Red BoatRed boat in the harbour,Red Boat4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
commercial trawler amidst the blue
like a gunshot-wound
on a cop's patrol shirt
The Wall ScriptThe Wall Script6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
In the beginning, there were six of them. They came from the corners of the realm, each with their own story and question. Seeking knowledge, a haven, a father, a way to explain why memories faded with every twist of the sun around the sky. What they sought was not easily revealed, and some say they pursued this for their entire life and never found a thing. Some say their success was the very thing that ripped them from their existence.
The first one to come was Braig. Carrying fishing lures upon the brim of his sleeve and speaking as though friendly was the only language he knew, he became the first apprentice. He was only one who laughed for the sport of it, and his season was always young.
The second to make his way into the ranks of the apprentices was Dilan, who let his gracious ambivalence number the stars once, then twice over, searching for everything and nothing. He came to apply his hands to the grease and oil of mechanics, furthering his trade with engineering.
it is not enoughit is not enough just toit is not enough7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
miss you. i have to learn
how to walk again; how to
live without meat and
kissing, how to sleep
shaped like a balled up
fist. it is not enough
just to miss you. i have
to adopt twins in
Africa, name them Lost
and Weird, forget to
feed them. i have to
go to every pet store
in America and rescue
all the seahorses. i have
to tattoo D A R K B I R D
inside my lip and stand
in children's playgrounds
like a broken arm, creaking. it
is not enough just to miss
you. it has to hurt. i
have to write poems
that last forever, interpret
dreams about buildings
burning down, flies who
leave their partners for
sad New York waitresses. i
have to work on my
posture. shave my head, wear
white dresses. i have to
be a chaffinch when i curse
into my fingers. it is not
enough to just miss you. i
have to be a crazy
crocus-woman; my lovely
hand curled close around
your heart, a bud sealed
tightly, tightly, tightly...
Behind The NothingnessBehind The NothingnessBehind The Nothingness3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I used to play here everyday
Alone and with no light
Behind an ashen, big board
People calls as a piano
My fingers were dancing
With the old, cranky piano keys
And rhyming with all the chords and melodies I know
All the black and white
Became one amidst shadow
Behind the nothingness, I played wild
Raging and fighting against the false melodies
Sounded as I pressed the wrong parts of the song
This ears can never hear well
But my failures rang inside them
Behind the nothingness, my fingers kept playing
Without audience to sit before me
Without clapping hands to sound appreciation
Without a figure or even a shadow
Than the overwhelming darkness around me
Neither do I know
I closed my eyes or opened them
But I kept rounding with the same song
To finish what I had started
Behind the nothingness I have
the lonely planet's guideIt was three AMthe lonely planet's guide6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It was three AM
we were talking about
and I was too ashamed
to admit that I couldn't
remember how that felt,
staring stupidly at the
piss-stained bed and then
at the ceiling. There was a moth
the size of my heart and coloured
in like autumn and pain. That's me,
and then threw my shoes at it.
The next day on the metro
somebody had scratched C'EST
A CHIER onto the window
and it was only then that
I felt the papery beating of
winged grief in my
You might think that it's
pretentious to write about
Paris, but that's where I was.
nique ta mère.
The irony of poetry and sexShift things around in your head and you're single with skin to skin contact attaching heavy breath.The irony of poetry and sex4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're flexing your body, eyes rolling, jaw lifting there is nothing but increasing pressure on your hips.
The guilt is left inside your chest propelling your heart and jolting adredelaine showing up in your heightened
movements and sinking lungs.
Thoughts are only given the power to let you know it's wrong not the right to connect to your heart
when you have pushed it below the surface. The wrong is what makes it so good too. It's the pressure
on your hips that activates the thrust not the pounding of your pulse or the dividing of your mind
between your id and your superego.
You know nothing but what your body wants you to know and that's what feels good. Shadows are
crawling throughout the room hollowing out cheek bones and hips, you end up thinking it's something
fucking beautiful, when it's just fucking. There is nothing poetic about fucking a body when it's only
a body, there is no
undertake the thoughts from myunder4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
mind, strung along a
line to dry
like laundry; dripping
of ill sense. try to
piece them together
in a logical sequence and
from the fumes of
a decayed mind.
watch your sanity
you're a recluse,
is your sanctuary.
AC - New OrderAC - New Order4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Alta´r lifted his gaze from the papers and searched the shadows. A dark silhouette was coming from the corridor.
Malik nodded, quickening his pace.
"Thanks for your help, brother. What's the situation out there?"
"It is an hour past dawn already, Alta´r," the Dai answered, hastening to the Master's desk. "Everything is arranged properly – Rafik just brought together the villagers, with all the men we have left. They are all waiting outside the Fortress."
He nodded absently, still sorting through the brownish parchment under his fingers. Suddenly, not for the first time that morning, his attention was captured by the thin leather cover of a small book.
It was Al Mualim's diary. That small book, the key to many truths of the Brotherhood, had been found in his clothes before the burial. Secrets, information and names had been recorded through the decades, for the new Masters to read, in the old man's minute handwriting.
