Sarah Terry

Sarah Terry

poetry, music, voice over, musings

Recent Posts

Summoning Margaret

Summoning Margaret

  Here is a very unfinished poem for day 13. I spent most of the evening decorating a prop Necronomicon, so unfortunately, I didn’t have a ton of writing time! Just normal evening activities.   SUMMONING MARGARET So there you go again – dying all […]

The Right Kind of Manifesto

The Right Kind of Manifesto

Day 12! Kinda can’t believe I’m still going!   THE RIGHT KIND OF MANIFESTO I bought a can of pineapple at the store like it was a thing I might enjoy and now it stares accusingly at me from the kitchen counter because I do […]

Fates

Fates

Day 11!

 

FATES

We weren’t raised
on scythes and needles
though we sometimes dreamt
of Death in elf-toed shoes,
lazing around the city streets,
playing dodgeball with dusty
happy children. Why
do we have so many questions
pulsing in us like heartbeats?
I am only the sister of Destiny,
who liked to steal my dolls
to cut their long golden hairs.
I don’t believe in sharing eyeballs.

We made a pact – let’s fill
an hourglass with our ashes
and always run out of time.
Truth be told, we’d rather live
forever. Truth be told, we’ve never
been more alive.

 

Sine Qua Non

Sine Qua Non

Day 10! This poem came from an exercise I tried once or twice in undergrad. We had to “translate” a poem from a language we didn’t really understand and then turn the resulting gibberish into its own poem. So this poem is loosely based on […]

There is a hole in the Great Pyramid of Giza

There is a hole in the Great Pyramid of Giza

Day 9! This one is a real work in progress. It kept wanting to rhyme, and it’s so sing-songy… I don’t really know what to do with it. Definitely needs more time.   There is a hole in the Great Pyramid of Giza Like a […]

Murakami at the MFA

Murakami at the MFA

Day 8! Inspired by a recent trip to the MFA in Boston and their amazing Takashi Murakami exhibition.

 

Murakami at the MFA

In 24 hours, I can paint your dragon
red – see? – reflected in the shining,
low-reclining Buddha with a thousand
wide-mouth flower smiles lying all
around us, superflat. Do you grimace?
Have you learned to love your mutants yet?
Throw your back out climbing tiny
ceramic rainbows to the moon but
can we get there? Can we pull our roots
through the lens of time and farm us
something fresh? If you leave them,
do they fester? If you love them,
do they find you? Have you ever felt
a hot and glistening breath like
lineage on your neck? And then
(you see!) my whirlwinds wind
my eyes like cloud-specks over every city,
and then you gasp in all the blooming
cardinal directions, and then you bring your
hands to mine, and then in bleating blasts of
color, and we call the Earth to witness.

Let love never be your hapax legomenon

Let love never be your hapax legomenon

Day 7! This is the most I’ve written in awhile and it’s been exciting to get back into writing every day. And challenging. And things are already getting strange. I blame the dictionary that was next to me when I wrote this…   Let love […]

Wake the Oracle

Wake the Oracle

Day 6! Almost a week in!   WAKE THE ORACLE who once sat stone-dark, immobile and born today. Watch my eyes move closer like a flounder like a brain’s white shyness standing in the doorway til the silence is gone. I should forget. I must […]

Love and Waste No More Time

Love and Waste No More Time

Day 5 and things are already getting wacky. This poem was inspired by paging through some Frederik Pohl short stories and a Nietzsche compilation (two books randomly pulled from my bookshelf).

LOVE AND WASTE NO MORE TIME

says everyone dead, but they never do convince us.
My cheeks aglow like the Venusian summer — come
stand with me in all this precious sunlight, caterwauling,
astonished. Good morning and now may I have the marmalade?
I have forgotten time. You stare suspiciously.
This is nice as pie, why, what delightfully impudent mammals
we are! Being nibbled to death by our nobler guilt
and 800 degrees in the shade. When did we leave the house?
When the wind blew in those aromatic reminders of our mortality,
of course, yes, your cheerful blue eyes and your wake-up needle.
Consequently, none of this is conclusive and yet —
what prudent man would write a single honest word about himself?
All of our heroes are liars, full of divine malice.
Let’s cut them apart and clothe ourselves in their better natures.

Healing for the Splendid Imperative

Healing for the Splendid Imperative

Day 4! Healing for the Splendid Imperative Lord, you are not going — god, lord god, and god of the future — press your space face close to mine, and sing me to my opera house. Bring a bale of hay and a bucket of […]