Rare blue butterfly wings flickering, between
our little girl's elegant cornflower gloved hands, her
husky colored eyes greet the ocean's tide.
Cardinals singing their morning chorus, with
your Tsailes' soft melodies filling the woods, where
bubbling brooks groan in the foreground.
Butterscotch melting on my burning lips, your kiss
Honeycomb sweetness embracing my tongue, you entwine
Hot, soothing peach tea sliding down my throat, you slide.
Intimate fingers through buffalo hair, your chest
Reckless abandon grasped within your kisses, my breast
Breathless confessions as our hips join as one.
You're a constant volcano of rock and ash,
With my lava continually erupting inside you.
Your colors and mine fuse into precious jewels.
FirefliesGoldenrodFireflies3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
fireflies erratically sign their names
inside a jar that once held pickled beets.
On a Georgian night,
katydids screech chamber music
Mozart forgot to write
on his five staffed bars.
The music reminds me of the tart
taste of grapefruit seeping slowly into
my mouth, and I swallow it with delight.
But the world becomes a jar
into which I scribble my name,
as if writing it will somehow
make me free.
The Glass BeesWatching kids going down the long slideThe Glass Bees5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to happiness on the spines of literary classics,
fortified with university degrees
and an eye for semantics;
I think of a beehive populated with glass bees,
buzzing endlessly in pollen thoughts
of a priori logic and feminist criticisms.
This hive is transparent, a reflection of nature in glass;
Better for the machine, and more efficient too.
But transparency is a complaint
Saved for children who can't hide their class.
Instead with these kids; he's reading Salinger
And she's reading Woolf;
And they're pushing prams off the backs of broken bank-cheques.
The bees never tire of their toil
Because the streets grow bottles of Bacardi,
And like everything fantastic
Become a Saturday night habit-
Filling their glass frames with yellows,
Reds and Blues: dewy pollen drops or
The early signs of alcoholism.
So kids grew tired of trivial pursuit in twenty ten,
With the internet pandemic and hockey sex scandal,
And I instead thought of beehives thrivin
Without chainsi. Nightmares fall from my eyes like a thousand tiny stars, glittering like silver doves at four-in-the-morning, when everyone should be asleep and yet no one really is, and there's nothing I can do to stop their fallWithout chains5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
there's nothing I can do to stop your fall
ii. In the darkness, I can hear you breathe.
"Just close your eyes," you whisper, "and everything's going to be all right."
The nightmares keep falling, crashing on the sheets like the lies from your lips.
You loved lying more than you loved me.
Blind Bruised are myBlind4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
eyes that squint on with
WordsmithsHow long did you thinkWordsmiths3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we could pound our vocabulary with hammers
before it fell flat?
BlackberriesNo one asks where I am from.Blackberries4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I make up to seven coffee runs a day
for up to eleven different people.
I cannot afford the Prada pumps,
nor walk in them, for that matter.
But Dad's old brown loafers,
with the stitching coming undone
along the sides,
are good enough for me.
No one can speak my name.
If they did, they wouldn't be able
to pronounce it anyway.
I know four languages,
none of them American.
When spoken to, I answer in strained English,
the sharp sounds tripping over my tongue.
What they say must be true;
I am meant only to carry a clipboard,
to fetch papers
spitting viciously out of a machine,
to correct other people's mistakes
on Documents of Importance
being sent up to the Big Guy.
The Blackberries buzz,
a hive of bees
in three-pieces and pencil skirts.
No one knows that when Connor Carpenter told me
to hold his Blackberry while he went
to the copier room with Sydney Applebaum,
"in case my wife calls,"
I e-mailed the entire department
(plus his wife),
telling them just what
Open your eyesi.Open your eyes5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He promised me that he would teach me how to see.
"Open your eyes," he told me, "open your eyes and just... just look." I did as he said, exhaling and watching the cloud of my breath ghost through the glassy, frosted sunlight.
I saw the world as he must have in that one moment, that late-November afternoon, and I felt alive.
We could have stood there until the end of time, I had thought, could have stood there and nothing would have ever changed.
We were young then.
His eyeshis eyes were like matches against my skin. It burnt slowlyskin usually burns slowlybut it was a sweet burn, warm and gentle as the beating wings of a butterfly.
I would have done anything for him, and I knew he would have done the same for me. People often asked us if we were brothers or perhaps something more intimate, but we chose to smile and shake our heads.
We cut the bud before it had a chance to blossom.
