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Paul of Arrakis by MJRainwater Paul of Arrakis :iconmjrainwater:MJRainwater 11 4 Fancy-Dress Diving School by lily-fox Fancy-Dress Diving School :iconlily-fox:lily-fox 1,151 315
Literature
J. Alfred was wrong
they say that love is a glowing thread
tying us together.
I have no twine,
but your letters are lights
in the darkness
that does not befit this spring.
sadness is overrated,
and none of the true songs
say enough about time.
I only want a little more;
please, sir, may I have another
moment?
I will not lie
and promise one;
I would not be satisfied with years
of moments,
though weeks
will have to do
for now
but I promise
with my weak poet's power
to dig a hole in the continuum
and hide us there.
:iconoracle-of-nonsense:oracle-of-nonsense
:iconoracle-of-nonsense:oracle-of-nonsense 5 7
Old World by RadActPhoto
Mature content
Old World :iconradactphoto:RadActPhoto 296 25
Fragile by Ophelia-Overdose Fragile :iconophelia-overdose:Ophelia-Overdose 2,786 175 girl06 by kinggainer girl06 :iconkinggainer:kinggainer 2,710 125 Village Voice SXSW Cowgals by stuntkid Village Voice SXSW Cowgals :iconstuntkid:stuntkid 571 22 arctic fox by zenibyfajnie arctic fox :iconzenibyfajnie:zenibyfajnie 5,601 401 The Lion and The Lamb by DalaiHarma The Lion and The Lamb :icondalaiharma:DalaiHarma 488 31
Literature
Roses in the Canyon
i.
It was a trite thing to say--
today, you won't see the sun
so somebody needs morning glories
or black-eyed susans, or a reason
to stay in bed all day long
but not go back to sleep.
It was trite to believe
that staying awake keeps you dreamless,
that the moon and sun both
are up right now
and boy, the finches sing real nice
under storm clouds, and
there's always something
under the earth that is alive
and someone under the earth
that I love.
---
ii.
One Valentine's Day, my mother ordered me a bouquet of roses through an order form sent home from school. At this time, everyone was lovable and beautiful. One girl walked into the classroom with a pink and red card on her desk; another walked into several boys' arms. Hearts swelled; mine receded. If I look over the edge of myself to watch it flow away, I'd probably have to endure a canyon around it--not a beautiful one either. I've always been craggy and coarse, my eyes eroded at. I settle for a hike within, and soon I am stumbling all o
:iconSolaces:Solaces
:iconsolaces:Solaces 23 22
Daria by KaranaK Daria :iconkaranak:KaranaK 1,716 131 X-131 goggle by missmonster X-131 goggle :iconmissmonster:missmonster 1,574 0 wandering spirit by ElisabethAnna wandering spirit :iconelisabethanna:ElisabethAnna 3,913 599 Dollar Bill Koi by craigfoldsfives Dollar Bill Koi :iconcraigfoldsfives:craigfoldsfives 1,760 180 RED II by idaniphotography RED II :iconidaniphotography:idaniphotography 661 53

Newest Deviations

Literature
the stars in their dreaming
i dont dream under stars anymore
i dont dream stars anymore
i dont dream anymore
when i was young i remember the dreams
were ripe and sweet better than any fruit
these days the dreams are poison empty and bitter
hard to choke down they strangle me
at times the exhaustion really sets in
and i see stars everywhere i look
stars in tea leaves at the bottom of my tea cup empty bitter
stars in your eyes burning out of reach
stars in hallucinations dim unfocused
insomniac stars in the blue-black cradle of the sky
sleepless dripping silver glossolalia whispers
onto my dreamless head angelheaded holloweyed
mad as ginsbergs friends or ophelias flowers
and fading to black and silence
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 0
Literature
the cockerel i owe to asclepius
“crito we owe a cockerel to asclepius
see that the debt is paid don’t forget”

