BluesMorning comes in widow's weedsBlues in Free Verse More Like This
settles to the bottom of my cup,
begging to be stirred,
wondering why my chin
has fallen over the rim
and how come my feet
take forever to shuffle
over floorboards and dust.
I am vacant, worn down -
just this mud-bare rug,
heels bleeding gray,
and so tired
I forgot how to say your name
or the color of the walls
when I turn out the lights.
It is just the pain of you
settling in again
with leftover Sunday evening.
TreesTrees in Free Verse More Like This
The secret life
of elm and oak
and thin white poplars -
on a winter night,
grazing the moon
like tapers in December.
I smell earth -
peat and cedar
and the indulgent bulge
crafting the air
like a smith
lost in his work.
Chestnuts bear an offering
and the yearning pall
of pine scents the sky
till it's thick with resin.
And they gather
with boughs and limbs
bent like priests at play,
roots tight as ancient drums
to ruminate on stories,
sinewed in fragrant bark
making merry where
the green bends back
MinotaurHer minotaur bows lowMinotaur in Free Verse More Like This
of a deft approach
some way in
some tiny gift
an offering of rain
left killing on the grass.
She senses him,
the bristle of jaw
jarring the forest,
and the long white of her arms
the value of fear.
But his eyes
go blank at her glance,
the snare of heat
at her wrist,
and his warm flank
telling her new myths
are for bleeding.
BrotherMy reluctant brother -Brother in Free Verse More Like This
grey suited hair
and that scar
beating on your lip
like an unfortunate rhyme -
long have I thought of you.
Your pockets are shallow wastrels
and in the crisp folds
of your trousers,
I find that time
is a leper -
an ill-fated star
that pocks this dream witted night
and turns my tears
to sober music.
For I have found your hopes
a hollow thing -
your promises a cold frost
for my supper
and all your pretty words
the still birth of my misfortune.
Mad ManI think I lost usMad Man in Free Verse More Like This
in a glass of scotch -
going down like
every mad man
I ever envied.
Why did I believe
your lips tasted
sweet and heathen
like the heather
I laid you in
that last night
I came home?
I had a thing
for damaged women,
and you could drink
your mother's last words
EndingsI know the time is comingEndings in Free Verse More Like This
when you will no longer
leave fingerprints on my door,
and we will not argue
at Christmas dinner
about the face of God.
Your chair will be cold,
your plate empty,
and I will watch your shadow
shrink on the sofa
and your voice
grow reed thin
and your footprints on the carpet
too light to stick.
Your coat will grow
too large in the closet
and the world will never
fill your shoes,
so I will shake the dust
off your best suit
and find the pictures I took of you
when you were laughing
and the bible
you kept by your bed
that I could not believe in
and I will tuck you in
for that long goodnight
that breaks the sky
and slip my small fingers
into your big hand
one last time,
and wait for the story
as big as my whole world
setting in your eyes.
LandscapesLovers are like landscapes -Landscapes in Free Verse More Like This
fields of wheat,
a crowning glory
cascading down a bare back
as if to beckon me closer
like tapered limbs
that bend gently
and hug the dark wet
the hushed breath
of jungle -
a canopy ripe
and bursting overhead;
and the beautiful surround
of rugged peaks
thrusting through the soil,
knowing which direction
to move in.
EdenBring me to your feast of rags,Eden in Free Verse More Like This
that groaning board of earth and tears
where you ache
to eat the righteous,
and I will undress
these scraps of hidden wounds
to stop believing.
I will lay the table
in green leaves
and press poultices
with the cool, running water
of my hands
where daylight gapes
in hungry children,
and pull us
from the tired cloth of living.
I will make pilgrims of my fingers
to peel away
those sore, rough blows
that starve our hearts,
and anoint our eyes
in this rude paradise.
And we will dine on a rich harvest
the mead of poets,
bread from moon, and ash
fallen from the autumn skies -
the soft rain of manna
unfolding like the promises
of a new Eden.
SerenadeTimes Square feels goodSerenade in Free Verse More Like This
apple sweat and dinner din
of forks lifting
welding steel to the carpets
of scrounging pennies
and violins in cardboard making homes
for the homeless shoes
shuffling through the storefronts
to buy papers and plenty
of coffee grounds
ground zero and toothpaste
to rub out last night
and the subway just sits there
like always it's always late
in this city
waking up for eggs
in buildings building
things we barely taste
keep growing where the park watches
the tents catching wind
of a mighty spark
and better days hunkering
in the rubble
at my feet.
AcheIt was an old ache -Ache in Free Verse More Like This
a rough reminder
she was not perfect,
a notch in his backbone
that creased his shirt
when he moved the wrong way.
There was a certain charm
about her face
and he liked how she could climb
when she had to
and how her spine lined up
with his bookcase.
(But he wondered why
bled into his flaws)
Still, he had to admit
lean across a table
with a grace
that bordered on
and he could learn to believe
just a dying art.
ResurrectionResurrection in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
i see the world with new eyes
now it all begins
Love Will Find YouLove Will Find You in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
true love will find you
lifting you to the heavens
barely touching down
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?
What was that?We werent soul-mates, lovers or friends;What was that? in Free Verse More Like This
worthy rivals or mortal enemies.
We didnt match,
complete each other,
or give challenge,
calling forth unexpected strength.
We didnt bring out the best or the worst in us.
We didnt really share joy, love or pain;
not in any normal sense.
Perhaps we learned a few
yet we were not teachers
It was more like a vortex.
A magnetic mixer spinning
in the bottom of a beaker,
forming into a tiny tornado of air.
We were like that.
Like empty spaces born of disturbance
born of magnetism
what was that?
