AdmissionI want to
I was never
much of a
when it comes
fight or flight
That humour is
where kindness is
to be sucked dry.
But I can tell you also
when birds make nests
I let them be
I'll catch your smile when it falls
so you'll never lose it
when harsh words and city streets
get too much for me
I hold my ears
sing 'la, la, la,'
and I'll lose no sleep
over feeling free
or choosing latter
in the word
Coffee StainsDress shoes click on the streets laid slick with cinnamon and wasted airCoffee Stains2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's sugar on your lipstick, darling; a dangerous affair.
You chose coffee
Like you chose romance
Just for the idea of romance; cream and smoked wood swirling around in your cup,
And steam curling up into the atmosphere like the locks in his hair.
Tantalisingly dark and hauntingly aromatic
You craved it
You mocked the raven that eyed you from its branch out in the blustering courtyard and
You didn't even like the taste.
The silver curve of the teaspoon showed your warped reflection like a deathly omen
It showed the line of your neck and each glittering pearl
The hanging clock on the wall, for all its carved hearts and varnished oak
Couldn't quite drown out the tolling
Pendulum swinging by your ear as you ran your hand along the creases in the leather seat
The sweet, too-strong perfume mingling with the scent of the
Dark black coffee
Much as the gold around his wrist had
Simple ThingI’d like to be an off-beatSimple Thing5 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
syncopated little thing;
note and stem floating on the melody, just sitting in
appoggiatura, grace-note, special thing.
I’d like to be a sailor
swinging on the ocean wind
coarse old rope between my hands and salt-spray where my toes begin
nimble little sailor, clever thing.
I’d like to be a bed-sheet
gentle thing to warm your skin
thing that you hug tighter when the morning starts to filter in
falling through your creases, lucky thing.
HotlineThe first time I dialled your number I felt a skipping in my chestHotline3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the skip that comes with talking to strangers
the skip that tells me that I’m strapped into the rollercoaster, ready or not for the ride.
You answered, and your voice was like a cave,
deep and warmish and mossy
with echoes trapped inside the dark spaces
like a cave to keep me safe from the storm.
I spoke to you and my own voice was like cobblestones,
cracked and scattered
strewn out across a much-trodden road and kicked into the gutter,
like cobblestones with missing bits, crumbling from the elements.
You told me that things would get better from here on out,
that I’d made the first step and
that you would talk to me for as long as it took to get me from one place to another one
or longer, even.
You spoke to me about large things
responsibility and Ferris wheels and distant nebulas
you spoke to me about small things
garden mice and sub-atomic particles and how many spoonfuls of sugar you take with your tea.
GossamerPoetry has gossamer wingsGossamer1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And she flies and she flies and she flies.
She spins her nest out of fragments and whims
And parades it through midsummer skies.
And those who would catch her come stealth'ly
Those who'd hold her would hold their own eyes
And those who would know her would gaze at the clouds
Where she flies and she flies and she flies.
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’mExpiration1 week ago in Free Verse More Like This
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
BloomIt's normal, you know.Bloom1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Bruises flower under skin like lilies in a garden
Tears find their place just like water in the soil
They seep into the black
And hurt grows so green and natural.
Pearl skin is supposed to go purple
It's as right as the rain.
So don't worry, don't fret
I'm art, you know, cross-stitching on the wall
An ivory piano key
Just as I should be
Because battered things are beautiful.
Feathers torn from silk pillows
And stick figures on balance beams
Aren't as loved, nor as adored,
Nor as beautiful as me.
Love is an open-ended question, maybe.I don't want to fall in love but I do want to love you:Love is an open-ended question, maybe.1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Love you like Fridays and three birthday cheers
Love you like wild schemes and spit on our fingers
I don't want a romance, I just want you near.
I want to love you like sailboats and daring adventures
Your friends and my friends and long, late night calls
I want to wander for six months and have my heart broken
Want you to show me it's never quite broken at all.
I want to love you like Plato and pizzas and parties
Sparklers when we're thirty, barefoot and still free
I want to love you on the sofa when you're dancing and dizzy
New books and bad movies, and you next to me.
Love is for all those who beg to be broken
It's a story to scare us, make us nod and behave.
When I'm lost in the night without purpose or car keys
I want to land on your doorstep; claim your warmth until day.
I want to love you like jumpers and chalk on the pavement
Poking fun at whatever, baking cakes the wrong way.
I've never seen something to want in sad love
LimitlessThey mocked him becauseLimitless2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He laughed between each stanza
Between each stroke of a butterfly's wing
And they didn't get the joke.
