Underneath Everything.Blue was her color,Underneath Everything.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ripped and frayed was her
She is trapped
inside this room,
against her skin.
Until her master wishes,
she may never escape this
All she may do is
and await her fate.
Cry outPoets find your presence in the fire and the storm.Cry out3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They seek you in majesty.
They look at mountains and see the ridges of your thumbprint.
They cry your praise when you paint the autumn.
They throw open their hearts to the sun.
They marvel as the cold kernel stirs to life.
But you are in the bitter days as well,
the afternoons so dull I could weep.
You are the maker of anthills as well as mountains,
and the stately wake of the single crackled leaf.
You drew the colour from the sunset and breathed grey fog.
You kill some seeds, barren rocks that litter the ground and will never grow.
You are in despair as well as in triumph -- perhaps
even more, for despair is a magnet for your mercy.
If I look hard, I can see you in linoleum tiles,
in the ugly things squeezed out by human hands.
Even in flicker of acetylene,
you are there.
Break me of my addiction to glory.
Show me your face while my eyes are still open.
Erase the illusions.
Bring mundane peace.
Nostalgia.NostalgiaNostalgia.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Consuming the present
"I just want
"Just to see."
(We speak o
MorbidHis eyes areMorbid2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dark of course
his gaze drab
his fingers thin and long
made for pressing down
on the wooden necks
of old cellos,
made for pattering along the
path of the black and white
He drinks his coffee
because he's so sick of
Tired of the tart smiles
of false romance,
bored with the everyday
metronome of her beauty as
it threatens to dictate
the rhythm of his universe.
power of bitter
structure quakes his tongue
and he feels as though
he has just breathed in
and is not careful
about staining his new
white dress shirt.
This coffee reminds
him of his words
and he thinks its ironic.
Irony is funny to him.
He stares at a picture
of her that he keeps
telling himself he'll get rid of
but just never gets around to it
he stares at it
and closes his dark eyes.
"Tomorrow," He says
and the word rolls
across the desert of his tongue
like tumble weed.
He takes another sip of coffee.
Nothing.You build me upNothing.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You tear me down.
I am what you say:
Nothing without you.
If You Love HerYou stand with your shoelaces untiedIf You Love Her6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your fingers woven together.
A black and yellow butterfly
panics against your palms,
so you tighten your hold,
and your mother stoops next to you.
“If you love her,” she says,
uncurling your fingers.
“You will let her go.”
You gasp and tighten your hands,
You are six years old,
and there is no logic
in releasing beautiful things.
Again she takes your hand.
“If you love her,” she repeats,
more slowly this time.
“You will let her go.”
Now you sigh
and open your fingers.
The butterfly hesitates,
but then drops its small head,
as if to press a kiss to your palm.
Your mother holds you
and praises you,
but you will not understand
the meaning of this moment
until you are much older,
and you cannot even see the sky
through all of the butterflies
you have released over the years.
But you see your mother’s sad face
as an army of butterflies
carries you away,
and finally you understand
(Mute) The Demons(Mute) The Demons(Mute) The Demons2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I want to say something, but I can’t find the right words,
So I stay mute, hoping you’ll find the words for me
And while I know the pen is mightier than the sword…..
If I impale myself with the sword I make my point that much more perfectly
Just because I don’t speak doesn’t mean I don’t want to,
It’s just so difficult to communicate clearly when your head and heart are cloudy,
And my words feel empty to even myself so what else am I supposed to do?
You’re right, I am an angst-ridden teen, so I’m looking for a way you can help me,
So I can help myself; so I won’t have to feel so lost while I fight my emotions,
And I’ll be alright eventually, but I have to figure out how to help myself, now
Because these past couple of weeks has been filled with yearning, anger, and stress,
So I look to others to help me out but it looks like no one knows how,
I wish I knew so I don’t have to
No LongerI lock my door and wrap myself in blanketsNo Longer2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
To let you know that you're not welcome
I know exactly who you are and why you try to fake it
And I feel like a child compared to who you've become
I wear jeans under my sweatpants
and hoodies over my sweaters
I always cross my legs and cover my chest
Because I'm older and I know better
I never let you near me like I used to do
Or rest your hands around my waist
I never let you tear my shirt or throw away my shoes
Your name to me is a disgrace
No longer will you take away my innocence
No longer will you haunt my dreams
No longer will I swallow your consequences
No longer... so it seems...
Indian SummerThe Texas autumn frothsIndian Summer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in shades of taupe and cinnamon
and lemon-scented yucca blooms -
waxen belles amid the spikes,
thickets of Jumano spears.
The Texas autumn ravages
the sunscorched clay with burning winds
that chew the live oaks all to shreds
and turn mesquites to kindling.
The Texas autumn ticks along
in desiccated deer
yearning for a sip of winter
to ease their cracking riverbeds.
