I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.
I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.
With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you watch me as I molt my flaws away under the wondrous,
I shall soar,
from my axel I shall spiral sublimely on the outskirts of onlookers' smiles-
as well as my own,
& I shall skimpily,
glide through the snowflake strata unto the star-studded shangri-la.
I find my freedom in a winter only world.
Let me lease into my
Pride of a Nationfear coalesced with doubt, crystallizing in the pit of her
stomach—intestines rotting with hatred, she prayed as
the men passed by, eyes tightened against winter winds
while drums beat to a somber march…her heart dropped,
cerulean blood pooling around the soles of her feet, hidden
from the oxygen filled air none of them could help but breathe
as the torches’ fire filled the sky and knapsacks overran with
precious goods…flee the city, they all did, with the pride of Russia
behind them, their homes lay as ashes and towns known only by
their wooden signs…snow shrouded the land and covered the people
born in a winter only world—she took a single breath and turned away
facing a new fate, one buried in snow no different from where she came.
Nocturne for Violin and PianoFootsteps resound on small cobbled streets,
and large paved roads
and grand halls with floors of marble.
Like a piano, I am your accompaniment.
Heartstrings cry like violins
pleading to the heavens and you,
the sound reflecting off the silvery moon
and left painfully hanging in the ether.
I will follow
Tread no farther.
to the ends of the earth
Our world has ended.
until there is nothing left of me.
There is nothing left of me.
Come home, love.
Dust and memories
Come home, love.
of your arms
Come home, love.
are where my home lies, now.
The shiver in your voice belies your words
Poem For My Twin Sister
She can feel our hearts beat
inside small ribbed hulls in a blue womb
and rests her hands on the shape of us,
lays her head down -
down to that quiet world that harbours revelations waiting to take form,
to draw breath, to be born.
I hum gentle lullabies to the soft untuned melodies of you
lying silent beside me
our hands pressed –
crossed lifelines tangling
palms forming prayers of memory buried somewhere
in the shape of our lips,
untouched in our fragile
(we have the same fingerprints).
We whisper umbilical secrets to each other in the dark
connected by the steady thrum of our infant hearts.
In this hushed world, we are an echo, snowflakes mirrored
off the walls of skeleton key bones.
Two shapes unborn, but already I know you through and through.
And I wonder, just
if you’re the ghost of me
or I’m the ghost of you
Magic Broken (Haiku)Magic Broken
Arrives, dead of night,
A red suit and bag of gifts:
Child turns on light – "Dad?"
Havra CadavraHavra Cadavra
Mumbled words over a fire;
Smoke rises, fills the air fast.
Some thing moves in darkness
Trick or Treat: Wild SpiritsWhen bats flutter restlessly and
Coffin-lids rattle spookily,
Ghosts creep across the cemetery and
Pale corpses resurrect.
When wet foliage crunches demonically and
The grave-digger stalks silently,
Witches fly with the broom.
Vampires get their food.
When cannibals’ stomachs growl and
Black cats purr softly,
Wolves howl at night.
Death awakens from his sleep.
When skeletons stride shakily and
Goblins ride on bones,
Satan cries out for mercy.
Now Halloween is not so far.
Spirits sneak from house to house and
Ring all the people out.
For this, to thank them now you shall bring
Your best chocolate bars out of your closet.
Sweeter than CandyThough it may be absurdly cliché
The boys around her would say
That Lorelei was sweeter than candy
The girl was easy to bring to a blush
She never spoke much above a hush
Her innocence made her sweeter than candy
Those boys would tug on her hair
Or they would put on childish airs
Fancying the one who was sweeter than candy
Before long came a certain boy
Who singly crafted his own ploy
To catch the one who was sweeter than candy
Fred sidled up to her with guile
Aiming to capture her timid smile
Hoping to steal her away, sweeter than candy
He offered a confession to Lorelei
She bashfully cast about her eyes
Then, she ran off, sweeter than candy
He met her again outside the chapel
Bashfully, she handed him a red candy apple
All too pleased with the girl who was sweeter than candy
But, soon, our ambitious Fred
Well, frankly, he turned up dead
And no one ever again called Lorelei sweeter than candy
SanguineBite my neck, suck me dry
Bleed me out, make me fly
Yet anything but pained
Hope you’re hungry
Suck my life away
My neck bared as I lay
Kill me, turn me
Make me yours
Do it quickly
Drink the crimson candy
With serrated jaws
Let me join you
Let me love you
"We are much too different"?