there are days i vomit out a thousand words
in hopes of a handful to palliate, a metaphorical bezoar
to treat this self-diagnosed lack of understanding
but especially of late i find myself desperate
to find the right words to settle who and what we are
searching desperately for something to hold to
a rebus that defines how you plus me adds up to
and equals us in any meaningful way
father and son and father and son and
and yet for all i search for a commonality
i find no distance i can measure
in anything but blood and loss, calculate the ties that bind us
by lives of men and women who died long before
we were born so that we might come after them
a lineage unbroken forever and ever amen
father to son to father to son to hopes to dreams
that the next will each be better than the last
i've always known there was a deadline --
how could i not? -- and a destination -- “the undisc
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 0
Literature
Girl Gone Ghost
Remember when I deleted all your emails?
Imagine my shock, if you will, when,
Sorting through old things, I saw your face
Looking out at me, photos I didn't remember
Having, words in messages I didn't remember
Saving.
I thought about you, then,
Stared at the face and words of a girl
Long gone ghost, and let myself
Remember you fondly, remember the girl
That you once upon a time used to be.
Then I deleted those, as well.
I guess I was wrong about that
Being the last poem I would ever write you,
But this one is.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 0
Literature
Ice
if i must go
      i would prefer
            to fall beneath the ice
            of your heart
and die in its frozen
& placid waters
where no man
      has ever
gone & lived
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 3 2
Literature
3 littl3 words
th3r3 ar3 thr33 words
i swor3 i would n3v3r
say to you
b3caus3 i know
you dont want to h3ar th3m
3v3n if i dont mean th3m
"that way"
so inst3ad i sp3nd hundr3ds
of words saying th3m
in all the oth3r ways
i can think of
so i can k33p th3 promis3
i mad3 to you
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 0
Mature content
An Open Letter To Motherfucking Racists :icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 0 2
Literature
The Last Poem I Will Ever Write You
I deleted your emails.
I reckon this comes two years,
five months, and six days, later
than it really should have.
It feels like I killed you--
but the truth is, you left me behind
long ago, made me dead to your world,
and in a strange twist,
I've been haunted by your ghost
for all these days. Enough.
I am laying your ghost to rest.
I've deleted our conversations,
will no longer call your face
to my mind, and wonder, or search
through digital dust for a trace of you.
And this is the last poem
I will ever write for you.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 1
Literature
Solstice
You kissed her on her birthday,
And her breath tasted of butterflies and wildflowers, no,
Of red-gold leaves and wood smoke.
And she laughed and danced away from you:
This mortal goddess, this virgin-whore,
The young-old girl in the tatterdemalion dress.
And her shadow grew long and grew short behind her,
And you watched her leave you behind,
And turned to await her return.
For she always returns,
So that she can leave, again.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 0
Literature
Between the Lines
I hate it when you send me poetry.
I say I love the poems you find,
and that much, at least, is true.
But they’re too good.
Every time I read one, I think,
“This is what I should be writing,
instead of what I do write.”
I think,
“This is everything I want to say,
and I will never say it as well as this.”
And I give serious thoughts
to never writing anything, ever again,
because in the face of von Radics or
Tabassum or Lee or whoever
you have sent me, this week,
I always read between the lines
more than I read the lines,
and they always say,
“You’re not good enough
to be this good.”
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 0 3
Literature
Paper Flowers
you tell me you love me
with a pen and a paper napkin

i could make bouquets
of last years used gift wrap
shiny abstract flowers
in patterns three holidays
and a birthday out of date
write verses on cocktail napkins
until my pen runs dry as i fail
to explain to the fear who sits
on the next bar stool over
how U+I=US
and none of it would mean anything
because US never did
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 1 0
Literature
The Poet's Paradox
This is the last poem
I will ever write
about love and broken hearts.
The last I will write
about everything you mean to me
and the ways I love you.
I do not want to be
this person, anymore,
to wear this face, bear this name,
or the burden of these feelings.
I’m just a man,
and not as strong as I used to be,
never as strong as I thought I was.
I will give me a new name,
paint on a new face, be someone else,
someone who doesn't love you
and never did. If you see him
on a train, at the bookstore,
getting coffee,
treat him as you would
any other stranger
who you've never met.
Because I loved you once,
but I can’t anymore.
I don’t want love to be torture,
but I do expect it to be heartbreak.
And all the poems I wrote, before,
about love and broken hearts,
mean nothing, and never did.
After all, everything I write is a lie.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 0 0
Literature
Untitled
i keep fal
         lin
            g
         a
      part
because
you
arent
here
to
holdmetogether
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 2 0
Literature
Mermaid's Daughter
My son,
one day,
you may meet a woman.
She will be more beautiful
than any other woman
you have ever met.
She will be a mermaid's daughter,
and her blood that flows like tides
will be the blood
of Atargatis, of Thessalonike,
and of Trewhella's bride.
You will not know what she is
by strings of pearls woven in her hair,
by the burn of salt on your tongue
when you taste her, nor
by her sinuous tail, with scales
like bezants.
All these things
will be long traded away
by the women of her line,
in exchange for lives spent
on dry land and their own two feet.
No:
you will know her
by how her gaze turns ever to the sea,
how her eyes hold all the chaos
of a storm-tossed ocean.
Know her by the way she moves
as though her body is a prison
for her dreams.
My son,
she will seduce you,
the way her grandmother's grandmother
seduced sailors to drown in her arms.
You may be moved to fall in love
with this mermaid's daughter.
To give her your heart
as recompense for all the things
she lost before she wa
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 2 0
Literature
(93) Days of Summer
One day,
I will leave you like summer leaves you:
First, by degrees, then all at once,
when you most expect the least from me.
Don’t, love, think of what we had together.
Think, instead, of summer things:
of fireflies like lightning and locusts like brontide,
of the moon, swollen with its own importance,
and tall grass waving to warm wind.
Because I, like the summer, like these things,
was always going to leave you.
I was always
Going to break your heart.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 3 0
Literature
Forgetting to Remember to Forget
When I said, “I love you,” I meant, “I love you.”
When you said, “I love you,” you meant,
“I’m  looking for something better.”
I never hit you,
But when you walked out the door,
I hit the wall, hard, then hit the bottle, harder.
Around the sixth shot of whisky to the pain,
Drinking to remember became drinking to forget,
And I forgot to stop drinking, or to stop missing you.
And now, I can’t remember anything,
Except everything you meant to me,
And how much I want you back.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 3 1
Literature
To My Son, Who Might Be Like Me
I wonder, sometimes, what you're thinking.
At those times, I also wonder what Hell I was as a child,
Open-eyed and close-mouthed.
Perhaps you are like me,
With your heart on your sleeve
Where anyone can see it, vulnerable
To anyone who wants to play with or use it.
Perhaps, like me,
You fall in love with strangers
At the drop of a verse, or
Throw yourself open to any
Who wander close.
But when your heart is broken
For the third or fourth or tenth time, my son,
Remember this:
No one ever wrote poetry from the head.
No one was ever consumed with passion
Due to an overflow of logic.
And no one ever fell in love because their brain
Told them it was the smart thing to do.
So when someone asks, "isn't that a dangerous
Way to live? " tell them, "living is dangerous,"
And when they ask ,"don't you get hurt?" tell them,
"I fall in love,"
And remember that, like me,
You wear your heart on your sleeve,
And we know no other way to live.
:iconDownwardsSaint:DownwardsSaint
:icondownwardssaint:DownwardsSaint 2 1

