The Fall of EpithilinonIThe Fall of Epithilinon2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Let no man speak of wars whence
No answer graced our call,
Let man remember gods thence
Gods, watchful of our fall;
Speak in silenced sighs, men,
Dead men hither sleep,
No flag here flails, amen, amen!
Who can ever beweep
Our brethren in the deep.
Frightened colours breached the sky,
The church bells played a dirge;
The bustling hills and vales so nigh
In crimson rage did merge,
Archers with crescents held high
Keen arrows fell like sin,
The portcullis in sorrow, shy
Interred our fathers in
The last grave of our kin.
Wailed the night in thunder blare;
The mangonels did come,
Lonely trumpets singed the air
When Earth ravished our home;
The eastern tower, wasting wear
For a trebuchet did bow,
Fallen stone and ballista bare
Broke its stony vow,
As the beadle mopped his brow.
Mildly armoured, men at arms
Stormed the brazen fray,
Howled the castle’s cold alarms:
Ladder men up the brae!
Blazed in ire the fields and farms:
The winter’s yield was spent;
Rainbowi.Rainbow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have a bouquet of light
of shattered sunrays
that shun those
whose rose is not as rubicund
or whose cerulean is only slightly sea-green-stained.
Slice up the white
and imprison it in sardine cans
and push the plungers home.
But no matter how much you may try
the result is death;
for you've frayed the perfect threads
And only dried minerals and plasma
some darker version of the cosmic latte concentrated.
My heart is a prism.
All that's around me
some hibernating humming
frozen beneath the winter's coat.
I must be a time machine,
because I cannot abide this monochrome much longer.
And I've sprung forward to spring.
I'm seizing the icicles
that drip from the pallid clouds
and stripping them
and cutting them
and setting them
and in my heart they are transcribed
and flowers bloom
in the rumination of the sunlight.
a host to the aquatic fermentation
and I sip this bouquet
an imitation of the future,
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,Life is but a Dream2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
the flower clubdear preacher,the flower club1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i've got something to admit
i was in the field
i was watching the flowers get dressed
well they're just so pretty naked
petals tucked into their sides
and watching them unfold
i was watching them pull down the sunrise
and put it on themselves
so i'm a sinner for it
cause i watched them bathe, too
stand around together in the shower
a hundred ladies in their beautiful skins
pink small ones
big blue proud ones
letting the droplets collect and residue
on their finery and shamelessly bare leaves
well that's my confession preacher
i watch the flowers strip and tease
love poem from a pillar of saltthe words 'i love you'love poem from a pillar of salt2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
have always tasted like forbidden fruit
an apple offered by a helpful serpent-
sweet and fleeting but
the words 'i loved you'
just taste of
i always thought that leaving you would be like leaving gomorrah
that i couldn't help looking back
and when i did i'd feel an ocean dry itself beneath my skin
but this is so much quieter
and so much worse.
my knuckles taste of blood,
there is no new testament here
just old testament fire
just lot's wife standing on a forgotten hill
rocksalt freezing her outstretched hands
watching her hometown burn below her.
there is no forgiveness here
just mutual loneliness
just a lost religion and a broken girl
far too tired to play pretend
watching you fall apart behind me.
This is my phone....This is my phone....1 year ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
This is my phone,
there's many like it, but this one is mine,
my phone is my best friend, it is my life,
I must master it as I master my life.
Without me it is useless, without my phone I am useless
I will dial my phone true
I must text faster than my brethren
who is trying to contact me, I must text them before they text me....I will.
My phone and myself know what counts in society is not the data we receive
Not the tweets we get,
The reblogs on tumblr, nor the likes on facebook.
Knowing the message is sent that counts.
We will send
My phone is human, even as I, because it is my life
Thus I learn it as a brother, learn its glitches, the specs,
its cameras, the download and upload speeds.
I will ever guard it against weather and damage
I will keep my screen clean and fingerprint free
As I am clean and fingerprint free
We will become part of each other. We will...
Before my family I make this promise
My phone and myself are free to do as w
EnceladusIs this what it means to be overthrown—Enceladus2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
reduced to a mere satellite, a scale
of someone else's might? My scales, my own
heart, are no longer my own, so I ail
beneath the gravity of an immense
mass, like a giant shackled by a god.
I want upheaval, an earthquake, intense
destruction, and I want the world to laud
me as its maker. I want to rage, strike
out, trumpet a whole planet to arms, but
each complete revolution leaves me like
the one before, in just the same place. What
can I do but bide my time, surrender
(for now) to this great system's defender?
