tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32741653621337594062024-03-05T05:38:06.106-08:00Letter AestheticsAlexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-26533484168809617912011-05-18T16:06:00.000-07:002011-05-18T16:06:39.937-07:00window of her soul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWK1YNg1ZvbuJUFrOOaTBCsdEVrT8y7N7OV2ePXVc_EZ-Eqi488vGwEiJMxhycFj2LwHmhOq-vAZJxEAZBOI-hDN_G2zXLvxCIemOQfXJhalW2lxyZdnBlAisprEH3ZA83h4wz_W8Uvw/s1600/emily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWK1YNg1ZvbuJUFrOOaTBCsdEVrT8y7N7OV2ePXVc_EZ-Eqi488vGwEiJMxhycFj2LwHmhOq-vAZJxEAZBOI-hDN_G2zXLvxCIemOQfXJhalW2lxyZdnBlAisprEH3ZA83h4wz_W8Uvw/s320/emily.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-30595497474195685912011-05-17T19:48:00.000-07:002011-05-17T19:48:13.362-07:00Autobiography 2nd Draft<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She is made of sun flowers and unreasonable questions; she drinks the sky in her morning coffee while curiosity holds her hand. Sun dresses and over sized cardigans breathe most comfortable against her skin.Her lips are too passive when time calls to be bold, but much too opinionated in the rooms that should wear silence. She’s been told that the sun colors the night of her hair and people often tell her she wears the ocean in her eyes.</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Her body sings an undefined melody; a Janis Joplin meets Norah Jones type of concert echoing in the rhythm of her walk. Stuck between personalities she builds a collage of her soul, almost as messy as her bedroom floor.She bathes daily in sunshine, hoping her skin still has enough room to soak up the promise left in its rays.She dips herself in revelry, and tiptoes through life as if the ground offers refuge to a delicate secret.</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She struts her messy hair and dirty toes; wears no makeup when the sun’s fingerprints hug her cheeks. She carries her life bled to the paper beneath a yellow binding that rests in her purse.Vanilla chai and sleepy rhymes turn the page to her nighttime rituals. The ocean is her favorite scene, while the rain writes her safest song; something about the water makes her feel clean again yet speaks remnants of her past.</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She finds that the words ‘I love you’ never leave her mouth at the right time and she wishes she could proudly carry innocence upon her shoulders again; those were the years she still felt beautiful.</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When thirsty lips cried her eyes dry, she taught herself to lay happiness in hands that hold the sun. She lets forgiveness dance across her skin as she opens her chest to breathe the air of her King. </div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-68490822600024127042011-05-09T12:47:00.000-07:002011-05-09T12:47:52.488-07:00Autobiography<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She is made of sun flowers and unreasonable questions<br />
she drinks the sky in her morning coffee <br />
while curiosity holds her hand. <br />
<br />
Her lips are too passive when time calls to be bold, <br />
but much too opinionated in the rooms that should wear silence. <br />
<br />
Sun dresses and over sized cardigans breathe <br />
most comfortable against her skin. <br />
She’s been told that the sun compliments <br />
the night of her hair and people often tell her <br />
that she wears the ocean in her eyes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Her body sings an undefined melody; <br />
a Janis Joplin meets Norah Jones type of concert <br />
echoing in the movement of her walk. <br />
Stuck between personalities she builds a collage of her soul, <br />
almost as messy as her bedroom floor. <br />
<br />
In the summer months she bathes daily in the sunshine, <br />
hoping her skin still has enough room to soak up <br />
all the promise left in its rye's. <br />
<br />
She dips herself in revelry, <br />
and tiptoes through the rain <br />
as if each drop wore the delicacy of a secret. <br />
<br />
She struts her messy hair and dirty toes; <br />
wears no makeup when the sun leaves fingerprints on her cheeks. <br />
<br />
She carries her life bled to the paper beneath <br />
a yellow binding that rests in her purse. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She finds that the words ‘I love you’ <br />
never leave her mouth at the right time. <br />
And when heartbreak dressed her on the morning that he left, <br />
she searched for answers at the bottom of old whisky bottles and new eyes. <br />
<br />
She wishes she could proudly carry innocence upon her skin again, <br />
because those were the years she still felt beautiful. </span></div><br />
(1st draft, unfinished)Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-18159754538379578752011-04-25T11:28:00.001-07:002011-04-25T11:28:54.487-07:00the air tastes of change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOWa1Qa_0s5E0lBCrp-B6nrqwx-1baxrqEhTsqm-cXZxYXDOJY6WDStt76qDZ1h5zmw_EAIVi1o3WDvE7Goo4M40OtSIf7aOjL77aE1OSIzI0vycrpW-mDmiwLjBG3fijzLL74jWWwQ/s1600/grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOWa1Qa_0s5E0lBCrp-B6nrqwx-1baxrqEhTsqm-cXZxYXDOJY6WDStt76qDZ1h5zmw_EAIVi1o3WDvE7Goo4M40OtSIf7aOjL77aE1OSIzI0vycrpW-mDmiwLjBG3fijzLL74jWWwQ/s320/grass.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-4985518752748193092011-04-25T07:30:00.000-07:002011-04-25T07:31:33.827-07:00Secrets of Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjuv4_MQoUDTRkIaVbh3pRmvDlKLxkgaY1E97dZBoPy8A66rbkCD2_KgupQR3p0Vu6UqCT8GD5RGXkVWgZGqhRNbf6q9HgwRsijjFgnJqsCHspqktz5u6rsEdJ6t-cZFYzGgevWts0w/s1600/raindrops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjuv4_MQoUDTRkIaVbh3pRmvDlKLxkgaY1E97dZBoPy8A66rbkCD2_KgupQR3p0Vu6UqCT8GD5RGXkVWgZGqhRNbf6q9HgwRsijjFgnJqsCHspqktz5u6rsEdJ6t-cZFYzGgevWts0w/s320/raindrops.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
<br />
