The Artist and The ModelShe posed for the artist to paint her
She sat so perfectly still
A tremble came across her body
That was way beyond her will
"For that, my dear" said the artist
"I'll paint your blue eyes shut
Forever you'll be cast into darkness
Before you return to dust"
The subject, the model, the lady
Laughed and was not so fussed
"You think you have such power, my dear
In the stroke of your brush?
Don't forget it is I, your subject
That brings beauty to your piece
Without me you would be nothing;
A lush drunk on self belief"
With that the artist grabbed his palette
Ferociously began to paint
Till fatigue encapsulated his bones
And he began to feel faint
"How dare you bring into question
This masterpiece, my life's work
From my hand to brush to canvas
My unique view of this world"
"Artist you are not so special
With strokes many could make
Where as my beauty is as unique
As a falling snowflake
And it is I that fell from Heaven
Onto the blank canvas Earth
As potent as God's silence
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.
Rest My Sweetest DarlingSweetest little dragon child, with a tiny broken wingRest My Sweetest Darling3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For you it is a solemn song that we are made to sing.
Your parents fought to save you, but here it is you lie
My sweetest little dragon child, why did you have to die?
There are no words to capture grief, nor the mourning in our hearts
I never thought that we were meant to be easily torn apart...
No pain in life could have ever prepared us, for the pain we faced today
My child I wish you could hear the words that we truly long to say
We wish we could have taught you, about the flowers in the spring
We wish we could have showed you, the homes of our kin...
We wish we could have loved you, and watched you fly away
But in this cold and clammy cave is where you have to stay
We'll lay you down to rest for now, so just dream of better times
Your mother and I will be the ones to atone for our crimes
Sleep for now and rest yourself for you needn't ever rise
We will stay and watch you drift away, before our very eyes...
"My dearest Mideen
AnneSuch a tiny neck,Anne3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
spare and white,
the starched linen
tarnished in the savage heat.
The scaffolding ached
beneath her feet
and the crowd went silent
as she knelt,
the block a cruel nursemaid
to her tears.
Confession is a futile gift
and treason did not sit well
upon her shoulders
where the sun
beat down on her.
No one felt the word of God
in the father's banal words
and the axman was her final
Girl WantedI want a girlGirl Wanted3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with her eyes closed
(in black and white)
and does not drink chamomile tea.
She does not watch movies
by Nicholas Sparks
and thinks God
really is Morgan Freeman
or someone she has not met
She reads Goethe, Sartre
and knows Orlando
is more than just
She wears plain white tees
and jeans so faded
her skin has lost its
and her shoes
chew the pavement
with real distinction.
Hey BroHey Bro:Hey Bro3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's been awhile since I've come by
I guess that's my bad this time
A lot of stuff has changed recently
And I kind of wish that you could see it all
I've got a girlfriend now, she's sweet and caring
I remember when you used to joke that I'd never get one
It always used to make me so mad...
Did you know, she's got green eyes. My favourite colour
She makes great food and I really wish she could have met you
Diablo three finally came out and I know we were waiting for that one
You always used to promise that we'd play it together sometime
But I know that it's impossible with the way things are...
I thought a lot about getting the game, walked into the store even
I tried picking it up, but my hands just kept shaking
I ended up leaving without buying anything...
You know, I still have all of our old stuff...
Your dice, your miniatures, your Paladin character sheet
It's even got that little stain in the corner, the big yellow one
I remember how pissed
You are woman. You are man.You are woman,You are woman. You are man.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so be kind,
all in your own way.
You are man
so be strong,
Milk CartonThey found youMilk Carton3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on a milk carton,
a stone's throw
from the tarp left
mildewing on the pool.
Your face was sleepy
and they did not recognize
Who dressed you that morning?
Who gently combed out your hair
and zipped up
your yellow boots
so you could squash puddles
in the garden?
Mother will tell stories
to the empty bed
and pretend it is your shadow
playing on the wall
And father will wait
on the porch,
praying the light
will come back to the sky.
MasksWith big smiles she greeted her friends,Masks3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Drowning in the crowd of people.
How many claimed to be her loved ones?
Hundreds? Thousands? She lost count long ago.
They welcomed her with jokes and laughter,
and she replied with hugs and kisses,
Pretending not to see the cracks in their masks
Or the lies in their voices.
She knew they were hiding something,
She heard the whispers behind her back,
Saw the greed behind their smiles,
And sensed their hatred long ago.
And every day she felt another part
Of her soul breaking away.
At night she tried to fix it,
Trying to reattach the broken pieces,
But as the time went by she realized
That the harder she tried, the faster she broke.
