The TallyThe Tally11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
She sits on her pink bed staring at the dinner plate she has put on the floor next to the puke-green garbage can. Dinner tonight is a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, a typical college student meal, but she stares at it like it is the most appetizing thing she has ever seen. Her eyes shine with longing, and a small string of saliva starts to slide down the corner of her mouth. Snapping out of her daze, she wipes her mouth and stares down at the glossy red film on her hand. She averts her gaze to the pack of Djarum cloves sitting on her dresser on the opposite side of the room from her garbage can. Cigarettes. Food. Cigarettes. Food. Cigarettes. Food. Her head, as well as her mind, turn back and forth like she is watching a little green ball at a tennis match. Just a bite. One bite won't hurt.
That HumAs I look at her, with her beautiful honey hairThat Hum7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.
winter song.winter song6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I paid for you in silver dollars,
rabbit bones, and snail shells.
Beneath the flannel crush,
a twining of lash fingers,
I weight you with catamount claws,
I bury you in firewarmed stone
You are mine,
and I eat you with moth mouth
and spin you to silk.
When the winter stripped aspen bark
and the elk starved til their hooves
were too light to keep them tethered-
I carved the shape of a palm beneath the doorwood
and you tied three husk dolls to the tallest sapling.
We were a bowl, carved hollow and narrow
as pine needles and pressed against coals
and dog fur, leaning like lightning away
from blistered earth, taut with freeze,
away from wood, shrunk and sap-sticky-
dove tails untied and ribboned and bare.
Your spine is a naked rope and I climb you
to clouds rippled like sea-sand, my eyes
are bottle glass green.
I seize waves and swallow them to smoke.
You pad my throat with ash and
settle my bones with sandstone
and sink me to mud, coffined in ice.
You sell my teeth for cornmeal and
the city is a mouththe city is a mouth5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
says this is
my last cigarette
Don't fall in loveI'm sunkDon't fall in love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With poison darts;
The mercurial blood-sap.
Under the BedPapa! she calls. Through half-closed eyesUnder the Bed7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I try to focus - so tired. My lips move by themselves,
mumbled words slipping softly Yes, dear. Im here.
Papa! Come fast! Its there!
My feet shuffle automatically as I enter her room. Looking around,
the corner is empty; so is her closet and under the bed.
Honey, theres nothing here. Yes there is! It called my name!
What does it look like, dear? I sit, trying to understand.
It got black eyes, and mustache, long teeth and hairy hands!
Speaking hisses, go - rawr! And its still calling my name
Does it hide in your closet? No
Is it under the bed? Does it jump, blowing bubbles,
speaking French, clapping hands?
Papa! shes angry. Thats not funny at all. A monster is hiding
and its dark, and its tall, and its scary and mean! Papa,
First Lovei.First Love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rows of fairy lights rope
towards the turbulent city
Warm evenings, playing in the park,
till your mam came shouting .
Every night of summer.
You never cared how different we were.
Toilet paper decorates leafless trees and
your lungs fill with newly discovered smoke as
You admire your handiwork.
The sexes split. You tease
the girls for attention.
Those amber lights merely rows
upon rows of ugly terraces all designed by the same architect.
We never talk.
You were seen
with your hands
down her trousers
tomorrow you will blame intoxication.
Under the red skies, we exchanged memories like
veterans warmly recalling fallen friends. Swings rocked
in the winds, squeaking slowly sharing our dynamic;
juxtaposed on that faithful bench. You told me you hated what
you had become.
Red turned grey turned black,
drizzle soaked our skin.
You held me close as we walked
back to your house--
It wasn't your first time
I ignored the pain.
You never visit the park anymore.
Saint PaulWe are female, we are flammable.Saint Paul7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Feathered cologne reeks of skies and miles
It makes us retch;
Us skeleton girls with smoking bones.
I do not care for birds-
the jackdaw and wren.
They locked us underground, grave girls.
We were interred, soil filling our ears;
our cotton, our stuffing.
Earth worms whispered-
"These skeleton trees do not belong,
they will soar past things that are built
they will grow spiny, dry and yellow
sick, sick to the sky.
They will only care for the height."
We were buried amongst scholars and kings,
Us poets, we Queens, below the birds.
I do not care for their creations;
They are the reason we have no flesh-
picking our eyes, fresh and fine,
the best of the crop, our drooping eyes.
They saw them, globular like eggs
and took, cuckoos, to raise as their own.
They wish their young were as green.