Alta´r let out a frustrated sigh.
"I still wonder how
DollDo you honestly think, that you will change my thinking?Doll3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Do you honestly believe you can keep belittling me
And treat me like your slave like you always did?
Let's face it you only talked to me when you wanted something
You can deny it as much as you want to, the fact is you still
After a while you told me yourself right
Did you think that I will just sit here take it forever
Like a DOLL.
That girl you knew is history.
I will admit I wanted to give you the world
That is no longer the case
But this fake respect, the fake mask
Is now more easy to spot than ever before
I know am showing you the real me.
It's Your turn.
Somewhere Life is ValuedSomewhere in the night a child cries,Somewhere Life is Valued4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A woman weeps and someone dies.
Somewhere in the night, humanity hides.
Somewhere in the night , a soul screams,
As people fade and die, lost in dreams.
Somewhere in the night, reality lives.
Somewhere in the night loneliness dwells,
As people die, no sounding bells.
Somewhere in the night, she dies alone.
Somewhere in the night ...
Where is the light?
PainThey had told me how it was going to be.Pain3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I was to lie still, and let them do the work, but hey, I never agreed to not scream, did I?
So I screamed. I screamed as if there was no tomorrow. I screamed because the local anesthesia didn't quite mask the effect of the six inch knife that was now slicing its way across my gut, the blood flowing down the sides, onto the table.
"Clench on this." The orderly pressed down a cloth firmly into my open mouth. The dry cloth smelt, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I clenched, as hard as I could. I must have been clenching really hard, since I think I passed out.
When I woke up the bearded doctor was standing over me, his pearly white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent light that hung over the window. A sulking nurse stood on the other side of the bed.
"It was a successful operation. You rest for now," he patted me on the shoulder. Leaving, he motioned to the nurse, "If you will."
From the corner of my eye, I saw the nurse inject something
Love-sickDo you see the symptoms?Love-sick4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Do you see the scratches on my knees,
Or the way I freeze?
I have scars from falling for you,
And frost bites whenever you talk.
You say my face is red?
It's probably sun burnt,
From the way you shine.
You say I never reply?
Its not because I'm shy,
It's just that you leave me tongue tied.
My condition can't be healed
With a trip to the hospital.
Because there is only one antidote:
one day in the windyou are the smell ofone day in the wind5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
new books, first opened
and matches, just
everything good about scent.
as i inhale and you stand there,
the blue of your eyes is
chilly enough that
i need a jacket when i look at you.
you envelop me
with coolness and pride
and i wear my heart like a sore
branded in the skin of my arm
you will see it.
My lionAdmittedly, I was a rotten child. I liked to spend my time throwing rocks at stray dogs. No one ever bothered to stop me until the old voice in the alley.My lion7 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
Why are you throwing rocks at puppies? It was an old man voice, deep and gravelly, so I didnt stop.
Because I want to, old man, I retorted and tried to sound mean. There was no warning before I heard a yelp and felt dirt under my shoulders. I tumbled over and realized the yelp had come from me. I lay on the ground and listened to my heart beat. That old man had pushed me down, and now he would pay. You asked for it! I yelled and grabbed the first rock I laid hands on, then jumped up to face him.
At first I could only see stars. Then I saw the lion. He was sitting like a giant cat, and his tail twitched around behind him.
Dont eat me! I yelled on instinct and dropped my rock. He licked his lips.
Why not? I heard the old man voice ask. Was this a trick? I looked ar
I dreamed of a door...I wore the thread that slipped from my daughter's baby blanket around my wrist,I dreamed of a door...4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
white against tan, bumpy yarn, it's been four years
since my mother patiently crocheted the stitches together
while my daughter rolled in my belly,
impatient. I dream and there are doors under my fingers and
I am alone.
I go down to watch the water rippling slowly past, carrying barges
for hundreds of years, my shoulders tan darker, I am absorbing the sun,
eating strawberries, writing a will. I wonder what will become of you.
I pray to old Native American gods, they do not see the world in black and white.
I investigate the trickster gods, in my dream a coyote trots across a field of waving grain.
Why does anyone go home? There are places that we live, places that we've been,
places that have never been exactly what we are looking for.
Skipping rocks out across the water,
FireplaceHe tells her not to let go, never to let go. Whatever he becomes, she must not let go. She kisses his butterscotch hair for consent, once, twice. He grasps her hand and they run into the night together.Fireplace7 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The queen is impossibly, inhumanly beautiful, with eyes like flint. How can anyone compare with her? But he whispers into her ear, Dear hearthow could you think such a thing? I will never love heryou are the only one. She looks up into his dear gray eyes and smiles.
She shuts her eyes tight against the adder twining its sinuous body up her arms. Its scales are cold and awful against her skin. It flickers its forked tongue in her face, and she cringes back. But she does not let go.
She is on her knees now, tears streaming down her face. A terrible roar rattles in her stricken ears, and the ferocious teeth snap at her bared throat. The lion is immense, too massive for the circle of her frail human arms. But she knots her numb fingers in its fur and holds on.
