to giovanna cenamimother goddess,to giovanna cenami3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your whole deep greens
& your pale yellow slivers of sun
& then the blue sky sleeves
with your open fertile hands blossoming
out of them, small & serene.
your gaze a red innocence, heavy with curiousity
it graces your glowing forehead, forgotten entirely
after the shock of love in your glance.
you know this man's
profound black browns, his steady eye
the flickering immodest uncaring of calculation
hung over his lids, over the hazy grey
of city sky, this hard bent man stooped
with briefcase in hand, thickly
cloaked, thin lipped, top hatted.
you the warm unnamed bride & he
the sharp nosed Man
you the pleasant & powerful, indulgent
of his every little
the eternal forgiveness in the curve
of your lips, the unspoken
colour of power. you the patient
the unending source.
Kayaking at 7am on Blackridgeraindrops crackKayaking at 7am on Blackridge2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the glass of the lake
and scarlet fish
gone in a blink
against the sediment
of my paddle
as the restless-dog
the heels of the storm
and the sun
like the sky
Academic InterestYou’re all grace and intellect, lazily standing off to the side of the podium, one hand in a pocket, disinterest visible. Years of bored students have worn down your enthusiasm. No one even knows your name anymore; everyone just calls you Professor. But I’d like to learn your name, your first name, and write it down in my notebook next to mine – I want to write a paper with you, Professor. I want to impress you, bring a little spark back to your eyes, and maybe then you’ll know my questions are serious interludes born from curiosity.Academic Interest11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You run your hands through your hair. It really completes the absent-minded-professor look, but there’s nothing absent-minded about you; tired, yes, in need of coffee, but not lost in your own world, so distracted by love of history that nothing else gets through. Yet, my raised arm brings nothing but a feigned half-smile, like you’re only humoring me.
I want to slam my assignment down on your desk and read it to you mys
For my DadI was waiting for youFor my Dad1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
but you never came.
Story of my life.
I built a fort of blankets
and slept beneath the muted
light through my floral
because I needed comfort then.
The phone didn't ring,
and there was no knock at the door,
or a letter in the mail box,
or a box of bandages.
Did you know that every few minutes
I looked out the window?
Sometimes I wished you died so
I could forgive you for not
stolen suicideshe inhaled your love-stolen suicide2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
not because she loved you back,
but because you
were the only thing that didn't plague her-
the only human who didn't stain her bones.
and she recycled the poetry you used
to take her breath away
because she was never whole enough
to spit her own thoughts
and to breathe by her own words.
you told her that no human could be heartless
and she accused you of lying-
explaining that she's seen empty chest cavities
and she's seen blood sit still
but she's never seen death.
and one day she made you so angry
so fucking angry
because she wrote a letter
saying goodbye to her life
and she had stolen your words
but not given you any of the credit.
Butterfly SundaeMr. Dipple runs the ice cream shop a few blocks from the school. I like going there because the words and flavors mash up in weird ways. The word strawberry tastes like peaches; chocolate is cashews; pistachio is vanilla, and vanilla is oddly floral. It’s like getting a double scoop for the price of a single.Butterfly Sundae1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Mr. Dipple tastes like butterscotch. I like that, because butterscotch is the same color as his mustache and the stripes underneath his apron. He’s Oliver’s grandfather, so that’s where he took me. Out, I mean. Like, not really a date, but kind of a date, you know? No hand holding or anything, but he did open the door for me and that’s kinda embarrassing but kinda really sweet too.
He asked his grandfather to whip us up a sundae; I didn’t realize until it got to the table that it was one to share and that’s also kinda embarrassing but really sweet in every way possible. Vanilla ice cream, chunks of brownie, whipped cream, and what I knew t
MyselfI don't knowMyself1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Who I am
But I do know
That I like
And I wouldn't want
To be anyone else
Gensouある物はGensou2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Aru mono wa
Mae kara miru to
Ushiro kara mite
When one looks at them from the front
Look from behind
A lifetime memory
The Boiler's GardenLately, I’ve been growing treesThe Boiler's Garden1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Without feeding them water
Instead, I’ve been cutting away
Inadequacies – cutting down leaves.
I let them live in old boiler room;
Made a fire and let it breath.
If these plants could synthesize photos,
They would recite these horrors themselves.
They’ve grow taller than they ever could,
But they’re still coming out crooked.
And There Was Lighti.And There Was Light1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
A Hundred WaysHappiness, a hundred ways:A Hundred Ways3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
unobtainable me and irrepressible you
slumped over sand. We draw the
briny scent of sea into our nostrils,
lungs expanding with light.
You and your limpid eyes so dark that
crabs could scuttle into them for shade,
smile lopsided from the time you stumbled
down the stairs, a flightless bird
and knocked out two front teeth. (You were
still laughing when we drove to the emergency room
as if there were rainbows lurking in the pain that
made your vision hazy, as if the rain was already
What a beautiful day. The tide's coming in
frantic and furious like it's two hours late instead
of right on time. You say let's go looking
for Atlantis and so we let the raging water carry
us - our pale soft bodies - our throbbing hearts -
away; you hold my hand as we are swept under
not knowing if we will resurface
soon or ever,
hallmark of homeI live in a temperate rainforest biome, where it ishallmark of home4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
too damp for romance too green for the best kind
of desecration you and I will never engage in,
give to give,
but last night was a cold deserta white fawn
a cheesecake moon
and I wanted so much to find you for more, was
afraid of stepping out, of lacking luck enough to
encounter that dreaded hallmark of home: acid
rain, as it falls and shines and kills
the seasons found their voicesthe springtime childthe seasons found their voices4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
sits in snowbanks and wonders when
the sun will shine through
clouds, heavy, leaden;
she sings to primroses tainted white
and watches the world grow in
the summer child sits among branches
of the budded apple tree and sings
to bluebirds come to rest
betwixt the twigs. he watches bright skies
turn to dusk and dreams of shooting stars like
god's campfire left
the autumn child sits alongside
rivers, chattering like
children left to play; she sings
to skies hung heavy with frightening frigidity
and wonders why the dead things
the winter child breaks his breath
on ice frozen twice over; he sings to the silence
left behind at world's end
and knows when white skies fade to gray, to blue,
the world will begin
Hansel and GretelWhat kind of motherHansel and Gretel10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
sends her children out
without their shoes or coats -
nothing but a trail of crumbs
to find their way back home?
