achromatizea note from a flowerachromatize6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with white pedals and green core
and blue all the while through
her frigid roots and fissures
smothered in experience
,drowned in the sorrow of dust
,floating on water
are taken to wander
and face all transpired
to break down
in wilting pyre
wet with dew
and morning's ire
life is so admired
but reaches cleaner
green as song, her life
expended more to fade
away one short summer
and scene the riddle
of common prairie praise
propose none other
LewisvilleThe side of this road must be linedLewisville6 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.
The Conductor.fear itself.The Conductor.fear itself.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Passing bell rang and the class stood up to leave with much voracity, like race horses out the starting gates. I grabbed the straps of my backpack and tried to head out the backdoor before Mr. Mahler could catch me, feeling sure hed want a word. I could just see it on his face, the urgent need to rake me over the coals for my unconsciousness. There was a bottle-neck though, thirty-five some odd students all trying to fit through a three and a half foot wide doorway.
Miss Shastid, Id like to speak to you. Mr. Mahler called out loudly, like a barking rottweiler, before I could even reach the crowd before the door.
I winced, hunched my shoulders up around my neck, and turned back to go to his desk in surrender.
Mr. Herman Mahler had been teaching high school English for a decade and he still absolutely loathed it. It showed in the absolute white shock of hair amidst the jet black on his crown. It showed in the thick, greying caterpillars that sla
pull yourself togetherMy father, is a dying man.pull yourself together6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He hoists me up onto his workhorse knees,
slow like da Vinci's model pulley system,
and I watch the room slide past.
I am never able to get over the fact
that while I move, everything else
I can feel his compact bones
beneath me, a picnic table birth.
I trace his flesh as my flesh, pictographically
committing his sighs and sojourn smiles
to memory. Because I know he is a man-
woe shades the arch of his brow and
the clefts of his hands,
the truth in his resignation.
I have the same style of falling as he;
we both found this out when he read
Mother Goose to me.
Humpty Dumpty is my favourite,
and I request it like a Veteran war story,
noticing him wince.
He is dying, my father, because he is a man,
and men need a reason to say goodnight.
Time lays at his feet
like a bloodhound weary from a hunt,
and now content with a hot supper.
But sitting on his penitent lap, I worry my lip
and wring my hands, eyes downcast to the vacant floor.
"You'll always be her
The GhazalThe Ghazal12 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Ghazal is an adaptation of a Persian form of poetry used to honor emperors and noblemen. A part of this poem broke off and evolved into the Ghazal. It is not a very commonly used English form as it was introduced only recently.
The Ghazal is a string of 5-15 couplets, with each couplet being able to stand alone as a complete thought and/or poem. At the end of the second line of every couplet is a 1-3 word long refrain. The word before the refrain is a rhyme that carries through the entire poem. A rhyming scheme would look like that: AA, BA, CA, DA, and so on.
The first and last couplets are special. In the first couplet, called matla, the rhyme is used in both lines. Often in the last couplet, the author's penname is used. The last couplet is the most personal one of the poem, and expresses something from the author's point of view.
Here is a Ghazal by Erin A. Thomas.
Once bright homes in blossom, now dead fallen,
They lay by the spinning blade's head fallen.
existential bronchitisI wake up withexistential bronchitis6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gauze in my mouth, wounded
from the inside out. I am the
kind of patient whom a doctor fears
and forgets his handshake for, in
his haste to finish smiling.
the days fly before me
like magpies, coughing more than
me, thick and
black. rebuking in its irritation,
rattling with longing.
all around me they are falling to their
knees and still I wave
my dogged red flag. when I am
tired of living I will stop. this seems
like a reasonable statement, but
when I spat blood in the
sink, they kept fixing the plumbing.
Madeiramaking our way, unhurriedMadeira6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
past tumble-down walls leaning
against cork oak trees, and
covered with lampshade poppies,
we stroll from the open-air market
with its baskets of persimmons-
the Moorish sun of late afternoon
burns us both brown, obscuring
the winter of my scars-
our half-nude bodies celebrate
while each toe excavates
treasures from a sandy beach
leaving a path that fades
from the lapping of waves
that lie across our footsteps
in languid foreplay-
distant harbor lights offer
shimmering pearl necklaces
and the promise, as evening falls
to indulge in the warmth
of a shared glass of Madeira,
of random wine-stained kisses,
and the religion of a
star-filled Portuguese night
the silence of mere visionEye am the seeker am Eye Man? The sunset whisperedthe silence of mere vision6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with spiders pushing daintily across the blue abyss
scouring the riddles for the one that went amiss
They hear us slither and we carry on, she was our friend
among the rose works.
Scurrying to meet the windows, pulling another from the deep
By circles garrulous, beseeching in numbers, what did they fear
to find that they would trample on the stone born children?
In the receding boundary of the tide, he wavered
holding back the tears to his redemption.
And we wonder what word he spoke into the times
that the wheel he rolled, fate found to be a space machine?
That Song was woven into the fray of selves
belonging to no one but of many, no one but of many
whom is no one of a whole.
A marionette tapped her way through the floorboards
toward the wolf, bunyanesque in the red virgin's closet
"I'm a real girl!" she revealed, sharing a smile in his eyes
and the mercy killer queried, longing a reply
why, dear sunset, do they hide this elixir of l
The Conductor.morning.The Conductor.morning.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Monday morning was like a hangover. The weekend had rolled up like a sick dog and lay a cloudy reflection, paralyzed in my 6:45 a.m. glass of milk. I still hadnt slept since very early Saturday morning when I had woken in sweat to Draculas eyes. I mightve drifted off once or twice, but only to have steel grey eyes jolt me wide awake, writhing emotions of elation and self-fear twisting up my thoughts. Wracked with conflict and reminded of it consistently.
