How one Dead Views the LivingMy life had always been painted in sombre greys. In death, how it blossoms!
When the rains come, the watery drops fall like tears of ink: echoing and dancing across sparkling sapphire puddles. The sun, a golden mystic orb, shedding its beauty on all it touches.
I see rustic weather-beaten cragged faces of the old, set with eyes of faded blue. I behold bright smiles and blushes upon the fat cheeks of the young. My ears prickle with the twirling thousand-noted song of birds. The beauty of all these things I never observed in life, now bursts upon my ripened senses - in death.
In a trance I view this new-found paradise. Life, I have come to realise, is most beautiful to the spectator. The spectator has no need for understanding or judgement.
I look upon a derelict dilapidated street, filthy with squalor. I cast my eyes over the crumbling paintwork of rotting window frames, housing broken panes. Here and there sickly weeds break through mouldering masonry.
Oh what a picture, what a spectac
Ellie, one-oh-one.she doesn't know her name.Ellie, one-oh-one.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it isn't surprising really. it has been so long since someone said it with any vigour, any affection, that it seems almost natural for her to have forgotten it.
she has lapsed into herself. her shoulders, with their warm-hearted mammal bones, quiver and shake beneath the weight of her own uneasiness. her arms, they shiver and the bruises ripple slowly - rocks in a pond. she has turned fetal.
the voices shudder as they cry out into the emptiness of her soul, their lips casting names against her chasms. none of them stick, none of them strike open the shell of her heart and set her aflame. none of them wake her from this coma, this darkness.
the world contracts and stumbles into yet another winter around her. it freezes her bones and the leafless trees whisper apologies into her matted hair, her flaking skin. the earth sends kisses up through the soles of her feet, the sagging flesh of her backside.
the world apologizes into her and the voices cry but her stoma
ApsaraFind me sunken into theApsara3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,
waist-deep and pink
in sunset, and we will cry:
for three-faced elephants,
for the dancers threading grace
between their fingertips—
until I dress in the heaviness,
a sarong of heat.
Encroaching TerrorHuckle-hunting crack-backed wormsEncroaching Terror3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
'neath jeering, leering tangled forms.
Branches breaking, bending, sending
shivers down my mangled spine.
Fine, everything's just fine.
Backward glancing, I see dancing
shadows, shadows that aren't mine.
Time, time ever racing, chasing,
pacing, my footsteps ever hastening;
tasting the seconds as they fade away.
Decay comes quickly, sickly;
stenches, wrenches my groaning gut.
Moaning, roaming through the leaves,
weaves the yearning, burning thing of night.
Sight, I am robbed of sight.
Blinding, something hidden binding,
twining, snaking round my aching useless eyes.
Sighs, the sighs of something very close;
those whispered, blistered wrecks of breath.
Death, the final fleck, silently shivers,
my withered slivered, writhing neck.
We Are The LiarsWe twist are words to talk to you,We Are The Liars3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And bend the facts
to make them true.
We are the wolves, that lead the lambs.
Like gods of death
who guide the dammed.
The tricksters and jesters, who kings all loved;
Until we had them lynched and clubbed.
We are the ones, who break your rules.
While dancing on your laws like fools.
Your friends and family that will always last,
It is we who wear the mask.
We lie to make our world more,
While wearing masks that you adore.
We are the ones who set up the fires
And bury the living
in funeral pyres
we are the ashes
Crowned with thorns
And misplaced desires
We are the liars
as small as a world and as large as aloneit's always ourselves we find in the sea,as small as a world and as large as alone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
molly reminds me, eyes lingering on the cerulean ocean
stretching and sighing before us,
glowing vermillion in the setting sun.
we sit until the tide is sloshing at our feet,
threatening to carry us away on a dreamlike raft
of smooth turtle shells. we take cover, shrieking
like children, kicking up sand in a feeble attempt to
stop our pursuer from closing in on us.
laughing breathlessly, uncontrollably, hands pressed
against our chests and eyes beaming with unshed tears,
we are careening up and across sand dunes (though the tide
is far behind us) until our calves are wobbly strands of seaweed,
good for nothing except staggering to the ground in a heap
of merriment and seawater and titters.
we watch the pink shore swim back and forth, abandoning
sparkling treasures and washing away the evidence of our stay;
the cockeyed sandcastles, the deep holes we dug that no one stepped in
and our floundering footprints, all swept away
The ruleShe wouldn't let him make love to her on the bed. Beds are for sleeping she told him adamantly, when he tried to lead her there. Caught in the grip of a feverish, school-boy lust, Mekhi didn't care. It was enough that she wanted to have sex with him at all. He'd do it on a mound of shit if that's what she wanted. Inside a meat locker. Any damn where.The rule3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When it was over and they lay on the rug in post coitus languor, he found himself curious about her no bed rule. "So you've never done it on a bed?" he asked, voice hushed at 2AM.
