PoetryI found meaningPoetry10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In words so unspoken,
And the places
No eye catches.
In the shade of behemoth movement,
Watching a life
Behind the borders of mind,
Without a breath or word
A reason to question the air above my head.
How I breathe
And am held down,
And crawl through forests
Still as the sky.
And listen to what was always there
Between branches and channels,
Learn from each
To know yourself.
And the one's you would surrender it all for.
Continue with that emblem
Out of corners.
Make the road your own.
Forget each curve
And listen in silence.
There we find answers that we only dreamed to know.
How to dismantle me.Hope to live,How to dismantle me.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Live to die.
Love to stay,
And stay to cry.
Sigh your last,
But never pretend,
To hope that hope,
To live again.
Furthest Flow - Prologue PrologoFurthest Flow - Prologue5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Imaginen ver una hoja en blanco o un lienzo de pintura sin haberse usado.
Ahora piensen que están parados ahí dentro y lo más que alcanza uno a hacer es voltear para cualquier lado sin ver más que el espacio vacío que les circunda. Ni siquiera pueden observar el propio contorno de ustedes, es como estar desnudos e invisibles a la intemperie.
Bueno, así me encuentro ahora. Podía haberme sentido de mil formas en ese momento, pero en mi no había reacciones, ni sensaciones. Era como ser un punto muerto y ya, un punto .que comenzó a surgir de pronto entre aquella inmensidad. Su presencia hizo que surgiera en m
In My Own Little WorldIn my head I'm in my own little world.In My Own Little World4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A beautiful guy and, rarely, a handsome girl.
I swim in the clouds and fly in the sea.
Roaming or in chains, I'm always free.
No storms rain down on my parade.
No colors on leaves ever fade.
Flowers grow higher when down comes the snow.
And everyday there's a great big rainbow.
In my little world no secrets to hide.
And by my own laws can my life abide.
Free to be me and no one to stop it.
I have my bubble and no one can pop it.
Freely liking whomever I choose.
No drowning in sadness or hiding behind booze.
No one to tell me that my life is wrong.
No one to say that in Hell, I'll belong.
Republican Vs. LibertarianDisclaimer: The following conversation is intentionally hyperbolic and features an obviously exaggerated stereotype. It is not meant to be representative of all Republicans--only the stupid ones. The purpose of this conversation is to highlight the doublethink surrounding most Republicans and their claim of "limited government." If this portrayal in any way offends you, kindly hit the backspace button.Republican Vs. Libertarian1 year ago in Editorial More Like This
Republican: I vote Republican because I’m a proud conservative who opposes big gubermint!
Libertarian: So you support limited government, then?
R: Just like our Founding Fathers: Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Chuck Norris!
L: What are your thoughts on our military?
R: I proudly support the troops! We need to support our brave men and women who are fighting for our freedoms.
L: So you support the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq?
-Poem- An Angels' TearsAn Angels tears,-Poem- An Angels' Tears5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Demons lies
By inevitable ties
Ties of strings,
Invisible to the eye
No time to cry
Through body and soul
No time together,
Her body turns cold
Darkness engulfs her,
White wings turn black
Shes leaving her life,
Theres no turning back
Abandoning her God,
For one of darker sorts
Choosing for love,
Her life is cut short
Betrayed by her love,
Her one and only fear
He crushed her life,
And no one can hear;
An Angels tears
Scare Words From The LeftScare Words from the Left-Wing (And What They Really Mean)Scare Words From The Left4 years ago in Editorial More Like This
This is a parody and a response to "Scare Words from the Right-Wing (And What They Really Mean)" by Matthew Desmond (and posted as EruditeLiberal's journal entry). The first half of this piece will consist of words and issues, how liberals view them, and what they really mean. The second half will consist of labels (or rather insults) liberals use against their opponents, followed by what liberals really mean when they use them.
What they want you to think it means: White Christian heterosexual property-owning men who fear change and distrust anyone who isn't one of them.
What it really means: Individuals who want change to happen naturally and gradually (rather than radically) and who base their lives on traditional values and principles which have been tested by both history and experience, rather than on theories which have not been tested, or if they have, have been proven to fail.
