wombatical's avatar
William L.
18 Watchers5K Page Views130 Deviations
l
litany
Mary, whose roses wilt in the evening streetlight bent through the window of her elbows resting far from the river carrying her bright secret home, Mary of too many letters piling one on top of another and whose poetry unwedded weeped under her bed in the black box of an unbroken garden her fingers red clay on the brick and bones of a tired family a long room in heat and Mary your blood a red crest bursting out from the low grave of your father or through the fields where I lay down beside you Mary in the baptising heat of your new wound we were children in the dying grass opening ourselves beneath egg-white skies a
t
the preachers body ascends to
And in prayer, Lord we forget ourselves forget our hands forget our fingers forget eyes mouth tongue bent double curled up Lord, we forgive ourselves make what's right and good- whatever, Lord do not teach us how to live do not rope us together we small and buried blooming, open impressions of cat's skulls grinning wicked singing magic light-folded bent like leaves straying from our brutal imaginations,  Lord forever is so long and so long and so long with nothing but rain snow Your incredible machine, we are lost seaweed in rivers Lord, open canvas of tents Lord, bruised petals of roses Lord, we cannot touch our eyelids, we do not grow in sh
w
what i wish to tell you...
whispering we built so many beautiful things- bent ribs convex mirrors ashen jewelweed pouring through bones  how we suffer for the wood. nails  tack    canvas rope bound boat moored in the lake salt licked water cold goosebumps 4:30 AM in a raincoat. dawn is three hours before in texas and  we tip- toe in black light of wells. crushed cornflowers mud sifting through the clear plastic bag  nights we forget have forgotten for peace.  the house bent low to the lake, aging streetlights birds in the living room and already I am in love searching for the warm places in the moon-lit floor delica
R
Reasons for 2 Bodies Entwined
Because you are here, Because you met me between two fields, Because you wrote of freckled angels, And Because you twirled under that streetlight on one good ankle, silent supernaturally smooth Because your hair hung loose on the car seat   as you touched your head to my shoulder and Because your ears were impossibly sweet Considering your post-it notes, your pens and your papers, considering your words in ink and your name in lipstick and Because of the birth mark at the nape of your neck, because your wrists slow sound on my wrists Because you are the front porch, the lamp, the screen door, the hands soft on welded skin
s
sestina for ___________
there are, first of all, the red flowers-- already they are blooming, already they line the soft parts, petals wound     round tense cords, flesh excited button at night he would taste thier colored insides, sketch paleness on thier fingers these they would take for themselves, spread filaments  clutch cradle of man-  hood, spent currency of bliss these they bent inward, leaves entangled crept up through the hips; oh love, how can i describe it to you? only as a pair of foxes atop a ridge, a grove of cherry trees ripe red in the summer.
b
birds
don't worry mother, your daughter craves a lot of things-- the sky is pregnant and wet at the hips; sweet ridge of body i'll break when right in moonglow. much nerves over nothing. when, after all: what good is dust on her wrists? chapped tips of her fingers i'll soften in twilight, strip of the bracelets and writer's lead. so much for blood on her pillow; mint of our hotel. bags I'll carry with pictures for home. see? your baby still dresses in red still licks her lips when thirsty: what difference in her taste? she'll come around [don't say she won't]. the frilled skirt you bought still rests in her suitcase. nothing else but em
t
the girls
                                           who enter whispering whose rest Whose tired working Whose backs are broken legs of a chair Whose chorus are cracked stones here in the sun drying whose nest Whose ashes machine woven burnt shoulders smoke in the factories Whose bodies frail as cigarette paper named Trutnov, Whose word means dying black bones two girls huddled for warmth whose stories are invisible feet running past fences, one would make from skin to escape Whose dirt whose trees cleared in the night of shattered glass, wept all morning overturned tombstones now fifteen girls, Whose bread whose soup means a long time
o
o' currents
O currents, low watch the ground run rave, cry cusped shoulders hunch, whisper running of jaw to thigh; tip to bone, blue and sliding oh, this struck panting pink, lit me up hard gaping, bite down you'll taste lust and copper, creeping slow the skin strike smooth the knee-cap, cream for your lips my, my, strip those fingers sung stuck inside; look how shy the wall looks back. soon, not yet o currents bled young, kiss to stop the maddening still please just us. why do you moan so sudden where, here? come lower, arch up I want the neck stiff shocked, wrists stretched mouth move stumbling, grip solar plexus, o current I g
b
blues affirm
mama talk to your daughter, talk to your daughter for me i come here, am birthed screaming cotton fields and sunlight, raise up curling fingers through smoke, hooking thumbs in my back pockets, sing rain and crossroads where the devil has slept; where i grow assured of wind, Missouri tide and Texas rope bound my hands and sat me down on heaven's chair, i have become number zero-six-six-two-six saved through reform and gunmetal bibles, tears come easy  in this valley of red clay, where i was baptised in the chorus of Muddy Waters, ran parallel coyotes and skybreaks pour through the reeds of my one harmonica, my one
