Boris the ManskinnerBoris the ManskinnerBoris the Manskinner11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When you skin a man you'll find
he peels like ripening fruit.
He will scream when he has nothing
to confess; pay no mind
when you hear him. If
he speaks, his words
do not equal our words.
The ineffable skinning is key.
The cryptography of silence
urges care in the carving. Between
the shoulder blades
and the base of the skull
lies an area of exquisite tenderness.
Here, the skin is a folding
map stretching across the back
each curve a lesson
in the nature of geodesics.
Lay the skull bare.
The face, perhaps now horrific,
is a primal glyph of the
inquisitive nature of man.
"no" or "why" will rise like
the water table in a storm.
The fruit is then ripe,
and a dream reader is called
to decrypt the contours
of the skull. What life was lost
will reveal itself.
I, Boris, can help you.
In Russia it was severe and cold
during the war.
What I Feel For HerI couldnt help but fall for herWhat I Feel For Her6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I let my stupid heart feel again
It fills me up with such sadness such anger
Cause she says she loves me but we can only be friends
At first I refused to let her go
I dont care if shes with another
I dont care if her answer right now is a no
Im sure it wont be a no forever
Shes really beautiful
I cant believe Ive actually met her
Holding her Im sure would be wonderful
I really wish that we could be together
Shes so far away
But so close to my heart
I sometimes cant stand not hearing from her every day
But every time it only seems like our friendship is falling apart
Should I stop going after her?...
I dont know what to do
Isnt there a chance that one day we can be together?...
I love her I really do
Last Goodbye?...He kissed her softly as he was saying goodbye,Last Goodbye?...6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All she did was kiss him back as she started to cry.
She held him tight,
Knowing that she would cry herself to sleep every night.
He looked at her with a saddened expression,
He was going to cry too and she paused to listen.
He told her how much he loved her,
How his heart would never stop beating for their love, never.
How she was his one and only,
She was the worlds beauty.
More tears came falling down her face,
Each falling at the same pace.
He wiped the tears off her face with his hand,
Her feet could barely take it, she could barely stand.
He was leaving and all she did was hurt inside,
She felt like she was going to die
Her heart was leaving far far away,
With the man she loved and cherished every day.
But she knew it would be safe with him,
Even though things looked dim
She loved and trusted him with all her life,
How could she not? She knew one day she would be his loving wife.
As he started to walk away she
An Army Of Artistic PurposeAn Army Of Artistic Purpose10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Graphite floods of abstract calamities,
Varying shades of grey burning gently,
Aging and softening, eroding in time.
Paper rolls from memory to thought,
Image to scripture
It breathes the air of free reign
A melodic sense of purpose
Carrying on to
Absence of eraser use
Just scribbles and dashes
Running along the accidental collisions
Of poor thought processes brought together.
The novels that &
Aesthetic ArrhythmiaI paintedAesthetic Arrhythmia6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And I didn't care who saw me
As the glass window pane of my virulent and fickle heart
Became smattered in cadmium red
And royal peacock blues
#2 pencil behind my ear and
A feather in my hair
That reeked of simpatico
And garlic-ed promises
My hair trickled down my backside
Like a used up cliche about sunsets
And cascading waterfalls
I swirled, brushes up in arms
And hips swaying in imaginary orchestral tune
Waltzing on butterfly winged glass staircases
As viridian and vermillion heartbeats
Danced a tango across the padded canvas
This is the part where you would have laughed at me,
For the breast prints and finger strokes
Splay the walls in hearty violets and burnt sienna
You always lauded me for having the strangest muses
But I could never really help it
That my skin was fluent in every colour
As I sang in scarlet
And breathed in obsidian
And my amarillo heart strings
Struck a lightning caress of ecstasy
You would have laughed
Could you have seen
Wild eyed and naked
don't drag me into love.i keep choking on saltwater.don't drag me into love.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
with every breath, i'm dragging the seaweed and lies deeper into my lungs. every insecurity is swelling and dancing before me, every flaw magnifying until i can't see around it. i'm crawling on hands and knees up the beach and coughing up my mistakes, but i can't stop myself from making another one. i'm sitting with trembling hands, a spinning head and i can't stop, i just can't seem to fucking stop.
i'd like to say i'm beautiful, i'd like to say i'm strong, but we know it's a lie. i'd like to say my mistakes make me endearing, my idiosyncrasies make me charming, but it couldn't be further from the truth. in reality, i'm insecure and shaking, i'm crashing down the stairs and sobbing against the bloody carpet. i'm trembling and biting my lip, throwing fists against the wall, screaming at the stars as if they have some answer to offer me. i'm begging the moon for salvation as if it's hidden somewhere beneath the scarred surface.
can't you see? i'm lost, i'm c
EucalyptusEucalyptus9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her skirts are so thick
if you spun her upside down
she would open up like a rose-
violent yellow pumps
and bubble ankles on
lanky blue legs, waving like stamen in the rain.
she's pollinating all over the room
a good thing to ask would be
why have I waited so long.
