Sgt. DivineSgt. Divine11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
A few of the men say this used to be a church, but it's hard to tell anything in this storm. We are pinned under a black and violent sky that has held us inside this crumbling room since we arrived yesterday morning. The water slides along the cracked ceiling and bombards us from different spots.
Captain tells us to keep our weapons dry, but he knows it's impossible. The floor clutches our boots with three inches of sucking wet mud. If the wind ever dies down we'll have a better look around this old place, but for now we just listen as it batters the trees into the stone.
None of us know how long we have to wait here. Captain says we are to protect this structure so our side can launch rockets from it if the war ever begins. Barnes says there isn't going to be a war. He says neither side is willing to start it; but here we are, drenched and freezing, just in case.
In the brief moments when the wind and rain pause we can hear the water trickling down through
"ocean hunger""ocean hunger"11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The inky mass opened its many mouths; they gaped and retreated. The water always looked like a trained dolphin pulling itself through its daily routine, wanting only to be fed.
Camille wanted to sacrifice herself every day, that desire never left her. Beside that wide oceanic arm, she was less than a microbe, a speck. The water owned her. She was its possession. She owed it to the river, to feed it. And often the fall looked more inviting than a chocolate cake or a feather bed.
But she wouldn't jump, because then what would Harold do? He was not self-sufficient. His existence depended on her.
The river just kept shimmying along, through the track it had worn deep. No seagulls circled the water here. It was a no man's land of beaches that stunk like an collection of fish markets. Down below were stretches of salt and pepper sand with rubbish buried beneath like ostrich eggs. Some houses and buildings that replaced trees were fastened on the vast hills on either side of the river, attach
Draw me as I amDraw me as I am10 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
When I was younger I thought death was an end, but now I think it is a process. I see this in the conversion of mourner's black to a trite fashion statement, in wisdom replaced by progress. It is a searching in the sand for words that might save you, while stones fall and understanding departs. It is knowing that most of my grandchildren's generation will not recognise the reference to which I allude, let alone its significance.
The gas heater flickers; orange light beneath plastic coals provides a comforting illusion. No more cinders, no more black dust coating every surface. I suppose I should be grateful.
On the television a man grins inanely. His wife competently organises around his bumbling ineptness. His children sigh and look embarrassed, or resigned.
"That's what it's like now, see?" I say to the ghost in the chair by the fireplace.
"What's that, Dad?" my daughter Alison asks from the kitchen, where no doubt she is planning my week very efficiently. The effective career mum, a
Shades of SleepShades of Sleep11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Another blue ceiling, shadow-choked and unfamiliar,
stares back in sympathy - withered paint crackling
with unshed dust and old-man's tales of long ago,
a silent confidante with blown-bulb twilit wisdom -
It's comfort as cold as this half-empty bed.
Cataleptic - a midnight-waker with four hours lost
and the ceiling is shadow-smothered, blue gone grey
like old-man's ashes spread out over this dark grave
of a room - dust unto dust in the throat, and coughing
with all the enthusiasm of russian roulette.
Pull the trigger on the TV remote to no effect -
3am and the damn thing's still dead, the traitor
with screen black like a post-midnight moodswing,
mourning the absence of love, laughter, light-bulbs
and illumination lost to night's darkened thoughts.
No time for sleep, but dreaming away of such escape -
a 5am fugue with pre-dawn gloom glaring intensely.
Black goes to grey and then back to the familiar view
of weeping cracks in the sarcophagus ceiling above -
tortured eyes read their decay
MatthewThe silhouette in the back seat seems to say,Matthew5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what's a few more miles per hour?
Jesus, there ain't any cops around at two AM.
The needle on that glowing green dial shivers, taunting.
After forty days of temptation in the desert,
I turned his breath bitter and blue from nicotine.
The illuminated cone of open road chokes the windshield
And he cranks the gas, feeling his back press against the seat.
A rush of lines and blue-grey pavement.
His fists were scarred, probably thought even Behemoth
was wary of his mirrored sunglasses.
And he thinks: bitch, you're gone,
You're all gone.
Bet you didn't say your prayers right.
He grips the cracked leather steering wheel
Cranks up the radio,
His feet brush crumpled cans
Of beer and Diet Coke
And he feels them holy.