They mocked him because
He couldn't read Latin
But the wisdom of eons past still danced in his eyes, shining deep blue while sunset bathed the world in dark fire.
Because sadness never bent his back or creased his face
Because they didn't know how to smile for their own sake
While for him, it came as naturally as an albatross spins on the ocean breeze.
And at night
Those gales would lift him away
Whipping light past his eyes, catching threads of matter and antimatter and weaving him a ladder to climb
Effortlessly; a maestro of the soul's music
An aviator, writing freedom in the sky on his soul's exultant flight.
lucidityInside my messy mind, you’re clear.lucidity1 week ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'H' is for HopelesslyIn the yellow creases of bound novels'H' is for Hopelessly2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Eating shadows under the candlelight,
And faraway from frosted windows
Where legends dance 'round forest campfires
Witnessed by the older-than-magic moon,
In the sway of your robes and the swoop of your messengers
It's the same old sappy story.
Girl loves everyone
And boy loves girl.
I hate the way
The universe unfolds before you
Fortune climbs towards you
Like a puppy, playing to catch that honey gaze.
I hate the peals of daytime laughter that interrupt my midnight
And how you come splashing through the trees
Defying logic, as usual
As if grace when accomplishing the impossible
Was something natural
(And for you, that's probably the case.)
I hate your kindness
At times when I deserve so much less
Snakelike, I slither and curl
Avert my eyes in self-detest.
I hate the reason in your words
The way you bring the rest of us back to reality with a smile or an incline of your head.
I strongly dislike
Your inconsistent, odd sense of humour
Sparse KindlingFinding your love is like gathering frozen branches.Sparse Kindling5 days ago in Free Verse More Like This
My hands ache, my teeth chatter.
But I won’t last the winter without something for the flames.
SnowLet's lose our faces tonightSnow1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Chemical anxiety and paper highs
Thrown to the curb by something stronger, small and white
While stars burn out their insides; Prometheus in the sky.
I always thought you were a lie:
Stinking pop culture curling bright around my eye
But now I wonder if your treasure is something I could find
Leaping from the bass lines into my frenzied, eager mind.
In another tongue, in a far-off townSometimes I dream that we met in a placeIn another tongue, in a far-off town2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
where sadness was a foreign language
where you couldn’t understand the words I whispered in your ear.
Where I couldn’t taste it like molasses on your tongue or read it in your smudging script,
see it painted on your face or feel it, warm between your thighs.
Sometimes I dream that I met you in some other fashion, stumbling over unfamiliar lines
but not here. Not here.
PlasmaI had a friend tell me that war is the blood between our bones,Plasma10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
That it keeps us moving and
Without it we are stagnant. Nothing.
But I can’t see the light in night-drenched dreams.
And I’m sure that cannot be.
Peace is a cool kiss on fevered skin,
The silence when the false thunderclaps end,
The skylights holding a promise that morning will come.
Death is not pigments or science or molten gold,
The pillars of civilisation or the illumining crown.
It is blood on a child’s skin. Words that will never come home.
Mothers that will never find air to breathe again.
Peace is a sight unknown to my mind,
But it’s the only beauty worth believing in.
upsmokewhen thinking of youupsmoke1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i like a smoke or six
drive a poisonstick
deep into my lungs
rot might reach my brain
erase our wheezing laughs
nights of nicotine haze
smog mixing with sweat
you're fumes of a cig
wispy, wonderful whirls
absorbed into corners
never to be seen again
smelling of burnt skin
i'm pulled from nostalgia
and light another match
I Think I Am A PoetI think I am a poet, or at least perhapsI Think I Am A Poet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
could be; the serene
prozac-prophet with sad words and
a white halo of bees. I am told I am a woman but
I hold my smile too carefully, like cracked glass.
I tug at my dress when it clings to my hips,
and my frown is too bright. I know I am a kicker
and a screamer, feral slurred bird stuck on her soap-box
But I would so much rather curl up,
disappear quietly into the golden eye, never make
a sound again -- I know I am not a mother
When I spread my dead children fanned
across the soft tablecloth of my heart,
place them delicately
as if they could break; my precious tiny
animals for whom I am so sorry.
I am not a mother but I am
sorry, so sorry
for all the wine and whisky.
Death of a Noodle (Everybody Tells Me What to Do)I click through web pages on my computer. I’m having a little Internet Time. I spot something that catches my interest. I smile. I click it. The title reads How to Be a Writer. Beneath it there’s a list of instructions. How fascinating. I read on.Death of a Noodle (Everybody Tells Me What to Do)2 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
1. Go to the beach
2. Lick your friend’s eyelashes
3. Make pee-pee in a pot plant
I scowl and close the tab. Surely these things won’t make me a writer? Sighing, I begin a search for something more practical. I type away.
