Autumn ReverieFalling leaves broke a rhymeAutumn Reverie4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Creating the new song of life
A storm is growing far away
And I'm still here but must leave
The last train is leaving now
Fades beyond the crystal lake
And my heart just goes with it
Leaves just keep falling.
The sound of this train reels inside
Bringing back memories of
Somehow I knew I'll end up as this
In this place I loved so much
That feels empty now, without anyone
A reminder of innocent youth.
Somewhere, beneath the waves
Maybe I'll find the peace
That I've always refused
I dream of you. I remember us.
Years passed me by, people came and left
Some taking parts of me somewhere
But in this night, oh, I still love
And maybe you'll whisper someday
"Come, hold me, love me"
And I will surely come.
Tears of autumn stain this old skin
And heal the wounds of time
I think of all of you
And I take faltering steps
In the rain.
NimicÎntr-un vis al fericirii supreme, am crezutNimic3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
că pot îmbrățișa lumea-n întregu-i cuprins.
...dar visul a ars, s-a stins, și-a rămas doar cenușă;
din fericire, o amintire, în griuri fade.
Nu mai e nimic, doar o tăcere moartă-
un gol căscat în cea din urmă noapte.
Și-n acest nimic, e prea mult... prea mult... prea mult...
Nimic nu mai cred, nimic nu mai simt
acum, când iarna pare-a cădea duminică.
Larg deschise, brațele fricii făr nume mă cuprind
și acum, întretăiată în nimicuri gri, domnește-absolută.
Tu iubește-mă așa cum sunt – doar pământ.
X-mas storyFulgii de zăpadă cădeau încet spre pământ în acea noapte de 24 decembrie. Orașul de câmpie se trezise la viață, iar pe sub luminile multicolore se perindau oameni încărcați cu fel și fel de pachete, lovindu-se de cei ce se plimbau agale pe sub ninsoarea blândă. Din difuzoarele montate în centru, răzbătea muzica de sezon, distorsionată din cauza volumului dat prea tare.X-mas story3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
El se plimba liniștit printre oamenii grăbiți, iar fulgii i se prindeau în părul lung și negru, topindu-se apoi. Cufundat în gânduri, părea a nu lua seamă la forfota din jurul său. De după o mașină, niște adolescenți au încercat să-i cânte un colind, oprindu-l din drumul său spre nicăieri. El trecu printre ei, împingându-i, ținând strâns pumnul în buzunarul cu portofelul, după ce simțise cum e căutat în buzunarul drept de bani. Grupul se luă dup
VapaieZorii cad grei pe câmpiile pustiiVapaie3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sumbre prevestiri ale pieirii ce va fi
Din depărtate orizonturi, cuprins de roşu aprins
se ridică un soare aprig totul pare-nvins.
Aruncă umbrele ciulinilor şi spinilor
într-un aparent, violent infinit, dar
devin tot mai mici, mai firave.
Cuprinse de-un dans nebun, un vals macabru
dispar încet, pier în crăpăturile solului.
Soarele arde din mijloc de cer deschis.
Între crengi ce spintecă răni în carne
tăiat de ciulini, ars de soare
simte chemarea vidului cosmic, îngheţat etern
o chemare a uitării finale, dar şi a eliberării.
E o moarte mocnită în aerul greu de praf
în crengile spinoase, în ploile de cenuşă,
un înec lent în grele râuri de plumb
o sufocare în adierile dureroase de vânt fierbinte.
Stropi de sânge cad, ridicând praf în aer
ca o iluzie amară a un
Paint the DreamsEvery night, on the insides of my eyelids,Paint the Dreams3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I paint the Universe with the ink set of imagination
And the charcoal sticks of memory,
Then flip it upside down and the wrong way round
And let it snag into focus-
On my sleeping synapses, the branches of the Inspiration Tree .
In my ivory skull-box of random echoes,
Every melody, every voice, is re-written and rescored,
For a symphony of electricity, crisscrossing nerves ,
And running down, like liquid lightning
Into the ears of the dormant soul.
Here, this is that part of my chaotic desk
Where I re-write physics to suit myself,
Redesign monsters and angels to my own specifications
Until the lines between them are blurred out of recognition.
