0 The Farm on Ledyard RoadThe sky's pink red purple light pollution orange at the edges and it's a long long walk on a quiet road. Listen crickets leopard frogs hoot hoot goes the owl, quiet gentle seeming almost there but not there still quiet long road night. Late night walks home in solitude it's peace and prosperity and no judgments, no grades, no worry standing tiptoe don't fall off the edge of eternity stretching vast before me.More Like This
Our High Holy Buddha Incarnate says
Compassion and peace of mind bring a sense of confidence that reduces stress and anxietyand this is peace, this should be but never really lonely peace of long road owl companionship long long peaceful walk lowers stress, lowers anxiety, brings compassion whole world deep hearted deep throated compassion bursting effervescent lovely wondrous deep deep breathless in my chest. Watching night and sky and pink purple red orange hide and seek stars and the Milky Way stretching endless path echoed road overhead brings compassion and peace
respiration.i am shipwrecked fever;More Like This
& she is denied oxygen.
i taste sirens on the shore
of her collarbones,
& salt-licked sea limbs.
but, it's the natural disaster
wrapped around her coral spine
that really has my lungs
Depression like lipstick stainsOn some days,More Like This
you are the angel dust
settled in my bones
keeping these December limbs
& Sunday-morning-coffee eyes
But, other days-
other days, I don't know
what to do
with your tornado kisses,
rage teeth that bite
& tear at my poetic insanity.
With these miles and miles
of bodies & hollow space
between our magnetic hearts-
How is it that these light-year pulses
still beat in sync?
wet scribbles, tattooed tragedyI am shedding my skinMore Like This
like the poetry that bleeds
from your ink-cracked lips
onto the bare bones of my
Unfold these moon-shy limbs
that chase silence
& beg stay-with-me.
For you are the only verse
hidden within this labyrinth
of scar-damaged flesh.
astrological.i. On some nights,More Like This
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.
ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.
iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of
iv. She says, "Please—my moon,
please—give these bones a reason
& I am whispering lovelies
into the sanctuary of her heartbeats.
v. "Goddess temple,
sunset eyes, &
my windowpane love-
Let us eat the stars
Six Days at the BottomSix Days at the Bottom of the OceanMore Like This
Everything felt like moving through syrup as I scraped paint off the door, trying to fit the key in the lock, and once the tumbler turned, and I half fell in with the door, I was almost ready to quit life in that very moment.
Sighing, I stepped into the kitchen through the open side door, leaving it ajar for you to shut behind us, and tossed my keys sloppily onto the scuffed kitchen table. I grimaced, pulling at the sticky, soaking wet front of my shirt and shuddering as it peeled noisily away from my skin. "Ugh. I feel like I just spent a week at the bottom of the Mississippi."
Eyes laughing, with your evilly clean, dry clothes and perfect hair, you locked the door back and moved over to lean against the counter, looking me up and down like a piece of mildly amusing modern art. "If it makes you feel any better," you grinned, and I wondered if I had enough energy to punch you, "you only look like you spent six days at the bottom of the ocean."
six days.i can feel the pulse in the palm of my hand.More Like This
my fingers are pressed heavily around my
ears, and i can feel the intricacy of my finger
prints on my skin. i know i have ink in my hair,
my memories are playing sick games, like
rape to all senses, killing time to become,
once more, profound.
im sitting in the ocean, and there are sounds
from every city in my eyes. my hands still engulf
my ears, but i can hear the electricity of the
world. the hum of the wind is irrelevant, as is
the comfort of the ocean, cold and rough. i have
become taken by the ground, attached. where
i can not float in the rain.
each crease of my skin becomes irregular, and
foreign. for seconds, i forget i am alive. in the folds
of the dirt, my pulse rests steadily, and my throat
feels heavy. i am told that the ocean never lived,
and my mind carries on as a child. but i can feel
my finger prints on my neck, and i know, very well,
that i am just fine.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,More Like This
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
Je t'aimeShe told me, "I love you this much!"More Like This
stretching her arms out
as far as they could go, fingers taught
I looked at her, eyes smiling
and asked, "Only that much?"
"That's all there is." She replied.
And I agreed,
"Vast oceans can not compare our our love,
Missing BonesWe spent our nights star gazingMore Like This
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.
I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of another's grave.
You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
"Like dead birds,
you are not faceless;
your rib cage has a meaning."
And I believed I loved you then
underneath the moon and stars
tipsy on your smile and your words
and your warmth.
Your hands must be the thieves
who stole these thin bones of mine-
because, I never wanted you more.
wishbones and flowers I think it’s selfishMore Like This
how I have compared
every other kiss
( After all-
good things don’t
invite themselves into the lives
of little girls who categorize
their disorders by the scars
on their wrists and who
allow strangers to hang them
from their necks like wishbones. )
But, no one’s hands
have ever staked claim
to this scavenged wasteland
not even my own.
And it’s hard to forget that;
please forgive me.
As you will always
be the one who taught me
that it’s okay to be sad.
'X' Marks The SpotI am a pirate,More Like This
a ghost among the sunken ship
of your treasure trove heart.
Like the last bit of rum in the jug,
I enjoy the way 'fuck' rolls off your tongue,
as if you invented its meaning.