Three WindowpanesI.Three Windowpanes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The city smokes in mirrors on an autumn day,
sewing sky patches. A dying leaf baking veins on
fire blocks and chimneys hashing wire over
the river. Old dyer staining all her clothes;
sunset braids and rust on roofs. The day
packs itself up, like powder.
Midnight knows itself deeply, an abstraction
by the streetlights sketching out people and a bridge
holding them, or a cloud? They are split by squares,
and words and the shadow on the river-skin a rippling
flag. Scaffolds knot necks between the stars and
they are bare, for only the moon to comfort.
Morning shadows the streets inverted, or perhaps
it was like that before. The sunrise is a butter-knife
smeared in marmalade: drained through roses, through
the river, and a hundred alleyways no-one sees
stitched in like eyes, breathy with the expectation
of the city weave pulling people-threads of laughter.
writer's blockstranded on an island scantilywriter's block3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dressed in moonlight, you stare
at roiling water resembling a
horizon of interweaving words
but when you lift your right hand,
spirals of silence shackle
the weightless sounds
Sticky FingersShamrock-painted nailsSticky Fingers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
scrape the bottom of the barrel,
mint chocolate chip ice cream
dripping from sticky fingers
like the final notes
of a tragic romance.
Lying heavy on her tongue:
the bitter aftertaste
of a lesson learned too late.
Rubbing salt across the open wound,
she bites down on her spoon
and wishes for relief,
but she's always had a jealous bone
and she knows him well enough by now
to know that when his sister calls,
he doesn't turn the bedroom lights off
and lock the door.
wrists that roarmama sayswrists that roar3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pull down your sleeves
they'll see, they'll see
but no-one's even looking
i say mama
tigers are proud and strong
and tigers show their stripes
so today i'm a tiger
and who says
i can't be a tiger
when razors made me fierce
and secrets kept me lonely
i can't tiger-roar
when everything unsaid
ripped my throat raw
i made my stripes
with tiger-claws and tiger-teeth
so damned if i'm not a tiger
and damned if i won't roar
mama, i'm a tiger
mama, hear me roar
My six-word memoirBorn in a snowstorm. Still cold.My six-word memoir5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Pinpoint Viewlook, they saidA Pinpoint View5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what do you see
you can only have a pinpoint view
I turned the lenses upside down, sometimes it is good to look at things askew :
I saw crumpled paper hanging by a girl's head, she lay on earth suspended, looking
down upon the pages she was tearing from a book ..
Those Other Pages
time sometimes hangs
here we are again, reliving old transcripts
of who said what;
and then there are those 'other conversations'
which run in our heads--
who was justified or stupid - sometimes flipping
to the alternate ending,
where just for a moment
we enact the truth of ourselves.
it seems, we can never quite bring ourselves
to throw the transcripts aw
not a love poem.I'm not going to write about pluckingnot a love poem.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
petals off of lifelines
or your cinnamon irises that
i g n i t e behind fluttered lids
I'm not going to write about paper-clip cardiac muscles
bursting through my thorax
or your smiles lines
(which I memorized from left to right)
I'm not going to write about inconsequential movie scenes
stored in the front corner of my brain that
won't stop playing on repeat
I'm going to write about the charcoal contours
painted beneath your eyes
every grapefruit dawn as clouds illuminate
belt-buckles and (tear)stained pillows
I'm going to write about worrylines and
our bitter birdsongs that
bounce off each other
like hymns ending on an imperfect cadence
I'm going to write about a ghost of faerie dust and
jittered beats as you
p r o m i s e me needs that surpass cigarette butts
and shiny new hair
(Everything's fine as long as I have pretty hair)
I'm not going to write about littered endearments
graphing a parabola.a mathematical breakthrough: you + me = igraphing a parabola.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for imaginary; let's get real because
the curve of your quadratic smile, a [subset] of my happiness,
touches the y-axis at the vertex of my heart.
factor the radicals and
solve your own problems:
algebra isn't too hard.
when you balance the equation, multiply by
negative one (leaving a positive me)
eventually my irrational love is squared
and i am the outlier.
i don't need a protractor to know
that i am less than what you want me to be.
words in your heart there were words in your heartwords in your heart4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that i didn't understand
not because they
were in a different language
you refused to show
all of them to me.
Allow Me to Be Your ViolinAllow me to be your violin,Allow Me to Be Your Violin5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your muse and your meaning.
Take my lyrical harmonies
Appreciate the quality.
Like strings I can respond to a single touch
Playing out the notes you desire to hear.