Then make me a kindred soul
Running in merriment
No more life to take its toll
Side by side, lovers in the night
A sanguine sight
Bloodstained and fair
Killing them all, bite by bite
StarseedBirth of a Starseed
Subtle yet baroque
They must not impede
Whilst the false ones croak
Life of a Starseed
Mundane yet troubled,
Enduring the breed
Whose minds are muddled
A sincere Starseed
Would dare not reveal
The colors they bleed
To the ones who squeal
A phony Starseed
Revels in the fame;
Lying to the creed
Naïve to the shame
Oath of a Starseed
Dream beyond the stars
In valiant speed
To obscure sonars
Fate of a Starseed
Sleeps in mystery
For they live as freed
In their history
Battle on, Starseed
Go beyond the greed
Everyday Is Doomsday“The end is near!” they cry
In spite of how hard they try,
Nothing ever goes awry;
Nothing is ever as they imply
“Follow us or perish!” they croak,
As they try and apply the yoke
To the vulnerable and scared folk;
To continue this cruel and sick joke
“You’ll be sorry!” they howl
As they continue on, they grow foul
As they bear the wool cowls,
And blindly perform that scowl
“Go on the right path!” they roar,
Insistent on everything at their core
Yet, they spread this spore,
And tainted their own holy shore
“Why won’t they listen?” they groan,
Lost to all, but not to what they drone
They drown in this fearful tone
And find themselves alone
Suddenly, they no longer jeer
They find themselves in modern year
For once, everything is clear:
The end was never near
Reality is a never-ending play
They now speak in silent pray
At the realization they were lead astray,
Because everyday is doomsday
As everything clicks to place,
No longer stuck paralyzed
As tasks wallow in defeat,
No longer unorganized
My heart becomes oxidized
In steady beats, quite untamed
Unwanted thoughts vaporized
In an onslaught of furor;
The LeakDrip, drip, drip.
Do you hear it?
The sounds of the yip
With each little hit
Dribble, dribble, dribble.
There it goes again!
But you awe at your scribble
That rots away at the brain
Splash, splash, splash.
You have fallen deaf
To what used to be rash,
And created an askew clef
Trickle, trickle, trickle.
Now you’re blind
As you grow ever fickle,
And distort your very mind
Plop, plop, plop.
It grows stronger, but you?
You sit at the hilltop,
And neglect that endless rue
Patter, patter, patter.
I suppose it’s too late
You speak in mumbled chatter
As you reject the world’s weight
Gush, gush, gush.
You chose this broken helm
Turning your mind to mush,
All to avoid the true realm
Struggle, struggle, struggle.
