Two star-crossed lovers meeting secretly,
Hands clasped under stormy skies.
If you wait for me eternally,
Love, I'll promise not to cry.
I have to ask you, darling,
Why do you love me so?
We'll last forever.
Darling, I'm no Romeo.
A cup closed in your hands?
Let me lift the poison from your lips,
We'll make our demands.
Don't you ever think I'll leave you,
Darling, where could I ever go?
Juliet, we'll last forever.
Darling, I'm no Romeo.
Here comes the east,
And with the sun,
The glove upon your cheek is fair.
I touch your hands in soft surrender.
I'd give my life to be there.
Juliet, you are so very pretty;
Juliet, don't look so sad.
Juliet, I'll give you poetry
Until you smile, love,
Juliet, I love you,
There is nowhere I could go.
Juliet, we'll last forever.
I'm no Romeo.
Nineteen--July 23th 2010The poem won't come today.Nineteen--July 23th 20105 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
What's to write about?
Sex? Love? Betrayal?
Countless overfed, overdone
Write me a poem about originality for once.
Give me something new.
Give me haikus in iambic pentameter.
Write me something real,
Something beyond love.
Write me a poem about trying.
About losing, winning,
What you gain.
Write me a poem about lying
In your bed, hearing snow,
Give me the little moments.
The thrill of acceleration when driving,
The thrill of your heartbeat when crying,
Because at least you,
In your humanity,
There are those who can't,
Write me the thrill of a teardrop,
In iambic pentameter.
Don't write another love poem.
the artist.01.the artist.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sky was earl grey
and the clouds were steamy sips
and i wanted to drink it all.
the leaves were star yellow
and the bark smelled of coffee
and the bakery was selling a moon made out of cheese.
there was an old man on a bench
he threw his wedding band in the sewer
i cried for him.
the birds were dreams
and the mountains, my obstacles,
tally ho young adventurer tally ho
i ran into an artist today
he drew signs on corner post buildings
but he also gave his lunch to a homeless boy.
my mom holds black holes beneath her eyes
and for the first time in days, she spoke to me,
"i'm worried about you. try to make some friends?"
dear mom, i am trying
i played chess with a man in the park
i helped a girl find her parents
i am content with who i am, mom,
now i am just trying to help others achieve the same.
i ran into the artist again today
and he taught me how to paint
and then he smiled at me and said, "you're different than the rest."
we made plans, me and
AnchorAn anchor had five minutes in which to reorient themselves. One.Anchor4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I stared at the heavy steel loop around my thumb. My world was a sand castle, constructed by the subconscious in a vain hope that it would stand up on such a treacherous foundation. The ring was an unfamiliar weight and the foundation of my castle started to crumble. I did not remember it. The tide was ebbing in around my mind, whispering that my carefully imagined world was wrong. That it was lies. That the 'when' and the 'where' were pure fancy. I stirred in the nest of wires that poured information through my brain. There was a man with me, his bare back against mine. He, too, was lost.
An anchor's duty was to the pilot and the pilot alone. Not to their employer, not the guild, not even to themselves. Two.
There was an image engraved on the ring, a nautical anchor from the days when man sa
19--June 19 2010The meaning of life19--June 19 20105 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is to try to put some good
Into this fledgeling race
In the hopes that
Humanity in the big picture
cinderellaback in her cellarcinderella6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where the rats and
the dogs and
like to play
the young woman with the tiny feet
and the pumpkin coach
lays by the wall and cries her eyes away
thinking back she's not so sure.
dancing on glass slippers
feels like flying
any man who chooses his wife
based on size six and a half
be thought about.
Twilight-I Hates ItI've come to the conclusion that I cannot stand Twilight. And before you pull the flamethrower on me, YES I HAVE read the books. All of them. I did not enjoy them at all.Twilight-I Hates It7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
From an English Major's perspective, the book is incredibly poorly written. Characters lack depth and personality. Bella, especially, has no distinguishable qualities. I feel that she is simply a way for the author to get kicks out of an imaginary romance that she lacks in real life. And because Bella is SO lacking in form, this allows young female readers to put themselves and their personalities in Bella's place. I do admit, this is a pretty clever trick. However, there are better ways to do this than by having a highly underdeveloped character.
The other thing that I HATE about Twilight is the relationship image that it gives young readers. The relationship between Edward and Bella is one of the
EarthThe coloratura bent the first note.Earth7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Telephone lines sagged like taffy
and slowly felled their poles.