The milk was making my stomach turn.
Shorty? You feeling alright? Mom asked, her bloodshot eyes worrying on me.
She and I sat in the dinning room, attempting breakfast. Grandma mightve been awake but she kept silent in her dark room off the living room in the front of the house.
I blinked dejectedly at my glass. Yeah, m fine, mom. Just didnt sleep well. I said and got up to pour the rest of the milk down the sink in the kitchen. It had gone warm and infused with
Amor MythicaAmor MythicaAmor Mythica8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Pleasure chasing; ideals and manifestation
Calculating; perambulating; recoil
redress—less years and more haste
A Cloud Minder awaits
Blue Heaven Cathedrals now; swimming
within the intermists
pleasure troves of ideal manifestation
"Whimsy does not pay the rent."
(Your Construct Does Not Compute)
Skycars and rainfall; circumnavigate
Puissant locomotion; retrograde
Madame MuttMadame Mutt11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Oh man . . . you've got Madame Mutt . . ."
Confused, I looked down at the name, phone number, and address I'd scribbled down on the back of an envelope: Clarissa Sinclair, 465-4329, 263 Pentecost Street. Putting my elbow on the bar, I turned to face my friend Elvin.
"Whaddaya mean? Who is she?"
"You don't know Madame Mutt? Jeez, you really are new here. Still unbelievable, you've been here over a year and you still don't know about her . . ."
"No, I don't! What the hell'd she do?"
"She's psycho. I can't get over the fact that you don't know the story. I thought everyone here knew it."
"I guess everyone assumed I knew it, so they never bothered to actually tell me; now's your chance. What's this story you're going on about?"
Elvin grinned, drained his beer, and set the empty bottle on the bar top. He motioned to the bartender, indicating he'd like another, and pulled his stool closer to mine. Wary but smiling, he began the tale:
"Alright. Madame Mutt or Ms. Sinclair or whate
LivingSudden and, well, supernatural,Living4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you're with me when light's
with me; you're lying on the grass
with me in Augustlook, the morning
rises from the pages of the book
you lent me, wooden senryu, tanka
bound by string so sweet, a relic,
so delicate: your mouth forms copper words
that melt your eyes that pull my hands
out of my wrists that take them
that speak the language of silence;
I can barely hear your voice over the crickets,
over the river that runs through spiderwebs
we watch the patterns tear the water clear
I know you now, so let the stars vaporize
into the morning air.
Bring me alive.
Our footprints, I remember, glimmered in the dew.
Cold Rain TankaPeople marvelCold Rain Tanka6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
at the falling snow
but I know the truth
of cold rain
Water LiliesThe moon hovered, glowing faintlyWater Lilies6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as the midnight met the sky--
in the clear water beneath the air.
And I was flowing gaintly
above their withered songs
a yet floating, disjointed mist of melody.
wondering how to sink below.
under the soul, around the conscious
gazes submerged in my reflection's reflection,
I envy the indolent sleep of fishes,
even as the moonlight falls asleep in my eye.
and it wonders how to sink below.
This bled, blue heart that takes my hands
and leaves me frosting in the sun
invites me deeper than I am--
until to a black and shimmer twilight
where my passionately enkindled heart
shines proudly, faintly beneath the waves.
As I wonder how to sink below,
into the home of my second sky--
how to leave my troubles on her sandy doorstep.
I push off this shore, the captain of my soul
into the light that sleeps below
into the dark.
SelectivityWhy a word? This is no particular thing.Selectivity10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
It can't be defined in an objective way.
The unstated dangles by half-open mouths,
a yawn like a cat stretching blithely at noon
as silence leans back on an unbalanced stool --
let it fall. The moment suggests it should be so.
If I see that your eyes project pictures behind
the irises, protean circles and spires
of curious leadings in lines of blank swaths
of colour, then I should say nothing.
now find my lips quaver with verbiage amiss
and I fail to a sentence, or rather, this kiss.
Waltzing with the DevilIn a house, apartment, in a palace pulsingWaltzing with the Devil6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
away from that idle pressure on my nape,
I possess minds which are courtesans: my cured
extremities are waltzing with the devil.
You might think of a sentient rhythm, a drone
sashaying in a cruel intercourse
wearing Venetian masks in mockery of
those gods compelled to eat burgers after caviar:
I love it when your china is spread on toast.
A thought would hover, a buzzing tinnitus
reminds you of a kindly perverted uncle
flagging down a platonic boy, blindfolded
by a riddle of locusts: come Abaddon
in a pitch of flies smothered by Beelzebub.
You would think I am the illegitimate
by-product of lazy rituals, couples
idling on the fence with hanging genitals
watching a pornographic film: during the
day I am Asmodai, a braying lust held
in a choke-hold at night when dutifully
I pray for the deliverance of daylight
ushered by the roaring birth of Lucifer.
MindConsciousness is nothing but a blip in infinite mathematicsMind6 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Why not call these blips souls and the infinite mathematics god?
The Basic Human EngineThe night is a window and you see the pale sunThe Basic Human Engine7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
through the facets of the moon, still meandering,
as the stars flow through the mirror
you thought you could clean off the stains
but their virtue was in their stalwart defensive.
Yesterday's rules are run back to Congress,
the judge plays victim, beating your heart on the gavel,
nothing's changed, but the verdict was you,
til every night brought a new facet of your moon,
I wish yesterday was today yesterday.
You took their inches and ran with it a mile,
trying to divert God's attention with a torch,
Satan's with pale and dying Waters,
brackening the Earth with your bile, singing,
Goodnight! Fair World, and Sequins of Yestereve.
The wolves knocked on your doors but
you've locked shut with the melting colors,
this is your mind and your polytone axis
daring the monochrome world to infringe,
throwing bright into high lights, never surrendering.