The Prince of MothsI dreamt myself a Prince of MothsThe Prince of Moths1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Upon a brittle autumn leaf;
And, though a novice in my state
Of wings and things, I found I took
Quite readily: I fashioned up
A crown of thorns and glittering moss,
With a pile of blossoms, laced with webs
And iridescent spiders' legs,
With feathers glossed with gossamer
And freckled dew of violet hue.
Thus decked, I leaped and left my leaf,
And viewed myself in silver pools;
And reasoned that a moth like I,
Of state and breeding, should desire
Estate and wealth, and thus acquire
An industry and beauteous bride.
I fashioned in a hollow tree
A quarry for the ants to mine,
With beetles as their keepers, set
To dig for me for treasures fine:
For gems of old, and treasuries
Of elven wealth and fairy gold;
And deep they dug, and so brought forth
Fine trinkets rare from ages lost;
And with these I could set me up
As a business-moth of fine repute.
I forged myself a partnership
With a voluptuous spider crab,
Grown rich in sales of mollusc oil,
Who promised m
A Note on DrowningI am writing this letter for myself. If you have found this letter, please give it to me. If you find that I lack the will to read, if my mind is gone, if my hands are bloodied, tell me at least, that the song is near its end. If I am dead [indistinguishable]A Note on Drowning2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
[Written in the margin: IF I AM DEAD THROW ME TO THE SEA]
In laying out the bones of my terrors, a solution may be found.
I’ll start before the beginning, when Mother took me for walks on the beach and told stories. Together we missed my father, who sailed the sea. These are my earliest memories, but I remember things had always been this way. We walked together, and I counted my many steps and Mother’s few. When I stretched my legs, I could make it so my path went over only her footprints.
The sand was soft where she had stepped. Elsewhere was gritty, and unclean.
I was young for all of Mother’s stories. Here I will write the relevant one as best I remember.
“A sailor was on a ship. This ship was far of
tree, fiddler crabIt took days to hollow out the soft partstree, fiddler crab2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the trunk, dig out the tree-flesh and sap,
polish the raw wood so that when he sat,
there would be no splinters. He carved his name
into the side, like a blessing, a declaration
of good fortune, and stowed his forest inside.
IndependenceOnce the wind caught on the seaIndependence1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And its dress snagged upon the crests
Like a girl who couldn't help falling
For a boy with too many cracks
Then the wind tumbled between the waves
Crashing with the water when it couldn't find the sky.
I always wanted to live in the sky,
Wrap clouds around me--dip myself into the sea--
And wander into roaring waves
Of emptiness; Rush as the sun crests
Rush like wind and water into the cracks
Of myself, so that maybe I'll stop falling
For people who can't keep themselves from falling
Down, and who won't quit looking at the sky
So they can avoid all the cracks
In the sidewalk as they weave through a people-sea.
Well, I'm not used to riding the crests
Of others' success; I'll make my own waves.
So though my hair falls down in amber waves
I fear the strands will keep on falling
And my white-wash hands in lunar crests
Won't show you a spacious sky
Unless you want to see
Through star-spangled cracks.
Eyes and eggshells shattered, tiny cracks
And the tears stre
BryceHe always stands very close to people when he speaks to them, staring with those huge golden eyes and leaning in ever so slightly, as if he is craving their touch and the feel of their breath and their hands more than anything. This is the first thing you notice when you meet him, the closeness. You ache, for a reason you don't know, to bridge the gap. To touch him. Your fingers twitch towards him but you keep your hands beside you.Bryce2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And then you hear him speak, and everything else seems loud and bright and harsh compared to the gentleness of him. His lips are chapped and his big galaxy earrings glitter and his hair stands straight up and his freckles are like kisses, and you think he will sound like all the others and then he speaks; he speaks and something shifts inside you and a little storm begins to crackle and swell inside your chest and suddenly you love him more than anything.
And then he finishes asking you the time, and you tell him, and he walks on.
