your personal geography.You killed every one of my dreams. They were fragile and required deep digging, but you dug deep enough to find a way.your personal geography.6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
(Haven't you thought that by breaking every single one, you must have killed yourself multiple times?)
You didn't quite adore all the cracks on my heart, so you took it to lost-and-found. You labeled it lovely - "broken things are beautiful" was your anthem. Me, I didn't see it as beautiful.
(Just throw it out, no one could ever be interested in such an ugly hollow organ.)
Definition of a loser: someone who does not win. You used to say I won at losing, maybe to make seem less discouraging.
(So did I win or lose? No, I couldn't win. Not even at loosing.)
I once asked you to tell me the latitude and longitude of your love. You locked me out of the room while you were trying to figure it out.
(But you never did find the component needed before taking any measurements.)
makeshifts and shooting starsdear diary,makeshifts and shooting stars6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if my calculations are correct,
this is day 24.
the number of circles i've walked
around sky-scraping hopes
in worn-down shoes
filled with sand and salt.
the number of makeshifts
i have learned to make from things
that once washed up on the shore
(just like me).
the number of songs
stuck in my head
that prevent me from
hearing the ocean.
the number of stars i count
before falling asleep.
i look up at the sky
and catch myself wishing upon every shooting star
that it's actually a man-made airplane,
coming to save me.
It is hard to be softMom cutting Dad's hair in the kitchen. Feather voicesIt is hard to be soft7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because they are discussing matters heavier than water,
jarring scrapes when they move the chair.
Tufts of hair fall, touching the
curved blade of ear. It is sharper, as are our brains,
than you think, even as
the night velvets. It pads alongside my cat,
who sits behind the laundry room door and makes old saxophone sounds.
I slip inside to touch
the kitten scruf of his neck.
How difficult it is, to definitively love or hate,
when everything is so soft.
From where I sit there are no windows
and except for drooping eyelids I would not believe
in the moon. Or in the swift autumn nights
that come upon us like riders. And the hard
hands begin groping in my belly,
begging to be noticed. I do.
Opportunity-8.FebruaryOpportunity-8.February10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the texture of my missed sunrise
wrapped in amber arms and a smirk
fluxing in the newborn light:
I'd've flung myself in arms that begged to hold me
if I'd known they were there
I'm staring into your distance, someone
singing in my buttoned ears
—chops for my cubical existence
there's cement beneath us in springtime, still cold
to the touch of jean-clad cheeks,
this tank top rag doll
folded into your lanky figure,
patient for day
I'm trapped, sometimes,
in fleeting shadows—moments that shouldn't feel
like midwinter sun taunting,
tangling the air, hair
falling in your solstice eyes,
but they do
fire, or waterfire, or water6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
were this blurred, we'd be submerged,
stuck under the waves
with warping colours & corals falling away
from a certain blue surface, where white animals are climbing.
hot & cold climb the same ladder into the eye
and we see everything sharper:
today there are sky-flags, halfway tattered.
browns & sea-thinned greens, then reds & great flames
but the starving stag, steaming in the cracked courtyard
says blue is autumn's secret favourite, the colour of bruise & ozone & iris.
a leaf can fall like a cracked mast, or a dead bird meant for the ground
where the plummet loves death's rest; or simply a painted sail
that dispels the break of landlocked bone
& breaks the windy hierarchy of leaves ― a mess of fire, or water.
but this wading one-hand-clap falls like a berry
too ripe to maintain the grip
of its slim stalk limb,
here it cannot echo
or be poisonous.
i know a girl.her eyes are like the flowers on my doorstep:i know a girl.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
brilliant, glowing with vibrant color.
her secrets are like the coals in my fire:
red-hot, tender, secluded. deadly.
she hides them with her passionate flames,
that scorch her surroundings through her words
and unquenchable opinions.
the kids, they call her ember
or some times fire girl,
because she always seems
to be burning like a pyre.
