MetamorphosisYourMetamorphosis2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
wing shiverstiny tremors that
will keep rhythm with your quivering heart, only to
later, clandestine and yet nearly poetic, unravel you from the outside-in.
Into a CongoShocks rippled southInto a Congo2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
realmed a loss and screened a track
stacks strung low and around again
She wanted the feeling of mica between her teeth
like lashes on a chiseled tree
totaled through and ruffled down
up and around again
Court and run south and
wrecked a home, she sat still
her knees knit together
unraveled over and into raw skin, over and into
she bloomed her hair into a Congo
It peeled like rose petals beneath her feet
a sheet strung high and low and around again
She said tell me why, but her fingers curled
around your head, around your neck, slowly
and then her shoulders
Splinter helixEMBRYOSplinter helix2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a derelict building shifts its swollen form
wire cage elevators moving carefully as it swallows
nestled in a womb of fragile concrete fibres
the child of paint and pastel colours stirs
searching blindly for that energetic outside world
it stretches its delicate arms like an earthquake
Tell me where you come from, what you remember
of the black ground. Talk in riddles only your kind
understands, talk in flowers, talk in thorny branches.
You crack the foundations in starlike patterns, and
you stretch the heart of you for the concrete above,
longing to carry the sky as a bed for the Sun.
the twisting flesh of the whistling tree
blankets the screaming mud with salt
in a lush park tended by arthritic backs
an old man sits with a young girl
as devils arc their spines within smiles
they discuss the taste of snow
They know the end grows high, grows nigh,
outgrows the star dome like parasite patchwork.
The invaders never came, they were the ground stones,
daliin that second,dali2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(when the sun beat so hard i could hear
every waving particle, see the color before it was
swallowed; i closed my eyes and felt the concrete
blaring, the refracting windows aching, and each
bird crackling in the parched trees, feathers rustling
and beaks clacking, blackness bleached orange and
my hands sought in the silence of my pockets,
imprisoned and pallid like a dog yapping in that hot car)
World of floods.World of floods2 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
Grow OldIt would be inappropriate of me not to tell you thisGrow Old3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am a man who has lost his sanity a long time ago
Yet I seem to be at peace when I think about you
I met a few women in my life, none struck me like you did
It seems like it could be just a phase, gone tomorrow
Who knows though, maybe you'll stick for the long haul
Maybe we'll look back at these times in fifty years
Laugh at how we actually thought it would pass before long
Then go to bed together with our walking sticks and grey hair
Smiling about how lucky we were that our hearts would never grow old
Abstract RealityAbstract Reality3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Eight times it has occurred,
within a week.
Lets digress . .
Like clockwork cluttering,
it times the release,
a viral curse,
set to a time
like that of a
And as perverse,
as the midnight moon,
insanity is a stark white
begin to whisper
Forcing an extent
Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?
It becomes concentrated,
truth begins to lie,
beneath the surface of
the incorrigible murmurs.
that blur into
Is our house inside or outside?
No longer beholds
the ability to
Reality or Truth.
Stuck within a
cage of mindless
Which way does life end?
You Slept Through The Alarm Again - Little AubadeIf, perhaps, you had turned at that momentYou Slept Through The Alarm Again - Little Aubade3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and your hair had caught in your fingers,
the straw being fed into the spindle, struck
by the high, thin light of first waking, the whorl
of a single line descendent from the sun, born
watery from the gap below one velveteen curtain,
all of it staining over gold and dusty and slow,
the edge of your mouth might have met the edge
of my mouth, narrow gaps both without attention
openingif, perhaps you had turned again,
your hand could have met the curve of my neck,
your canvas rough fingers tying knots of my hair
and I would have sighed, thick spreading in your ear
like the light itself learning to speak in tongues
you might understandif perhaps you had
opened your eyes, squinting, eyelashes caged
together, it all would have been edgeless and bright.
fresh baguettes and used cigarettes ~a sestina~Scene setting: the Paris Hotel, as I foldfresh baguettes and used cigarettes ~a sestina~2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the corner of a page from my Brit Lit
textbook -- story of a boy with French
lips & a Japanese heart. god, how I miss
his Spanish smile; each dimple, a match-
ing tattoo. Twice, he touched my hand
with his heaven-sewn skin. On the other hand,
my bare body lay on a hotel bed. Alone. I fold
my mannequin skeleton like origami to match
the paper cranes swimming in his Neon eyes, lit
like European starsOh, Nostalgia. how I miss
getting Lost in those foreign eyes during French
class. Lust in translation. Lost in a faux-French
Fantasyland. I want to hold his shivering hand.
