A Matter of Time
A Matter of Time
You think Sandy's got vengeance in its eyes?
You see vengeance everywhere don’t you?
In the fast, wet winds churning around your Queens apartment
In the lightning flashes on Ocean Parkway where we walked once like a
Couple of refugees.
The waves will be taller than you, they’re saying
But I imagine you sitting on a grey dock somewhere
Oblivious of official warnings
Your dark wavy hair sticking to your forehead of scattered lies
Your hard, careless body framed in endless brine.
I might not be allowed to love you anymore
But the rules of capturing, consuming and catenating happen to be
As fluid as that road where water now rushes in the direction of
Gaping news cameras.
If you think Sandy’s got vengeance in its eyes
Why don’t you stop hiding behind words and walls and webs
And have a staring contest with me?
© Debjani Chakravarty 2012
Cyclical loveI see a beginning and an endMore Like This
clasped within the lines of your palms, echoing
in the ripples of your irises;
I remember the apricot april morning
stumbling over your outstretched legs
in the park which I had never seen as
anything more than a cut-through, but
my life changed course and the park
became a destination and I still don’t know
when I noticed that I was waking up
twenty minutes earlier just to
talk to you before work, just to hear
your lilting voice flow through my ears and
fill my mouth with ideas;
And I remember the dew drops kissing my feet
when you convinced me that it was practically illegal
to wear shoes in june and I watched as
the grass pressed hatched patterns into your skin
and for a moment I wished that they were my fingers
holding you in eternal summer lawns, swan choruses,
whirring rollerskates, the smell of peach blossoms;
And I remember you blooming and shedding
the remnants of your cocoon as you pointed out
made-up constellations littering a swelling augu
.i said death,More Like This
death is a closet;
let's all just hang
ourselves up and keep
the place tidy -
Our Weight and RopesYour life, little flowerMore Like This
like a snake
from a can
lungs not ready
you hit the air
it hit you
months too early
this life on earth
and its lightning
hit and burnt
nothing about you
was anywhere near
and ever so luckily
your wings were
slow to form too
as it was all
we could do
were barely enough
to keep you
from floating away
pulled back inside
and years later
we're the ones
PrerogativesThe morning has begun with the great beams ripping the clouds apart, brilliant and bold and harsh against the smoky vista of the skyline. Explosions rumble; the distant tumble of buildings folding inward on their own foundations rattles the mirror on my vanity. The reverberation of the ceaseless bombardment has been our church bell for some time now.More Like This
My hair is a mess.
Soot and the bitter tang of ionized flagstones drifts through the open-hatched windows of my morning room like martial perfume. Correspondence is spread across the desk, caught in the hellish winds that buffer the high and lofty walls of my husband’s twelve-storey townhouse. Inscribed in hasty script and curt command are the voices of our beloved city in disaster reports, casualty reviews, and pleas for reinforcements.
The voice of our city is a terrified rabble.
Jasmine and blood mingle with the hot breath of the steam drifting from the neck valve of my butler-servo. I flick a
Take ThisTake this kiss upon your hand,More Like This
For the ones who starved themselves,
Because "ugly" was written all over their mirrors,
Because "fat" was the only thing in their way.
Take this hug around your shoulders,
For the ones who cried themselves to sleep,
Because, unlike everyone else,
Their pillows kept their secrets.
Take this wish for your success,
For the ones with wounds blanketing their wrists,
Because physical pain gave feeling,
And feeling was so hard to find.
Take this whisper in your ear,
For the ones who live through pain,
Through sorrow, through regret,
Through loneliness in crowded rooms,
Through nightmares and judgement and hatred...
Take these words, darling,
These words I say to you.
Stay strong. Never give up. Keep breathing.
Let's keep going,
For the ones who starved themselves,
For the ones who cried themselves to sleep,
For the ones with wounds blanketing their wrists,
For the ones who live through pain,
For the ones forced to survive...
And for the on
ArborescentShe is the Coal-Born.More Like This
She is the End Child.
