It Was Always You It was a beautiful clearing. I bent and picked a brilliant red flower from the long still grasses and set it in my hair. It was peaceful. But kind of lonely, just another reminder of all the differences from back home. Across the country and all. My mom said Id meet new friends, but so far, she was wrong. I sighed and sat with my back against a large oak tree.It Was Always You5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Id just begun to read my book when I hard the sound of muffled laughter from the branches above me. I looked up in alarm to see a face peering down at me from the leafy canopy.
The boy in the tree had his palm over his mouth and looked as surprised as I felt. He slowly moved his hand and bit his lip. It was obvious that he hadnt meant to make a sound. He looked at me solemnly and hesitated before saying, You have a flower in your head. Thats why I laughed.
Beautiful NightmareFeel the night.Beautiful Nightmare5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
See Venus hanging outside my window.
See the clear stars melting,
dripping off the roof
in time with my pulse.
And try not to see the shadows
silently stealing across my bed.
Try not to let the darkness fall.
I close my eyes,
and try to be brave.
Dont worry about me,
Weihnachten - GermanWeihnachten - German7 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Meine Glieder sind so schwer, ich mag mich kaum noch rühren. Die Fenster beschlagen, alles um mich herum scheint zu verschwimmen. Interessiert mich auch nicht.
Ist es nicht kalt hier? Ich fröstele leicht, meine Finger beginnen zu zittern. Stoßen wohl gegen das Glas, das einsam vor mir steht; etwas läuft über meine Hände. Ich nehme es kaum wahr.
Zeit zerrinnt zwischen meinen Fingern. Zeit, die es selten gut mit mir gemeint hat.
Zeit zu gehen.
Vorsichtig versuche ich aufzustehen, doch leichter Schwindel erfasst mich und ich ergreife meines Nachbarn Hand, der mit ferner, dumpfklingender Stimme auf mich einredet. Ich verstehe nichts von dem, was er mir sagen will, will nichts mehr hören.
Meine Augen klappen nur noch zu, will nichts mehr sehen. Habe genug von der abendlichen Gesellschaft. Sehne mich... Nach meinem Bett. So weich und verlockend... so weit entfernt.
Heute ist das, was man Weihnachten nennt. Für mich ist es nur ein weiterer Tag im Jahr,
The Butterfly JarIn her hand was a little jarThe Butterfly Jar3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With a butterfly shaped motif
Small enough to fit in her palm
Large enough to hold her beliefs
And all of the hopes and the dreams
And the harrowing memories
She promised one day to reveal
The contents of the jar to me
Protected by the butterfly
Her secrets remained safe and sound
Each echoing in their own space
As there was no one else around
The winged beauty remained loyal
As the days like clouds floated by
It too was once a caterpillar
That never dreamt it could fly
Now like a butterfly she'll escape
From her chrysalis-like mind
She will shed all of her sorrows
Underneath the silken sunshine
And with a God given impulse
Wings will flutter for the first time
They will catch the wind of wonder
Into the sky she'll begin to climb
KrankIch leide an der schrecklichsten Krankheit, die diese Welt je gesehen hat.Krank5 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
Nur bin ich die einzige, die diesen Satz so unterschreiben würde. Doch beim Unterschreiben bin ich vorsichtig geworden.
Die Ärzte sprechen von einem Phänomen.
Der Papst von einem Wunder.
Forscher nennen mich einen Segen für die Menschheit.
Und ich? Ich hätte gerne Angst.
Mein Magen sagt mir, ich hätte Angst, doch das kann ja nicht sein. Männer in weißen Kitteln umringen mich. Es ist immer jemand da, nie bin ich allein.
Ein hübscher junger Wissenschaftler lächelt mich scheu an. Hab keine Angst", sagt er. Wir tun dir nicht weh". Ein älterer Kollege klopft ihm auf die Schulter. Sie hat keine Angst, Felix. Das weißt du doch."
Er ist gut gelaunt. Seine Gehaltserhöhung muss heute morgen genehmigt worden sein. Woher ich das weiß? Nun, ich sagte doch: Ich bin krank.
Ich leide unter dem Sim-Syndrom. Zumindest ist das meine Bezeichnung
Here I layHere I layHere I lay6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Faintly I hear you weep
So Dig my grave deep
where your tears cant be felt
Dig my grave deep
So im closer to hell
You Are Now GonePerhaps you were my oxygenYou Are Now Gone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As without you I cannot breathe
Stars reminded me of your eyes
My love, why did you have to leave?
