the promises of winteri will wear gloves fromthe promises of winter4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
now until march. this is something
i decided last year and i am
determined to stick to it.
if there is anything to which i will
adhere, any self-set rule i will follow,
this will be it. and i will
know myself better for it.
when i am handed a
hot white mug of peppermint tea
i will not be burned because of
these gloves. and when there is
snow all over the place, when the
streetlamps are cold with it,
my hands will be
ecstatic with heat.
my only fear is the wearing-out
of fabric. my hands are put to
good use every day and i can see this
becoming a kind of problem. i will
have to guard my hands very carefully
from now until march. i will
treat them as glass.
incredulityi amincredulity4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
taking myself on a
picnic today. i have
packed a sandwich and
a thermos of spiced coffee and
cold pasta. i have brought a
folded-up blanket and music.
i am going to the centre of a
large field of grass, with
wheat stalks in one corner, and
i am wearing one of my
very best sweaters.
i will invite you, perhaps, if i
think that you'll want to come, and
if i think that you'll understand the
importance of being invited
on a private sort of picnic.
collapsed with a halo of dark hair
sprayed around me. the
afternoon tastes like copper,
feels like feathers and cotton.
there is tea on my lips and i am
debating calling you, asking you
to come and meet me here. i
think perhaps i can trust you with
important secrets like how i will
listen to the same song over and over
again until i feel ill with it, and then i will
listen to it once more.
already climbing into the car when i
send you a message, you have
packed a bag with cheese and cr
sunrise, yulethis was the year of traditions begun. the world still dark, the morning still early, i climbed into my uncle's car. we drove out to the ocean, where the rippling sea fuses with the sky. white-headed eagles were perched still in trees. they cocked back their heads, opened their hooked mouths and screamed.sunrise, yule3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
across an empty parking lot where once a cat had followed us. over driftwood pale with frost and sand hardened by the cold, we walked. our breath came out of us in thin plumes. it rose above us and hung there like smoke signals to the gods.
there were gulls on the water, gulls sifting through sand, gulls with their grey backs and faces, their opportunism. i have a tarot deck whose theme is birds. the gull encourages us to communicate.
there was a small group of us gathered there, my uncle and i, and some other pagans. some of them i'd never met before, but they wer
let go, little bird--hope is the tired little bird at the bottom of your heart, the one whose tiny wings are broken and bleeding, the one that won't stop flapping uselessly at the sky, like it's going to take off, take off dammit, even when it's fading by the second and dying in a heap of feathers, and it breaks your heart to see the optimistic flame still sparkling in such innocent eyes.let go, little bird--4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm writing this to tell you that i don't know what i need. i'm writing this because i can't pull any fancy metaphors from the back of my throat to save my pride this time. i'm writing this to see the look on your face when you wake up and wonder why i keep running away.
hope is the thing with feathers, my broken baby bird. hope is the trust in those newborn eyes that makes you burst out sobbing although you never know why. it's the razor-sharp edge between happiness and pain, the line you try to fly on crippled wings, my little bird, just to save someone stronger from having to walk it for themselves.
instantly my cells come alivethis is one of theinstantly my cells come alive4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
very best days of my life.
it is raining a little
and the sky makes everything grey
and the leaves are
half-changed. there are pumpkins in
we are drinking coffee and it is
early-morning. i am
dressed warmly and the music in
the car is loud. it is a very good song.
one of my favourites, even.
the scarf i am wearing is
new, from you, and it is soft. i think it
is a very good scarf that makes me seem
we are going to drive north
towards ghost towns and snow. i will
sing along to every song on the radio
and read parts of books that i
think you will like. we will disappear
long into winter.
i'm feeling unfinishedtomorrow is ai'm feeling unfinished4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cold soft morning, and
the moon hangs pale in
the rippled sky and there is a
smudged-blue darkness to
everything. the room is
vivid, my insides are
ignited and smoulder, aglow, and i
outstretch a milky arm to
touch you. your spine
shivers electric. every inch of you
this first kiss is like a
resurrection, a sudden
reinvention. dormant cells spring
to life, dew-wet eyelashes flutter like
fledged-bird wings, and
tomorrow's sky starts to
burn a pale purple.
an honest, energetic heat
passes between us. it is heavy with
realness, it's honesty carries a tangible weight.