Kiss him atop this Eiffel replica. Alas! I missed
my chance for our Souls to tangocrashing into the fold
of his hips. I'm not fluent in body language or candlelit
cuisines or Romance. I can't even strike a
StigmaStigma3 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
O' SisterStart with something, whether it be words or thought or action. Just do something, anything to avoid this dissipating grey matter, neurotic erosion.O' Sister3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I don't exactly remember everything." My words are timid, pensive.
The moments revolve, coil and ignite; flashing images with no particular order.
I scrunch my iceman toes, attempting to conserve heat, but the cold still surpasses the fabric of my Converse. My muscles tense against abrasive arctic gusts. The bitter wind raises bristled hair above goose bumped flesh.
These pink fingers quiver in the grasp of an 'I heart New York" shot glass. I guzzle down Stolichnaya. The vodka is dry-ice against my tongue; molten silver.
Blurred peripherals detect a lone ember drowning in the ashtray, a Marlboro Smooth choking beneath garish glares of moonlight.
"And this kinda s
orthography and the right to remain silenti know just how i left you,orthography and the right to remain silent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i pray to god,
the same one you do each day,
that you're still as
as you were
when you fled
the pile of unread books
still sit on the righthand side
of the coffee table.
but i can't be sure.
maybe they're on the left;
or even worse,
maybe they're on the shelf
over your television.
i don't know how fast
you've been sitting here
or how long you've been moving,
but i have places to go
and people to be,
warming the ache
in my stomach.
it's times like these
i pray to the god,
the same one you do each day,
that i can forget you
and your unread literature
and unwritten poems
and scrapped promises,
for just long enough
that i can
Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to theLightning Bug Cosmos2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.
In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of
veins, arteries and nerves.
Sometimes it all flows correctly; sometimes everything becomes
knotted up in all the wrong places. Skin toughened by beatings brought about by the
Cadaver HotelI live inside of your corpse. StealingCadaver Hotel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in through the incision
between your ribcage and hipbone, I burrow
myself inside of your embalmed organs and
wrap my fingers around your bones,
clutching until my knuckles turn
the same kind of white.
Though you are dead,
your body sometimes quakes-
spasms and sends a flash-pulse of postmortem waves
over me. For quick sucks of air,
I crawl up and out of your pretty mouth, careful
not to hit your crooked teeth.
To avoid dying inside of you-
oh, how I long to-
I have taken
to gnawing on the insides of your cheeks
and the sinewy parts of your
Yesterday you began to reek
the way dead things do,
while it is sour,
it still smells like you.
Fireating.Your showcase act,Fireating.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
toes the line between
distance edges closer as her
heart rate stalls.
Your glitz girl,
knows the time it takes to
her balance was performance but she
fell for you.
a modern opheliashe found fennel beneath her pillow,a modern ophelia4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and felt the familiar flutter
of glassfish between her ribs.
to distract herself, she
scattered the reddest petals
in her bathwater.
she braided poppies in her hair
let regret invade her lungs.
Sonnet to Breathabout the rib. it makes sense. at Out-Sonnet to Breath9 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
back my father picks it up, gets it stuck in
his teeth, and like a brutish harpist plucks it out,
lets it settle. smoking preference? menthol. in-
door seat? the closest waterfall. they knife out
flower from vegetable. “the game” drags students in
collectively, like how a yawn moves-- uncoils out--
humanity starts rippling. how much of school was in
a herd like this? how much was ringworm? out
here is lonelier; my romance is silent. in
time I think of him and am bothered by it. out
the window steeps a sunrise. it’s five in
the morning. can he sleep? my laptop’s out
and holy Book! he’s up, but then— that rib again.
