Let go and tell meWhat is Reality?Let go and tell me6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Reality is life.
What is Life?
Life is love.
What is Love?
Love is pain.
What is Pain?
Pain is reality.
That's all there is.
Butterfly BreathI caught raindrops in my palm,Butterfly Breath4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Standing on rough sand
And watching the ocean swell
With the fresh, new water of Spring.
The air tasted of salt,
Lilacs, and something forgotten
Lingering in my brain
Just above my spinal cord.
The boy was there,
Holding the sky in his palms
And weeping- always the same
That was when I realized it was a dream.
"Who are you?" I called.
He dropped the sky,
Blue shattered and the rain stopped.
"Don't break your wings."
He warned in a voice the colour
Of sunset poppies.
"Don't break them, or"
The waves crashed and he was gone.
I stood alone again on the sand,
Blue sky fragmented at my feet.
My wings fluttered in the wind.
I held up my hand for the rain to return,
And a monarch butterfly, regal,
Precise in every movement,
Alighted on my fingertip.
"Don't break your wings." It warned.
Its eyes were black as snakes.
"Who are you?" I cried.
"Why do you always leave me?"
The butterfly crumpled,
Dissolving as the rain returned,
Salty as the ocea
The Washboard WindBody mimics water motion--The Washboard Wind4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
laundry skin, white wash, sweat,
your ribs are the hull of a ship
and heave night-breath. Bones
touch one another, unknowing
of their existence and you're scared
of the soundless swell in you.
You're no pirate. Don't fight this.
In the Year of Our Lord 1921Aug. 2In the Year of Our Lord 19218 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Two weeks out.
This far north
the sun barely touches the horizon
before it rises again.
No wind now for three days.
We have not seen the skipper since friday night,
but we can hear him screaming from his cabin:
"The sea has many gods!"
The sea is oddly calm;
his voice carries for miles.
This morning we dragged up
the bloated corpse of a sea lion.
The first mate stared long at its body
before he decided that it was not a mermaid
and we threw it back overboard.
The holds are empty still;
our nets drag useless behind us.
Cook says he hears bells in the distance.
He has been drunk for days.
The galley smells like stale bread and trench-death.
The skipper has gone silent now;
there is only waves against the keel,
and the first mate leaning on the wheel.
He mumbles foreign names
and stomps his heavy boots on the deck
to keep us awake.
We have not slept for weeks.
The wind is
argument The last time I spoke with you, it was like breathing underwater. My lungs were filling up, so that thin words kept swimming out of my mouth and I coughed up phrases that didn't make sense. Every speck of twisted logic you managed to shout suddenly fit, and I found myself wondering if you had been right all along. It was too bright. You were too loud. I didn't know what to say, and the fish were swimming all around me and brushing my shivery arms and my skirt was floating and freezing my bare legs. My hair was seaweed. My tongue was salt. I was not as pretty as a mermaid.argument8 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I'm not sure how, but underwater you were the most sensible person alive or dead. Your arguments, usually ridiculous, rang strong and true and made me look like a stupid foolish little child. My retorts were sloppy and ill-re
the origin of tweed coatsthe origin of tweed coats7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tailors, surgeons, homemakers
keep the human closet covered:
violet knitted hearts, corduroy veins
and this tucked in your pocket
adjust the place of something old
and add, add, add
like a mathematician
stuck on one sum
take this tweed patched to pinstripe
thread up and through
through fabric, and prick -
the first mistake and ebb of red
prick, prick, prick -
let me, your mother says,
pins between lips,
fingers knitting thread
through brown and blue
XXXI - the difference of a dayToday I knot my hair in a braid,XXXI - the difference of a day8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pat the envelope of you, which waits
to be opened; just a sphere of skin,
held beneath my beating breasts.
Yesterday he told me the buttons
of my spine were beautiful
and ran fingers over them
just to see me come undone.
Today I walk toward news,
my feet lift and fall -
there are three of us, breathing
Yesterday I held you,
only to feel your kick
carving lines in my palm;
together, we're a pattern.
Today I sit and watch my words
shudder as the authorities speak
statistics. But you're only one
line etched across my belly.
Today I drink to fate and forgiveness -
lime cordial and wafers. He stands behind
my arching shoulders and knows how you whittle
me. I am finely boned but breaking.
four sinsI.four sins8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when the stars were so bright it hurt,
i fought a battle
to pull the light back into your eyes.
three weeks and a coma later your lips moved
forming a red stain in the air - "jesus," you said, "jesus."
i tried my hardest to understand.
please turn on the radio
and drag it to your grandmother
in the room with dusty light and dusty blankets,
she'll hear the dusty grit of static voices
from the old days
she will fall absolutely in love again,
feeling the crunch of an apple and touch of a kiss
on teenage teeth
guilt is the eighth sin
tears you apart with knives and daggers
and a satisfied smile -
i rebuilt frankenstein's monster
inside myself, all for you
My Grandmother's GardenMy Grandmother's Garden8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My Grandmother's Garden
We used to ease peacefully
It was less a resignation
Than a contented yielding
To vintage color...
