Holly Lisle: Writer

Category: Poetry

  • The Wishbone Conspiracy: A Fine Friday

    The Wishbone Conspiracy: A Fine Friday

    Spiffy, spiffy day today, though kind of horrifying, too. I followed Cady’s situation to its logical conclusion, and she’s literally up to her neck in one of those moments I would have previously identifyed as “bad,” but which some of my readers have told me counts as horror. Well, folks who have read and liked Hunting…

  • If I Brought Lambs

    The novel LAST GIRL DANCING was born as IF I BROUGHT LAMBS, on 9/1/96, with the following poem that I wrote. I’ve included the whole page, because initially each chapter was supposed to be preceded by a poem from the killer, and, finding it this morning, I thought the header was kind of funny. Along…

  • Wow! The stuff you find!

    I’ve been gradually integrating the archives on the weblog. It’s an enormous, messy project, and I’ve been doing it from oldest posts to newest, about a week at a time. I’d forgotten how long Talyn was a project before it became a book. I’d forgotten what a brutal time I had writing The Wreck of…

  • Asking a Favor

    Does anyone have a copy of “Pensive Ruminations on Impermanence in a Technophilic World,” Aboriginal, #31-#32, Summer, 1992? (poem) I don’t have a copy anymore, and have tried like hell to remember the thing, and can’t. I’d like to put the thing up on the webside along with To an Android Lover .

  • Good days happen

    Good days happenWithout warning, after bad days, in spite of too much sun or rain Laughter bursts out of dark corners and explodes whole roomsClearing cobwebs with astonishing speedDread wearies of itself, and falls exhausted to the floor, Overcome by its own mutterings, melodramatic in its flung poseGood news sneaks in over the transom, under…

  • And apropos of nothing

    Another poem I dug off my hard drive, this one really short. Wrote it for a character that I have not yet used, back on June 6, 1999. It will eventually go into the book that I’m working around the character that sprang from this poem, but here’s the poem, well in advance. EPITAPH OF…

  • Oh … and Seven Accursed

    I wrote a variant of this poem a while back, just because. I was digging through old material for plot ideas, found it, and came up with a humdinger. I had to rewrite the poem as both it and the story evolved, but, here it is. Seven Accursed We are now fallen, we who dreamed…