Sleep SweeperSleep SweeperSleep Sweeper3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
poets love writing about elegiac features.
this is idyllic when auroras
bring out cheekbones.
and we love to proclaim verse
in bird cage ribs of the depressed,
of the capricious and muted,
but we cannot see these things
when the moon is eclipsed.
and no one ever writes
about the poetry in a woman,
but how the woman is poetic.
how she speaks iambs,
moves in rhythm,
looks in stanzas,
stands in meters,
reacts in spaces,
breathes in line breaks.
and it is the man’s cold hands,
planting clawed tendrils
against the soil of a woman,
wings spread and close
like a cloak diluting (f)light.
growing in her skin
starting in the middle of her chest.
petals rising from
under her breast
in the devil’s snare.
but no one writes about the
wishful, wistful, wisp full whispers
that tickle eardrums
playing sleep sweepers.
the tail that is the whisk broom
holding magic and wizardry
as love encompasses me in a spell.
Found.I find poetryFound.3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
under my nails
behind my ears,
down the drain
after a long,
where you don't come to
until the water's long since gone
Concrete and Glass Minutesthis heavy waitConcrete and Glass Minutes1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
pounds out the minutes
of falling buildings
the last minutes
concrete and glass minutes
papers, broken conduit
seconds of spark
fire, smoke wells
a horizon thrusts
of its collection
a human wind gathers
having escaped lungs
to smell like fear
instead, it smells
more like why, or what
and it tastes impossible
like unstirred ingredients
powdered blood, ground rebar
teeth bitten through
love trapped in words
that never made it out
Burning LeavesBurning leavesBurning Leaves1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
A lost history of trees
Aware in cold stillness
To endless cascades
Surrounded by quiet
Heart palpitating over seeping emotion laid bare
Through passing suns
Time is still
As am I
The pulsing ache hidden
In glimmers and quiet bursts
Sometimes I love the crisp cold of autumn in its wake
And I can dream of the past
And everything that passes through me with each
AutumnTilting past the equinoxAutumn1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
Slipping on the angled light
My place in time is losing tread
And falling into winter’s bite.
Croon.And you will have my arms around youCroon.1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
long after the first frost
silences the crickets
that played us to sleep
through our first summer,
and their children
and the children of theirs
will play those same songs
as creases form and deepen
beside our eyes.
And I know this because
of our childish jokes
and because of the words
we are writing.
there’s something about
these kisses hitting their marks
from thousands of miles away
eliciting rouge beneath pale;
I see on your face
the dumbfounded grin
I feel spreading across my own,
our bodies built
scattered by the hand of fate
between two states.
But it is love
who is determined
to complete our picture
and it is love
who shall have her way.
stardust skinnedi sit in my wheelchair, slumping so my spine curlsstardust skinned1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
in on itself, forming the question mark that dictates
my life. the news is flashing on the television so rapidly
i cannot gather the energy to focus on it. silence
permeates the house, rejecting any noise that dares
disturb it -- even a cannon blast would tremble
before the oppressing quiet. my mind wanders,
standing from the chair that confines my body and
walking right out the front entrance. it tumbles
into the metropolis i yearn for, navigating its way
through the throngs of human beings who, like me,
wish to return to the sky.
Desire for Poetic LineageI wish I could write poetryDesire for Poetic Lineage2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
That summered in Long Island
Within horseshoe distance of Rockefellers, Vanderbilts and Astors.
I wish my pages were tinted with wood smoke
Trailing back from the 20th Century Limited racing to Boston.
I wish its shoes were muddied
From wintering in the Berkshires with Hawthorne.
I wish it bore the paint splatters of
A night spent in Saint-Remy-de-Provence.
I wish it knew the hungered, soulless eyes
Of kids in Carolina cotton gins and Pennsylvania coal breakers.
I wish it had helped fix the propeller shafts at Kill Devil Hills.
I wish my binding was kindled with Spurgeon's fire, then kept alight
With Screwtape's missives to his apprentice.
I wish my words had dared the trials of Stanley and Livingstone.
I wish my poem aspired to treasonous courage in defiance of the Crown
To pursue Life, Liberty and Happiness.
thursday [wood].木曜日thursday [wood].2 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
light drapes itself onto
the smell of wood-fire
disturbing pantomime –
MalignmentMalignmentMalignment4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're so dramatic,
hot and cold in the
same fractured sentence.
You frustrate me;
like a picture frame
that isn't quite centered right.
Left hanging by a thread
that maybe it'll look okay
from a different angle
or a different light.
But us, no matter what angle,
or day or night,
we were like puzzle pieces
that didn't fit.
And it drove me crazy to see
those two pieces
just sitting away from the game,
that we had a misaligned frame.
We were never on the same level.
You, you were a constant
temptation to insanity
with your ill-chosen words,
protestations of 'I love you'
and whispers beneath the sheets.
The road to your goodwill
stretched out to forever,
and I grew so tired of
trying out configurations;
the countless positions
that never quite seemed
to startle my senses,
although they always
Your tongue was a cliché
But it wasn't the polished edge,
I was most concerned about.