She is the whispers in the leaves
that guide our hearts to breathe.
She is the Wind Fallow.
She is the Mark Light.
She brings sweet ruin
to all that dares to watch the sky.
She swells and falls.
She sharpens and she blunts.
She crushes time itself
and fashions energy.
She sings in theorems
with an analog voice.
Her words are ageless,
the first in any tongue.
She is the All-Spark.
She is the Final Shine.
Her face is sunrise and the darkest deep.
She does not live herself.
She gives and takes away.
We did not expect the world to end.We did not expect the world to end.More Like This
It just did.
We kept saying “It won't happen in our lifetime.”
But it did.
We closed our eyes to the cracks in the walls
and they crumbled around us.
We forgot the decay in front of us.
It was so easy to ignore.
It ate away the foundations of our lives.
Still we ignored it
and claimed that life would go on.
We did not see it coming.
Even if it was right in front of us.
We tried to repair the cracks in the dams
though the water had already washed us away.
And though the clouds were black and red
we looked away.
Or stared ourselves blind on the colour display
as our skin peeled away beneath the acidic rain.
We dreamt of the sky
and reached for the stars.
Forgetting the ground beneath our feet.
It tore apart at the seams
the gaps too wide to repair.
And the sun was setting on a world
We did not predict the true apocalypse
though many a prophet had tried.
Their predictions were hollow
and we lost faith.
We did not listen to the real
InnocenceIt was a time of love, a time of hate, the era of justice and immorality, the season of both insanity and clarity of mind. Sound familiar, don't it? Me wife used to love Dickens. Read him to me all the time, she did. That Jane what's-her-face woman, too: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a criminal who committed a crime is in want of a good hanging. Ring a bell?More Like This
Yes, I like me literary allusions. I do, you know. Remind me of sweet Elaine. She was a messy death, but worth it. Oh boy, was she worth it. Crying and begging right up to the end. She had it coming to her, bet your arse she did, mate.
Why am I here anyway? I've already confessed. I'm a doomed son of a gun. Don't I get any last whatchamacallits? Can't I have a coldie, before I go up there and have me neck snapped back? Any beer will do I drink 'em all, so long as it's not that light crap.
Answer me, goddammit! What the bloody hell am I doing here? Kill me already. Inject me with the needle or string me up like
SwimPushing myselfMore Like This
Clawing my way to the top
Pushing myself to the brink
Where I'll colapse
Striving to improve by only a second
And to beat everyone
At their own games
The cool water
Keeps me going
And the pain feels good
Because it means
That I am stronger
I do it for my enjoyment
And for the sence of fufillment
Which I yearn to feel
But never quite grasp
As I push myself
To the point where I colapse
The Bright Side of DyslexiaI was born with auditory dyslexia.More Like This
I once heard of someone who wrote, directed, and coastguard in their own movie.
I knew what the right word was, but it still got me thinking:
About the invigorating music of waves crashing against my vessel,
The challenge of serving to the best of my skills,
The pride of keeping the shores of my homeland safe.
That was how I found my career,
And it's been just as rewarding as I had hoped.
An episode of CSI mentioned literature marks on the vic's neck,
Which inspired a fulfilling side project of poetry.
In a later CSI, taunts were exchanged:
"I'm the king of the jingle here! You don't stand a chants!"
"That's what you think! This isn't my first radio!"
(It wasn't a very well-written episode.)
Anyway, with that I tried adding tunes to my rhymes.
The result was better than I expected;
A local morning show even played one of my works on the radio!
My girlfriend told me she needed a shoulder to crayon.
