Sweet DreamsSweet Dreams12 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Lay your head down on me,
Close your eyes so you can't see.
Rest your heart to revive,
Rest your soul to survive.
I'll hold you close to my heart,
As you dream, we'll never part.
I'll comfort you as you lie,
Hearts beat as one, you and I.
So sweet dreams, my loving dear,
And when you awake, I'll be here.
the shut-inthe shut-in3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where are these keyholes to the Equinox? the stars huddle
like alien nettle,
a gray chime of wrens scaling tree limbs and middays,
Darwin has no lines for me
i've sheetrocked the blistering ivies and blossoms.
i've glassed out daubers and frightening mollusks
pillowing through mud honey and minute old ruins.
intimate with my quiet desk, my paper hoard
i'm still a coward; the envelopes, Obama glass, the dozen unused spiral
diaries are menacing concoctions, minotaurs of lost dimensions.
i used to sleep in creek-beds.
Falling Tree gogyoshia tree fellFalling Tree gogyoshi11 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
in my mind—
to hear it
They say the one who praysThey say the one who prays receives much moreThey say the one who prays1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
Dead languages and bitter teaWe were directly opposed,Dead languages and bitter tea2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
circling each other in a confining pool,
my mouth seeking yours, but only finding
the fragments of composure you left in your wake.
"Nunc scio quid sit Amor",
you said once, and I agreed with you,
then looked up what the hell you meant
as soon as I was alone.
We went stargazing when we were hungry
and fed ourselves with the names
and the glow of all the stars
that spread themselves out to tease us.
"This is what I see in you," you flattered,
pointing at the sky while the wetness of the grass
soaked into our backs.
"You're that string of pearls, right there,
hanging around the neck of the sky.
You are more than what I’ve been looking for,
more than anything I've ever tried to find,"
you painted stars and lies.
I left you job listings in the mornings,
and you told me my fortune,
in the bottom of my teacup.
We were directly opposed; I told you to leave if you wanted,
so on a night too cold for me to see the comfort in your dreams,
you left, gathering
Musical ChairsThree women.Musical Chairs3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Wyrmling Ghostwritenew millennium toothacheWyrmling Ghostwrite4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
w feeder hand, aluminum
bubblegum knuckle muncher bumpin' phoenix plumage...
& I rock the Rings, now!
supernova falcon flipper -
was-a-real-boy chicken shitter -
fist-fuck photon vision sifter -
soullost, anon forgetter -
so lost, rewind protector -
dead princess bone collector -
hopelessly tethered to the Ghosts, remember?
Nah, man, I don't know any of the Ghosts by name
but I've been following the will'o'wisps
chasin' knowledge, speed & blame
tryin' to play that Martyr's game
Inhale, exhale, cause & effect
momentum, inertia, stardust & breath
Sleep becomes Death...
I can only fathom three modes of the Dream:
get fucked; feign sleep; & cheat Doctor King -
the triumvirate stains Red, White, and Green,
all for Tide bleach and Amerik
the edgeIt's the faint play of light, rising,the edge3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
against the door.
A hand, slippery with sweat,
grasping at the straws of a week,
Wherever it begins, or ends,
I will be here,
heart leaping against my ribs,
sandy eyes and shallow breaths,
a thin, sudden beam of sunlight,
heralding the new day.
How to Fix The WorldHow to Fix The World3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
an execution, while play
The howling strings
Of the cellos
Of the veins
Of the time
To the discord
Are the who and what,
the how and the why
Ever lost to that
of the cords
of the strings
of the howling
"Fix this", they cry,
the masses whose
words fester and boil,
carried words, spoken indirect
of the leaders
of the struggles
of the home
of the brave
The final breath
of humanities dying words
"in ashes, from ashes"
She speaks, so melancholy
of the future
of the present
of the past
"World!" She pleads
with a cry, so finishing
"Heed and listen!"
To them she speaks
Of the necessary
of the desired
of the curses
of their blessings...
Angel's DisgraceAngel's Disgrace6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Beyond my vaguest memory lay the darkest stories told,
Fears beyond my recollection, Terrors that turn blood cold.