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other The art of growing up,Liquor is one way out an'death's the other2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is to pour shots of whiskey
into your coffee in the morning
to make it through
when all you want to do
is lie in bed
but there’s nothing
Before DaybreakCouldn't sleep – 4 AM may beBefore Daybreak1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Too early for coffee, but
The corner diner's open
At all hours, so I head
That way. Dickens, Green Mansions,
Shakespeare, bleak Russians – shadows
Can watch them for a while…
The night air's warm—a slow block
Of rain-sloshed concrete later
And I've made it. – Get dark roast
Pick a table not too close
To the counter, then sit back.
Watch life eddy around you...
Whoever sat here last must
Have dropped the tract—Jesus Saves.
We're story-weaving creatures.
This tale? It's nine-tenths thunder—
Granite certainty. Can't see
Much past my face. But who knows?
That might just change as sweet beans
Work their magic. Consciousness
Slowly stirs—I look around
At early birds who've lit here…
Thin man (business suit, blue tie),
Seems harried. Near one entrance
A trash-bag clad moustached guy
Growls at home-fries and the wet.
This is the dream we're living—
Lost in hurry, souls flutter
BULLIESYou called me namesBULLIES3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And picked on my flaws
You judged me
And pushed me to breaking point
What gave you the right to do that?
What gave you the right to hurt me?
You threw off the blame
And hurt me even more
You judged me
And threw my mind out of joint
Who told you that you could do that?
Who told you that you could hurt me?
The worst thing of all
That you ever did to me
You made me judge myself
You had me second guessing everything I did
What gave you the right to do that?
What gave you the right to hurt me?
It was way back in school
But now you'll never see
How I still judge myself
Because of everything you said
Who told you that you could do that?
Who told you that you could hurt me?
You look back on your past
With a bittersweet smile
As no one ever hurt you
No one ever made you feel worthless
What gives you the right to have that?
What gives you the right to be so unscathed?
But one thing that will last
Is the hate in my bile
As I'll always hate you
And you created this
And this hat
Sick.life slouches against the doorSick.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[i think i can hear it crying]
sickly grins lick my lips;
rub the undersides
of scream-sore throats
stained with the sweetest sort of bruise
screams all my own
swallowed in cotton lungs
pressure in my skull
fire in my veins
holding the skin i had
clinging tighter to fragility
and i just can't find
the strength to cry
the night stretches on for months
i shake like a leaf
Ten Little DeviantsTen Little DeviantsTen Little Deviants1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Ten little deviants, all online,
One went invisible, and then there were nine.
Nine little deviants, staying up very late,
One missed a deadline, and then there were eight.
Eight little deviants, cosplaying as Britain,
One found a new fandom, and then there were seven.
Seven little deviants, writing about the River Styx,
One got published, and then there were six.
Six little deviants, having trouble with their hard-drive,
One crashed, and then there were five.
Five little deviants, looking for more,
One got himself banned, and then there were four.
Four little deviants, asking for points you see,
One got a Premium Membership, and then there were three.
Three little deviants, all in a chatroom,
One found a new RP, and then there were two.
Two little deviants, went outside to see the sun,
One got bored, and then there was one.
One little deviant, staring at his screen alone,
Closed their laptop, and then there were none.
reasons to love a shy girli. men fear strong women,reasons to love a shy girl2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but she's far from strong.
this wisp of a girl
doesn't even need a hurricane
to fall apart.
she'd glued and re-glued,
old bonds wearing thin,
but if you ask politely,
she'll let you touch her scars.
ii. her lips are fettered in rusted chains.
you'd need a crowbar to pry up
her whispered secrets.
you are not worthy to hear her voice
just as she is not worthy to give it to you.
she told me everything she knows,
and i shut it away,
kept it safe.
i tied the threads into double knots
just to make sure
they wouldn't curl away from me,
twisted up like a dead spider's legs.
iii. she is hewn from shadow,
woven from grains of sand.
you might think she'd flow,
breeze by on a sparrow's breath,
but she's never been good at
anything but sinking.
she is buried treasure, and all
the things you wish you could forget.
iv. you found her washed up on the shore,
drawing pictures of her flickering soul,
and knew she was too unsteady to love.
when you reached for her heart,
ShyIn my world there's fun and adventureShy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In your world I'm quiet
In my world when I talk, I don't hinder
In your world I hide it
I've got so much to say
I think of talking, but wont
You won't hear me anyway
I try, but then I don't
In your world you call it Shy
I want to come out
truly I try
but I hold back, no doubt
I just want to be friends
and make people grin
Jack Frost PoemHours of anticipation and build-up like a volcano about to burst only this is the polar opposite. Polar.Jack Frost Poem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There is nothing you can do to stop it as there is nothing he can do to change things. No past only present, too much future.
