exclaimah!exclaim10 years ago in Typographical More Like This
the pound and the thud and the gasp
and the italian gesture
(! - !) verbose
physical - !
of clenched fists and swooping arms
-but this is
the sun !-gloriously! climaxes over the trees
the silent !-scream! of eyes
as they !-beam! and !-shine!
and - !
just - !
isn't it wonderful!
overriding any question
-a state of ecstasy confined to a mere dash and dot
it just is
a jump a dance a song
(the prelude to a smile)
it is the peak!
and the climax!
and !~vibrance!~ herself
but is also an acknowledgement
(in its silence)
of the silence
but that is tomorrow
Carrotia no1: Dawn In FuchsiaCarrotia no1: Dawn In Fuchsia11 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The lumbering pink spacecraft slid quietly through the darkness of space, lighting it up, not only with its very presence, but, in fact, also with the presence of several billion kilowatts worth of carefully designed light.
It stood in the off-pink janitor's closets. It pulsed to life along the sides of beautifully crafted hallways. It hung from the ceiling in immaculately decorated bridge rooms.
It was, however, remarkably absent from Radar.
Radar was a large section. A giant dome located near the foot of this Intergallactic Class space vessel, littered with consoles and smashed lightbulbs, which by far outreached the length of the ship or, indeed, any sort of common sense. It had never stopped any of the designers from raving endlessly about Impossible Space Dynamics, Colour Balance and cupholders, at least not before the entire governing body of Carrotia unanimously decided to have them shot for bad taste.
Radar was not a particularly frequented area. In fact, safe for two members o
addictionaddiction11 years ago in General More Like This
have you ever been an addict. and im not talking
about the hey-i-like-to-do-this-alot type of addict.
im talking about the
type of addict. im an addict. ive never blown anyone
to get it. i dont think i would. but i havent been
given the opportunity to either. the reason i say 'i
dont think i would' is because i like to pretend that
i still have something thats mine. dignity, pride,
standards. but i know i would easily toss those away
just to get it. i know because i have. so all i
really have is it. for one hour. for two hours. for
fifteen minutes or however long it last. however long
i can afford it to last. ill be high for fifteen
minutes if thats all i can get.
im an addict. i dont get high just to get high. i
get high just to get my mind off getting high for a
few hours. after a fix im good for eight hours.
maybe. then the last of my previous highs memory
cells dry up and i want. need. how ca
Inaction and ReactionInaction and Reaction11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This demon's taken control of me
I curse myself and my incapability
I wish, I hope, to go back to the day
When I didn't care about it, either way
Why are my thoughts so out of place?
Mayhap it's someone else with my face
Punish me, now, for I spit and I curse
It feels so bad, and I want it to be worse
I look for a way out of all this
Shadows hide me, my courage I miss
I see it there, my eyes it will haunt
I look for the moment when I can taunt
It looks away for a moment or three
I wait for too long, cannot get free
It holds me
It molds me
It makes me
It takes me
Possession is nine-tenths, don't you see?
Depression is deep and wont let me be
Regression perhaps is the way, but
Dispassion makes all those doors shut
Displacement causes me to sit and stare
Abasement is the punishment that I share
Chastisement is something I have heard
an isosceles love triangleIf two angles of one triangle are similar to two angles of another triangle, then the triangles are similar.an isosceles love triangle10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Recalling the memory of His geometry makes me sick with longing. That's the real reason I don't call Him every night, don't spend hours stuttering out words onto paper in some tremulous imitation of a love letter. The space I have behind conversation and human interaction is where He really lives, ready for me any time I need to remember. I don't even have to close my eyes before His own stare back at mine, revealing the storm clouds and stars that hover around His midnight-black pupils. The angles of His eyebrows, the slope of His nose, the arches of His eyelashes, the degrees of His gait, the radius of His smile when He sees me, the surface area of His strong embrace; sometimes the formulas back me into a corner where I try to understand, try to meticulously calculate every possible equation. I never solve for the answer before I snap out of my stupor, realizing His abs
Genesis, To FlyGenesis, To Fly11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Genesis, To Fly
Main Entry: 1vol•a•tile
Pronunciation: 'vä-l&-t&l, esp British -"tIl
Etymology: French, from Latin volatilis, from volare to fly
1 : readily vaporizable at a relatively low temperature</i>
An era of Edenistic emotion
curls around my finger tips and toes,
slowly working its way to my heart—
felt cold, inside,
in the summertime; and winter fills itself
with warm motion pic
Daddy's bellyDaddy's large belly protruded past the rest of us,Daddy's belly10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes it gurgled
if it sensed the presence of an
In N' Out Burger close by.
It would shake a little
when he laughed.
It would rise and fall
when he slept.
It would demand much room,
when he drove mother's car.