I'll scream and whisper in crescendos,
And for your great amusement,
I sing high, low, every note in between.
You've got the staccato, col legno,
Every technique in the book
Mastered with some magic hands.
You're a maestro, the conductor,
First-chair concertmaster extraordinaire.
All those skills amount to nothing
can't play a single note on me.
Allow me to inform you,
I'm burning all your notes now.
Half notes, whole notes,
Quarter eighth sixteenth notes.
Playing out of tune, slip of a finger,
Learn to read some music
Before you dare to play with me.
Threesomei.Threesome5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In the start, our budding love unfurled
Like poppies strewn across the morning sky,
And we within their depths lay drugged and curled.
In its prime, our love thrilled like a touch
Of lips on limbs, until a shadow crept
Into our bed and made a third too much.
In the end, our love sloughed off in sheaves,
Like light impaled upon the evening sky
Shedding sanguine streaks across the leaves.
HyperboreanThe world we live in is a distorted projection,Hyperborean3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And this moment, naught but a polaroid dream:
Fires dancing at the edges and ink collapsing upon itself.
These streets have melted into bad acid lust visions,
Abandoned shopping cart homes, deep inner-city arm infections,
And other various tripping hazards.
Resolved, we residentially meander along,
Keep our heads firmly fixed to glass floors shattering florescent and
The crunching of our boots gracing the bent forms of those beneath,
Finger-painting cragged gravel surfaces opaque with their pupils
And filling the potholes with Sisyphean shortcomings.
Hammer-handed, delusional, needle-m
mother, can you mendi.mother, can you mend5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for those freckles to glide down
the bridge of her nose and
into a generation of fresh sunspots,
but the daughters got the sun's affection
through their hair, one wheaten braid
over another, sometimes
under the needle's eye of the wind
and sometimes split ends
were all there was to mend.
and mother tried to reteach
her Indian braids unity
on young heads,
she tried to get her worn moccasins
to move too-small feet into dance,
but they ran through rivers
rather than around them
and too often had they sinned
before the hands
trampled azaleas under bare soles
and petals between toes
but sometimes the land
was all there was to mend
and truthfully, Mother was
afraid of crossing bridges,
in her hand-me-down car
or on her own two feet.
she told them,
don't you ever lead traffic over
quiet water. You'll startle our world
into a change.
last time she had,
the current came in alto
with a dirge of capsized trout
and for once the surrounding willows
dove in after something
I Desire An Everlasting DreamI dream and I dwell on it. A venomous biteI Desire An Everlasting Dream5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of impossibilities seeps into my addled mind
Until the killjoy consciousness materializes to
Abduct my blissful psyche away into the land of
The suffocating constrictions of society and their
Immoral morals that I simply will never comprehend.
But in a dream, everything is precisely as it is
Meant to be; Adventures that are only read in
Storybooks of grandeur heroics, only this time
They never reach the dénouement. The blame
Falls with the disgustingly ordinary white
Sky that taunts my tired eyes and haunts
My waking memories. It smiles down on me
As if it is laughing at the perfection that I
Will never achieve. It is wrong; there is
One millisecond that is not quite a dream
But neither is it among my waking hours,
A door between the contrasting worlds of
Reality and hidden desires, when my eyes
Are first tempted to open. Nothing matters
Then. I wish to stay in that moment forever.
I'll Never Dance AgainAlone I stand upon these wallsI'll Never Dance Again5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Beneath the burning sky
Your silken dress has turned to ash
I finally let it die
It burned so bright just for a moment
Just like your wandering heart
You brought out something I left dormant
Something you broke apart
From castle walls I watch it soar
The winds have made their claim
I should have known what lay in store
Deep down I share the blame
Throughout the halls we'd slowly dance
These memories bring me pain
Your smile gave birth to my hearts trance
I'll never dance again
Beneath the stars a ghost cries out
The voice of our dead love
Within my head there is no doubt
You were no gentle dove
Its best that you stay far away
So maybe I can heal
At least this way you can't betray
These phantom wounds won't feel
the becoming. (acrostic)incandescence will fall upon your sweet serenade fingers atthe becoming. (acrostic)3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
breaking tides of rigid seas a thousand oceans away from
eternally falling waters; a water-fall free of falling hearts.
leave your memories in the high skies to freeze and fade
into gossamer wanderers of the night sky. so let it all go. we'll be
evanescent - we'll burn & die & blow away, but the falling dust of you&i will begin a
vagabond dance so you can breathe faith into me, and bring me back down to
earth once more.