I try to articulate that one syllable,
match your way of speech-
You've never needed to dress your words-
dip them in ink or paint them in poetry
upon the exotic map of my sun-kissed curves.
I have drowned so many times
in the green sea of your eyes
that I am coughing up seaweed
& weak bones.
You tell me not to speak-
that such words sound dirty on my tongue
that my spine is made for beauty
and not for a bounty.
But you, you are a plague
light-years at sea
and I am finding the ocean
& salty siren lips.
Bones mend, but tell no lies.You have cataloged your scarsMore Like This
like your body is a library-
to be read through &
You think of
all the little boys
whose greedy fingers
You are angry-
cared for you
They left you
on a shelf
to gather dust.
should you ever
i am a magenta february.WinterMore Like This
is still clinging
to my skin,
sleeping within the tangles
of my night witch hair.
65 days to learn
& Icarus, with his
sun kissed fingers
my throat, giggles
knowingly in my ear.
I have misplaced my
of a heart
so many times,
I’m not even sure
it ever existed
they never lie-
Covered in frost
I am a magenta
the imprint of teeth
that bruised centuries
& bed sheets.
It is 9 in the afternoon& I have forgottenMore Like This
how to write in poetics-
tongue kissed & gaping like
a siren missing from her sea.
I have been coughing up black
for days. Unable to clean the taste
from my mouth, these broken
typewriter keys sewn into my
fingertips scream something fierce.
They ache with longing
to tell of a story
that left them
for a better high
a story that never deserved
to make a home under the skin,
to crawl breech through an
-& out through the wrists
of young girls much too ripe
to fall from their beds.
I am so damn tired
of looking over railings
& wondering what
it would feel like
You should never attack a poet,we are the best at exploiting weakness.More Like This
the night you took a scalpel to my chest
& fed my heart to the stars,
you told me i could hate you
if i needed to.
with an exorcism
i tried to cast you out
of my body.
i was contorted limbs:
the language of tongues
trying to find myself
in the cosmos
of lit kerosene fingertips,
& the kinds of habits
that only choke me at 3am -
when my eyes aren’t yet heavy
enough for sleep;
my mind tells me to do awful things.
between fucking &
you are the calories
in the mathematical equation
i think of shy moons
and i don’t eat for three days.
you only liked me
when this poetic tongue
space shrapnel aside-
you’re too far down now
for even the stars
to graph you into their maps.
Scorpiussometimes,More Like This
i wake up with bits of Orion
still stuck between my teeth.
& i grin, remembering
the face of every lover
i’ve managed unscathed,
to crawl out from underneath.
‘ad astra’ inked into ankle bones
like little wings, Pluto’s underworld
ripe, coursing through my veins:
i stake claim to clavicles.
between the constellations
of tongues & weak limbs,
i get off
on all the ways mere mortals
beg me to sacrifice them
to the heavens.
A Quills LamentThere are words I sketched, remote emotions stretchedMore Like This
through the swirling strokes that matched
my own lament.
Delirious wishes once flew; many dreams came true
through hands molding exquisite brews
from which I distilled upon you.
Oh such hopes I held, from the new owner that held
the art above seduction, the lovers thrill,
the power of words - a quill.
Yet the digits I traced were of such spiteful taste;
crude criticism splashed, distorting my reflection -
burning coal thrown in my face.
My tip bled such words in red blotted ink records
no! Tears of mine as my master's will
forced the damnation of a quill.
Yet fire once spread, kills the owner that bred
it to burn, such were the words I was fed,
such were the words my peers read.
Thus, on the day long awaited, my owner was sedated
locked in dungeons unexplored, unrecorded,
for the pain exposed to the world.
Yet mistaken was I, such illusionary surprise
was in store for me as a token of gratitude. A goodbye
stated my purp
she knows her paper cuts by name.Rose bloodMore Like This
on her tongue
reminds her of yesterday's.
A heart's hoarded secrets,
love me pretties, &
scarlet letter dreams.
do these boys know
of the bitter winter
like a blizzard
in her veins?
The sharp edges
or the crisscross
of origami limbs?
as deep &
as the ocean;
ConcisusThe colour in your eyes is fading.More Like This
And I am afraid
You have misplaced yourself
-you have lost me.
I can’t keep waiting.
I don’t sleep well in the darkness,
Troubled, occupied by
Your gaudy smile-
I tell you,
What you don’t want to hear.
You put this upon yourself.
All I can do
Is gaze at you
-fill with anger
Rage, as the demons
move towards you.
You pushed me aside,
Like an ostracised entity.
Like you would in the end
But I informed myself once more,
I guess I was worth leaving.
Witching HourEyes entranced in the lustre of eternal nightfall;More Like This
passion of the Witch broods in forests dark'n wanton
Raven hair black as coal, bathes in winds hallowed
Arcane Moon beckons thirst of tongue
Flamed breath her blood song feasts stars & sky
Magick befalls in shadowy mists of spectral rain
Serpents rise like waves of liquid ivy,
as her soul wallows in the rapture of Winter's pain
O'er Earth and stone, ravenous streams bequest
twilight of dreams and sweet flesh
Enchanted in nocturnal fields, I lust evermore
Like velvet wine, the river ebbs and flows,
unto dark magick of her soul, shall be the lore
Arthur Crow © 2012
Secrets of the DjinnLo the winds howl "Never you roam the mist"More Like This
Wander you far across lands, forest & desert sea
Or dream you deep in a cloudless sky ...
