Friday NightEvery Friday night is the exact same thing.Friday Night2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You're still getting ready to go out and already you can hear the thick bass calling to you from the clubs downtown.
Deep down inside a voice is asking, "Why do this? Why go out there and do this again?"
It's a question you avoid answering as you grab your clutch and answer the call of the thumping bass.
The clubs are all the same.
The same sounds, the same people, the same booze.
The same feeling of escapism from everyone involved.
Why you call your friends every week to end up here, you don't know.
This isn't really your scene.
All the girls show off the same body parts, wear the same lack of clothing, reek of the same perfumes.
All the guys wear the same shirts and jeans, and all have the travelling eye.
Both parties always seeking out the next person who will make them feel alive, if only for a few songs.
If lucky, maybe more.
It's something you can't stand when it comes to the people of these clubs, their noses forever smelling out their
Keep the DarkThese dark days of mine are lit only by the souls that bind me,Keep the Dark2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the sun swallowed back into the Earth for her final time.
Who knew that at such a time of darkness there could still be a lit path just for me?
The ground I walk upon is cursed but the blessing lies in breathless voices, beckoning me from the shackles of others.
I see their true faces.
Their gnashing teeth and stealthy shadows shall do nothing to make me fear what I am or what I am to become.
The ultimate sacrifice.
So let them come with their false prophets and hands of pain.
Let them hold my lungs in my sleep.
I will still find ways to voice my wares and show the strength I've so earned.
The dark will not silent me or pin me to its breast.
Soon shall I be free of everything heavy in the dark air surrounding.
Soon I will be one with the winds that taught me.
Soon I will need no sun for its light could not be bright enough for my journey,
to lead me down trail to my final existence.
You may keep your dark.
poem for a crowpoem for a crow2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
wanderers cross burning skies
wisps of smoke
fly towards the dying light
seek refuge from the night
sleep in black
boyhe buried my heartboy7 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
in the backyard [beneath the
grass] like an old bone
Let Loose.Let Loose.7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
She's ripping her jeans off at the thighs.Pulling out her hemp flip flops.
Bikinis under tank tops are tied.Preparing for the heat of summer.
She dances with the breeze, and runs to the sea. With a free laugh in she jumps.
Waves crash overhead, but she knows how to tread the trails of this old friend.
That girl is on the loose again.
Bare skin on sand, shoes dangle in hand. Her hair dripping with salt water.
She falls on the beach and looks at her feet. White sand is coating like sugar.
She lays her head back and starts to relax,to the sounds of her soothing ocean.
Breathing in the scent of salt drying on sun warmed skin.
Salton Sea.You have made my mind into a Salton sea created quite accidentally.Salton Sea.7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
With a rushing flood of foolish emotion from the river of my own creation.
Just enough to fill my basin created by your constant erosion.
Waters receding I did not have time to build my damn.
I hear you still like a saxophone trill, sad and searching for more.
But now I know to block the door and quickly shut my eyes.
Salinity now on the rise with the salty tears I cant help but cry.
Now nothing here will ever survive. Endorheic, the poisons become blocked in.
Will you replenish with the sweet drip, drip of your clear ,clean voice? I hear your words again.
With a shoreline growing and silt encroaching I feel I don't have much of a chance.
I know it changes nothing but the water levels in my lake of lost romance.
When you have the choice of a rolling swell or becoming just a dried up well....
which would you rather be?
Return to Sender.... About Time.I know you think she's just making errors when you deliver her mail.Return to Sender.... About Time.7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
You bag always full of return to senders, her letters always seem to fail.
You like to wonder who she's writing, always a different address.
Is she looking for a long lost lover? That would explain that sultry dress.
Or maybe she has lost a brother, sister, or maybe a mother, and she's is trying to reunite?
You hate that look of desperation when she sees the letters. Black ink on crisp, closed white.
When you collect her correspondence it takes every bit of conscience to not look inside.
You can tell by the look in her eyes her soul is there with only the paper to hide.
Then one day you arrive and come face to face with a big surprise.
In the mailbox there is a note inside, rolled like a scroll with a red bow its tied.
Not addressed, no stamps, no name. What is this some sort of game?
You unroll this mystery
YouTube Indie HipsterI realized today that indie playlists on YouTubeYouTube Indie Hipster8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
include too many men with beards standing outside buildings
in east London clapping their hands
and playing the guitar,
and that the playlist I made last week
doesn't sound as good when I'm sober,
so I guess some songs are only for
too much sangria on a Monday night
when mentally I'm saying F you to my boss,
my liver, and my waistline.
Three things; F you to three things.