and i am frightened by it.
and i believe in it.
julyhere, wejuly3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
our knees are
like raw meat from
crawling over stones
blue river-mouth, and
sometimes we stop to kiss.
your mouth is
cracked to pieces
from the sun.
you are mostly a stranger hereto the girl with the necklace ofyou are mostly a stranger here4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rabbit bones around her neck:
i have been dreaming of you more frequently.
you are mostly wearing bedsheets in these dreams,
wrapped around you and tucked
under your arms, and there is a line of oak trees behind you
and you are sifting through fallen sticks because you would like to
find a magic wand.
the rabbit bones you are wearing are dirty from the forest.
they are grey and long to be polished.
loving you always,
the girl with the owl feathers
tucked into her swept-up hair
you lied the night you kissed me.there is a thick exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my shouldersyou lied the night you kissed me.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
till they hang and to my knees until they buckle. and I will sleep for days on end,
and when I wake up I didn't really.
I hate you dear, I hate you so.
because there is so much to do, I could travel to the other side of the country and
paint a portrait of a stranger and I could sit on top of someone's roof and look at the
stars with a boy I don't want to know and I could fall asleep in his bed and listen to
him playing guitar without clothes and he'd take me out for diner and anywhere I'd
want to go and we'd have sex in his car and on the trampoline in my back yard and
we'd eat at my grandparents with Christmas and it would never be enough because
he's everything you weren't.
I think I lost myself, I think I fell out that time you ran away holding onto me and my
skin tore. I looked for her in that empty hole in your chest cavity, but all I found was
lost so long ago, and you wouldn't show me where it went b
there might be a song about thisThere was once a boy with a blue balloon tied round his wrist. He lived in a city with tall buildings and a movie theatre that could play twenty-one movies at a time. The city had a shopping mall that stretched across several city blocks. People came from all over the world on planes and trains and in cars and boats just to see this city and how bright and alive it was.there might be a song about this3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The boy walked through this city with the blue balloon hanging above his head like a very grand idea. The balloon was of average size and it was round and shone in the sun. When it rained, the balloon became wet, and it shone, then, too.
The balloon went everywhere with the boy. When the boy ate at restaurants, the balloon hovered behind his shoulders. When the boy ran through the park, it rose and fell in the breeze.
One day, a particularly strong wind caught the balloon and tried to carry it away. The boy would not let go of the balloon, and the ballo
a free write exercisei went out in the morninga free write exercise4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
before the world knew what
was happening to it, before
the boys came around with
newspapers and dogs put
their noses to the ground and
before birds realized there
were worms to be had. i went out
with coffee stains on my shirt,
but not stains from that particular
morning, old stains that wouldn't
come out in the wash, but were
shaped like people i knew from
past lives, so i let them stay.
because i'm nostalgic like that.
i went out and filled my lungs and
my belly with cold and unsettling
city air, the kind that you know
is only good for you in small doses
because it reminds you of who you
really are, but if you take too much
of it in, it could end up killing you.
in a contemplative moodi fell asleepin a contemplative mood4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and then woke up again
and was apple-cheeked
with the dreams i had.
the pillow made creases
in my face and i
imagined them to be paths
on a treasure map. in the
spaces behind my eyeballs,
there might be old chests
bursting with treasure. there
this was one day at the beachi. afterwards, we pulled our sweatersthis was one day at the beach4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
over our heads and
went out into the rain, and it came
down on us with salt on its breath.
this sort of thing doesn't happen
every day, y'know, you don't just wake up
and decide where you're going to be.
ii. we filled our pockets with
pebbles and driftwood and
made idols in the dirt and goddesses
smiled down on us. we named
birds after them.
iii. up came the wind. it rolled
the water to our feet in strips of
white foam. bones from the sea
were washed up next to us.
saving you for a rainy daythe two of us used tosaving you for a rainy day4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
put pennies into a glass jar
that we kept on the
bedside table. i planned
brilliant things for those pennies.
i wanted to buy a teapot for that
space in the cupboard
by the sink. i wanted to
buy a small house where i could
grow milkweed and clovers
and at night, the faeries would come
to the yard and they would
sound like small bells ringing.