In this drawer, I keep my nightmares
Under layers of fine, crinkled tissue paper, bound with laughter
And interspersed with the dead bodies of silk butterflies
This rack, here, holds the satin ribbons and velvet strings
Of the slipping, crackling madnesses that only come out when I call
scintillating.It is August and I am alive.scintillating.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I am breathing but the sensation becomes invigorating. The air tastes lithe, cleanly - like light pouring into my lungs.
I find it rejuvenating; youth electro-charging my slackened flaccid muscles.
I feel you; an impossibility. It's high voltage, electric eels, hissing transformers.
It's a spark.
what i'm accustomed toi am not used to being literal when i speak.what i'm accustomed to3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have spoken in riddles since the day my sounds made sense.
often i lied
because i was never clear
and that is what i hid behind for eons
at a time.
i have spoken about past lives,
and meeting my soulmates
because they kept changing
so many goddamned times
way before i was born in this realm.
[as if all of it was actually true]
i am not used to love being ordinary.
blame the ones before you
it had always been forever with them
it had always been eternity,
and though it gave security
it was pressure on my dignity.
they didn't understand that i needed to live
before settling for something lesser,
because deep down even they knew
i was way too good for them
and that made them hate me
[with sweet lies through their teeth]
i am not used to making love being just that.
with me, it was never just me and you
it was always time stopping forever
and then finding that a paradox
and saying it was all an act of the angels.
A Kiss of SidheA Kiss of SidheA Kiss of Sidhe6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In the amber rush of autumn glow
down mossy paths through crimson groves
the fireflies like faeries float
Her footsteps faintly lead on
Through pinion seeds of cottonwood
That dance with leaves from thinning hood
of canopy brushed gold and blood
She calls me deeper within
An arbor lined in Ash and Thorne
hides a witching well and cup of horn
in loneliness, her whispers mourn
and beckon me to drink
She presses chalice like a kiss
Indulgently, I take a sip
like nectar from her honeyed lips
Ambrosia coursing within
With glossy eyes and sinking feeling
The cup spills blood and sends me reeling
The maiden fae shown beast unseele
And I her blooded consort
She calls Wild Hunt and bids me ride
into the nightmare, by her side
with hounds of hell, and her my guide
Forsaking the mortal world
The Quiet Thoughts of Butterfliesshe says "I'm worried if I breatheThe Quiet Thoughts of Butterflies4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
too loud the silence will
I watch her hands press butterfly
wings between the pages.
does she know that
I'm the queen of silence?
my corpse lungs and
graveyard lips; a decomposing
tongue lurking behind white-washed
tombstones. paint me with sunbeams,
I'm still the same.
[death warmed over]
her tropic gaze rakes over
the bone-white snow. "I keep
swallowing the snow-flakes. they
remind me of frozen flowers.
their dead sweetn
Writers and Poets“Why are you a poet?”Writers and Poets3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“I’m not a poet.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then what are you?”
“A word-rhymer, a heart-breaker, a word master. I could go on for a very long time, you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I’m not a writer.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am a word slinger, a heart’s reflection, a person maker, a story teller. I can go on you, know?”
“Indeed, you are not a writer.”
“Nor are you a poet.”
“We’re much more than that.”
“We’re the guides to our worlds.”
AnubisAnubisAnubis6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A lord of the dead, proud and just,
Watches over lost souls, their lives now dust,
he heralds their souls into Duat,
But of course, it's not as simple as that,
He is both jury and judge, never unjust,
Not tempted by anger, greed or lust,
He judges their souls by the weight of their heart,
And if they're evil they get torn apart,
Those that are evil, their heart weighs a ton,
Those that are pure, like a feather weigh none,
The scales are balanced, no bias to be found,
It is fair to those who lie underground,
This ancient force of truth and the night,
Is never wrong and always right,
He ferries pure souls off to their next,
Their journey decided by the weight of their chest,
This jackal, black and omniscient,
Before his strong gaze you cannot repent,
This lord that rules the land of the dead,
This ancient beast that watches rivers run red,
Spares no mercy to those who do not deserve,
The life that they no longer preserve,
The lord of the dead who controls all of this
Sky EyesDesert hands tell talesSky Eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a hundred arid summers, but
you are no longer as cloudless as they
(there is a storm
creeping through blue, blue veins).