Yet a presence looms & beckons, spirits unseen
For they are the Djinn, silent and ever watching,
embalmed into seasons of mortal blood-flow
And beware, for I shalt not speak of this again,
lest darkness unto thy flesh they quest and sow
Eons adrift in smokeless fire did they slumber...
Befallen to Earth's domain, they undressed fate
The Djinn, ancient dwellers humans would fear
Betwixt worlds they linger, shimmering in fire
Thru parallel dimensions they reach, seducing
dreams and reality, life... You!
Peering eyes thru the veil of time and space;
shape shifters of any form, stalk and hunt
Thoughts & flesh canst not escape their magick
Besieged and shadowed, the human race
til they are sent back to whence they came
And death became a wanton treasure,
where Angels pillage & Demons lust in flame
"You should never have come human"
Mystique of LoveWithin a myriad of jeweled-talons, all has been foretold..More Like This
this is the odyssey!
In the depths of indigo, ancients forage the silence of stars
Eons spent, mythical shores soak the wine of Legends
~We slept in the embers of creation, among fire & ice,
reborn in the dew of hallowed fields
Streams of silver sparkle like a web cast in a forest of green
Naked whispers linger in soft mists thru realms of Fae, as
moonlight aches in the paint of our dreams....
Unto the beauty of an Elf, I have been slain embroidered
in Passion's immortal feast
Emerald Kingdoms flourished in lucid waves of ambrosia
& the syrup of our kiss became the poetry of the sky
~Prelude of Souls~
Golden wings of an Eagle soared & swallowed the Sun
her prominence forever bound to the wisdom of clouds
Betwixt fountains of light & rain her eyes glistened..
When the gloaming befell she awoke, & the forest reached
towards the ether of fabled constellations .
From the pitch of Night's lair I s
The FallingThe FallingMore Like This
Upon malodorous rapture of orphaned darkness,
eternal melancholy becomes twisted and hollow
In the severed reflections of sanguine shadows,
we will drown in ruby tears of pain and sorrow
Whispers of odium seep gently into my dreams...
The Raven lingers in solemn clouds dark as coal
My blood surges like a chorus of bitter requiem
And my lips the anathema of your dying soul
Dark lust hums like a cold tide of weeping voices
Perfumed in ash & bone, hallucinations imbue
Blood soaked robes hang from my slender bride,
shimmering like scarlet threads under ebon skies
After sable petals fall upon my beloved's grave,
there will dwell but ravaged winds of lonely cries
O' Witch of mine, dark'n dreary, forsake me not
In a sombre kiss, veiled in falls of ambient pitch,
we drift into the renaissance of the Falling...
ever dreaming and bathing in the poetry of death
In the web of mortality demons haunt & undress,
Deep in the gloaming, I beseech thy last breath
My thirst seeth
Words of AdviceWhen people bring you downMore Like This
No matter what color your skin is, no matter what sexuallity you are, no matter what gender you are
You are still human and you have emotions.
You may not show them all the time.
But they are there.
I know. I hide mine all the time.
But then people say something and it hurts.
But if your like me, You bottle it up and wait til you're alone to let it all go.
I'm just trying to say:
Look around at the people that love you and that you love
And tell the others who ARE ALWAYS trying to bring you down to go suck it!
Like I said:
Ignore the insults and comments
And look at them and say "SUCK IT"
Then walk away.
Happy and satisfied.
Karma's a bitch huh?
your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--More Like This
the amnesiac is
61.8% water &
on watching the night
close its eyes on you,
I only know beauty;
maybe Anne Sexton was onto something
& for the woman shamed,
arise and breathe. Seabones
with taciturn eyes
after we lost him:
mermaid thirst for
Your virginity is like an envelope,
a lover's observations on
post-it notes, cupping rice
always, and always.
keeping journals1: sometime in the last hour,More Like This
i've held a small knife to my chest
where beneath scarred skin, ribs and lung
my stubborn heart resides:
between these pretty covers,
my pathetic letters slump into the next
like falling dominoes:
these inky dates are
running together with carelessly
spent tears and melting wax.
2: sometime in the last two months,
i failed at living
and i failed
and i found there is a different kind of thrill
to slicing over veins with no intention
and i realised there is nothing quite the same
as the taste of isolation, of fake-
bitter words when i finally understand
i'm giving out the truth
in small doses and, no, they've
got no idea.
3: sometime in the last year,
i got caught up in living the same
day a hundred times over:
and now i want to burn these notebooks
until you can't read the pointless
words they hold on blue lines
and white paper,
i don't remember if i said goodbyei catch myself on the snags of maybesMore Like This
and happy seconds:
i miss you more than words can say.
as much as i longed for your hands around
my neck to loosen just a little,
in all honesty,
i never really wanted you to let go
you were the potent hope
congealing in my eyes, as undeserved as
it was, and then you were the barren death
i cradled almost helplessly in my nail-bitten hands.
i trap myself
with perhaps-i-could-have and was-i-
and tired, scribbled-over sentences
wondering if you
how much i love(d) you.
