StainI cannot wash you from my handsStain in Free Verse More Like This
your stain, it runs too deep
in sin and marrow
and a thousand storms
that shake the stars from sleep.
I cannot blot away your lies,
their stain upon my heart
like the sweetest balm
spilled from a chalice
that cries the night apart.
I cannot dream away your face,
its sweet stain stalks my soul
where skin comes undone
and bleeds my body cold.
MagicA wrought iron balcony,Magic in Free Verse More Like This
overgrown with jasmine
frames the summer evening,
pulls magic from doorways
and sends it spinning into the wanton dark
with a clatter of glass beads
and raw red saxophone.
Voodoo heat bleeds out low and blue,
bubbles under door sills
and over window ledges
to set the city humming.
The jazz blast of feet on cobblestones -
a parade of tourists,
washed in summer and silk
shake graveyard dust from their shoes
and disappear into the long, languid dark
among the palm readers and card tricksters
crouched in the curl of a summer dream.
The warm slit of night beckons me,
welcomes me with open arms
and leads me to where you ponder enchantment -
your moon slashed eyes half closed on the world,
taking in its secrets between sips
of rum laced coffee and heavy cream.
Your cheeks spangled like carnival glass
in every hue of my desire,
sweat beaded up like tiny pearls on toffee skin.
Leaning in, I taste taboos from your tongue
that sear my mouth with the
Trouble ChildTrouble Child in Free Verse More Like This
The car crash in your head
testimony to knife flash
point blank gun shot
ticking like a time bomb
puts a hole in mother's head
and lets her breathe.
They pull you
out of the wreckage -
slivers of brain
like a milky chrysalis
pinned to a card,
chewing the reminders of childhood
smeared across walls
in bright red paint
and toys crushed
under foot like insects -
the black tips of angel wings,
fragments of tin whistles
all collected with smiles
in a bag at the door
while you try and undo 30 years of lies
taped to your coat
with a kiss each morning,
and daddy's blessing.
and in a white room of glass I watch
the lobotomy of your past,
dissected with the surgeon's bright scalpel,
glisten its new wings.
redemption comes in a plastic bag
that you inhale
into a sharp, clear oblivion
Dancing with the DeadYou love to dance with the dead,Dancing with the Dead in Free Verse More Like This
tango warm in the dark
as your slippers
barely skim the night
under the willow spun moon.
You let them lead you
and pull you close
and gently trace
the blues of your face,
where stars hunt and steal
like shadow puppets.
You let them court you
and bed you,
the intimate twitch
of your silk
parting under fingers
that beg to touch your memories.
You let them explore
and feast on
the mystery of your limbs
as they fall against the sky,
watching you move
like a ghost
out under the slippery elms,
plucking ragged fire
from your youth.
The Monster Under her BedThe Monster Under her Bed in Free Verse More Like This
It lived under her bed,
dining on dust bunnies
the size of Manhattan
and old report cards,
playing cats cradle with the dog,
and wore funny glasses
and old scarves to school.
It sang out of tune
at inappropriate times,
like holiday dinners
in front of the family
and the old parish priest;
and said naughty words
and spied on the neighbors
with busted binoculars.
It poured paint
down the mail chute
and scratched itself in church.
and broke the good china
and gobbled the cake
mama made for the bake sale,
(but wouldn't eat broccoli)
burping the alphabet
just for good measure.
And at the end of the day
when she crawled into bed,
it curled at her feet
and blew out the lights,
pulled up the blankets
and sent nightmares fleeing
like red rubber balls.
IntoxicatedIntoxicated in Free Verse More Like This
The way you paint your mouth smug
and don't answer my questions
is more appealing after
my second gin and something
when the night throws up its hands
and feels like dancing.
I like how you smack me with words
and call me the names
you read in art magazines
and you like
how I trip over my tongue
when I catch you
lurking at my door
not wearing your shadow.
JuneJune in Free Verse More Like This
Children in bare feet
skim the surface of green,
their bright laughter
and the bee drone afternoon
fading in the trees
like lazy wind chimes
on a whitewashed porch.
The day's long perfume
settles under the sun
and draws out shadows
from behind garden gates
and old tire swings
where morning glory creeps and climbs
and gold bursts forth
on freckled lawns.
Picket fences break the blue
where latticework moths
flutter with lanterns in the trees
and cat tails like pan pipes
break the warmth
in jonquilled notes
that braid the world in June.
GlovesGloves in Free Verse More Like This
Her love is like
well worn gloves -
willow green soft
with supple fingers,
the tips taut
and splitting the cloth
textured like May,
urging me to peel back
the tight weave
and run my hands
under her fabric
and explore her seams.
with crevices like new milk,
bursting the stitches
where I run her threadbare
under my heart.
Lady GrayLady Gray in Free Verse More Like This
No one suspected
she had blood
all over her tiny white hands
like sad red prayers
tucked into immaculate doeskin
and hidden from the world.
She kept count of her bad deeds
like a strand of rosary beads
suspended from her wrist
savoring each remembrance
vibrating on the chain
with a self-indulgent smile
And her sweet face bore no years
and her delicate fingers
left no trace
of the crimes
hanging inside her mouth
the hook and eye of her lips
stained like a broken bird.
But an artist had caught
the sockets behind her eyes
bulleted like wormwood
and where her cheekbones caved
under sallow flesh
and the vibrations of that chain
scored the skin between her fingers
leaving the canvas ruined
and the paint cracking
under her heart.
SorcerySorcery in Free Verse More Like This
the stuff of dreams,
that soft collision
of gently worn ghosts
and the fraying edges
of summer nights,
pools under the sky
like the backwater of heaven.
Rifts of melodies,
caught round your fingers,
court and spark
the softest demons -
full of poetry
and sweet oaths;
and dark stars,
bright as crickets,
glister with agate
against the window.
You wear me
like linen and cloves,
fine smoke from storms
and the echo of midnight,
caught under your spell.
i am.i am a skeleton draped in your memories you're not even sure you wanted with fireflies floating inside my skull like a macabre paper lantern that is sitting in an attic somewhere collecting dust and spiderwebs and trains of thought. i am lost in this forest that you planted from old pop cans and headphones and there is no white rabbit to follow, only these melting clocks that are not telling me if i am late or not. i am porcelain temples with shellshock headaches that are rocking me to my tangled spinal cord that is mixing up my please-eat and do-not-cry signals so instead i am crying while trying to keep down my last meal of shards of glass and splinters of your broken promises that i swallowed whole-heartedly like a dog swallowing a chicken bone.i am. in Reviews & Guides More Like This
i am half-truths and book jackets bound together with dental floss and sailing ropes and weighed down with your anchor you made from melted-down wedding bands and my self-confidence. i am covered in scars made from your teeth when you smiled
one percent of deathsi'm thinking of crawling under a rock, or possibly using that same rock to bash my skull in.one percent of deaths in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm sure blood is a prettier shade of red than the clay the cromagnen men used, [but fingerpainting has never been my forte.]
and sometimes, i wake up, and i make up excuses and tell myself lies so that i can drag myself out of bed and get enough motivation to do anything for myself.
i can't eat without feeling the urge to puke it up, because i am not eating for you anymore.
i can't breathe without feeling the urge to hold my breath, because i am not breathing for you anymore.
i can't cry without trying to gouge my eyes out, because i am not crying for you anymore.
