Poem + Tweet = Peep

I’ve started writing short little poems on Twitter. To be a tweet, it must be 140 characters or less. This is creating a new kind of poetry. I’ve seen others play with it and I like it. Kind of ee cummings meets haiku.

You have to be brief, and use space, punctuation, capitalization, and line breaks effectively.

Since most of you don’t follow me on Twitter, I thought I’d glue them together here in a post. Here are 7 that I’ve written so far.

ONE

your gorgeous
blue eyes
flash:burn:cut
through my
defenses:fear:pride
leaving me laid
bare:open:breathless
in anticipation of
what awaits

TWO

When we are
Together
Time flies by
When we are
Apart
It moves achingly
Slowly
Would that I could
Slow
And speed
Time
At my whim

THREE

Red:lips
Pink:cheeks
Orange:passion
Blonde:attitude
Green:innocence
Blue:eyes
Pale:skin
The colors of my love

FOUR

Cold
Open
Space
In bed
Where you should be

Missing you
A full time job
No
Thank you

Endlessly waiting
For you to appear
To fill this space

FIVE

You gorgeous
Open and trusting
Kind and distracting
So Damn Sexy

Me lucky
Satisfying you
Appreciative
Devoted

Us … happy

SIX

Peanut butter:jelly
Atoms:electrons
Waves:shore
Rubber:road
Grass:earth
Peas:pod
Sound:air
You:me
Nothing between
No spaces
None
At all

SEVEN

She uses
Crazy
Madly
Deeply
and
Always
To define her love

I cross my fingers
Close my eyes
Please
Please
Please
Let her be right

What do you think of this new, drastically abbreviated kind of poetry?

It’s Butch to find new ways to express yourself. Be Butch.

Lifting Myself – Full Piece Up

 

A couple of days ago, I posted a short excerpt from this piece. It went up at Huffington Post yesterday. You can read part of it below, and the full article at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tristan-higgins/lifting-myself_b_3752947.html.

I have been lifting as part of my fitness routine for over a year, but in the past six months I realized how much I like it and started toying with the idea of doing a competition. A competition would make my training more real and give me motivation — you know, in the same way that training for a half or full marathon motivates runners. It gives them a goal, something to work toward rather than just running “another five miles today.” I cannot imagine anything worse than that, by the way. I am not a runner.

But I think I could be a lifter. At least, I want to try.

 

 

So for the past five weeks I have been committed to a special training routine and program to help get me ready for a powerlifting meet in September.

Powerlifting means lifting as much weight as you can. There are three events: chest press, dead lift and the dreaded squat. I am doing powerlifting, not physique (the really, really pretty, lean bodies) or bodybuilding (also pretty but beefy bodies). I joke that powerlifting is the one that allows me to still drink my beloved craft beer. But even that I am doing in restricted moderation since I started training for the competition. See? Focus. A target.

Though I still have a ton to learn about lifting (pun intended), I have learned a few things already:

1. This is a very supportive community. There aren’t that many women who lift, at least not at my gym, and the one other woman who competes has become my hero and a little bit of a mentor (though I am not sure she knows either of those things). All the other lifting coaches in my gym call out to me during my workouts, supporting and offering encouragement. Before and after workouts, they stop me and my trainer to offer a tip here and there. It seems to take a village to lift that bar.

2. This is hard. If you think it looks hard to lift a lot of weight, you are right. All the equipment is hard. It hurts when you bump into it. It especially hurts when you bump into your limitations. I’ve learned that you can press through them — slowly — but knowing when to press through and when to listen to your body and stop? That’s hard too. My trainer, Janet, is amazing at knowing this. And there are strains, and pulls, and aches, and bruises.

3. The next point aside, femmes dig it. I am told that lifting is very sexy. Muscles, sweat and calloused hands, all a plus. I don’t have to agree to appreciate this.

This is where it really gets good! Hop over to http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tristan-higgins/lifting-myself_b_3752947.html to read the rest. Thanks!

Lifting Myself – Excerpt

This is my newest piece submitted to the Huffington Post today. It should be up in a couple of days. In the meantime, I wanted to post an excerpt here…

I have been lifting as part of my fitness routine for over a year, but in the past 6 months I realized how much I like it, and started toying with the idea of doing a competition. A competition would make my training more real, give me motivation. You know, in the same way runners decide to do a half or full marathon. It gives them a goal, something to work towards rather than just running “another 5 miles today.” I cannot imagine anything worse than that, by the way. I am not a runner.

But I think I could be a lifter. At least, I want to try. So for the past 5 weeks I have been committed to a special training routine and program to help get me ready for a powerlifting meet in September.

Monday’s inspirational photo was to inspire me. See the help?

Powerlifting means lifting as much weight as you can. There are three events – chest press, dead lift and the dreaded squat. I am doing powerlifting – not physique (the really, really pretty lean bodies) or bodybuilding also pretty, but beefy bodies). I joke that powerlifting is the one that allows me to still drink my beloved craft beer. But even that I am doing in restricted moderation since I started training for the competition. See? Focus. A target.

It’s butch to stay tuned for the rest. Be Butch.

Monday Inspiration

Trying to feel inspired today. That’s 315lbs, by the way. Someday…

It’s hella butch to lift something heavy. Be Butch.