NaPo 2 the past is overThe snow lies fallen on the ground like wet cementNaPo 2 the past is over in Free Verse More Like This
white melting into grey
it fades to rain
is mine again
set free by springtime
the past is over
I seek new words, new ways
something to hold me to myself
not take me away
back to you
in my brain
the gears turn grindingly
and honesty is all clichés and rudeness
but I hate the lies and illusions
we have worn this world
thin, smooth, ragged in a rut but yet
we refuse to suspend disbelief and see truth in what always follows
the past is over
but we can still change its meaning
the future is unknown
We create it now.
will you help me make it good
or go on demanding I just make it new?
How LongHow longHow Long in Free Verse More Like This
will I search for you
in every crowd
because somewhere deep inside
the place you hold has not been filled?
will I cry
when I truly think of you
though I rarely do?
ever let you fade into the crowd
of my memories
you are still part
of the crowd I face?
NaPo 12 what I learned...BalanceNaPo 12 what I learned... in Open More Like This
I am Heathcliff
I would be the fool
Keep only the good stuff
You dont have to erase to edit
The best poets are never published
Trying hard counts for more than talent
The worst cliché is that we must shun cliches
Some important truths can only be told through fiction
To evil aliens, we are evil aliens
Im not all right and youre not wrong.
Juxtaposition is just as important as content
Literature and history make each others meaning
The English language was created by alien invaders
I fall in love with everything I read, if I get close enough
Enlightenment thinking is an old dogma, can we teach it new tricks?
window sonnetWhat you want to give me is a windowwindow sonnet in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Through which to view the world beyond my own
where the morning sun shines in to warm me
With light to show the way to love and truth
Opening to welcome warm spring breezes
and laughing neighbor children as they play
to shut against the cold of winter nights
safe shelter me away from falling rain
oh what a gift of life and joy and warmth
this seems to be, when looked at from inside
But I am just a sparrow flying free
you give me just reflections of the sky
I in love and trust receive them gladly
enter your deceptions, die against glass
Clearing Up Glass HousesClearing Up Glass HousesClearing Up Glass Houses in General Fiction More Like This
By Ruth Patrick
Carson placed the half-emptied home of his beloved pet on the grass beside the porch stairs: a filthy, stinking, glass rectangle covered with slime and lime. Even with the brown water removed the once-transparent walls were completely opaque. If I dont even take care of my turtle responsibly, he thought, Ive got no business bringing anybody else into my life. He startled as the screen door slammed and Dad stalked out, torn and faded jeans spattered with paint and sawdust from a long day at work.
Carson glanced up at him nervously. Yeah, I know you told me so. I never realized turtles were so much work.
Dad towered above him on the porch, grinning smugly. If you just cleaned the filter like I keep telling y
againI pour my whole heart and soul intoagain in Free Verse More Like This
things which dont matter
and then pay the price in pain.
Its better than the emptiness
of caring for nothing
and no one.
Like stonehenge I stand to mourn you
in the morning
when the sun rises on the calander
of an age long past
extincted by neccessity
and lack of faith
when everything was not enough
and too much became nothing
as it ever does
and in the aftermath of all that ever was
I remember only you
and wonder why.
but find no answers.
I enter the future.
trails behind me like spiderwebs
floating like broken kitestrings on the breeze upon failing
to capture me
because I was far, far too far
larger than they could imagine.
I pray we meet again.
For Tash ...edited.We are darkness which hides the light within.For Tash ...edited. in Free Verse More Like This
Diamonds in the rough;
we wait to shine
Disguised as powerlessness until the time is right,
our glory grows within, unseen.
If every cloud holds a silver lining,
we are golden in clouds of storm.
These storms will pass us by
and we will shine forth in warmth and power
to prove to be the goddesses
we always were.
A name is nothing but reputation,
a frail illusion, an innocent façade.
Our truth is far beyond how others see us.
From victim veils we ascend to victory
Fight at my side.
Scrisoare catre Alex IIAlex, îţi scriu din nou, deşi m-ai rugat să nu o fac. Mi-ai spus că ai treabă. Ţi-ai întins regretele prin toată casa şi ai început să le numeri. Când ai ajuns la 14 te-am întrebat dacă ai încercat vreodată să trăieşti fără să clipeşti. Te-ai enervat pentru că ai pierdut numărătoarea din cauza mea. Nu mi-ai răspuns. Ai luat-o de la capăt. Şi aş fi vrut să te întreb ce rost are să-ţi numeri regretele, dar deja ajunsesei la 62 şi mi-era teamă că iar te voi încurca. Aşa că te întreb acum. Ce rost are? Tot atâtea or să fie, oricâte pături, oricâte preşuri sau oricâte cărţi ai pune peste ele. Şi oricâţi de saci de gunoi ai umple.Scrisoare catre Alex II in Letters More Like This
Şi Alex, de ce iubim atât de mult cerul? De ce ne alegem stele, le dăm nume ş
Portocalele- Hai să ne jucăm portocalele.Portocalele in Emotional More Like This
- Aş mânca... două felii de dragoste.
- De ce de dragoste şi nu de ură?
- De ce de ură şi nu de dragoste?
- Pentru că ura mi-ar ţine mai mult de foame. E mai consistentă decât iubirea, durează mai mult în timp.
- Înţeleg... Aş bea... două picături de lumină.
- De ce de lumină şi nu de întuneric?
- De ce de întuneric şi nu de lumină?
- Pentru că întunericul îmi arată doar ce vreau eu să văd. Întunericul e adevărata mea realitate.
- Înţeleg... Aş muşca... doua bucăţi din tine.
- De ce din mine şi nu din tine?
- De ce din mine şi nu din tine?
- Ca să mă conving că eşti reală.
- Înţeleg... Vreau să fiu singură.
- De ce singură şi nu împreună?
Dar plecase. Jocul s-a terminat.
