O, For A Muse Of FireShe liked to watch him play the violin. She wasn't sure why - but she could not truthfully imagine anything more pleasurable than crouching down near to where he stood in all his rag-festooned glory, the ground at his feet littered with old newspaper and discarded plastic cups - and just listening , her bright eyes fixed on the long, crooked nose bent toward his instrument and the lengthy shadow he cast, set to trembling by the flickering light of passing subway cars.O, For A Muse Of Fire9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
It gave her a curious sense of ownership, and of pride, to know that she alone, out of all the people who had ever heard this music, understood the melodies that this man wove like tapestries of light over the deafened ears of men and women who rushed past day in and day out. She, alone, knew that to fling coins into the battered violin case sitting open beside him with that careless flick of the benevolent, alm-giving wrist would be as much of an insult to him as a slap in the face - perhaps moreso.
He was not an old man
Honor Your FallenOne for the man who answered the call.Honor Your Fallen3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
One for the brother taken too soon.
One for the man who gave his all.
One for hearts made heavy and sad.
One for families torn apart
One for a boy now without his dad.
One for the endless tears,
One for the new struggles.
One for so many lost years.
One for the mother's only son,
One for the memories;
One more, one more until this war is won.
One for the brother coming home under his Nation's flag,
One for the ultimate sacrifice,
One for the man in the body bag.
One for the love of the fight,
One for family born not of blood.
One for that final flight.
One for the free.
One for you
Until it's just me.
A final salute for those who no longer hurt,
For the boys who paid the ultimate price;
Twenty one guns for my family in the dirt.
Bird on the WireLately when I talk to my parents on the phoneBird on the Wire8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my mom thinks the hummingbird in my voice
is pecking at her, so she hangs up the line.
I listen until I hear the dial tone on my side
and thats when the hummingbird flies away,
back to the treebranch left of my shoulder.
Then, my throat is a garbled empty nest
and thats when the whole laughing-crying
business starts in.
My one self sobbing shudders of tears.
My other self chickadee-fucking-cackling
at how stupid, how incredibly infantile.
After a while, my body gets tired of all of this
and I fall asleep, hands like talons interlocked
and tucked between my knees. Folded petal-like.
Then the bees come, and the hummingbird returns,
and I dream I am better.
something to write about...I'd been drug sniffedsomething to write about...5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
addled & otherwise
by agents in
points of origin
hope to heart to god
like father thought
hand to fist to mouth
like mother taught
as if no one had
colored those pale
so I shook
as all good books
to the shape
you've made me
I tried to trace
as a map
but found you'd
Pass the Poem: Loss of a LovedYour face still fills my vision when I close my eyesPass the Poem: Loss of a Loved6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I remember July's gentle rain on white wicker.
I yearn for the candle-lit nights of embracing love
And I miss the unforgettable fire in your eyes
the memory of your smile stains my heart with a color I can't describe
midnight blue my thoughts run in circles, with star dropped diamond tears
My heart cannot comprehend this feeling of desolation
as teardrops patter through the broken window of my heart
My eyes cannot abandon the sights of you suffering-fading away
I'm lonely and everywhere I hear the sky screaming your name
A stray breeze carries your scent and a stranger wears your face.
I'm caught up in wisps of your phantom that I want to never leave.
I press flowers onto your grave, a token of affection
One you will never be able to push back... my hands are empty
I fall back against the tomb stone and wonder why you left
Its one of my many questions to which the heavens answer with silence
Without you, I'm starting
Shed your Tatters by the RiverGirl, shed your tatters by the riverShed your Tatters by the River5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but never shed a single tear.
Let them cling on to your sclera
as monsoon droplets to a mirror
and coalesce into the stream
of your translucent dreams -
your own personal
- just beneath your weary lids,
the lake where all your passions feed;
anger, fear, hatred, grief -
let them all simmer and sieve,
undisclosed, beneath your eyes,
'til all your feelings seem to phase
into one relentless sea
of compassionate placidity,
and your pure heart is moved
by stirrings of first love.
Girl, shed your tatters by the river
but never shed a single tear.
GriefHands clasp togetherGrief6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
The crunch of leaves
Beneath covered feet
Through the trees
The gray fades
to white or black
Around the cold branches
Trees in the mist
White cold hands
golden ingredientsminneapolis hadgolden ingredients6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
eyes so blue
I couldn't sleep
wanted to wander
lose myself in her
but memory's unmade
dreams depart with
I ate up pavement
like a twin city
and though I left
before you loved me
I couldn't ask
for a better way
to fill my hours
A Broken Neon BulbSleepless nightsA Broken Neon Bulb5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
clicking frantically for water:
My seed yearns for a clue,
an answer for its
wordless, impossible question.
Will these efforts
Or will the tired branches
of this new, this oh-so new
shrivel with premature age
before they can
How many circles will I turn
before my leaves
lap up the sun?
And yet, I seek no oracle.
Should I have the choice,
I would take no powers
I am frightened.
What will become of me?
what will I become?
it isn't really therecannot kenit isn't really there5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that once again
this thing we see
in clarity -
is just a new mirage.
what dreams create will dissipate,
as dawning light reveals it as a shadow.