one night, as we watched the stars,
she whispered in my ear.
she revealed to me her secret coals,
hiding behind the flames.
every word was painful, every syllable burned,
but her tears would heal my angry sores
and stay my inner fire,
and by the end of that long night
i had claimed her as my own.
i swallowed her fire, i embraced her pain,
and now that her secrets have scorched my heart
i know why she must burn.
i know a girl
she rages like a fire.
but when she smolders down
to searing coals, she is ten times
Tonight, i Found my GoddessSoft, silent breezes caress the leaves dangling overhead, a ripple of whispering that jumps from branch to branch. Above the whispering trees, silver clouds race against a diamond lit night sky, thin wisps against the deep velvet of night. I search the deep night easily finding the full pearl moon hanging silently against the darkness, silver light cascading down to coat the leaves and the trees. The breeze dances around the corners of my cloak, pulling the deep black fabric behind me and playfully pushing the hood further from my face. I smile as I continue to stare at the full moon above me, letting myself go with the playful ministrations of gentle summer breezes, before sitting below the great oak, a throne of roots, and closing my eyes. My meditations swim through my consciousness, my mind reaching out to swirl and play on the breeze…Tonight, i Found my Goddess9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Swirling against Her legs, the thin fabric of Her gown whispers in answer to the mumblings of the trees. Leaves of the past winter swirl lazily arou
Metre 101So. Metre.Metre 1019 years ago in Editorial More Like This
It has become a dirty word in some poetry circles.
It conjures images of withered, grey-haired men laboriously counting out beats and stresses whilst coughing up phlegm because of all the dust in their cramped and quasi-arcane libraries.
It really isn't all THAT bad, trust me.
So, without getting too 'old-man' technical - What is metre? what is it good for?
And, importantly, how does one use it?
Well, let's see if we can come up with some workable and easily understood answers by the end of this.
#1: What is metre?
Technical Language: The most well known metre, 'Accentual Syllabic Metre' is the rhythmic arrangement of syllables and patterns of stresses in a poetic line.
Translation: Metre is a poetic device that allows you to consciously orchestrate the flow of rhythm in a poem by paying attention to the natural rise and fall of the spoken word, and how to align those patterns of word-emphasis in an effective way.
#2: What is metre good for?
Jackfruit RhetoricJackfruit Rhetoric8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
by Iscariot priest
There are two poems here, read Artist's comment for details.
He says to you "conceptual love".
Now shake your head, unconvinced;
disagreement without context, be unspecific.
Is he sweating now?
You can see it in his eyes:
"Is she on to me?"
Just what the Hell is conceptual love?
You can see it in his eyes:
Metaphor generator in overdrive.
You put up your hands to hide your face;
hide a smile, your cruel nature.
Do you smell it,
the smell of bull shit?
No you don't, that's jackfruit;
thus the coming metaphor.
At least hear him out:
see the line breaks,
the pleasant punctuation.
taught to love.I was the robotic specimen made flesh and blood, learning day in, day out like a slave. You were the freedom I longed to have, smoking each day away while reclining in the back seat of a metal box in the parking lot, a little like a prince.taught to love.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I wrote and scribbled quite often. I was pretending to be scholarly. A master of literature. You drank coffee (with whisky, of course) from a polystyrene cup because you broke all the ceramic ones. A master of temptation, alcohol, sex and maybe, just maybe, wiping your own ass on a rare but highly celebrated occasion.
Oh, and you werent such a terrible teacher, either.