Southern Belle - 5I have been accusedMore Like This
of bedding muses in a line;
tucking them deep in the soil, and then:
a whole season
to sample their fruit She was
sweet and salty,
a queen with a Euphrates mouth;
o, she was long and sultry soot
and soot, rolling upon us, the depths
braved for a taste And I
would cross the Red Sea again,
skin a black flag in the sun
for my efforts
for the single harvest to drink
To be the simple harvester
of her keep
faithful and quietly distanti was given a belly of rocks;More Like This
each stone asks, "plant me," so i do.
each spring blesses me with the same stony seeds,
and i thank the god of my childhood
for his faithfulness -
i continue to dig up what i've buried,
but i wonder,
what of the blood from labor-worn fingers
and the sweat
and the lust that i've spilled each season -
where is my return on that?
the god of my adulthood stays silently distant
while i groan along with the pebbles,
and i dig,
and i dig.
the rocks cry and i join them,
begging the dirt for kindness and the heavens
for answers the earth has swallowed and
yet to spit-up.
snippets 422-02-2013More Like This
(on the back of a school form)
it gets to a point
when your wounds graduate
from frantic scratches
and time-consuming grazes
to gaping skin flap
(on a scrap of blue-lined paper)
my body needs a chance to
(on white paper with 'Wednesday, February-" printed on the back)
it's hard to write
when my words are
choked with tears.
(on a blood-stained tissue)
there is no
when all that
(on a page torn from my journal)
i breathe the life of an addict.
watch me wither.
i need someone to witness this.
Poets have the loneliest hearts.I drink morphineMore Like This
like peach tea;
down 6 pills by morning
just to keep my mind
& I know I can go days
without speaking a word
I want a moon shy girl
with wolves at her back,
bite mark ankles &
a bottle of writer’s tears
tucked under one arm.
I want to be end of the war
kisses bruised into her hipbones;
the epilogue written over her
With these wisteria limbs
February cold, &
these weak lungs
exhaling coralline whispers,
I’ve got a tongue for words
but still have no idea how to love
a universe girl.
astrology.i lost my cigarettes today whileMore Like This
sparing kisses to too many witches
with apastron blackberry tongues.
& like the scattered stars of scars,
saturn's rings whispered secrets
to the telescope eyes of these strangers
cradling galaxies between lovely bones-
( their fingertip heat
knowing nothing of intermissions. )
Shy moon,i've got love carved into honeysuckle wrists,More Like This
a murder of crows in my throat,
& a pack of wolves at my back.
i want to know truths behind these myth eyes, &
the distant galaxies under your fingertips.
but, love me. love me, Love.
show me what's beyond Grimm fairy tales
spare me your ribs;
this skyscraper heart
needs a place to go.
No wander about it, just lust.You were a mid-morning train wreck,More Like This
the embodiment of poetry.
& my clavicles whispered too many nothings
about your summer storm hands,
folding like paper cranes
to make wishes upon themselves.
wishes are for the weak-
do something about this quaking heart
& freezing fingers.
I think I found God then,
Call Me Cicatricein a sloping curve, the scar covered his backMore Like This
like an indefinite symbol of defiance. puckered
at the ridges, slithering across his shoulder blades, it was
something special in the way it interrupted his skin
/chronicle incomplete/ I reached out to touch it,
he caught my hand "you always did find beauty
in the broken." they always had more stories to tell.
I was something inexperienced (but never innocent).
I fell for his natural enjambments and
inability to meet my eyes. he fell for
the fact I was freshly born (but never young).
our first kiss was under a sycamore tree
that watched the world pass by. he said
he wanted to steal away my words, I knew
he was trying not to collapse. the tree
stood on as our lives expanded into something
entirely new, but exactly the same. "we always
try to build new beginnings to find a way
back to our firsts." but resets don't work.
he held his head highest on the days the sky was low,
for a reason he'd never explain /reminiscent/
I told him, onc
PalmistryI always look at my hands too closely, tracing the creases as though they really could tell me the future.More Like This
They say that the future is in our hands, but my hands are full of asymptotes, potential paths that never quite cross and taper off into infinitely smaller lines that go somewhere I can't follow.
memories Stars. So many stars I see right now up in the clear sky. I sit right here, alone, on the sand, listening to the sound of the waves, hitting the shore every moment, flooding it little by little. The cool wind was blowing through my long hair and my clothes and it felt just like a refuge from the hot feeling I had earlier while it was daylight, being in the middle of summer.More Like This
I was holding few broken shells in my hand, playing with them a little while my mind was occupied with something else. While now, watching through the sky, a tune came to my mind. I used to listen to it pretty often few years ago. I hum the tune but I can't remember who sung it or what was it called, all I can remember now is that it's a sad song, sung with so much emotion, so much passion that could make a listener cry.
