[x]

blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
since
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.

no, she refused to set a bar
because
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.

see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
jumps enough
every time bits of her old

04.10chapter one:
leave the boy and
don't look back
"but you do, sweetheart."
(there's no room for
second guesses here.)
chapter three:
spanish music and rough russian accents
those fruity pink drinks were the death
of chapter two, the green ones will do for the night
chapter four:
"why?"
"he didn't trust me-"
(among other things)
"-so i took away his need to."

ForwordI have not become stronger
in the broken places.

Bones ache of age
of misuse
of disuse
and each cracking joint
is an audible reminder
of missteps
of misjudgments
of paths walked too long
and of steps
that should have been,
but were never taken.

Bent fingers jut
from palms of sandpaper,
calloused and crinkled,
they cannot grip
with that same eager desperation
of a child seeking comfort.

Black becomes gray
at the gates
of troubled temples and
dreams,
once saliently sweet,
decay on the tongue
like the sound
of necessary words produced,
but never employed.

I have not become stronger in the broken places

Hollow Memory of a Distant ShoreYou are like a long passed season.
As delicate as the footprints of sparrows in freshly fallen snow.
Intricate, yet so easily disturbed when care is not taken.
Somehow, you have managed to persist after all these years.
Residing in the same quiet place you carved into the woods so long ago..
Only a short ride from the sea.

When you cross my mind, you carry with you the scent of that shoreline.
Harsh and thick, yet somehow placating.
Though the weather was perpetually gray, misty, and cold.
Much like your heart had become..
Just before we painfully, and slowly, parted ways.

I recall with deep longing your fascination with foxes

ScribblesAnd he hated the way her portrait was painted
on the walls of his mind

so the thoughts would come and go
like little men with suitcases,
rushing through in the flurry of ideas,
in the death and birth of a dream, but they

would always
pass by her picture.

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

spinea steepled body, framing
claiming your nerves

i suffer from the weight of
sorrow, creak under
secrets kept

this is a script for your cracks, a
length of lilac, smokey quartz
painted marrow tunefully
so serpentine, oyster
bruised, the wisdom sleeps
through, cat-like vined

i sprout a calcium tree, we
collapse through intwined
spines

the silent incredible softness
the kind of silver you
shouldn't see, clouds
frosting our hills of
everlust
opening cream to dusty kiss

i arch and peel off the layers,
feeling each
snap

vertabrae embrace to a
chattering mile,
ache to twinge, verge of
chalky cliff, this
boned fragrance to b

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

SeafoamSeafoam
is the hush of the ocean,
the glossy paint on your car,
the gleam in your eyes.
It's the ruffle of parchment in the glove compartment
of your susurrating '57 Thunderbird
as we leave the last rumble of brontide behind
on a salt-crushed highway.
Traces of powdered sugar noses
and mint milkshake lips
were cold reminders
of warm nostalgic days
when summer could melt the tarmac
like my bones under your gaze.

AffannatoIf my ribs were weighted keys,
I'd play you an ocean song that tips you
right off the edge of the earth,
and clinging to my last phrase, you'd say
'what a tragedy, what a helpless dreamer,
such a beautiful pair of lungs gone to the dust'.

And night would hold us in that distant desperation,
playing our heartstrings so we couldn't keep up,
no, not with that soulful, off-tempo portrait
of who we could have let each other become.

I'll crawl back to bed on my bare boned knees
and when I wake to the black holes you've burned
into the sheets you and I were 'us' on,
I'll write you a desert song
about how I jumped off the edge of the earth
and yo

FisheyeYour honest words perch upon brash lips,
teetering on thoughtful intentions; a super hero's cape
embroidered with moth holes, gossamered secret identity
shielding the crestfallen heart you disguise as armor,
forgotten about with a forced amnesia
until its lonely beating rips a hole
through your defenses.

I'm your kryptonite and your sunshine—
the thing that makes you human, and weak,
and untouchable,
and mighty,
and a villain to the unloved,
and my savior.

