Harvesting Stars and building Castles.We harvest the stars from the sky
And hide them in our pockets
Cage them within jars of glass
Like fireflies on a midsummer eve.
We build castles of sand and air
Devastated as the tide reclaims them
Breathing deeply in quiet sobs
As the sand runs through our fingertips.
We long and yearn for something
Never quite able to define what it is
Reaching for straws to keep above water
As the tide washes over us.
And the wind
in the sand.
Lasting Impressions.It crossed my mindLasting Impressions.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
And lingered there
Like footprints in concrete
It invaded my heart
Made it home
Like a bird nesting
It lifted my soul
On waxen wings
I flew too close
Now I ask myself
My eyes closed
Was it worth it?
The WidowHow peacefully he sleepsThe Widow2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
upon soft, silken sheets
as I bend down to kiss
the warmth from his lips.
So softly he moans
and whispers his final breath
so regal and angelic he looks in death.
I gently caress his curled, auburn hair
praying for the angels to take him in their care.
So peacefully he sleeps
upon soft, silken sheets
and I savour the taste
of his last, warm breath
What God has in sacred marriage
may only be parted in death...
The PoetFor the work of a Poet to be truly appreciatedThe Poet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he must write it with his own blood and tears for ink
his soul the sharpened quill to nail the words
like so many specimen of unwilling insects upon the paper.
And once he has bled out
becoming the cause of his own demise
the reader is left behind to digest his soul
so plainly trapped within a cage of words
his requiem written as a love song to his Muse.
Where good men go to die.Unwashed bodiesWhere good men go to die.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
bent over scorched earth
toiling as sweat draws rivers
in the dust upon their faces.
clinging to skeleton wrists
feet dragging and kicking dust
choking rebellious songs in their wake.
like a welcome blessing
drowning out the conscious pain
of being aware of their destiny.
deep in their minds
may cause a slight discomfort
reminding them of former lives lost.
like a tidal wave
drowning the echoes of pasts
they do not wish to remember.
shattered like jigsaw puzzles
no longer fitting the frame
like tatters of cloth upon bones.
falls upon scorched earth
exhaling as tears draw furrows
in the dust becoming their graves.
Skipping Stones.We skip stones across the sandSkipping Stones.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
expecting rings to spread in pre-historic oceans
as Terra Firma recreates itself according to the original blueprints.
We step closer to the brink
for that leap of faith we never dared to take
before the tide swept us off our feet
and carried us beyond the edge of the ancient maps where
“Here be Dragons”
have been etched into the scorched earth like graffiti.
Sentences get too long as we run out of words to form them
speaking with our bodies in a twisted dance
like larvae burrowing into the crust of the earth.
Seeking deeper towards the internal sun
like an imitation of Icarus
digging deeper until the core melts our waxen wings
and we become yet another particle of our own universe.
from ripples of oceans past
and the sand slipping between our fingertips
as we walk on bare feet across the heavens
in search of answers we have yet to form the questions to.
Dream(e)scapeI close my eyes and disappearDream(e)scape2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beyond the winding paths of my subconsciousness
There are so many shiny objects there
waiting to be picked up and remembered
Dreams hiding away from the light of day
dreamt again in the darkness of night
Unfolding as I delve into them
I open doors I had forgotten I had closed
peering inside the dusty chambers of my secrets
Long forgotten memories resurfacing in new shapes
I jump into a magic suitcase
following the subway through morphing landscapes
Colourful people wearing colourful masks
are getting ready for their performance on the stage
I walk amongst them like a silent ghost
Just a spectator watching the show
A puppet master dictating the moves
I am the playwright writing the script for my dreams
I fold my hands and watch as it unfolds
until I wake up from my dream(e)scape.
The girl in the pondIt was a warm summer night when I found her.The girl in the pond2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her dress was white with yellow sunflowers,
and her auburn hair was spread out around her pale face.
It looked like an ever changing halo
moving gently in a soft breeze.
She had lost a shoe
Her deep, blue eyes stared into heaven
and the freckles of her skin drew constellations
against the pale background to mirror the stars above.
Fish gently nibbled at her fingers and nestled in her hair
paying no heed to her ruby lips which her last breath had left open
almost like an invitation.
I looked at her
I loved her...
Thinking it was the least I could do
now that she had been so carelessly abandoned.
It was my duty to remember her.
I took the memory of her and stuffed it away
for safe keeping
The rest was just a shell
now empty and soon decayed.
Then I left
leaving only the pond behind to swallow its secrets.
A Slight Chance of RainEvery day is aA Slight Chance of Rain1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
struggle to be yourself...
Every cloud puts a
strain on your mental health...
You stand upon a
pile of shrinking wealth.
But you don't have to fall
into a dry summer-
the harshest of winters
are why we enjoy Spring.
Maybe pain means more
than pointless consequence...
Maybe loss is more
than a coincidence...
You wonder if more
hope lies in providence.
And you don't have to fall
into a lack of faith-
the purest peaceful place
is the eye of a storm.
You were told that these
clouds have silver linings...
You were told that these
shadows define lightings...
You expect some truth
in all of your findings.
So you don't have to fall
into a broken state-
a slight chance of rain is
better than none at all.
That which touches man.WhoThat which touches man.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Unspoken WordsUUnspoken Words2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am who I am.Mine is not a face that would launch a thousand shipsI am who I am.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mine is not a body that would make men go to war
Mine is not a mind, sharp as a blade nor quick or witty
Mine is a heart that bleeds and loves none the less.