Then I remembered the chorus a bit "'Cause nothing compares, nothing compares to you...". Of course, it was Sinéad
Monsters and Dreams and Red, Red WineThere's this vivd beach that I occasionally frequent while asleep,More Like This
the water is clear and a shade too blue
but the creatures below are a sharky grey,
there are monsters amongst the mist
and so I make a circle between both hands,
but the distance from the center must be 3.75 inches in order to work,
and then I push my hands away from my chest and focus,
breathing still, eyes closed,
then the monsters melt into a slow red wine,
spilling into the abyss
until the fog, the water, and the wine become entangled with one another
in a hazy painting of clouds and blood;
in my dreams, I am always being hunted.
Summers Lost god died today. or maybe it was tomorrow. i can't remember.More Like This
to sewer lines:
like a wish
on a dead star.
the feeling of gritted teeth
and fingers crossed
until they break.
like a scalpel
and a brick wall
against my throat.
and i was
when i said,
swallowing cinder blocks;
stuffing steel under skin.
on my cheek,
like book pages:
"where have you been?"
One Way TicketI have always known that I will die on a train.More Like This
I used to wait for Death at the railroad tracks. Some days I would kick off my shoes and balance on the rails. Other days I would lie on the tracks and count the stars. He never came for me, but it's okay I understand.
I saw him once through the window of a passenger train, scythe leaning against the glass. He was reading the newspaper. He glanced up long enough to see me waving and offered a nod in return. I watched him go as long as I could, until the last car was a dot on the sun, and I finally turned away to find summer was now autumn and my shoes were full of dust.
I crunched my toes in the gravel and sat down on the cold railing to wait for his train to return.
zero.5. I think I'm afraid of sex.More Like This
It's terrifying that two people can fit together perfectly, without even really liking each other at all.
4. I'm afraid of the day I start replacing myself with somebody else in all of our pictures; of the day I'll see my reflection and wish I didn't have to.
3. I'm afraid of doctors, and medicine.
The first time I took lithium, I couldn't hold it down. So I locked the bathroom door and flushed the entire bottle.
The second time, I couldn't walk more than ten steps without falling.
Honestly, I'm just wondering why they use poison to purify me.
2. I'm afraid of the ocean.
I'm afraid of looking down one day, and not seeing the edges. Of there being nothing there.
I'm afraid of falling and having nothing to catch me.
There's already nobody. The ground is really all I have.
1. I'm afraid of breaking things.
Like, once, I broke my dad's trust in me.
Once I broke somebody's heart.
Once I broke my kindergarten teacher's favorite
Death Note poetry: 'New World'More Like This
You wished for a new world
But only ruled by fear; your
Dream is doomed to shatter
In the twilight to then disappear
Nevertheless I warned you
Didn't I dear Raito-kun?
That Kira's deeds were evil
That Justice would have won
Yet back then only the rain
Was listening to my prayer
While you were playing God
With Misa as your Archangel
I really hate to admit it
But I lost to you at that time
Yet I'm still here watching
You running from your life
My murder, my enemy
My first and only friend
Your turns come to pay
Justice will prevail again
But dont be afraid
Even the void will end someday
Love has killed poetryIt makes no senseMore Like This
that something so poetic
could render a person without a word left
and without a rhyme to hold depth
But let it be said that this is the truth
a rose is not an image enough
and pales in comparison to true beauty
silk is not an example of true softness and comfort
after having been in your arms
such a daft fabric knows no such warmth
Love in its true and deep entirety
has made poetry obsolete
and destroyed each and every metaphor
made every simile fail and fall
over a cliff of inefficiency and foolishness
Desire and passion are no "fire"
and "raging" is not what they do inside a person
this can not possible describe a feeling that goes so deep
and eats away at every ounce of one's being
when a passionately moaned "I want you" can not express
There is a level that words can not reach
and a state of mind where each one falls aside
and you dare not utilize such useless tools such as words
lest you belittle this feeling inside
Love has strangeled the muse with
Poetry of DeathAges past now and time without meaningMore Like This
Eternity and two thousand years have not mellowed the feeling
Life's greatest mystery carved in stone as strong
Blessing bestowed upon the world before so long
In all this earthly and celestial meld
Cult of one thing from the beginning still held
Hate's as proud, this foul creature
Plagued this Saint, the mainest feature
Great as such still has come to reap
Meant for peace our days to keep
Forever the sight of doom, the dream of breath
Truth now is – our love is Death
Sleeping ground, graves' reigning beauty
Worlds extinguished – life's ending duty
Dread it was and love's as hate
Upon these days of crying fate
Killer vicious, missing just
Yearning though to return to the dust
Jury decided guilty – comes the most cruel
None as horridly evil as this last rule
Quite the good received an Earth
Only evolution lacked a mirth
Screaming loud with all our wrath
Most precious gift though is the Poetry of Death
Battle CryI write poetry to ghosts in my dreamsMore Like This
awakening with ink stained sheets
from nights I can't remember,
meaningless phantom words upon my flesh.
And this cigarette between my fingertips
taunts me,"Hey baby, heycatch me on fire
and I'll burn you away." I laugh, hollow
unafraid of flames & smoke & shadows.
I've felt it all before.
I'm washing away the ink with homemade
remedies. Like it never was;
Like I never was.
But there is love on my arms now
smirking and itching away at me.