<div class="preview" id="results-preview"><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/80x15.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a><br />
This <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/StillImage" rel="dct:type" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">work</span> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License</a>.</div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-65035026954163225032011-04-20T07:43:00.000-07:002011-04-20T07:43:05.324-07:00A Silent Love<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">voice is simply breath colored by sound;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">so I love you means nothing<br />
unless said with the eyes<br />
unless said with the touch<br />
<br />
both of which you've spoken to me.<br />
and though words mean nothing aloud<br />
you've got yours spinning </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">'round my head, <br />
tangled through my chest</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">voicing the rhythm of my heart</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">wrapped around my legs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">tying me to the ground</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">built around you. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-34544906778706752372011-04-19T08:00:00.000-07:002011-04-19T08:00:41.086-07:00Speechless by Rudy Francisco<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/5l3zhub7icU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Such an amazing spoken word artist, Rudy Francisco is one of my favorites. His work is so inspiring. </span></div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-35328514010239051962011-04-15T08:39:00.000-07:002011-04-15T08:41:42.914-07:00Newest Draft of 'The Garden'<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is my newest draft, and shortened version of 'The Garden' </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your breath sweats against my cheek now, <br />
like an attempt to apologize<br />
but not actually caring enough to voice<br />
the letters to the air. <br />
<br />
I close my eyes to escape you. <br />
the delicate blues that sculpt my spirit<br />
now drown to a salty abyss. <br />
<br />
Is this my punishment? God must have named me Eve<br />
as I buried myself deep within the shadow of the forbidden tree--<br />
it's just that you tasted so sweet for a little while<br />
so I allowed myself to drink the lust from your skin, <br />
and I carved my name so deep into your back <br />
as if I'd then have some kind of possession over all your feelings. <br />
<br />
But I'm sorry God, <br />
I guess I got lust confused with another four letter word<br />
that seemed to roll beautifully off his lips to mine <br />
that first time he kissed me<br />
like a lingering secret that could only be revealed<br />
if I followed him beneath his sheets. <br />
<br />
But now you've left me here, alone<br />
in this unknown garden. <br />
my thoughts grow through vines<br />
across my most outer layer of skin, <br />
the only thing that could clothe me <br />
yet still leaving me completely exposed. <br />
<br />
I bite my lip so hard to bleed a glue<br />
contracting the surfacing words of sadness <br />
filling my tongue,<br />
leaving little room for breath itself. <br />
<br />
My petite fingers that once kissed you so delicately<br />
now run to the form of angry fists,<br />
an action of self defense in case your <br />
body language decides to hit me harder with <br />
the carelessness in your lifeless hands. <br />
<br />
I notice a pulsating pain coming from my left palm;<br />
I look to find the blood soaking remains of my heart<br />
still beating<br />
but slowly. <br />
<br />
You drank me dry, every last drop of my love<br />
and returned my heart only once your thirst was quenched;<br />
too tired to place it back among my chest<br />
from all the games you like to play?<br />
<br />
You left my heart in one hand<br />
and my eternal soul in the other. <br />
Leaving nothing but my fingertips <br />
to shelter them from the sting</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of the outside world. <br />
<br />
I'll never forget the day you traded me in<br />
for more expensive drugs, and cheaper women. <br />
It was the same day I traded my eternal life<br />
in for you. </span><br />
<br />
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This <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" rel="dct:type" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">work</span> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License</a>.</div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-86765310230864717162011-03-25T09:33:00.000-07:002011-03-25T09:33:39.047-07:00The Garden<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So here is rough draft of my newest poem, a spoken word piece, The Garden. It's still filled with plenty of mistakes; however the basic idea is there. The beginning isn't very solid, and the poem itself is not complete, so I'm just sharing a simple excerpt at the moment. I haven't had as much time for writing lately, but hopefully I will finish and edit soon. I'll be posting the final copy on my web page: <a href="http://www.wix.com/alexabeth/unrefinedpoetic">Unrefined Poetic</a><br />
<br />
I hope you all enjoy! Any suggestions/</span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">critiquing </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">is welcomed :) keep an eye our for new posts on my final piece, as well as additions to my web page!</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">...for the first time I realized I was naked, and so were you. With different names written across your new body--I couldn't look at you anymore, and please take your eyes off of me<br />
<br />
lights back off<br />
clothes back on<br />
layer upon layer<br />
<br />