I am not a queen of beauty or elegance of ages past
I am not a model or scientist, nor a woman of career
I am not a fashion statement or a symbol of feminism
I am a woman with hopes and dreams none the less.
Mine is not a perfect home from the magazines
Mine is not the latest fashion or trends of clothes
Mine is not the accepted norms of life or style
Mine is the individuality of not caring for either.
I am not the person everyone else wants me to be
I am not the kind of woman people expect of me
I am not flawless, nor ashamed of the flaws I have
I am who I am, and I am who I want to be.
My Winter Bride Hush, my loveMy Winter Bride2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Not a word
Not a sound
Let me kiss your breath away
as I lay you to sleep in the frost covered ground.
I shall dress you in a wedding gown
of lilies so pure and white
Pleading my vows of love eternal
to you, my Winter bride.
Our wedding bed is covered
in a blanket of virgin snow
Stained only by the secrets
I have forced upon it now.
Sleep gently, my love
Not a whisper
Not a breath
Let me lie by your side
while I love you to death.
IdentityWe all have our own identities:Identity1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
shadows, masks, all of them a con.
You think you know who you are,
Under your lies,
you are a monster,
or so you think.
I want to tell you something though...
this "monster" you are,
simply doesn't exist,
all you are really,
is a human.
A human with a mind,
There is nothing scary with having them,
but do you want to know what I think
is really scary?
That you don't look at the real monster,
and what is the real monster?
The lies you created are a monster.
Castle of air.It broke.Castle of air.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My fragile mind shattered like a glass mosaic.
All the tiny shards fell out of my ears, nose, mouth and eyes until there was nothing left.
That's when the men in white came to take me with them.
They told me they would take me to a castle where I would be treated like royalty, and where servants would be looking for the pieces of my mind puzzle that I had lost.
They dressed me in a beautiful white gown and brought me to my chambers so I could rest after my long journey. The walls and floor were soft to touch, and as I stretched on my toes and reached up my hand, my fingertips brushed against the soft ceiling.
There was no need for a common bed.
The entire room was a bed!
Softer than any bed I had ever slept in before.
I do not know how long I slept, but when I woke up, a servant in white came with food and water for me. He told me that if I was behaving well, he would take me to meet the others. I was curious to know who else lived at the castle, and promised I would be nice
Sleep Child.Sleep childSleep Child.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Pretend the carousel of life doesn't make you queasy
Dance in the spider webs they ensnare you within
To eventually drain you.
Entangle the strings attached to your body and soul
Let them try to solve the knots and tangles
Slip away when cut.
Let your silent cries call out to Heaven above
Deafen the devils and the tormentors of Hell
Even though you're mute.
Make them pay and make them all bleed out
Shroud them in spider webs and their dangling threads
Then go to sleep.
Love and a Latte.When you work at a café, you meet a lot of people every day. Those who are busy, those who take it slow, those who just come for lunch, and those who takes everything to go. You learn to recognize them, and put faces, and sometimes names, with the orders. A black coffee for the man with the blue tie, a tea with four sugars for the tired mother with her two kids hanging on her coat, A tuna sandwich and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for the student who's always reading, and cappuccino for the men in suits with their leather briefcases and fancy Italian shoes. Maria from the corner store always orders a pastrami sandwich for lunch, and Peter who works at a nearby office always orders a salad with noodles and cheese cubes. It becomes a closed little world where everyone knows everyone, even if they are strangers on the streets. I've worked here since High-school, and one should think I'd get tired of it, but fact is, I love it. I love to be recognized by the regulars, and to beLove and a Latte.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
FlowersA rose by any other nameFlowers2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
has sharpened thorns all the same.
A lily no matter how pure and white
may still conceal malice, hatred and spite.
The tiny weed so fragile and small
may well be the fairest flower of all.
The heroes of old.Let the old heroes restThe heroes of old.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
beneath ancient stones
buried in history and dressed in legends.
Let the old kings rise
in marble and gold
for all to see and praise in forgotten stories.
And when time comes
for the legends to breed life
let then the old heroes serve their kings
in ever lasting stories of the golden past.
The Mind of a WriterWhat you read is what you get.The Mind of a Writer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Many readers cannot exceed past that.
But if you bring a magnifying glass to a writer’s brain,
You may just see what we truly see.
Within the mind of a writer,
There are not just words.
It is similar to a film,
But to us it is all too real.
Within our minds,
We have a simple sanctuary.
Either it be tiny or large,
Or just a great big desert.
Noises may be here and there,
And noises, I do not mean distractions.
These noises involve the voices of who are real,
And I mean our characters, ourselves.
What you see is just the surface.
Here take this shovel
And dig six feet deep
And penetrate the ground further
And fall into our abyss.
Words are along our walls.
Voices are a frequent sound.
Images of war of love or/and hate
Flicker about like a skipping disc.
Every shade of color is welcomed here.
From maroon to auburn,
From forest green to lime,
And from charcoal to onyx.
Everything is here.
All I can say,
When you eventually crash to the bottom
ThanksWhen did my inspiration fly south?Thanks1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
It isn't winter anymore.
Why can’t I gain the excitement I used too, about someone enjoying my work?
Was I faking it all along?
Shouldn't this mean more?
This used to be my life, my escape, my everything.
I have all these ideas.
But when they come through I do not care to see the outcome in the readers.
Instead of connecting, I simply say something useless.
Instead of fighting back against those who dislike I just reply.
No argument in sight.
Didn't I used to care about the few fans I had?
I used to explode with happiness when someone said “I connected with this!”
Now it’s just, a bleak thanks, and I move on.