Haikuwrimo - Feb - 2009Haikuwrimo - Feb - 20097 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
behind gray cloud;
without a shadow.
fast approaching- rivers drown-
fall on blades of grass-
breaks winters silence.
all in vain- rains pour
from all directions.
a crystalline stream and green meadow
before the hurricane.
the only fruit of winter;
life has written on her face
heavy, drove cattle
down the mountain
dressed for death-
fall like angels
macabre as they fall,
cadence of clouds
plovers fly over-
One Day NewsMrs. Shahar calls this a classroom but we all know it well enough to be a bomb shelter. Thirty small naïve eyes stare at a beautiful journalist on the old television, long brown hair and expensive suit. She reports that a terrorist blew himself up in Beit Lid junction, just a five minute drive from our school. It happened at the big bus station, gray and dirty for so many years, so close its amazing we didnt hear the blast. Although its frightening Im not afraid at all, just glad that there wont be any more classes today.One Day News7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
The camera focuses on her make-up, curly black eye lashes and powdered cheeks. "Four people died," but all I can hear is "no math homework checkup." She says "authorities are still withholding names," and I hear "no math homework tomorrow either." Then she starts telling the whole thing over again, all the little bits of information the route of infiltration, the name of the bomber, a description of the ar
lounge: 1Rachel wakes, the crossing-over just as gentle as the previous night's passage. The sheets lay rumpled and cold beside her. Wednesday isn't a baking day but he's already gone. She doesn't follow him anymore, tracing his scent down the sidewalks past shady vendors and impenetrable bookstores. The latter is what he seems to like the most, drowning in years of solidified dust. It is bitter and dry to her nose and she can smell it in his hair for days afterward. She stays away.lounge: 17 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
This place is not her home, but she has been here more often than not these past months--enough to watch a Northwestern winter diminish. Yellow-green shoots have risen up from the perpetually wet earth, signs that someone many years ago thought narcissus and crocus were suitable places between the grass and crumbling brick of the Lounge's courtyard. She watches them over a fresh cup of coffee, letting the aroma extinguish that of the city. Others come and go, greeting her with hands not laden with plates or mugs. Sh
she saidshe saidshe said9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i think i'll take six sleeping pills
just to see what my pupils do
she laughed, she was joking
don't you ever wonder what insanity
tastes like? a swirling, anarchic tantalising addiction?
EmilyI loved her inside letters, I tuckedEmily8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my hearts and my organs inside of her
messy scrawl, her heartache, her doodles
of lost girls, of black cats, of razors and
pills. I sealed myself, my fate, I sent it to her:
Three stamps, and a kiss, always
with pearl-pink lip gloss. It would fade in the mail,
traveling 5000 miles
to her door, but I did not
care and the doves inside
my chest dared to break out.
I loved her inside letters,
I tucked her pain inside my art.
I filled my envelopes
with sadness, pieces of my hair,
my strange secrets,
my broken stories.
and we'll violate the bordersi.and we'll violate the borders6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I set sail;
My dreamboat a séance in the tide
That would not overlook my own disposure.
Misplaced, only by convenience
Was my attention as I stood before the coastal guards
Who displaced the borderlines between Côte d'Ivoire
And dead metaphors that lined the shore.
Those governors of words,
Masters of their craft;
They told me, instruction clad, enigma strong
There's a quiet enchantment that the world offers,
It arrives like a wave, but shatters like a storm.
Might you stand firm against the waking dawn
That threatens to rip apart the essence of who you are?I fed from the contents that spilled from their lips;
Their words a ship anchored on the edge of imagination
In semblances of a tutorial about poetry this and poetry that
And like the dreamer I was,
I sauntered into the horizon of urban poetry;
Burning coffee-cup aspirations
Rising on the edge of my fingers, the tip of my tongue.
Consorting envy, my muse
I watched a man string
JourneysBrown charred eyes strolling wistfully downJourneys6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ancient roads embedded with Jerusalem stones.
Stale mildew-scent of young memories rests
against fresh baked bread on moss covered walls.
With slow stiltish steps, an aimless jaunt,
thoughts drift back to small precious things;
marble words rolling down flushed cheeks.
The Conductor.lunch hour bluesThe Conductor.lunch hour blues7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
LUNCH HOUR BLUES
Lunch was one of those times that the whole of the student body seemed to have to mingle with each other for basic survival. I suppose the other times wouldve been assemblies and graduation but those however lacked a driving force, and embodied just a basic mind-numbing boredom in general. During the hour ten minutes that lunch was daily, every single living thing on campus was all moving towards one goal: sustenance.
Most ate from the canteen, though still a great number braved the cafeteria, and of course there were those who left campus to eat at the McDonalds over on Colorado Boulevard just beneath the freeway overpass that was a good couple miles away. Had to have a car, really, to get there and back in time to hit sixth period, if you cared that much. Wasnt difficult to come by, a car, then, but most of the poor kids would still sprint over there for a shake and some lard-injected french fries. It was funny watching em try to beat the lat