Stone Kings and Loved KingdomsStone Kings and Loved Kingdoms11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This pencil is my spirited javelin,
more nurtured than a rock,
more caring than a spider of doubt:
I am a writer, always travelling.
See here, this open notebook without words,
all tangled in mind silk,
all threatening and bleak, shadowless:
how can I tempt the twists of thought to call?
How I feel the ache to grapple stories,
light a candle to talk,
encourage night to give up secrets:
I field the words like noble warriors.
Imagine stone-built kings enthroned in white,
Greek marble, and carved love,
entrap the beautiful characters:
I plague my little soldiers on the page.
I cast my artistry upon the world,
unfitting and unsought,
the battles to be fought are not won:
and the curved majesty of stars escapes.
The Driest Place In The WorldWhen does the ghost begin to fade and lay to rest the blame?The Driest Place In The World11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For I have haunted far too long these God forsaken ways,
And down the church, the rooms and halls so maddeningly still,
I wait for her to pass again, right through me with a chill.
And that is all and my full force falls short to turn her eyes,
She shudders when my ghastly form slips through her skin divine,
But then she glides away as I stand stricken yet again,
The coldest pale that marks a man who lost where he began.
The bells now ring, the women sing, and God is on His way,
The clergy wear their finest suits, while by the doors they wait,
I drifted past the man erect whose face was somewhere else,
He never saw my shape or even glimpsed the way I felt.
Today we'll have the finest wine and drink the wells till dry,
The silver plate will touch us all, and we will all comply,
Oh Hark, yes Hark, the angels sing for she has now arrived,
A princess in the whitest gown, the pure and fairest bride.
And now begins the ritual, the
the Butcheringthe Butchering12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the tears burn behind my eyes
as ever so carefully
I asked the question.
Perhaps I knew the answer, but still
I had to ask.
Maybe, I thought, there will be concern
and care felt in the hesitation.
Confused and confusing,
staring unbelieving, listening
searching for reason
knowing the answer will be certain.
Still I must ask
still I must seek
sense or peace.
Dawns the awakening.
Now it's done.
We breathe in slow motion silence.
Will you cry, I thought I heard you sigh.
I only imagined...
It began as a ripping
an excruciating rending
as the knife sliced downward through my center
carefully scraping my bones.
I wanted to wail,
such a painful motion this is
this tearing away of love
this cutting from the sinew
from the muscles, the very heart of my being.
Let it be over soon.
It's nearly impossible to stand
(I cannot stand)
It's nearly impossible to wait
(I want to run)
White Pills, Lights and LiesWhite Pills, Lights and Lies11 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I always said from the start no one could save me. Not my parents, not the doctors, not myself. I didn't really want to be saved.
Four o clock in the morning, found lying on the floor of my bedroom, a breath away from death, with a bottle of pills scattered across the floor. So I had everything, or so it seemed to others. I just wanted to get away. It wasn't hard to take the pills. All I had to do was think of everything that made me cry, everything they did to hurt me. No one would have missed me if I were gone..
Sometimes hell seems more inviting than life. Maybe life is hell
They got the phone and dialled. Flashing lights and oxygen masks.
My life dangling on a string.
They fucking got me.
I woke up to the stench of disinfectant, and white reflective hospital walls. The room spun, and the walls closed in on me. I screamed and cried, no one came.
I couldn't believe I was awake; I didn't want to think that it had
DisplacementDisplacement13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i sink in one foot at a time
with the same anticipation
i would have while stepping into
the shadow of your naked body
if you were standing in front of me
i submerge myself
in the depths of lonely night
water hot with the scent
of your breath
if you were breathing on me
instead of the steam that
pricks my skin
and rises like your
face above mine would
if you were here.
i lay back slowly
letting it run through my hair
as your fingers would
if you were here
and it rises past my shoulders
drowning them in streams
of heat as you would
with your tongue
if you were here
it encircles my breasts
where your tongue would paint me
swallows my nipples
where your lips would embrace me
fills my navel and pours over
my waist sending pools
down between my lips
where you would part me
if you werent apart from me
i let the water hit me
where you are missing
let it bead up on my skin
and gush inside me
the space you would fill
with your electricity
heat and fire
if you were here
i arc back in dream and p
drowning out westdrowning out west11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It has not been so bad here -- warmer than home and they call the place differently than we do. You know how we always said Mizzery?
They call it Mizzera.
Auntie J and Uncle Agner have made the attic comfortable for me. From my window I can see hills fattening in the distance and the river veins away from them -- winds right through the pasture.
Tell mother I wear the cardigan she crocheted and no one can tell yet. Auntie looks hard, cause she knows I should be blowing up, but she's disappointed. She tells me eat right cause she wants her new baby healthy and she heaps enough food for two grown-ups on my plate; I eat as much as I can, but it all comes up anyway.
Give everyone my love.
Mother is still too upset to write; I hope you understand. I'm glad you're settled in.
Agner only owns the pasture,
he hasn't a breath of livestock
His job is on the road,
so I'm alone with Auntie
and the boys most days.
The phone rings
A is for AlgebraD disliked starting each day. She'd ratherA is for Algebra11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
squander her time writing of dusty dreams
late at night by candlelight. This bothered
F who loathed the part where father must wake
unwilling daughter firmly from slumber.
