Music LessonsI fell onto the wind of your note
as the current whipped the sun
into shoots and pedicels,
and then fanned a leaf.
I could see the diluent
in the deep pupil of night that listened,
the swaying shadows of body
and foliage rippling
as I pirouetted around the moon
with a pair of double vision wings,
dipped into the bay
and back again
to slide upon the magnolia
of a leaning tree;
and then fell back onto the
staccato, and silence
as you sighed
and I prayed that I'm never left
on a roof
with the memory of you,
as your song plays like a ghost
in a wind that only half lifts
Mural In The GlassFall once fell in colors here,Mural In The Glass5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you could hear the rust whistle
merry go rounds
still swinging from the hurried departure.
But they are sounds of another time.
is lost in the grey
as rain falls
a heavy patter, a baby's bare feet tapping--
I see the mud tracks fade on the kitchen floor.
I hear the door close in its hinges.
was once uncreased;
among gnawed pencils--
an attention deficit.
Later, the folds of my lids sunk deeper,
dusted with charcoal;
a sophisticated gaze hung on a wrist
In Search of an Old RecipeDown a wintry lane, where streetlampsIn Search of an Old Recipe7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rise from dimly lit snow hills and the
town is lightly covered in frost,
I pass an old neighbors house and
a village café. The gurgling noises
of a brewing pot and the sugary smells
of rising dough
always met with long conversations
or quiet contemplations, an old friend
or a new friend and a hint of the past.
Something that started the day and
ended the day with company and
a dash of hope
that time can always be paused
and people can always gather.
And behind the rising steam of
tightly gripped mugs, you can always
find laughter, stirring its warmth around
tables as we reminisce.
And sugar is sprinkled over cookies
and pastries the way snow is over the world.
And no matter how far away,
I can always make it home
on nothing more than a memory.
Perhaps these are the ingredients to make peace,
down wintry lanes, where feuds are blanketed
and grudges melt away into cups of coffee.
ShadowsShadows8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Their lullaby is the guttered water
falling into sewer drains;
Their fragmented dreams are
of tumbling leaves and taillights,
disappearing into the nighttime hues.
They wake to the stampede of suits and briefcases,
Their blankets have blown away.
Drifting in the wind with yesterday's news.
The woman with the garish...The slugs chewed jagged crownsThe woman with the garish...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
out of brand new ecru tulips,
and the rain filled them up
until they drooped,
made lazy by the weather.
But Spring blew smoke
like the woman on the park bench
smoking a Pall Mall
and whispering into a black cell phone,
her bright red boots toe-deep in water.
Her umbrella, spine flicking drops
into the flower beds,
yet to bloom,
made the park look gothic
But when she left,
her breath steam
against the air,
boot heels clicking
against the stone
The flowers peered up,
Blinking against the rain.
distinctionThis is what I cannot understand.distinction3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
There is an understanding that nothing is ever black and white. Good can be achieved through bad means, what's wrong can sometimes be right, and if you turn right for long enough, you eventually go left. Boys can be girls who fall in love with girls who sometimes think they are boys and the lines between everything end up irreversibly blurred.
Or so I've always thought.
But this is a line that cannot be blurred. This is the only remaining clear-cut line that separates black from white as perfectly as a color wheel. And that is the fact that everything is until it isn't. We are until we aren't. We breathe until we don't. We live until we die. There is no gray area, no matter what the talk of doctors and comas and life support and brain death might say. Your heart beats until it doesn't.
This goes beyond just life and death. Emotions are until they aren't. As are moments, definitions, seasons. Two people falling in love, well, some of them inevitably cra
BorderlineI dreamed once that I saw your face inBorderline3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my mirror, rippling prolifically like
water on glass on my face,
and then I was drowning, and I
too fast into your watery eyes.
Without imagination, prosaically as you
could, you told me you
loved me and hoped we'd meet again
soon. I smiled, propri
snowbonesholding my hands over the kettlesnowbones3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.
they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.
the whistling stops, and
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.
sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
Forever NightShe didn't look back, she couldn't bear to. Back there, there was too much pain, and hurt and hate. No, instead she looked forward, but there was nothing there either, just an endless stretch of road, ribboning on forever into the distance. Infront of her was her future, behind her, her past; she was torn between two worlds. But she couldn't go back, not now she knew what she did. She took one step out onto the road, out of the safety of the light, into the darkness and cold. The light behind her flickered out and the night engulfed her. She felt a breeze blow her hair, as if taunting her, reminding her of what she'd done. A scream sounded and she panicked stumbling along the road before tripping and falling. As she lay there she cried and an owl screeched, mocking her and shattering the void of silence. It was only now, as she struggled to find her footing, did she realise that the scream she heard was hers. Again, reminding her that she was truly alone with darkness as her only frienForever Night9 years ago in Mystery & Suspense More Like This
Remnants Of A ChildRemnants Of A Child9 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Remnants Of A Child
It just seemed too soon
When her dolls were thrown away
While I was forced to face the world
Someone still wanted to play....