Tales of mortal carnage, suicide and pain...
I've beat them down and tuned them out,
So I could live again.
Resurrect I did, though differently no doubt,
For though they're buried deep inside, the demons still want out.
They wrap me in their cold embrace,
And push their soles straight through my face,
Emerging only to disgrace,
The tender soul that fills this space...
I have made room for them to rise,
In my work they're my disguise,
I let them out when the time is right,
After all they are my life.
But they are not obedient.
At my weakest moment I can feel it.
They rise up to take me down,
Silent killers, they don't make a sound.
And all I can do is watch myself drown,
Sinking so deep, I will never be found...
The Ringslender, tarnished silver bandThe Ring3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
rests in palm of withered hand
ancient promise, absent stare
detritus falls like snow on hair
wedding present grand oak bed
ghosts of words the mirror said
rain-rot splintered windowsills
caustic crumbs of guilty pills
footprints in the carpet dust
canopy of velvet shame
the progeny of lies and tears
divests her of her souvenirs
and grateful for the life she gave
the heirloom never meets the grave
grouse magic.the birds & the butterflies all fighting & fucking like the bees back home, my toes browning under florida sun, my heart all fluttering & aching & pulsing purple gold & green, & I'm learning to let go. still, I look for pop-pop down each orange grove dirt road, knowing pop-pop is dead. & I reach for you in the passenger seat, knowing you're not there. this knowledge makes it hard to breathe until I dance, my heaving limbs throwing themselves into the beat with abandon, a ballsy balancing act. baby, bye. I drive, make temples out of muddy pastures, spend my last dollar on a music-man just so I can stop searching for your hand & I am howling with the wind, & when she howls back I am taken aback, as if in my search my breath stirs hers, as if I've tapped into the secret language of the world.grouse magic.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
To Leave*To Leave4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am a lousy soap opera,
a dying monologue,
wolf boots and cricket hair,
full of questions and denial.
I throw postage on love letters
I duck under the kitchen table
all I'm hoping for is an explosion.
Maybe the letters could create a new solar system.
I would be the mini suns and moons
and you could be gravity
or lice or a Barret that was never worn,
really, I don't care, dress accordingly.
Oh I have a question:
Why do we always turn our backs away,
why are we consistently empty and aching,
when does the road end, and life begin?
The silence is a wrench stuck in my throat
I'll gladly choke on to avoid you.
as we climb the roadas we climb the road2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
let us recall the best effects of style
when those who listen know how best to hear
and do not injure those who hold most dear
the hidden blessings of the final mile
rather they wish the urgent to beguile
expecting that the best might engineer
sounds that will please the most discerning ear
and lead once drooping eyes to shine and smile
the age of wonder has no fixed return
but comes upon us as we seem to find
not a changed world but a remarked abode
the home that we have loved for which we yearn
that seemed so hidden for time out of mind
appear before us as we climb the road
StigmaStigma4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
1 John 4:1
"Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world."
People have a habit of trying to hide their thoughts. Staring has always been a taboo; at least, when you are caught. Being armed with this knowledge did little to ease the sting she felt every time someone quickly looked away. Crowds parted around her and reformed several feet behind her back. It cut down on travel time, but she could not help feeling isolated. She had heard stories of strangers bumping elbows but that sensation was lost in her own memory. Christiana knew how she looked to outsiders. Ice blue eyes and pale freckles on her cheeks, all framed by long black hair. The only abnormality in her list of physical features was a tuft of solid white hair nestled into the black of her bangs. So how did they know to stay away?
Despite the uncanny ability of strangers to sense there w
Let Me Down GentlyI never said I was an angel,Let Me Down Gently3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm a feather on its wing,
so when you let me drift
on the next western current,
let me fall slowly down,
I promise I'll land softly,
though you will not find me
where you left me.