[that brilliant inspiration was a shadow?]
we lie awake a-worry over absolutes.
nothing comes to mind until
we start to drift away.
then, the answer is so obvious
our calmness is complete,
and so, we sleep.
early to arise aware
with optimism -
no clue as to why,
that night again to worry.
llp - sep2010 - dA
flowersandrobotsthe futureflowersandrobots6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
judging the duration
by the a-
mount of empty chairs
arranged at your
from the tulips
while their true lips
and the price
of every present
is the former you
the never pleasant
tread quiet, tread deepnight is the stale scenttread quiet, tread deep6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of collected breaths
leaving the light on
in spite of despising it
the almost never silent
and the body
hope is a half-truth
hope lies in hiding it
the days rest their weight
in the lines of your face
and they ache
skin's a scribbled-on postcard
sincere and unsent
and a memory's
where you left it
Should I Call a Priest?It's almost comical,Should I Call a Priest?5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I HATE MYSELF I HATE MY LIFE I HATE EVERYTHING
the way you take things
WHY AM I EVEN ON THIS EARTH I'M A WASTE OF SPACE
NO DON'T SPANK ME STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP
way out of control.
Lost NightsIn the headlightsLost Nights5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your hips are battleships
the ball & chain
of our sleeping pills
lodged in our throats.
My fingers are ripped
by your artillery &
I wrap myself in
walk along the edge
two inches of concrete
keeping us from
spraining our minds.
The cars on the highway
pass in light trails
The canaries of
your hands wave
singing, dying off
You don't know
the meaning of
twenty weeks of
holding your hands
between your thighs
I know it well.
the water stings
the laughter in
I love you
holds us like a rope
& the balance of
science & poetry
becomes a safety net.
lost poetryhow human it is to repeatedly think,lost poetry5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
"oh, that's so perfect,
i'll never forget" -
then draw a blank.
there's no excuse;
i have a recorder.
cute little thing -
perfect working order.
...but where is it?
llp - aug2010 - dA
AnonymousIt has been two years since Sherlock Holmes died.Anonymous3 years ago in Drama More Like This
There are a great many ways to spend two years.
DI Lestrade spends those two years trying to remember how he used to solve cases before he'd come to rely on a mind with the analytic power of a supercomputer. Those who know him well notice an increased grimness in his demeanour that wasn't there before, but this isn't the first time he's lost a colleague – even if that colleague had been more like a wayward, distant, highly irresponsible adopted son. He doesn't let himself get distracted – there is so much to do. It is no surprise that criminals have grown bolder since the events of two years prior were made public, and now a string of truly vicious murders by torture has Lestrade tearing at his hair in frustration. At such times the absence is felt more keenly than ever... and far too often, a cloud seems to hang over Scotland Yard, in the place of what used to be the occasional mocking, derisive comment, a star
baby drilledif the sun stillbaby drilled5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shines then the
we've been repeating
what the rain said
spray the earth's
into the bay
let them make
in the riverbed
with one hand
what the other
the night in
It's everything...I've found a spot where the floor creaks just for me.It's everything...10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I sit & wait there
for the boards to collapse,
for my unannounced visit
to the neighbors.
I sit & wait
at lights, and in lines,
and in conversations
that go in circles.
I sit & wait for the music to end,
just so that I can go home.
I keep quiet as the world sleeps;
afraid to wake someone up,
afraid to sleep alone.
I've built a routine
dependent on falling apart
and still somehow manage
to be surprised
by every last bitter goodbye,
by every last haunting regret,
by every last
Johnlock Party: MascotGreg Lestrade was never one to complain, but he had a fucking hell of a team he had to work with.Johnlock Party: Mascot3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Not in a good way.
He had been suddenly reminded of this and was sitting absently at his desk, staring vaguely after DI Dimmock. The Detective Inspector had come in to speak with him, and, after a minute, had been interrupted by one of his sergeants with some new detail about a case. Lestrade had watched in amazement as Dimmock had given an instruction, an order, and wasn't argued with but given a quick nod and left alone.
When had been the last time that had happened to him? Donovan never left his decisions alone but was constantly questioning, criticizing, and offering alternatives. For god's sake, the woman acted like his ex-wife. And how nice it must be to have a sergeant who wasn't having an affair with the head of forensics.
Which brought him onto the subject of Anderson, a subject that most people would be more than happy to avoid. He was even worse than Sally in his atti
Prince!England X Reader: The Royal BloodlinePrince!England X Reader: The Royal Bloodline3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Arthur escaped from the castle again for the who knows my many times with his horse. According to him, life inside the castle sucks as hell, everything gets on your way, not letting you do whatever you please. No matter what you do, you were always get dictated.
He got out from the castle by disguising as a carriage man, thankfully it worked unbelievably, the security inside was so tight. Arthur went out to town to see what his people doing.
'Lively as always...' he thought to himself as he tied his white horse at the fences.
He always loved this town, the smell of the foods and the kind and cheerful people. He walked and walked until he got satisfied, and then, he saw a terribly familiar looking girl with a (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. He approached to her and talked to her without a second thought.
"Hey there, can I ask what's your name, miss?" he said with a calm voice. He didn't care what she'll think of him.
"_-_____..." you replied shyly, surprised at the unusual question.
below the treelinein mountain chill, immobilebelow the treeline5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
beneath scattered night-blown clouds -
i see hundreds of evergreen trees
like attentive dark arrows, aiming
straining toward a full moon
they appear unified in readiness -
perhaps to pursue a place
less despoiled by... Us?
llp - dA - dec2014
Winter Shades of GreyBrown eyes,Winter Shades of Grey5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(dirt peeking through
the diamond quarry
a smile creeping
like a wild vine
into the corners of your cheeks.
Your blue whisper-lips
make me thinkpaint
covered in frost
yellow walls and coats on the rack...
...a grey winter morning
The Prayers of the FaithlessBetween one client and the next,The Prayers of the Faithless5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the holy whore would kneel to pray.
She never knew quite what to say
deep in her heart lay a misgiving,
as if the poor girl all but knew
that gods are ointments to subdue
the aching lesions of the living.