New Orleans MinuteNew Orleans Minute11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Time sashays like a creole strumpet,
barefoot and brown down Rue Madeleine
past this window, this table,
where gumbo steams and shrimp tails
clutter my plate.
A molasses haze fogs the lamplight.
A young man too full of libation
succumbs to this damp heat,
bent nearly double,
splatters his feet.
A coasting cabbie slows to say,
Laissez le bon temps rouler
and laughs until his brakelights fade.
magnificentmagnificent12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Today, dead people are two feet farther from the sun.
All this white and the sterile icebox cold
has contracted my lungs and pupils
and replaced the cluttered punctuation in my head
with the sanctuary of winter.
The snow has me using words like magnificent again,
things I never thought would cover
the landscape again.
Today, I woke up with the feeling back in my arms
and my hands were damn near frozen.
I was in need of your hearth and homemade
bread served on a table made of
wood, whose grain is swelling with the heat.
It must be that in the night, some small creatures
found the hatch to my heart,
the levers and controls of my love.
But just the same, I'm starting to thaw
and I'd like you to be there
to stare through panes of glass with me
holistically at the pagan scenery.
asea, tonightasea, tonight10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I'm at your door; can hear the brass and bass,
the snare drum, through the glass. It's jazz, tonight.
You let me in and suddenly I'm in
a room of profound poets, who sing their verse
through shining horns, sweet saxophone riffs.
The solos drift so richly, dance among smoke rings—
tonight, when everyone's somebody's cool cat.
There's a girl whose trumpet weeps when she woos its keys,
those wailing notes like Miles would have played.
And the long-haired bassist pains his face as he plucks
away at the tired shape the body makes,
he sways. And when the guitar's clean strings do sing,
it's melody carries a twang so sweet—it's jazz,
tonight. Tonight!— We can be alive, tonight.
And I'm in the corner, no horn in hand, not even
a cigarette for now. I'm just a shadow this evening,
no harmony for me. Just silent taps
of thumbs on thighs; of a breath before sirens sing.
Tonight, blue tunes knew the way through a smoky
sea—found me… Last I heard they were still awaiting
The Littlest PresidentThe Littlest President11 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
The Littlest President
At the age of eleven I was elected the 50th president of the United States of America. My analysts put my win down to youth (I was the youngest ever to run) and to the unfortunate late-October acne breakout of my incumbent rival, an eighth grader from Massachusetts. I have a stronger faith in the New Rules than do my analysts, who are always looking at polls and running them through sacred formula. I ascribe my presidency to the good sense of America, my hard work at Security School, and the stunning leadership of my handlers.
Once my presidency was officially announced, my face was given another coat of foundation and I was ushered up to a podium in front of a large crowd of my supporters. There was a crashing sea of applause. Most of my supporters were dumpy women in their thirties – just barely old enough to remember a time before we had the New Rules – these were my core demographic, although my handlers dutifully i
the conversationalistthe conversationalist11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slit-eye winter sun-
rise buried to the hilt
as if you
'd answered my every fucking
question speaking french-
it's October again, my darling
for pity, oh. for pity's sake, this
talking in morse or
semaphore is getting
by the day.
these icy fingers
are not persuaded by my plea of self
defence, the jury's
out, the cock has crowed,
the books are
falling from the shelves
like dodgy tape recordings of
conversations overheard in dreams,
what I want to know is why,
I had my mouth ajar as if to speak,
as though the distance between my
tongue and lip
was suddenly too far.
arabesquethe cooling palm of youth'sarabesque11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
extends in equal and opposite motion
to the hot, bright tongue of LOVE,
tying my core to yours
like two red apples on a branch.
Twilight-Uncensored Ch.5ReviewTwilight-Uncensored Ch.5Review4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Review of Chapter Five
By Stephenie Meyer
So I bought a giant stuffed sheep the other day. It's pink—because the asshole kid in front of me took the purple one—and fluffy. It's going to sit with me today and every time I read something that upsets my inner writing Nazi, I shall hug it.
I opened the Twilight book and set the sheep directly in my lap. I shall name it…Sheepie.
Moving back a step for the briefest recap in history [well, in the history of this chapter review series:
Bella moves to forks.
Bella whines about her life.
Bella meets Edward.
Bella becomes bedazzled.
Bella and Eddy-pie fight.
Bella lies about shit to get out of being popular.
Edward decides to ask Bella on a road trip.
Okay, it probably could have been shorter. More like:
This story sucks, close the book.
Oh silly me.
And here I sit at chapter five…and I don't even know he's a vampire yet! I mean…wait a minute… Chapter five was
Eight KissesEight Kisses10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You can call
it emptiness, breath, epithet, or oblivion
or love, or the thing we can't
touch, while in motion.
of your mouth in me like icemelt water,
like a creek,
OrchardYour fingers are guillotines,Orchard4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
purely purposeful machines.
You pluck the apple,
and carve it clean,
find the core,
suck out the seeds.