Activity


312 deviations
i dont dream under stars anymore
i dont dream stars anymore
i dont dream anymore

when i was young i remember the dreams
were ripe and sweet better than any fruit
these days the dreams are poison empty and bitter
hard to choke down they strangle me

at times the exhaustion really sets in
and i see stars everywhere i look

stars in tea leaves at the bottom of my tea cup empty bitter
stars in your eyes burning out of reach
stars in hallucinations dim unfocused

insomniac stars in the blue-black cradle of the sky
sleepless dripping silver glossolalia whispers
onto my dreamless head angelheaded holloweyed
mad as ginsbergs friends or ophelias flowers

and fading to black and silence
“crito we owe a cockerel to asclepius
see that the debt is paid don’t forget”


there are days i vomit out a thousand words
in hopes of a handful to palliate, a metaphorical bezoar
to treat this self-diagnosed lack of understanding
but especially of late i find myself desperate
to find the right words to settle who and what we are

searching desperately for something to hold to
a rebus that defines how you plus me adds up to
and equals us in any meaningful way
father and son and father and son and

and yet for all i search for a commonality
i find no distance i can measure
in anything but blood and loss, calculate the ties that bind us
by lives of men and women who died long before
we were born so that we might come after them
a lineage unbroken forever and ever amen
father to son to father to son to hopes to dreams
that the next will each be better than the last

i've always known there was a deadline --
how could i not? -- and a destination -- “the undiscovered country
from whose bourn no traveler returns”


that one of us will cross that border line sooner or later
and there will be no coming back
for either of us from that place even when one of us goes
alone, but not for long, eternity being what it is

sometimes i think that those words i do manage to put down
will line one of our graves, unhallowed and unread, unspoken

ashes to ashes and dust to dust -- “for dust thou art
and unto dust shalt thou return”


each day we grow closer to a day that one of us
will be without the other, i shall be fatherless or you shall
be without this one more son (is there room for me, mr flowers?)
and i cannot help but believe that the former is worse
than the latter -- there is no cure for death except not dying
and that's a trick I haven't perfected just yet you know
though i’ve done pretty good at not making it stick

sometimes i think words are all i have
sometimes i cannot find the words
sometimes i think i have no words

i think i've tried to write more words for you
than anyone else which i think might be a sign that
we are the thing i least understand
but i am given to overthinking things
so perhaps there is nothing to understand
but i can't take that chance

somehow this poem and every other one before it and
every other one after it is a debt that i cannot put down
a cockerel that i owe to asclepius and i must pay it, i must not forget

and i do not have the coin though i keep trying to find the words
Yeah.

Going away, for a little while.
I'm leaving the scribbled ravings on the wall, in case anyone wants to read them... but I don't have anymore words to give you, right now. I'm caught in a downward gyre, and I don't know my position relative to sky or ground, Heaven or Hell.
Maybe I'll see you around again, some time.

Later days.

Journal History

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconaliencaster:
aliencaster Featured By Owner May 1, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
May the Llama be with you!
Reply
:iconfloydpinkpinkerton:
FloydPinkPinkerton Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2017
Thank you for the llama! ^w^ 
Have a great day! :heart: 
:peace: 
Reply
:iconaquagirl7:
aquagirl7 Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2014  Professional Writer
Hello!  I know this is a very late response, but thank you for favoriting "I have none." :)
Reply
:iconink-stained-despair:
Ink-Stained-Despair Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2014
Remember me?
Reply
:icondownwardssaint:
DownwardsSaint Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2014
Vaguely. Didn't you used to have a different name? :P
Reply
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