The remnants of a child, that had not yet grown
Her arrested youth, now carved in stone
She sees the world through the same wide eyes
That found wonderment in midnight skies
The only difference, the only thing lost
Is the will to fight back at any cost
That carefree spirit, that danced circles around fountains
That dreamed of growing up and moving mountains
She was in a foggy bliss
With all the dreams she had to live for
When she had no clue, that someday
There would be no more
She remembers the solution to all her problems
A bowl of ice cream, and the promise of tomorrow
When now, what was once a solution
Can only bring more sorrow
She remembers the magic of holidays
And making angels in the snow
The toasty nights of cookies and hot chocolate
By the christmas trees soft glow
She remembers, but it's just not the same
When seen through another
All the Little ThingsAll the Little Things8 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Happiness was going to take me through parks,
stroll with me along shores,
and picnic with me atop hills,
but it never counted on the rain.
Then happiness was going to be the rainbow darting across the sky,
captured in a prism, reflecting on the grayness of my day,
but as I approached it disappeared.
And I was reminded of all the things that happiness could have been, but
never planned, like the pelting rain; the moments that conspired and all the
trivial things that led to today; that like the rainbow, at an angle, should
just as easily have disappeared.
ScrutinyAnd when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,Scrutiny5 years ago in Open More Like This
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect
I am lost in my own depth, I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic princes love)
and they, floating through their channels deep
dare to drown me in my sleep and in their orisons remember
So shall I be a queen bone and ash,
of crawling worms and sullied, melting flesh.
Kissed by death, I shall burn upon a pyre
knowing only distance and desire and, rising from the fire,
I shall step with soft, unfettered feet
OrchardYour fingers are guillotines,Orchard3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
purely purposeful machines.
You pluck the apple,
and carve it clean,
find the core,
suck out the seeds.
Take a life
and taste the power,
and sugar sweet.
You thank God and the devil
with a crooked smile
that the day is young,
and so are they,
and just ripe enough
for you to eat.
summer poemyou used to say it wassummer poem3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the only time of year
that actually deserved to be called a
sweat on our faces shone like
sticky cellophane, and we
ran through sprinklers if
no one was looking.
with damp undershirts and
ice-clinking glasses and
asphalt smoking heat
and dust - you said
everyone's eyes were a little bit brighter,
like we were
borrowing something [life]
from the sun.
you walked around your little apartment, smiling
in thongs you changed twice a day, when you could -
about how funny
the AC chose right now to break,
and you'd look outside and smirk at
crossing the street just to walk in the shade.
and i'd spend all day just
waiting for a shower
i'd feel dirty again half an hour after taking.
then i'd lie there at night with the
windows wide open and
your hot body draped
and i'd wish i didn't
have to share that bed with you.
you'd snuggle closer and whisper
and i'd pretend i'd fallen asleep.
The Opus Of The Everythingthe ocean floor, the twisted sea andThe Opus Of The Everything3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all the flying jacket bees, and all
the flying birds and he, the one who
caught the glint of spring, who laid
it on the downy dew, the crispy green
of May fescue, who saw the plans of built
up lights that burn to light a thousand
pools of dripping rain and puddles lay
on any given night or day, the brick by
brick, the mortar spread, the snap of sugar
sweetly felt, the brine that made it
through the cloud, the opus of the
everything, the great and wide, the heat
of flame, the sun in cold but sunny sky,
the sound of when a child laughs,
the opus of the everything
Uncoordinated LongitudeWhen I picked up the phone she told me that she missed the trainsUncoordinated Longitude3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the way the rain smelled in the summer.
I scratched a pattern in the table with my thumbnail. I stretched
the phone cord between my fingers and said I was sorry.
She asked what I had to be sorry about and I told her I didn't know.
I twisted the cord into a clover shape while I remembered
her laugh when we picked up the penny off of the tracks, tossing it
back and forth, watching it catch the light and throw it back.
She asks me where I am and I know she does not ask where so much
On Ariadnethe loom of lust:On Ariadne3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
In the heart of your ears,
and till your outstretched feet
the spinner of mad red has corrupted,
her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet
'this is love, my shining bride-to be,' you whisper,
and disappear with her among billowing black sails.
the abandonment of Ariadne:
He wooed you in a labyrinth of spinners,
and wed you in black sails, beneath jealous skies.
'Sleep and tomorrow you shall be Queen of Athens,'
Ariadne, sleep, tomorrow the sun will shine,
and the sea will ebb sympathetic away from
these deserted sands.
the death, or descent:
Spin, my hanging nymph,
sleep and let the dryad-tree's shadow
ease your descent.