And so she continued what she had once started,
Acting cheerful, while breaking apart,
slowly creating her own mask
To hide her true self.
Until one day she met you,
The girl who refused to wear a disguise,
A big grin in your face,
And true kindness in your words.
Your left hand you had outstretched,
In your right you
alivei want to be buried inalive4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a grave made of water
because i write poetry
but don't understand it
because i know how to feel
but not how to cope
or how to tell you what
it feels like to die
my mother will cry and
her garden will still grow
but she will not take down
photos on the windowsill
she will age dutifully and
retire, travel the world and
i will only regret not being
able to see her finally happy
my brother grow up without
knowing how much i cared
but he will still think
of me on his wedding day
his eyes will be a window
not to his soul, but a world
of pain and loss and he will
wish that i could say sorry
and the boy who knows that
he was the only one i loved;
he will lose himself in the
thought that he had the chance
to save a life, but didn't;
he will read my poetry and
not understand why but know
that i loved him more than life
i will fade to dirt, and from
me will grow a peach tree, with
the type of leaves that children
will make boats out of, sail
across their puddle oceans
ExpectationsThe pressure keeps me going,Expectations3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Yet holds me back.
The thought isn't comforting
It feels like an attack.
The sort that keeps me up at night;
Why my fingernails are short.
Like a dark and looming blight;
A disheartening exhort.
Better, better, better!
The expectation is quite blunt.
Never, never, never...
Exactly what they want.
I'm not the person I want to be,
Due to expectations.
Under the eyes that never see
My pain is their creation.
Behind the EyepatchBehind the Eyepatch:Behind the Eyepatch3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
A simple eyepatch
Worn to hide deformity
Becomes its symbol
-Chen Yuan Wen, 30th May 2012
SleepInstead of ripping the covers off,Sleep3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shaking it violently,
And forcing cold breakfast down its throat,
I wish they would carefully wake a sleeping poem
And ask it gentle questions
Before its dreams are forgotten
GluttonHis caramel covered fingers caress my coffee skinGlutton3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
An epiphany aged in its own beautiful winery,
A honeyed breath drawn in a moment so heated,
Its oven like intensity roasting any kind of chastity.
Irreverently juicy, pleasingly sinful,
Succulently divine in its every form
Lovemaking at its most beautiful
Moans that echo sheer gluttony.
I never knew passion was edible,
nor lust so delicious in its impassioned call
Until he showed me why chocolate
is the most deadly sin of them all.
chokeI collect thingschoke3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they may resemble some of your traits
or be loosely associated to those things
that moved you,
I worship these little cadavers,
they rot out my heart,
send me to an earlier grave.
I collect things
and become them,
dirty artifacts to guide me through
dirty emsembles to bless these
I'm going to get over you
for once and for all
collage new collections
Why Does It Have to be You?Yes, yes, I know.Why Does It Have to be You?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is a mistake...
loving you, that is.
Yes, I know last time it ended badly,
but can I deny my heart of what
it truly wants?
I try, darling,
really I do.
But I'm addicted to you.
Love is a curse - binding me to the depths of hell...
all because its unrequited?
How is that fair?
You light up my world
and make me smile.
It's an impressing feat these days.
I blush when I read your texts.
I smile when I send one back,
blushing, of course.
Why are you the one that races through my mind?
Why are you the one invading my dreams?
And most of all...
Why do I still love you?
JudgementJudgement:Judgement3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You are a mewling coward and weakling
Offal to the world, yet too arrogant to admit it!
Unbridled by the feelings of shame and guilt;
A man who was naught but a self-serving sycophant...
Remember the days that you used to spend
Envious of others who worked harder than you
More and more you would curse at their backs
It was an act that blackened your tongue and soul!
Now as you gaze into the maw of the inferno
Endlessly waiting for the judge's call
Read the first letter of every line, and know the fate for which you fall.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 6th July 2012
hand-me-downs and paper clownsshe hashand-me-downs and paper clowns3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
thin white legs that run for
miles and miles
and a smile to make your heart melt
you'd never guess the
skeletons in her closet are knocking
peacefully, patiently on the door, saying
letmeoutletmeout, i won't hurtyou
you'd never guess her family's poor.
and everything in her wardrobe is a
the stories, the clothes,
her hair color and yes the skeletons too,
most of those given to her by her uncle
who couldn't keep his belt to himself.
sometimes the rain pours
in from the roof and she spends her evenings
sitting with buckets, emptying and filling
sometimes this girl goes into the closet
she reads walt whitman to the skeletons
and together they murmur every atom belonging
to me as good belongs to you
and the skeletons are content, for a while,
until they feel
the chill of winter in their bones and plead
she complies by turning up the thermostat
(trying not to grimace at her electric bill
rising as the tide, as quick
This AfternoonFall in love with me a little. And we'll spend the rest of our years in this afternoon.This Afternoon5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My eyes will meet yours and look away. My hand will run through your hair and stop. My fingers will find yours and pull away, and then find yours again. We'll drink coffee and sit on stairs that end too quickly. The sunlight will highlight your profile a little too well. My skin will look a little too luminous.