You wrote logical equations on a large, dusty blackboard which hung off the wall in the left corner ever-so-slightly and smelt of calcium carbonate. Twenty pairs of eyes bore through the back of your greasy and unkempt head as the chalk screeched across the surface. The twenty-first pair of eyes were buried in a copy filled with notes about the geometry of a circle a
Antidote For Your FearRemember that you're not aloneAntidote For Your Fear6 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
In a crowd or when you're home
I will be here for you
To save you when you need me to
In the dark I'll bring a light
I'll stop your awful dreams at night
I'll catch you every time you fall
And I'll be here whenever you call
I'll find you whenever you're lost
I'll buy your freedom whatever the cost
You won't be alone when it's time to choose
You'll always win, you'll never lose
I'll sing you to sleep when it rains
And I'll see through your dark stains
If you're blind I'll make you see
I'll be whatever you want me to be
I'll stop time so you don't have to go
You won't be alone during the show
I'll help you get over your stage fright
And I won't let you cry when you say you might
Remember that you're not alone
In a crowd or when you're home
I will be here for you
To save you when you need me to
Psychedelia 1: The PupilHere.Psychedelia 1: The Pupil7 years ago in Open More Like This
I remember feeling present:
In this now with every moment sweeping by me
leaving me untouched.
I forgot the Now,
my 'real' and my 'ego' sense of the world.
It felt wonderful to be a baby in the arms of the earth again
pushed to the bosom of the planet
It felt wonderful never to be separated from Mother
the 'as we know it' reality
There were spirals
red and blue and indigo
spinining tight, cocentric patterns
I knew what it was to be dead
My pupil op
crashing.'think of yourself as a breath of air,' he tells me. 'compared to the overall atmosphere, you are tiny. insignificant.'crashing.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
'but someone out there is breathing you in,' he continues. 'they're living off of you. you are the oxygen in their lungs, running through their veins and keeping them alive.'
i think that i'd be the polluted kind of air. the kind nobody wants. the kind that ends up killing people.
but i keep these thoughts inside.
'if i fell, would you catch me?' i ask, your fingers cold in mine.
'the crash is never as bad as they make it sound,' he says cryptically.
i take this to mean no.
'what do i remind you of?' you ask.
i have no answer.
but one day, i will find it.
and i'll write you a letter, because we both know you'll be long gone by then.
you remind me of dreams.
sometimes, i'll wake up from them happy. sometimes, i'll be afraid and crying.
sometimes, i'll just wake up empty.
but in the end -
i never can hang onto them.
Losing You.The stars from your eyes used to flutter across my heart,Losing You.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and dreams were spent in a void of warmth hung whispers of you,
Your hands would chase thunder under my skin and trickle lightning up my spine,
you glittered my world in gold dust and let sunshine become jealous.
A permanent guest, you inhabit my mind,
lingering sensations float in ethereal memories.
I draw closer to you here, when I can no longer
accept the knowledge of my loss.
You are hung in tattered ribbons, stranded in time,
a ghost that will chase me from world to world.
When did this life become so evanescent?
Circumscribed in shadowed halos, cast out glory from the heavens.
When did you shift from my vision into illusion?
Long ago did I bathe in your essence,
when your soul I could call mine.
Now, reminiscent haze clouds my thought.
This world was clean and pure when you touched my skin.
The days were like golden syrup, so thick, suga
yellow bird.yellow bird7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
yellow-bird with coffin breast,
roosted sling of matchsticks and spider legs-
Ive watched her strip them in twilight
from bulging blood bodies, grapes shell eat,
wine to throat, a song to sing beneath slated roof.
A screw, a bolt, Ive turned a winding fir
branch into mechanics of hands and clutching.
A trap: salted fish with thumbtack scales-
an unkeeping of flight, on the snow of the perch.
I sweep song to ring with muted clapper,
between beak hammered shut,
wool-bite moth with snap-close wings,
pinned to a curl behind my ear.
theme two - lovei.theme two - love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you crackle with static energy that
shocks the nerves into kineticism
and makes him forget how to move
the tips of his fingers so they meet yours
you are popsicle skies and hazy
mouths that cloud his mind
and his wristwatch so that he loses
track of time when he looks in your eyes
you have molten hands that forge
through hills and valleys of good morning
smiles so that they wrap around his
heart and he melts in your hands
you bring butterflies and foolishness
like they are doggy bags of
necessary emotion and you want to
make sure he is well fed
there is something ringing in my ear
after he stretches out upon the grass
and cannot stop telling me that
your eyelashes whisper "home"
Burning An AngelWas it a dream?Burning An Angel6 years ago in Other More Like This
How we fell apart.