I'll claw it out a hundred times over
because remembering you
that is worse than self-inflicted injury.
With Poetry....More Like This
Back is front
Down is up
Here is there
And "I dunno"
Are remarks uttered by a genius
Sense does not need to be made
But dollars can…
CAPATALIZE, Go ahead
And speaking of head…
Know no limits
E ---------------> A
I miss you, and i can't say i'm sorryMore Like This
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer. evenings were our playground;
rose garden beasts lingering in feverish night.
Imaginary Valentine'sImagine me on your best days,More Like This
Imagine me at your worst.
Imagine me as a beautiful angel,
Imagine me as a demon.
Imagine me when you want to see me,
Imagine me when you don't;
It's the only way you will.
I won't be there,
I'm not real. Just in your imagination.
Hold your hand and believe it's mine.
Cry yourself to sleep and wish the blankets are my arms.
Believe I'm there when I'm not,
Believe I feel what only you know;
Believe me, I was never really there; you just believed I was.
Create me when you need to escape,
Embrace me when you don't.
Hold me when you want to love,
Close your eyes when you don't.
But I will always want to love you,
I who live in your wildest fantasies, in your distant dreams, and because you wished it
In your memories.
I am a lie, I was never there and I will never be;
But remember me:
Remember me today,
Remember me next year, and every year after that.
If you laugh or if you cry,
In your sleep and when you wake.
When you're happiest, and when you want
love like oursI think about herMore Like This
and I recall birdwings midflight,
a slow caracol on a blade of grass,
the last sip from a coke can,
quiet evenings with a good book,
sabbath afternoon prayers, an uplifting sermon.
because of her,
that love wasn’t
a forced chore
or spoken words
and instead it was,
more than actions,
a general attitude
I recall how,
for us, love was a river’s flow,
the ring of waves on stone
and rock, the low hum of water
trickling down the mountain slope
tickling the grass at the edge of the shore;
our love was natural, but it was myth and lore
and surreal, too unreal to be real.
and, to be honest maybe it was real
or maybe it wasn’t;
for a period of time suspended across the cosmos,
stars frozen in their place
– that is to say, freckles speckled across her cheeks –
and dark eyes like the dark sides of twin moons,
for a breath of suspense
in the present state of inanimate reality,
we loved each other equally
BibliophileBibliophile by Violet SturgeonMore Like This
Meet me in the book stacks
Choose a subject of your choice
Such an aphrodisiac
Let me hear the writer's voice
Pull off the dust covers
Let me bend your spine
Let your fingers hover
Over the perfect find
Breathe in Keats, Wordsworth, Pope
You bring out the Romantic in me
Exhale Atwood, Moore, Burroughs,
Show me postmodern frailty
Lets bring life back to these tomes
Of blank verse, epics, satire
Rediscover why we made these words home
Let the classics rekindle our desire
Remember it's a library
We must keep our voices down
Be my apothecary
As we journey round
Let me see your fantasy, adventure, critique
Take me down paths I've never seen before
Make these book shelves creak
Don't leave me wanting more
I'm a bibliophile baby
The smell of ancient words sets me alight
I don't care how you rate me
Just as long as you stack me right
Don't try to categorize
You know that's not my style
I don't need to be legitimized
I just want to go a little wild
Finals always d
The BassistI'm not that naiveMore Like This
But I'm not that wise
When I saw you from across the room.
If I only I could be
more than what you could see,
Maybe you'd start noticing like I wish you would.
I wish you would look my way
Then catch my eyes
And see what you can find
inside of me
Because you are so lucky
And I'm not.
You stand up there,
living the dream I always wanted to
while I'm down here
wondering how I can make it all the way to you.
After all this time,
I thought something would have crossed your mind,
But I'm not that special.
I'm nothing you'll ever remember
Or appear in your dreams at night.
There's nothing I can do.
I have nothign to give to you.
Where The Rubber Meets The RoadSomewhere some girl is crazyMore Like This
And some boy's half out of his head
Somewhere somebody's fearless
And someone won't end up dead
Somewhere two hearts are pounding
And they don't care what's correct
Somewhere somebody's falling in love
Without a background check
Somewhere some girl is crazy
And some boy's half out of his head
Somewhere there's just a moment
Where all remains unsaid
Somewhere two hearts are pounding
And they don't care what's correct
Somewhere somebody's falling in love...
Poetry in PleasureTheir wide eyes met,More Like This
And she knew this was when
All the world would grow silent,
This her night with a poet of men;
She knew his hands
Would be like couplets together,
The sleeves of her gown
Slipping and becoming as light as feathers
Though her heart pounded madly;
What was left fell to her waist,
And she stood cold,
Her uncertain smile but a taste
Of what he guessed to expect
When really he was as confused-
They told themselves this was worth the wait,
Now their love able to be pure and true.
Alliteration was likely,
His nonsense words unable to not be smooth;
It was his strength,
His poetry the only way to soothe
Her panicked pulse and merciless mind
As she remembered all her fantasies;
The moment seemed too good to be true,
But she told herself it had to be.