Cu sufletele spate-n spateSufletul meu stă cuminteCu sufletele spate-n spate in Free Verse More Like This
în spatele ochiului stâng,
e prea timid să-ţi spună
aşa că se mulţumeşte
să privească dragostea altora
prin geamul ăsta maro,
pe care îl spăl în fiecare zi
doar cu apă sărată.
Sufletul tău e prea leneş
să mai simtă ceva,
vrea doar să se odihnească
în talpa piciorului drept,
e foarte obosit de la cât
s-a chinuit să mă iubească,
dar eu am ştiut mereu că n-o reuşească,
în fond, cine-ar putea iubi o fată
cu ochi căprui ca ai mei?
PrimadataiubimdincuriozitatePrima dată iubim din curiozitate,Primadataiubimdincuriozitate in Free Verse More Like This
să vedem dacă ne place sau dacă nu
şi probabil suntem sado-masochişti
pentru că o facem şi a doua oară,
sperând că se va sfârşi altfel,
când de fapt se sfârşeşte la fel,
iubim iar, mai optimist acum
doar a treia oară-i cu noroc
sau cine ştie poate a patra,
şi iubim încă o dată
pentru că ne plictisim
şi altceva nu ştim să facem.
A şasea iubire e şi ultima
nu de alta, dar rămânem fără timp,
şi ne facem valizele pentru cealaltă lume
repetând în gând acelaşi discurs:
"singurul meu păcat e că am iubit cu adevărat
o singură dată."
RaspunsuriAi intrat neinvitată. Nici măcar n-ai ciocănit.Te-ai aşezat pe fotoliu şi m-ai privit cu un zâmbet ironic.Raspunsuri in Emotional More Like This
Nu te-am vrut şi ştiai asta. Mi-ai spus că la un moment dat o să te vreau, o să te las să locuieşti în mine şi nu o să vreau vreodată să pleci. Am râs. Nu te-am crezut. Dar ai rămas.
Am încercat să te ignor. Mă prefăceam că nu te văd stând pe marginea patului meu şi privindu-mă. Mă prefăceam că nu te aud cântând în fiecare dimineaţă. Mă prefăceam că nu te simt cuibărindu-te lângă mine, şoptindu-mi "nu o să-ţi mai fie frig".
Însă în ziua în care ai intrat în hainele mele iar apoi pe sub pielea mea nu am reuşit să mă mai prefac. Te-am acceptat.
Am încercat să te învăţ bunele maniere. Să c
Noi. Eu. Ei.Am trecut pe lângă banca noastră azi. Fără să vreau. Uitasem în care parc era dar am recunoscut-o în momentul în care am văzut-o. Era încă roşie, încă murdară de dragoste şi de noi. Am trecut nepăsătoare pe lângă ea şi m-am purtat de parcă nu o cunoşteam. M-a strigat şi mi-a reproşat că am lăsat-o singură, că nu am mai vrut-o. Dar m-am prefăcut că nu am auzit-o şi nu m-am întors. Am continuat să merg şi să-mi strivesc lacrimile în degete şi frig.Noi. Eu. Ei. in Emotional More Like This
Am trecut pe lângă banca noastră azi. Am vrut să văd ce mai face, speram să nu mai fie tristă. Dar ploaia uitării spălase dragostea şi dorul. Era complet albă şi ştiu că niciodată nu i-a plăcut culoarea asta. Aşa că m-am aşezat pe ea şi am început s
DefinitieTrecutulDefinitie in Free Verse More Like This
pe care fiecare
o cară după sine.
VeciniSuntem vecini de cer, dar abia ne vorbim.Vecini in Emotional More Like This
Astăzi zăpada mi-a ars picioarele reci şi, ca să nu se prefacă în scrum, le-am stins repede în cer. Şi cerul a fost bun şi rece cu mine. Mi-a împachetat cu grijă rănile în pungi. Le-a cusut cu nori. Le-a înnodat în şase păsări. Şi asta doar ca să nu pot să le mai deschid. "Aşa or să se vindece", mi-a zis. Apoi m-a lăsat să îi cotrobăi prin camere. Am găsit soarele în şifonierul lui. Era pus la naftalină. L-am trântit lângă gardul dintre cerurile noastre şi l-am călcat în picioare. Şi asta doar ca să stropesc cu lumină şi cerul tău. Care este un vecin ursuz şi nepoliticos. Nu spune niciodată "bună dimineaţa" sau "noapte bună" cerului meu. Nu îi zâmbeşte şi nu îl întreabă dacă
Triunghi amorosAzi s-a îndrăgostit de Mâine. Fără ca măcar să-l vadă. S-a îndrăgostit auzind doar ceea ce s-a spus despre el: "mâine va fi mai bine ca azi". Toată lumea spune lucrul ăsta. Aşa că Azi credea ca Mâine e un cavaler bun şi curajos cu armură strălucitoare.Triunghi amoros in Emotional More Like This
Mâine, Mâine, Mâine
Se gândea doar la el.Oare cum arată? Oare o să o iubească? Oare o să îl vadă? Asta se întreba Azi în fiecare zi. Şi întreba pe fiecare dacă l-au văzut pe Mâine. Toţi răspundeau că îl văd în fiecare zi. Atunci ea de ce nu-l putea vedea? Şi în toată goana ei după Mâine nu-l putea vedea pe Ieri.