[i am crying because of you.]
and when my lies are as transparent as a mosquito net and my excuses as weak as the dog ate my homework, i just sit in the kitchen and stare at the cutlery drawer, but i do not get up [because i do not trust myself].
i am tired,
but there is no rest, not yet.
i still have ma
where there's smokethere's definitely a youwhere there's smoke in Free Verse More Like This
and there's certainly a me
but there will never be an us,
no matter how many dandelions i obliterate
or how many shooting stars you knock from the sky,
we were not, nor will we ever be, meant for each other.
[the alphabet didn't put u and i together for a reason.]
we're like cigarettes and gasoline;
we're fine on our own
but we should never, ever touch
because the blast would scorch everyone,
including the starter and accellerant.
[especially the starter and accelerant.]
your arm always just stopped short of my wrist,
so you always had to bend to hold hands
and even though i walk on my toes like your little ballerina
i could never quite get our fingers to intertwine carelessly.
but my lips were made for yours wasn't fate;
it was a careless factory worker hurrying with his snowflakes
because no lips are ever alike, not even for another's.
[your mistake was thinking fate had anything to do with you and i.]
if we were romeo and juliet,
i would still have en
salutations.i.salutations. in Free Verse More Like This
hey there, my broken mirror boy.
look at you.
you're almost as broken as me.
your pieces are jagged,
and i swear i just cut myself on your words,
but hey, i'll pick them up anyway.
they're still beautiful.
hello, my beautiful lost boy.
look at how the stars shine for you.
look at the constellations,
because they're trying to draw a map for you
so you can find your way
back to me.
darling, look at us.
now we're just broken enough
that i think we could fit together
at all the wrong places,
with my jaw between your shoulder blades
and your fingers between my ribs.
i'm telling you,
now we're the puzzle pieces cut to fit,
using each other as scissors to hack off extra pieces
that we were sure we didn't need
until maybe organs started failing
but my heart still beatbeatbeat in time with yours
like a macabre drum that we waltzed to.
look at us,
we've got eternity now,
you've seen it in my dilating pupils
and i've heard it in your slowing breaths
and now were there, on the brin
wishes and wants.i.wishes and wants. in Free Verse More Like This
i wish i could climb inside your chest
to replace that irregularly beating heart of yours
and when you felt like you were dying
i'd push and pull your lungs
to force them to breathe in
and i'd order your blood to flow through your collapsing veins
and carry the oxygen and hope to your muscles
so you could carry on living, even though i'm trapped.
[even if you broke my heart, i'd still be yours.]
and if your skeleton was collapsing
i'd attach threads spun from my dreams to you
and i'd tie them to your wrists to make you my marrionette
and i'd be your [wishingshewas] beautiful puppeteer
and with my help you'd put on a show for the world
where they'd gasp at your broken beauty,
but they'd still be astounded by your crooked smile.
[i know i was.]
so darling, take my hand
because you know i'll always be here for you
when you're breaking down like that old car you drive
or when you can't see anything but that darkness
that you always see at the edges of your eyes
and i'll always
grasping at stardusti saw myself fall in love with you.grasping at stardust in Free Verse More Like This
i fell off the moon.
when the alabaster orb
began to spin
it slipped beneath my feet.
[i stupidly lost my balance.]
i tried to cling to the stars,
but their cold fire
blistered my skin.
still they twinkled, unfazed.
[they were the colors of your eyes.]
i grasped at the clouds,
but i caught dust between my fingers.
when i looked to the ground,
there was no one there to catch me.
[my heart smashed first.]
masquerade.lies drip from your mouthmasquerade. in Free Verse More Like This
like black ink, staining
every surface they
[stop getting your poison on my dreams.]
your charming smile
is painted on and
your smoldering eyes
brim with mischief.
[will they run over with animosity?]
you try to persuade me,
sway me with your forked tongue,
whispering untruths and
broken promises in my ear.
[i wish i could believe them.]
but despite your lies
and devilish disposition,
i find myself attracted to you
like a moth to a flame.
[i know i will burn.]
divine interventionthere was a boy who commited suicide.divine intervention in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
he had put a gun in his mouth, tears flowing down his cheeks, while he whispered a last, desperate prayer to a god who was screaming for him not to do it but couldn't be heard, and pulled the trigger.
at the boy's funeral, all of his family and friends cried, questioning god, demanding to know why he had taken the boy from them, but god had as many answers as they did. he felt like an innocent man, who was getting all the blame thrust onto his shoulders by the real culprit.
when it was time for them to throw their roses into the open grave, a priest stood at the head of it, waiting for everyone to be seated again so that he could say a few words.
god knew the priest would say things about the boy that weren't true, like that he'd had ambitions, or that he'd cared about everyone, when really he'd spent his entire life wanting to die.
but that isn't what you say about someone at their funeral. you make them sound like they wanted to live, or that the
bus route 12a girl sat at the bus stop.bus route 12 in General Fiction More Like This
the rain came down harder every minute, but she still sat there, her thin sweater crushed against her by her arms, the flimsy hood falling over her eyes, her face downcast.
a man walked out of the restaurant down the street, looked up and down the avenue, scanning the area for a taxi. then he noticed the girl, hunched over on the bench. he frowned, eyebrows knitting together with disapproval. he slipped the hood of his parka over his head and trotted to the street corner, calling,
"hey, girl! you!" he was obviously talking to her; there was no one else in sight. "girl, hey! what are you doing out in this rain?" he asked as he reached the stop.
she turned her head slightly, and lifted her face to the falling drops, letting the hood slip over her hair and sink to rest on her shoulders.
"i am listening."
the man stood there, not sure if he should take a seat.
"listening to what?" he asked her, puzzled.
"i am listening to the secrets that the world is whispering
hypothermia.dear ice cream man,hypothermia. in Free Verse More Like This
maybe you should cool it with those frozen treats,
because it seems that all that ice has crept down
your throat and is coating your lungs in a slick shell,
and every time you exhale, out comes a cloud of
frosty vapor that's refracting that fading light in
[you're trying to say something, i know,
but honey, your lips are turning blue.]
that ice has spread to your heart now, and it's
constricting, tightening on your pulse, freezing
the blood in your veins, and your body temperature
over-extensionhere i am cultivating my little garden of loneliesover-extension in Free Verse More Like This
a sponge, a chair, a shoulder
here i am with a wad of cotton batting, filling up my cadre of empties
line you all up on the shelf in the back of my head
pull you off and hey, lovely, how are you today?
how was the test the date the hospital the visit to the morgue
did you panic did you leave him did you hurt yourself
are you all right?
here i am lab doctor of chemistry far away, drugging up my
Otherit means:Other in Free Verse More Like This
when I find & choose a family of friends
it will be more a home to me than you could ever know
don't get me started on googolsI was thinking about a trillion today.don't get me started on googols in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I read an article in the New York times today that said
we domesticated first-world humans consume one trillion plastic bags every year.
I read online that the United States combined national debt is sixteen point nine trillion dollars.
Imagine a trillion plastic bags.
Imagine sixteen point nine trillion dollars.
Imagine a string of a trillion plastic bags full of sixteen trillion dollar bills,
stretching out in a tied-together line around the earth, spiraling out in orbit.
Imagine a beach.
Imagine counting the grains of sand on a beach.
Imagine a trillion grains of sand.
Imagine a trillion seconds.
Imagine how many leaves are sitting on your front lawn yet unraked.
Imagine how many.
Imagine how many lawns it would take to get to a trillion.
Imagine how many bottles of soda you buy every year.
Imagine how many bottles of soda you
and your friends
and your friends' friends
and your friends' friends' friends
buy every year.