I made him proud of that stain on the wall;
Made his fists bruised from scrubbing and scrubbing.
He stops when it gets light,
Wheels kicking up dust under the dead tree,
Bone-white, like fingers in the sun.
The dust scratches his lungs t
Field Notes.Field Notes9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I snap: a sling-shot
of sinew, tendons whipped
to joints that buckle in lines as cleanly creased
as an origami crane. Poised on a tripod of paper tips,
I anticipate the wind but there is only steel
shearing bone and then it all unfolds
with a scritch-scratch and tickle
of segmented limbs sprouting,
barbed as berry-canes.
once fed on your skin;
sipped at honeyed pores
with a thousand tiny, hollow tongues
and those words you said, the ones that closed
like fists to cinch me mute but for this
thin-bodied whine: please
don't ever speak
They're predicting swarms
this summer: better batten down the hatches,
PaperchainsI recognise the core,Paperchains3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Floating beneath the everchanging surface,
The different dream dialects shifting into
Pseudo-nostalgic alphabet soups,
Spelling out anagrams that are moved by
Ouija magic plucked from light ether:
Oh these messages from ice-blue ghosts.
It's always there,
At the back of your mind,
The map of destiny,
We know how it will end up
But we pat it down,
Pat it down,
Pat the motherfucking daisies down,
Push them back into their seeds!
We let those wonderland dreams
Flitter on the backs of hummingbird wings,
Let the mysteries stay for a while
Until we can use more than 10% of our brains,
Until Darwin has resurrected,
Until religion kills our bodies and souls,
Until all the flowers are demoted from their duty
As gramophones or conduit-televisions for God's
Betrayal of a GiantThe birth of a God,Betrayal of a Giant2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Drawing a path of saffron jewels and nymphs,
covering the bloody land unfolding under his feet,
The static pulse of cheering in his ears,
Those who feared and hid for so long,
Pounding in his chest as he celebrates,
As he rejoices for his well deserved faith
Let if evolve, let it pray
Then let it burn, let it drag
The birth of a tyrant,
The one who carried their world on his shoulders,
Adored for a day, massacred the next,
Sincerely believing in the flames of their eyes,
The praises they sang for his simple breaths
Crushed under their unworthy, viscous words,
Stabbed by the arrogance of their thirst.
The death of a story,
And another will sit on his golden throne,
Drowning in the love of those he once fed,
He will stand, and build and share,
Until another giant enters the arena.
This is how Gods live and die,
This is the circle that will forever remain.
And they will live through the pages,
Teaching us their sordid lessons of humility.
But history is eagerly forgott
FighterThere is a tear in the corner of my eye that bears your name,Fighter3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The sound of your voice, the roughness of your grip.
The bruises on my wrists remind me of your chains,
The kindle in your stare, the elicit grin living on your lips,
The sudden rapture of my reliance on you.
My eyes are the ocean and my stomach is a void,
My mind is the storm raging, and my fists the iron burning.
I am the lie you want to cover, the memory you want to erase,
I am the enchanting glance you feared to adore,
The maddening thirst you didn't forbid to clench.
And I still walk tall, and proud, and brave.
For I am the Seeker of dreams, the soldier of sweet desires.
And for those who kept on denying me the sword,
Hear me roar and defy your mockery
For I am the Fighter you created between your perverted palms.
Never againIt was the last day on Earth/ and I spent all that I was worth/ on analgesics and fireworks/ so I could conjure/ a vision of your face; via the consensus of embers and neon against the deep, blackbones of space -Never again6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The only thing that can be taught/ here, on the last day of Earth/ is that Valentine teaches tautology/ and that all I am is but minus a million/ inside a shade of vermillion and always a hundred hearts too short.
You are the end of me, on this last day on Earth -
Don't fall in loveI'm sunkDon't fall in love5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With poison darts;
The mercurial blood-sap.
Clandestine mind cryptDreams come back in fractions,Clandestine mind crypt4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They flitter on the backs
Of messenger doves,
Like pieces of sun
Hitting portions of wave.