WomanhoodI was seventeen when I first understood what it was to be a woman. It wasn't the moment years before when I began my period. It hadn't been the instant in which a boy first touched his lips to mine when I was twelve. It wasn't when I put on my first prom dress, or the first time I wore heels. I knew that women had breasts, and men did not; men were taller, and stronger than women; women were fairer and meeker than men. That was the way things were, and always had been. I was born and raised to accept those facts, and that is exactly what I had done.Womanhood8 years ago in Open More Like This
I watched the deep, crimson blood drop and fan out in the water beneath me. It was like dropping food dye into oil, or dropping paint onto wet paper. It spread through the basin, dancing slowly over the white porcelain boundaries. My hips and legs and stomach ached for the fourth day in a row despite following the directions of countless concerned friends. "Drink water", "avoid salt", "exercise", they said. I had shaken three cylindrical br
CourageThe world needs more courage.Courage10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Courage to fear.
Courage to hope.
Courage to hurt.
Courage to cope.
Courage to laugh.
Courage to cry.
Courage to live.
Courage to die.
Courage to love.
Courage to hate.
Courage to leave.
Courage to wait.
Courage to jump.
Courage to fall.
Courage to run.
Courage to crawl.
Courage to go.
Courage to stay.
Courage to work.
Courage to play.
Courage to fail.
Courage to try.
Courage to wish.
Courage to fly.
Courage to fight.
Courage to talk.
Courage to stand.
Courage to walk.
Courage to win.
Courage to lose.
Courage to dream.
Courage to use.
paper-thinThe following story is a work of fiction. All events and inhabitants are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, or supernatural, is entirely coincidental. Take my word for it: it's all made up. Never mind what the story says.paper-thin9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
ACT I; Scene 1
This is a true story. I have recorded everything as it happened and have neither added nor removed anything.
We open upon an opened home: imagine an apartment building minus the fašade, like a doll-house, its rooms exposed for the divine female from beyond to reach inside and pose its plastic inhabitants in humorous situations. We do not see the little girl playing with her little world, but we can picture her: blond, of course, and pony-tailed, immersed in her own miniature play. She breathes life into those static toys and settles their fates between luncheon and dinner.
She is not malevolent.
Let us inspect the house again. Barbie and Ken have ne
after dinner, afterlifeafter dinner, afterlife8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
After Dinner, Afterlife
If it were you and I,
both of us
bearing crosses on our backs,
and lifted high upon our crimes
(like a Bible story
or a fairy tale from some
damned, banned book)
we'd surely be honoured
at the gates of Saint Peter,
with medals, wine, wings
and songs of praise
for our lives within fables
and our ability to conquer
with only a blind mule -
and a switch.
ouroboros.ouroboros.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
White and gold still dressed her spine.
Those chains and gems criss crossed her shoulder blades in absent patterns, slung across her skin with a careless air. She was a creature of laces. Lace. Cream coloured filligree. And in this new home that didn't yet feel like hers,
she felt so small
alone on her wedding night with only years upon years of flowers to keep her company.
Arehtet went to the window and pushed it open, let it yawn wide open like the maw of the manticore. Her perfume called, white smoke with the lull of desert roses and dragon's blood on its tongue of deceits. She pulled her veil back and she blinked.
This kingdom could fit in the palm of her hand. She reached out. Closed her fingers around all those twinkling lights and crushed them to the dust of an hourglass.
The night wasn't so dark.
But it was vast.
The halls of Caeronvar Rock echoed under his feet as he stalked through them, gold softly clinking against his wrists and chest.
They called it the Rock and that was e
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Importance Of Being Frank
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then she walked over to the wash basins.
A fly buzzed between her and the mirror. She turned on the faucet, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on her face. She looked at the stall's reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and slapped herself.