It came to be that I was convinced
his heart was in that belly,
that it was big simply because
he needed more space.
His Death Certificate reads
H e a r t A t t a c k -
and a small part of me still wonders
why didn't his belly collapse?
Why couldn't his stomach
have attacked him instead?
Not his loving heart -
not his love that everyone envied, admired,
that beat so loudly
as though it were a Chinese gong.
I look in the mirror now
and wonder if my heart too,
is lower than it should be.
102817ALCHEMIC102817ALCHEMIC10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
earth-bound her heaven smile.
if her smile is spun to gold,
in that furnace-heart of
molten rock and flower petals,
his alchemic hands (though tired of ages)
find rest in her silver words
and lasting sheen.
he traces sleepy eyes along her gossamer
lustre lips as she whispers songs
into the near-dark
while the stillness of earth-bound ethereals
and angels of the under-halls
bring him thus to slumber
© jmr 2004
dragdrag11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of anathematized eggheads, dead poets, uprooted saddle-tramps -
an eclectic shangri-la that impales itself upon her sensibilities
like a beached whale on her shore
And this cold, small man-
call him Animus Annihilated-
"You wanna see Heaven baby?, Here's your chance." -
An open invitation to cool her heels in
the shadow of his soul.
Hoodwinked by her own loathsome ideal
she ogles the out-side,
staring through the cigarette that drips from her mouth,
into her love's eye
if I am nowhere am I everywherif I am nowhere am I everywher12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am talking to her saying our roads
will be all that's left; that our avenues
will turn to altars, set in onyx.
look what we remember of Rome,
all pavements and temples
arranged like vertebrae in dirt
that goes on living, full with prayer;
and as I say this, it occurs to me that in a Mexican bar
in Florence I might disappear
to the streets and run, eyeless
through an eyeless crowd,
(take me, Florence! I am a son among these heartbroken stones,
take me from the marble block lift me out!)
to laugh hysterically; she is pulling me,
her warmth comes breathlessly from the air;
we are foreigners,
we are rain. (I am inventing this,
all of this happened elsewhere, another night)
her face turns to laugh illuminated
and everything else wobbling is blue
and forgotten; lifeboats drawn away
from our bodies that are continents
moving full with rice and squash and sins
named in small homes before saints and fire;
listen. I was not there by the long bar
when everyone turned and pulled us
into the st
CITIESoneparenthesesCITIES9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was if i am not mistaken
two of us roaming flowing in and along the
July streets of a reckless city nothing stop
ping the caffeine drip and the
roasting of bowl and bowls in every barely
cranny Chicago could not see; A fewah
cigarsss she treated us as travelers and
we toasted over semi-bland food- Gawd
it was that day if it could not have been any
different; longing for experiences
like those is painful painful
We are 2wo of a Kind that will
roam street after street sticking out a
brief arrogance towards a limitless number
two Americans who can't
figure anything mentionable or EVEN worth twoanda
half hours. It's really too bad
for the city of Portland. When we roam we
light up streets and they tend to not let
go of our close to the same size feet.
I missher naturally like i miss good food
and soft clean carpet. This does not
scare me because I'm eighteen and i'll heal.
What is slightly unnerving is that this city
may be parch
A LimerickA Limerick9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
There once was a boy named Kricky
who broke my heart after a quickie.
So I let him go
(he's no Billie Joe!),
Besides that, online flings are tricky.
I met Kricky not long ago,
that's when he set my heart a-glow.
He's only nineteen,
thought I'd intervene,
and teach him the *things* that I know.
Dear Kricky is quite a hot boy,
and that's why I made him my toy.
He will not come visit
(now that's not nice, is it?),
I know I could give him such joy.
We all know that Kricky loves beer.
He drinks it each time he is here.
So give him a guinness,
and then you can witness
how Kricky gets his ass in gear!
Our Kricky's a talented guy;
just go see his prints (and then buy!)
He made a tattoo
just for me (not for you!)
His skills you just cannot deny.
Now Kricky in Assen does live.
Those blue eyes (my god!), attractive.
The dutch girls all die
when Kricky walks by,
yet no girl his heart will he give.
Oh Erik, my lovely dutch prince
(though Switchie i'll never convince),
your heart's made of gold,
Holly DaysHolly Days9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Light shatters over scenes.
I hold our hands steady
under glassy focus, beneath
and beneath the stars.
In the morning glow we return:
there are not shards that glitter
on sun-bleached asphalt
like we suspected. Headlines run,
but no one reads
in this town.
My borrowed dress sways;
the wind that sweeps
between sunken alleyways
and rivals my breath. What news?
Twins are born, someone
Harriet JustHarriet Just10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Harriet just swept through the room.
It's the same as it was just now, except
the bathroom door is open, the rum
of her shampoo is everywhere,
and the word '...late'
now rests on the edge of my ear.