A parallel sting
That travels close to the thanatology,
That runs through my breast,
Come dream or life -
It sends psychic impulses
Like kisses on an envelope
Sent off to a dead lover,
Like electrical devices
Plunged into a full
What mad fish
Dare to swim there
Alongside the impression
Of long expired stars
That blink on
The flat cauldronesque
My twin's face
In the temporary grave of ocean,
Like a disintegrating mermaid,
A terrible narcissist
As baby flowers
That never really
Reaching but never
Grasping the surface.
Is the tub
Really just a
ChessThe paramnesia isChess4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Making a Victorian merry-go-round
Out of my head
So many jewel adorned horses,
Solid gold for their tongues,
Their ghosts hang in rich mirrors
Splayed on red velvet walls:
What is real?
An enchanting escape,
As slight as a cloud
And altering me slightly
Just as the night does
Lately it drains
The canaries in my body
And shakes the starry diamonds
Out of my tress:
I know it's my
Infatuation with lethian waters
That's mixing up my brain
Turn to pebble,
As I skip a mixed
I wish I could:Take you off like aI wish I could:4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Jacket: turn you inside out
And throw you away.
ParagonBeneath ether-lofts;Paragon5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like a galaxy
Could you imagine
Womb to womb,
All spiral staircases
That dissolve into
In the bricabrac
Hung up on
In the middle of
It's Clear From My EyesIt's all so easy on your own isn't it?It's Clear From My Eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Just to be lost and wandering,
For a reason to breathe,
Or a place to be,
You don't know that you'll never find it,
It'll never be in front of your eyes,
He'll never be there,
That's why you don't care,
It's so easy to be lost in your self,
In your pain,
You've given up hope of finding a way out,
Still can't find that reason to breathe can you?
Because it's not that easy on your own.
Weak strainsI fall victim to those thingsWeak strains3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That don't quite make sense:
The sky is assigned blue
And your irises the colour of tea,
Wholesome and warm,
With a glint of danger
That correspondes with your
They manage to
Slice me open
Stuffing some metaphysical aspect of me
With the weight of
Of wild flowers.
Evil thingsSo beautifulEvil things2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Petals forced away from themselves,
I managed to look at the right moment
When those pink tear drops circled
Around in the wind.
The sky is a warm grey,
This storm is lovely.
Down comes the rain,
The smell of wet asphalt reaches me,
The smell of trees
Glistening with rain,
The sound of water and wind and
The dry soil
The people are running to their homes,
Annoyed and disgusted,
But I am watching
From the comfort of my bedroom window,
Cosy and dry,
Wearing an evil smile.
AstrologyI saw your black bonesAstrology11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
They burned like camp-fire spirits,
Leaking from those
Deep sea creatures,
Aubergine squid ink,
Like a coven of black butterflies.
How they melt in your oceans -
Like decaying mermaid tails,
The way dark rum
Mercury-melds when it is hit
With the drool of lit sugar.
If I could be anything to you
I would choose to be a cinnamon-sunset
A chaotic mess
Of comet-punched temples,
Reaching further through
Your mirror and velvet encrusted
Back to black bonesCome on,Back to black bones3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let's dredge out the tar from my lungs,
Drop my pink and perfect babies into shark jaws
I wish I could learn better,
Even the hard way is not nearly hard enough,
I just had to buy a business in
Laundering old ghosts.
"Look how white they come out,
As white as summer cloud!"
I wish father taught me how to solve
OutsideOld real estateOutside5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In my dreams;
Like a shaken magic 8
Splashing a fade and
Your roof caves
In and all I see is
I want to kill you
In my sleep.
Makes an empty Tethys
Infectiousflecks of moonlight-blueInfectious5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
are distant corpse-brides: unfold
7 Deadly Sins: WrathHe clenched his fists7 Deadly Sins: Wrath3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And took deep breaths to calm himself.
Today was not this man's day.
Everything that could have gone wrong, did.
An idiot cut him off,
His boss fired him.
He got kicked out of his apartment,
And to top it all off, his girlfriend dumped him.
The man could feel his chest boil
All these other people
Were idiots to him.
He wanted to rid the world of them,
And leave only himself.
He tried to relax,
Only to feel more anger rise up.
He was mad at the world,
The idiotic world.
He had filled himself