She wanted a steady meter
In their agonizing, amazing act;
She wanted the feel of a sonnet,
The syllable choice to stay intact
For they were to be his touch
And everything he had ever felt;
They were to control her fire,
I am the daughter of a sailor.There is pure sea waterMore Like This
rushing through my veins
& my vocabulary can be
just as colorful.
how do I begin to tell you
we all have jungles growing
in our chests?-
by human hands?
I like to pretend
it’s Draco residing
in this chest of mine-
clogging my lungs,
I have forgotten
how to write
or anything with a shred
I have no space left within myself
for celestial, fire breathing dragons-
because I realize now
when I look in the mirror,
I do not see my father.
Sad poems need pretty titles.April was lungs weak of blue, andMore Like This
scalpels held in heartless,
You told me you were no coward
that the seas and the oceans
whispered in your ears and told you
only the bravest of men
deserve to kiss their beds.
May passed too quickly.
No time for mourning
when I gained ten pounds
of pure muscle
holding up your stars.
People asked too many questions.
People told me I was strong.
One day in June
you woke up to a skeletal frame
that wasn’t yours and the biggest,
strongest ribcage I’d ever seen.
I had cornfields in my eyes;
You misplaced your anchor
and your mind.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,More Like This
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
( 4/05/2014 )poets got it hardMore Like This
when the muse
only falls in love
i hate her,
that rat girl
who thinks she’s
god sent hero
or some shit.
in her own
to think about
& giving them
all they do is
living out of my suitcase
wasn’t such a bad idea-
i’ll be running away
any day now,
( 4/04/2014 )Everything here is so fuckingMore Like This
loud and this dragon eyed girl
doesn’t feel like filtering
She doesn’t want to answer
the phone today, either, so-
she stuffs her ears with
her mouth with new
as she kisses
socks now too
their mixed &
Real ladies wouldn’t
dare step outside
wearing one pink
& one green sock,
but she’s no lady.-
A red lipped hermit
holding a knife to her
own throat, screaming-
the sun and
the rain on her face
for the first time
Oh poets with your
pretty words and
this is what true
( 4/01/2014 )I’ve been toldMore Like This
ladies are supposed to
in flowers, fine wines,
ladies don’t have
upon a barstool
in my head
He’s telling me
to fuck her, poetically,
I can’t decide which
he is referring to,
( the new or the old )
on both ends
Why do I attract
Why do my words
not sit right
in my mouth
when I can’t
even stand up
I don’t deserve
to be a
hyenas make the best lovers.i need to stop lookingMore Like This
for death in every body
my fingers touch.
i have been force fed
old lovers, & slices
of the moons lying dust
i am messy poems;
i am fractured confessions.
i am laughter
my jaws ache
with the taste of
i am still hungry.
give me your sugar;
I will share my breath.
you are still made of starstuff,
& i am no longer caged.
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.I have been suffocatingMore Like This
on the stars of my past
like horny gentlemen
do with innocent looking
wolfgirls at 3am- their bite
fearless as thieves.
My lilac lungs are breathing in
dust and the tears of Saturn’s
while the rest of me -
well, shes warm off wine
and poems left
Sundiveri.More Like This
When I was six a phoenix
tried to drown me.
Underwater I grabbed for fire.
Like Icarus, I was reaching
towards the sun.
I hope he still has
bald spots. I hope he still
cradles searing scars.
He was death,
I was the bird.
My uncle knows plastic-
wrapped soaps as well
as he knows fine wines.
If he drinks enough,
he thinks it’s love-
carved names rubbing
the silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 days
sweating, ship black against
sea. Like it had been peeled
from amber tongues.
On my fifteenth birthday, the boy
with stars on his fists and Saturn’s
rings in his eyes told me I was pretty.
It was the first time
anyone had said so. I learned
how to hold my breath,
how to apply foundation,
how to cry
without bleeding tar
down my cheeks,
and how to wear my bones
He says he does it for the money.
He says you have to come up slowly
or else something inside of you will explode.
I didn’t understand what he meant
until I realized my throat was still
somewhere in hi
Poetry,you’re aMore Like This
that moans when I go.
You’re either a
are you cheaper
than the women
in the empty spaces
of my life-
or the secrets
between my thighs?
I am Fifty Shades
Why should I feed you?
Do you know
what to do
with my body
when you are merely
ink stained fingers
soaked in passing
& the fevers
within burning stars?
I didn’t think so.
first weekend and realisationsyou begin to talkMore Like This
because talking means that
someone else can't
&you start to realise
(as most girls do)
that you have a boyfriend
he's not just a boyfriend;
he's your boyfriend
&he's not just better than
anyone else in the world
he's better than
anything else in the world
&you would trade years off your life
to spend a little longer with him
or to see him smile when he's sad
or to feel his face in your hair
the way he does when he hugs you
&you can't feel it
because right now he's too far away
but distance is only the space between
point a and point b
between you&between me
&if you give it just a little more time
you'll realise nothing has changed
and the disjointed rhythms
your heart beats out like a drum
sticks like a song in your head
the moment you watch recognition
hit his eyes
when you walk in.
on an envelopewhy do my d's and l's look like yours when i write your name?More Like This
it's just been a little carousel,
spinning in pirouettes,
in my mind all day.
all i know is i'm glad i don't love you.