The page misted; she paused
a serpent's blink. Cell towers
sank in bogsand. She trilled
and satellites quit their orbits;
some grew comet plumage.
Her last note thinned to silence.
Hello? Is anybody there?
Lady DepressionI am getting fat and complacent.Lady Depression5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I sup on the riches of your labour and
spit the bones back in your face.
You are not worthy of anything.
You are a fly buzzing in my ear,
neither here nor there.
I can fell you with one slap,
end you with one loud clap
of my hands together and you fall,
like a marionette puppet whose
strings have been cut.
You are easily killed.
I think I'll play with you a little more.
Riding BikesGoing off medication is like riding a bike.Riding Bikes4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The doctor holds tight to my handlebars and lowers my dosage. The training wheels are off, and oh hey, look at me go! It's like flying but not, and I'm doing so well but then there's a horrible accident and I'm somehow upside down at the bottom of the sea with both wheels still spinning.
"Help," I say, and my doctor pats my head, puts a band-aid on my knee, and writes a note on my chart.
I've balanced by myself for months at a time, but I always end up hitting a fucking tree or falling off a cliff or something equally catastrophic because I am a catastrophic person. Except that is an exaggeration. I am an exaggeration.
I like to compare mental illnesses to mundane physical activities. Also you should know that I am sick but trying to get better.
Sometimes I relapse and then write poems about it.
It's not even the kind of sick where people bring you soup in bed and soothe your fevered brow. It's the kind of sick where I'm late to work because
anemic, broken, and growing up anywaywhen my sister was five, she dictated a letter to me in her strong little voiceanemic, broken, and growing up anyway4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
while dust drifted in the sunshine
of our creaky old room.
dear me [she said],
barney is the best. i will wear blue all the time even though i'm a girl. my heart beats without me telling it to and that's pretty cool. i think people always feel better if you tell them you love them. i will always smile because i have dimples when i smile.
"did you write it?" she asked, and i told her i did, every word
with the chunky yellow pencil i'd fished out of my school bag.
i handed her the letter, and she folded it up carefully
and she smiled.
when my sister was fifteen, she was a little bit broken
anemic and pale, with unsure hair and shaky hands.
when i came home to visit she whispered to me that
she didn't understand
and when i asked her what she didn't understand, she said
she wrote another letter that night.
dear me [it said],
this isn't a suicide note. this isn't another angsty poem. this
CalypsoHer smile risesCalypso4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the tide's rapid breath
against the shore
for she knows
the sea will claim its own -
tall ships and turrets
spun out of sand
and the pearl twist of moon
caught upon a basslet's back
when conch's dulcet tune
lulls manna from the waves.
And what sirens claim for treasure,
men can only dream of....
The Knife's SpeechIn the early eighteen hundreds, a sixteen year old girl decides to leave her hard home life and go out to seek her fortune. She takes with her a blanket, some food and her father's old knife. On the road to London, the knife speaks to her.The Knife's Speech5 years ago in Drama More Like This
I left the forge in years long gone by,
with blades of great renown and greater strength,
but none of them has done so much as I,
though they may be recalled whilst I am not.
It was with them that men waged cruel war,
displaying awesome power before the world.
I'm agent of small deeds which no one saw,
but which will have effect until Earth's end.
There's little in those youths who name me beautiful,
run fingers down my spine to test me,
feel my balance, call me graceful
and having paid that tribute soon abandon me.
To them I'm but a toy that men outgrow
and leave behind with boyhood.
My subtler power's a power they'll never know
in heat of war and sound of soldiers' feet.
Yet gentle women know my power well;
and quiet girls unleash my strengt
The Piano DemonThe first time I saw her - really, really saw her, not just glanced at her as we tried our best to catch the back seats in the small university classrooms - she was at a piano. Maybe I'd never have really been able to notice her had it not been for that one, strange evening when destiny gently pushed me out of my awkward life and into hers.The Piano Demon4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
If only children can be prodigies, then I wasn't one any longer. I'd lived through my glory years at school, where I'd gone off and won prizes for art and English, maths and physics, running circles around classmates and less talented professors. Eventually, when push came to shove and I had to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, I hid behind some more studying, delaying that dreadful moment when I'd have to prove that not only was I smart, but that I was also able to do something. I chose English and physics as majors, convinced I could do both easily enough. I wasn't right. I wasn't very wrong, either. There wasn't much of a personal life
Better Off DeadBetter Off DeadBetter Off Dead4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a normal Tuesday that I woke up dead. I could just tell when I opened my eyes that it was a different day. The doctors always gave people the warning signs for when they would die, so that there would be no mistake. A lack of warmth in your body, skin became pale, senses weakened and a distinct lack of breathing.