Imagine how many stars.
peace.a dog-eared copy of oscar wilde's dorian greypeace. in Free Verse More Like This
pale-colored window light beams in my boring
pastel-green striped men's shirt size extra-large
breathe my steam on the window and wait for winter dawn to break proper.
balloon|fulthere is a colorful myriad trapped and straining behind the organo-cellophane of this stressballoon|ful in Free Verse More Like This
an orgiastic jungle of snippeted preschool construction paper and tiny animals like the ones that mum dreamed about on opiate medication after a fall,
crawling beneath the spherical membrane of no, not now
of Kantian triangles and Bertrand Russell's views on pacifism and modern war
and you're all very interesting, the lot of you,
but I don't have time--
certain soundscertain sounds you are used to hearing over and over again:certain sounds in Free Verse More Like This
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
whoosh and creak of screen door closing
ancestral Russian-Hasidic inflections in the way you pronounce your H's
rustle of curtains and bedsheets
tap tap of your own feet
how can I help you
how're you doing
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
snap of shampoo lid
roiling boiling water
here's hoping I don't hurt anybody this timethe rain is whisperinghere's hoping I don't hurt anybody this time in Free Verse More Like This
it's not whispering to me, but the sound is comforting
and the beeping of the microwave don't tell me nothing but my food is done
and the TV in the other room says "you forgot me,
buy one get one free"
and the Ghirardelli I had for breakfast says don't you wish I wasn't in your throat
and the smell of you still on me says
god I don't know
not a placeyour brown eyesnot a place in Free Verse More Like This
black in shade
tree sap to trap bugs in light
your soft hair, soft cheeks, soft back
your hand on my shoulder a home
your voice to me a home
the desk chairlittle backwardsthe desk chair in Free Verse More Like This
you fell into me, lord,
you fell onto me and my long-fingered last-ditch chance at succession
the matte plastic face i'd been keeping for just this moment held,
held less a few cracks around the edges and eyebrows
a carelessly dropped spoon
citizen outsidermass, densitycitizen outsider in Free Verse More Like This
i've never been a participant,
but i think i see now.
i've read your pain in the newspaper, between the lines,
in television broadcasts and radio interruptions,
spilling out your eyes
i've never understood,
because i wasn't there,
wasn't old enough to understand
[we had a model airplane, i remember,
full of plastic, blank-faced souls:
i made it crash
and they all went falling down]
there were clouds encircling my head
as you stood trying to thaw from the ice of shock,
break through waves of reformulation
i was gone.
"it makes us a nation,"
you say, between gasped breaths,
"it makes us whole."
i feel that i've missed something.
you have such a pretty smilei.you have such a pretty smile in Free Verse More Like This
it has been scrawled and every letter looks like a hooked crow's talon, and i am sitting with my jeans all rolled up and my feet are made of seeds and wrinkles like protrusions of stems and dreamy roots, and i am exploding stars in my mind and they shatter like yellow confetti, slivered gold glitter, and i read so slowly like the words might escape me before i can finish, the tail-ends of ns turning into legs and the es unfurling and falling delicately away and the m scattering away like leaves coated in sulfur and membrane and silk, and on the wall is scrawled a picture, a color, that looks like this:
my stomach opened up wide
and out came
a forest, topped in limp rashes of stringy red and slices of white, splattered lightly with a crimson you could dip your finger in and taste, playing your tongue like a careful harp, and the gilded stains of green came out to meet the sun with extended pointing arms
ear to your chestyour inner child is speaking and wantsear to your chest in Free Verse More Like This
ice cream by the gallon. it is playing
made-up, off-key drumbeats on its stomach,
playing until its fingers are sore with
skin and dust, belly-button lint and
dreams. it does not want to be an astronaut,
a fireman, or a police officer: it wants to
be a food taster, a librarian, a
smoke-maker and a diamond-cutter. it
wants to bleed, beautifully, and it wants
to never feel pain for the rest
of its life.
(please. please, never let
it hurt, ache, wince. keep it safe,
toying with your h
cat-burning one and a half.cat-burning in Free Verse More Like This
i cannot teach babies to speak, cannot take their lips into my fingers and impress the words upon them, cannot summon the voice with my nails and form it between my fingers like loose ripped cloth, syllables dying their tongues pink and brown as they speak until they turn white and die, legs snapping like frictionless fingers. once i close my eyes with a little palm curled around mine and i heard him, talking to me, and he said:
i want you to take my skin and peel it back, as though i am just bloody silk and you need to find my real flesh, underneath, white and hard; and i want you to bite me, to chew me, and i want you to crawl your teeth inside my tissues and attempt to swallow me with the misplaced and torn organ-skin of your lips, your can
don't tell me if the sun diesi.don't tell me if the sun dies in Free Verse More Like This
there is a drumbeat of silence
mirrored between your hands. you
massage the pit of suffering and
grace and sinew and dust and cells
and tears with echoed fingers. there is
too much for you to squeeze
between shaven palms.
(i only ask that
when my hair has fallen loose and my
skin has worn itself into jewelry,
you take me home.)
you listen to the
crickets. they sing a eulogy for the number
they have lost today.
the day i die, i will come
tapping at your window, my fingernails
drumming to find the skin
chirrp; chirrp; chirrp.
don't wait up.
for every criminal: a flower.
(pluck it in the morning,
when the dew is still on
the backs of dragons and
butterflies and monsters
and ocean salt carried inside
the wings of pigeons built to be
doves inside a cradle of space
and time and air; and don't forget
when jesus ate my house1. do you hate me?, she asks.when jesus ate my house in Free Verse More Like This
my legs are in my face, pressed in the
crevice, earth-break, ripping of my nose, hanging
between my eyes like an extra arm, curling
in on itself. i feel sick, dizzy; the world is
a dribbled basketball, a honeyed ham,
an empty soda bottle, a gutter and
a staircase. i could grab her face,
stretch the skin, vomit.
no, i want to say. no, no, no. please,
don't think that. why would you think
that? no. no, no, no. please, no.
i sob and shake. she wracks her
brain for reasons to hate
herself. i can't respond. my mouth
slows and my head fevers, paces.
i shiver. her eyes melt.
i am silent, fitfully,
2. my head is the new
he starts up his car; the engine rears.
my stomach roars with fitful delight. my gut
cooks up a tornado against fasting, against
eating, against being awake.
she laughs at my stupid jokes, my
silly words, my bad metaphors. she laughs and
she smirks and she smiles and she grins, a
but you are among friendsand hannah is in the back seat saying fuck,but you are among friends in Free Verse More Like This
fuck, and we know what happened to her and where she went
and what stole the ties from her pigtails and
why she bites the cuticles of her nails until they bleed, and she
says fuck fuck fuck and we have nothing to say so we
straighten up, muss our spines like drips down our back, and
we point out the window and say look at the cows and
hannah is huge, hannah is so huge,
and freddie is in the front seat drooling and his teeth are
poking out like this smile might be too much for him,
and sometimes we say he doesn't sleep, not ever,
and sometimes we say he is sleeping right now,
this minute, and sometimes we want to pull
down his eyelids like quiet shades and make
him see the colors, and he drives us to churches
swimming in their own sin and marketplaces and he
says he wants to peoplewatch, to watch the people, you know,
but instead he curls himself up and points to the sky and says a
bunny, a rabbit, a little peter cotton ta
something for sticks + stonesWhen he wakes up out of his coma, the doctor comes out and stands before me.something for sticks + stones in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The doctor, a serious man with serious eyes, looks at me and the grayness of his body overtakes my vision: his graying skin, his whitened hair, his bleached teeth and his lost eyes. "He's woken up," he says, and he nods at me, inching to the left and extending his arm out to show me the way inside.
"Me?" I whisper.
