Winter HeartWhat should I call you?Winter Heart2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Friend? – Lover? – Enemy?
It doesn’t matter, because
A term is just a word and
Makes no difference to the heart
Whose strings have been plucked
For the last time, left broken and
Discarded on a hospital floor, not
Fit for the transplant unit – and
Not good enough for you.
In the worst way I said
“I think I love you”
You turned away, and I knew that
That was it for us – my heart turned
To ice that day –
Ice which splinters through the
Delicate rose petals, shredding
And destroying what was once
Beautiful and innocent – but roses
Have thorns, and the ice is sometimes release.
Ice which packs the heart in the box,
Ready for the transplant team
To rig up to another body –
Blood infusions and special surgery
To make the heart work again.
A Delivery.i.A Delivery.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of course you were expecting
slow march of the box angel
clad monotonously in
a chorus of clipboards
curdling pitch between
their pursed lips
and resounding hammers
on your door
the postal service regrets
to inform you,
that this delivery is
not a gift- not
to be unwrapped, no,
for you, it is only
you feel like mixed
signing not your name
and ticking outside boxes
for nothing but
is delivered to you
love is a gift
you think as you hold
only a parcel
Framed[ I met him at the county fair.Framed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
I'd helped him with his leather suitcase,
struggling to get a grip of the situation
I gave a habitual kiss goodbye. Awkward. ]
[ He met another girl in group therapy.
They had a mad, passionate affair for a year
then, it expired. Shortly after, she did too.
He came to me, life turning to sand. ]
[ I forgave him at my birthday party
surrounded by friends wh
insomnia to keep you closefalling asleep with the windowsinsomnia to keep you close2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
open, with morning curling
around you like a drop of blue
ink in a glass of water,
turquoise and unwritten;
remembering when early dawn
was a secret you kept
in a soft, aortic pocket—
your dead lighter spinning
to the floor of Lake Ontario,
a halo of its bygone, synergetic flame.
the boston marathonThe poem was supposed to be about the earththe boston marathon2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shifting under the weight of so much movement,
thousands of pulsing feet pressing it forward.
He said he was afraid of the oceanSpring's splattering blood orange dustHe said he was afraid of the ocean2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on branches fallen into place and when I scratch
my skin open, it's because I want to see it bloom,
red and icosahedral. Our mosaical tome
of shifting tenses questions the swift
years dwelling behind my teeth. I offered you
handfuls of pink diamonds with green dirt
caught under my nails and I expected you
to tear my throat out of my neck,
but I can't come with the sound of the sea
rushing through the architecture,
your body keeping house for all your slender ghosts.
Here we're so electrified and warm,
the air pressure inside our lungs so low
that we could drown in breath
but I would rather
be sitting on the rails with you,
quiet together and scared
of oceans until the blushing waters
sting our bleeding heels.
VirginiaRobert E. Lee lives just miles from my door,Virginia7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
bending at the right. On the corner, is a white church
housing brown skin in the Virginia spring. My best
friend’s father has a Confederate flag hanging in his
living room. A white military man married to a Filipino
woman because her skin is a few shades lighter, more
tan than true brown, light enough to speak
love to, on occasion.
The Civil War grounds up by Todd’s Tavern are fenced
off, but momma swears she hit a ghost on the bridge
one night, eyes blooming in refracted headlights—
allowing the past to slip into consciousness
—fingers curling like the flowering dogwoods, singed
at the tips, like fire ants threading their clay houses,
hidden under soft mounds in the earth.
And the bees are building up in my throat, as I watch
the fruit in my neighbor’s yard begin to rot.
I can’t touch the roots. But the bees are trembling like
some cracked bell, a revolution, a crying.
Here in springIf fatigue could grind downHere in spring2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cosmic energy in the center
of the universe
and in your center
like you are
grinding nutmeg and cinnamon
onto your cappuccino,
the little cup of storm
with your bent spoon
and eating raw walnuts
with the poet
out of the person
in sportive vapors,
what has mesmerized you
to me: being wrapped up
by the silhouette of your
coming and going,
nurturing the pearl
you have broken off of
a universal necklace,
your button picked off
of the universal sweater
draped around my shoulders
when we tour the little towns
that stand over the Hudson
like haloed hallucinations.
I would have slept forever
where the river carries
glaciers into spring
if not for the whole universe
moving into green
when you called it.
The Redacted Qur'an (Excerpts)I THE EXORDIUMThe Redacted Qur'an (Excerpts)1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
IN THE NAME
Praise be to
the straight path
of those who have gone astray
80 HE FROWNED
(IN THE NAME OF PASSION)
He might have sought
to purify himself - but that
wealthy man remained to
cleave asunder the thickets,
to delight in each brother;
each of them beaming,
smiling, joyful, face veiled
88 THE OVERWHELMING EVENT
(IN THE NAME OF PASSION)
Have you heard
of men, worn out, drinking
from a bitter gushing
fountain, soft silken carpets
spread, and Heaven leveled
to their account?