Do you remember burning me around your neck? I singed your hair, but didn't say anything.
It just curled from my fingers.
I sit far away now-
wrapped around my new love like a cat,
telling ghost stories and missing your shoulders,
flicking back and forth against the subway walls.
I got a letter today
a train schedule
another reminder of my
residence in the wings.
why have I waited so long?
I remember the day
you sat in my livingroom
somber, surrounded by fruit,
while I ran back and forth
miserable and sweating, trying to
find something appropriate to wear at the funeral.
you played at his memorial
and I watched
leaning back on the carpet and forgetting
entirely where I was.
Magpie On The GallowsMagpie On The Gallows9 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Written by: CliveBarker
Magpie on the Gallows
High above my head,
Tell me truly, maggot–pie,
Is my lover dead?
When he went away to war,
To me eternal love he swore
Tell me truly, bird of gloom,
Where his bed and what his doom?
From the gallows hear the magpie screech:
From now on your lover’s out of reach.
In a bed of mud he died
Soldiers slept at either side,
He has never been faithless dear,
And never will be now, I fear.
Magpie on the Gallows
Feathered white and black,
My brother went a–hunting
Will he not come back?
He was tall and he was strong,
Face was fair and limb was long.
Tell me truly, maggot–pie,
Did he live or did he die?
From the gallows hear the magpie scream
Now your brother is left alone to dream.
There’s no need for you to fret
He’s still fair to look at yet,
He lay in the snow to doze,
And while he slept the poor lad froze.
Magpie on the gallows
Where the death–rope creaks,
Why is it th
MayflyMayfly10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When we were mayflies our wings were
worn from wire screens, but the tentative
beats of your belly chimed like iron.
And it occurred to me that through
the breeze of burning leaves our eyes
were open to wasps and weeds.
7 ways of looking at a library7 ways of looking at a library9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is the collection
of every known fact
in existence, every radiant
truth. The marble staircase
articulates majesty. Its intricacies,
just under your weight,
seem to map out
the entire universe.
Lies, every printed word.
Mere trash written by
the thin-lipped elite.
Disinformation to keep
the masses ignorant.
Soon they'll be manufacturing
Words, words, words
in a civil war, recruited by
decimals… is this an ambush?
The sentences are bloodying
each other, fighting over
which is right.
Spines along the shelves make colored lines
like circus tent patterns. But
there are no acrobats here, no live animals!
Only rows and rows of color.
Exciting to look at, but still—
this is nothing like a circus.
The mute ladies will yap at you,
but only if you ask them a
useless question about astronomy or
the mating call of some sea mammal.
Otherwise they are musty old women,
You will acquire
a wealth of knowledge
in the near future.
Fulfillment through DepravityFulfillment through Depravity11 years ago in Horror More Like This
They call me crazy. I beg to differ. I'm sentenced to die only for their lack of understanding. So, here I sit day after day in this cold, lonely, dark jail-cell. Fed once daily, I'm slowly thinning away, still filled with the lust of my chosen delicacy and the hatred that was bred upon me. I don't know how long I've been here or how long I'll stay. No windows to the outside world are present to accompany me, only one diminutive hole near the top of the door shining in a small beam of light through from the prison corridor. I've grown somewhat accustomed to this new lifestyle of mine however bleak it may be in comparison to the stirring existence of my past.
I was born on August 13, 1974, putting me now at slightly over fifty years old. My mother unfortunately died during labor, leaving my single father to raise me alone. My unstable father was traumatized b
affection driveIf I recycledaffection drive7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the love littered at your feet
hearts would starve no more.
Metre 101So. Metre.Metre 10110 years ago in Editorial More Like This
It has become a dirty word in some poetry circles.
It conjures images of withered, grey-haired men laboriously counting out beats and stresses whilst coughing up phlegm because of all the dust in their cramped and quasi-arcane libraries.
It really isn't all THAT bad, trust me.
So, without getting too 'old-man' technical - What is metre? what is it good for?
And, importantly, how does one use it?
Well, let's see if we can come up with some workable and easily understood answers by the end of this.
#1: What is metre?
Technical Language: The most well known metre, 'Accentual Syllabic Metre' is the rhythmic arrangement of syllables and patterns of stresses in a poetic line.
Translation: Metre is a poetic device that allows you to consciously orchestrate the flow of rhythm in a poem by paying attention to the natural rise and fall of the spoken word, and how to align those patterns of word-emphasis in an effective way.
#2: What is metre good for?
8:00 A.M.There is a girl with the tiniest white hat walking in the street, like a drop of cream floating on the surface of coffee before it gets sucked down by a swirling spoonsitting there. Her eyes dance around like she is looking for something, maybe a calendar to remind her that people dont wear hats like that anymore. In my head she is a bronze statue you see on display as a park centerpiece. In the winter, the snow piles on top of her head like a little pyramid, paying tribute to her living form, and after a few years her nose and eyes and cheekbones start to get darker, start to fade, as though age were unwillingly made to stick to her eternally young features.8:00 A.M.8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She catches my glance and stops me.