Let us slow down to take in the sights. At the exact moment Silvie's hand hits her cheek, everyth
SinfulOur nights are stolen:Sinful7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stripped at the door,
our scarred bodies
suspended between fleeting present and
lights out, child of mineshe wakes up to the sound of white bottlecaps shifting weightlights out, child of mine6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
like the boughs of a taciturn ship
only to realize thru bedcovers
and forgotten colours
that it was just her vacancy sign.
she hugs her knees to
the nausea that slithers along her major organs
bedposts and wire springs that construct her waking life
and now perturb the numbers in her head.
the streetlamp outside her window is
just a metaphor for something she shouldn't read into
but always does.
jettison cigarettes on her marline veins
more the colour of phosphene scarlet letters
like the one only Nathaniel Hawthorne could rectify
and she could embody.
stop. stomach wails won't be pacified.
through roundabout monkey knots and cheshire directions
she breathes in singsong tongue-lapses
. s t o p
When Autumn ComesTwo white arches riseWhen Autumn Comes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
enclosing charred spirals,
a crumbling wall,
two gaped holes
windows darkened by sunset.
Underneath a crashing wave;
your tongue, your eyes.
Flowing to the rhythm,
some unforgiving DJ
and a shot or two.
A jazz bar by old theater,
three stories fly so fast;
this is where I go
when autumn comes this year
I just can't seem to wait.
Reflection.We fuck next to the haunted lakeReflection.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with mirror-ocean eyes. It mutters as it watches our
whispers, hears our stifled cries in the dark.
Morning comes with a weak
peering sun, hesitant fingers brushing
the edges of the sky. I sit
with my legs in the water, watching
you pack your bags and drive on home, rattling by
in your cherry red car that shatters
the blue miasma hanging like a ghost
across the lake, a fog that rolls across the reeds.
Ripples stream away from my knees.
I write letters in the air to my lover back home
in Australia, who probably dreams vivid red-pink-love scenes
alone in the darkness. I stare at nothing.
My bags lie on the front porch, packed
with a bunch of flowers sitting on top, the orange fan
a smile, a sneer that screams: How! Could! You!
I dont know how.
Sharp lancing pain, a soft plea.
Dont stop. Dont stop! The lake lies quiescent,
but it hides demons that spring
and seize. They capture my whirlin
LewisvilleThe side of this road must be linedLewisville5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like the twisted wooden fence posts
On Holland Road past the blinking light -
There are two dead deer a mile apart
That look like they were hit the same day.
Hundreds of deer have laid dead like that -
And then there are the raccoons,
possums, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, skunks... should
I go on?
On I go down the bone-lined road
Stopping short of mentioning dogs and cats
And wondering whether any human bones lie,
Unnoticed, in the tall weeds.
I drive here every day and would prefer
Not to think of empty eye-sockets,
Shattered rib cages and the last breath
Of an animal slain by a driver
Who may not have cared -
I drive here every day
And I feel more camaraderie with those two dead deer
Than I do with the people who live
In the houses that I pass; I prefer
Not to wonder if that's okay.
I can imagine my own bones
Turning to crumbs inside my flesh
All from the loneliness of Turceda Highway -
I would save the biggest crumb for someone right.
liquor store woman.liquor store woman8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Under houston summer heat, she wavered
like asphalt (as if she weren't there
at all); in ralston's parking lot, the smoked-down Newports
and malt liquor bottles were hers as we
scorched our feet jumping rope and
the girls sang "miss mary mack" til we
fell on our faces.
Next to the graffiti wall, she slid in
Her cart and her dead, empty face
took cover from the sun while we recklessly
burned through our childhoods.
HeldWe loved like arson:Held8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
glow floats around like smoke, and distorts us,
restless, and tangles around the rafters,
the room imbued: remnants of star-fuelled lust.
We loved like fireworks, comets and fireflies.
We traced paths through constellations for hours,
across freckled skies, tasting the stars
with every kiss. The night went on for miles.
Now a cathartic still whispers, lingers
as the room burns orange in the morning's
luster. The carmine light bares a warning:
To keep my distance, or I'd clash with hers.
I leave her to draw the blinds, casting shad-
ows like prison-cell bars across the bed.
JumpI could jumpJump5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no, not to die
just to feel the freedom of falling,
of my body kissing the pavement;
just to let my last breath slip away in laughter.
I could totter to the edge, all haughty,
and tell myself I could fly
only for gravity to remind me Im average
to feel the universality of broken bones,
of mixing myself with the earth.
I could dive,
magnificent in the sunlight,
and be omniscient for a second,
believe in something more for a second.
I could jump
no, not to die