It’s too late to backtrack
After grabbing too much to juggle
From the leak in reality’s crack
This is War. We are Done.Prepare to Broadside;“We’ve been surrounded;”“There is no time to waste, we must join our brethren in battle!”Of all the sins to have been born on Man without his intent, desire, or impulse, the atrocity of a stagnant Mental Health is the most oblivious to Mans, and Womans’, reasoning. How can any, such person, even begin, in earnest, to understand, contemplate, manipulate, heal, or even attempt to show compassion to a segment of the populace that, through literally no fault of their own, have been Cursed to simply suffer the plain regard of Existence in the blatant presence of those same Peers who enjoy Hot Dogs and pleasurable company in ample regard and in, in honest commentary, Observably relative ease.What is a Sin for one is happenstance for another. No-one has the Right to compare the Joys or the Suffering of another in regard to the Self in a vain attempt to safeguard their own Mental proclivities or their own Familiar safe, sound, stable structure; be that structure of Emotion, Love, Finance, Politics, Country, God, King and/or Queen.The clarion call of the Mentally Ill has been, and probably always will be: “Mental pain is no less, and possibly greater than ‘Physical Pain’” Yet those who profane to claim the title of ‘Mentally Ill’ often do so in a sinful ploy to gain un-needed sympathy. Has not the call been for /aid?Has not the call been for /compassion?How dare any of us, us Mentally Ill, /demand monetary aid, in the form of Blood of the Soul, from those who, only on a passing fancy, would never, for one moment, shy or balk from the opportunity to offer Us…Us…/Aid.I speak this as a Bi-Polar, Paranoid, Schizophrenic. I dare any of you, I specify, Any of You Mentally Ill, ILL, to challenge me in this regard.How could any of US. US. Demand more than an /attempt at /compassion; for, according to My Notes, that is What We Require.My comments may seem harsh. And they are. But I have stood for too long under my Cross, and have witnessed imbeciles and weaklings use Our Cause for their own vain-glorious ends, whether they, themselves are True Patients. Patients. Or simply Allies. Or simply Twats who want to stick their dick in Crazy.-Good Luck Putos; We’re at War.
Cry To The StarsI have struggled through it allEach time I rose just to fallAll the lies, the criesAll the tries, that diedAlways left to wonder whyI'm the one who cannot flyI've been through it allAnd yes, I am mad as HellFor what I've done to myselfAll the pain, the hateAll the rage, too lateAll the bruises, cuts and scarsCome take my cry to the starsYes, I'm mad as HellI don't think you'll ever knowI won't tell and I won't showAll the tears, the fearsAll the sneers, too clearAll the things that I have facedAll the dreams fruitlessly chasedI don't think you know
Always Lost, Forever BlindWhat has happened to my mindI don't recognize myselfAlways lost, forever blindOn I wander in my Hell Who brought me here? Keeps me in fear? With every tear Hope disappears...Something holds me by the handLeads me deep into the darkIn this strange and unknown landI can only clutch my heart Can I escape From this bleak fate? Find my way back Through all the black?I don't know which way to turnFor every path looks the sameMaybe at last I will learnWho it is that I became And come next morn My soul be torn But sound the horn A shade is born
FirefliesVerse 1 –It’s dark and it’s quiet this moonless summer night.The boogeymen’s shadows hiding just out of sight.A cracking staccato; the fireflies go flying.It’s dark and it’s quiet, except for the crying.Chorus –Come walk with the fireflies, they rise when the day is done.Watch them arcing through the sky;heralds of the setting sun.Every night they follow closer to home.Verse 2 –It’s dark and it’s quiet ‘til the shooting stars fall.The boogeymen’s shadowsbleeding from every wall.Here come the fireflies, hot lead bodies gleaming.It’s dark and it’s quiet, except for the screaming.Chorus –Come walk with the fireflies, they rise when the day is done.Watch them arcing through the sky;heralds of the setting sun.Every night they follow closer to home.Interlude -Chorus –Come walk with the fireflies, they rise when the day is done.Watch them arcing through the sky;heralds of the setting sun.Every night they follow closer to home.Exitlude -Come walk with the fireflies...they rise when the day is done.Come walk with the fireflies...heralds of the setting sun.Come walk with the fireflies...watch them arcing through the sky.Come walk with the fireflies...Come walk with the fireflies....