Excuse me, sir, do you know the time?
I look at my watch and tell her.
Its hard to believe its already so late.
But its only eight in the morning, I shrug.
I know, she says, Its hard for me to believe how q
PerseverancePerseverance8 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
If one were to mention the word perseverance to many Christians, most would probably automatically assume a number of things. However, the theology of perseverance in the New Testament is not strictly based on the standard Calvinist/Arminian debate, nor is it simply the idea of how to get through life. While those things are covered by the writers of Hebrews through Revelation, there is a much simpler and all encompassing thread to the idea of perseverance.
The Christian life can be simply defined as a life in Christ. Hebrews 3:6 says that Christians are of Christs house; part of the family so to speak. It is what occurs next that has people scurrying for their preconceived theologies; we are of his house IF. A reader of this chapter from start to end would have already noticed that this writing is to those who are already partakers in a heavenly calling (Hebrews 3:1). This confusion of uncertainty is put to rest in v14, where all i
after dinner, afterlifeafter dinner, afterlife9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
After Dinner, Afterlife
If it were you and I,
both of us
bearing crosses on our backs,
and lifted high upon our crimes
(like a Bible story
or a fairy tale from some
damned, banned book)
we'd surely be honoured
at the gates of Saint Peter,
with medals, wine, wings
and songs of praise
for our lives within fables
and our ability to conquer
with only a blind mule -
and a switch.
Stop Naming Bits of EarthStop Naming Bits of Earth11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let them keep their slabs of fortune and safety-
there is fine reason
we listen to songs
that make us sad.
Uniforming.Hope is in the guest bedroom unpacking. It takes years to unpack in the guest bedroom. Actually, it just never ends. The mismatched pairs of socks keep multiplying, and the bed never molds to your shape. It is a slab of ambiguity that ensures that no guest ever feels at home. There's a pink cardboard Kleenex box on the nightstand and ruffles around the bed frame. It looks like a carbon copy of a Pottery Barn sample guest room. Those are dying rooms, not living rooms.Uniforming.9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Hope's brother died in the war, and they sent his armpits and toenails and nostrils back to the country in a box with a flag draped over it. He was just bits and pieces; he didn't have the glory of decomposing like my grandparents. He got blown up for no good reason; the war never even ended. It was postponed, like a soccer game on account of rain. The idea's still there, but no one can fight anymore. We just wait.
Jeremy came back from the war, but he was no better off because of it. His armpits were still in the right pl
StorytimeStorytime12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scalding bathes for Lolita
shake her body up.
And arsenic drinks,
the coroner thinks,
were responsible for the scars.
Now little mother spanish
and stoic papa cry.
Mourning and lamenting,
sister Nola dies -
of suicide, they say.
Two children in a day.
Another wake, funeral cake,
now everyone\'s asking why.
A week goes by
and Lorelai, their sitter in arrears,
\"When those children called
I wished that they would die!
So I bathed the youngest quiet,
after tepid poisoned tea,
and strung her sister,
up on the willow tree.\"
Strange GrowthStrange Growth9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
after a day
the ploughed field has
a fine crop of seagulls
When The Sky MeltsDamaged and broken is pick me up,When The Sky Melts8 years ago in Other More Like This
Split lips and bruised shins,
Acting brainless for the sake of art,
Spitting curses, and damning names.
Unlike you, I know the cost,
That was alright, but I heard it from someone else.
Thinking of things that make the user feel bold.
While excusing all that reason holds.
Going forward in the meantime, holding back,
Everyone loves an amusement park,
And nobody can handle the candy.
After all, I'm all that matters.
Strive to retain something, so that nothing is lost,
That's all that I have.
Looking sideways always causes confusion,
But you do it anyways.
There's something caught in my lung,
The ashes get thicker and thicker.
Nothing left to hold,
Not even the exhaled air that used to be here.
I wish sometimes there would be more,
Concealed in this tiny room,
But then again, this is what happens,
When the sky melts.
CensoredCensored10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Boy hops, skips, tromps inside,
dirt-water dripping into a sentence
on the linoleum forum beneath:
"The mud is especially good today."
strikes the statement from the record,
appeal to Mop v. Glo denied.
The dissident is thrown into prison (porcelain)
and Mother ensures freedom of speech
is revoked, even behind the ears.
HeldWe loved like arson:Held9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
glow floats around like smoke, and distorts us,
restless, and tangles around the rafters,
the room imbued: remnants of star-fuelled lust.
We loved like fireworks, comets and fireflies.
We traced paths through constellations for hours,
across freckled skies, tasting the stars
with every kiss. The night went on for miles.
Now a cathartic still whispers, lingers
as the room burns orange in the morning's
luster. The carmine light bares a warning:
To keep my distance, or I'd clash with hers.
I leave her to draw the blinds, casting shad-
ows like prison-cell bars across the bed.