Take a life
and taste the power,
and sugar sweet.
You thank God and the devil
with a crooked smile
that the day is young,
and so are they,
and just ripe enough
for you to eat.
God Is DeadGod Is Dead11 years ago in Humor More Like This
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
* * *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
"Is he dead?"
"Who is it?"
"Where's my camera?"
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstan
The Best of YouThe Best of You7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Something always peeved Hayner about struggle matches. It was probably Seifer's physical contact techniques that always resulted in their bodies pressing close, and Hayner being pinned in provocative positions while Seifer waved to the crowd.
It wasn't that Hayner disliked having Seifer's strong body crushed so persistently against his own smaller one, but it was the reaction that certain aspects of his anatomy happened to generate in a public arena when Seifer had his thick arm around Hayner's neck and a strong leg curved around the shorter teen's lanky one to hold Hayner flush against the blond bully's stomach while lazily smacking struggle balls off of Hayner's battle gear that would really get to him.
At the time, Hayner could do nothing but flail his arms around in an attempt to bat at Seifer in a near-pathetic manner, his knees going weak at the feel of hard hips against his backside and Seifer's breath ghosting over his neck.
Of course, after a shout of rage and a more-than-prov
Presidents and PoetryPresidents and Poetry11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I feel his breath on my neck
until electricity stands up down my spine.
He's asleep, I'm thinking
of presidents, poetry, and the sky.
And how quickly I can destroy
once I put my hands to it.
He has been spared, somehow;
I can still breathe him in on nights like these,
and he returns the favor
by forgetting imperfections.
There is potential here
in this moment of quiet;
For something like love,
a tragic romance,
another night of meeting
an old stranger,
and letting him know
I just couldn't forget.
BlindfoldBlindfoldBlindfold4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Hören ist mir also wohl wichtiger als Sehen.
Ich meine, klar, Sehen ist eine tolle Sache und mir wird sicher das Malen und Lesen und Schreiben schwerfallen, wenn ich nichts mehr sehe. Hach das Lesen wird mir fehlen..
Mir wird es fehlen mein Blut nicht mehr sehen zu können und all solche Dinge. Was mir nicht fehlen wird ist das Fernsehen, all die Menschen um mich herum, das Internet (obwohl das Internet die Sache ist, die vorrangig meine restliche Zeit tötet die ich hier noch verweilen muss, was an sich eine gute Sache ist), mein Spiegelbild, das Tageslicht, was Leute hinter meinem Rücken tun. Ich werde oft an den Nachthimmel denken. Ich werde blind und stumm Bilder malen und meine Gedanken aufschreiben, die ich nie sehen werde. Dann werde ich schreien und versuchen meinen Körper nicht mehr zu spüren, die Intensität wird grausam sein. Die Schreie werden nicht durchdringen, nichts bewirken, trotzdem anhalten.
Extended VacationSora was crying, Cloud couldn't take it much longer. "Shut up Sora! Shut up now!" He yelled at the small child who sniffled.Extended Vacation9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"M-M-M-My arm hurts Cloud!" The 5-year-old boy answered to his brother's orders, holding his bleeding arm.
"I know, I'm trying to find mom and dad." He said, climbing over a few chairs of the plain. They had been flying to Florida, but now where not in the air for some reason. Sora kept on crying as Cloud found the seats his mom and dad had been in. Blood covered his mother's golden locks and his father's short messy brown hair, both of their blue eyes where filled with terror at the death they had to face.
"Did you find mommy and daddy?" Sora asked.
"Sora…Now don't you cry…" He said, going back over to his little brother. "Don't cry, we'll be fine I promise I'll be with you whatever happens…" Sora sniffed, not sure what he meant. Cloud took the younger boy into his arms. "Mommy and daddy went away, and they're ganna be away for a long time."
"How long, Cloud?"
the neat conclusionWhen it comes, you will not knowthe neat conclusion11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
by cause or effect. Context,
perhaps; the open windows,
wider sky, the lying corvid's cry,
more people in their gardens,
louder banging cupboard doors,
the ticking of an engine
where no engine was before.
some tidbitssome tidbits11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i. strange tanlines
days i forget my watch
i spend a lot of time
looking at a bare wrist
and pretending i had
some unique exotic
the first time i held
a hand-sized place on your back
i moved your skin a centimetre
to the left of pressing muscle, bone;
you felt like a cat
too comfortable to abdicate the sofa
for the fireplace but
his ego an inflatable toy
was not to be confused
for a life-saving device
i fell asleep
with a psychology textbook on my chest
not because it was boring;
i just happened to be beneath it and tired
at the same time.
a similar event occurred
at the wheel of a car
and lord knows how dangerous
it can be to navigate rush hour
with Freud pressing against you
quietly asserting just how much
you'd like to fuck your mother.
v. as seen on t.v.
nothing's even on between
3 and 7am unless you
count the easy-payment
ass-definers compressed between
the thighs of some
suspiciously enthusiastic mall-goer
jupiter with her vision...jupiter with her vision expanding, lookingjupiter with her vision...11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
unerring into the mouse's beady eye
whose tiny spine is shaped
as a comma, like a scream,
she is crying
oh jptr hide your face
oh jptr whose long red locks
are grazing her,
pasiphae, she is whispering
pasiphae I am inclined-
- don't touch me
- don't touch me
tiny eyes. there is no space for
may I rest my soul here
for a little while?