I am craving alcohol. My veins scream the need for caffeine. I smell like old cherry sodas and fresh smoke. I cannot quite remember the shape of his face or what the past two weeks of my life have been like.
God, I think, I could really use some relief.
I walk inside.
writing on the walli am your mother before she knew you, before you intruded upon her womb and painted bloodied messages on her gummy walls and let your foot imprint itself inside her pinking skin and left all your sunrises behind and tried to peer from outside her skin to see where the air might touch and turn and make you.writing on the wall in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
(she misses you, you know. you should visit her more often.)
i am your mother before she met your father, in a can on the street inside a restaurant around the corner all her life for the first time, and she rubbed her fingers against her eyes trying to muster some form of strangled black tears but all that was left were little red marks identifying exactly where the fingers hit and almost broke through, and she keeps a straight face all the way till the end; hers.
(when she talks, she strokes the white roses you promised to give her. i never
know quite what to tell her, so i tell her, "soon, i
memento mori I.memento mori in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Death has been standing outside my house all night.
Last night I wiped my eyes against the cool glass and I watched him out the leaves of my window; watched while he circled the perimeter, his hands dancing near my rosebushes, giving light touches to the leaves and breaking them off along the neon vein lines. I touch the patches on my face and I try to make out the lines on his body: hooknose frame, dark lidded eyes, nailed mouth. The ceiling of nighttime rushed over him like a blanket and a smile, and I fell asleep with the crook of my head against the sill, images of his dead-star hands floating on my eyelashes, dripping off onto my cheeks.
And when I opened my eyes and saw morning stretch its back in a curved imitation of blue and white clouds like drippy wings, I knew who he was.
Now it's midmorning, and I take the knife and shiver until it cracks against the board. I bring the end dangerously close to my fingers,
anorexia nervosa. _part one a.anorexia nervosa. _part one in Biography & Memoir More Like This
There is something you should know about me, before we begin:
I have anorexia nervosa.
The denial was thick.
Anorexics, I believed, were skinny girls with even skinnier bones, combing their falling-out hair against mirrors where they appear as a sliver of a profiled coin, dying as the air beats them and hating their folded-paper bodies. Anorexics, I thought, had to be girls who achieve your standard perfect grades and are incredibly athletically-gifted, all the while going on zero calories for days at a time. Anorexics were built of disgusted strength, sickened determination, and a muddied line between self-preservation and -sacrifice. Anorexics were withered girls on billboards, stealing the sun from the beads of the sky laid before them, pressing it into their arms, and yet somehow taking no pigment with them.
I was notand am, I am not, I am not I am not I am notone of theseone of t
Level 1Never created quite like thisLevel 1 in Free Verse More Like This
In her conception she screamed
"His stats will be our greatest wish,
Our greatest dream!!"
Just a little sprite
After the generational rite
Now my players gonna pick and choose
How I'll win and never lose
A newb I will stay
For just a little while
No attack nor job to play
Though I guess my Charms not too vile!
She says through my screams
I'll grow up to wield a sword
But I just look up at her and beam
As she saves me on A file
Cherry BlossomsSqualls, mighty squabbles of wind and airCherry Blossoms in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Hardly standing, the hot pink blossoms flair
Petals grasp, petals cry, petals rasp, the petals shy
Never do they bloom til' at very last they die
BuoyCold, hard, manufactured lifeBuoy in Open More Like This
Held in a merciless monogamy
That sky and sea share.
Always asking it's human mothers
the reason for a tortured soul
And why the swimmers and fliers
Never cease in there stare
Whilst it is not allowed
To join them.
CreationHe stares at his blank canvas, gleaming eyes.Creation in Free Verse More Like This
Take a brush, create a line, take a color, make a stroke.
It is He who paints who controls other worlds,
Who paints the trees? The grass? The animals in His barren field?
Who dreams blue skies? Envisions crystal waters? Imagines space itself?
Who dares to create men? black? Or white? Or any color he wishes?
It is the Painter.
Dare He dream upon the simple canvas, new worlds are created.
May He awash the canvas with His mind, we are willed to live.
Have, He the tools of creation, and our ultimate destruction.
He controls all worlds.
Through the Painter's vision, man is born through Himself.
Man stands, staring back at the Painter, holding the very brushes
That were used to create, and now Man dreams of his own worlds.
And new painters are created.
Blank CanvasA blank canvas in a studioBlank Canvas in Free Verse More Like This
sitting, waiting, blankly staring
at the artist, the creator
Waiting to be reborn
Young and pure,
society paints a stroke,
changing me, reshaping me
to one of it's own.
All colors are made for me
while I wait still
for the inevitable creation,
my painting is finished.
When I am complete,
taken to my cell, I am framed
stood upon a wall,
society is gawking at me.
And I am dead.
Zaevia, The Mantra MagnifiqueZaevia, The Mantra Magnifique in Free Verse More Like This
Bless her with mystery
O, elegant wing-beating dancer
Lingual desserts, her rhapsodical calligraphy
Never shouldn't she be wiser
Shroud her in shadows,
The pounding monsters never cease
To touch upon the spirit's clad bows
To feel subtle expression is her tease
Guard her with melody
Fruitless tries don't embezzle her heart
The fragrant symphony does not fill the belly
Hypnotism only kills the masked start
Tokimaru's IdentityThe constant buzzing sound of an air conditioner, though less fear-inducing and loud, much portrayed a flying bee in the small, yet barren, classroom. A flourishing sense of plain excited itself further when the walls of white glowed around the small group of scholars so monotonously. Brown desks of wood and steel conformed themselves into a sixteen-desk square, with only a sparsely-decorated teacher's quarters to distinguish a hardly-enthusiastic teacher. The actual subject, however, did assert it's individuality in the less-than-sparkling vicinity.Tokimaru's Identity in Short Stories More Like This
"Pardon my grace, my beauty, my sound
Drown in your green envy whilst I'm not around."
Tokimaru, with eyes closed and arms outstretched as if he was a blind prophet preaching the good word, danced across the 'center stage' in front of few students. His soft, kind voice fluttered over the sounds of the monstrous bee-like machine. Briskly and gently did his sparkling, violet eyes open and just enough to see the mixed faces of his listeners b
VacancyHello, good sir,Vacancy in Open More Like This
Please, come out from the rain
It's storming out fast in a blur
I'm sure your probably in pain.
Most hotels in the town
Are completely filled for the night.
We have one suite not reserved down,
but it may give you a fright.
The last occupant left in quite a quick pace.
after enjoying our services, filling his lust
He left it scarred and a horrible dirt trace
The room is in shambles, almost coming to a bust.
What's that you say?
You'll stay for the week?
Maybe fix it up, in exchange for pay,
You'd even repair the hotel's structure, ever so weak?
My sir, I commend you
In your efforts so brave
I fear it's bad, maybe too-
W-well if you insist, we hope you won't cave.
After long hours, the staff sees you looking poor.
Down trodden, sweaty and frustrated.
We offer our assistance, seeing your ratty and tore,
The hotel staff as a whole, but you tell us we're not needed.
It's been a full week,
and the hotel is bustling, business is booming
You tell us your going to stay, the ro
Mid-Morning PassionThere's a knocking on the door,Mid-Morning Passion in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
but our clothes are scattered on the floor.
My face is buried in your chest,
Dubious hands stroke your curves as we rest.
Afterglow embraces us, two lust-stricken beings.
The auburn couch was claimed in yearning.
A meow from Harn awakens me.
To the lives we lead outside of this glee.
Your hands massage my backside through furious moans.
The thought of leaving, handing me inopportune groans.