CadenzaSuppose each one of us older than the stars,Cadenza4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
suppose that we are other than the ragged beggars we seem,
suppose that our engulfing slumber, our inner darkness,
is constantly erupting with the vanity of dreams.
Consider those uncounted aeons swallowed in the oceans
of that virtuality, where we, the ever drowning mariners,
must cling to the absurd shapes we call reality.
Will we, unknowing captives, ever be free?
Has liberty become our cage of captivity?
Oh yes, we writhe, our nakedness become despair.
as our frenzied touching reveals that nothing's there.
Tea TimeThere was a young girl no more than six. She sat at an outdoor table of a coffee shop sipping tea in a yellow Sunday dress and pigtails tied with bows. Occasionally shed glance up from her reading to take in the golden afternoon around her, but for the most part she simply ignored it.Tea Time7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Normal people, who had no eye for aura or the greater issues of the world, passed her by without thinking anything out of the ordinary. At the most, they may have wondered why she wasnt in school, or why the book seemed far too thick for a child that age.
It was such a shame; they didnt understand what a rare sight it was that they were passing up.
He was actually out in public.
Your body guards arent around, I see.
Sacha looked up from his tea and smiled just a bit, You know me better than that, Aralt. He sipped at it again, You cant possibly believe I havent noticed your dogs sniffin
McLennonMcLennon3 years ago in Settings More Like This
Whilst the Beatles had always been marketed as a heterosexual group - in contrast with the Stones, whose image was androgynous - they were sympathetic to the homosexual population. Lennon himself was alleged to have had affairs with both men and women, and although he never openly admitted it to me, his condemnation of Britain as a land which feeds on a homosexual subsculture persuades me at this late stage that he was speaking from experience. I am sure that the break-up of the Beatles, or, more specifically, of John and Paul, must have been more traumatic than any of us suspect.
(Source: Sandra Shevey, The Other Side of Lennon)
As mild and oblique as the comment was [Paul's "You took your lucky break and broke it in two" line from "Too Many People"], it seemed to cut John to the heart. On top of the questionnaire inside the McCartney album and the lawsuit, it was like the tipping point between a divorcing couple that turns love into savage, no-holds-barred hostility. Indeed, John's w
To us and our firefliesDrenched by the luminescence under the saffron skies, beyond the train tracks and the muddy crossroads we leave our world behind to enter a simpler time. A time to be a child and be amazed by blinking lights. The trees, the wind, the sky and the fireflies will resonate inside me. The beauty of everything that day was amplified and magnified by the presence of her. Some words were spoken though none were required. Nothing could steal the magic. Je t'adore.To us and our fireflies5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
TrappedI could spend days, months, or even yearsTrapped4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Trying to get this right
But i'll always be in the shadows
Never in your sight
I could double check every word
Trying to tell the truth
But you still won't understand
So i'll hold myself aloof
I want to write with such eloquence
That you'll be powerless under my spell
But my pen can't rescue me
From my finely written hell
I can't complain about this punishment
As it is one that i devised
With all my pretty songs i trapped us
Though i never lied
I tried to make our love so beautiful
The stuff of fairy tales
And for a while it seemed like that
Although our charms did fail
But i tried to round off the corners
Make the edges seem so smooth
When really we were just a boy and girl
Searching for the truth.
EdieEdie5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her skin of powdered rice paper
the scent of rotting orchids,
a drug-induced Noh dancer with
slow-writhing limbs akimbo-
silver-gilded girl of the moment
at the factory that turned out
Monroe silk screens, and porn
to the drone of a refrigerator,
from asylum to the Big Apple,
the apple of her father's eye
and of his desires, she'd sleep
among the gay lovers, pretty boys
with erotic names of exotic birds,
knowing she was safe for a while
as they quarreled amongst themselves-
who'd bring her chocolate shakes,
and chauffeur their princess
to her doctor's for injections
(she was too much a lady to do it herself)
until her fingertips became match-heads
setting fire to hotel rooms,
flailing from inside a closet
while bellboys stole her furs-
face of a comatose junkie drawing deep
on filter-less cigarettes
(she wasn't afraid). And yet, what deeds
have you, Edith, what deeds?
But wasn't she fabulous! remembering
back when she and Suky spent trips
screaming from an open convertible
of storms and skysee my hair dance wild as wind-strings jerk it about//hear the ocean-wind heave itself against us all- crashing into our eyes and mouth//feel the winter-wind brush our skins in summer//then inhale the heaviness of air and sink through the dirt- because darling, you dont deserve gods beautiful violence.of storms and sky6 years ago in Other More Like This
(it drags the tree by its leaves saying kiss your trunk, kiss it and it does; releasing with a snap. the other trees flitter-flutter violently, crying within the cacophony of rain on concrete. white stars fall where light exists, and only sound where it disappears. the sky -the colour of sunburnt skin- watches it all with hunger. and then a moment we are swallowed. gumtrees, rain, earth; we are all night sky now. but our eyes open and the rain is no more, dew on grass. and the wind is no more, only breath.)