But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,
that grey cascade blurring against
eyelids and horizons;
and suppress her misbegotten
droplets, seeping into the sodden
for there is still sun in your sky eyes.
the unspecial story of a fallen skythere wasn't much left to say when the sky she beckoned to, broke into a million tiny shackles of stardust and comet-debris. it was once upon a cold November morning that fear knocked on her door and waited to ravish her [because betrayal and silence hadn't done their jobs right] hidden in silent mists, going by the name of winter.the unspecial story of a fallen sky3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
she wished for nothing.
there was no line between numbness and indifference because both made her want to drift through time and space, believing they didn't exist so she could waste as much as she needed to. the sky was breaking fast and now twilight won't kiss her neck.
it was not the cry of fallen angels, wailing only God's name or comet tails, sizzling into revival as they entered the earth's gravitational field. it would be wrong to assume that my heart was not beating within the earth's core - within Gaia's soul itself.
but Man hurts.
he hurts in places Gaia hadn't discovered yet, smoking and hissing tiny bits of matter into massless, wasted
Sea Glass Sea GlassSea Glass4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Walking the beach
The horizon just out of my reach
The sun is setting
And the sand is glinting
There is sea glass
The exact shade of blue
You brought me that last day
When you passed my way
And pressed it into my palm
And it was hot near the ocean and the sea breeze calm
And you held me in your arms
Where I knew I should always be
But then you had to go
For it was the end
The end of summer
And the sea glass was just beginning to wash up
So now I have a jar
Sitting on my bedroom window sill
And when the sun goes down
It shines through the glass
And illuminates my world
Like only the memory of you can.
Deep-sky ObjectsAcross the universe,Deep-sky Objects3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
before you and I, he and she, us, them, we:
creviced constellations and thimble heavens,
daybreak waves upon empty shores,
Guilty candle flames and waxing promises
hovering precariously in our memories,
incensed dreams of breaking points,
jade, and horizon lines devoid of sun, moon, or cloud.
Keening present comes hell and high water.
Lamentations adrift on covenantal arcs in time
meld into a sea of magpie dreams--
Nine for a kiss;
one for sorrow.
Past is present, tomorrow's future, and yesterday's season.
Questions rise and fall as monotonous heartbeats, weekdays, and lunar tides.
Rings around Saturn seem closer in orbit than the kinetic
spontaneity of couples in tandem
The proximity of lips and palms.
Universally, there is a temporal forever,
virile in its continual strand of barren stars
wading into the black hope of a galaxy
xenophilic in love.
Yet nothing changes.
Zen moments begin at the end: an acceptance of inev
Watch Me FlyI can see freedom coming round the bend, shouting "Come and get your wings."Watch Me Fly4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Chasing WaterfallsShe keeps chasing waterfallsChasing Waterfalls4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All day, and all night
And she knows how little the chances
But what if.... She's right?
i f t h e r e i s"If there's a place we go to, after we die,i f t h e r e i s5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I'll meet you again."
The little world we live in is far from perfect,
Yet we dream of making it all that it is not.
The little pond we sit by is far from peaceful,
Yet we aspire to change it and make it calm.
The little tree we play in is far from green
Yet we wish to water it again and revive its beauty.
The little hugs we share are far from real,
Yet we still feel the emotion we want to be conveyed.
We have a purpose, you and I,
We shall not give up if it rains as we fly.
The ocean between us, and the land too,
Cannot keep me away from what I long for in you.
We shall fight as long as it needs to be,
We shall persist to see the results full and final.
We shall decide upon waking from this crucial nightmare,
fight alongside the other, clinging onto each other.
"If there's a place we go to, after we die,
I'll meet you again."
The world knows us differently than who we really are,
We show a side, legitimate and easy to understan
Finding Peaceshe is like a golden sickleFinding Peace4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
piercing dark purple velvet,
carving a place for diamonds
to dance and fly.
observing her rise and descent,
I dream of dwelling in the curve of her breast
feeling each stroke against the night,
lying in that silent sacred bow.
I marvel, watching diamonds fall
absorbing their heat as they brush my face,
illuminating my endless wonder-
I revel in her magic, her power.