The Texas autumn flows
in rivers of molten tar
along the curbs, beneath the cars,
The Texas autumn breathes hard
like a woman in labor
and clings to the sun
with gifts of fiery fiddle strings
and a prayer for rain.
Touch.Lips meet hurriedly.Touch.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Muffled moans echo.
This is not Love.
Clothes are discarded.
Bodies writhe gloriously.
Interlocking like puzzle pieces.
This is Lust.
Gasping for breath.
A tender kiss to the forehead.
What is this?
Compatible, meant to be.
These words torture me
Do I love him, or is it just physicality?
My indecision is lifted,
With a single touch I know.
I love him all: his mind, body and soul.
Under the Cold SkyI am exhausted,Under the Cold Sky2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Content to rest
But wish you the best.
Our hands grow numb
For we refuse to let go
All sense of feeling gone
Our fingers, slipping
Go, live for me
For my time is at an end.
Go, love for me
For I still have lives to mend.
I am tired, but at peace
Let me drift off to sleep
Go, dream for me
For I've joy to reap.
I'll not see you again
Our paths have diverged
Never to meet again
We must go our separate ways.
Under the cold sky
I walk an empty path
I cannot tell you why
Just promise me you'll still laugh
...I'll miss you terribly.
Pain.Pain.Pain.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everyone must endure pain in life,
It's something simple that people take advantage of.
Like the lie your boyfriend told
Or the secret that shouldn't have been spoken.
Pain is something as small as the tiniest slit in your skin
Blood pooling, a pinprick,
But at least with pain
Something other than this
It's something you don't miss until it's gone.
A breath when you don't understand what it's like
To lack oxygen.
Ecru trimmed with goldI am ecru trimmed with goldEcru trimmed with gold3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your laughter burns my eyes-
though the onions
and I wish that you would go away
and let me make this damned soup
and set the table
in ecru trimmed with gold, fine china
ready to receive a broth of carrots
and celery, all dressed up
for the mundane, the vulgar
Trapping bay leaves with a slotted spoon
ecru trimmed with gold
shattered on the kitchen floor.
Paper PlanesScribble the wordsPaper Planes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your thoughts
let them be swords
that cut along the edges
no sooner will I read them
no later will I be blind
but if your lips touch
the leafy skin of your canvas
I'll happily know
that there is deeper meaning
let the literary demons
let them loose in
and lights out!
when you're done,
take your delicate hands
Don't stop folding
until your satisfied,
don't stop folding until
you sing your dream
its okay if the paper
cranes cut my skin,
paper cuts are the price we pay
to see a safe haven with
they soar like ships
in the sea with a story tell
a poem to write
and a song to sing
our paper planes.
Address to NightFind yourself put out on the street like bonesAddress to Night11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
for a wire-haired dog, find yourself lost
at the next bus stop. The maps are all veins
you shouldn’t trace back to a perfectly
well-beating heart. There are places you can’t
visit. In this room, family only. Recovery
isn’t done by halves, or even full pockmarked
moons. And I have loved your low harvest, your thrush
of cold; I have felt it sit on my shoulder and
sing. The pool at night, all the light inside
magnified by absence, the girls night
mermaids – streaming hair illuminated
by your nothing. The place you terminate
is where I choose to love him. Don’t drag
against my door; the lights are on. We’re home.
CassandraEven in death, Cassandra was lovely.Cassandra3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her hair cascaded over her ivory shoulders in sable cataracts, pooling in the soft hollow between her breast and throat. She was wearing the white nightgown, the one she knew I loved, and the fall had thrown it up, weightless, in gossamer drifts across her legs. Her bare toes were painted salmon-pink, the same colour as the roses in the crystal vase by the door.
So elegant, my Cassandra. I might have expected that she would sprawl, as one imagines that people do when they have died suddenly, but her body refused to surrender its accustomed grace. One hand curled beside her face; the other lay, palm up, across her cocked hips, its open fingers tenderly beckoning. Her eyes were closed, peaceful, the fringe of dark lashes sooty and familiar upon her fading cheek. Her lips were parted in expectation. At any moment, she would wake, look up at me, smile. Cassandra.
My hand found the banister, gripped the aged wood and guided me down the stairs, through th
Afterlife NeverlastingMaybe I want to live foreverAfterlife Neverlasting2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But in the afterlife?
I want to stay here, in this universe
Where there's so much to see
So very much distance to traverse
A lifetime's too short for me!
Why would I ever want to die?
Just end my time in this world,
And in the ground lie?
I want to see us reach the stars,
Mend ourselves and our planet;
Heal the innumerable, painful scars.
...That can't be beyond our capabilities, can it?
Can I stay a little longer?
I'll help anyway I can
To make this species stronger.
I want you to come with me;
See these wondrous sights.
I want to travel freely,
Among these countless lights.
Let us explore together!
