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
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)
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…
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,
PixieI never had enough faith in you,Pixie3 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
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.
The Death of LanguageThey say that every fourteen days, a language dies. The statistic isn't alarming, after all there are supposedly seven thousand languages in the world. That a language dies every two weeks, is just a statistic. The concern comes with the knowledge that a language dies because it has been forgotten. Thus it dies without recognition, without farewell and without acknowledgment. It was merely there before, a communication bridge once upon a literary dream - now a nothing. This fascinating tool that we use to interact with our fellow human beings is lost. And we don't care. The Eskimos, they say, had a hundred words for snow.The Death of Language3 years ago in Editorial More Like This
That favourite pair of shoes that you love all the holes and splits into because they are so perfect and fit you so well - gets a better send off than a language. That coat that's become too small or too big, or too much last years fashion and too little of this years craze gets more of a farewell than a languag
lemonwe walk down the streetslemon2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of a city named after the last thousand years.
a breeze floats by
and for a moment your hair lifts off your shoulder.
the way it doesn't touch you,
i want to touch you.
there are traces of lemon in your light,
a vague sense of mint on your fingertips.
the way honey tastes
drifts inside your shirt.
entering the city
walking calmly while the light falls
is like listening to your voice,
like waiting at the bell by the river
for a clamoring to do justice
to the patterns on the water.
the way the bells never end
i want to brush my hand against yours.
the way you drop lemon into your water
i want to live.
The Redacted Qur'an (Excerpts)I THE EXORDIUMThe Redacted Qur'an (Excerpts)2 years 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
the consequences of walking in circlesThe lady wore black and her eyes shone gold,the consequences of walking in circles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
veiled face and veiled intentions, a smile
in her right hand, a dagger in her left.
Slicing with either in confident stride
like the sea-breeze slices across the morning air
and the ocean of her heart bled,
beckoning with wave after wave of depths untold.
When first I gazed upon lascivious lips, I pined
for the days of old, I dreamed of songbirds.
I spoke in languages forgotten. (or maybe never learned.)
I learned quickly the dark plays tricks on the mind.
She spoke, her voice was a shadow on the night's breeze
carried away on a landslide of eluvium. Her teeth were sharp,
and strangely intoxicating. Her scent, like gentlest whispers,
spoke to me of nurture and reminded me of death.
Her pupils were impossibly large. She smiled,
and I felt my will unfold like petals and fall away like leaves.
She stripped me of my outer bark, it fell away in clods of excuses.
I was adrift in an illusion of confusion. And her final wispy words
still echo in wha
You can have your poem now.yearning:You can have your poem now.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
an intense feeling of longing
for something that may have never existed
despite our soaked physical evidence
strewn across the bathroom floor
beside our limbs and your vomit,
a retching twitch in your gut,
"and let it be known that men
are more sexually possessive in their thoughts
often leading them to the belief
that after pilfering through the slough
they are owed a perfect human being
fashioned from the schematics written on their rib or
pulled over the shape of adam's incomplete skeleton,
lusting for happiness
and an easy way to keep it because
that first fuck was just so good,"
though honestly, i don't remember meeting you,
your persistence a golden shadow in the hallway
where you looked at me from six stairs above:
hands hanging at your sides,
the noise of a crowd below the grating,
a hole in your left shoulder,
hair dark and frizzy,
eyes greener beside your red-burst whites,
nose pointed to ask
if i had ever done acid and if
i wanted to try it, "free of
symptoms of red a materialistsymptoms of red2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
inside of you
unknitting your sweater
& in your dream
you are a wolf eating
a flower in an orange field. the world
is ending. an unnamed girl stains you
as if she were tea
giving up to a
she writes a story: the unrequited
blurry visions of two visionaries
SimbelmyneThere is silence here, uponSimbelmyne3 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.)
desiccatei.desiccate2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were 22 years in the making,
a sponge without water
since the day they plucked you from the ocean
and left the sea salt to sink into your pores.
I was something too heavy to wade in,
barely able to breathe,
21 years in the making
with floodgates barring my emotions
since the age of four.
At the first sign of droplets,
the salt of you drew me in
and eased the heaviness of my heart.
