Flock Echo PassionThe gentle tone of your fingersFlock Echo Passion3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
defly handling my thoughts.
You soften the regrets in my ribs
weaken the bones with love
pressed into my shoes.
You melt my marrow with murmurs
lazily spent in the mornings
rested on the sighs of your breath.
swallow my heartbeats
to keep them warm
and in tune with yours.
You unlock and rob my tongue of words
like a piano with too many keys
spilling its lullabies onto the floor
softly turning the locks of my mind
with the music in you
if I would only stop to listen.
Ex Nihilo (Out Of Nothing)Out of the shadows of nothing,Ex Nihilo (Out Of Nothing)3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sirens sing sweet songs of serenity,
In a ring under the remorseless rain,
Of those dawning tears of twilight,
Heralding the end of everything.
There's nothing here for me,
And all these scars scare me,
Eyes of eternity ensnare me.
Taking apart the skin of my suffocating soul,
For all my failings of fury are foul.
There's nothing here for me,
Though all my plain plagues me,
Seizures of sorrow saves me.
Playing with the hell in my healing heart,
Then all my despair of death will depart.
There's nothing here for me,
When all those things torment me,
Cries of confusion cement me.
Containing in the woe from my wailing wake,
Where all my feelings of fear I can't forsake.
The GivingToday I think I will ask GodThe Giving2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why it hurts so much to give birth
to a poem. And does it feel the same for men,
because it was women he cursed with this agony.
Is it the nature of a woman, or the nature of a poem?
I want it to slip out of me, slick with the mess of emotional
afterbirth, but it strains within me, words pushing up against
the patina of my skin, trapped inside, pelting my heart with language
like a storm inside. Sometimes I do not think this feeling belongs to anyone
but me, and sometimes I think everyone shares it, but they hide it better than me.
Are they all shuddering inside with pain, with hormones running haywire, shrieking demons
bellowing that this is not enough, there is more, there is always more, you must
push harder, scream, stretch yourself further, because there is more to it
and this is still not enough. Today I will ask God if he intended for
it to be this way, if he intended for the meaning to get stuck
within my gut, wired into my veins, if he meant for li
The Steps to CuttingMy arm, burning for a blade,The Steps to Cutting2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because of the feelings that just won't fade,
I try to say, "Go away!"
Instead they just replay.
The blades are sitting in front of me,
My hand is shaking, fighting the need,
I pick up a blade, to complete the deed,
The blade flies across my anatomy.
My arms are bleeding, my heart is torn,
My legs are cut, my feelings worn,
The time right now, I feel reborn,
Until tomorrow, when I'll be scorned...
DiscoveryI've worn this mask for many long years;Discovery3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This painted, crooked smile hiding torrential tears.
I never painted eyes on this blackened wood,
Too afraid to see the world from where I stood.
Many moons have passed since I carved this face,
And I...seemed to disappear without a trace.
Blind I've been since the day I died;
No light shines through to where I hide.
This mask is tired; 'tis worn with age;
It has served it's purpose as curtain and cage.
I've bled from its splinters and peeling paint;
Become suffocated by sawdust...fatigued and faint.
I used to bleed from the core of my chest,
My heart had ruptured; I've had no rest.
I bled myself dry and shriveled to naught,
Unable to live...as hard as I fought.
My battle was lost; a strife in vain,
And I tasted defeat along with the pain.
Since then I've been afraid to speak;
I've found myself distraught and weak.
Though I bleed no longer a tempest still roils,
What remains of it, my blood still boils.
How long has it been since I've seen the s
PersephoneI fed herPersephone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.
With cracks in my heart
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.
Love was Built to EndureRest for a time, love- night was built for it,Love was Built to Endure3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Built for the bed and for the warm cup of tea,
Built for the kiss and for the quiet conversation
In darkest hours.
The day has been unkind- the year unkind.
Unkind the season and unkind the wind which blows
Littls ships of state in all directions
But towards home and me.
The race was run, and you came in last place,
You tripped, hardly made it home, but I waited
For you, and thought about Mississippians tying yellow to trees
And your delight in Lady Gray.
Shipwrecked, you fold your arms and lean into my chest,
The way you
August RainsI would like to believe inAugust Rains3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
August rains: in days where things
matter and thunder
like wheels on a train & the sky is white-eyed,
staring up past her own skin, long fingers braced
around a curve, long toes straight
pushing dimples in the dirt.
Give me a fishing line and I will move the earth.