I kiss your chest with a nuzzling of my face,
and once again, I know our hearts both race.
For the passion we shared just hours ago.
It's striking noon, simply all I know.
I wonder if this love is everlasting?
The sharing of this warmth, never ending?
Your subtle kisses upon my head
remind me that it's not dead,
the flames of burning romance,
especially in our passionate 'dance'.
Love Covers AllIt is the feeling of joining,Love Covers All in Free Verse More Like This
The very object that eludes the pure of heart,
and who are not the pure of beauty.
A wholeness shared by a couple,
Would it just be a fill of a void?
This love you call the greatest thing in your world,
A simple cover-up for the cracks in your armor?
Surely he could mean more to you,
But thats not it
Its hard to lose and love.
Hes just that cover,
For you still grieve for a historical loss.
Its not enough that he beats or rapes you.
Its those damn scarlet glasses that make him perfect.
Oh, theyre just accidents.
I fell. Or maybe youd say
He just gets really into it sometimes!
Anything to keep this false feeling of completeness
Your not really in love with him, just with the abuse.
Places-4: ClosetPlaces-4: Closet in Free Verse More Like This
Our first meeting was inside a closet.
Incidentally, so was our first year together.
Our first meeting was difficult.
We were like two tiny existentialists
Fighting for the most valuable resource of our times.
The darkness beyond the closeted door
Belonged to her. She had stayed there
Before I arrived and opened the door.
She wouldnt share her darkness with me.
She fought like a wild animal. Following
The two most important things in the closet
The animal instinct. And shadows
Darker than the darkness. And hence, glowing.
Her strength and her pace drew me to her.
I fought back.
We fought for many days. Continuously.
And then, like it happens with all fights,
We forgot why we fought.
The reason fell short of perpetuating forever.
And our fight went beyond the boundaries of reason.
Slowly, we came to realize that the fight
Had become something we looked forward to.
An excuse to each others company.
We knew each other by the smell of sweat.
And touch. We fought f
How 'bout Using This Pen?How 'bout Using This Pen? in Philosophical More Like This
Your mind is a principle. A theory of waves.
Your last thoughts rippled onto my fingernails. Leaving scars. The pattern was always oddly recognizable. Some say the scar had the same unmistakable marks that were always to be found in your tears. The characteristic stain. Now, invading my fingernails too. If I let them grow, the scar shall become never-ending. But youd miss the clue, inescapably. You dont look at my fingers no more.
You dont look in a straight line. Your sight follows a trajectory path. A half eclipse. Uncertain of its target. Until it ends up falling on to something. There are times, however, when it reaches no target at all. The uncertain trajectory disseminates into a speed of light through fields, airs, darkness and the various absences of it. Propagating into a million small waves. Breaking into a medium restricted for sound vibrations alone. You do often end up looking at a voice.
Transmutation. Physics has a knack of defining things that al
Death of a SolipsistDeath of a Solipsist in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Does the world come to an end when the train stops?
Waking up wasnt easy. It had never been. The emptiness still hung above my head. And the berth still seemed to recede beneath. It seemed the earth was pulling everything into its womb. The center of dislocation and dissolution. The earth was pulling it all. Save the void.
For thats all there shall be. Void. Ensuing. Stretched beyond the ends of endlessness. We shall be floating around. For gravity is just a carpet rolled under our feet. The earth shall pull in its own gravity too. Making destitute out of us. Carving dreams out of us. Making us nothing less than nightmares. And waking up isnt easy.
Waking up wasnt easy.
You ought to wake up in the same rhythm youve been sleeping in. The same rhythm youve been sleeping through. The rhythm youve been slipping through all this while, selfsame. And you must wonder if youve woken up at all. And given the number of times the feeling had recurre
TasteThe taste of his smile was indigo. She had felt it before.Taste in General Fiction More Like This
She had invented sarcasm that night while they were having dinner. And he had smiled. And that smile had cut through her sarcasm. It ran across his lips. It ran across the streets. It ran across the jubilant people dancing on the streets. Foolish and ignorant people.
Ignorance shall cost them their colors. A grey world.
The taste of his smile was indigo. And it had disappeared one day. Like he did.
She thought he was hiding inside their child. It wouldnt be difficult for him. She had given him more darkness than a world could contain.
But she always felt that he wont be able to hide for too long. All he had to do was smile. For the taste of his smile was indigo.
Marriage: An IntroductionHe lost his temper that afternoon. It wasnt an easy find. He searched everywhere beneath the cushion, between his many clothes, inside her ears. But he was unsuccessful (as he always is). But for every failure he faced in finding his temper, he lost a little bit more of it.Marriage: An Introduction in Humor More Like This
He decided hed bring the house down. Dismantle it. To be better equipped to search his lost temper. Hed dismantle the house before the dusk. Before she woke up.
One by one the logs fell. All around her bed. Without disturbing her sleep. And even after this was complete he was unable to locate his lost temper. He lost more of his temper. He sat on the dismantled logs. Lying haphazardly all over the floor. alongwith the nails. And one hammer.
He forgot he had to make it back to home again, before the dusk.
After she woke up and rubbed the last traces of slumber from her eyelids, she couldnt believe what she saw (well, she never did). She saw the logs and the nails lying all over the floo
DroughtDrought in General Fiction More Like This
I have a frozen rain in a glass jar. A regiment of raindrops. Carefully synchronized. The droplets are always in the state of falling. So that the rain goes on forever.
I often step into the glass. I look for you, dear girl. Behind one of those raindrops. I walk carefully through the rough, uneven passage between two raindrops or three. Sometimes, its too dense. I take extra care to keep myself dry. Youd need my warmth when Id find you in the rain. Too wet. Drenched.
Do you remember how you had hidden yourself behind a tear once? Said you cant waste more fountains than this.
Weeping is sacrilege, you had said if you cant drink your tears.
Ive drank it all now. Ive drank my own tears. Ive drank the tears of all whove wept in our town. Ive drank up some of their blood too. And I think Ive drank up all the rain before it could sprinkle on their palms. And their closed eyelids.
When some of it froze i
May I Borrow...May I Borrow Your Lighter, Please?May I Borrow... in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I carved shadows on the midnight rains. A whole lot of despondent footprints on the water. Somewhere, underneath the third layer of the waters, I left you back with oblivion. But your shadows were lighter than the water. They came up on the surface of the water and floated with the kerosene.
"I love the smell of kerosene", you used to say.
Matchsticks. Drenched shadows in memories. Darkness. A drop of water from the tap, repetetive. Music on your bathroom floor. The intoxicating fragrance of kerosene. I saw you dancing with the flames inside your eyes. That night, you didn't let me in.
Tonight, I walk through the infinite corridors of the burnt-out rain.
LightA few colorful lights are stuck in his eyes. He splashes a few wet tears in there. Lights linger. Their color disseminate from the edges. A transmutation of the glowing haze. But the sun never set on the electric light.Light in Short Stories More Like This
He walks in through the snowballs, the sledges and the dances. Walks on to the corner where she sat. Blind as ever, beautiful evermore. She smiles. She knows his presence. And as they waltz through a frenzied crowd she whispers in his ears -
"You know, last night, in one of my dreams, the darkness blinked."
She was expecting.
TaleI had seen the avalanche coming to cover her sacred nudity. Between that potentiality and actualization resided this tale. I had found it over there and tried to save it from being buried forever.Tale in Transgressive More Like This
Me and her. We both knew of the tale. We had been told about it..... Had been told that it was too dangerous..... That we should not listen to the tale even if the tale tells us its tale. We knew.
