Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue..." poetry challenge. The second's sort of my usual, but the first was a bit of an experiment (I haven't done anything with meter and rhyme in years). Four stanzas where each stanza is four lines of iambic tetrameter followed by a repeating last line (a phrase that's trochaic hexameter); and the first and third lines of each stanza rhyme. And yeah, the title was me being cutesy with apocalypse + apocrypha. Probably should have just titled it the subtitle and left it at that.

But the first was an attempt to explore humankind (within the Supernatural setting of the US, that is) during the apocalypse. In other words, those that aren't hunters--those just caught in the middle of this bizarre war between Heaven and Hell, not cared about or even really noticed much by demons or angels (except perhaps when used as tools). Anyway. Blah blah blah words.

Title: Apocalyprypha (A Hymn For Humanity)
Subject: humankind and the apocalypse
Pairings/Warnings: religious themes (Judeo-Christian)

poem of the first kind )

Title: Falling Is Like This
Subject: Sam Winchester
Pairings/Warnings: implied Sam/Dean
A/N: placed 2nd

poem of the second kind )

Figures that the one I didn't feel took as much work/crafting and didn't have as much that I was trying to convey did better.
whitereflection: (Default)
title: Songsense
pairing/Rating: Dean/Sam, G
note: Dean POV, post 5x22 Swan Song. can be read as standalone or as post-"Gazing".

Your song's still stuck in my head. )
whitereflection: (dean waiting)
Icarus (frostbitten)

Grief breaks his promise:
each day he finds a feather
to glue to his back.
But the sun won't melt these wings;
his brother's sky is winter.

More pseudo-tanka than tanka, really. Haven't tried doing one since 2003. Using the classic form of 57577, though American tanka often don't hold to that. I'm still terrible at that 'single moment' aspect of this and haiku.
whitereflection: (dean waiting)
title: gazing
pairing/rating: dean/sam, G
note: can be read as non-SPN, or can be read as a reference to 5.22 Swan Song

There shouldn't be stars at night
We used them all up,
left the sky empty black,
forgot to refill it before you left
(with all those stars in your pocket--
each one a souveneir of the hours we spent watching,
each one a gift we'd reached out and picked from space
when sparkling just right:
Here, have this; it made my heart think of yours.)
But I guess I don't care if people say
those stars are still there
because I don't look up when it's night
anymore anyway.
I'm too busy pretending you're still here with me
to bother believing in starlight that's
theme park fake
and made out of glass.

in motion

May. 29th, 2010 01:11 am
whitereflection: (winchesters bridges behind us)
So a funny thing about the latest [livejournal.com profile] spnland_media challenge (013: roses are red, violets are blue). I've been waiting for a poetry challenge since this round started. But my [livejournal.com profile] spnland participation has really sucked lately. Sporadic is being generous (I'm one of the reasons Team Hell keeps coming in like third even though our members place, because of low participation points >_> ). But the poetry one, I *swore* to myself if I didn't enter, I'd punch myself in the face. And...let's just say I was hours away from having to do that.

Anyway, two poems, one banner (♥). And no facepunching at this time. Also, isn't it awesome to read an entry after voting's all done and see typos? Adfkfjk.


Title: roads
Subject: Sam Winchester
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Warnings: incest, sexual content
Notes: voted 1st place

roads )


Title: License and Registration
Subject: The Impala
Pairing: none/gen
Warnings: none

License and Registration )


http://keerawa.livejournal.com/108208.html was an entry that I thought kicked ass. \o/ And [livejournal.com profile] coyotesuspect had two that I'm terribly fond of which I'll link to whenever she posts 'em to her journal. ♥
whitereflection: (wow akseru)
I intended to do a thoughtful 2009 retrospective post like so many have today, but I seem to be able to only produce babbling blurbs, so, a brief thought plus ordered list fun:

stuffs )

Anyway. Despite playing the game for five years now, this is the first time I've had an icon of either of my main characters. Long past time, no? [livejournal.com profile] verbranden is the awesomest of the awesome for surprising me with it. ♥♥♥

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