P
Paper Bag
For us, our portrait and jungle, sketching charcoal imprints naked in the banana leaves. Retching violent palmprints pressed down into the sand, the sea tide beckons with crooked pinky, asks us questions but we're too tired to hear, too much submission and obedience; resolving then to forget this beach, this dimebox where you promised the deep valley would wait, would close up or fade away in the figured wheel of memory. Except now it hangs brooding schism regretting, now it grows impassable for me and not you. Don't go, don't leave, stay and I'll promise the wings erupted from shoulder blades, the sexual hip and collar bones, the taste of l
See all
l
litany
Mary, whose roses wilt in the evening streetlight bent through the window of her elbows resting far from the river carrying her bright secret home, Mary of too many letters piling one on top of another and whose poetry unwedded weeped under her bed in the black box of an unbroken garden her fingers red clay on the brick and bones of a tired family a long room in heat and Mary your blood a red crest bursting out from the low grave of your father or through the fields where I lay down beside you Mary in the baptising heat of your new wound we were children in the dying grass opening ourselves beneath egg-white skies a
t
the preachers body ascends to
And in prayer, Lord we forget ourselves forget our hands forget our fingers forget eyes mouth tongue bent double curled up Lord, we forgive ourselves make what's right and good- whatever, Lord do not teach us how to live do not rope us together we small and buried blooming, open impressions of cat's skulls grinning wicked singing magic light-folded bent like leaves straying from our brutal imaginations,  Lord forever is so long and so long and so long with nothing but rain snow Your incredible machine, we are lost seaweed in rivers Lord, open canvas of tents Lord, bruised petals of roses Lord, we cannot touch our eyelids, we do not grow in sh
w
what i wish to tell you...
whispering we built so many beautiful things- bent ribs convex mirrors ashen jewelweed pouring through bones  how we suffer for the wood. nails  tack    canvas rope bound boat moored in the lake salt licked water cold goosebumps 4:30 AM in a raincoat. dawn is three hours before in texas and  we tip- toe in black light of wells. crushed cornflowers mud sifting through the clear plastic bag  nights we forget have forgotten for peace.  the house bent low to the lake, aging streetlights birds in the living room and already I am in love searching for the warm places in the moon-lit floor delica
R
Reasons for 2 Bodies Entwined
Because you are here, Because you met me between two fields, Because you wrote of freckled angels, And Because you twirled under that streetlight on one good ankle, silent supernaturally smooth Because your hair hung loose on the car seat   as you touched your head to my shoulder and Because your ears were impossibly sweet Considering your post-it notes, your pens and your papers, considering your words in ink and your name in lipstick and Because of the birth mark at the nape of your neck, because your wrists slow sound on my wrists Because you are the front porch, the lamp, the screen door, the hands soft on welded skin
s
sestina for ___________
there are, first of all, the red flowers-- already they are blooming, already they line the soft parts, petals wound     round tense cords, flesh excited button at night he would taste thier colored insides, sketch paleness on thier fingers these they would take for themselves, spread filaments  clutch cradle of man-  hood, spent currency of bliss these they bent inward, leaves entangled crept up through the hips; oh love, how can i describe it to you? only as a pair of foxes atop a ridge, a grove of cherry trees ripe red in the summer.
b
birds
don't worry mother, your daughter craves a lot of things-- the sky is pregnant and wet at the hips; sweet ridge of body i'll break when right in moonglow. much nerves over nothing. when, after all: what good is dust on her wrists? chapped tips of her fingers i'll soften in twilight, strip of the bracelets and writer's lead. so much for blood on her pillow; mint of our hotel. bags I'll carry with pictures for home. see? your baby still dresses in red still licks her lips when thirsty: what difference in her taste? she'll come around [don't say she won't]. the frilled skirt you bought still rests in her suitcase. nothing else but em
t
the girls
                                           who enter whispering whose rest Whose tired working Whose backs are broken legs of a chair Whose chorus are cracked stones here in the sun drying whose nest Whose ashes machine woven burnt shoulders smoke in the factories Whose bodies frail as cigarette paper named Trutnov, Whose word means dying black bones two girls huddled for warmth whose stories are invisible feet running past fences, one would make from skin to escape Whose dirt whose trees cleared in the night of shattered glass, wept all morning overturned tombstones now fifteen girls, Whose bread whose soup means a long time
o
o' currents
O currents, low watch the ground run rave, cry cusped shoulders hunch, whisper running of jaw to thigh; tip to bone, blue and sliding oh, this struck panting pink, lit me up hard gaping, bite down you'll taste lust and copper, creeping slow the skin strike smooth the knee-cap, cream for your lips my, my, strip those fingers sung stuck inside; look how shy the wall looks back. soon, not yet o currents bled young, kiss to stop the maddening still please just us. why do you moan so sudden where, here? come lower, arch up I want the neck stiff shocked, wrists stretched mouth move stumbling, grip solar plexus, o current I g
b
blues affirm