I'm the have and have-not,
the desired and the disdained—
for your every rib aches to feel the pressure of my palms
and the tangle of my fingers witching for you

astronomerswhen we're together
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.

we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
into speech.

do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?

that night,
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;

stars forming,
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.

i imagined
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers – creator and destroyer
of worlds,
so close to your lips.

Exhale, AmaryllisMid-summer heatwave,
I push through humid air,
like dreams of swimming, graceful,
through the streets.
Chest aching, I
inhale heavy, tangible air
thick with scent of summer's bounty.
Honeysuckle vines tangle in my lungs,
perfume my breath.
My sighs exhale nectar
past my lips;
words glint in sunlight.
Berry brambles twist into my veins,
thorns prick for blood from inside-out;
honey-suckle oxidized breath,
painting white blossoms red:
My heart was a pure-white bloom once,
but I inhaled arrows of golden sunlight
and bled forth Amaryllis.

Let the Sparrows InI.

Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.

Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.

Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:

Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family

So let the sparrows in.

The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor

ropehang me from the moon,
i want to be beautiful

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09.04Imagine that
everything
is a circle;

each fluctuating trend
of fashion or convention
an incoming tide
only to be swept away
at the hands of
those blinded with enough money
to do so.

Wouldn't it be
a terrible world --
where tradition and
ancient ideals
are forgotten or disregarded
in favour of
the so-called 'art nouveau'?
Every faction would have its time;
and its destruction, too,
by the wrecking-ball pendulum
within its walls
that would be.

And yet,
the circle is such an
attractive shape.

08.04Sweat and tears
are both salty.

So does that mean
that they come from the same origin?
Because when you surround them
they aren't to be transcended --
this is always a successive discovery.

07.04Sometimes, the east-facing
Sideways World
is not enough
to break all these
vicious circles.

06.04Tiny windows into my mind,
when the fears of childhood
are reversed,
make time run in rewind.

Every mile forward
when we thought that
it all lay in the setting sun;
just butterflies' wings, standing guard.

Nothing ever felt quite so tame
when I was a broken
blade of grass
in your garden of forgotten things.

overdose.It takes just one moment. That's how I seem to recall, at least. The warning; heart in my throat; frozen.

And it all came crashing down in just five words.

It's funny how an entire empire can be taken to the floor by just a few letters - meaningless squiggles on a page, but nonsense which holds the power to tear the soul from your body nonetheless. Because in that brief second of dilated pupils, pain, fears, guilts, tears - they all became one and the same. There's no longer a heartbeat to quicken.

Your legs are jelly and suddenly, every moment is coming back to you: shaking hands, gasping breath; because your throat is closing, closing, c

05.04i.
You can't just sit there,
picking at your scabs
forever.
Sometimes you just need
to grow up and walk away.

ii.
No, nobody hears the fall
of a tree in the empty forest
(or a mind to the rabid claws of insanity).

iii.
And it's hard to think of
all the possibilities
without the cobwebs;
but when the shadows are long,
breaths are short
and the impossibilities
become two letters too long.

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Submitted: April 26, 2012
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10.04

by ~91816119, Apr 26, 2012, 11:26:51 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i.
She sits all alone by the sea
before the empty stretch;
whispered winds wandering through,
without any hope
of a realisation.

ii.
The hush of skin on skin,
such submission in her posture
to shimmy past boulders and pebbles alike
into the vast emptiness --
what a wonderful death it is. To drown.

iii.
Wooden clunk of boats
rocking against the gentle, rippling tides;
brightly painted sides
and glowing edges
and well-ripened lichen and a lining of barnacles
which soothes the onrushing memories.

iv.
Gravel-like hiss of sand on the
sloping route up wooden stairs,
creaky, crumbling boathouse;
faded outlook under grey-blue clouds:
your ship doesn't pass by this place any more.

v.
Maybe that's why these shoes hang,
odd pair as they are,
in these nooses
underneath the water
facing that clear, heavy sky
where we used to walk,
the sun and I.