L'amour se perd(English version below)L'amour se perd2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cachée au plus profond de ses yeux,
Une tristesse d'azur, intarissable.
Un amour d'une violence inouïe
À se brûler la peau tout comme l'âme.
Une flamme vive qui s'évapora
Telle le chant lointain des rossignols.
La mystérieuse complexité des sentiments humains,
Et leur paradoxale lâcheté.
Sombre clarté d'un croissant de lune d'albâtre
À travers l'étroite fenêtre de son coeur.
Lorsque la lumière s'est finalement éteinte
Elle continua de l'aimer jusque dans ses rêves.
Love is lost
Hidden in the depths of her eyes,
An azure sadness, inexhaustible.
A love of an unprecedented violence
Burning your skin as your soul.
A bright flame that evaporated
Such as the nightingales' distant song.
The mysterious complexity of human feelings,
And their paradoxical cowardice.
Dark light of an alabaster crescent moon
Through the narrow window o
The Adventures of Harriet Potter: Year 3 - Ch11The Adventures of Harriet Potter: Year 3 - Ch112 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
(All characters and locations within belong to J.K. Rowling unless otherwise stated.)
“The existence of Phobias, I feel, says a great deal about humanity. How seriously can you really take a species that will experience abject terror at something often completely harmless when there are other true terrors that exist in the world? And in the end, most of the time all it comes down to is misunderstanding.”
General (ret.) Jigme Dorji Wengshuk
Harriet was trembling with excitement as they headed towards their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lupin. Harriet couldn’t remember being this excited for a class before. Not even the lousy Potions class she had sat through that morning could dampen her spirits. Behind her, Harriet’s friends were still muttering angrily about Professor Snape.
“I still agree with Ronnie, you should have just lied,” Harriet he
UntitledI had a glimpse of colour once,Untitled2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That lit up this white and black
And it made me know
that there will be a day
When I will be gone away
So far away, and I won’t be coming back.
I’ll find adventures, new lands to explore
For each one that closes, there’s always another door.
And when I find where I belong,
That single, calling place,
With an old little house and wide open space
I’ll make it my own.
I’ll find my home
In a beautiful boy with stars in his eyes,
A mind like a summer breeze and a burning flame,
And a voice the colour of the sky.
We can plant a garden in the summer
Where my roses grow
And we can lay awake all through night
Beneath the moon’s glow.
The ocean spray will never come off of our skin
But each night he’ll hold me
And we can kiss each other clean.
We can love in a way
That hasn’t been seen by our time
And I’ll be happy, just happy, to have a life that’s mine.
While the rain dances and makes a lullabies on the
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.Latreuophobia2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
AstroYou are a trajectory from which I have fallen, Moon-boundAstro2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Earth-boy. With height and speed your molecules shifted;
I dropped away by degrees — further, then further.
There must be all the sky between us now,
but I taste your dust with my fingertips,
Mind PicturingThe eyes are the mind's cameraMind Picturing2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The pictures I take of you are stored only in my mind
However, sometimes I wish I could print them
So you could see yourself
the way I see you
Iris's Runaways I remember the first day I met you. Third graders have a tendency to label everybody; I was the twin who wore blue, Iris was the twin who wore pink, and you were the boy with the light red casts on his left leg and right arm.Iris's Runaways2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Third grade was the year we met. Fourth grade was when I fell in love with you. Fifth grade was when you stole Iris’s heart, and if there’s a god, I’m sure it would know when she stole yours.
In sixth grade, Iris confessed her love to you, as did you yours to her. By the seventh, you were bound to each other.
You, Ray, never knew how much I loved you, and you never would know. But Iris—the bitch—knew everything. Close though we were, I never spoke a word, but I’m certain that she knew.
I’m sorry, Iris, I would say, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. The way I killed her would change
Bowlesian Sonnet-en if this paper in your hand was onceBowlesian Sonnet2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
an Aspen, thick with sunny leaves; around
the base of wet and living wood, a ground
that reeks of life and death at once, then conc-
-entrate, and know at least in brief the grand
machine you sleep in, twitching fingers, won-
-dering just how one feels a texture, sun
lights warmth, bare prickled skin, bare feet in sand.
Oh this body. How I will tend to it
seventy-five or eighty. How I will
bend arthritic knees, by five windows, still,
the summers passing. Faithful friend! Now, bit
by bit, you close each window to its clasp.
This paper in your hand was once an Asp-
Forget MeGood memoriesForget Me2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They're harder to forget
Than bad ones
But only if you
Wish to forget them
If you want to remember
A good memory,
You'll soon forget it
But if you want to forget,
You'll lay awake
Wishing for the day
To return to you
Your mind will forget
Everything it wants to remember
And it will remember
Everything it wants to forget
And forget what doesn't matter to it
That's the mind of a person
Sonnet XXIIBut give me leave to love in silence thatSonnet XXII1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
which I cannot possess— and give me such
inspired defiance of the urges at
my breast— and give me strength to never touch
my lips to hers, my soul to her soul— give
me heart and hale to weather every storm
that may unfold: But tell me how to live
without my hand in hers, its honest form—
and tell me how to wake each morn if not
to wake within her arms— and tell me how
I am to carry on, and how I ought
to act and speak and be, around her, now,
and ever: tell me, and I'll on my way
as still and quiet as the passing day.