This inspired me to
moth wingswith no alarmMore Like This
she dances through the bony air,
eyes like a hungry child
slobbering at the first scent of knowledge.
glistening off of those eyes
– the very sight of it –
the taste that all greedy minds crave.
she flutters towards it,
light peaks through her delicate wings
like how it flickers under the water's surface,
an angel ascending into heaven
easily and swiftly crushed
by the capital hand
that shadowed behind such heavenly light
– with all intention of crushing the wings of innocence –
and with a clear conscience,
as a moth is to a hand as what a person is to the universe.
isn't it painless for a hand to swat forth
and drop a bomb from a plane thundering over a burning city
because it can't see the suffering it causes?
wouldn't it be immaterial, then,
for a puissant hand
to drop one from heaven?
moths that are dazed by the beauty of light
are not seldom blind
to the torment that it's agent to.
By the Hand of BastMore Like This
With the last hieroglyph finished, Wati set aside the scroll he had been working on. He closed The Book of the Dead and ran his hands along the cover. Despite the fact he wrote these words on a regular basis, never had it been so hard. Ra had long since disappeared for his usual voyage, and the wick of his lamp was nearly burnt to the end. As the flame died its orange glow was replaced by the ghostly light of the moon filtering through the linens that covered the windows and door of his small hut.
On either side of the doorway, stood the shadows of two pots. It had been many days since Tiankhit had left him, but still the barley continued to grow. Wati had so hoped for the emmer wheat to sprout first. Like all men, he wanted a son, but had come to love the idea of his daughter just as much. They were overjoyed when the first leaves pressed their way up through the dirt to tell them the news of their child, and the days passed with excitement as they waited to see if they grew to be bar
EvolutionMore Like This
is a silent process of changing
we realise from the result.
It Can't Be The Target.
Let It RainMore Like This
Let it rain,
cause I'm home and I'm in pain
Let it rain,
cause there's nothing I can gain
Let it rain,
cause this ain't my train.
Bully You're ugly.More Like This
You'll never amount to anything.
No one will ever like you.
If you think he'll stay, you're mistaken.
You have no friends.
People hate you.
You are a freak.
You have no place here.
You are nothing more than a coward who
is too afraid to step outside half the time.
Your face is like something from a horror movie.
No one will ever truly fall in love with you.
Guys want girls that are beautiful and face it,
you are considered everything but that.
Hide behind your hair dye because you want to
feign like you don't care.
But inside the cruel eyes of others burn holes into
You will never amount to anything.
The only thing you will ever be good for
is cleaning up dog shit.
You will never be good enough.
Why bother even dreaming?
How can you consider the possibility of love
when everything you do, the way you look, walk,
talk, move, think, can only ever be seen as
Not only is the outside hideous;
the inside is no better.
Why do you think you've
Welcome to the WorldThere will be bloodMore Like This
There will be pain
There will be suffering
And nothing to gain
There will be loss
There'll be ordeal
There will be loneliness
'Cause life's nowhere near ideal
There will be hurt
There will be grief
There will be heartbreak
For years and years--and no relief
But there'll also be love
And there'll be joy
And there'll be happiness
'Cause you're too strong to be destroyed
So don't you fret
Don't fall in line
Be proud of yourself
Everything will be just fine
Bridge ClosedIn the city of spiresMore Like This
thrust upward through the body of cloud
a piercing spike of adrenalin,
as the wind fondly ruffles her hair,
doesn't stop her from jumping up.
Reaching to be seen or saved,
by a city that blinks and misses her -
a temporary peak on the skyline.
Doesn't stop her from slamming
into the steel slashes
of the trainline below.
Even the most beautiful places
to those blinded by the inside-out-agony
of breathing against their will.
The city of spires remember her
as the cause for a bridge closed
on a Sunday.
Will you be my home?Will you be my homeMore Like This
My gentle security?
Will you lift me away
With the caress of your arms
Warm me wholly
With the slighest brush
Of your lips?
Will you be my shelter
Even from my own tears?
Will you let me take you for granted
Let me wrap you around me
And rock me to my dreams?
Will you hide me away
Be the place of my safety
Be my happiness
Sheilded from a world of sadness,
Will you be my home,
My gentle security
Silently filling my life with love?
Why? When You Don't Know? Why? Why do you hurt me?More Like This
You don’t know me.