Let Me Reach Across Time and SpaceWith the retrospect growing clearerAnd with the present growing increasingly grim,How much I want to reachAcross the time and space-!Let me reach across time and spaceAnd let me shake them who laid waste to everything,Let me scream at them about the consequences ofTheir reckless myopia, a legacy of greed…!Let me reach across time and spaceAnd let me warn everybodyOf the future if recklessly selfishPettiness comes to pass, I am crushed…!Let me reach across time and space,Everything seems so desperate, I feelLike screaming, that every eye willOpen to the reality of the threat which is on us…!Let me reach across time and space,But there are impossible dreams. Alas, whatMore will it take if we want toAvoid catastrophe, for God’s sake?!Ruigeam thairis air ama ‘s astairLeis an ath-bheachd a’ fàs nas léire ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-‘S leis an lath’ ‘n-diugh a’ fàs nas durga, ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-Liuthad uair gun iarr mi ‘ruigheachd ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-Thairis air an àma ‘s an astair…! ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-Ruigeam thairis air ama ‘s astair‘S critheam ead a mhill uile gnothach,Rànam aca air a’ bhuil am fhradhaircGhoirid choma, dìleab an sannta…!Ruigeam thairis air ama ‘s astair‘S earalaicheam air uile duineAir an àm ri teachd ma thig leibideachd ˆ-ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--Choma fhéineil gu buil, ‘s mis’ brùite…! ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-Ruigeam thairis air ama ‘s astair,Coimhidimh éiginneach uile, tha sanntA’m air rànail, gum fosgail uile ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-Sùil don fhìorachd a’ mhaoidhimh ‘th’oirnne…!Ruigeam thairis air ama ‘s astair,Ach th’ann bruadar gur do-dhèant’. Och, déTuillidh ‘s a bheir e ma ‘s miann leinn ˆ--ˆ-ˆ--ˆSheachnamh marbhphaisg, air sgàth ‘n Tì mhath?! ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-
as we drag our feet to non-existent sandMany took for granted
a kind heart to a gentle hand
guided to misguided places,
a keep sake,
was a crescent moon
to a fertile land.
where we fell to loss and victory
we tied this noose
to tomorrows forgiveness,
as we drag our feet
to non-existent sand
the message we drew
had washed away;
are we bound to a moment
a fingertip on time we planted
while staring to forever
are we the breath of confinement
those stole out wishes.
I saw sadness in life,
do we grow poor or grow riches
memories; we treasure
dear depression,(master of the umbra)
i hate you.
broken whispers, lonely promises,
you are the worst of lovers, owning all, but
never seeming to be satisfied
even with your name branded scarlet into my wrists.
i am no longer the golden songbird as when you first met me,
you still hang onto me
raking across my heart like
my pen ripping across the bloodstained page, like
lightning across the skies, (vengeance
raining down from the gods i used to believe in)
"don't let them catch you,"
you breathed into my ears.
an ounce of life, in exchange for a cloak of darkness (i thought i'd only stay one night)
the fog was sluggish and deep.
so blinded, I hid
in the shelter you offered me
(i still hear those echoes)
my rib cages are my prison bars, my heart bound by these chains...
you chopped off my wings and left bleeding stumps
and told me i was never bound for the skies.
(shattered glass, lifeless eyes)
Set me free.
College ImpressionsAutumn arrived early this year,
suddenly—within the matter of three minutes—
a sucker punch
that couldn't afford to last.
Summer's efflorescence still bloomed
on the first day of classes
as the white magnolias filled the quad
and the denizens of the red bricked buildings
returned to their labors.
too many to quantify:
in the bustling pastel swaths of students
and the cool white dimness of the lecture hall,
hours of freedom
after the endless summers
of lethargy and monochrome
that fade with the last remnants of childhood...
curled midst the neon chairs and cushions
carpeting the floor.
3 AM board games,
the plastic rainbow of pieces
blurring through my exhaustion,
shuffling weary home
before dawn breaks pale on the horizon
past the last of the party rabble
slurring profanities that echo up the stairwell
chasing me to bed.
Black and gold banners
snap in the chill air<em>
AnonymityLast train to who knows where
Glides past in a bumpy, jostling line of cars
Like schoolchildren waiting in the lunch line
Or filing in from recess.
The haunted whistle of the train’s alarm
Pierces the night like a screech owl’s call
As the carriages race past, a continuous black shadow
Against thin moonlight streaking the rippling river water.
Every scene along the track—
Families in living rooms, late-night bar patrons,
The dairy farm stretching for miles along the line—
Are merely blurred moments to the denizens of these rushing carriages
Traveling through the blackness in their private tunnel of train light,
Heading for destinations disconnected from the rails they ride,
Unknown to fellow passengers and carriage workers alike,
Gone before dawn tips the trees.