It was t
two.send messages in theirtwo.2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
little notes that
i love you.
i miss you.
where have you gone.
and i'll take them,
fill them up with
send them back, across
to the other side.
i'll send you a postcard...
wish you were here.
because i'm not coming back.
Number the DaysContemplate calendar boxes,Number the Days3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
perfectly square as if
time is moving and this is how
she packs every memory into
stuffed into corners
Or maybe this is just how
temporal as the clocks
carefully ration our mortality
sans clear expiration dates.
She smells like flowersThe young boy just wanted to hold her tightShe smells like flowers6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
As he felt her amber hair flutter about in the breeze
Looks scattered timidly, unrestrained heartbeats faded away
This young adventurer finally found the fragrance he'd die for.
Putrid seas of despair became Twilight's holdings
Here comes victorious Dawn, hammering her flowered flag into
The possessed boy's skull. This new Freedom he was blessed,
Kept running through his mind as if he has lived thousands of lives.
He craved her all night long, a fellow bottle in hand
Waiting made his night last longer than eternal Oblivion
Howling as a lost soul, until he smells her again,
The shy boy was reeked of youth's insouciance,
On his fresh field
the every-things.a local map and whiskey light castthe every-things.3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
upon the table. a table of every-
things. pale daubs of face
huddle around. tight. tighter. as if
this imperturbable sur-
face was (somehow) warm. with
every-things are thrown
two. by. two.
when the day is done i'll be goneIn my fingertips is the devilwhen the day is done i'll be gone2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Daring me to touch what is not to be touched
And I care not, reaching through my own open ribcage
To touch what lies between inflating balloons that are my lungs-
In my ears echo your voice,
Begging me not to reverse the corruption in my heart
And I care not, reaching between my lungs to grasp my heart with my inked fingers
To release the sigil stitched deep into the veins of my heart.
eggshells in my throatI am cradled,eggshells in my throat3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
rustling ribcage bursting
in feathered fragments
through still air,
and you ask what's wrong
but each breath is a triumph;
words would be a desperate freefall
I cannot fly--
I'm barely crawling.
I am embraced,
entwined in almost-whispers,
struggling, and I flinch away
from compassion; it would be kinder
just to leave.
I am caged,
my cries for help flutter in
wing-beat echoes from
larynx to lip
only to collide,
beaten and bruised,
with the towering walls
...we let the streetlamps light...4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to have to imagine
the roads ahead
i let my
beyond the lights and
the back alleys,to stretch its own limits;
[into the dark, into the night.
in tenebris,in noctem]
VindicationFires ignite within the unspokenVindication3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
And when the light fades
I can submerge myself within each given sigh
That burn into one another
I am fallen without falling
Written, yet never drawn in your eyes
Fading into the sun
And the omnipresent waves that pull me into each thought of you
Blinded are we to one another, when all it would take is a moment
A glance, like the realization when the sun rises
And sets around us
We live our lives stricken and apart
With only a flicker of what would ignite our only vindication held between us.
Burning me down(French version below)Burning me down3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Burning abyss collapse
While my soul is getting dirty of an ash gray color,
I see myself consumed by the flame of my dreams again.
Obsession, hysteria, frenzy, obsessive fear, fury
Soak up my nights coated with a sweet madness,
Devoured until purple dawn.
Here come vindictive and pleasurable daytimes
Where only ruins and reefs remain - Slaughtered by this arrow,
And your image branded with a red-hot iron on the silk of my skin.
Cradled with my illusions, sick of my feelings,
I'm dying to see you since the day I met you,
Where you took me prisoner of this dream.
Me brûler toute entière
Les abysses ardentes s'abattent
Pendant que mon âme se salit d'un gris cendré,
Je me vois de nouveau consumée par la flamme de mes rêves.
Obsession, hantise, hystérie, frénésie, furie
S’imprègnent sur mes nuits enduites d'une douce folie,
desolatei want to write something bitter,desolate5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
sour and acidic, like the first
shudder after a taste of lemon;
i want to write of how you
kill me with every breath,
every kiss, every sporadic, treasured touch
i want to spill words onto the page
like ink out of a broken bottle,
i want to stab and wound with the fragments;
sear, scratch, pierce
but when i bring you to my mind,
i cannot conjure anger,
nor passion; only a cloud of sadness
i am unable to shake.
there are no nightmares lingering here;
only long forgotten dreams.
seastormI,seastorm2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the sea(m)s
of tidal vacancy;
I am the ocean, and
the moon has
cling to reason,
I stumbled on
abrupt. bedridden yet
ever chas(m)ing, I
fell to salt-soaked
ground from a
words were all it took
but all you do is take.
I am waking
and I am shaken
tsunami waves that break
in empty frantic fury;
the briefest repose
or instant of stillness,
I yearn; instead
I am abandoned by language,
I am bound to languish beneath
tempests that swell,
even the most desperate of breaks
for the shore.