Rubbing the sand out of my eyes felt surreal. Every joint popped and cracked on their journey, which was rare to me. Naturally, I just figured it was a rough night's sleep and nothing more, but as I pushed the covers off of myself, I saw how white my body turned overnight. Again, death wasn't the first thought to pop into my head, just that I needed to get out more, maybe take a day off work and go to the park.
As I slowly creeped over to my bathroom, my body was still fighting me, making my apartment sound like a thunder storm. By the time I got the por
without glass slippersCarson knew too well that when Vee stepped in and out of depression, she stumbled. Prozac alone could not break her fall. It put her in a delirium that left her groggy-eyed, yawning. When she went to nap it off, her sadness seeped through her dreams in whimpers and tearless crying. He had to dance her through it. The record player was always prepared, needle set to skip to songs that coughed up attic dust as they whined. Both of them wore their pajamas; they drew the curtains to a slight part and let the sun or the darkness stand witness, which ever was out there when their feet began. He took her hand and told her to watch her step, not for the sake of elegance but for what the waltz represented as a remedy. Although Vee frequently went barefoot or in sole-worn socks, Carson feared that he would look down at her feet and find glass slippers with fault lines etched across her toes. Their embrace would loosen, each step growing more reluctant than the last. Finally, the music would stopwithout glass slippers4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Death of VenusIf there lived in the world a manThe Death of Venus4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as rugged and as strong as I,
who could forbear with me yet go against,
who took to the black woods and the silver hills
who savored salt and the lay of fur
with fingertips of dirt and weather,
whose lips rolled words like smoke, like fog-
I would creep into his arms in the prologue of the night,
air sweet with the scent of new-cut hay,
alive with the nightjar's call.
The LastThis will be my last tearThe Last6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
not tears of joy
not tears of mourning
not tears of heartbreak
just my last tear of life
This will be my last breath
not like laughing myself to death
not holding my breath as i dive under
not losing my breath from a breath taking experience
This is my last breath
This is my last time feeling like this
my last time feeling alone, helpless, scared
my last time driving away the devils that crowd in shadows
my last time hyperventilating from panic, and fear
my last time crying away all the pain, and sorrow
my last time hoping for a phone call of hope for tomorrow
my last time getting thrown in the trash can
my last time cutting, drinking, burning
my last time ripping myself to shreds
my last time feeling worthless and depressed
This is the last time I will be this way.
I will not dwell in the past
I will not repeat my mistakes
I will not drive away my friends
I will not say goodbye again
Because I have been made new again.
Auditor of the Ashes"I am an incalculable rhythm of distinction."Auditor of the Ashes3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Those words being uttered from the other side of the cubicle wall were not expected, but they could not be labeled as "unexpected" in my inventory of daily expectations. "Is that so, Rod?"
"I am a paradigm of undiscovered configurations."
This second phrase fell on me as the first. "Well, that may be true, but you know how much they love it when you talk to me over the cube wall like that. I hope this audit project hasn't finally pushed you over the edge."
"I am a master of untamed neuropathic swings."
It was that statement, I see now in hindsight's tremendous focus, when I began to worry. "Oh, you're the Jonas Salk of neuropathy now? I thought you were an accountant?"
"I am the King of Spades, and I have an ace up my sleeve."
I heard his chair push back, the plastic wheels rolling across the plastic mat, and his Oxfords made a few taps on the mat until they transitioned to the carpet. He was go
QuaaludesIts when you open your mouth to kiss me that I remember what I know about Quaaludes. The details are all knit up somewhere deep inside a ball of knowledge because I learned about them in fifth grade which seems a little too early in retrospect doesnt it, and since then Ive wrapped whole yards of other strands of knowledge around that ball and whenever I want to remember what I know about Quaaludes I have to unravel the whole thing just to get to it. But its there. One. They make you tired but it is kind of a verbose tired which sinks you into that three-quarters-down state, the cliffs edge of sleep, but refuses to push you over. Two. They are sort of out of fashion so to get them anymore you have to know the right somebody. Three. Hunter S Thompson wrote about them and he is crazy or a genius depending on who you ask but the advocates of the latter say that the foQuaaludes6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This