Nervous MovementYou're a dime a dozen in a sea of billions.Nervous Movement1 year ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Individuality has no significance in numbers so vast.
And while this fact may make looking forward hard
we can't keep living in the past.
You're a nervous movement in a freeze frame scene.
Steady hands won't help hold up such a fragile act.
And while you take your time keeping character
you fake what you can't take back.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
You're a song I can't name stuck in my head.
I've listened to you before and probably will again.
And while I can hum the melody all day long waiting
for it to hit me I still won't know where you've been.
You're a gust that has never changed direction.
Nothing can touch you you're only felt as you brush skin.
And while you can't be stopped nothing lasts
nothing escapes time or an end not even the wind
Six WordsSadly, this is just a dream.Six Words2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
FloodgatesWe’re lined up as we enter Year Seven.Floodgates2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Rulers are pulled out, skirts inspected. Three inches above the knee, no more.
Our skirts are millimeters too short. We hope to pass. If we pass, we’re allowed into the house. Those who don’t are sent home so their mothers can mend what’s broken.
They scour for torn hems, loose stitches, and find none. But Marissa filled out over the summer, and the back of her skirt rises up her thigh nearly an inch above an appropriate level. We share a knowing glance as she flows out of our line, thrust back into the office where someone will call her mother to gather her. Our mothers taught us to lean back when the ruler passed, to let the hem dip down to the creases of our knees. No one would know. When we pass, we share a silent victory.
When they can’t hear us, we whisper about Marissa’s chest, how red splotches cover her nose and cheekbones. We think she won’t come back, girls like her never do, and seventh years a
Pocket UniverseI can smell the typewriters beneath your skinPocket Universe2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
metallic, halting, smudged vibrato
wavering note stretched out far beyond
the edge of the universe tucked in your front pocket
breathing out in time with your heartbeats.
All along the wall I find notebook pages
old teabags hung for too long, green flakes whirling
while you sit in the lean of the willow tree
and watch the play that is my life
chew the scenery; the stage collapses with a groan.
You pull your scarf in
and wrap the scars in burnt umber
while the show goes on
The Adventures of Harriet Potter: Year 4 - Ch6The Adventures of Harriet Potter: Year 4 - Ch65 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
(All characters and locations within belong to J.K. Rowling unless otherwise stated.)
Back to the Manor
“It is one of life’s great conundrums. How can we trust ourselves, if we cannot trust our friends? And how can our friends trust us, if we can’t trust ourselves?”
General (ret.) Jigme Dorji Wengshuk
Harriet was floating. The room was warm and dark. The only light and sound was coming from a nearby crackling fireplace. She was drifting in the air, high above the scene below, inches from the ceiling, not a care in the world.
“There is a bit more in the bottle, My Lord, if you’re still hungry?”
Harriet jumped. She’d been vaguely aware of someone speaking before, but now she felt her attention being irresistibly drawn to the conversation below.
“Later,” said another voice.
The two voices were distinct. One was timid, squeaky, and fearful.
Drunk-ku (fr/en)S’endormir de toiDrunk-ku (fr/en)2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
plein de branches folles
et de feuilles rouges
sleeping of you
amongst tangled twigs
and carmine leaves
Magic FluteMagic Flute2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The moment I felt Death courting you
my rib cage collapsed. I curled
into childhood: the strange little girl
always alone, talking to herself
on the playground, thinking she
was whispered a safe solitude
of hush-holy clouds, relieved
to slip away from mating rituals
unnoticed; a detached solitude
seeing only in shades of rock
beneath a surface any touch
or even death couldn't reach.
Listen: Love is the beginning of Truth
you were the first coup de foudre
I climbed and the last amour
out of this place. Wherever
the courtship carried you,
if ever a marriage or honeymoon,
I renounce this waiting of hope;
this solitude of celibate womb;
this misguided Magic Flute -
just to see Love embracing you
before finally surrendering
to my own destined course.
This I promise the Universe.
Image 'Romantic Encounter', 1864 by Mihaly von Zichy (Hungary) 1827-1906 (St. Petersburg)
CaitlinLike Escher's hands,Caitlin1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
You and I
Fashion one another,
The Horizon and the ShorelineI saw you in the ocean, riding waves like seaweed leaves.The Horizon and the Shoreline2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And you kept your arms in motion
kept waving out to me.
I blew a kiss goodbye,
and stayed to watch you leave.
For the tide's a perfect gentleman, he'll take you out to sea.
Shadow GamesShadow Games2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Once, there was a shadow who was afraid of her own girl. I know, my dear reader, that you may chuckle at the mere consideration of such a prospect; after all, such irrational anxiety seems the stuff of idioms and jests. However, I assure you from the depth of my Darkness, this is no trick, legend, nor parable; Rine was a very real girl, with a very real fear. The townshades laughed at her and labeled their gossip with her name, her parents were ashamed—only her brother, Yhimott, provided the greatly-needed respite of encouragement and kindness.
“Why be afraid of her, Rine?” he’d ask, through the flickering blackness of a stormy night that severed their bonds to casters. “You don’t mind my human.”
“I’m not stuck to yours.” Hissh hush, rattled the wind, and Rine’s whispered response was nearly lost; her brother leaned forwar