The spinning nymph for our mad lord,
the gentleness for the grapes of wrath
and the delight for the madness,
come. Drink, be it ambrosia or wine,
be it mother and son, or nymph and lord.
Spin, lady, and drink, lord,
and I will breat
Dogma: a sestinaDogma:Dogma: a sestina6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
So we began, as was the world, from air,
So too, in the beginning, was the word.
We met as strangers, as in some ancient idyll,
Caught among an unexpected course:
Lives lighted with those soft, celestial rays
Our eyes, our lips, our tongues a hymn of praise.
And what cannot be thought enough in praise,
Those words oft-said, but spoken with an air
With which the mountains crumble; angels raise
Their voices from the veil, or Holy Word
Echoes from its pages, lauds its course
Unstable though it be, but seldom idle.
Then falling from your grace, my love, my idol
To whom this lonely soul kneels down and prays,
My soul, my heart for which the vessels course:
Vanish; water droplets to the air
Glimmering to the sky without a word
Forever lost among Apollos rays.
Thus night becomes my temple, mine to raise
A sanctuary, my self-serving idyll
Kept hidden from the sun, and every word
Locked safe inside my vault, for who can praise
Or worship great enough to fill the air,
To take the sp
Three Things I Do Not Like toThree Things I Do Not Like to AdmitThree Things I Do Not Like to4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Lately, I wake up with the shape of your name
bent across my tongue. You live on coffee and
cigarettes, and I find this endearing. (I once
dated another man, years ago, who also lived on
coffee and cigarettes. I did not find him endearing.)
Perhaps it's because you are so recently a used-to-be that
I think of you this way: torso like a startled scarecrow,
your hair some bemused Batesian mimicry, mottled eyes,
clumps of copper. I wake up with the shape of your name
bent across my tongue, and I do not like to admit this.
I fancy leaving my notebook in your truck to see if you
will flip through the half-thoughts scrawled sharply as
though with a scythe. To see if you will look at me
differently - watery, a little apprehensive, venomous.
The thing is, this is not about you so much as the idea
of you, my idea of you, all detuned and discordant. I
am obsessed with your pin-up tattoos, your incessant
coffee drinking, your hands like vices
Chin UpAnd sometimes, coated and layeredChin Up3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with tens of scores of others' eyes
we forget the word 'lonely' -
so when it flings ashes
we blink, and are blinded.
Why the Willow WeepsToday I asked a willowWhy the Willow Weeps7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The reason why she wept.
She spoke to me so mournfully:
'I weep because he left.'
I listened while she told her tale,
Her branches bent in woe.
She'd been the oak tree's bride-to-be;
The lovers were betrothed.
Willow was so devoted,
She stood up straight and tall,
Had eyes for him and he for her,
'Til Birch Tree came to call.
She was so slim and clothed in white,
She caught the oak tree's eye.
He left his willow lass behind
With no decent 'goodbye.'
Her true love left but she is strong,
And so she did not die,
But rather bent her head in pain,
All out of tears to cry.
~Alex Cherrysnot~ All Rights Reserved
QsheQ3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with a hand
in the water.
like a limp
under the water
as it moves.
with her tongue
to one side
HurakanThe television hisses in and out of consciousness, warningHurakan6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the impending flood. We make ourselves safer still.
We hear him coming from many hundred kilometres
away in the distance, a deafening, thunderous boom
as the wind thrashes like serpents against
our thin windows and dark, glass mirrors.
He enters the room and turns
a full circle three times, showing
how well he is managing
with one leg still intact.
His voice roars as
loud as a tropical
storm whilst he
chants the words:
things i've yet to tell you.i. last night i woke up just in timethings i've yet to tell you.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to pronounce myself dead.
i figured, at the very least
i deserve to say it first.
i figure i've earned that much.
instant death- or
death in an instant-
they try to tell you
"she never felt a thing"
your heart beats until it doesn't.
it beats slowly or quickly
intensely or softly, but know that mine
has to work so hard to keep up
when you're around.
i love you for that.
lately i've had the same drea
She who destroys the lightfirst seedShe who destroys the light3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Darling, you and I both know
in a better world I could be your Lethe
wrap around you, drown you
that ever tried to bring your fate down on you.
Still if I picked up the pieces
I'd hear their soft hum
the one shells moan for the sea
for even then there would be places in you
still not free.
Surely women must have learned by now
never to trust fruit.
A garden is a prison earned
and there is nothing satanic, nothing sacred
Yet when your body curls in on itself
seduced by not-seeds that need only thirst to root
you find your lips wet
and what might be blood or juice
becomes the same as sweat.
Your skin is singing
I swear, hymns to the colors
the way the world's ringing hurts your ears
the salt of the Dead Sea come alive in your tears
the smell only in the sky as the rain clears
the poppy-eyed bud people who spend years
walking around, faces turned toward the light
thrusting pomegranate crown