So out of the blue you left me
In to black my fragile heart broke
A thousand lost words were exchanged
Yet not one single word was spoke
I'm focusing on my time piece
I've given you peace for some time
Though love is clearly black and white
Friendship is harder to define
It's the shades of grey that haunt me
Those seeds of love we didn't sow
The memories we never made
Our bloom that has refused to grow
The pressure I feel without you
This volcano shall soon erupt
But I will implode silently
This was no ordinary love
You were my best friend; a tonic
An antidote to all that was wrong
You said you would never leave me
Your silence says you are now gone
The Old Oaken TreeI have sat in your shade and have been dreaming.The Old Oaken Tree2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Often I have forgotten the time.
Into your bark I have sobbed.
Underneath your roof of leaves I have sought shelter.
My grief, my joy I have told you.
A feeling of safety I have found here.
You are still there - changed - like me ...
After so many years.
You have stood your ground.
I have found a home, a place to strike root.
We share our life at the little creek.
Hardly I can grasp it or word my joy.
The power, peace and silence that surround you
I have already loved as a child.
And when I climbed up your branches and hurt you -
Please forgive me, the ignorant child.
That what I loved to have, you have given to me -
Power, dignity, hope - zest for life.
BloodlustBloodlust2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They desire a longing
A longing for that tender sweet bond
The bond of the scarlet river
That flows from within
It is what keeps their hearts
Beating in their caged chests
For without the blood
They could not live
They are bonded by the rogue
Aspiring throughout their souls
For it is what makes them become
Identical as oath brothers
Crimson marks tear up the past
With a small river flowing down
Downward from the crystal eye
The eye of all things known
Emotions are only expressed
Through the pounding of this blood
That never ceases to be
Their passionate desire
Bursts from within
To crave and taste the blood
The bond from within
THE ART WARRIORSTHE ART WARRIORS4 years ago in Editorial More Like This
THE ART WARRIORS
- About the beginning of a new revolution -
* An escalation by Beau Cyphre *
Keep your art free! Don't diss yourself with watermarks, don't shrink your vision - and don't fear the illusion of art theft.
Just wrote it down in my Twitter as another stroke, and this sword's sharp enough to make you think. All art is about sharing, and what I get is what I give: Everything's in the flow, and it's time to give up the illusion of personal importance. I'm not saying you're dispensable. I think you're better as a living and responding part of all the energy floating inside and outside of ourselves. We're all dead now, and to live we need to transcend the barriers we put up all the time. There's freedom outside the borders, and the sight to a far away horizon leads just to another and another illusional horizon.
Real life is endless, and we're all made to travel really far. We've come a long way, and sometimes we feel so bad that we want to give up, but the
wanderlustshe was a s e v e n t e e n year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.wanderlust4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then on her eyes were always her favorite feature].
she always had nightmares, never good dreams, but maybe that's because she could never stop d r e a m i n g with her eyes open. all she ever wanted was dirt roads and stars and mud under her fingernails.
[maybe one day, when she's older, she'll take a crinkly old map and
Bon gre, mal gre IIIUne perceptionBon gre, mal gre III2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Tous les mythes sont réels,
Et trompent l'oeil
End RemembranceEnd Remembrance2 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
PerspectivePerspective2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The looking glass extends throughout
All splatters of pure clear
A reality that hasn't begun
All innocently of mind
The stares of the unknown
Are stepping stones across
The bridge of perspective
The perspective from within
Redden streaks merge with white
Staining all lies inside
Bringing them all out into the surface
Over the edge of the terrence
Crossing over that gap
With the sharpened demons below
Waiting to devour
Waiting only to steal
The planks upon which they walk
Creak and fall with every step
With steps further they take along
A new perspective of reality
a different explorationwe talk abouta different exploration2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
astrology and ex lovers. the raspberries
dying in the heat, the way the water
bit our skin, the homeless man set out
to buy California, the center of our universe,
you. that feeling labelled “blah,”
and the notion I am not my own.
we leak questions
like overrun rivers, excess spillage,
draining curiosities about that tragic skeleton
balled up beneath your clothes.
and for you,
I’d travel the length between heartbeats,
shallow and vain like your promises,
your liquid eyes.
above all, we were lucky.
miracle children. one in ten,
one in a million, a pair of stragglers
in seven billion exempt from
clarity and unclaimed skin.