Me and her. We both knew of the avalanche. We had been told about it..... Had been told that it was too fragile..... That it could come down anytime like the glass-rains. We knew.
She loved walking down the way the avalanche would come. She told me that she had had a premonition in which she had found the tale exactly in the center of the potentiality and actualization of the avalanche. She had found the avalanche waiting for a provocation of sounds. And she was voiceless. She told me that she had been a mute child ever since her voice started to disappear.
She was upset when she had discovered this
Places-11: Circus I came musing into a senile night.Places-11: Circus in Typographical More Like This
In its womb I found a tent.
The tent was huge.
It seemed to encompass the entire night.
Clinging on to it.
The night was old.
It had waited in the same space for many centuries.
At some places its color had come off.
Shatterglass by eight 0f heartsShatterglass by eight 0f hearts in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It had survived things that no mug should have had to endure.
It had been dropped off cliffs, plunged into radioactive water, used to hold questionable substances and once travelled several hundred kilometres after Pilot tied a helium balloon to it. It had been thrown at Snippy countless times. It had suffered the indignity of being sat on by Engie after the Captain left it lying on a chair.
It had never been washed in its life.
But in the end, all it took was one little nudge, and the mug the great, glorious mug was reduced to a few shards of broken ceramic and a spatter of sad-looking tea.
It happened like this:
They were seated around the kitchen table in their current place of residence. "Kitchen", of course, is taken very broadly here there was no ceiling, nor were there any kitchen appliances; it was, in fact, merely a ramshackle table in the middle of an empty room.
Today's lunch consisted of cold baked beans which was quite the delicacy considering t
RA TV script episode oneRA TV script episode one in Sketches More Like This
Greetings, fans of Romantically Apocalyptic
Today, we present to you the script for RA episode ONE as a pilot episode, composed by several writers from the RA production team (Rythmear, Oddshot and Alexiuss)
Because this is a 100% DeviantArt production and we have NO budget or corporate support- it is now up to YOU whether this episode and further episodes will be released.
I will now proceed to outline the costs of filming this episode and explain how you can help out, so I can release this episode for everyone here on DeviantArt, and make MORE episodes in the future, using already purchased props to make this the FIRST DeviantArt hosted, and fan sponsored TV show.
Renting a van for a week to get to filming location (abandoned hotel): $500
4 character outfits, props and sandwiches to feed actors for durat
Fall Apart -Having a Ball-I can feel everything falling apart around me, and I can feel that I'm probably not much longer for the world. But this cataclysm that I've triggered is so much more fun than anything I've ever done that I just can't bring myself to care that I'm about to die.Fall Apart -Having a Ball- in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Not PerfectI hate being reminded that I am not perfect. I spend so much time trying to be that this is almost physically painful for me.Not Perfect in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
But part of me is amused. After so much time spent ridding myself of weakness and fear, she scares me? This girl, who smiles all the time, and is kinder than anyone I've ever met, and I'm afraid to even talk to her?
Ridiculous. now, if you will excuse me, she's coming this way, and I gotta go.
Can't LookI can't stand to look at him. That pale skin (He hasn't been outside in a long time.) The greasy hair (He doesn't clean much, or often.) Thos eyes, sunken but alive, but only with a malicious glee (He lies, you see, and only for the thrill of making someone believe what is patently absurd.)Can't Look in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I can't look at him. I hate him. What he looks like offends my eyes.
So I pick up a chair and smash the mirror.
All I Can SayIt was one of those moments where your breath catches in your throat. You know the ones I mean, where there is just pure emotion in the air, and all you can do is let it carry you and try not to break down.All I Can Say in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The weird thing is, I couldn't tell you what was going on. I will never be able to tell you who was there, if it was happy or sad or funny.
All I can say is it was perfect.
ContinuationI take another sip of my beer and grimace. It's warm, but I suppose that's fine. The TV isn't providing any distractions tonight, and I can't keep my mind where I want it. So I drift into what's been bothering me lately.Continuation in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I can't shake the feeling that I don't matter. It's been happening to me more and more lately, but it's especially strong right now.
I have no friends, any remainders of my family either aren't talking to me or are dead. No pets, not even a fish or something similar to that to take care of.
I work a low paying job as a cashier. I spend most nights alone in front of the TV with a bottle of cheap beer, and I usually pass out there.
As far back as I can recall, I have done nothing noteworthy. I barely graduated high school, didn't bother with college. Any inheritance I got from dead family dried up long ago. So basically I've been spending my life slowly drinking myself to death alone in a small apartment on the bad side of town.
I can't and won't kill myself,
Pray"I don't pray anymore," she told me. "It's not because I don't believe anymore, because I do."Pray in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"Then why don't you pray?"
She paused a moment before answering. "I think it's mostly because I just don't think he's listening to me. Mostly when I pray, it seems I'm talking to myself."
"Maybe you're not asking for the right things."
Not Getting OutThe whiskey burns down my throat, but it's a comforting burn. A peaceful burn, I suppose, and the cigarette feels the same way. My thoughts are circling each other like sharks, each trying to get my attention longer than the other, to get the biggest chunk of my mind.Not Getting Out in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I'm hoping the alcohol will shut them up, but I don't think it will. It never has before.
One seems to be winning, though.
You'll never get out of this place. You were born here, you'll live here, and you'll die here. Just like everyone else from this town, you'll never make it out.
The hell of it is, I know it's right. So I take another shot. Maybe this time it'll work.
Because I Know ThemSome of my friends signed up to join the military. I spend some time each day wondering if I'll ever see them again. I tell myself I will, that they'll be back to annoy me with their petty quarrels and drama ridden lives, complaining about their girlfriends and families.Because I Know Them in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Sometimes I can't reassure myself that I'll ever hear from them again. So I tell them to be careful, reaffirming my status as a kind of a mother hen figure, always hovering and making sure they do things right.
I do this not because I think they need me looking over their shoulder. I do it because it's the only way I really know how to show that I care about them. That I worry about them, because I'm not sure how many, if any, will come back. I know one is going for a military career.
And all this is brought to my mind today, and I wonder: will I see their names written up on a wall for fallen heroes?
I don't want to, but if I do, I'd be proud to know them.
View PointsEvery action has an equal and opposite reaction. So don't hit someone unless you're sure that you're okay with them hitting you back.View Points in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Just because you didn't win that fight doesn't make you any less of a winner. Unless you're dead. Or hospitalized. Then you're just fucked.
Not everyone gets to have a truly defining moment. So if you get to have one, congrats. If not... Too bad, that sucks and I am sorry.
Don't trade your friends for anything, unless you're in prison and really want a candy bar. And even then, be sure it's a really good candy bar.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in the company of cannibals... Leave.
Party crashing is more fun with a dramatic entrance. Just make sure that there's no one on the other side of the door.
No, pretending to be a vampire does not make you cool.
Being unique does not mean acting different or looking different from everyone else. You will find that you fall into a group. Being unique is not caring what they think of you, and doing your ow
not titledI can't remember the last time I've seen him like this. Actually, I can. It was the first time I met him.not titled in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I met Jack on the playground the day after he found out his parents were getting a divorce. He just looked so... I don't, broken, that I had to go say something to him. I'm a bit of a collector, you see, and what I collect are broken things.
Today, it was even worse. When I first met him, he was crying. Now he was so far beyond that that he wasn't even moving. Just sitting there, tears falling down his face. He wasn't bother to wipe away his tears, he wasn't moving, just sitting there, slowly falling apart, and I wish I could say something to him.
But there's nothing to say. Everything has already been said, and anything I do at this point would just be flogging a dead horse.
