CREATIVE WRITING
at the Ruth Asawa School of the Arts in San Francisco
Welcome! CW develops the art and craft of creative writing through instruction, collaboration, and respect. This blog showcases STUDENT WRITING and how to APPLY to Creative Writing.
Category: Poetry
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by Justus Honda (’15) From the Sarah Fontaine Unit rumbling bustle in a café at 7 o’clock in the evening, cardboard cups and porcelain mugs click and tap on marble tables, drawling voices reverberate off dimly lit walls. silent people filter through. someone walks in with music under their hat and oceansound in their pocket.…
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by Shanna (’13) i didn’t eat for 3 days and 3 stupid boys told me i looked skinny enough to toss in a bed and i broke 3 nails punching them out you’re scared of me because i curse like it’s my first language and i act like i’m 6’2 even though i don’t wear…
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by Abigail (’14) Frances and I recently went to another Carville Annex reading. (This time it was at the Carville Annex building in the Sunset, not in a forest glen.) The reading was a lecture given by Molly Prentiss, “non-famous famous person” from Brooklyn, on– quoting “aspirational objects…commercial tactics…and reasons why stories will not die.”…
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National Poetry Writing Month has begun. Just sayin’. http://www.napowrimo.net/
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the sky smells pink and hard when i walk through it in the mornings the sulfuric dusts the dawn a fruit-bowl full rosy belly bent backwards that loud gray groan inside the skin pierced and peeling like a salty apple swollen hot choleric elderly clouds left over damp winds scraggle across dimly like some stale…
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We grab the black binoculars With the thick black strap And the book about constellations And a beach towel We get into the car Sit in the leather seats, And you drive as I gaze out the window At the city lights And up at the starless purple sky, That reflects the city lights back.…
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Pellucid winters show the raw brush, Raw proof of an earlier time. You wait, you wait. The chalky dust is cold. There is no snow to take the edge Off the dry log. You sit. The well-water Is black, the rope is clasped By what flowed through its fibers. The water is black. It will…
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You could’ve left me in the drawer weighed down with wooden wolves and carved peace signs you could’ve let me lay by the bedside my strings frayed untying myself because I don’t know better but you cut off my edges tied a slipnot and threaded your head through me cause you feel naked now without…
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SLEPT WITH A SNAKE A snake under my covers ate and didn’t clean— crumbs left for me to find one bright cold saturday— I find her sheddings scattered tucked inside the sheets— sheets that are quite yellowed from hazy grainy dreams— she used her tongue to find me hissing as she rose— and when the…
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by Justus Honda This house has spirits living in mouse-holes, The kinds you come across Spinning through a gray-green daydream; Spirits that live off the disembodied hum From a refrigerator in the dark, Spirits that swoop and catch dust motes In copper waves of lamplight. This house has disinterested spirits, All-too-ancient things snoring In cobweb…
CREATIVE WRITING 