WatcherYou are beautiful;Watcher10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No, you are something
Else, something younger,
More jagged and blue
Than the statues
You whisper me down
From my perch
On the tub,
You keep me so stark
Under your watcher's
I swallow your beauty
To paint my insides grey.
It makes me
One more night,
A few more days
Under your blue,
A Cellos SoundYou sit in your old chair, counting secondsA Cellos Sound9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
One crawls by, another slowing on the way
Waiting, hoping, wishing
Reciting in your mind the words that you should say
A cellos sound in the distance, perhaps its in your head
You hear the lullaby, imagining her on your bed
Maybe its more than the music, maybe its all what you knew
Every shudder you felt, every butterfly flutter in you
Was it the touch, the voice or her pretty hazels?
Was it just another one of those phases?
Was it the devils curse on you for being a dreamer?
Was it Gods way to determine if youre a believer?
Sitting on your old checkered chair, asking questions
Questioning your stuffed dolls, whispering confessions
The Cellos sound is so dreamy, even though its all in your head
You rather have it, than have no one sharing your bed
Bullet in the HeadThat little boy, standing in the darkBullet in the Head9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You know he saw it all, all the heartache
The little boy standing by your bed
The little boy with a bullet in his head
That little boy, who wished for a bike
Who got death as a birthday surprise
That little boy who only died for the reason
Of being an offspring of these people
For being the boy from this land
For having the misfortune of giving a helping hand
To the people from his blood, who shared his faith
He's the little boy who swallowed the deceitful bait
He's the little boy running in the streets
Seeing the big army man with a rifle and destructive machines
The big army man who looked in the boys eyes
The frightened dark eyes who emitted helpless cries
The big army man with an angry sneer
Who slapped the boy and dragged him out of the street
Who shot the little boy in the head
Who filled his frail tiny body with lead
The little boy you see in your dreams
The little boy with the echoing screams
The little boy standing b
memories - i never hadmemories - i never had11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
memories (i never had)
i can feel the taste of tears
rising in my throat
keep it down
we don't want to wake the neighbors
with our sympathies
our word addictions
for the faceless names
that have snuck from between the dusty pages
grabbed our hands
and led us on a merry dance
through the dark apple tree forests
shadows in the moonlight
no reflections in their empty eyes
i reach out my hand
grasping for yours in the dark
the figure in the chair by the pool
looking out over the sea
but it is only fiction
that holds us apart
and your face is just a suggestion
over the sound of crashing waves
close my eyes
and smell the salt
feel the whisper of your skin
as you pass by
101412PARALLAX101412PARALLAX12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
per aspera, ad astra.
to the angel of the halls of time:
in the space of those untold-thousand terminal
heartbeats silent; the treetop sunbeams gliding
some forest thaw in spring where he was static
bled like ruin and heather in the cloudshperes
she danced not far, and whether or not she felt
the dynamic of weathered-storm skyshallow, yet
untired he moved to make not a sound and thus
was fashioned the beginning of an end
radiate.radiate.11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i love you my blood wench... my thump thump heart beat kiss me with a soldering iron... melted maga eyes ....burn me burn me... burn a hole through me... see right through me... fly a kite through me and laugh at the double dips and loppy loops that your thousand blown kisses produce.
use the back door my three footed mariachi maestro. and enter the dreams i have. of silken locks of petrified tears. bruised fruit and ripe wishes. i adore you. call me as your expert witness and i will surely testify on your behalf. i will paint rainbows with your eyelashes. watch you blink in ultra violet.
you mean the milkyway to me. help me recyle plastic bottles and weave wigwams with our wet dreams... i love you like aliens abduct and ears are shaped like question marks. sing me a song of trivial riddles and hum a sweet tune of soft answers. tell me of your grandmothers afgans the body
Walking aloneWalking alone10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Walking down the long dark street…
The shy moon looming over
Behind scattered gray shadows
Watching over the world…
Over us poor souls
Lost in the cold universe
My ragged breath
Stained the icy air
With sallow swirling ghosts
Dissolving into nothingness
My eyes suddenly fall…
On two beating hearts
A boy and his girl
Walking slowly before me
Smiling those hopeful smiles
Looking into each others eyes
The kind of look that can say
What a tongue can never do
They seemed gleaming
Tearing all gathering darkness
Warmth filled me
All gloom vanished
The power of innocent love
Drove the coldness out
I passed them swiftly
The lump in my throat growing
With every step away
A watery something slid
Down my face
And fell to the long dark street
With the tiniest splash
No one could hear