You may have known me in school.
You have seen me smiling.
But, that wasn’t me.
Yet, you still say you do.
LifeI am a killer at heart.More Like This
They say a slow death is the best death. I must admit it is fitting if you are into torture on the side, but I have to say I do not care if the killing is fast or slow. It just happens to be slow every single time.
You should know that I do not kill in a way that is obvious. If you want to find me, you can not, though I gift something to every person (I kill... for your pleasure).
I want them to feel what I feel.
That is what humanity is. It is about relating to others and getting them to sympathise, or empathise, because, deep down, we crave it. We crave the knowledge that we are not alone in this god. forsaken. world.
It may come as a surprise, but it works.
It works so well that I kill them.
In the end.
J'ai pris le temps(English version below)More Like This
J'ai pris le Temps.
J'ai pris le temps dans ma main et je l'ai broyé.
Je l'ai fait reculer, je l'ai acculé, je l'ai bloqué et menacé.
Je l'ai étiré dans tous les sens et je l'ai déchiré.
Et puis finalement, je l'ai oublié.
J'ai pris le Temps.
Ou c'est lui qui m'a pris.
L'un de nous s'est mépris.
Et l'autre reste surpris.
J'ai pris le Temps.
Je l'ai aimé puis détesté.
J'ai pris le Temps, j'ai pris le temps.
C'est un enfant, terrible, tentant.
Il m'a échappé, a fui en courant.
Je n'ai plus le temps,
Je n'ai plus le temps,
Mais de temps en temps...je le reprends.
Version anglaise : Merci beaucoup à Menotmyselfori ([link]) pour sa traduction!!!!
I took the Time.
I took the time in my hand and I crushed it.
I made it reverse, I cornered it, I st
A Poet's RomanceShe was the quiet sort,More Like This
within her eyes,
to pottery skin;
she would mold herself
into moonlight butterflies
and glist'ning calla lilies,
pure and white and
and when night cast
itself upon her in
heated, hard'ning flames,
she’d smash herself
upon the rocks
and in morning start
Mommy MommyMommy mommyMore Like This
Look at me
See what all I can be
Aren't you wowed
What can I do to make you proud
Please get out of bed
I'm tired mistaking you to be dead
Please don't cry
You and step daddy don't have to say good bye
Did I do good
I did the best that I could
I didn't mean to make you part
And make step daddy break your heart
No need for shame
I will take all the blame
Please don't date
It really is something that I hate
Don't leave me again
Can't you see I'm in so much pain
Please come back
Your heart has turned black
I don't want to watch the young one
Can't the dates be completely over and done
Are you even my mom anymore
Because you just seem like an uncaring whore
I hope you're happy
Because you've lost me
The Ballad of SerenityA nightingale in a birch nearby,More Like This
sang a song that made her cry.
"Another note and I shall die!"
Her threat was met with no reply.
And so she rested by the stream,
and heard the crickets softly dream.
She watched the cattails kiss the stars,
believing heaven not so far.
"And here is where I shall be free,"
whispered fair Serenity.
The orphaned child, the strange young girl
born into an ancient world.
No elegance or skill had she
but the ballad, of Serenity.
She was cursed with just one song:
a ballad haunting, soft and long.
The words were never hers to hear,
but danced always beyond her ear.
On harp, flute, lyre she wiled away,
the notes that only she could play.
Yet she grew tried of just one song
and ran away before too long,
into a wood with stream of gold
where rumored lived the bards of old.
She found the caves of deepest blue
and told them, "I have searched for you."
Serenity the bards admired.
They gave to her the sacred lyre,
which bound her soul between its strings,
to find th
Amy's 29thMore Like This
Some nights I just sit up and see,
See the Orion oh Amy, I see the Orion,
And it tells me how it has protected you,
Shielded you, its a promise he gave me.
A promise I asked from him, Amy,
The promise to keep your smile up,
Smile up, up there, in paradise,
So paradise crowns my queen, my Amy.