I know this guy who had
sorry lips and scars down his spine
without a story. we didn’t have
a thing to say so we talked about
how the stars were our newest horizon,
the undefined, and how we’d escape to them
On Wanting Everything to Be RightYou got too comfortable,On Wanting Everything to Be Right1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
forgot he could make mistakes,
and set your consciousness aside
so he could mend the thoughts
which have remained disordered
in your fumbling sobriety,
despite the years of learning to cope
with the pace of regularity:
scraping the mailbox with his key,
dining out every Sunday,
setting the thermostat to sixty degrees,
and changing despite every effort
to remain apathetic about his plans,
how your name became a constant
in his living equations,
the variable which defined the function.
On the morning you leave,
only your luggage and body will move
through the summer shadows
of oak leaves shaking in a breeze,
and only your barest senses
will know the satisfaction of hearing
his footsteps behind yours,
cicadas composing another song,
a car door slamming shut,
the engine firing up,
though your muscle memory isn't enough
to bring you peace or independence,
money or place or dignity.
When you turn onto Justamere Road,
you'll picture the nightstand
on your side of the
DenialDenial:Denial3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He stands before the mountains
and sighs, knowing that they reach toward the heavens
He begins his climb
his hands soon bloodied, his fingers digging into the hardened stone
He continues to drag himself
against the crags that scrape against his peeling skin
Unwilling to end his climb prematurely
though the rocks continue to slice into his flesh
Blood is drawn with a single desperate gasp
as pain rings out throughout his frame
His feet tremble and his hands grow numb
but still he continues to climb ever higher...
The winds threaten to throw him from the face of the mountain
and they slowly begin to waste him away
His body turns to dust and is scattered away amongst the clouds
But still he presses on!
Eventually, all that is left of this man
is a pair of hands clinging stubbornly to the rocks
and though the winds may blow, the man's spirit wills them on
Inch by painful inch they climb, undetered and utterly determined
For even if he lacks a body, even if he has nothing lef
constellations, ambitions, and things in betweeninstead of poetry,constellations, ambitions, and things in between2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i want to live in
draco & orion,
wrapped in nebulae.
oxygen is too
want to breathe in
neither the gods
nor my demons can
stop me —
i will make the universe
Textual TangoThe conversation, like making love;Textual Tango4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
begins, slow -
intentional with gesturing hands,
metered and planned
(still under control.)
Somewhere we'd believe (at first)
was halfway through,
our voices rise, touching something fierce.
We're panting -
catching breath with butterfly nets.
Baiting and debating
like spouses on the outs:
hashing marks and keeping score,
scratches in your back like
chalk on board.
The session roars -
It swirls though all our mental collections,
now scattered on the floor.
Easy, winds recede, and I'm left naked,
some metaphysical whore:
The unreliable reach of linguistics,
stretched like political truths,
surrounded by erect senators -
taking bribes to cover their eyes
(but staring through cracked fingers,)
so they finally feel alive
As we bat about the birdie,
and make it look so easy.
On and on
a thousand sticky, restless nights -
the neighbors calling in the fights,
banging on the wall and flicki
in our minds we rot.my lips taste like soot.in our minds we rot.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i realize that we
are nothing but hell-brought fire,
the seven deadly sins
(you be lust, i'll be pride)
and a mess of upside down picture frames.
my teacher once told me
that most writers are introverts;
we drink in the world
and spew it back in ink and titles.
we tattoo words
across the inside of our eyelids--
but somewhere in the process
i must have drawn you
inside the convex of my irises,
because all i can think about
is your wind-shaken frame
flames licking across your hips.
you turn black
beneath my hands.
i can't write about that.
DecremationShe laid him to rest,Decremation3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her poor-boy love,
in a bed of cinnamon and myrrh.
The world felt cold to him,
the sun-bird of Heliopolis,
born of flame.
biting my nails is almost better.i have this habitbiting my nails is almost better.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of missing the people
that are still in my life
and loving the ones
who i will never meet,
and the places
i fear i will not go.
burn boythere was this boy in the ninth grade that used to call me uglyburn boy1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
but all i can really remember is how he wore long sleeves under his t-shirts
and how i didn't understand why, but something was wrong about him
like he held himself wrong under all those fabrics
like a puppet with loose strings. and i can't
understand why, but when this boy's arms moved a little too much
and i saw what was on his wrists just before he tied his strings again
i only heard what my grandma used to say about how
those devils that bother you on the playground can't burn you
like they can burn themselves.
if these devils had mouths
those burns were kisses.