The Soul Broker I am the buyer and seller of souls. I’ve bought them all and I sold you yours. For the world must run like the gears of a clock, and sometimes you tick or sometimes you tock, but everything given will be taken away and for every silence kept, a word must be said.The Soul Broker2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Naturally, you must assume there is cost. For everything gained, a penny is lost; of course this life can be no different--when the check arrives, you must pay the difference. But not all who ride on the sunday train pay the same price to get out of the rain: a king’s ransom might obtain far, far less than the pauper’s cheap pain.
Your father paid the price of sweat, a back bent under the yoke of the world; accrued worldly financial debt but was recompensed with the jokes of a girl. And he would say he walked away wealthy, with his empty bank account, for his daughter lives today quite healthy and loves him in equally large amounts.
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?summergirl2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
ii. you have grown
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
NaPoWriMo Day: 1I’ve got 30 daysNaPoWriMo Day: 11 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to defy Icarus:
teach this rose thorn heart
how to fly.
[ All I want to be
is the space between
But, I’m here,
ripping holes in blank pages
while nursing nebulae knuckles
with white plastered walls.
water-colour emotionsyou can't buy happiness, but you can buy tea, and thats kind of the same thing. i've been told that i have a knot inside my chest,water-colour emotions2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
like those of the inside of a tree truck, eternally circling and looping. thats kind of how it feels, heavy and unstoppable.
if i have a tree inside me, then maybe that could explain the shaking, its just the westerly winter winds blowing and
making my far too fragile limbs bend but never break. i soak the tea leaves into the roots that are deep within my
fleshy heart and hope the capillaries will carry to wherever the aches are most ingrained and unnatural.
mother told me three winters ago that she could read the leaves and tell me how my skin was going to grow
and how my head was going to think six summers from now. she told me that my precious head was ever tired
over nothing and my chests storm will ease after one final hurricane, that despite its best efforts will
not destroy me, simply leave my skin a little tougher and my m
Part-Time HookerI inhale smoke and dirty thoughtsPart-Time Hooker1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
(sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
the volume of
smell increases as it's
getting hotter than a
I don't mind her
cold hands around my --
burned out lights form a
silhouette; film this on
screen like a dream
you can watch or hear.
but she doesn't scream;
her bones suffocate me
as she's wrapped around
my body -
she's stiff, cold, dry.
sleeping with a waste-of-calories
with no sex appeal. her heart
doesn't beat. )
Until I can't breathe.
Escape VelocityF = G(m1m2)/r2Escape Velocity1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Black – true black – is the absence of light. Darkness is defined by what it is not, by the lack of something else. When we say a black hole, we truly mean that; black. Blacker than black. An absence of not only light, but of time, distance, anything.
The night was scary when I was little. I hated the dark, but couldn’t bear to sleep so long as the light was on, any light, burning on the other side of my eyelids. I used to have nightmares about dark things in dark corners, shadowy figures with shadowy fingers trailing along my spine. I always woke up cold and fumbling frantically for the lamp, but the aura of light just made the shadows deeper and I turned it off quickly.
Black holes are dead stars. Graves. Tombs that bury light, bury it so deep, swallow entire suns, planets, galaxies. Dead stars take all the light with them like rich men spending fortunes on alabaster monuments and marble headstones.
There are four unmarked graves
Deux ex machinaMaybeDeux ex machina1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you should start being more
honest with yourself.
You will never be a
a sunspot on the
moon; only fallen
heroes belong there,
and your life wasn't
pitiful enough to
cavort with the stars.
The gods love a
good tragedy, but only when
they're the ones
writing the playbill. It
isn't any fun when the actors
forget their lines and
(better draw the curtains
before the performance morphs
into a comedy)
You say "I'm sorry" but in
reality the only thing
you're apologizing for is
leaving before the show
ended and reading the
wrong horoscope that day.
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.)
mutethings have been easiermute2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
without words &
we pretend neither of us care;
laughing and choking
on puns &
when you bend me over nouns
the words are there waiting to be spoken
me . you . love
my dear, we've been mute
for so long
speak to me.
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell youon watching the night close its eyes on you2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six lines
too short, hemming the holes into
puckers red as those volcanoes of strength
bursting at the base of your hips.
3. Blood is not satisfaction.
Blood is not patience, waiting for the rooms to empty
pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between thepretty little poet fingers1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.
she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.
a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.