And what's with men who
stand with the band and tap their fiddle?!
No one wants to see that. Or, if you must
play with your fiddle then do it for real, at least;
stop being a tease and give it a good stroke
for everyone to hear
if you even know how.
I don't want to hear your premature music.
I am afraid to crush on an indie hipster.
continueddo you wonder...or does wonder you ?continued8 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
vulture postings ( profiting from disasters)
"varying degrees of confidence" (Syria)
recombinant DNA sashay
seeing BEHIND one's eyes when gardening.
collapsing at the mere thought of failure is no longer an option
vertebrae like orchid flowers
books as long papery blogs (craig ferguson)
yield to the air
"you are a birthmark on the bones of me..."(Louise and the Pins)
increase how brightly you burn
graph of lost music
HAVE ALSO DECIDED THAT WONDERFUL AS FAVES ARE...AND I DON'T GET THAT MANY, IF A MESSAGE IS NOT LEFT AS TO WHY, THEN PLEASED AS I MAY BE I CANNOT TAKE THE TIME TO ANSWER. I ALWAYS LOOK FOR SOMETHING TO FAVE BACK, IN FULL SINCERITY. HAVE COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT FAVES ARE SORT OF LIKE "LIKES" MUCH OF THE TIME. CAN THEY NOT MEAN A TRIFLE MORE ?
SERIOUSLY...TELL SOMEONE WHY. IT HAS AN INTRINSIC VALUE.
Ending TimeI want to take himEnding Time8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to hold him
And keep him all to myself
To stay in that moment
When the heart is felt
I want to cover every inch of his surface
With these "love for him" eyes
I want to climb to the top
And yell to the world
Full of people below
That he has found me,
my heart and all I hold
That I have been waiting..
Waiting for that feeling
That comes with no warnings or signs
A feeling that keeps me warm
On the cold nights
A feeling that hits me
like a ton of bricks
when our eyes meet, when we lock lips
A feeling that brings something new everyday
If I could only find the right words to describe
that feeling I get
The one I've never had
That feeling that something's been missing this whole time
I'm starting to ramble
I know this doesn't rhyme
I'm sure that what I'm trying to say, is
I want everyday
VoidMost likely, it was youVoid8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
what I heard;
a sound calling
to nothing but itself,
for the white unknown,
the blood-black wound:
It was in your kitchen, over the sink,
that you stood when I heard you
howl for the empty bowl, for who would not
clean their plate, the waxing moon
of daily routine reflecting
love and effort, reasons to resume.
It was you I heard
howl for the mundane, for the everyday,
for the animal groove of wakefulness
padding down the hallway,
an orange-and-white cat no longer seeking,
understanding not to look.
The Ides of AprilOn everyone's lipsThe Ides of April8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the news is explosive;
running hot and red
with cobbled voices.
Some found their legs,
others lost them.
Their eyes are tight.
I shake for Boston.
This Sh*t's Too Intellectual 4 Your MamaOn a Saturday I circumvent melancholy withThis Sh*t's Too Intellectual 4 Your Mama9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
melancholy. You are at a friend's contemplating
hops and barley. I smoke my final cigarettes. You have
requested a switch for my new year: e-cigarettes or whatever
you call them, health benefits. I have been testing them,
the freedom of smoking indoors, wailing myself
giddy at the notion of it: puffing like a dragon, sitting
regal as a fat caterpillar. Well, final smokes are a goodbye;
we'll substitute this kind for the other.
Dispersed IdentityNo one I knowDispersed Identity9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Knows all of me.
Each person keeps a snippet.
Each treasures their cracked piece of pottery.
What would happen if they cooperated?
Surely it would make a perfect vase.
The thought of a solved puzzle
Drew these people together.
Out of concern for me, they said.
They made a diagram
And compared notes.
And then went in search
Of the piece that nobody had.
The piece I had.
So they find me
And show me a list.
They say: "Here's what we know"
Now give us the rest.
I am as stiff as my tongue.
So they raise their sharp tools
And start to dig, prying me open.
Ignoring my cries.
Each piece of me
They name and remove
And then set aside because
They plan to put me back together.
I am their friend, after all.
And as I lay stunned
They drum nearer
To the piece that I hold
In a white-knuckled grip.
My heart plans out my death
In a feverish cascade
And my brain
Has quit its job.
The rest of me rolls open like an orange.
I am completely
Stripped down to
Of the seaA slowly breaking wave, adding color and light to a bereft shore.Of the sea1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
This shore of my soul that has been but rocky crevices and lonely jettisons.
For so long.