After the attacks, what unity
After the attacks, what unity
Yesterday evening, the world has stopped its breath at 9 pm to pay tribute to the poor victims of this horrible attack and spoke about uniting the Nation! The channel iTELE put an image representing a candle with the following hashtags: #9:20PM #UnitedWeStand .
But this image is a fake message of unity in my country which is France!
There is no unity and there will never be!
Do you know why?
Because a category of the population still remains perceived as the cockroach of the Nation! Because this resentful word is never disputed whether by this newspaper as well as those of their colleagues journalists or by the political and intellectual elites of this country! Except some very rare exceptions!
Because I am always this not complete Frenchwoman whom is tolerated with so much disdain and contempt on this territory! Yes, I do not deserve to have the same rights as all here!
Because my parents and my grandparents, for too many people,
50 Love Poems Before Sunset50 Love Poems Before Sunset
into the street of the sky
light walks scattering poems
how beautifully swims
the fooling world
(heart,could we bear
the marvel of this thing?)
let’s live suddenly without thinking:
when souls which have forgot frivolity
cannot touch because they are too near
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed
something which is worth the whole.
just at the edge of day)i surely
make a millionth poem
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
I will take the sun in my mouth
it does not greatly matter to the sun,
because she is beautiful
god gloats upon Her stunning flesh.
sure lyHer eye s
face is as a dream
in white fragrance rendering death
Dishonorable Mansion 2Dishonorable Mansion 2-The House at the End of the Lane*
Case 1. Preiti Manikchanda and Her Mother
Neither tourists nor residents of Vancouver may be really aware; but, some of the older backstreets of the suburban area of the city, which long have been a neighborhood for Indian Origin immigrants, virtually conceal strange stories from public notice; and every house has a story1. These people are very staunchly “traditional” [possibly a better synonym for backward] and the wealthier immigrants contract building firms to build mansions like those they would have constructed in India. That brings us to our main point. At the farthest point of one backstreet, or lane, of the area, virtually unknown to most residents, there was a smaller community of mixed small dwellings and mansions such as the above-mentioned. One of these mansions has a story involving two of the families residing in the smaller houses.
This mansion was contract
AuraSeeping into blood and bones
Wrapping limbs in chicken string
Strangling from the inside out
Ropes, twine, cuffs, chains
Tight tight tighter into the cracks
Puppeteer and marionette
Strings cutting into flesh
You're not acting like yourself.
Pinch, pierce, stumble, crash
Sunlight lemon fever rash
Giant mosquito calls code red
Hypotensive on the table
Claw game took three hundred dollars
Returned with microscopic answers
Cotton head, zombie knees
Can't give you what you need from me
Lonely, slowly, please recover
Signed, Your Family.
Scraping tin and rotting brain
Watch it backwards, makes more sense
The land of Oz would welcome me.
Sliding door painted shut
War paint Herculean trial
Throbbing twisting burning guts
Meet oxygen on Aldrin needle
Consumed by once life-giving rot
Who you were before malingers
Tressed up into to crippled knots
Wrung like banshee fingers
A drop of blood containing power of the Sun
Even knowing my name is dangerous
My morals are flaring up
This rage is monstrous
Searching for the source-
When a spark hits
Burning all forms of remorse-
A torrent of hell bursts from within
I loath crossing this line
Being locked behind red eyes
Never regretting the ruins I create
Leaving smoldering footprints in my wake
Destroying every second face / Limits are undone
Setting the heavens ablaze / Watching Angels plunge
Your ashes paint my lungs
This inferno and I are now: One
The smoke helps me cope
As I bathe in former hope
Searing the memories I cherished-
I cleanse this vengeance
My past had to perish-
To fulfill this repentance
This aftermath is my salvation
I am not a survivor
Belittling the thoughts of justification
I, a child of fire- My name is: Ember
Shiver In The SnowThe small icy needles pricking my cheeks,
The brushing of wind,
Making me shiver with delight.
The snow falls.
The white crystals cling to my hair,
I brush my cheek where a flake has clung for life on.
The ice slips and cackles under my feet.
It's a silent night.