He silently points to you,
For you are a shiny star in the sky,
That jiggles and twinkles on its beats,
And sings to the stars, that dance with you.
And I, Amy, sipping my coffee,
Observe your beautiful creations,
And listening to your songs,
The paradise has more to hear.
QuestionsHave you ever felt lost?More Like This
Abandoned by the friends you've crossed.
You're tired and drained,
numb to the pain...
Have you ever wanted to die?
To leave this cold world behind.
One last step till you fall,
giving up on it all...
Have you ever weaved a web of lies?
Behind fake smiles you hide.
Ran out of tears to shed,
inside, you're already dead...
Have you ever cut into your flesh?
Haunted by rogue thoughts of death.
Your fate decided by a list.
How did it come to this?...
Have you ever laughed to conceal
the crippling hurt you feel?
Always saying you're fine
as you cover up the signs...
Have you ever pushed your friends away?
shut them out, swore you were okay.
scared to trust anyone,
a past you can't outrun...
Pisces"…so drown me. I mean, if you can."More Like This
A threat in her eyes. Triple dog dare.
And I'm on edge but I don't wanna show her just yet.
"Now you can't honestly expect me to be foolish enough?
Drowning fish is a fruitless endeavor."
She smiles, all fury and triumph. Her ocher eyes ignite; flickering then flaming.
"O' but sister, are you not a fish, same as I?
Are we not of the same blood, the same scales?"
And I hesitate, ever-cautious.
What's she hinting at? Huh, sis'?
What's that card sewn up your sleeve?
I hesitate for just a moment too long.
"And you would believe it impossible, no?
A difficult enterprise to say the least?"
She carves words out of atmosphere,
pronounces every syllable with refined practice.
An artisan's articulation.
I find myself shivering; hyperaware and feverish.
I am not of you, I am of nothing.
Blood is water, blood is air.
And I'm too silent and shaky and she knows,
ParanoiaParanoia.More Like This
I don't want to be this way.
But I can't help but feel this way.
No matter what you do
Or what comforting words you say.
My over active mind will not allow me to believe it.
My weary blood shot eyes will not allow me to see it.
Even though my attentive heart is able to receive it.
My thoughts and my imagination will corrupt and deceive it.
And that's why no matter how much I love you.
For some reason I will always feel cheated.
So please don't blame yourself because you have done more than enough.
You have proven yourself and have provided me with so much love.
There are only so many false accusations you can take.
There are only so many false promises I can make.
There are only so many times I can make that same mistake.
Until I foolishly recognize what is actually at stake.
How long will you have to accommodate my insecurities?
How long will it take for me to completely trust you?
Until you begin questioning my emotional maturity.
There are only so many times I can say "I a
The Maiden in the MistOh, praise the landscape, praise the haze,More Like This
And share your awe with me;
But please, my love, don't lose yourself
I wish a gentle breeze would rise
To kiss your skin so soft,
But then I fear the wind, my dear,
Would send you flying aloft;
I hope you peacefully enjoy
The mountain's solitude;
But could this bright idyllic crest
My loving hugs include?
In nature's beauty take delight,
In woods or hills or beach,
I just can't bear to think this peak
Might lift you out of reach;
Your breast against me, darling, press,
Upon your sweet return;
I'll make it heave, for in my heart
The warmest passions churn!
I love you so, but tell you true,
My singing bird, you're free;
Yet please don't let yourself dissolve
the mechanisms of ocean waves When I was little, I loved sea foam.More Like This
Running forward to the shore, I would watch waves lap up at my feet and then recede, dragging the sand under my feet back with it. Sea foam would fringe the edges of these silky waves like lace, and I would grab at it, cup it in my hands. I would remember the origins of Aphrodite (born of sea foam, risen out of the ocean as the most beautiful goddess of all), and I would cradle it, hold it close to me, as if I could absorb it into my being.