90 THE CITY
(IN THE NAME OF PASSION)
I swear you
are a created
91 THE SUN
(IN THE NAME OF PASSION)
The sun and the moon,
the day, the night spread
Him with knowledge of sin:
"Blessed shall be the man
who kept pure ruined pride
when Allah's own spurge razed
the city. He was afraid
Fate, That's What It IsIf in life no one believes me,Fate, That's What It Is2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
They will believe when I die,
Though in a desert they will leave me,
No one will for me cry.
My pen no longer wants to write,
My soul has left me for no reason,
Slowly I lose my love and might,
I hate again: I am a victim of saint treason.
My guardian angel you have always been,
Alas, for each other we are not created,
Because everything I have seen,
Your image in my heart has faded.
Fate, that’s what it is…
the amnesiacYour memorythe amnesiac2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
will betray you -
you'll forget that you always wear
your heart on your sleeve
like you're waiting for someone
to come around and fix it -
I am fated to keep all of you
locked inside me,
filling up my featherweight soul.
If I could call you a beach
you would be empty of all things
left only with
(You'll never get fixed
if you hide that you're broken)
TwelveThe orchids shiveredTwelve2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the sound of
raw fingers on
your old guitar,
smell of tarnish, metal
and un-calloused skin -
the only songs you know
are your father's
lullabies and a
Christian rock band's
four cords strong.
Played on hot weekends
with the windows open,
twelve years old again,
fat against the waistband
of Walmart jeans
and straw hair stuck
to your forehead
in humid summer air.
I can't feel you here,
in the apartment,
know you're twelve years back
in a different town,
with no stubble on your chin.
PixieI never had enough faith in you,Pixie2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my best postmodern pixie friend,
who presses herself against my shoulder
killing her fall with leaning.
You taught me something new
about anxiety today:
how to wake
up when it's morning, how to miss
dactylic illness with the parched
indelicacy of a crinkled sun.
In the eternal rendition you say
your name is always in the vocative
case, and only vocative:
says the girl
who taught a smaller girl to sing,
a girl of thirteen, with the same
nimble character we shared, the same
calderical eyes we shared.
The girl's voice
tumbles out of its weakness:
a chaotic calling out to the deltaic
rush of rain, a grimy smoker's
howl: monadic, suffering, fresh
SimbelmyneThere is silence here, uponSimbelmyne2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stale skull tombs
these everminds are stilling...
(And yet their tragedies
shall endure in the pallor of the
flowers in your hands.)
the drifterthe drifter1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i tried to tell you that Marley was a ghost,
but you wanted to walk with wings
across gleaming midnight.
How marvelous, this stone stands
sturdy and musty; this glorious church holding up a ticking sun
that slowly cracks the trippy stained glass.
you drilled way below the church stone,
and found dried palm leaves and old joints
like clues to the map of an exceptional life.
I love this torrential literature,
I love a racing heart.
i cannot sleep, i keep dreaming,
ezekiel's visions leave me breathless.
Take it up with the Big Man.
Surely the cannabis creator
must exude a presence that lingers on synapses.
i've lost my ability to fly.
a tender sky with reddening clouds,
the sights of death give birth to no life.
Well, I'm l
SHIZUOXREADER pt6SHIZUOXREADER pt63 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The next morning you wake up with a killer headache. Last night dad gave you a 2 hour 6 min lecture about teenage boys and how all they want to do is get you pregnant. You didn't really take it seriously since you've heard it all before.
Morning goes on as usual, your dad giving you occasional tuts of disapproval, but you can't find Shizuo on the train station. It bothers you a bit, but you decide to let it go. Turns out he was waiting for you at school. You persuade him to let you copy his Japanese homework since you forgot to do it last night.
'You'll never learn in you just copy, you know' he says while watching you with his head resting on his palm, which is on the desk.
'I'm sorry but my dad has no life' you reply, still focusing on Shizuo's surprisingly neat kanji. Shizuo smiles slightly at this, then just as you finish, the school bell goes off.
'I love you Shizuo! Thank you!!!' you say quickly as you grab your stationary and run to your desk. Shizuo is surprised at your mini ou
What Am I? Lingering in that photo...What Am I?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In that simple shot
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
Sometimes, I remember the way
lifting builds me up.
But I am not a woman.
Lingering in that photo...
A wisdom of some sort
has trickled into my features
I see glimpses of it now.
In that momentary shot,
I look, and see memories there
In the darkness of my eyes.
In the taming of my smile.
In the strain stretched over my brow.
I am not a child.
And I am not a woman.
salti of you,salt2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun.
your arms, copper lips, citrus,
a lovin' with a twist.
my summer away at space pirate camp,
i took to howling with you the first thunder of june;
the hunt for human brains,
Maybe Zombies Just Want To Hug?
- 6 lies to tell yourself if shipwrecked.
i can't explain the feelings i get.
blue dream before i sleep:
the soul cupping rice (glass figurines, lamp light eyes).
my fear is milk two sugars.
drink drink drink
beneath it all,
floral growth, silver spoons,
losing my spine, strange preoccupations with skin,