The bright moon glitters above,
Stars shine brighter as the small snow falls slowly,
The night is perfect, beautiful, incredible,
A shiver in the snow awakes my senses.
The shiver is released.
fallsnowi remember when it began, a snowflake trapped in eyelashes
waking up to find my feet cold and buried white
the window menacing as crystal fangs grow
it fell faster, stalking, none the wiser but me
as the supermarkets grew slippery
and offices turned to caves made of ice
even under the sun, an avalanche
gushing like a river, the frozen powder covered all
children and birds became paper puppets in play
how odd to see the snowpeople alive
i walked, just a ghost
as it fell, and fell
but nobody saw
and nobody cared
it's not that bad
just me and the snow
and the blizzard finally blinded me
only winter left in my mind
A Passion Named DecemberThere's frost on the ground.
It creates for my heart a wintry crown.
Lady Winter runs her fingers through
My hair and leaves lip imprints of blue
On my cheek.
Intrepid eyes of my pallid lover
Lead me through frostbitten paths to discover
My soul is chaotic as a blizzard.
But in your chilled breath, I am delivered
With your song whispered meek.
Scintillating in the thawed skies,
Crystallized blessings cascade down to baptize
Me in this snowy throne room.
Together, my sorrow we entomb.
I adore your flawless physique.
December, I pray your reign never end.
Even still, your impression will never descend.
Down to my marrow, I feel you forever with me
I hope you can see
You have left in me nothing bleak.
The Slow FreezeUntethered spheres spin to a halt,
bored from fires long since put out.
Sighing melancholy tears into the new void,
they lie and wait for a friend long since lost.
Spring had come in a fiery explosion,
and summer slowly slipped away,
hidden somewhere under the monotonous tasks,
issued in stone by unseen guardians.
Only the cold whisper of lonely winter signaled the irreversible time passed.
On The TrainThere’s a happy couple behind me.
That hurts, because that’s how I wanna be-
But you’re in the window, speeding past me.
It must be love and I know that’s all I need;
But I’m headed back home and you’re not here-
Gonna be 28 days and 8 hours and 10 minutes before you’re near.
Or longer, I fear.
It’s like reversing gravity
Or making the moon too bright to see
-That’s why my eyes are red
And I’m feeling mighty shitty.
How am I supposed to write poetry
Without a muse to see
Or a hand to hold?
And with these chuckling idiots behind me?
I want to be them,
But we’re in that train window,
Speeding past, speeding fast.
Dear CassandraDear Cassandra,
The idea of writing to you is very scary. You and I are essentially the same person but your entire existence is a piece of paper.
Oh paper self, oh paper self,
How flappy are your arms?
Do they wave in the wind
or jiggle at a touch?
Are they life like,
or flesh like
or are they just paper arms?
Oh paper self, oh paper self,
how thin and lifeless are you?
Do you wither in the rain
or crumble between hands?
Are you life-like
or are you just a paper heart?
Oh paper self, oh paper self,
how graceful and perfect are you?
Do you parade around in fancy clothes
or wear those Jimmy Choo’s?
Are you life-like
or are you who I wish to be?
Oh paper self, oh paper self,
How different are you and I?
Do you have weight
or is there only air around you?
You are life-like
but not flesh
who I wish to never be,
for the simple fact that paper self,
I love me for me.
La sireneLa sirène
Ô toi, cruelle destinée,
Qui m'as faite lâche et trompeuse
J'ai juré devant l'éternité
D'enfreindre ces lois trop creuses
Jusqu'au deuil de l'espoir
J'ai imploré fébrilement,
Sans attendre de te voir
Las d'un signe consolant
Et je porte contre mon gré
Le sceau douloureux de la haine
Un regard bien trop vrai
Sur la cruauté Humaine
Loin des orages qui te lient
Échoué sur mon cœur
Dont j'ai cru te faire un lit
Jusqu'au lever de ma rancœur
Voguant sur les lames enjouées
Où sont venues résonner mes pleurs
L'eau cristal a fait rougeoyer
Ma démence d'une morne lueur
Donne-moi un dernier jour
La chance qu'elle soit vécue
Et de voiler l'aube en amour
De mon malheureux chant perdu
Enfant des eaux noires
Sombre dans la folie
Avant de jeter un dernier regard
Sur les côtes infinies.