By the time I brought the sea foam up to my face, it had leaked through my fingers, dissolved. Leaning down, I would cup it again and again and again, gathering fragile lace like a fine seamstress, hoping to maybe sew it onto the edges of myself, make myself some semblance of Aphrodite. Yet it crumbled, leaked through my fingers, leaving only the trace of salt behind.
Eventually I gave up on the sea foam. One cannot keep chasing after things that just barely exist.
My father told me never to plunge int
An Old, Sweet SongMy heart aches for scorching summer afternoonsMore Like This
spent drinking lemonade in the shadow of
the old house on the hill, draped in ivy and shade.
I'd watch cars fly by:
Pick-up trucks sporting Confederate flags
and a lot of red clay and pollen,
which would rumble across old railroad tracks
on their way to churches whose steeples
could pierce the stillness of the sky;
SMART cars--the clean ones with
stick figure families--taking 75-south
ripping down the interstate, too important
to admire the cornfields or sip sweet tea.
Everyone was in a hurry
to collect scattered souls for Jesus
or to sit in miles of city traffic,
each secretly addicted to the gridlock.
We were all missing something,
clinging to our side of the juxtaposition,
but in reality nothing mattered more
than the harmony we couldn't see.
I wrote what I feltI cannot paint with my handsMore Like This
Brushstrokes are not the extensions
Of my arm
But I will spell out the world
Letter by letter,
Let the time and feeling of history
And memories, flow through my fingertips
Have you ever taken notice
That the stars are in my eyes
When all there is to see is you?
And have you ever paused to think
That perhaps you color my world
The most beautiful greens and blues?
I paint the page with all those things
And let the world see what I have to offer
When you bring forth that inspiration;
Enough to keep doing what I do.
maybe nothing is fixed.“I’m not sure whether thingsMore Like This
Are falling apart
Or just coming together
The supposed cogs that symbolize the
Slow function of my brain
Spin in rhythm as I attempt to decipher
What it is
This means, of course,
That at some point in the
Things had to be well put together
Or shattered to a point that appeared beyond repair.
Either scenario would
Illicit an implication of breaking,
Because for things to feel like
They’re coming undone now,
There must have been a sharp point
When they did so rapidly.
And for things to feel like they’re
Returning to a place of peace,
There had to be a place of un-peace
To journey from.
I can’t decide which it is.
So I’ll sit and form more
Incomprehensible words in my head,
Very unable to be spoken,
Least of all by my lips.
It always feels that way;
There’s something brewing
Words from a Rose...Like syllables loose in a labyrinthMore Like This
your ghostly footprints make the journey back to me,
a path of delicate words,
frail as petals from a rose
getting near as only, shadow steps can be.
© copyright of KAY MARCH - All Rights Reserved.
4.A blind wanderer and his dog came upon a canyon rumored to be bottomless. He couldn’t see its immensity but could sense it in his surroundings and was drawn to its power. He knelt at its edge and felt along its side with his hand, too focused to notice the earth was loose. His dog, however, sensed the danger and tried to pull him away—to no avail. The man fell and disappeared. The dog lay down awaiting his return, waited so long death claimed him and his bones calcified. The dog is still there. The man is still falling.More Like This
3.Twin boys were born into a family of warriors, and followed in their footsteps. One timid, the other gregarious, both were kind. But war is a crucible, and they found their true selves overseas. The timid brother grew bold but retained his kindness. The other retained his boldness, but his kindness died. He murdered and tortured and raped. One victim saw her attacker’s face while walking with her family and pointed it out. Her family took the man, beat him, and strung him up. He died writhing on a public gallows while his brother, in the shadows, watched and smiled.More Like This
The Roar of Our StarsThe Roar of Our StarsMore Like This
Good morning, sunshine,
the only one (though
the world was built for two). You
are in safe hands
as long as you are there for me
at the rebirth of time.
Your summer skin,
the ghost in the washing machine,
flaking me off as
you take off.