She was a long time in answering. Her voice was soft, on the edge of sleep as she confided, "Not since I was ten years old."
You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.You are not an island3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,
Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.
Love's Cold WhisperNot a whisper, not a thought,Love's Cold Whisper3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Though alone I walk,
I feel the cost,
And every day, I'm chilled by frost.
And every year, the thoughtful few
Sing to me to lessen my pain,
It never cleans,
My soul's blood stain,
And soft sweet voices become my bane.
And every life I've lived as yet
Has seen me walk alone.
And even the radiant light
The sun has shown
Can do nothing to warm my bones.
PeonyAlone, but forPeony2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the red boots marching
cathedral heart: I
am beating echoes
in this city of the
stepping little girl's
dreams, I visit mama
in the night; but
flowers and wine won't
pay for her light.
All I HaveAll I have is my dreamsAll I Have3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As I drift into a sleep
By a lullaby
Sleeping inside me
Is a dream
A dream of reality
Like a faint flare of flame
All I have is my dreams
For I can't control my actual life
By one who has to be
In control of some life
Because he can't control his own
All I have is my dreams
He has no power
All I have is my dreams
He has no control
All I have is my dreams
He does not exist...
Abdul-Malik Wajid Hunter
The Legendary Pen Meister
...But Not Your NameI remember us, but not your name -...But Not Your Name3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
names, that felt legion,
but none the same.
They fell into the slipstream
with whoever you are now.
But I remember your face:
how the hairs scratched
my chin and cheeks when we kissed;
chocolate brown eyes
that lingered, searched,
and looked for all the world
like love themselves.
You looked for all the world like you loved me,
I have memories of words spoken,
and of times that we had;
I will always remember us together.
I remember our song, but not the words,
you said you'd write them eventually
I remember the melody,
sweet, slow, delicate, romantic,
You played like a minstrel on your guitar,
said you composed it for me,
and gave the wordless ballad my name.
Perhaps it was a song that you'd heard before
and maybe you just liked the score,
and how the chords fit your fingers,
and thought that I would be easy to play;
because you wanted a harmony,
I went mad puzzling over your gam
The Moon and NeptuneWith silent grace she shines aloft.The Moon and Neptune3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Somnolent stars suffuse face soft.
Gossamer drifts of shifting clouds
cast shadows on a pearly brow.
Waves spin tales of sailors' yarns,
hidden swathes of ancient charms.
Seabirds' cries and creaking calls,
waters whipped by singing squalls.
Neptune urged with surging shifts,
destruction of the struggling skiffs.
To straggling rocks the sinking ships,
sleeping sands each sadly slips.
apart.and I was sitting in the gutterapart.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
after trying for the fourth night in a row
to drown you along with
all my other ghosts
and the church
was across the street
cross lit up high in the sky
and it felt
like the complete
opposite of salvation.
it was 4am
and with the neon blue
shining in my eye line
i realised i was alone
i was utterly alone
in the saddest way possible.
You Dropped This...My footsteps grow heavierYou Dropped This...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As I begin to lose myself
These woods go on forever
I'll look back when I forsake myself
Because if you look, he takes you
I've seen it firsthand...
What did it do?
They emerged from his back...
They snatched him up, and ripped out what was inside
My brother, dead at his feet
Such joy on his featureless face
Then he began to turn my way
And then began the race
I lost something along the way..
Something I thought would protect me
But this, however,
Is no longer the case
If it means saving myself, I'll run forever
In such haste, I foolishly slip over my shoelace
Now I crawl
The road before me stretches out so far
My body denies my commands
My hands shake
Second by second I approach my fate
My spirit breaks
As I hear his soundless footsteps cease
Hes right behind me
And I know it
He stands motionless behind me
This is it...