Lack of companions, it's all make-believe and the very people he gives his life to shrug him off and walk right through him.
300 years in the making, a perfect storm from the perfect boy. On every window in every inch of the sky. Shivering, again, you cannot stop it.
Or grasp it.
It'll embrace you. Your fingers. Your face. Kiss you and turn your lips sweet dark blue.
Eyes like ice and hair as white as snow.
Wrapped around every finger and eyelash, all around you.
300 years of loneliness. Isolation and lifetimes of being solitary.
He's never held a girls hand or had a kiss.
Never gotten to grow up. Trapped. Fun.
Freedom of time and immortality. Is there a price?
Memories. Broken, shattered like the glassy ice that swallowed him. Swelling a
MercyOh sweet God how the grasslandMercy4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
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.
fishermanI am a fisherman-fisherman2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all roaring waves
and rush of sea salt
beating seagull wings
and a tongue carved from
My hands break levees
and my breath births dams
the taste of chilly morns
still melt on the roof of my
mouth like I never wished
for anything besides the smack
of sodden rubber boots and
the scars from entangled
hunks of ivory nets
the sea has not
forgotten my voice-
I can hear them
when the wooden floorboards
crackle like hurricane bruises
from water laden saunters
through land sunk libraries
it has been a forever
since I held a dream
caught between my fingertips
and the gentle rock of a
boat and foamy froth on
but this new trip I have embarked upon
carries more clanking hooks
than screeching sinkers
yet- my line has not changed-
I am a fisherman and the sea
forget who its children are.
Blackbox of a Euclidean (air)PlaneLove like a luxury coupe with a glass frame, false controlsBlackbox of a Euclidean (air)Plane1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and doors welded tighter than a deafly-tuned E string,
it's wild to think a summer's worth of fuel thrusted
us far enough to get
does our smoke blur the lens
after we burn out?
Twisted and leaking emotion, we
leave a messy afterimage streaming behind us; crossing
and recrossing like power-lines in a rainstorm.
It could've been the drugs but
I’ve seen a bridge
survive, pristine in agony, long after the sea swallowed its once-
touching islands in a molten gulp.
The vaulted ribcage of an ancient giant, the bridge bled shadows on both ruins
when the sun splintered through the dusk just
Sabotage & speculation. But,
did we talk? Or did my voice simply
reflect itself across the axis of a reaching mind; a projection of
They say the one who praysThey say the one who prays receives much moreThey say the one who prays1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
Sonnet XXIIBut give me leave to love in silence thatSonnet XXII2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
which I cannot possess— and give me such
inspired defiance of the urges at
my breast— and give me strength to never touch
my lips to hers, my soul to her soul— give
me heart and hale to weather every storm
that may unfold: But tell me how to live
without my hand in hers, its honest form—
and tell me how to wake each morn if not
to wake within her arms— and tell me how
I am to carry on, and how I ought
to act and speak and be, around her, now,
and ever: tell me, and I'll on my way
as still and quiet as the passing day.
HowlI beat the street out of my lungs. BurnedHowl1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Those pages of salvation until the ink boiled red.
When they finally caught me I cursed every soul still on
Their knees and damned the midnight lamps that
bled through two-faced windows. When they told me
“Son, you have nothing to howl about.”, My voice
Became a whisper. In the prison they put us in
There are no bars, guards, or machine gun towers.
People come and go like moths to hellfire.
Like mass extinction and funeral pyres.
Not once did I think about escaping. Until,
The girl in the cell next to mine started screaming. Until
She clawed so deep her arms started breathing. Until
She swallowed that bullet and called it leaving. Until
I finally learned what it really meant to stop bleeding.
I started seeing through the blank pages and white walls.
Underneath it all, different prophets sing the same song.
The greatest minds of my generation weren’t driven to madness.
They were born to it. Their first breaths
handmade lovewrite me a letter,handmade love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
not emails or tweets.
blue pen scribblings
on sheets of paper crisp.
in five hundred words,
two pages and a half -
tell me you thought of me
on cigarette breaks.
go on foot to a post office,
paste the stamp yourself.
i shall be clouds away
expecting the mail truck.
february 28, 2012