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
slowly, and then all at onceand for once, he slips on his wedding ring, to cure the monotony. it slides over his knuckle, a perfect fit, and in the morning release of sunlight the silver gleams at him. it glares, calling him a liar: she is not a whorehouse and you are too broke to own her, you harlot, you. he buttons up, tucks in his shirt tail, and buckles his belt. the clinking of metal parts is the only sound in the room besides the dusting of her breathing beside him. and when he's gone, the only thing he leaves behind are the bruises on her collarbone.slowly, and then all at once2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you find him because you're lonely, (well, it's actually the opposite.) he finds you because his wardrobe is black and his shoes are scuffed and he asks you where your castle is. you're the only princess he sees 'round here. the rain soaks into his shirt and he curses it, grinning. and damn girl, you follow him, because you think you see some kinda warmth in his ice blue eyes.
it takes you days t
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
Hollow Memory of a Distant ShoreYou are like a long passed season.Hollow Memory of a Distant Shore3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As delicate as the footprints of sparrows in freshly fallen snow.
Intricate, yet so easily disturbed when care is not taken.
Somehow, you have managed to persist after all these years.
Residing in the same quiet place you carved into the woods so long ago..
Only a short ride from the sea.
When you cross my mind, you carry with you the scent of that shoreline.
Harsh and thick, yet somehow placating.
Though the weather was perpetually gray, misty, and cold.
Much like your heart had become..
Just before we painfully, and slowly, parted ways.
I recall with deep longing your fascination with foxes.
With the way they would trot up and down the beach in the early morning,
Their coats most often wet and muddy from crossing into the tide.
I could see the subtle enthrallment in your eyes as they dug for clams.
They would thrust their forepaws deep into the muck, throw it backward..
And at times, to my assuagement, you would smile.
Now, it feels more dist
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 rule2 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.
Four-and-Twenty CultistsSing along everyone - this one's rather jolly! (the rhyming scheme at least).Four-and-Twenty Cultists3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I saw angels dance with devils
under winter's crystal sky.
Old men passed between them,
crying "Dead men never die!"
Then the oceans fell before us,
as the dead began to sing.
Heavens parted wider;
winds prickled at our skin.
Now Satan awakes slowly,
like shadows on the sands.
Together we beg forgiveness,
as he lacerates our hands.
The landscape lies broken,
as stones roll through the hills.
Stars are growing brighter,
fed by blood of untold kills.
Death bends his toxic breath,
exuding nameless streams.
and crimson coloured dreams.
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 Name2 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
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.
MuselingRed wine ramblesMuseling2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
curdle the air, but still
you dream; half-moon
body curled in the
lamp light. I am leaving,
I am leaving, choking on
some holy word—
the floorboards creak,
a sonata for my
whilst you, hair tangled upon
the pillow, are spun gold.
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.
the gardenerthe wildflower truths have spread to your garden,the gardener2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you cut them down like weeds,
your tired hands chopping off the head
of the hydra.
it always reappears,
stronger and more lethal.
the pain it brings is just as resilient
but you cover it up with plastic sheeting
until every emotion feels compulsory,
the smell of new cars,
lab coat white,
too clean to
but you have dirt under your fingernails,
after pulling out
roots from the ground.
you weighed them in your hands to examine their worth,
but came up with nothing,
not an ounce of the answers you hoped to find.
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
All She Has©LonewolfpuppyAll She Has3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The pictures on the wall
tell of what she loves.
Te over-flowing bookshelf
stores her reality escapes.
The hidden sheets of paper
hold the things she'll never tell.
The camera on the table
show someone she wishes to be.
The broken headphones on the floor
say music's never quite enough.
The light-switch - always off,
says she prefers the dark.
The long, shapeless shadows
say she's scared of what's in them.
The door - forever shut,
says she loves and hates the loneliness.
The reflections in the mirrow
show her what she hates.
The clothes hanging up
remind her of who she's not.
The bunch of orange flowers
is fake, kist like her smile.
The sticky notes everywhere
advertise all that isn't done.
The school bag - all shredded
says she carries too much at once.
The red pen scrawling furiously
writes the words of her heart.
The pencil on the sketchbook
says the shapes wont flow like words.
The beaded bracelets in the corner
say she['s very creative indeed.
The pad of paper -
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.