So I just stay, and try not to stare at this slow motion breakdown, and try not to hate his parents anymore than I already did for further destroying this work of art that they so casually tossed aside. I try
InfatuationSurely the skies have parted and heaven has sent downInfatuation in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A glorious angel adorned with a luminous crown.
Beauteous maiden, you set my heart aflame!
I'd be faithful to you forever, if I only knew your name!
This middle school's doors now shine like pearly gates,
My passion is a hunger which only you can sate.
I now pronounce love eternal, forever and for all,
Ever since you glanced at me when you passed me in the hall!
Your form, it is perfection; your soul, it is divine,
I'd live in bliss for all my years if I could simply call you mine.
If only I had found you first, and keepers would be finders,
By the way, have you seen your face on the inside of my binders?
Good lass, I do now lay myself before you on my knees.
For you, I'd climb o'er all the mountains and swim the raging seas!
Deny me not your love, my dear, your pledge is what I desire,
Your friend says that you hate me, but he's a Judas and a liar.
Even now I do forsee our matrimonial night,
The prelude to our happy years without a
Simply Divine - Chapter 1Celestine ran the brush through her long blonde hair one last time and looked at herself in the mirror.Simply Divine - Chapter 1 in Humor More Like This
"All right, let's see," she muttered to herself. "Make sure here that I've got those four important things. Number one: hair."
She twirled a few strands of her hair around her finger, leaned towards the mirror for closer examination, and then nodded to herself with satisfaction.
"Number two: clothes."
She looked down at herself. She was satisfied once again upon seeing the simple white gown she had just gotten for this occasion.
"Number three: wings."
Looking over her shoulder, she smoothed down a few messy feathers on her brilliant white wings and silently ticked another box of her checklist.
"And number four: halo."
She rolled her eyes up and smiled upon seeing the warm golden glow of the circular halo over her head.
"All right, that's the big four! Come on, Cel, come on, let's do this..."
As the ornate glass door to the lobby swung open,
Simply Divine - Chapter 10"Order! Order! ORDER!"Simply Divine - Chapter 10 in Humor More Like This
The shrill cries of a goddess seated in the upper levels brought the entire room to a hush within seconds. The goddess shifted her piercing stare across the room, giving an accusing glance to every pair of eyes she met.
"Have you lost your minds? This is an assembly of perfect beings, not some barbaric whorehouse! We will govern not with flighty passions but with cold, sober justice!"
"Sober in the non-drunk sense or sober in the calm, focused sense?"
"Both of them, Dionysus."
"I know that SOME of us are all too eager to see this grave matter devolve into a flimsy excuse for a catfight, but it is in times like this that cooler heeaads muust preevaail. Weee muuust fiiiind theeeee oooooonlyyyyyyy loooooooogiiiiiiiiicaaaaaaaaaa-"
If time were a river, then a great molasses barge had overturned right in the middle of Chronometry Creek. Seconds stretched twofold, threefold, fourfold,
Lone Palm Island"Hey, Jon. I've got something to tell you."Lone Palm Island in Humor More Like This
"I've finally thought up a name for this island we're on."
"Lone Palm Island. Can you guess how I came up with-"
Jon sighed. "Because we're on a tiny island with a single palm tree."
Julie's eyes widened, though Jon couldn't see it as they sat with their backs to opposite sides of the lone palm. "That's amazing! How did you know?"
Jon just sighed again and looked around the island. It didn't take long - they were basically sitting on an isolated mound of sand no more than a few yards across with a single palm tree in the center. He rubbed his scraggly brown beard and silently cursed the day of their shipwreck.
"I have psychic powers, Julie. Now, leave me alone."
The two sat in silence for several minutes, John planning an elaborate method to signal for help while the imaginary parrot reminded Julie that it was still her friend
Simply Divine - Chapter 3Celestine looked up in wonder at the vast domed building that was the Palace of the Divines. Its smooth silver surface gleamed brightly in the eternally bright beams of heavenly light, and multicolored banners flapped around the dome's ankles, representing the multitude of gods who met within.Simply Divine - Chapter 3 in Humor More Like This
"Neat sight, eh?" said Desdemona, idly picking something out from underneath one of her sharpened fingernails.
"Yeah, I mean, I've seen pictures of it before, but I've never seen it in person."
"It's pretty nice, yeah. But you'll be seeing plenty of it. Let's get going."
The pair set off to a towering pair of doors along the winding paths of the gardens surrounding the dome.
Perhaps, thought Celestine, the only thing more exciting than the outside of the dome was the inside. She found herself and Des standing in the middle of an ornate circular stage, the seats for the audience rising up around them on most every side. What was so interesting
Simply Divine - Chapter 2"So, uh, what's your name again?" said Celestine, trying to break the awkward silence that had taken hold.Simply Divine - Chapter 2 in Humor More Like This
"It's Ael. What, did you expect some sort of long fancy-pants angel name, Miss Celestine Angelique Rosaria?" he replied, impersonating her voice.
"Ale? Like the drink?"
"No, Ael, like the strikingly handsome demon."
Celestine sighed. Perhaps getting this job would be harder than she thought.
"Look," she said, "is there something I need to do to get a position here in the Department of Special Affairs? Because that's what I'm here to do."
Ael nodded understandingly and then spoke up to ask her a question. "You do know what it is we do here at the DSA, right?"
"The Department is responsible for carrying out tasks that are directly issued by the gods, no matter what those tasks are," she said, trying to recall the exact textbook definition."
"Er, right. What I mean is, are you prepared to make good on that 'no m
A Neighborly DisputeBill stopped in the middle of what he was doing as he heard the doorbell ring. He rose slowly and walked to the door, peered through the eyehole, and then swung the door open.A Neighborly Dispute in Humor More Like This
"Uh, hello there, Bill," said Bill's next-door neighbor Charlie, who stood on the doorstep.
"Oh, hey, Charlie! How's it going?"
"Not so bad - hey, listen, I just want to ask you to-"
"Hold on a second, Charlie, first I just have to say that you really need to turn your music down."
"But wait, I-"
"Are you having a party over there or something?"
"Well, yes, I am, that's why I'm here to ask you to-"
"I mean, you could at least show the courtesy of turning down that blaring rock music you're playing."
"Okay, okay, I will, but could you-"
"All right then, Charlie, glad we could handle this in a friendly manner."
"Hey, wait, you-"
"G'night, Charlie!" said Bill as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall, muttering to himself as he wen
Simply Divine - Chapter 7In one quick motion, Desdemona rolled out from under the covers and made a skillful landing on the carpeted floor.Simply Divine - Chapter 7 in Humor More Like This
"You. I should have known," she said, glaring at the murderer standing before her. "You had the opportunity and the means. I just don't understand - why?"
"I'm carrying out orders," said Laila, taking slow, deliberate steps across the room. "I don't need another reason."
Celestine spoke up. "Des. Sparkly pink pajamas."
Des paused a moment at that remark. "...what?"
"You're literally a demon out of hell, and you wear sparkly pink pajamas."
"Really not the time, Cel!" said Des, taking a few steps backwards as Laila advanced on her. As they moved back towards Celestine's bed, she too sprung out of bed and moved back toward the corner of the room.
"I see you DSA curs know how to competently cower in fear, at least," said Laila. "As entertaining as it is, I'm afraid I have a job t
Simply Divine - Chapter 5Celestine brushed the last few blazing embers out of her hair, looking down at the charred patches that adorned her gown from top to bottom. Des had been right about crossing the infernosphere - at least the dentist didn't try to burn your teeth out of their sockets.Simply Divine - Chapter 5 in Humor More Like This
"Hot? Like you?" piped up Ael without invitation.