Twinkle, twinkle, my little star,
your off-snow flakes
you don't know (so don't try to)
how the fallen
She's got eyes,
my distiller of tears:
the darkness and
a super nova's roar and
the butterfly effect.
Behind the mask, the
lawless darkness and
morning lavender; the
TARDIS landing -
before and after) -
don't you slip away.
Don't you dare forget.
I know you hate me now, but
don't you want to know
just for now?
Petals and HurricanesColors caught in gustsMore Like This
The Hurricane strikes rose beds
A scented storm fumes
At the Turn of the YearMore Like This
sunda sora aoi mizuumi fukami keri
the blue lake.
hi kara hi e soutairon no toshi owaru
day after day about the theory of Relativity,
a year approaches its end.
basu tei ya dondon mawaｒu udedokei
the bus stop-
wrist watch whirls in a haste
ningyou no tsuya wo kabuseru hokori kana
covering the gloss on the doll-
obscuring the glory of a puppet-
soujiki de hokori mo neko mo kake ni keri
the vacuum cleaner-
chased away the dust
the tease of Earl Greywhen leaves speak they rustleMore Like This
but shan't talk of lost cattle
out of bags like cats lying
purring perhaps stirring
gainsaying the language
of pictures - much fewer
than one thousand words
whispered soft - softer
ours to read into
by catching a hint of
some spiciness brewed
a sugaring of love -
or upcoming danger
a giving or taking
from whom in this strange land
once was a stranger
by this chance assessed
through one's cup or glass
darkly lit yet it be
from wet leavings of tea
hopefully let it be
the sugaring of love -
llp - dA - jan2013
DD - feb1/2013
Write What You KnowMore Like This
Once upon a time, a young woman was so in love with books that she decided she wanted to become a writer so she, too, could create loveable stories. She read everything she could about writing. Then, one day, she found herself in a book store where she bumped into an old man among the shelves. Turning to apologize, she discovered it was a venerable, much-loved author.
As soon as she could find her voice to speak, she said, "Oh, sir! I know you are very busy, and so I would just like to ask you one small question: what is the best piece of advice you have for a beginning writer?"
The old man smiled and said, "Certainly, young lady. In fact, I will write it down for you." He took out a small slip of paper and a pen and jotted something down. Then he handed the paper to her.
She thanked him profusely and moved out of his way so he could go about his business. Then she looked at the little paper in her hand. She frowned.
"Write what you know."
Well she was very disappointed. In fact, it m
fabled lifei.More Like This
she talks through her wrinkles,
'i have no desire for food', she says.
i take her plate to the kitchen
noticing how the beetroot shavings bled into the skin of the chicken and brown rice.
it was blood, skin, and bone,
and the rice was a million starlike cells floating between.
this reminds me of my anatomy textbook:
we've been learning what's beneath our skin,
we learned that all cells divide. some cells often don't stop dividing.
other cells divide and stop when they should...
but not my grandmother's.
starlike, they explode, they shatter, they consume
i want to be mad at my grandmother's cells,
but what would that do?
i want to talk to my grandmother's cells,
i want to tell them they can be alive
and not kill her.
i have to catch the moon,
i have to visit hades and bargain with beautiful music,
i have to sell my voice for legs,
i have to sail the ocean blue in search of a good reason why cancer can't just be what it is.
this is not a fabled life
Eaten by a Dream"I was eaten by a dream once."More Like This
The girl, and I say she was a girl because she looked to be in her 20's, sat down next to me in the waiting area outside the gate for my flight to Houston. I had been reading an article on my iPad and not paying attention when she sat down. But, my memory tells me that I might have taken slight notice of her out of the corner of my eye as she came out of the "Sports Bar" across the hallway from the waiting area a few minutes ago. I figured she was slightly tipsy because of the way she moved. She didn't look to be entirely in control of her motions.
I normally would not have responded to a stranger in the airport, but there was something about her that looked familiar. It was as though I knew her, but the setting was wrong. It was like being a kid and seeing your teacher at the supermarket: a familiar person in a familiar setting, but the two are not familiar together.