there I was, trying to cover up every inch of me that's ever been reached by you. If I could, I swear I'd start with my eyes. You always said they were your favorite part of my body, your happy place. But now that's only found deeper within the opening of a stranger’s thighs.<br />
<br />
Is this my punishment? God named me Eve, and I caressed every aspect of the forbidden tree, it's just that you tasted so sweet for a little while..so I allowed myself to drink the lust from your skin, and I carved my name so deep into your back as if I'd then have some kind of possession over all your feelings. <br />
<br />
I'm sorry God, I guess I got lust confused with another four letter word that seemed to roll beautifully off his lips to mine, that first time he kissed me like a secret that could only be told beneath his sheets.<br />
<br />
I close my eyes to escape you; the delicate blues that sculpt my soul now drown to the salty abyss.<br />
<br />
You've left me here, alone in this unknown garden, my thoughts grow through vines across my most outer layer of skin, the only thing to clothe me yet still leaving me completely exposed. <br />
<br />
I bite my lip so hard to bleed a glue that contracts the surfacing words of sadness filling my tongue, leaving little room for breath itself. <br />
<br />
My petite fingers that once kissed you so delicately now run to the form of angry fists, an action of self defense in case your body language decides to hit me harder with the carelessness in your lifeless hands. <br />
<br />
I notice a pulsating pain coming from my left palm; I look to find the blood soaking remains of my heart, still beating, slowly. <br />
<br />
You drank me dry, every last drop of my love, and returned my heart only once your thirst was quenched. Too tired to place it among my chest?<br />
<br />
You left my heart in one hand and my eternal life in the other, leaving nothing but my fingers to shelter them from the outside world.</span></span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><div class="preview" id="results-preview"><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a><br />
This <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" rel="dct:type" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">work</span> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license"><span style="color: #7d181e;">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License</span></a>.</div></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-32239292029493827112011-03-02T11:23:00.000-08:002011-03-02T11:23:14.193-08:00A Nightly Theif<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She returns to morning<br />
leaving his eyes once again full<br />
but pocket broke. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it’s all over so fast—<br />
but just until the next blanket of night<br />
comes to suffocate all reality. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sending fingers dialing<br />
to bodies swimming<br />
in a pool of new lust. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The two held too tight to their convictions<br />
fighting the realization their souls <br />
are now locked. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pretending it’s still nothing<br />
but a nightly feed.<br />
It’s far too complicated<br />
for them to just, be.</span><br />
<br />
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This <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" rel="dct:type" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">work</span> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License</a>.</div>Alexa Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17236879693587531952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274165362133759406.post-66723159844786588162011-03-02T11:21:00.000-08:002011-03-02T11:21:11.164-08:00Trapped<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He is a broken record of his father’s disapproval, <br />
a single phrase strung from the ache of refusal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">His father holds the paint brush of his self-esteem<br />
creating a masterpiece of hesitation on his back,<br />
just to watch him fall when the painting <br />
gets too heavy to carry. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He exercises his spirit's strength, <br />
trying to get a stronger grip <br />
on any aspect of truth—</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">something never been given to him.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So he searches for the word ‘beautiful’ <br />
at the bottom of a nightly appetite, <br />
feeding easy money to a broken woman.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He waits for happiness to fall <br />
in the acidic rain drops dancing on his tongue, <br />
caressing his breath with the controversy of </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">fear <br />
and <br />
freedom. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He thirsts for nothing more than peace<br />
indulging himself within his mind, <br />
hoping to fill his cup<br />
with the drippings of a trip <br />
he may never return from. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He carries a hippie mentality upon his shoulders;<br />
his motions stirring to love everyone<br />
but mind closed off to recieve.<br />
Keeps love at arm’s reach<br />
as if he’s allergic to the feeling. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He numbs himself of all human emotions, <br />
only ever opens his mouth<br />
when substance can speak for him. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">He's too afraid to stand under the Son of God<br />
because no one ever treated him right. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So, he walks under his own sky. <br />
he has yet to realize that the sun he lives for<br />
burns out every night. </span><br />
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