Are you happy now?
Do you still look at the moon and wonder if Im looking too?
Its not ok, I'm not alright.
I was so angry
There are things I'm never going to say
And youre never going to change
I can see now
This is love
You think youre too complicated for me
Youre predictable but I wouldnt have it any other way.
Youre predictably unpredictable
Youre so unbelievable
Im giving back what you gave me
Youre so unbelievable
So one of these days
Im going to be with you
Even after all you put me through
Youll never know how much I cared
I tried to be honest
But you forgot how to say
"I love you too"
But its ok, I am fine
You were accidental fate
We were accidental fate
You said we had to talk
I was lost in my stare
You have the most beautiful eyes
We were always talking about the list of what is wrong
But I heard you
I heard what you said
That Im not good enough for yo
Feel the Words TwistingI killed a man today.Feel the Words Twisting6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Neither with metal nor nylon,
but with words sharper than any blade.
I crushed his joy with a well placed scoff.
I broke his spirit as I spat on his hard toiled success.
I ground him beneath my heel with accusations of theft.
I stole his last breath with a stinging backhanded compliment.
I am Jealousy.
I am Pain.
I am Unforgotten and Unforgivable.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
but cutting words kill forever.
Our DutyWe swallowed the path homeOur Duty1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
I love youI love the sound of our hearts finally beating in unisonI love you6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I love the feel of the stickiness on our hands
I love the taste of it, in all of its coppery goodness
I love the look on the glass, how it colors the stars
I love you, my beloved, thank you for all of this and more.
Chameleon Smiles"I always wanted matching straight jackets," she said, pressing her minuscule fingertips against the bent backs of dandelions and clovers. I only managed to blink back the laughter because even though she smiled lovingly at the sky, her eyes said "sometimes-I-think-I-belong-in-one."Chameleon Smiles6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"Don't be ridiculous," I say, leaning back onto the blanket of sun-worn grass.
She pouts with her all ready withered twenty two year old lips, "I'm not being ridiculous."
I smile and close my eyes as her innocence laden voice rambles on about why the sky really turns black--she is adamant that it's because a monster-star swallows up all the colours then spits them back in the morning. While the other stars are only there to avert suspicion by sparkling not-brightly-enough. I laugh and shake my head as her hands wash over my arm, trying to pull me into her descriptions. She never lets me forget how wrong about her I am.
"You could at least listen to me," I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me
Alone and HopingAlone in a field of brush and thorn bushes, a flower grows.Alone and Hoping6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The brush partly brown with age and thirst.
The thorn bushes swaying and wrapping themselves to all that was near.
The flower, its red velvet pedals and yellow center reached for the kiss of the sun.
Time passes by, the three stood withering in the humid heat.
The brush, turning browner and shriveling with the rays of the sun.
The thorn bushes, fighting for life, creeps even closer to the flower.
The flower, still so red and the center still bright, stands waiting for the rain to come.
Times still passes, the three fighting for life without their thirst being quenched.
The brush turns to a almost complete brown falling to the ground.
The thorn bush creeps ever slowly over other things to drink of their fluid of survival.
The flower, its red tuning to a dull red, the yellow fading lightly, still stands alone waiting for the rain.
Time still passes, the three are still as they were before, only a little more thirsty.
The brush n
Without RemorseTake my hand while I am bleedingWithout Remorse6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Take my hand while I am needing
let me show you on the 'morrow
Blood stains on glass
I can only laugh
I see the stars as borrowed.
Even in death
In shared last breath
I cannot feel the sorrow
Not stopping in midcourse
With neer thought of remorse
I call this end bizarro