Ieri o iubea pe Azi. Toată lumea spunea: "azi e mai bine ca ieri". Asta înseamnă că Azi era minunată. Şi încerca în fiecare zi să-i atragă ate
Monologul ploiiAi venit şi tu în sfârşit! Ce ţi-a luat atât? De şase ori ţi-am bătut în geam. N-ai văzut c-a anunţat şi la televizor că vin? În fine... Lasă asta. Zi-mi mai bine, de ce ai ieşit cu umbrela asta galbenă? N-am vorbit noi mereu de la egal la egal? Hai, fă-mi pe plac şi închide-o. Măcar de era albastră, nu de alta dar galbenul îmi aminteşte de Soare. Şi ştii şi tu prea bine că nu ne înţelegem. Şi acum îmi poartă pică pentru că am divorţat. Dar ce? E vina mea că el pleca întotdeauna seara de acasă? Mă săturasem să iau mereu cina singură şi să tremur noaptea de frig şi singurătate. E clar că avea ceva de ascuns de lipsea mereu, nu m-aş fi mirat să aflu că mă înşela cu cine ştie ce stea. Păcat de mine, erau mul&Monologul ploii in Emotional More Like This
decay.please (oh, please)—don’t pass this over.decay. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
please, don’t fold it under your pillow or stuff it down the drain or wipe my mouth with the ragged corners as if you could clean the sin from my lips that easily. (if only, if only.) i know it isn’t much; i know the edges are torn, the ink running, the words blotted with blood and spit and tears. i know that you can run your fingers down the creases and find where the paper has been folded and crushed. i know you can close your eyes and find the weaknesses as easily as one might find my own.
i know; trust me, this i know.
but that does not make the plea any less important—it does not make it any less real. (are the cries of the feeble less valuable than the cries of the anguished? does volume drown out sincerity?) these words have been carved in marrow and dragged forth with the last breath of life as it rattled from my lungs. they are disjointed and bent, but the uglies—oh, the uglies—are they not wha
wait and write to me then.don't tell me about the best way to capture the ocean in your mouth. don't whisper to me late at night about the salt crescent moons behind the bend of your elbows or the way that the breeze is tangling my hair around your ears until you're deaf from the wind. don't, for you see it's easy to whisper poetry when the starlit sky is a cliche over the slumbering world; it's easy to be a poet when the ground is rising up to cradle your shoulder blades and the earth is whispering love notes to you in your sleep. this is when it's easy.wait and write to me then. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so don't write to me then.
instead, wait until the world is rejecting you from her breast and leaving you breathless and boneless on the carpeted floor. wait until your ribs are falling one by one like sand through your fingers and you're struggling to catch them and struggling to keep your feet and struggling to remember why you started this fight at all. wait until the ocean has woken up angry and is throwing a tantrum across your jaw, knocking your teeth ou
my thoughts are fear biters.my heart is too wildmy thoughts are fear biters. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
for me to cage it in a
consider yourself warned.this is the time where it'd be appropriate to issue you a warning.consider yourself warned. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
where it'd be wise to tell you about the dangerous curves ahead, slippery with ice and sweat, slick with catastrophe just waiting to happen. you see, i am no genteel lover. i do not usher in honeyed words and press lily-lips against the tender slope of your neck. i do not hold your hand and lead you through rose gardens, whisper poetry in murmured tones. i simply cannot be slow and timid, doe-eyes and flushed cheeks, fluttering bird-hands floating through the fog-atmosphere until we hit the bed of satin and lace.
don't expect it of me.
instead, wait for racers to start their engines. wait to hear the engines growl and spitting under the hood, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, nails biting sharply into your shoulder-blades as tires peel out. expect for the ground to drop from underneath you and cotton to be ripped in two, poetry being hissed between swollen mouths. expect for it to be saltwater-promises against open wo
my final request.this'll be the last time i put my heart on your porch and the last time i'll slip faded pieces of poetry under your door when you're asleep. when my song has been sung, i'll stop painting my wishes on your ceiling and humming lullabies at moonrise. i won't come knocking at your door any longer or whispering into the back of your neck when you're walking away. you won't feel my fingers pulling on the edge of your shirt or slipping in your back pocket or clinging to the corner of your heart, because it's obvious that none of it belongs to me any longer.my final request. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i promise, this'll be it.
so, don't run or ignore this or throw it away, because i swear, this will be the last you hear from me. i'll erase myself from your life and throw the pieces into the wind to be carried to wherever it is you aren't. i'll fold in the corner until i'm nothing more than an ink smudge on your personal history. i'll erode and fade and diminish until the morning comes when you wake up and wonder if i was anything more
time withers (but i will not break)they say time withers, but that we would never bend. now, i'm not so sure. friendship once forged in fire is growing weak at the base and arthritic at the joints. love cast in steel is now rusted and stained, dissolving at the mere sight of the sun. i trusted you. i did. i wore my heart on my sleeve and bled my tongue from my mouth just to show you the truth of the matter. i swallowed the guilt until it threatened to chew away at the strings holding me up; until i woke up screaming, my lungs giving out in protest as i writhed between cotton sheets, teeth biting the pillow to suppress the next anguished cry threatening to rip from my throat. i did this, for us, for the friendship, for the future we all saw sitting on magnolia porches.time withers (but i will not break) in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i was willing to take the thorn into my sides, take the blame upon my shoulders, hold the world between hands just to let this dream come true. but no longer. i am not this savage beast that you see when you look at me; i am not this weathered and dying tr
secondhand inspiration.i am more than a girl with dirty hair and burned fingertips.secondhand inspiration. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am more than the insecurities that pile up and fog my mirror, and more than the cowardice i write about so lovingly on my fractured clavicle. i am not just this freckled skin and i am not these cramping feet that twitch under mahogany desks. i am not the girl that sits in the corner and allows the world to draw a box around me, and i am not the girl to sit and allow the world to thieve my words and plant them in their own private gardens.
i have my poems in a headlock and i am holding them under water until they breathe inspiration again. i am chasing down shadows and demanding they give me my words back, demanding that they spit up what they've stolen from my ribcage as i slumber. i am not the world, but the world is me and i will not sit in quiet as it plunders the dream box at the back of my skull.