A link appears before me. It’s a little thing sitting on the left side of the page. I hold my cursor near it indecisively. How to Be a Poet. I click.
1. Drench yourself in anxiety
2. Seriously, drench yourself
3. You’ve gotta do some sports-drink-advertisement worthy drenching right here
4. Also bathe yourself in woe
I scroll through the list, getting more and more desperate. Where is the part about writing actual poetry? My heart is racing. I feel the
Can you hear them?Our lips crash andCan you hear them?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Outside this four-walled sanctuary our ancestors wage unholy war
But they don't know violence
It's not the flames rising high above their corpses
It's not a spinning coin;
It's the way your fevered hands grip my skin
It's the motion, fast-paced and desperate, a dance
It's the ricocheting colours that skirt my vision when you smile
The laughter wrenched from my throat when you whisper a joke
And the gaping black abyss
A sick, accursed rift
All that is left when you leave.
Snow WhiteHis fingers traced over the veins that lay beneath the surface of her translucent skin. They were just visible, like flower stems crushed by the morning snow, or a few rude brush marks left by a painter in a moment of contempt for the Academy. He, at that moment, felt no such fire burning in his blood just a sick, panicked feeling that came in ebbs like the evening tide. Her satin ruffled as he moved his hands from her neck to her face, and then to her slim shoulders. She was fragile, but not as fragile as this.Snow White2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He gave her a playful shove, managed a crooked smile and whispered in a tone that lay somewhere between choked hope and frightened disbelief, "Snow. Hey, Snow, wake up."
He leaned over her, watching with almost vicious concentration. No response. She was perfectly still, like an image from a painting or poem by those damn Romantics; their full colours and pretty words hiding the darkness that was always brimming just underneath. Lovers weren't meant to kill and they cert
One Day I Shall Lay Down And Dieone day i shall lay down and dieOne Day I Shall Lay Down And Die2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and so for now here is my kiss, my golden-ness,
my forehead pressed against yours
like two strange animals lost on a plain of
red sand. one day i shall lay down and die so
now here, let these birds pick me apart,
show you it all, the torn underwear
and the girl gazing at the soft glow
on trees, the ferocious lion-love
weeping under the kitchen table. one day
i shall lay down and die
so for now i feast on beaches, your breath,
the flutter of my dress sore against my skin
someday i will find that peace,
plant a spring-flower deep in my heart, land one last cool kiss
on the bow of your mouth and slip away, i know that one day
i will lay down and die but for now
feel your fingers spread across my heart,
feel my roar in the night
Eternali. In psychology, association is defined as a connection of ideas, memories or feelings between each other or events.Eternal3 weeks ago in Short Stories More Like This
Melissa once had birds in her feet.
She knows it because they were stolen. All she has left are the brittle bones and marks that might have been left by feathers, light as a dove’s trace. It’s painful. It makes it hard to walk, and she’s always walking.
When The Others took over the city, people like Melissa suffered greatly. People who had pretty birds and other things to lose. But now The Others have lost control to bandits and fledgling rogue groups. The rest of the citizens are just drifting. There’s no government, no power, no clamp to grip the city and squeeze productivity out of it like a dying machine.
So Melissa walks. She trails along the sides of the streets where girls like her could never walk before, smiling in the open sunlight but never forgetting her mission. She walks to track down the thieves who wronged her. She
Nero's SoloFiredancer.Nero's Solo2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She is poetry in motion,
A blur of hands and haloes.
A canary in a coal mine.
If she's singing,
You know something's wrong.
A crucible in her chest.
She turns men to gold.
She turns men to stone.
Hair snaking as she spins.
I'll play the fiddle
While you burn to the ground.
The Creative ProcessYou sit down with a piece of paper and a pen and decide:The Creative Process2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you will be brilliant today.
You will write about your crazy ex-lover, your vengeful mother,
the teacher you had in 2nd grade you barely remember
but who called you by the wrong name during your awkward encounter
in the supermarket last week
and it pissed you off.
Ten minutes later
your paper is full
of doodles of your dog
and you decide to check your email,
Find that your spam filter is as productive as you are.
A fine outstanding, yet cruelly mistreated, gentleman in Nigeria needs you to wire him money,
but his father with three doctorates treating AIDS across the border will pay you back,
ASAP and surely you understand.
An 18-year-old shy girl wants to get to know the real you,
the deep you, the one you've hidden from the society who can't appreciate you.
The picture she's attached is a testament to her outstanding tits.
And if you hurry, dildos resembling Jagger's dick are buy one,
get one free.
Your friend still