i don't know why you aren't relationship material-
in all honesty, you are.
i don't know why you treat me like your girlfriend-
kissing my forehead,
holding me gently,
touching me sweetly,
asking to see me,
sixty miles out of the way
in a city i can fall in love,
with no promise of sex-
all i know is i'm glad i don't love you,
& i hope it stays.
recklesshis head was filled with fluff and his heart wasn't warm enough to care about much else apart from himself in the overwhelmingMore Like This
set of school and corridors that were filled with strangers whose eyes said so much without the help of lips. classrooms were never the right temperature
and he think they purposely made the desks too hard to comfortably rest your head on. stupid boy with nothing of any real concern and no reason
to be troubled. doesn't mean he wasn't trouble. his eyes wandered from the board and his teachers words and landed on her, with birdnest hair and ocean blue eyes. he laughed at her strange clothes or the book she clutched so tightly to her chest, like a lifeline or a extension of herself.
bell rung, a rush a blur of people flew out doors and into the yard, and he followed her, the girl with the heartbook. he wanted it, it worked into his small little mind and he wanted to see inside it. with the worst intentions though. he walked up to her, and points over at something
Untitledthings she's destroyed this year;More Like This
two washing machines
from the pockets she fills with rocks
when the rains come and she wants to drown
the corners of all her books from flicking
bending and shaking edges
whenever she thinks of you
you stupid boy
her first car
crumpled in a ravine
and it left a scar on her stomach
that she sometimes can poke
and feel a lump that science can't explain
and she thinks it physical sadness
the entire box of plates
that her mother gave her for moving out
and making it on her own
well, she almost made it
but something about them
being under the ground left
her shaking uncontrollably
and the tears slid underneath fingertips
and she lost the grip
and didn't notice until she'd ran to phone
and left a trail of her insides
along the corridor.
her heart lines
or whatever it is that lets the happiness in
they're sealed shut
tight and all she can do is
at things that don't notice her
whatever it was that connected him
and let the sparks
Then Who Made God?When I was around three years old I sat on my grandfather's lap. He would talk to me about many things, but one subject that persists in my memory is when he would talk about God. He would tell me how God created the universe and everything in it. He began by asking me “Do you see the trees outside? Do you know where they came from?” I would ask where they came from and he would say any number of things that a three-year-old could understand and then say “Do you know where all of that came from?” I would then ask where it came from. Finally he said that “God made everything.” I then asked, “But, grandpa, who made God?” He would respond that no one made God and that God was never made or created. I would persist, “But where did he come from?” He would respond “He was always there before everything else.”More Like This
Certainly I was confused—I had just gotten my head around contingency (for you adults here): that something
pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between theMore Like This
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.
she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.
a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.
to the starsI’ve got this arrowMore Like This
curled around my finger
like Apollo’s heart
& your nicknames
engraved on the inside
of my lungs.
I don’t want to write
pretty little stanzas
or pick at the seams
of your poetry
like some deadbeat
psychology major -
I want to
all over everything;
shoot down your moon
& wear her
like a charm
around ink stained
I want to
to the stars,
& leave you there.
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulaeMore Like This
in the rough of my gutter bones,
some stargazing sanctuary
for lonely outcasts to lay their heads.
I am but a car crash,
& red inked corrections
on crosshatched skin.
Made up of moans,
the clutching of bedsheets;
I am contemplating
ripping my ribs apart
I never had a heart at all.
But my moon shy love;
she is determined
to try & wake the dead.
NaPoWriMo: Day 10 Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,More Like This
your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
that buckled just before your whole foundation
& no matter
how many times
I've restarted your heart,
one would think
I'd grow tired,
I'm still writing you in poetry
(in the most inappropriate of places.)
You forced yourself beneath my blades
& my fingertips,
Licking unstable knees,
you were death on my tongue:
angry apricot eyes, unforgivable sin
scaring my limbs &
haunting my dreams.
& I'd still try to save your fucking life.
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldMore Like This
to slice through the thickest
of scar tissue this evening.
Let all my inner demons
fall to the floor
& write them out
in my own black blood.
It’s not red anymore,
even though needles
& the bruises
laid out like war-lands
on my arms
I don’t think it ever was,
My mind is a mess
of free versed insecurities,
cat’s eye marbles,
& untamed forest fires-
I still don’t have the nerve
to slice open my skin
& bleed for her.
Howling For TreacheryI wish I could liveMore Like This
on nothing but air;
killing the hunger
to consume every
(Maybe all along,
I've been the wolf in
Why is it that when
I exercise my own
these fangs just
continue to hone
(It's too painful
to continue howling
at this contorted reflection.)
Yet every time
I take an ax to
its claws just leave
another patch of
scars on the inside
of my skin to remind
me just what I am.
(The girl who cried wolf
will never be able to
butcher her own heart.)
NaPoWriMo: Day 4I might have a scrappers knees,More Like This
wildflowers growing on my knuckles,
& I might remind you of every nasty thing
you ever did,
but I don’t see you in my mirror.
I just have the right
to hate my own face.
I think this hitchhiker’s heart
is breaking &
I don’t have the medical skill-
or the time
to suture the pieces
back together again.