every time the jar filled up,
we'd sit on the floor in the
living room, with a pile of
copper between us, and stuff
paper rolls with fifty pennies
and watch movies that were
just old enough to start
playing on television.
soon we had almost
two hundred dollars, and i went
to the store downtown that sold
small, beautiful treasures and i
bought the teapot.
i brought it home and put
tea in it, and we drank at the
kitchen table. it was evening and
the smoulder of sunset came in through
the window and was on us, on our
arms and faces.
at the bottom of your cup,
the leaves se
cimetierethe wind came in while icimetiere4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sat there, alone, and it was a
warm wind that shook the cherry blossoms
off their branches, and the
petals flew apart and fell like
pink snow. everything moved with a
kind of slowness. i drew my
legs up into a lotus and the
breeze was like a mouth on me in
most places at once, sweeping over the
bare parts of my arms and my
i spread out in the grass, between
the gleaming headstones and
brass vases of purple daisies, and i
was still. the expand-and-contract of
my lungs, the clenching of
my heart, all of it,
briefly without movement.
a love story you don't want.january: she wasnt ready to be serious with him so she left at exactly twelve oh one on new years day with a few words. he kept saying that this was going to be their year and she just said: piss off.a love story you don't want.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
february: the words still stuck in his head even as he pretended to forgive her and took her back. he feared another painful goodbye.
march: she was never good with saying what she truely meant and he never looked deep into words so when she said "i don't love you." he took it as "i don't love you." and not as "i don't know how to love anyone." which was what she wanted to say.
april: the snow had melted away and they were hanging on by last strings. every day was a question of whether today would be the last.
may: she fell apart when her hamster died and he was there through the whole thing.
june: the death of her hamster silenced her but she visited with him more. she never wanted to be alone.
july: as they watched fire works together on fourth of july, he kept looking over at her wonde
slicessuch savagery fromslices4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
such gentle hands. i've learned your
marrow, too well perhaps. i have
acquainted myself with the divot of your
collarbone, and these are not the only
great things i know.
dreams catch in the lungsby the window she sat with cold umbrella bones, laying there just staring at the wooden ceiling. she thought each breath was dying to escape [clogging her littlepores in glassy skin] as they struggled to come slipping out of her mouth. it was like spirits and ghosts in all those books of witches and warlocks, when they came back to the world through the mouth of another.dreams catch in the lungs5 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
dangling from the crossbeam was a blue beaded dreamcatcher, but she knew it caught hearts and souls in its web and never let them free
[right then she was just so soulless . heartless (like she couldn't feel the breeze or the warm summer leaves) and she knew the dreamcatcher would never catch the nightmares or bring dreams to dancing life. she knew all her fears would happen every day but all she ever wanted would never come to her (they would float along outside the window just behind the glass; she could see them watching her but they would not touch her skin and seep through just as they would not seep t
resolutelyi was drunk for days,resolutely4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrote everything down on the backs of napkins and
styrofoam take-out containers and
slept in parked cars that didn't belong to me. i drank
sangria at slam poetry events and staggered up
to the microphone. i wept hysterically and everyone applauded.
it was a very real thing for them to see.
for lack of a simile --every saturday,for lack of a simile --6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i scribble away at words
that have prettyyellowcolours, but mean nothing.
because if i told you what was true about the both of us, it would be:
we had something special,
but now it's gone.
because i don't have any clever similes about
magic and love and how fire falls into ash.
there's just me, and the page, and the stories
i tell you about how we are fire, we are the ocean
and we are the shore.
how it goesthis is how it goes; you meet a boy and you think he's cute and you hope that maybe someday you will kiss the nape of his neck. the ache grows inside of you like a tumour, you feel it pulsing every single day and there is a piece inside of you that hopes he likes you back.how it goes4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
then you start to doubt it, you start to think you're ugly and your chubby and your clothes aren't pretty, but then you realize if you want him to like you, you have to like you as well. so you start to like yourself more, you're happier and you think he likes you back, which makes everything so much better.
one day he walks you to the bus and you wonder how time managed to put you here, and you see his lips moving but all you hear is the sound of your heart hammering. you agree to go on a date with him, and you try hard not to maul him when you hug him goodbye. you sit on the bus smiling and miss your stop, but it's alright, because it's a breathtaking day.
things are beautiful for a long time, trees look like they