"Do you mean that you are consumed by a dream?"
the beauty's in the leavingRead aloud here.More Like This
sweetheart, let's head out. let's
drink up the desert asphalt and that last bottle
of johnny walker blue--
one last toast to the copper sunsets,
to the good earth. a pair of
tailgate stargazers, you and i:
roaming curves across the glove compartment map, until
every foldline is worn flannel-soft
and it'd rather stay open
let's forget route sixty-six. let's forget
and pick up terra cotta dust--
breathe in the mojave. let's pretend
that the world's already ended
and it's just us.
let's leave the door unlocked
supernovae"Wouldn't it be great if we could watch a star explode?"More Like This
It was just like her to say that. The violence of another world's ending was, to her, poetic. If our own sun exploded, I think she'd open up her arms to embrace it.
"I don't know that I'd want to be that close," I said.
"That's the cool part. You wouldn't have to be." But she still didn't think we were close enough.
That was how we always ended up like this, sitting in a car, driving to nowhere, with nothing but the sound of the tires on the highway and the company of the stars above us. She couldn't sit still long enough to color in the details, so we never did. We just kept driving.
She leaned back in the passenger seat and kicked her feet up, staring at the ceiling of the car as if it wasn't there.
"When stars exploded a long time ago, they painted pictures of them and wondered if the gods were looking down on them. What do you think we'll do when we get to see one?"
"Take a picture."
She shot an expression at me that I
I AmI am single,More Like This
but I am loved.
I am not a genius,
but I am intelligent.
I am not breathtaking,
but I have beauty.
I am not a saint,
but I am kind.
To the world,
I am not perfect.
But for someone,
letters from the seai.More Like This
sometimes when i wake up
before the sun rises, when i’m all alone
and it feels like i might be the only person in the world
i notice that my face is wet
and i wonder if it’s because
i’ve been swimming with you in my dreams
i remember you
in the summer nights under the corsican stars
and the warmth of your skin in the cold seawater
how the phosphorescence coated our bodies
as we swam together,
the salty tang of the ocean and your fingers up my spine
and us glowing like soft stars in the night
i remember how i wished it could last forever
now i wonder if the tides and my tears
were so different after all
The Girl With The Jackalope SmileShe always told me her life was a cake walkMore Like This
But I'll never understand what kind of happiness comes from
Crushing pastries under your foot
She could stitch sunshine along her wrists
And leave the rest of us in the dark
Trying to paint our own cerulean skies
And leaving us all bereft when we only managed
To stain our skins blue
And she could dance a two-tattoo on the arch of moon beams
Licking her diamond lips to taste something more
Willow wick finger tips gleaming with still flames
Tempting a hand into her grasp so that she might
Burn life back into our hollowed bodies
She traced constellations on her lungs
So she could breathe the star dust
And have shimmering breath all year long
Instead of just in December
Her canines glinted when she grinned
Candle drops of light shinning in each tooth
And melting our hibernation patchwork
To reveal our summer skin
Her veins surged with hot apple cider and wildfires
And her cigarette smoke smelt of burning wood
Her orange and red
How Not to Write Love InterestsUPDATE: READ THE NEW EXTENSION TO THIS POST. LINK IN DESCRIPTION!More Like This
Despite the few who haven't caught on yet and still believe that "kids hate reading," we all know that these days, reading is popular.
"I'm just like Belle from Beauty in the Beast, because I love books," teenage girls are saying, while teens of both genders are sitting down to enjoy things like Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Eragon, Lord of the Rings and other more obscure titles.
This is just what we've been hoping for, isn't it? Kids and teens finally taking an interest in literature. It has finally become cool. They're thinking of themselves as rebels or nerds or hipsters, all of which are just new versions of the word cool.
Ah, finally people are spending their time having actual constructive hobbies.
...Or are they?
Here I am going to explore just how this isn't necessarily true; how sometimes your time can be better spent playing a good, mind-building video game or watching a wholesome, creative