you see, these syllables that craft my spine and run through the unseen blue of my veins are not the same when they trip sec
singing of beauty.some sing that there is beauty in the breakdown, but i have learned in the heat of your palms that the true beauty is in the rebuilding after the fall. you found me a city burned to the ground and you exhaustively rebuilt all of my fallen skyscrapers. you did not mind the singing and the stinging eyes. you never faltered at the quakes that ran up the base of my spine to the tip of the city limits. you just moved with meticulous, tenacious, loving grace. you found me a forest cleared on a whim, an ocean polluted with the lies of the selfish, a sky darkened with the ache of a thousand breaks.singing of beauty. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you found me ugly, and still, you found me.
so, i do not sing of beauty in the falling, though i have seen the poetry in cracking ribs and bleeding knees. i do not sing of the beauty of salt-encrusted cheeks and nail-bitten lips. i stand in the heat of your embrace and sing of the sun that rises on each war-demolished countryside. i sing of the light that washes over every blood-soaked ba
dare to dance the flame.i'm not the kind of girl you'll be able to forget about in a moment.dare to dance the flame. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i'm the kind that'll stick like a burr and breathe ice down your veins, but just wait because my lips will melt the frost in a moment. i'm the kind of girl that'll sneak into your system like nicotine so you'll keep asking for just a little bigger sip each time, just one more bottle, just one more drag [just one more, one more].
i'm a lie in the making and an addiction brewing in the spaces between your bones. i'm terribly atrocious and wonderfully divine and you'll hate me almost as much as you don't. i won't be part of your memory, because i'll flood it until i'm all that's there. i'll steal your lungs and give you sips of my own breath and promise you it's sweeter. i'll bite your bottom lip with laughing eyes and wipe away the blood precipitation with something that looks like sympathy but feels just like lust.
[you'll never know which, but you'll keep fighting because you're dying to know.]
i'm a storm that
it won't, i know that.Let me tell you a story. Let me paint you a picture.it won't, i know that. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It’s dark and I’m alone and the wind is howling and once upon a time, I might have made this sound poetic. I’m crying, but it’s not pretty. I’m crying and my nose is red and my hands are shaking and the cigarette is limp between my scarred, calloused fingers. I once might have made this sound pretty. I might have made it sound desirable. Did you want a high? All you had to do was touch my skin, to feel your way down my sweat-slicked hips. Did you want to get buzzed? You just had to soak in the passion like alcohol and let your mind go wild. I used to have nothing but chaos to offer. Now I just have memories – do you want to take them?
But you won’t. I know that. I paid the price and life paid me. Whatever I once had is gone and it’s been replaced with this shaking emptiness. I can no longer get drunk. I just get sad. I sit at broken pianos and think about the music they used to make, li
AmbitiousAmbitiousAmbitious in Concrete Poetry More Like This
If life and love are truly sweet;
Then more of you, I do entreat.
So few your words, but entrancing still,
with every one is another thrill.
Angels could not best your laugh;
sirens could do no better on your behalf.
The words of cicero can no more convey,
That which ten minutes of you certainly may,
Your attention is more than any could ask,
Gaining your gaze is my task,
While I yet breath, my goal will be,
To have you in my company.
A Flower In The SunA Flower In The SunA Flower In The Sun in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I am a flower in the sun,
So long have my petals hid,
So long has my stem remained short,
That I bloom eagerly.
A child through my meadow would run,
Happy, beautiful but timid,
An entrancing sort,
For her I bloomed hesitantly.
She played her game, and had her fun,
And in her glee, my petals she rid,
Then she'd hide behind a winter's fort,
I would die painfully.
Twelve SpeculationsWhatever is considered beautiful, whatever is considered right; this we must examine. Whatever is beautiful, whatever is right; this we must aspire to. To these codes mankind does cling and to these we look for purpose.Twelve Speculations in Philosophical More Like This
If a truth exists in the midst of folly, may it be severed from and held up, that the folly would be more apparent.
If any man says that he is wise, and has no basis for his supposed wisdom, he has shown evidence of foolishness; all who are wise are so through their doings.
A man can not embark upon any journey without first admitting that he is not already there.
Words are wasted on humanity, actions are not.
Love is a wine; it can be poured out, sipped on, sampled, spit out, quaffed, instil drunkenness, create mistakes, change history or merely sit and age.
A man who does not drink is righteous but a man who boasts of his sobriety is drunk on a far more dangerous liquor.
To share in another's life is good, to share another's life with others is despicable.
Worry and p
Melancholy Happy ThoughtsMelancholy Happy ThoughtsMelancholy Happy Thoughts in Concrete Poetry More Like This
A life to live is lost on life,
In death, is doubly revered.
What sorrow does that knowledge bring,
To us, by whom life is feared.
Of fire and ice,
cold stones and warm air,
no words shall suffice,
for the unjust and fair.
Speech in the Silence Speech In The SilenceSpeech in the Silence in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The voice of God,
So often still,
Yet demanding applaud,
For its sudden thirll.
It is the night air,
Its dialect is chill,
So perplexingly bare,
A racing heart!
A sudden beat!
A broken man who knows not defeat!
An ancient enigma, yet lost in time!
A being beyond reason or rhyme!
Its power, beyond power!
Its might, beyond might!
Its will, like one that none could fight!
They are the silence,
Choosing calm before noise,
They love us eternal, though in truth,
We're little more than toys.