In your confessions of self-love,
in your tales of embrocation,
I was only ever your liniment;
was a thing to be forgotten from the start.
white noise.sometimes i turn off the greasy yellow lights and run the water lava hot.white noise.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the quiet porcelain is an untouched coffin
familiar as the look in your eyes.
i can hear my heart beat in my ears
and i stare at the ceiling until it darkens and blurs at the edges.
my body is heavy as lead
i cannot remember the weight of movement.
sometimes the closest i can get is the suicide between each breath
and the apology unspoken on the inhale.
my skin is a ladder i keep climbing,
i can see through the rungs to the fat cells that weigh down my bones.
my hand becomes his when it creeps uninvited over the landscape of my body
and across the staircase of my ribs.
i can't erase the feeling of his body pressed like a book
over my flower.
my head is white noise that bleeds red,
but i'm tired of all the blood.
tired of all the memories like channels
i keep flicking past.
sometimes i wonder if i cut enough slack in my skin,
syracuseListen to the audio version for the full effect, pretty please.syracuse2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cloudshot sky like an oil painting and i am watching the
darling, i will swim for you
and swallow every whitecap.
i will pluck myself a coat of pelican wings,
sew them up with salt and spray--
become icarus for you.
you are calling me across the waves, love--
but you pull against the ache
in my bones, the hollow--
the clawing out for unseen sunsets and unturned tides.
i hear you, love
give me time.
i will always listen.
Water SignsThen water, you and I,Water Signs1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scorpio and Cancer, respectively,
yours the calm fathomed passion of lake
mine a spring fed, fast-tumbling brook
You taught me to swim in your deep
with caressing breast and leg stroke
I flashed my silver moon flair, leapt,
like a fish, into dizzying ozone air
matched my fall-free
drowning-dive to your quiver.
Oh the silky innuendo,
shimmered laughter and sparkling jive -
though you wanted more of wet and more wet,
I, the tiptoe through shallow
fearful I could get lured, hooked
by such a catch-and-release kind of man.
crashworkwhen i say i don't want to exist, i am trying to ask for the high sharp note of a lemon, split across my tongue.crashwork2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we limit speech to apologies and collisions, restrict touch to skin. i no longer trust scales, prayers, or repetitive numbers. we watch the hospital on tv, eleven seconds between explosion and sound. pillows of grit bubble into blue. our legs still through too many movies, neither learn nor forget the distance between skin and chrysalis. i open myself but remain human and paper. the music does not change and colour does not fade. i clean the bathroom floor. inside my nose the smell of warm water.
if you asked i would have explained in physical terms. the blue veins of the chicken you ate, as though mood did not touch other body parts. the unpoetic safety of colon, carpal, sesamoid. i hold the taste of jasmine in my mouth, your tongue an absence. latticework of space.
the song of a roamerAnd darling, I've been gone for a long, long time. Your eyesthe song of a roamer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are still that steely gunpowder blue, but your hair has grown long,
and there's a softer curve to your waist
and freckles on your shoulder I don't remember,
and I think,
What have I missed?
You tell me about the weddings
the divorces. You tell me
about the babies
and the losses, and how last year
your dog died--easy, in his sleep--
and there is a hollow lack in you,
a space reserved for things that won't come back.
Long ago, was there a space like that
When did it collapse--when did it
fold in on itself
under the weight of things that matter more?
I tell you about Cambodia. I paint
the jungles for you, breathe the crushing wet heat
of it into your lungs. I tell you
about the kids in Africa
and how the heat is different there--
belligerent and fierce.
I tell you how much you would have liked Barbados,
and how much you would have hated Rome.
And I remember all the things I
can't tell you--all the things I don't hav
Little IngenueBorn with wanderlustLittle Ingenue3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
imprinted on her
beautiful star chart,
like the freckles that
dot her sun-soaked skin;
her heart's wild as the
red tangles, snarled
like brambles, coiled
like crowns, twisting through
her autumnal hair.
No one can convince
her, she will always
that Wonderland lies
beyond the next bend,
no matter what road
her capricious and
should choose to travel.
They say she is fey,
and she believes them.
She dreams of faeries
that take her away,
(it's the second star
to the right and straight
on till morning) to
fly on wings that Fate
forgot to give her.