We will venture into the unknown;
And why not forever?
Let us run
Through the night
For the Sun
We stand proudly
On a mote of dust
And rather loudly, we proclaim,
"Discovery is a must."
We're still so young.
But let us keep this childish curiousity,
For as long as we are sung
Across this galactic monstrousity.
Let us fly
Over on h
The Origin of Authentic Love LettersYou told meThe Origin of Authentic Love Letters2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as you sat at my grave
that you would never forget the day
that my last love letter jumped out of your hand
and ran away.
You were reading it in the streets of August
as an angry wind rushed by
and tore the paper out of your hand
and it had animated itself,
tumbled down the street
by the tips of its aged corners,
cartwheeling passionately away
You told me you chased after it
until the end of the street
when God decided to suck it up
into the blanket of the skies
You wrote a new one,
you told me
but it would never be the same
as the original.
I am an Artist.I am an artist;I am an Artist.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
An artist of deep words
and elongated sentences.
I cannot stroke a paper
and create beauty
with paint and pencils.
The beauty I create, though,
is made to be read;
no one likes the person
others must have noticed
who creates worlds with paint
who creates worlds with ink.
We are one in the same.
We have one purpose really.
We are all artists.
Morning VerseThe morning makes me recklessMorning Verse3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the smell of coffee curling
through my veins in electric
and the pen betwixt my fingertips
shooting feelers through my brain,
and a single dying star
burning in the dawn-green
The morning makes me restless
with the promise of the day
and the breath of open windows
and the smooth relief of
so in the morning, like a child
I turn my words in dances.
Lent 1 - AshesI am a child of ashes,Lent 1 - Ashes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a proud sinner,
a waste of flesh and blood.
I am dust, and blind, born in shadow,
shy of the light.
There are worms in my eyes.
My fingers are cracked.
But there is One who bears a torch,
who can rekindle the fire
and burn the corruption
from my torrid bones.
My flesh will slough away,
my whoreish lips curl back,
and I will be incense,
a burnt offering.
When the flames have faded,
like a phoenix I will rise,
new and shining,
with no memory of shame,
a child of Your ashes.
Paper DollsLittle paper dolls aren't so fake and unrealPaper Dolls3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Cardboard or stone, like most they don't feel
They just sit and watch the world go by
Hoping to find shelter, trying to stay dry
Staying away from what they can't comprehend
On the inside unchanging, yet they follow the trend
Grow a heart, one with eyes that can see
And a mouth to tell you, that you ain't being me
Grow a conscience to tell you right from wrong
Grow mercy and compassion to stop if you are strong
Search for knowledge and long to be wise
A pride that won't say, won't give up, tries
Little paper dolls are soft and bend
And if they get ripped, they won't mend
Paper dresses and shoes come and go
They're not made to last, they're just for show
With out hands, they're dead
Losing animation when their put in bed
Grow lungs to let you live and let you breathe
Grow fingers to let you feel the bark on the trees
Become creative, learn to show what's hidden
Obtain obedience, so you can do what is bidden
Learn to love, feel and flow
Shadow of an Echo of a WhisperJoshua closed his eyes and felt the damp breeze on his face. When he emptied his mind and quieted his thoughts, he could feel each and every minute droplet that hit his skin. There was the smell of the River: the odour of rotting fish, garbage, the tang of pitch and the stink of exhaust. That smell had changed subtly over the years, but it was still essentially the same. It was the stench of decay. No amount of environmental work would ever completely rid the River of that scent.Shadow of an Echo of a Whisper4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He could feel the hem of his greatcoat blowing gently around his legs, the coarse wool of his scarf rubbing against his lips when he moved his head. He focussed on these sensations, because he knew what happened next, and he could not bear to think about it. Not yet. Not now. Not yet.
But it was inevitable. Slowly, Joshua opened his eyes, felt his grip tighten on the pistol in his hand. At first his eyes could discern only the phantom shapes that drifted through the heavy fog, but gradually he became aw
MaybeI’ve been drowning for awhileMaybe1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’ve been gasping for air
My arms they are getting weaker
Just trying to tread some water
I think the water’s getting deeper
I’ve been drowning for so long now
I don’t know if I could ever stop
If I was plucked from this situation
Could I ever learn to breathe easily?
Could I ever stop finding new ways of hurting?
Maybe I’m addicted; yeah it could be an addiction
The feel of my lungs bursting
My blood turns to mud
No oxygen in my brain
And the pain, oh, the pain
It’s overwhelming, pulling me under
The darkness has never been softer
I don’t know if I could live up there
Out of the water
Where the land is dry, the sun is bright
And life is just a life that goes from day to night
And then again, all over
I don’t know if I could survive
It’s been so long since I lived that kind of life
Maybe I’m afraid; yeah, I could be frightened
I know how this feels
The paranoid, pining, desperation
This is m