Her eyes remain sleep-stained until M rakes
a warm washrag across her face. Brother
e, now a teenager who refuses
to capitalize his name, walks sister
to the bus-stop where B drives them to school
with a frown on his face. J, K, and L
form her usual clique. They chat until rules
force them to part ways when they'd rather stay
and gossip about H--though, i don't know
what they see in him. G drones on today
about grammar (they still teach that?) until
even the bell is exasperated
and offers to sound in pity and fill
the halls with familiar hullabaloo.
On the way to her next class, D spots O,
her friend whose affinity for junk food
has left her with contours that even eggs
must envy. They walk to Mr. A
eyelashes closingnonexistant poem number 2eyelashes closing10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll pull a line with
chalk and if one emotion ever dares to walk over it again
cut it into pieces
and glue it onto paper
and call it collage number three.Yeah , this is how it goes. I have learned to convert feelings into art before they even show my mind what could be wrong with me. Before they even try to change
the way that I perceive
emotions are better when thrown into
cans of paint and swirled
a thick brush
size 20 or something . Just large enough
to make it drown inside the colours.
And now come on I do not .. want to hear any worried exclaims from the mother of emotions : love.
Because I have handled that one quite well , just a few weeks ago.
See my gallery ?
here is love. Crucified behind glass.
Kept safely on the wall with several nails.
Sadness? Just around the corner
you see that painting with the thick black border?that is sadness
so as you see
stress yourself it is so so easy to manage emotio
you must not lookyou must not look10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All I want to do is lay, spine pressed
to floorboards and have my feet look up
at his heart,
but it's not a heart, really;
it's more a spark plug
with heat that expands my pores
and lets him in
quickly, like a small explosion
on ignition. His words can cause a chemical corrosion
as he spits wet air at my iron eyelids,
folding vowels tightly in the creases
of my clenched hands,
I can scrub myself until raw,
pluck his letters out, like eyebrows
and scrape the rust from my cheeks
with a red-handled chisel
from my Fathers tool shed,
and I'm hidden in there, crouched,
with head bobbing slightly
above the windowsill. My ankles quiver
like the sound of 'be quiet'
as Mum pegs out white towels and underwear
that used to match me
before he kissed my cheeks like the sun
and made my freckles rise
along with a new part of me.
Hungry, ugly --
and I keep buying new loofahs
to help clean myself up
but I still feel like Monday morning
every day of the week.
The Supermarket"How did the exams go?" he asks, a slight stutter in his voice betraying his excited, unvoiced line of questioning: 'Are you leaving us?'The Supermarket9 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
You try, unconvincingly, to say that they went okay – not that you could be sure, yet – and list all the work that you've done; try and prove that you're not a waster, even though you yourself remain unconvinced.
As he speaks, he pulls you down, and you can almost feel his outstretched, grasping hands on you, as he teases you about your future career plans. You've grown up with this national aversion to success, so it shouldn't be a surprise. But it still ruffles your feathers, makes you imagine the unimaginable: failure and a life spent working in this fucking cage.
His questions come to an end, punctuated by the emission of a deep, guttural cough, and he stands to go to the worktop, where he'll prepare his lunch of cheap white bread and margarine.
The fifteen minutes finally draw to an end, and you stand – "See you," "Yeah, see you" –
A Beautiful Mistake III-PoemA Beautiful Mistake III-Poem11 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
You are a beautiful Mistake</I>
A tear falls
silently hitting the ground.
Closing my eyes,pretending
I`m falling through the sky.
I can`t see the sunshine,
I can`t smell the fragrance of flowers,
I can`t feel the tenderness of love.
I can`t even catch my own breath...
You are a beautiful mistake...
to remember your goodness
not let the lies trouble me.
It`s hard to predict the future
I can`t trust your promises.
If saying goodbye is painful
let`s stop our love here.
You are just a beautiful mistake...
His AbsenceHe doesn't understandHis Absence12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
neither can you
the pain that is caused
by his absence
he not here
he is never here
why would he be here
"but I'm here with you"
no you're not
I Can SeeI can see in your tender face,I Can See10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A unique and beautiful grace,
Colors found in no other cheek.
I can see in your attentive eye,
A unique and beautiful sky,
A special look that can speak.
I can see in your floating hair,
A unique and beautiful care,
Giving the feeling of a Queen.
I can see in your cautious hand,
A unique and beautiful land,
A faraway Earth never seen.
I can see in your loving heart,
A unique and beautiful part,
In a busy and lively life.
A Riddle For YouA Riddle For You11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You'll learn it like their mighty catechism,
before you ever know it like the back of your hand
and you'll study it like a famous painting
but it may never take life in your weak eyes.
The things they teach in school,
never will ever touch you where this does.
If a word is a whisper,
then an action is screamed at you.
A promise is hollow,
and trust is a precious gem
(fucking poetic now, aren't we?)
and both can be broken, snapped in half, crushed.
Impale yourself in the seas of "fucked"
clench your fists and prepare to bleed.
What if this all = nothing, and that goddamned tripping caterpillar was right?
So what IS greater than God,
and more evil than the devil...?
It's a fucking riddle, you prick