December Waters poemDecember Waters poem6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cutting through a thickening fog
a dreary day of yesteryear
I squelched across the shallow bog
in hopes for guidelights to appear
A light I saw, not from a lantern
Ghostly shadows played across
the smokey whispers floating like phantoms
from under the mulshy water's moss
And from the under, sleething forward,
a nebulous shape with empty eyes
Cold fish fingers pulling my breath toward
itself, turning me to stone inside
something's rising, something's sinking
pale darkness, neverblinking
Saturday ProcrastinationGhosts whisper through your mouth, blinking through the sunlit smokscreen which chokes your hollowed lungs, I can feel your breath by the silent earthquakes reverberating through your ribcage, rising and falling in rhythm with the quietly dimming tide of my mind's ocean, footprints left by no one on a vast beach isolated as the surface of the moonSaturday Procrastination5 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
it was the Saturday nothing was finished, papers were fallen birds scattered on the hard floor that gravity pressed my cold nose into. The ceiling, threatening to fall and crush me, pushed closer against the air in the space between, which was so heavy I was a leaf flattened between the endless pages of an immense book whose spine was a million miles wide
I seeped out of the pages in a sleek liquid ink and fell far through the floor until my body was completely dissolved. As I frantically grabbed with my phantom hands at fleeting equilibrium to pull me into a direction that couldn't exist, the artifacts of my figurative mind melted together a
Stilling Autumns Raspy BreathThe forlorn howling of ancient wolves' windsStilling Autumns Raspy Breath5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stir the dusty bones of a million corpsed leaves
An icy exhale is coming
to pierce the air with a silver siren
While small animals pulsate like organs underground
The earth's body is mummified in a crystal sarcophagus
PaintSkin spoils as the golden glowPaint6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Rusts to become pitiful brown
Masks become reliant
As all faded lights need replacement
Pathetic attempts of beauty
Create dark illusions
Concluding in heartless faces
As lies grow too dependent
The fear of reality increases too far
As others laugh, taunt and pick
Seductive fumes overcome
The sincerity of the original
True souls pushed
Into cold, dark rooms
To be hidden and forgotten.
AquamarineAquamarine5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My nails are painted aquamarine.
With mermaid claws I scrape out my fish-belly
And drown on the air in salt-crusted gasps.
I let my hair, like lagoon weeds,
Grow overlong and too-deep black
Until it slunk around my ankle bones and pulled me under.
I wear a crown of sea-stars and daisies
Because I am a tide pool creature neither here nor there and no matter
Where I lay my head, Ill die.
The sand, cooked clear and glassy,
Burns and cures my scales to a driftwood finish; parched and bleached
I writhe in the open air, suffocating.
Yet beneath the waves, the lick of briny water rasps my skin
And I come apart, settling as sediment on the primordial clay,
With the glass-green ocean in my lungs.
With my oyster-sister, rolling pearls between her lips,
I collect gold and coral, finger bones and timber
And we dream of bright yellow prairies with dusty skies.
At low tide I climb into the wade pools
And build a half-sunk sand castle with my warm blooded brother;
A damp, brackish,
This is For YouThis is for the boy with the cracks on his hands and a splintering face,This is For You5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the lovely girl feeling not-so-lovely anymore-
the boy with his hands locked high over his head,
unlock them. Unlock doubt and inhibitions-
For the girl who said THIS IS MY FIRST SCAR.
like she wanted more to come-
For the man who knew that if there ever was a time to seize the day,
that time was here and now and never. That time was her
snow-white blouse against her snow-white skin and her fingers
trickling down his spine-
I see the world through your hands, your fingertips, your pores.
I saw you dancing on the spouting gravel,
entwined in roots and feet and H2O.
You were a defiant stare and an intervention,
you had a silken voice: purling, purging,
stealing lines from famous songs. On tip-toes
and backbone, you stretched and reached and
cried like you had no remorse
-or too much of it.