Case and PointIn through one and out another,Case and Point in Concrete Poetry More Like This
reading every son as father,
listening, crickets green and chirping,
go up the clouds through straws a slurping,
eyelids downcast in out pourings,
find the happy sun is lost in snorings,
madness fits the circle to square,
holes in the thought and thoughts appear,
sadness takes consuming waves,
where wanton desire alone braves,
and love and lover's goodbye waves
find soon that one, the other and never both appear,
trapped in cubic dreams a square
finds empty solace in deitic snorings,
now broken dreams find secret pourings,
and fattened sins on innocence slurping
find all the tattles alive with chirping
of tales of the son now a father
to pain of becoming from one,
On SomethingMinutes pass like hours in moments like this,On Something in Concrete Poetry More Like This
a damned shame, that;
Where pain should leave, and come and go,
as by the drop of a hat.
The mind, in clouds both light and dark,
finds itself in madness;
The soul, in feelings both dull and stark,
finds dreaming endless sadness.
How cold the world would seem,
whilst heartbeats like war drums teem.
How wretched is the cry,
of whom in the silence die.
And death can not afford,
a single kindly ward.
Over body, soul and mind,
the bread is b
The Ballad Of Two ThoughtsWhat do I want?The Ballad Of Two Thoughts in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Am I able to obtain it,
or is this just a taunt?
Do I do this?
It's what I desire,
but is it right's antithesis?
Do I want flesh,
or do I want love?
Can I, this mistake refresh?
The rhythm is broken
with it, the rhyme,
and before I've spoken,
I should inquire of the time.
For life is a series,
of fluid movement,
there's a time for "flee"s,
but is this the moment?
I am unsure,
I am a wavering one,
through this sin I'd tour,
I need to leave, run.
This is not the time,
and this is not the place,
It'd not be so sublime,
when it and I come face,
is there any difference?
why such indifference?
I am not one way,
I am not the other,
what then can I say,
why even bother.
Your mind was made far before mine.
The Ballad Of TheodoreHis beard is bright red,The Ballad Of Theodore in Concrete Poetry More Like This
his robes, stark white,
Upon a sled pulled by gators,
he makes his flight,
about him, not much is said,
for he's a curious sight,
his visage has craters,
and his eyes are not bright.
His nose is bulbous,
his face is wrinkly,
on north pole street he lives,
in Florida, distinctly,
He is not very pompous,
which is displayed succinctly,
by how very little he gives;
he values himself not greatly.
His name is not saint,
nor santa or father,
but merely Theodore,
Nick's younger brother,
for long ago Nick's life had from him been drain't,
and from the clutches of death, none could him bother,
so in, they called theodore,
the less commanding other.
And being that he, a miserly man,
does not enjoy the yule time cheer,
Theodore Claus gives but five gifts,
once every year,
one he gives to the closest he can,
one he gives to the one with most fear,
two he gives to whomever's name sifts,
from many whom have none to call dear.
One present yet,
goes out in earnest seeking,
Duality DualityDuality in Concrete Poetry More Like This
There are two faces beneath the skin,
one for honoring an one for sin.
Neither can lose and neither can win,
but one shall frown and the other, grin.
If at the end you should find,
deep thoughts still thinking within your mind;
then you will see which one does grin,
an shine or darken the world we're in.
but love hurts.sometimes there are such things as friendsbut love hurts. in Free Verse More Like This
who say they would rather rip their own heart out
than watch you rip out yours, and he kind of
and he was looking at him right now, his hands
in the pockets of his jeans tied like knots, his eyes
open but closed slightly like he was struggling
to look at him, and he looks like he wants to tell him
everything, and probably does have an entire novel in his head,
but he only says, "stop."
but he tells him he wants to stop
but he can't, but god he wants to stop,
but he can't:
"sometimes, i lie in bed with nothing on but
an old pair of sweat pants and i can still
feel her on my skin"---
and he breathes again, and it feels like
his eyes staring back are clenching at his insides,
the corneas like talons, but he opens his mouth
and it feels like he's choking instead---
"sometimes, i breathe but i can't think of
my own breath."---
and suddenly, he is with
the smell of lavender
on the ripple of ocean-sheets, and something
snapped."you willsnapped. in Free Verse More Like This
be my books
open on my bed
with freckled words
bound to your
with stories tucked
into the chapped areas
of your lips, open
your spine crooked
holding your body
to a collection
of sodden bones, like
the soggy pages
of all the stories
you once told me
in the nights so dark
we couldn't read,
above the beating
of the paper and ink
in your chest
where you said
the thing about
what you see
and feel and be
does not have
and the best part
is the stories
will be there
into the pages of
in the end, we will always burn.sometimes i wonder what is it likein the end, we will always burn. in Free Verse More Like This
to be close to things that aren't
meant to be close.
i imagine things with straps at the collar bones, worded at the releasing snap-
cages under shirts a thrashing mess pounding against my temple
alive only when there is hunger playing in our ears so loud
all you can hear is the verbal silence of bone on bone.
SOMETIMES, i imagine it speaks a crescendo of exploding monotones
over leather and the darkness a facade over of our skin:
thighs swollen into what i think is a golden spine under my fingertips,
a strange voice filled with murmurations coming through the black
ready to fill the pregnant silence of friday nights
tucked into reverberating cars in an impending snow-
fingers an absolute touch, burning the coldest of skin,
goose bumps rising into a medley
and sometimes, this voice can say things besides dumb, resounding word vomit
and lies, the reflex of meaningless names and places between our skin and bones,
and it speaks tones of condo
shelf-lifebefore you:shelf-life in Free Verse More Like This
i love you like i love those nights
where it's cool but still too warm
to leave the covers on
when you sleep,
and you can't sleep
over the sound of
black and white re-runs
you leave on your TV,
like little people
rattling in your brain
when you close your eyes,
so you open them
to see this woman with short
curly blonde hair, with porcelain skin
the color of china in moonlight,
her eyes the kind of eyes
that look like liquid glass,
riding high on her thighs,
showing just enough skin where
it's not her
that reminds me of you,
but the way she sleeps
when she knows i'm awake,
but the way her skin
brushes mine like the contours
of a shadow, her fingers cold
and clammy like autumn leaves,
but the way her eyes look at me
like they're not glass, but i am
and her lips-- her thighs
open like books--
--but i cannot say
and i crumble my words
and let them fall to the floor
before the watchful eyes
of your bed.