I'm not a poet, my darling. Poets are decievers through refrain. Instead, I'll read you speeches from Shakespeare and enthrall you with my ancient eyes.
I'm not a poet, my sweet. Poets betray themselves in lyrical verse. Instead, I'll tell you stories and make you wonder with a voice that will make you drowsy in the winter sun.
You're not a poet either. Poets sing too soon with no music. Instead, you ebb your emotions through your musician's fingers on methodical frets.
You're not a poet either. Poets layer emotions through hollow words. Instead, you amaze me with your wine rich voice and eye
Sometimes The Clothes Do Not Make The ManI am not the manSometimes The Clothes Do Not Make The Man4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
left hanging in the closet -
the patterned plaid
of slip knot
mother sent for Christmas
or the herringbone
caul of wool
that shrouds my skin from winter.
I am not the grey flanneled stride
that steals the sidewalk
from children jumping rope
or the cable stitched fisherman
stalking the wharf
and crumbling pier
when dusk comes calling.
I am but a bonescrap
and a dream,
of nerve and tendon
that keeps a distant profile,
from these garments
and owns the face of many.
Andra and the Plague DoctorThe air was wet and heavy and it stuck in her throat; she thought of the smell of rotting gardens and coughed until scarlet blood hung from her lips and stained the moss beneath her cheek. She couldn't groan, couldn't even voice the pain. And her body was too dry for crying. All Andra could do was lay crumpled, her very self fighting her with the sickness that tore through her insides like a lash, the last vestiges of her strength being fed to her twitching limbs for shaking and spasming.Andra and the Plague Doctor4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
There were ants crawling over her fingertips. Flies at her mouth, the corners of her eyes. She shifted her head, weakly, desperate to drive them off while she still had life in her, but the creatures were impatient. They swarmed back again. It wouldn't be long, now.
Andra thought of her mother, who wept as she pushed her out the door. Her father, gray and still on the bed and set to be burned. Master Thomas was dead in his home. Father Calton, huddled in his church and praying for mercy. The bells wer
MelancholiaHere on this vacant shore I sleep,Melancholia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Under the waning glow I start to weep,
With calm eyes trickling woeful tears.
To pass by many aching years,
Of a miserable life so alone.
By those melancholic waves I walk,
Filled with cold depression I fail to talk,
As innocent words stale in morbid breath,
To wish for a majestic longing death,
Of a dire mortality on loan.
Yet all those nostalgic sights I see,
Blinding me with sour memories I try to flee,
In a mania of ritualistic pessimism,
To bleed in that ocean of dour optimism,
Of a disturbed future I know.
The Feelings That LingerThe Feelings That Linger:The Feelings That Linger3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The sound of your voice still lingers here
Even though I know you're gone...
And my nights have turned to sleepless days;
They grow worse with every dawn...
You've probably heard this story though
At least a thousand times or more.
But the thing I remember best about her
Is the sound of that closing door...
It was like the end to everything;
A cloud inside my head.
When I came awake on that final night;
I reached for her in bed-
But an empty space was all I got;
There was no one to wipe these tears.
I could scream and cry for many hours;
But it wouldn't chase my fears.
I tried so hard to tell myself
That everything would be alright.
But instead I ended up reminsicing
About her ever-present light...
I'm just so tired of everything;
I wish I didn't have to think...
But maybe you'll hear me one last time;
If I put this down in ink:
We had a life that was beautiful
My Masquerade~My Masquerade~My Masquerade3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For the world I am displayed;
They always watch but cannot see
through my masquerade.
I feel every moment fly;
My heart is beating, pulse racing,
breath held as I lie.
My innocence I can't defend;
I know that surely this will linger
'til my very end.
I brought this all upon myself;
Mask upon mask, lie upon lie
like valueless wealth.
Dare I take these masks off no!
My former self haunts me
everywhere I go.
False glory, false honor, false fame;
With all these masks I seem to have
forgotten my own name.