Letter to a former loverI wrote you lettersLetter to a former lover2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of these hollow woods,
perhaps your tongue was tied
or planing out your teeth with supple motion
licking forth a better smile
a brighter future, at least
you never answered or gave word
that you had seen the fog riding
from beneath the trees on grey stallions
or that the woods themselves were
leaning out and giving way and
turning grey, mist breeding
hollow spines on brittle branches.
preemptive breakup poemif anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,preemptive breakup poem1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.
and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.
i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat
or laugh at your favourite tv programs
i want to be the reason
you walk with your eyes on the pavement
because too many things
remind you of me
i want you to feel the soreness of a heart unloved
loudly enough that the beating is mute and slow
loudly enough that you keep your hands in your pockets
when you move through the city so you don't touch any
amphitrite IIif my lip will still be split when the austral summer starts,amphitrite II1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and, all wrapped in rising sun, we're coccooning,
if we're throwing all the good things into a bucket of riverness
(and lawn flowers),
will we want to wake up?
I know I'll want to pour
my slice of eternity into a bottle of coconut essence,
make my foreverafter sweet and tropical,
and if your hands are balsam I can
carve my song in stone,
and I will never die.
But don't you ask yourself
why paper boats always sink, in the end?
I don't think I care.
I think they just sail off to a land without horizon
deep in the underwater of the bathtub.
You'll know when, and
you'll hear me sing a sea shanty, maybe.
I want to take my ship until the end of the river.
I want to see the spring pouring down blossom offerings
into the ritual water, I want
our coast of muck and destruction to be aflame with
I'm a shellfish and my fingernails are painted green,
I'm silent-all-these-years and fallen,
I'm wondering where my watercolor
moondust.we live in a world where our lungs are black and outlined with angry streaks of red. we plant diseases and destruction in the holes of our stomachs and watch them grow they shoot up fast and clog up our throats with ashy leaves.moondust.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
our fingernails are ripped, jagged edges digging into pale skin and leaving white hot lines in their wake. our wings are crumpled, feathers bent and pressing into the expanse of our backs they're the weights on our shoulders, and there's no space left for anything else.
your tongue is cracked and so is mine. words no longer form, sounds no longer rise. dreams and wishes fall into the cracks as nightmares rush past them out into the open. that breathtaking sequel to life you were hoping for no longer exists we are now aimless, hopeless, and craving for sin.
we swallow moons and exhale moondust; we stray from orbits and into vacuums. but all we ever wanted were the touch of lightly powdered lips against our flesh.
wild thingsthere are days iwild things1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
want to run with wolves.
to howl at the stars because
the moon has never done
anything for me, and swallow roses
like their thorns never
but this cage -
it seems there's no way
and i fear it's
for anyone to hear me.
life is just a zoo full of
all our monsters, and
[it's our fault] we
Last night,I broke every bone in my bodyLast night,1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
so I could have a reason to drown
in the isolated ocean inside me.
when my dilapidated lungs finally caved in,
I swam ashore and crawled across the polluted sand.
Only glass-edged skin
and salt-licked eyelashes
can help me now.
carouselwe laughed like children high on m&ms,carousel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
danced like we were carousel horses,
and jump-roped our way through obstacle courses.
I saved our footsteps in mason jars,
in case we ever needed to follow yellow brick roads
to get home.
home was an illusion:
honesty without truth,
apologies without forgiveness,
I kept home sandwiched between
"never" and "have to."
caroline, they'd say. caroline,
stop being such a dreamer. stop taking
us for granted.
I packed every apology possible
into my breath, left runaway plans lingering
in the silence between family.
when I found you dancing in the street,
I listened for merry-go-round music.
I tried to take you with me, I'm sorry.
instead I left you breathless,
left you safe, left without you.
I took our footsteps, just in case I
ever needed a way back home.
sometimes, I wonder if I left you
without a safety net.
lowercasei carve insignificant poetry into my tonguelowercase1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and hope the world will pardon the lack of
bated silence, for i write in nothing but
despondent screams and uppercase;
i've forgotten how to let everything go
and i'm tired of my incessant howling,
because it seems to me that the quiet
words are the ones that are the most