Lily Eastman
Lily was born in the back of a station wagon to traveling circus performers. They left her at a rest stop in Polk County when her fear of tigers made her a nuisance. A nice family adopted and tried to make her feel welcome, but sometimes, late at night, when the bullfrogs called, she wondered if she might be different. Not really, she sleeps like a rock, so she never heard the bullfrogs.
She now plots world domination. And takes naps.
Blogs by this Author
Hope
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
I want to tell the world I am awake.I am alive, I am alive, I am happy today.I have a new chance. I can smile and forget what elseand let the sun feel me walking through itI am awake.I am growing i...
Break Strain
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
This is my feeble tide
Floating in an ocean of disdainful stares
I know somewhere
Behind the melting anguish of my mind
That there's still hope
For me to fly
They pull, the critics, they dra...
Sidewalk Shimmering Days
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
I feel the summer
The earth slowly relaxing
Like a languid sigh
Sinking warmly into droopy evenings
When the sun doesn't feel like leaving
And the moon just hangs around
It's in my shoulders
...
Givingthanks
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
We are all awake now
our eyes open in the dark
crying
on pillows wet with last night's pain.
the last night
Today we watched out mother die.
and then we ate lunch.
bonds of brown hair and mat...
January 18, 2001
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
I call upon the ocean
and summon out its god
come arm me now, Poseidon
and stand here at my side.
I reach out for the lightning
and prostrate ere its king
oh Zeus my mighty ally
come quickl...
How
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
how do you make an elegy
for the person you love most in the world?
do you use words? music?
do you smear blood on an innocent canvas
or crumple and shatter your soul.
it has begun
the wind so...
Lines
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
Looking forward
to another vast explosion of light
eternally like a dying star.
The artists' drug: opium
Mine?
Well...
See--what is all this pain?
What is all this poetry?
The conglomeration...
New Year's Revolution
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
Deep within me stirs
a fire, a passion
to take the world in a paper cup,
and gasping, gulp the glory
of knowledge, wisdom, life,
to feel it flowing freely
through every vessel, vein, and nerv...
Upon the Water
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
Pegasus
and the new moon rising
in the last silent moment before dawn.
Like waiting for an echo
when the sound has died away
in shadow-colored whispers yesterday.
keep burning in your child-...
Performance Space
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
I want to be an artist
I want to be the
bohemian writer
living in the attic
eating beans from a can
I can
get by on absolutely
living.
I don't need much
A-440
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/16/2008
The brushing blackness
breezy, nebulous midnight
of solitude at 6 a.m.
The cavernous world is mine alone
like God waiting for creation
I widen my eyes
raise my arms
and command the sunrise...
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/13/2008
In the aching arms of the symphony,
tossing restlessly,
I cannot sleep.
Tumultuous melodies
fairies spilling out of a jar.
Starshine violins lilt and ribbon me
the icewater flutes shiver,
war...
Change
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/13/2008
The future is an endless red meadow
rolling and rolling, calling.
I wait at the edge
of this maniacal carnival ride
and shift from left foot
to right foot
to left foot
and right.
What's going ...
Autumn for my Mother
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/13/2008
The fall here is painfully beautiful,
blanketed in buttery golden leaves,
the red brick sidewalks whisper in the wind.
My days are a poem in footsteps and breezes,
as the sun filters through amb...
Redneck Odyssey
- By Lily Eastman
- Published 06/12/2008
Did Helen want to go?
Sitting in her tower combing satin hair
look singingly out at Paris and smile
Or screaming and bleeding
was torn from her home?
Paris calls,
a motorcycle thrum in the al...