i will only wake
glass eyeswhen i was a little girl and still lived by the sea, my grandmother used to give me a telescope, sit in her rocking chair on the patio, and watch me.glass eyes in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
on this particular day, her skin was reaching a peak of gray. cracks surrounded her icy eyes, her lips frozen into a purse, her back crumbling as if the sky rested on her shoulders. the floor creaked when she walked, and the railing leaned forward when she set her hand on it's spine.
she grasped the telescope in the other, the grays just as gray as her hand, except much more new - silver, more like, with glass at the end for an eye and black rubber circling the front, like the parts of her skirt.
it was folded in on itself, but when she stuck her arthritis-scourged appendages into it, pulling, her kempt, crimson nails clicked the edges and slid it out of its skin. suddenly, it was the length of her arm.
she gave it to me, trusting the weight to my hands, sat in her chair and rocked.
"look into it," she said.
i placed the rubber
how to: be unbreakableif there were such thing as you and ihow to: be unbreakable in Free Verse More Like This
we would be just like those stupid kids
we would hear about on tv, complete with the abhor
of moving bodies to breaths and the sweet
smoke of voices to the back of our necks
saying breathe, breathe,
and tonight you would have been that girl
who took that place between my neck, my shoulders and spine
and spoke with words fitting to the best shakespeare, plato
and socrates, your nails scratching down the bones in my back,
your lips tight, raw, and kissed almost skinless whispering:
breathe, breathe, breathe,
and i would have died under your grip young,
not a figment of what i once was,
and under the gasp stolen from my own grip
you will tell me about those kinds of days when
we were fifteen, under the type of moonshine
you would only get when you were fifteen,
where we would sit by the lake for hours,
our skin a wrinkled mess under the water,
the moon drowning in the ripples of the dock-
kissing the bride of your shoulders, the crown
of your neck und
catch twenty-two"i love the way you lookcatch twenty-two in Free Verse More Like This
in candlelight," you will say
where you flicker
your skin the kind of orange
that comes sober in sunset,
just sweltered into the blues
before it completely dies out,
dusk fit into the contours of your skin-
but unlike the sun
you're more of a chasm-
what we will say is
an inherent, permanent flicker
in the darkest of your december bedroom
before we try to sleep
but i only find myself staring at you
wondering when the light will die
and the burning next to me
will become an icy cold
and the light under your eyelids
will cool into its natural blue
and your cheekbones will freeze
so they cannot fit into my hand
as they once did
and idly, i will wonder
if the delicate rise of the sun
and save me from your cold december bedroom
before you reach nothingness.
this way, they can't help youI can feelthis way, they can't help you in Free Verse More Like This
to its knees
the same way
letters for dadyou’ve taught me a lot of things.letters for dad in Free Verse More Like This
like how to not make promises
you can’t keep, because
one day all of those words
that have fallen off your lips
the same way people fall
when they’ve hurt too much
will one day be as tangible as those
orphans in all of those novels
you read as a kid, always having
a place to stay
but no home to return to.
but i am writing this poem to tell you
i am not a hero of any novel,
and i remember every single one of them.
like how you said you would use your day off
when i was in the seventh grade
and go fishing.
when my brother asked why
you hadn’t woken at three in the afternoon
i just told him you have forgotten
like you forget a lot of things
because i wanted that to be true.
i remember in the eleventh grade
i told you to go fuck yourself
and go die in a ditch
because you made me feel
like i was nothing
and i wanted to make you feel
like less than nothing, because
you taught me
power is about making others powerless,
about telling ot
To The HeroesJustice?To The Heroes in Free Verse More Like This
I'm not sure you know what that means.
To you the very word of "justice" suggests that:
Those who do not comply are simply targets to be broken.
Those who do not agree with you, must always be denied.
Those who have the greatest freedom are chained and made to kneel.
And those who choose to fight are labeled 'incarnates of evil'.
Doesn't it all sound a little familiar?
I think it does...
So tell me, oh great hero,
Having fought monsters like me for so many years...
How does it feel to have finally become one?
Dear Angry PersonIt has come to my attention that youDear Angry Person in Letters More Like This
are about as pleasant as a rank plate of lemons jammed down an old lady’s throathave some behavioural problems with regards to your interactions with the community. This is not good for you and for that reason; I hope you will read this letter.
Considering that your actions reflect badly on you as a
walking sack of organic waste that is sucking up our airartist, I thought that I would step in and offer my own take on things. I hope within this letter to assist you in removing the metallic rod you have jammed so far up your posterior!by explaining to you that your behaviour ,which reminded me of a repugnant cat-lady swearing at the kids on her lawn,was improper, considering the circumstances and the alternative.
You see, I too am an individual that has trouble controlling his emotions. I strive very hard not to say what I am truly thinking as more often than not, you
Six Words for a SlumpSix Words For A Slump:Six Words for a Slump in Free Verse More Like This
You're tired, unable to create anything.
You feel angry; the anatomy's wrong!
Why won't these words come together?
"Nothing's right anymore, my hands tremble..."
Yet the solution is fairly simple...
I'm showing it to you now;
Break up your ideas, smaller sized.
They come together, like in Tetris.
Rotate the blocks; shape your art.
Draw chibis and stick figures too.
Instead of epics, try a haiku.
How about a six word story?
If your mind is blocked, overheated.
Let it cool; take it slow.