I turn around with my eyes wide open
And I see what I've known was there from the start
He lifts me up
love is coming home--i don't write about God.love is coming home--4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
i don't write about God because it's writing about love, it's writing about faith, it's writing about trust and hope and belief and pain, the kind of gut-wrenching betrayal you feel when you've given up and you're waiting for someone to save you, only nobody ever does.
and who else are you going to blame?
it's easy to write about a God you don't believe in. it's easy to pour out all your hate and anger and hurt and deepest, darkest broken fears and fling them from your fingertips and scream, this is not God! it's easy to believe in nothing.
it's not easy to believe.
believing is opening yourself to the pain. it's letting go and falling back with your eyes closed, your heart in your throat because you can't see whether there's anyone waiting to catch you. and what if you hit the ground? what if there are no hands waiting to embrace you? what if there's nobody waiting at the beginning, when you finally turn around ready to try again; what if there's
don't say nothey had said,don't say no2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
long before i met you
that the truth is known for its
punch in the gut;
it picks at the skin
on your forehead till it
peels off like the zest
of a pregnant orange,
bitter on your fingers
but so sweet
on your tongue.
is a typical symptom
of truth but
no one ever said
that you would exhaust
by the time it was
my turn to listen.
After a Poetry CompetitionAfter a poetry competitionAfter a Poetry Competition3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
During poetry's decline,
Sat many a wishful rhapsodist
Loyal to the heroic line.
The results were finally determined
And the winners called to stage,
Applauded the groaning ceiling fans
For the Miltons of this age.
Once in a while came a well known name
Followed by much cheer and glory
And amidst another's razzle dazzle
I heard a distant voice call me.
And so I rose in the sudden lull,
Unknown to all but my shadow,
And strode onward to the far off dais
As the dabbing of palms did grow.
And noticed I in that long walk
To collect what I had won,
They who clapped the loudest
Had been clapped for by none.
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,He doesn't write poetry anymore.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,
elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore –
except when he does.
Seven Sins 1: Lust (The Squire)What is this mindless mood I mourn?Seven Sins 1: Lust (The Squire)3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I brush her bloody hands as she ignores my cries,
And I will not hate but say heed these sighs.
Once I desired her darling delight,
As I perished by poison to forget about her pitiful plight.
Her face fixes it's gaze upon mine,
Bordered with raven hair knotted and bold,
Was she really young or was my heart too old?
How I would watch her from atop a white hill,
Waiting until sad skies hailed a stormy sign.
What is this elusive emotion I elope?
I touch her taut lips as she walks by me,
And I do not stop but ask when will she see?
Once I lusted her loving lamentation,
As I stared in silence for her scarlet seduction.
Her face fades it's smile away now,
Sullied with pale rain marred and still,
Was she really evil or was my mind too ill?
How I would wander to see her in a red town,
Tormenting until glad ghosts wailed a grisly glow.
What is this fearsome feeling I feel?
I catch her cold eyes as she passes me by,
And I cannot help but ask why did she die?
Breaking NewsBreaking News.Breaking News3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's somebody's mother.
Who was beaten and raped by another
Individual who couldn't control their seedy sexual desires.
Just because you can't smell the stench of burning skin.
Doesn't mean this world isn't intrinsically on fire.
That's somebody's daughter.
Who was kidnapped, molested and tortured.
By another who couldn't control their dishevelled cravings.
Super heros do not exist in this reality.
Does that mean this world is not worth saving?
That's somebody's father.
Who was shot by another individual who would rather
Resort to violence to settle a trivial dispute.
The things humans can do to each other.
No one can deny this world is not filled with ill repute.
That's somebody's son.
Who was a victim of a hit and run
Situation that should never had occurred.
His family are now seeking solace from a church.
But can anyone really say that in the end
We all get what we deserve?
what they didn't tell mei was three when i looked up into thewhat they didn't tell me2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
saw the stars.
those lights twinkled at me,
told me their names &
they showed me how to tie knots,
taught me how to dance, &
how to appreciate something when you thought you
draco said he never looked away,
but he must have because
i was pushed.
i fell and not even pegasus could catch me.
they never told me how to love,
but maybe they don’t know quite what it means
to be star-crossed.
WishmasterA whisper, in cold skies of old, dying starsWishmaster3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is heard, and their lingering death
With not one regret turns and scatters in waste,
As realms of shattered humanity haste
To live and to burn out their breath.
Yet soon there's a scream, a small cry of despair
That binds all the skies to avail,
And one daring soul stands behind to convey
His wish to unravel all living dismay,
To bury his past and prevail.
And thus it begins, as no man can escape
The sweet domination of want,
While stars burn and shine, for so he allows,
The master of wishes that hastily vows
To bring forth desires to grant.
But no man can endure the cruel truth behind,
The wasteland of the human fate,
As all exploration of such fragile minds
Leads only to nothing, and all that it finds
Are fragments of wishes and hate.
And so he remains, whose new story of life
Has neither a middle nor end.
For stars will grow cold and will wantonly die
When wishes are old, while humanity’s lie
Of life will no longer commend.