Impractical MagicHe brews under a full moonin a circle of salt.Pearl dust and asphodelinfused with lavender and magicand bound with honey.A sprinkle of starthistleand cinnamon,the incantation whispered,his elixir complete.He visits the greenhousethat very nightmoonlight plentiful and brightto harvestfresh silverweed and thyme.Then to the forest he walksin search of bloodrootmoonstone,and midnight blooming foxglove.His cauldron awaits.Belladonna and bonesoaked then steepedin a mixture of fairy wings, rosewaterand a drop of wormwood essence.Mulling the concoctionuntil a fine mist risesand sparkles.Decanted his potions shimmer,vials of the unimaginable,the impossible-liquid luck shrouded in gold,the swirling scarlet of love,the amber hued solution that will..bend the will of the drinker…to his.He stands back a moment,smiling to himself,at his creations,gleaming in the torchlight,luminous in their perfection.His tools to enchant,to intoxicateand ensnare.
Blitzen's lamentBlitzen the plain old reindeer
Had a very normal nose
And if you ever saw it
You’d see it’s as plain as it goes
All of the other children
Used to know Blitzen’s name
Then along came Rudolph
And ruined all their games
On that fatal Christmas Eve
Santa said to him
“Rudolph with your nose so bright
Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”
(Which is illogical because really, Rudolph’s never driven the sleigh before,
and it wasn’t even that dark, and we nearly ran into three houses anyways...)
But never mind
Soon all the children loved him
Though they shouted out with glee,
Rudolph the red nose reindeer
You brought on this misery!
Sucks That You're Not GodBroken beauty rocketing out of a conveniently placed mouth;Decades smoldering from contradicting desires among the churchesThere's a world waiting to tear you apart, despite it having done soBefore a single bullet could penetrate the cherryThat's what swallowed the foundations of human nature, birthingA narcissist's cyber-gothic mausoleum; isn't it better to let theProphets rot?After all, you are one and you want death pinned to your callender...Yet you fight it off with moon-shattering stagnationYou're a goddamn enigmaLike a urinating papercutLike a politician who cares about the citizensLike a meat-eating JainistLike a vore artist who kink-shamesLike a demon descending from HeavenI wonder how many façades you'll have onceYou're surrounded by GodJejím následovníkům,When the gems fall and the vultures come to devour herStill-breathing corpse, horde the blessings to offer to eachIncubus who no longer carries the scent of ZionWatch as a true sinner tastes divinityListen to the angels' harpsichords Feel the tremors of righteousnessNirvana will flood the kingdoms
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
This Group is dedicated to all kinds of poetry.
But please follow the rules. They are here to protect the group and ensure that we all get along.
Mature content is fine as long as it has the appropriate filter on it. Otherwise, it will be removed from the group and we will send a note to the author.
You can submit poetry by yourself, or suggest the work of other deviants. But never attempt to claim someone else's work as your own!
You will only be allowed to submit three deviations per week.
Membership is for everyone! So, invite, invite, invite! The more the merrier!
The "Featured" folder is for contest winners and those works we think deserve special recognition only! No exceptions.
The other folders can be submitted to freely.
There will be folders created specially for prompts and contests.
CRITIQUE FOLDER RULES:
Can be found in a Journal here: fav.me/d6typ0e
Please, respect the rules and have fun!
Now, get writing and submitting!
|More Journal Entries|
A poem begins with a lump in the throat.
Editor in Chief:
Hi guys! My name is Mo. I am 23. I have been a member of dA for 5 years, and a writer for 10 years. This is my first Founder position, but I was Co-founder of Poets-and-Warriors at the birth of the group (check them out, they are friends!). My other passions include psychology, movies, sit-coms and books. I am a happy wife and mother of a perfect 1 year old boy. Poetry was my first love and I can't wait to see what this group can become!