By attempting all the smaller things,
Your art is sure to grow.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th January 2013
The PoetThe Poet:The Poet in Free Verse More Like This
He smiles as he sees her sleeping
& gently covers her with a blanket.
He goes to the window and looks out
watching snow fall, ever so slowly...
He sees people in the streets,
Chatting, walking. Some happy,
Others sad. Hearts beating,
Hearts broken; some warm, some cold.
He looks back at her, as she stirs in bed.
A yawn from her, brings another smile to him:
"How cute," he chuckles as he strokes her head.
He runs his fingers through her hair and is content.
Yet, even if he is happy here, again -
He is drawn to that window and finds himself
Staring out at the street and watching;
Marveling at the disparity and wondering -
Isn't there something that I can do?
Isn't there a better way for us all?
He looks back at her, sleeping peacefully;
He thinks about the future and sighs.
He wants a better world for her,
One where she would always be safe,
But unfortunately, he has no power.
He is just one man with little to his name.
He picks up a piece of paper, one found lyin
She's Not Your ToyShe's Not Your Toy:She's Not Your Toy in Free Verse More Like This
Mmm, it's okay sweetie
Just stay quiet
It'll all be over soon...
Creaking springs and quiet eyes
Cold without emotion
The smell of fear is mixed with sweat
Breath like a churning ocean
The waves and tide will push and pull
as water fills the cave
The heart longs to stop itself
when there is nothing left to save
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Jenna
Happy birthday to you...
A shock of pain brings her back to the present
The muscular form above her contracting in the dark
She remembers now that her limbs are pinned
but she would not move them anyway...
Happy birthday sweetheart, you're older now
You've grown up well haven't you...
A single shuddering thrust means that everything has ended
and once again a wet worm is pressed to her lips
The weight lifts from her body, leaving red marks around the wrists
limbs denied blood begin to buzz softly as the silence suffocates
She will not move from here, because i
There are Things Beneath the GardenThere Are Things Beneath the Garden:There are Things Beneath the Garden in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
There are things beneath the garden,
Which you really shouldn't see.
There are things beneath the garden,
That don't belong to me.
There are things beneath the garden,
Gone rotten blue and black.
There are things beneath the garden,
In a dripping gunny sack...
There are flowers in the garden,
Which you really shouldn't pull.
There are flowers in the garden,
That sit on top of wool.
There are flowers in the garden,
With a really rotten scent.
There are flowers in the garden,
Above bodies burnt and bent...
I love this little garden,
It's a special place to me.
I love this little garden,
It's where I want to be.
I love this little garden,
Now wouldn't you like to see?
I love this little garden;
And you'll be number three...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 26th October 2012
Whispering to LuciferWhispering to Lucifer:Whispering to Lucifer in Free Verse More Like This
Humans are such wonderous creatures
even when granted the gift of knowledge
They fall prey to their own insecurities
slaves to their own fears and paranoia
Such is the father's gift of free will...
Yes my lord, I understand
but do you not feel disappointment?
The great bringer of light has condemned himself to an eternity of darkness
simply so his father's children may roam free
Without adversity, there can be no acension...
Ah, such a philosophical statement from you
I am well aware that humans must experience both extremes
Without tasting joy it would be impossible to understand sorrow
Yet I fear that my brothers have forgotten that, in a single minded pursuit of-
Aye, clever you are to see that
for these brothers of mine find comfort in the wondrous art of destruction
self-abuse is taken as 'fun', addiction is a personal right
Greed is good and gluttony is gold, sloth is scoffed at
and wrath is protected by the comforting
The Avatar StateThe Avatar State:The Avatar State in Free Verse More Like This
Just as there are four elements
Existing in harmony with one another
So too are there four states of poetry:
Air is the element of freedom
Exemplified by the use of free verse
It has no structure and no true shape
But allows us creative control
Through the use of air as a poetic medium
We allow our emotions a freedom to be
We allow them to soar upon worded wings
Gliding freely through the skies of literature
Water is the element of the changing flow
It can be hard as ice or as soft as snow.
Its nature resembles the power of rhyme
Which grants us order and a structured mind
By pushing and pulling the words we may-
create a picture of what we wish to say
Painted upon a canvas of emotional lines
We create a sculpture of structured rhymes
Earth is uncomprising
Craggy on the whole, it resembles the concrete
Like the craggy mountains with peaks and valleys
It can take us down
A creative alley. For rock resembl
Sick and TiredSick and Tired:Sick and Tired in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I'm sick and tired of trying hard
I'm tired of slaving away.
I'm tired of doing everything
And just living day to day...
I'm tired of being a person
I'm tired of being me.
What happened to the past
Did I lose it out at sea?
I think I'm simply frustrated
These words I cannot string.
Is this the end of my poetry
Or the revival of a king?
"Will I reach the peak, or I will die here in ignominy"
-Chen Yuan Wen, 3rd May 2012
Letting Go of YouLetting Go of You:Letting Go of You in Free Verse More Like This
You abandoned me in the past
without so much as a proper goodbye
One day you simply chose to walk out the door
and you never did come back...
I was angry then, hurting badly
I wondered if I was in some way inadequate
I wondered if you left because I am so easy to despise
and eventually my sorrow turned to anger
I wanted to become great
to show you that you made the wrong choice
to take my strength and throw it in your face
just so you would regret it
But then I saw how happy you were...
In the time we've been apart
You've made a new life for yourself
You've found someone who loves and treasures you
and upon seeing that, my anger faded...
Your smile, that which I fell in love with
is more radiant now than the morning sun
a gentle blush upon your fair cheeks
takes my breath away, just as it did so long ago
Of course, I don't hold any hope for us to be friends
I don't think that it would be appropriate for me to come back
but perhaps one day, if