Prostituteshe struggles from the hardwood like a creamy stallionProstitute4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
drowning in a raging surf. her limbs
the appendages of a white crab spider sprawl bent,
slender supple bones. her eyes
caked on fingernails caked on like dried blood caked
onto her fleshy thighs. her eyes
are wooden chambers locked stone hollow, key swallowed,
dwindling human. Although
her fingertips are faultless pearls, beet hair stiffened curls,
vision whirls, she's still a girl. the atmosphere
folds in like an origami crane collapsing slowly, sharp
corners slicing mostly. Pelvis bony, snowy
shivers, scintillating silver rivers (stream) dampen her tinder.
a dream: lily petals dissolve into the hardwood like cream
A Forest at MorningI dreamed of trees. Bright boughs and bloomsA Forest at Morning3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Through gloom and morning spilled
While I brushed back their silver leaves
That sunlit skies had filled
With gilded wash--the vermeil sight
Above the dusky bark
Seemed starry trains above the moon
And night's enclosing dark
And I stepped under such a sky:
New-formed, bejeweled, and bright
And wished I could forever dwell
Within its dim half-light.
There nothing stirred; no beast or bird
Dwelt in the forest there
Though I heard silent rivers trill
Still wand'ring swift and fair
Through banks embraced by cattail roots;
Through drooping willow leaves
That rustled in the water's rush
Bereft of any breeze.
Oh, I stepped under such a sky
Composed of darkling boughs
Flushed with the swell of morning leaves
All silver-gold endowed
'Till awe forestalled my reaching foot
And stilled the step, half-made--
And oh! to breathe seemed mortal sin
As if each sound betrayed
Whatever heaven I had found.
But when I breathed at last
And put my foot upon the grou
Dear Boy, Love GirlDear Boy,Dear Boy, Love Girl6 years ago in Teen More Like This
I like you.
I feel like I need to clarify. I like you A LOT. I've even thought about using the word love, but I don't think I can come to use that term just yet, because I don't know you. but I do like you.
You looked me in the eye twice today. Did you see how my pale, freckled cheeks flushed that embarrassing color that I wouldn't call pink but I wouldn't say it was red either? I hope that eventually you'll be able to tell me exactly the color that it is.
I walked up to you today to say something--I wasn't quite sure what I had planned, but I figured anything was better than nothing--but just as I got in front of you, and you had acknowledged my presence- one of your buddies linked his arm around your bronze neck and yanked you away, pushing his fist into your down-turned head. You turned back to me once, and looked sincerely apologetic, but I forced myself to turn around and walk away. Maybe I should have tried
World of floods.World of floods3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Driving on the curb cured of swamplands and horizontals
my atmosphere dear takes wholesome bites of water
outed are the undersides of bridge smudged chasms
birdy hellcalls and undone song
he knows only fire pursues the winged
torn letters three years gone of the antediluvian
disintegrated into charm and clarity and the promise
of a moment in time that springs everlastingly
will be flooded
and the pulmonary one ways dripping varied shades of moving cars
in fresh killed greys keeping time with the hacks of self against love
while our hands are crossed in universes pleading
with the dying that cannot slow down but winds and winds around
the pulsed city of language tying the sacred grammar to plurals
another and another
until they grow into the flicking tongue that time will harness
to toss rogue prophets into the pockets of New Jersey
where in being shelved we meet among starships
will be flooded
and the candles that when burning exhale signatures into the air
Auditor of the Ashes"I am an incalculable rhythm of distinction."Auditor of the Ashes3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Those words being uttered from the other side of the cubicle wall were not expected, but they could not be labeled as "unexpected" in my inventory of daily expectations. "Is that so, Rod?"
"I am a paradigm of undiscovered configurations."
This second phrase fell on me as the first. "Well, that may be true, but you know how much they love it when you talk to me over the cube wall like that. I hope this audit project hasn't finally pushed you over the edge."
"I am a master of untamed neuropathic swings."
It was that statement, I see now in hindsight's tremendous focus, when I began to worry. "Oh, you're the Jonas Salk of neuropathy now? I thought you were an accountant?"
"I am the King of Spades, and I have an ace up my sleeve."
I heard his chair push back, the plastic wheels rolling across the plastic mat, and his Oxfords made a few taps on the mat until they transitioned to the carpet. He was go