mama talk to your daughter, talk to your daughter for me i come here, am birthed screaming cotton fields and sunlight, raise up curling fingers through smoke, hooking thumbs in my back pockets, sing rain and crossroads where the devil has slept; where i grow assured of wind, Missouri tide and Texas rope bound my hands and sat me down on heaven's chair, i have become number zero-six-six-two-six saved through reform and gunmetal bibles, tears come easy  in this valley of red clay, where i was baptised in the chorus of Muddy Waters, ran parallel coyotes and skybreaks pour through the reeds of my one harmonica, my one
P
Paper Bag
For us, our portrait and jungle, sketching charcoal imprints naked in the banana leaves. Retching violent palmprints pressed down into the sand, the sea tide beckons with crooked pinky, asks us questions but we're too tired to hear, too much submission and obedience; resolving then to forget this beach, this dimebox where you promised the deep valley would wait, would close up or fade away in the figured wheel of memory. Except now it hangs brooding schism regretting, now it grows impassable for me and not you. Don't go, don't leave, stay and I'll promise the wings erupted from shoulder blades, the sexual hip and collar bones, the taste of l
i
in our beds and graveyards
not in the eyes, but stiffly in our beds we weep. we're like candy nations or troubled bears, and we don't know where we can go the moon-light gives us shadows and the sun provides us pots and pans, our mother fell on her knees bent over a package of honey and pencils for the longer days. nobody wants to speak anymore. if you can see me, come home or run away or trip over a rotting log, it's like this: around here, we don't die but bloom as crazy redwoods down the hills, up the gravestones into chemical wishes and a fixed image of a town. onto the rooves, up the ladders they will never find us and we leave no tracks, come i
T
The dream was always running
. Oh, little crook'd arrow;    sawed from sapling, bone-smooth shaft.    Little arrow of inner divination, I fear'd the knocks would splinter you finely. Oh, little crook'd arrow;    there you have made my eyes run,    shot and kill'd yourself a bird. (My, my) On a doorstep! Clever fowl it were.    Though we spied it, (oh) we are ever so quick;    hidden behind those lamp chains- ones pulled. Spark'd that bulb of creation. I am fat with it,    Now all red and runny;    a little child's winter nose. Pick'd apart with my fingers, the miracle. And I am ever full and satisfied.
f
flight 24b to los angeles
in   a forward motion      over  the    deep fall ing floor of  the     world     where  the   tapestry of streetshines races  in     gentlechaotic     consonance tranced - a   figure    of  lights     alone with   darkness closing  in  around   and infecting      the state of  man's expanse   and the photons of         sun      fire consuming    the horizon,   stretching across the bend of   the world       (visible      only from  this   height) irre gular   in     form to    eat   the  darkness alive,             dispelling the  blank empty  - we  begin our slow but shaky   descent to   the     earthborn starf
F
6 Funerals
there's beauty in the breakdown --frou frou, let go does he have to love you for it to matter romeo and juliet broke hearts breaking to pieces you thought you had the play so well figured out contorted despite our symmetry your unconventional nature the ribs the lips the tide of your hips overflowing speaking japanese was a heart a hand and the keeping of the two you tried to think of something deep to say gertrude stein in her making of a miracle through secondhand lions you raged through the prisonyard like a former convict can't decide whether to sit or stand or fall or jump or stare into the nothingness of transparent antiq
B
Blue Heavens High
I feel separate;                      the days are long and not my own,                      but the sun is swallowed by the                      far meridian curve, an expanse known                to science but not fully to the quiet                            drifting heart of                the me who fades                 in and out of            this faltering place,             this rotating globe,                            where I was born but have never lived.                         I am conscious but alien to earth,                          with big eyes and the frailest arms,                      
L
LOW 'Damaged Goods'
It's funny, how it seems to revel in the time. Sleepless hours and minutes of   insightful revolution, all streaming through withered fingers like some lustrous hue.   But this is a photograph in a sullen series, abandoned ethics for non-objective   expression. In minute pieces. Beneath the umbra of the ceiling fan, obscured by the sunlight bleeding through   Venetians, I wonder why I lean in so close. Cleaned by the glow of the French   silhouette matinee he blinks to the super subtle rhythm of my pediatric percussion, my   pedantic parenthesis goes unnoticed. Once again. Slumped over in a vacant house, humming   over days past like
j
juxtaposition holding out
petals swell like a picked-at gum, toothache you are and i never saw a man who liked meatballs so much they tell me the world is in danger of loving you behind those bars i see a face that never tells the truth, cutting up rope to tie lies around skies that hold him in pieces, and i read bukowski listening to jazz holding out for the Great Tomorrow, my pansies bridging the gap between marigolds and tulips i am such an ordinary woman, they say, we say, saying together as if chanting as if shouting declaring hoping for a revival a redemption of sorts that will never come i love this cage i live in, my television box and my kleen
35
15