CokeCoke11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Still noon in the paddy fields
in Kerala, we sank a well
to stem the flow of desert,
but came up smelling of dust.
Watched rice plants wither as the slow sun
silenced resolve in angry glare,
and warm dry gusts scattered
hope to the four corners.
In Palakkad, an empty street, sold
to ten million-dollar-a-day death,
men nurse wounds and children.
The women have gone to find water-
when the supply runs altogether dry,
we may find out how to swallow
the dust. Or our pride. Lesson taught,
we shall learn to drink coke.
Still noon in the baking heat
within the walled compound, we
stand around on wounded feet
spreading slurry on the ground.
So here, at least, is water
(to dampen a capital purse)
So here we earn our living -
a litre a day (could be worse).
Outside, the world is barren,
the earth is cracked and bare.
As boreholes tap our reservoirs
at last we've learnt to share.
So desert soil is progress,
and bitter stench is joy.
Infected feet dance to the beat
of the jin
The MaskThe Mask11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yes, there once was a time,
Where I wasn't afraid,
To be myself,
And just to be me.
But now the years have past,
Onto a dreamless time,
Where I grow through the roots,
In a bottomless pit of anger.
I have the scars to prove it,
Both beneath the mind and…
Across my once frail flesh,
I fancy them I do, yes…
Proud to have caused pain,
Towards both family and friends,
What do they care?
I am just me after all.
Perhaps I should get rid of the mask,
That has hidden my identity for so long,
Oh, so long…
But I love it so much, I cuddle it, kiss it.
I cannot part with this mask,
For it has become a part of me,
It has overwhelm too much of my being,
What am I to do?
I cannot just throw it away,
No, hold it, pat it, fondle it,
I do love this mask,
But I also hate it with a passion.
What should I do?
Do I have a choice?
There is always a choice,
Perhaps then… I should die,
So I can be free of the mask.
And be me again.
november 2ndsquatting.november 2nd11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when all the formalities have
finally been packed away
in a box marked p.c.,
when they've been stored
in the attic until some later
season when couth is again
in fashion, we'll use the proper word:
squatting. or perhaps, renting.
sure, there are those who still like
to costume their actions in words
like "dating" or even "talking,"
but it is now much too cold
for such flimsy decorative terms.
bring on the wool sweaters,
the stocking caps, the sweatpants:
the truth is an extra-large sweater
that you think you'll never grow into.
it takes courage to try it on, because
you do look foolish at first, with its arms
extending far beyond yours, and its neck
orbiting yours at a very cautious distance.
but if you keep wearing it, you'll find yourself
saying things like "i miss you," and you'll
feel yourself growing, feel your shoulders
wearing the sweater on this early morning
in november, i found myself writing this:
i never thought i was doing such a
Coffee MugsCoffee Mugs11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's a man's world,
you can tell
from the dirty coffee mugs,
huddled together on the table.
The lone water bottle stands above them,
imposing, clear and tall, as its owner,
Her pregnant belly precedes her like a shield:
a neon sign flashing "here I am".
In the elevator, two people dare a smile
while they talk of things they know
no-one else cares about.
They wear glasses and awkward clothes.
In this place time hangs like tepid air,
which no fresh wind can ever disperse.
Summer's GirlSummer's Girl11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I am gathering flowers for my girl.
She waits beneath the cherry tree,
couched among the leaves upon the grass.
Her beauty is no small thing,
and through the shady boughs
Summer's breath turns the twist of her braid.
The sun is sweeping clear the morning,
turning over slowly into midday
before expiring into unseeing darkness.
These garnered blooms still hardy though,
despite the shortened moments of their existence,
they will colour the chestnut hair I love.
In truth, I cannot stem this smile,
this attitude of quiet pleasure;
she has distilled it like music.
I am gathering flowers for my girl.
She waits beneath the cherry tree,
couched among the leaves upon the grass.
gamegame11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we played the game
like a dance
across the dancefloor
it was sweet
i bit my lip
to taste the bitterness in my mouth
that is how serious
of a play it was
round and round
it was a good tango
finished with the most violent of moves
a tear would run down
my surprised face
i was only defeated
when you made me come
Opportunity-8.FebruaryOpportunity-8.February10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the texture of my missed sunrise
wrapped in amber arms and a smirk
fluxing in the newborn light:
I'd've flung myself in arms that begged to hold me
if I'd known they were there
I'm staring into your distance, someone
singing in my buttoned ears
—chops for my cubical existence
there's cement beneath us in springtime, still cold
to the touch of jean-clad cheeks,
this tank top rag doll
folded into your lanky figure,
patient for day
I'm trapped, sometimes,
in fleeting shadows—moments that shouldn't feel
like midwinter sun taunting,
tangling the air, hair
falling in your solstice eyes,
but they do