They all find their way here.
Maybe it is the scent of holidays
freshly baked inside my kitchen
or the sight of spice drops
glistering in the rampant dusk.
The children like my house -
my rich ginger carpets
so easy to get lost in
and the pink pillows
puffed and glossy with promises.
They do not notice me watching,
how my fingers slip around their wrists
to measure their meager lives
or how I can smell when
they last ate their supper.
They only smile at me
and beg for more chocolate
in greedy little voices
and ask if they can see
what's baking in my oven now.
NostalgiaI use to recite the alphabet every day.Nostalgia11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would start at A, but always stop at U,
Then look out at the porch and
Paint her portraits of herself
Made out of words. Colors always ended up
Outside the lines and shapes blurred with tears.
But it never mattered.
These paintings became a gallery
Documenting life in a chronological
Fashion, so when I look back, I could playback
These moments of innocence like movies.
I still find myself reciting the alphabet,
But I’ve moved on to V.
I started coloring inside the lines.
I can see vividly now…. I can see
HeartbeatI’ve twisted my skinHeartbeat1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like clay, to match
‘cause I can’t lie and say
“I don’t want to fuck you.”
Lately, every night
I’ve been feeling
A different heatbeat.
But her heart beats with
A different rhythm
Every time she opens herself up.
And every time she’s around
It’s like light kissing my eyes.
And I realize that,
Even with a pounding headache
And bottles, now only filled with
Sorrow lying by the bedroom floor,
I want to make breakfast together,
I want to mark down days on the
Calendar, I want to…nevermind.
It was probably just the shitty wine.
Coin 38the sky was a flat metalCoin 383 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he could smell the dusky
smell of a coat discarded,
damp and full of dust,
on a bench as he passed.
and, even now, as
the wind pulled the hands
of his scarf around
in frantic circles
he thought of the quick flick
of her hand as she tossed
a cigarette, half-burned and
orange with inward fire
onto the sidewalk
Dishwasherafternoon light flickersDishwasher2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
through the curtains
like a moth
her fingers brush
the lined edge
of a plate
as the sink fills
the sound of paper, displaced
shifts behind her
the careful steps
the cat takes
across the table
outside the roses
trace their shadows
across the lawn
MedsThey're supposedMeds11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
To make me better
To solve my problems
But they're nothing but drugs
Drugs to control me
To keep me docile
They only make me
Numb and tired
They make my life
Dull and boring
A chemically induced illusion
That doesn't solve a thing
Human Flesh and Blood.Human6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tear her apart.
Soaked in the
Of the past.
That are healing
Little by little
With the help of love.
That he cannot control.
That people misunderstand.
Girl Leaving a Barthe wind picked paceGirl Leaving a Bar2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she could feel the sound
of the music, very
he was telling her
about his sister
through her hair
saying, "You remind me,"
"You remind me."
it was too early
stir with a sudden
turn of crooked fingers
as a car passes,
on broken glass
last night she dreamed
Team In our days the word "team" only refersTeam 4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to basketball and football teams.
Where I'm FromI am from Tolkien and George LucasWhere I'm From1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shark Week and Harry Potter.
I am from lost pages in dusty books
Hidden on long forgotten shelves.
I am from green rolling hills
As far as the eye can see
Reverberating with the noise of insects
So loud you can hardly think
The sheep as countless as the stars.
I am from the ocean swells that stir up crabs
Who scuttle frantically back under the sand
Lest the gulls find them.
I am from tall trees that warp the mind
Back to a time when those fairy tales
We were told as children were real.
I am from the Brown Clan, Ferguson and Somerville
From thistle and wyrm slayer.
I am from strong hands that worked and moulded soil and steel
Built paper mills and submarines.
I am from wind watcher and readers of the sky,
Thinkers, doers, movers, makers, builders.
I am from those who make themselves
Leaving plans for others to follow or improve upon
Each individual stands like a wall
Tall and impassible for those who wish to change us
And an open field full of li
DichotomyYou asked me to be your wifeDichotomy9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The slave of the ring on your
The top of your tower.
The head on your wall.
No, she whispered.
She isn’t me - and you never knew what mirror to look in to find
You searched in all the treasure chests to find her
Coherent and tied together
Yes – he said out loud
The knight in me who saw you as his adversary
The one who had to fight your sword
You are not what we are looking for
The white warrior on the dark horse
Battling demons and angels
Slaying princesses to save the dragon
Drinking mortality from the cup
If I - am the Queen woven in the ancestral tapestries
Holding my star stained crest between the stag horns
Resting on my forehead
Then you - are neither his King nor her Prince
I am not I – I am we
I am legion
You are only one
You are not enough
My fragile saviour
You believed you had the power
To keep me breathing
When you didn’t even have the power
To see who we were not.