First in trees
And then beneath our feet.
We entered winter intrepidly,
Believing yet in redemption,
We used to behold
The winter as it was
At the moment we first
Witnessed the snow,
Burying our sleeping hopes
Beneath the quiet depths
And March was once the month
That would begin to wake
Lazy and slow
(But sometimes as surprising as snowdrops amidst the snow),
As the winter would finally let go.
Then, when we still
ShiverAn earthquake rolls across her skinShiver8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as green curtains reserve a space
for construction -
he looks at splattered bed sheets
and cradles a small shiver.
He inhales, holds the breath. Hands
calloused by supermarket boxes grip
the railing. Cord of blood and sweat
fused into life is taken into other,
more precise palms.
A hand on his shoulder whirls
him around - birth is burdened
into his arms. Black curls smell sweet.
He feels her hand envelope his as he
leans forward to kiss the wailing temple
turned an angry shade of red. She's
whisked away - to wash and dry.
A statue of bones -
becomes a colossal collapse.
Stairwae to ElevenThere's so much sunny play this morning of May,Stairwae to Eleven8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who's April showers brought heavenly floral hours.
"Smile as Lips," say the pillars… "
"& to who say we sailing today;
we as Friend who happy to be as you to welcome this into place…
The Place where goodbyes caterpillar into hellos that forever sing as say,
(Harmonies nurturing bay)…
Cuddle and Pray…
Tonight became Today!?"
Toughshe looks strong, toughTough7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at least you think she is
but then again we all know
that ignorance is bliss
you dont know her pain
sometimes you'll see it in her eyes
but she doesnt let it show
behind toughness she hides
there isnt a true smile
there isnt a true self
its what she hides behind
there isnt anything else
you think you know her truly
you may know her better than some
but you dont know the pieces lost
or all the things she's done
you dont know the lies shes told
or seen her many scars
you dont know the lonliness she feels
or the coldness of her heart
you cant see the effort
it takes to hold on
you think shes alright
when shes almost gone
she looks strong, tough
and behind it she hides
she continuously puts up walls
cause she's been hurt so many times
you think she's opened up to you
shared the pain she keeps
but she only shares a portion
the rest gives her the creeps
you wont see the tears
when she looks back on it
you wont see the pain
and you wont taste the vomit
you wont see thi
Solstice GreetingsSolstice Greetings8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's the beginning of the weekend before Christmas, you've got everything sourced & sorted. From that which you give to that which you consume, like the turkey the nut-roast, the ham, boxes of fruit & veg along with plenty of booze. And it's all thanks to your little piece of plastic, your flexible friend. You're having a well earned rest & a very well earned drink, sitting before a roaring log fire watching the flames climb up the chimney. You are drawn inward by the warmth of the fire when suddenly, a face appears in the flames, an old man, his face painted, his long white beard plaited. Smiling, he holds out his hand, beckoning to you.
"Stretch out your hand. Stretch Out Your Hand.
Do you not have a greeting for me? Today of all days. Ending & Beginning Day. The day of Death & New Birth. Try "Solstice Greetings" or "Merry Solstice". You have forgotten me, haven't you.
Your children tell sweet tales of me & you laugh behind their backs. But I tell you; your children are wiser
swirling thoughtsswirling thoughts5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dancing through your mind...
your dreams of shattered illusions
of dancing barefoot across the scattered sands
of broken time... of colours and lies,
sunsets of red that melt your eyes
and confuse your soul...
lost on the road to uncertainty...
what do you seek in your solitude?
memories of long ago...
sacred stories of past glories
sold into the oblivion and sorrow
of lost ways and empty days
UnbuttonI declared love dead.Unbutton3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There was a ceremony, and I did the obituary.
"Dear love. I told you so."
Then the burial of an empty gesture, broken
promises integrating with the earth.
I visited the grave, let my fingers run
along the unmarked stone. I would sit at the TV at night,
awash in a sea of detergent and other peoples' wives,
forgetting everything about this. One day I just woke up cold.
And it was fine.
I wrote my acceptance on the inside of my door.
Life is full as it is. Full of spoons and dirt and ways to slowly dig.
Full of reflections on what passes and what does not.
Curled up in itself, a wad of dirty bills. Life is
blue smoke drifting by. Life is consistent in its own confusion.
Rocks and boneheads, sticks and stoneheads.
Some people are dancers, wings for brains, others are dredged from the shallow sea.
