BlinkingOne, two. Out go the lights.Blinking2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Two quick flickers and the brain can only sigh.
Truth found in seeing but unfounded without sound.
Lips can read only shallow depths without fact or trial.
Fact without opinion to back,
flimsy defense at best.
Out go the lights.
What is it that we fear?
Darkness behind the lids,
of our catchlights.
The End is Never,
The End is Now,
The mind scrambled, fried and drowned.
Why do we swallow what is said about Time?
Time knows how it flows,
Time knows when it will die.
Insignificant we are, thinking to understand the hourglass' sand.
The hourglass is in our eyes.
The sand pours from our ducts with every flutter,
Of a lash.
WasteWe've ruined the lakes, the ponds, the streamsWaste3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and marred our soil with urban dreams -
Eden blighted by machines.
We plot and scheme; we plot and scheme.
We scorch the earth and sear the air;
our poison, seething everywhere,
destroys and leaves our country bare.
We do not care; we do not care.
Humanity has learned too late
our Eden is a fallow state;
and what we've sown will nere abate.
We reap our fate; we reap our fate.
Sex in a Coffee MugPorcelin-smooth, polished slickSex in a Coffee Mug5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Decorated deep red
Short, squat, round
Set down on the table
With a clink that speaks fragile
Condensation pools round the base
Leaving a ring, in time
The handle loops around
From top to bottom, full-length
Pushing out and away
Creating space, perfect
For four calloused fingers
To slip through and grip
With the thumb running lengthwise
Pressing, for support
Hand in handle, hard-held
It pulls, but there is resistance
That water pooling sticks
And glues the rough bottom
To the tabletop with suction
Until its overpowered and it
Lifts, dripping, airborne
Saliva and skin against
The surface make an imperceptible
Imprint as the touch
And inhale steam and liquid
The pool of heat bubbling up
From the very dreg to the dancing
IcarusAll he left youIcarus3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
was the fear of flying -
the accidental tilt of gravity
against the air
and pull of atmosphere
that cracked the ceiling
of your bedroom.
You thought he must be Icarus
from the scent
that tattered the sheets
and the soft, white down
you mistook for rapture -
a sweet tryst of love
But the sun
was cruel that day -
abrupt and lethal,
beckoning you to the window
to study how he wore
the April morning
and watch as ecstacy
made criminals of his words.
DemonsLost inside a labyrinthDemons8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Deep within myself
Chained by an unforgiving beast
To pain and regrets long past
I dwell here in this land of longing
Wanting to be free of demons
Haunting me, taunting me
I want to scream, cry out for release
But redemption will not come so easy
Pardon for these crimes is fleeting
For she who cannot even begin to forgive herself
this is a warning.i.this is a warning.4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The first thing you need
to know about people is this:
If you cut off our head,
we will grow two in its place.
We will divide and conquer
until there's nothing left
but tiny gaping mouths,
clacking and salivating
at the crumbs of an empire.
They tell me hurt is like
a paper cut:
quick and forgotten,
Hurt is the first step
off a balcony,
the first gasp
in a chain reaction
screaming from the railing
to beyond the pavement.
When I finally hit the ground,
I looked up and saw my halo
dangling from the edge,
He said, she said,
I wanted, he lost, she won,
I ruined this, I broke your heart,
he left me,
I miss you.
This is nothing new.
Your tragedy is always
what's it like to realize
every slash on your soul
has an identical twin?
What's it like to know
you're going to die
the same way everyone does:
scared and alone?
We are disposable.
The hydra g
I'd Be Pretty If I'd Just...I'd be pretty if I'd just smileI'd Be Pretty If I'd Just...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If I'd cut my hair a certain way
And cover myself up in that chemical crap you call make-up
But did you ever think that just maybe...
I don't wanna be pretty
That I just wanna be me
Who cares if no one ever calls me beautiful
Who cares if I'm never asked to dance
Hell I don't even know how to dance anyway
I don't care how the world sees me
I only care how I see me
And I think there's nothing wrong with the girl in the mirror
Sure she doesn't smile much but that's cause she's going through hell
Her face may look plain without any make-up
But that's just the way I like it
An old pair of jeans
The first t-shirt could find
My hair in a braid
I'm ready to go
To where no one cares just what I look like
Least of all me
It's a barn full of horses
That's where I choose to spend my days
Where no one cares about what I wear
Where I never have to hear "I'd be pretty if I'd just..."
Love NoteThere are columns with signsLove Note5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And they point in a thousand directions:
Where might they lead?
Nowhere in particular. But I, I
Hold here a precious map
An invisible parchment
That boasts no x's or arrows or dotted lines
No sketches of dragons or palm trees.
It is for you-a gift
And the best one could think of.
I was worried it might be overdone
Perhaps too much, too soon.
It will take you a thousand years alone
To discover what it's supposed to lead you towards.
I've attached it to this letter with tape.
You'd like to test it yourself first-I know
You want to see what you alone can find.
But if you decide
If you conclude you need help
Sweetheart, remember: it's my map-
Come find me.
Untitled- For My One and OnlyShe cannot see over the lip edge of the back of the desk,Untitled- For My One and Only5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
except to gaze at the speckled ceiling tiles, the fluorescent lights, the very
top shelf of the stacks across the room. She is surrounded, enveloped,
lulled by the aroma of crinkled pages and worn covers-the naval science section-and she hopes beyond hope it will cling to her, like cobweb tendrils, after she leaves.
The smell will stick to her hair, twirl down from her eyelashes to tickle her
nose when she breathes in, and for weeks people will turn up their chins around her,
sniff twice, and say you've-been-tucked-behind-a-desk-in-a-hidden-corner-of-the-basement-of-a-library-recently-haven't-you? and she'll nod, too filled with library quiet and
the buzz of the lights to realize that if she opens her mouth to speak, noise will come out
and someone might even hear her.
She stretches herself across the faux wood tabletop, claiming it, loving it like
a mother loves a father and the mother and father love their three little childre