"Shut up, Ael." came Celestine's curt reply.
"Ah hee hee hee! Finally, I've gotten you out of that little goody-two-shoes shell of yours! I'm so proud of you."
As the trio walked back to the DSA building, Celestine and Ael swapping remarks and retorts, the doors to the building flew open. al'Jabr rushed out the walk at them, all in a fluster.
"Holy matrix of a vector!" he cried out. "You triangu- you three, get in here, with all haste!"
"Easy, easy there al'Jabr," said Des, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Now tell me, what has the calculator been telling you this time?"
"No, you vector
Simply Divine - Chapter 9Many great philosophers have pondered what one needs to live. Some say it is merely the simple necessities of food and water, while other, loftier individuals claim that such things as love, knowledge, and righteousness are needed to truly live. Celestine, on the other hand, was pretty sure that all she needed to live at the moment was a quick pair of legs. With the distance between her and Laila growing as thin as Laila's patience, it was a great stroke of luck that the entrance to the grand domed Palace was just a few steps ahead. Celestine flung the door open and launched herself through, Laila going from being practically on top of her to literally on top of her as the pair fell down in a clumsy pile and rolled down a flight of stairs to the floor of the great hall filled with gods and goddesses of all sorts.Simply Divine - Chapter 9 in Humor More Like This
The two angelic women got to their feet with the little dignity and poise that they could muster, dusted themselves off, and then i
Scott's FatherWhen we raced sailboats on SundayScott's Father in Free Verse More Like This
I never won.
The wind was wild that day.
Youngest, and most afraid
I came in 4th of 4
and felt a failure.
talked to me
He never had before.
It doesnt matter
that you came in last
or by how far.
Im just tickled pink
Scott became a race car driver.
I heard Scott had
His fathers words
echoed in my mind
Im just tickled pink
Napo 7 after bedtimeoutside the moon is shining.Napo 7 after bedtime in Free Verse More Like This
she sleeps in moonlit
stripe-shadows of the blinds
and I in old memories
back to my studies
to sit here frozen
at the blue glowing keys
of my son's computer.
it is late.
I have lost my place,
I gaze blankly
as the rats on the desk top
staring at me sideways.
I meet their eyes
with equal apathy.
the day is over.
shall I let it be done
or forge forward
as if I still have time?
don't trust meDon't trust me to always be there.don't trust me in Free Verse More Like This
But trust me to care
Don't trust me to understand
Trust me to listen
And trust me to try again
Don't trust me to always be strong and wise
Trust me to be myself
Trust me to fail sometimes
Trust me to care.
Don't trust me to know what to do for you,
Have all the answers
Or pay your bail
Don't trust me to lie for you
Keep all your secrets
Or spare you the hurtful truth
Trust me to try again
Trust me to care.
Elegy for AmericaElegy for AmericaElegy for America in Free Verse More Like This
Under Gods own perfect sky
on this mower once fueled with pride, roaring,
raising the smell of spring
I ride three acres of perfect lawn which once
made me king
of this high hill in suburbia
of more than we need more than we want
enough to flaunt and more.
Now it is gone.
I am banished.
Factories and franchises fallen to ruin and my
six-figure income ---gone.
My pension wont go far
in this shattered empire
where energy is a rare and priceless
for lack of which
my world has died.
But still the grass keeps growing;
keeps me mowing.
Maybe I should trade this mower for
and a plow
and plant tomatoes
Napo 10.1 Paradigm ShiftThesis: Truth is Gods Authority unquestioned:Napo 10.1 Paradigm Shift in Open More Like This
Antithesis: Truth is Reason
Synthesis: Questioning authority is the unquestioned authority.
Truth is a question, not an answer? A journey not a destination?
truth is relative.
not your ma or my son
a window for a bird to fly into
or in through
I ramble in blindness,
my blindness is an illusion of unseeing
there is none so blind as one who sees something you cannot comprehend
and tries in vain to describe it.
Except for you: the uncomprehending.
Your very words
--the bricks of your Elitist walls,
raised against ignorant masses
of the likes of me--
are laden with assumptions
unquestionable to you
questionable to me:
if only I had the words to question.
This tower of Babel will fall.
Choose ye this day
whether to learn
with an opened mind
or be lost in the rubble of your crumbling towers
I never explained anything.
you think Im a fool.
In Shakespeare, fools were o
Napo 5.1 in Zoos for grassI rememberNapo 5.1 in Zoos for grass in Free Verse More Like This
big blue stem
taller than my head
but Ive never been
where it still grows
on Konza Prairie
free, like a buffalo in a zoo
or playing buffalo jam
with tourists at Yellowstone.
I crouched amid long grasses on that hill
watching fields burn:
on my private prairie.
The flames were magic.
Torn apart I longed to be a part
not yet realizing
I belonged apart.
It was my place.
Like buffalo in a zoo,
or bluestem on the Konza,
instead of friends and lovers
I had weeds;
The white figure eights
of the sweep-net
echoed in the dust mop
when I swept the stairs of Seaton Hall
before I got mono.
Seaton hall has been rebuilt
its ghosts are gone
with the dust I swept away
but the stone shell remains
like a fossilized brachiopod
in the old quarry pond
which is now a road.
I caught my first tadpoles there;
learned to Ice skate
She has no words for me now
because Im buffaloes in the zoo,
bluestem on the Konza
learningA procces of being willinglearning in Free Verse More Like This
and fail again
faster and faster
until all failures have been overcome
and there is nothing left to fail
in that field.
as master of that field
I move on
Road TripHead east through early-fallRoad Trip in Free Verse More Like This
paper hills pasted to the sky.
Feel the dust-hazed breeze sucking
their depth dry and flat
like a childs collage.
Yellow brick road rolled out
like masking tape through green slopes scattered
with rich golden hay-rolls
Paint my van full of family in the foreground.
Racing trains, cows
on hilltops waving through fields of grain,
wild sunflowers sprinkle the road sides.
Sparkle-bright farm ponds,
Silos and windmills,
Graveyards and cornfeilds;
nothing but Game Boy screens.
Topeka, no Emerald City this
one big bad neighborhood
hidden in trees
with one green-dome-riding indian;
shooting for the stars.
Follow his feathered shaft.
the state of my birth or your youth--
past golden arches, Burger King,
Taco Tico turned to a hair salon
to Twenty-Nineth Street
--Game Boys beeping in the back seat--
Pull in past pigeons flocking on a water tower
towering patched and commo-tan,foreshad
Napo 16.1 and 16.2 clichesthe first of these was inspired by the thought , as I walked to class on a beautiful spring day after a few weeks of grey rain, that I'd like to write a Napo poem about spring. But spring is in itself, like love, a cliche.Napo 16.1 and 16.2 cliches in Free Verse More Like This
The second poem was inspired by the first poem
Cliché me into life again
I want to feel your languid rays of sunshine
Penetrate my winter-white skin
Plant my soul
With your seminal seeds of new life.
Springing to life
In April rain
Like tears of joy
I love clichés.
still noble beneath dust.
Blackjack CreekThrough the fire of summer sun I walkBlackjack Creek in Free Verse More Like This
Torn assunder by the trials of life I falter.
Find the place.
Cross the drying grass; dying clover
--its luck run dry months ago--
down caving banks of rich brown silt
once given, now returning to the river.
Stepping barefoot into dappled shade. Primeaval
quicksand of eternity settled from the swerling flow.
My footprints damp and shallow
wash away. The current takes my tears, my fears, my future
fades into now. This is the only place and time