Spotlight

O
Ole or Sex With Coltrane
lifting inhales the staccato breath, and ascending static lines overlapping clockwise letters in their epileptic frenzy, adding in measure to the piano prefaces as one-eighth of a second ticks by, roaming pilgrim stops for a moment in the auratically-hewed landscape, as now in vibrant canary yellow that nests in Borneo, away from hungry coal mines; soot black outlines of Spanish terra cotta tiles and Revivalist sermons sung in alto to opposing rooftops, arms raised in unison the guttural greeting to the day. And as now - in corrosive orange, indicative borders its low-lying neighbors, arching out to meet the glorious red of Iberian Moors
3
1
Deviant for 16 years
Badges
Llama: Llamas are awesome! (2)
another start.
   hello.
Devious Journal Entry
oo-val
Devious Journal Entry
sigh

Comments39

anonymous's avatar
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Sign In
PenWieldingPoets's avatar
~PenWieldingPoets is a newly formed community for poets that use meter.
If you use meter, or would like to learn, please drop by!
Reply  ·  
genanse--antes's avatar
edacval marita luning maria

edacval zabojstwem socjalisty

edacval zlavkaszda

edacval no sabia que la primavera duraba un segundo

edacval no da permiso el cielo

edacval ```sii``sii

edacval usted y vos

edacval la fuente me da escalofrios
Reply  ·  
WhoKilledKirov's avatar
i forgot how much i liked your writing
Reply  ·  
Muesliriegel's avatar
i love john coltrane
Reply  ·  
pufferfishetc's avatar
Respect to your taste in music:)
Reply  ·  
demonlight's avatar
demonlight|Professional Writer
'Ello. I classify you as a literary deviant. As such, you qualify for a watch, as long as you respond. I am trying to round up as many writers as possible, because we simply don't get enough recognition. So we will have to give each other recognition instead. So if you comment me, I'll do the same for you. I make it a matter of pride to leave in depth critiques, and value my DevFriends.

What do you think?

(please note that I am away this week - so it might be a little while before I get back to you)
Reply  ·  
WhoKilledKirov's avatar
thx for the fav mah dahlin.
Reply  ·