Ostensible beauty, if I could not help but fear.
And with each passing of the sun and moon this fear subsides.
Minutely yet exponentially.
I soften, to enjoy this oh so fine mist caressing my face.
Refreshing me, quenching this flesh that has so long been parched.
And yet in the spaces between the rise and fall I am waiting.
Waiting for a tidal wave.
Just as beautiful but with no choice.
No choice but to crush and destroy me.
With every passing day I trust more and more to this calm sea.
This fear that resides in me regardless of the compassion of this gentle tide.
It is an incendiary pain.
This waiting for destruction.
As if fear were an old lover who would not let me go.
Who had shackled me in a dungeon built of doubt.
Freedom, a magicians trick of holding a key in your mouth.
Waiting to expectorate, to free yourself of
Fifteen YearsLove on the threshing floorFifteen Years1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Me in your bed
Your drunkenness speaks of things
Better left unsaid
Loving too deep
Scars you can't hide
Every time we never called
Was another time we lied
Your sleep was shattered pictures
Of things I would not do
But does that make them any less real
To the boy within you
Will this all be over soon
Or have I years to go
With the boy I fell in love with
Fifteen years ago.
birdStupid fat bird on the wirebird1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
How is it that you balance
why don't you go higher
Fat fluffy bird with a small head
Is it wrong that I want to see you fall
Tip over and glide
till you hit the ground and you're dead.
You leap and bounce
From one spot to the next
Just hold still and be content
So plain and dull
You lack color and jazz
What is your purpose
Where is my cat
Stupid fat bird
when you caw and coo
Your presence annoys me
I want to throw a rock at you
Why am I so angry at the feathered fluff
Am I angry with myself
Maybe I want to fly
They can see all from above
Letting the wind determine there direction
To be flightless
Maybe that's my gruff
I'm a peacock
So pretty not dull
If I run and jump I can fly
No, wait I'm just tantalizing to the eye
VentingThe lines on your face showVenting1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where you have been.
encompassing the sweetest of sins
A heart broken, a love felt
Unreleased from your mouth
is how you dealt
Whispering the fondest
Pulling the strings
It was in your grasp
By any means
Eyes naive like a child
Withered and unmasked
How does one deal,
with this burden of a task
Not a complete loss of flight.
Let in cautiously
Reminiscent of the night
Alone, the walls seem to cave in
Alone, is not what this has been
Recurring flashes injure the mind
Can't see past being behind
Hard walking with shoes untied
Trip and a stumble with each stride
Eyes open, still can't see
What good came from this.
Early on would have been easier
Maybe after the first kiss.
Affliction for herDon't think I don't know, I do.Affliction for her1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
It has nothing to do with me its you.
The festering of her lingers within
caressing your soul and softening your skin.
You look into her eyes and smile.
You are succumb to her infectious ways. Only for her do you feel this way.
Your glance, your movement is hindered. By a sweet, beautiful fem. That at a moments notice will pull the trigger.
Her touch, her caress slows down time. Pivotal flashes puncture your mind.
Of what was, what isn't and what could be. The endless factor of "you without me "
Back and forth you go, stuck in limbo but you wont show.
Show the angst, the fear, the unrequited tears of a love you know is lost. It echoes endlessly in your ears.
You hold on, hold on tight
That fire that Burns within
The one you want to fight
The one you want to let burn
To see in a heap of ashes
The one you want to go
The one you want to stay.
Blistering your mind and mouth with yesterday.
don't erase me.you could take her home, framed and neat,don't erase me.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
a beautiful study of plastic flowers and negative
space. Your mother would be pleased that
her pastel pallet matches the living room drapes.
she was not an accident,
a runaway sketch on lined paper, an
unintended display of raw emotion on the back of a worksheet.
your hands won't blacken when your run your fingers across her.
she won't blend.
her paint has dried.
hang her by the Thomas Kinkade print,
just don't wash the graphite off your hands.
Watching a Kurt Cobain BiographyIt wasn't your best work;Watching a Kurt Cobain Biography2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The modern day classic
around the youths ears,
dancing with their drums,
whispering, luring them:
"I understand you."
It wasn't your best work;
The riotous shows,
passion visibly taking talent
by the neck,
strangling it until dead and everyone
is sweaty and no-one
realises they've just witnessed a murder.
It wasn't your best work;
Your legs shaking,
chattering like joke teeth,
your head splintered into a wreckage,
alphabet spaghetti brain matter, blood,
shotgun shells, all tagged against the wall
like a silly excuse for a painting.
It was your best work;
With all of your beauty
of your frailties,
in an icons wake.