The seas are close to overflowing -
laughing gods pour gold into a warm bath.
There is no triumph in their hearts
yet the trains move onwards,
eighteenSometimes I think growing upeighteen3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is like learning to drive:
it comes steady most of the time,
but then there's the stalling,
and the jerks and bumps,
and all the moments where you're
heading for a crash. Like,
there's that day when you wake up
and stretch in the morning and
suddenly you remember your first day
at school and how excited you were,
and then the way your hair was bobbed,
and you almost want to cry. Or there's
the moment when you realise that wishes
never come true the way you want them:
you can wish to fall in love but maybe
you forget to wish he loves you back,
and you're up all night, ink-stained
and exhausted. It's not easy.
But then again, maybe growing up
isn't like learning to drive at all.
Maybe it's just like living, with all
the stupid mistakes and heartache
and drunken poems and recklessness
that holds. And you remember yourself,
aged eight, and all you dreamed of then,
and you think, god, she would be disappointed.
It always takes a while to remember that
she is you
ProgressThe soul that first fashioned that gear from voided virgin ironProgress3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Weeps from the bottom of hell knowing
What he caused.
Turning are the gears which devour! The
Flesh passes between them, leaving nothing
Behind-- Life becomes red ruin to oil the moving
Parts which produce what we call for.
The Soveran, high in heaven,
Decreed a silence so that no angel would speak,
So that there would be stillness to answer movement.
The word, that word, the word which ends all other words
Came up before the throne, heralded by a former denizen.
And a fallen angel grinned with fang'd teeth.
Time continued on.
Go, look at the machines which turn
And consider in silence,
Be the sillness which balances the movement.
Consider the way in which old life is burned
And consider then the growing smoke which in the city of Wind
Blocks out the sun so that his glory is no more,
Negating the beatiful moon.
So man progresses,
In that he is walking forward.
Dante saw the factories of London in his nightmares
Artist, Take Up--Oh beautiful artist, take up yourArtist, Take Up--3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Dark materials and sketch
Hold this moment and that
Tight; Caress the grass and the
Trees with your pencil,
Let your pen sing love songs to
The curves of this face,
The soft textures of hair and fur and shirt and skin-
Oh artist, take up
The lonely calling, yours and
The child who waches in her own world,
That painting that lies on the wall...
As a lover, woo:
The world, our playmate and nursemaid,
Loves to be flattered. She will
Stand still for you for years and years,
Mountains holdingh patiently for
Many portraits over millenia,
washingSo this is how I think I learnt to survive:washing3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
by rocking and railing and staying alive
and shading my forehead and gilding my glare
for the saints and the sinners are never aware
of the trouble they cause in the spectrum of sin
and the aches they create, and the passion within
a heart that is hollow from humming a strain
of the hymn of the hypocrites, 'gain and again.
I sacrificed frailty for a sense of self-awe
to fill in the windows and cracks in the floor.
I sealed up the air-gaps and locked myself in
until the mirror flew open: I was safe in my skin
before moving through fissures to carve myself out.
I trod through the maze with a skein of self-doubt
'til I found myself stumbling back where I began;
beginning, beginning, I will and I can.
I found it quite pleasant, like shimmering silk -
self-belief on my doorstep, waiting next to the milk.
A Biological ImperitiveIs 60 years of sadness a year too many?A Biological Imperitive3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The weight of failure on shoulders feeling the steady crush of time
Too much to bear any further than the station,
the tracks, the 21.13 to Paddington,
Dragging behind like a ball,
a chain, a constant reminder that
you'd dreamt a life greater than this?
In that moment of artificial flight
(body in air, body on steel, accelerated to 100 m
hyperdontiasometimes it feels as ifhyperdontia2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have too many milk teeth,
too many parts of me that belong
to a time when I climbed trees to touch the sky
and I swam in sunflowers
and fireflies -
to a time I have long since
painted in sepia tones,
long since pushed
to the back of my mind
with hands so tired
of being filled with splinters
- too many seeds
and not enough light.
there are too many parts of me
that I have placed underneath pillows,
that I have kept behind closed lashes,
that I have slept upon, waiting
for the morning to arrive and them
to be g o n e ,
replaced with coins that I could place
underneath the tongues of the dreams
that I could not ferry to my
but in the morning, they return -
one by one into my mouth,
daring me to speak them,
daring me to sing,
daring me to find someone who will listen.
it feels as if
I have too many stories,
too many secrets,
too many sins and not enough space
for the words to fly out of my mouth
and into the world -