(Head of Critique Department)
Shehroze Ameen; 21 years old (Aries, 13 April 1991); student, Ata-Ur-Rehman School of Applied Biosciences (BS Applied Biosciences); writer by hobby, though a discontinuous reading of English literature, with minor exceptions among Urdu literature, has a significant influence in his critical analysis of works - usually snobby and, slightly moronic, but a fun loving person with a sincere devotion towards the task at hand; friends with *NotenSMSK since the third grade; no future plans; cynic; and an avid listener.
(Critic and Staff Blogger)
I'm prettyflour- woman, mother, artist and DA junkie. I have constant love affairs with various art forms. Whether it be writing poetry, stories, taking pictures or drawing, it is all passion sprouting from my fingertips.
(Honorary Editor, Former Founder)
I live in a small town in Southern Michigan and am still only a high school student. But I try to find the time to write; which is my true passion. I try to be outgoing, so if you have a question, feel free to ask! I'm 18 and currently focusing my attention into Basic Design and getting ready for college and what not. If you want to know more, feel free to ask. (:
(Member DD and DLD Watch)
Hey everyone, I'm Jasmine a 20 year old English girl. I'm a poet (and insanely jealous of visual artists) who is currently studying BioSciences at Uni. I'm also a bit of a nerd - I love videogames, anything science related and various other things. If you want to know more, just note me, I promise I'll answer!
(Member of The Month)
Law student, internet addict and experimental non-rhyming poetry writer. In charge of the monthly member feature. Question? Come at me; I'll answer best I can.
I'm a college student in the U.S. studying marine biology, but I have a keen interest in the arts. I enjoy visual artwork, music, and theater, as well as prose and poetry. I love to read, especially fantasy and science fiction. My creative writing abilities are primarily self-developed and informed by my love of literature. On deviantART, I follow and contribute to a number of literature groups and am eager to share my findings!
Age and sexual preferences aside, I am a writer of long standing, principally a poet but preferably a fiction writer. My current endeavors are horror/suspense and science fiction, as I enjoy reading them and have read them since my schooldays. Favorite authors are Lovecraft and Howard, Jules Verne and HG Wells respectively. I read the Mythos in USA a long time ago. I am fair at graphic art too.
Graduated in BA in Literature in USA in 1980 and went abroad.
I believe that the best critics of literature are writes, as Matthew Arnold and Percy Shelley critiqued others. My policy is fairness and openness.
Name: NotenSMSK or perhaps SMSK
Hobbies: Writing, debating, reading, playing sports, sleeping.
Hello I am NotenSMSK preferably SMSK, a student from Pakistan who has a keen interest in writing. I write to improve as well as promote. I am working on a book at the moment, despite final year at university. I like helping people with critiques/comments but if a person gets unreasonably rude with me, I might respond in a similar manner. Otherwise, I prefer being polite
I'm fernknits -- wife, mother, knitter, quilter, spinner, poet, lover of cats. I have been writing poetry for most of my life and have recently come back from a long hiatus. I believe in giving supportive, honest feedback as part of being a responsible and active community member.
Name: Muhammad Danyal Ajaz Saleem
DOB: 21st Oct 1992
Art forms practiced: Poetry (English, Urdu), Prose (English, Urdu)
Personality Outlined: Sociable, anti-social-ish, kind of melancholic but not sad, committed as a friend but awkward around new people, limited comfort zone and a slightly bipolar temper. Also has been told he has the moral fortitude of a 17th century count and the mental age of a 40 year old.
Outlook on literature: must come form the heart, must be acceptably phrased, anyone can be a writer as long as they have something to say and pay attention to HOW they say it.
Hi, I'm A.J. Miller. I prefer Daft Punk to Adele any day. I game, very casually. I love poetry and tea and chocolate on the days my stomach doesn't hate me. My stomach is a Dalek Emperor. You don't anger the Dalek Emperor. Got music? Share it with meeeeeee. I have a pathological need to find more music all the time. I love pallas cats.
I am very intelligent and very lazy. We are trying to resolve some unknown emotional issues that cause sudden bouts of badassery interspersed with long expanses of mediocrity. I collect weird, fascinating, broken people.