We are mud people, grime, flesh, palpitation,
and sudden flashes of staggering beauty.
Life is what grinds the mountains and moves the oceans.
Life is the fantastic terror re
Fata morganaYou often shoutedFata morgana6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
names from open windows
into naked streets and
blank faces. You often
told me that nakedness
needed to be traced, filled in
with heartbeat madness
and be thrown off a cliff,
but that you simply wanted to avoid
You are always left ajar;
you never refuse the uninvited.
I find you raped on your own bed
again and again,
and you never could tell me
I said that you were lockless
and I was nothing but.
I called this an equillibrium
and forced it to make sense.
All you ever saw were keys
to places hidden for a reason,
and shackles for your wild abandon.
Where I saw the future forming
you saw castles in the haze.
the second before you hit the ground.
crucifictioncrucifiction10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lifeless but for
he awaits the whips,
the screaming and writhing
all that sex and violence
is left to linger
with the legacy of silence
her faith has left behind
she stands at attention
ready to vociferate, to hold
in restraint, in detention
in the name of her lord
built in the name of sin
saved by a bloody god
born in the hay of an inn
sentenced to suicide
she wallows in his mercy,
folds her hands every night
forever longing and thirsty
for his divine prize
yet tears of perfect piety
embrace the flesh
of her idolatry
down on her knees again
why hast thou forsaken me?
A Funeral ProcessionAn Old ManA Funeral Procession6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He says, "I dreamt of an old man
who travelled back in time to
become himself as a boy."
And the sun older than
he is, older than man
watches him disappear.
He reappears seventy-five years earlier,
but still here,
still with us, and
We let him go.
We let him go and now
he has never lived.
Her arms are wrapped around her body.
"The dawn has a shape," she says,
"and a voice, and "
she smiles "it knows my name."
Twisted so tightly around herself
she doesn't even exist any more.
A Funeral Procession
The ships, silver paperplanes,
glide past Europa.
There's nothing here, between the stars,
except the silent dead and us.
And something nameless that watches over us.
AlwaysAs the decades pass and we grow grey,Always3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it will not matter. We will have been here,
wildly burning beacons in a sea of dissolution,
scorch marks left on hidden islands
only we have names for.
Time is motionless;
the now mutates.
I dared to love you, naked and exposed,
spread wide like a map for you to wander,
no continents hidden, all rivers running clear.
I exposed all fault lines, you braved every quake.
For this, I owe you everything.
The secrets reveal themselves
when eyes conceal themselves.
Once, in my final time, I want to find you,
silent on the porch, facing the ocean. Your hair,
white and speckled grey, untamed as your eyes,
flying free against the wind in relentless rebellion.
I will slip my crowlike fingers round your waist
where they are home, and I will quietly whisper
"What a life."
And time will swallow us like the sun.
vodkavodka9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
he lies curled,
in crumpled linen
listening to her speak
of a time
when she still felt alive
this was a mistake
she had said
in a tone, dull and numbed:
the swings, at midnight,
of favored movie scenes;
the cheating, stolen kiss
and 3 a.m. drives.
this was a mistake
what shouldn't have started.
he blocks out the words,
and concentrates on her lips
the loss of innocence,
plans and promises shattered
this was a mistake
Aphelion, revisedMaybe it would be best to tell you nowAphelion, revised7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that there are squalls in your eyes.
In the black of your pupil,
I found a clipping of her hair. It wasn't mine
to find; I left it there. Hurried
to what I love most,
your herculean jaw.
I close my eyes to a burst of red,
and though it reminds me of your strength,
I see nothing but her jacket.
It was lying about in your sclera. Your lips, pressed
hard together, thin houdini lips,
Your mouth parts, to breathe
and allow me passage into the wintry fjord,
nicotine yellow mountain tops.
Theres this wrinkle beneath your eye
from whiskey, or from years of fearing your father.
I can see her, the hesitant smile,
slant of her eye, the pitch
of her hair.
The crow's foot was the full curve
of her breast. The apple chunk
lodged deep in your throat
was her pug nose,
a half-chewed ball of sweetmeats.
Two fingers, mine,
slide down your neck,
just beneath the jaw.
I feel the pulse of a man
who doesn't love me.
Lucky to have herShe sings as she goes,Lucky to have her7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
gold pouring from her lips.
In my eyes she glows,
with magic in her fingertips.
Of all the men she knows,
none know her like this,
save for me.
Some might have had her younger,
but I have got her now.
She satisfies my hunger,
as sure as any vow.
Her love's a drug that I am under,
an addiction I allow,
slave to be.
I've given her all I can,
and have right from the start.
Since our love began,
we can't stand to be apart.
She made me a content man,
with the access to her heart,
she gave to me.