PoetreeNOTE: The poem should have the shape of a tree. If it looks messy, your monitor is too narrow. Press "Ctrl" and "-" until it fits into your monitor, or follow the link in the author's comments. Thank you!Poetree1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In darkness sweet I dream I sleep; my fate to wait till time is ripe
A tender leaf curled in the seed, an idea that would be freed
I dream of bra
adventurousyou're walking on a tightropeadventurous10 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
as thin and as brittle as
gossamer in the cool rain
I dare you to
take a barefoot baby step
all misty tundra and wind
lay in a cobweb hammock
your afternoon reverie
all your forgotten regrets
you never thought would brighten
of the chances you will take
for it is not an old end--
it is a new beginning;
it is not a winter melt--
but a summer
how lilies weepobstacleshow lilies weep3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are a kind of faith,
as if through some
a bruised clock
veins and cloaked
timed to burst.
i am nothing
if i am not a dream
of yours, waking
from the geometric light
of my window
into a shimmering cup,
poured full of your words
my hips dripping
their tiny mechanisms,
swirling in incense,
growing new teeth,
to bleed through.
i drip and cough
and sleep and bleed
that i am strong enough
for someone like you.
i am taped
and covered up
but you can still see
the endless flaws.
i watch the trees break,
the elastic stretch between moments as
one thing lives and another dies,
as each day i create my chances,
i hold my deck of cards and slice two in half,
i eat one, i rip another,
and i still win the game.
you are the card i never play,
the one i hold on to,
the lucky coin
Loversave me form the waters deepLover7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
waters come to savor me
save me from the moonlight glare
glare that dries my eyes and tears my hair
save me form the whispered words
of allies long since gone
save me from the ghosts at night
ghosts that come in hate and fright
save me from the nothing
while the nothing kills us both
save me from the things I crave
lovers kiss and blood of slave
IceWhen the glacier slides,Ice1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm the one
. . .
Wondering where the right path is, with doubt biting. Frozen memories, icy distances.
When the world grows colder,
I'm the one
. . .
Standing on my own, with the past craving for me. Stolen, missing.
When the snow falls,
I'm the one
. . .
Trying my best, to make sense of it all. Wandering, wondering.
When the hail storms,
I'm the one
. . .
Holding my guard, locking my heart. Smiling, pretending.
Sundiveri.Sundiver7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
When I was six a phoenix
tried to drown me.
Underwater I grabbed for fire.
Like Icarus, I was reaching
towards the sun.
I hope he still has
bald spots. I hope he still
cradles searing scars.
He was death,
I was the bird.
My uncle knows plastic-
wrapped soaps as well
as he knows fine wines.
If he drinks enough,
he thinks it’s love-
carved names rubbing
the silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 days
sweating, ship black against
sea. Like it had been peeled
from amber tongues.
On my fifteenth birthday, the boy
with stars on his fists and Saturn’s
rings in his eyes told me I was pretty.
It was the first time
anyone had said so. I learned
how to hold my breath,
how to apply foundation,
how to cry
without bleeding tar
down my cheeks,
and how to wear my bones
He says he does it for the money.
He says you have to come up slowly
or else something inside of you will explode.
I didn’t understand what he meant
until I realized my throat was still
somewhere in hi
To Be a Mother I do not believe, as is common, that age brings with it wisdom; my mother (and consequently, myself) are bright examples of how time does not cure the tendency to make irrational decisions. When I was a small child, I saw my mother as the brightest star in the evening sky; she was my light, my direction, my goddess. Any mistakes or unintelligent decisions she made were, in my mind, exempt from ridicule; being my mother, she was, of course, the epitome of perfection.To Be a Mother3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Drawing closed the blinds of my childhood, I grew into the realization that my mother, as all others, was a flawed creature; her brilliant red hair came from a plastic bottle from the second aisle of the supermarket, and correspondingly, so did her self-worth. As I aged, it was forced upon me the degree to which she placed value in appearance; no test score could bring joy into her eyes the way it did when I placed aside twenty e