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The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.
the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.
i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;
i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)
and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a
PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink
A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint
Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.
with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
and here you are:
facing a choice between
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
this is what
SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and my frowning smile.
The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free
Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –
survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,
how many graves are we standing on, today?
Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this
A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit
Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.
A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.
I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!
I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
in the future.
Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)
dance with the gypsies
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
and the faultlines
so, so graceful)
sing with the nymphs
it's growing old,
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,
be nestled in a king's arms
(oh, you precious
Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?
The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...
Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?
I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min
Puppet My tears fall,
My heart beats,
because of the
Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.
DangerousMermaids; they seduce you then hold you under
Vampires; will kiss your lifeblood away
Mages, will turn your own mind against you
While trolls will hunt you down if you stay
Run through the woods, don’t stop for nothing
Monsters wait with jaws opened wide
Ignore that pretty elf, who’s probably plotting something dark
For she will torture you once she’s lured you inside
Orcs; will have a craving for your flesh
While dwarves are just prejudiced against your height
Dragons are very skilled when it comes to fire
While faeries will torment you throughout the night
So run little weakling, don’t stop now
The faery realm has go
Seeking SoliceAlong the dusty road to London there's a hidden path. It dives into the dense forest, leading helpless victims to either their rise or fall. Deep within the overgrown oak trees and prickly bushes hides a standard manor. With rust colored walls and a thatched roof in desperate need of repair travelers often find their way to safety. At least for a time. An old woman, too weak and feeble to pull herself up from her bed and down the creaking staircase to greet the guests, lives there and has for many years.
Once upon what seems like a lifetime ago the lady was an author, one who could weave a magic tale of intrigue and despair wrapped into one.
LightHave you ever taken a morning stroll
And simply listened to the sounds around you?
Have you ever heard the mallards quacking at dawn?
Almost as if they are calling you to visit them
Have you ever left your home at an ungodly hour
Only because you need to feel a sense of freedom
Even if it's just for a little while?
It makes you feel alive, doesn't it?
Have you ever stood in dew covered grass
Stared at the sun until you could almost feel your eyes dry up?
Have you felt the mild heat of the morning sunlight
Warm your chilled bones?
It makes the never ending cold disappear for a while, doesn't it?
That light, the one that greets you
when it was Me and Youyou wait for it to come calling
you check to see if the door is unlocked
you make sure you didn't miss its call but
waiting and waiting you can't help but wonder
did it not get your message?
is it worth dwelling on?
when it steps into your life you appreciate it for
what it's worth but after time you dwell on the thought
do they still love you?
did they ever mean the phrase?
you overwork yourself,
hoping you're wrong but know you're not
you still hope, wish, and pray they'll stay
even just another forbidden day.
you watch them walk out the last time,
leaving you in a habitual hibernation you welcome.
you know you should fee
Esme CalypsoIn the game of love there are many rules to follow, a long list of obligations to fill. The woman must be sympathetic; she must be the care giver. She must toil over a hot stove for the one she loves because that is the way things are done. She must never complain, never ask for anything more than she has been given. Instead she should be lucky to have found someone who sees her as tolerable, someone they can stand to be around. She must never forget her duties; never put herself first in any situation. Above all else, his needs come first and that must never change. Being the woman she is inferior and therefore unable to make major decisions
Fly AwayThere's a cool northern breeze twisting and twirling through the mountains. Atop a rocky cliff sits a lonely lady, staring up at the crystal clear sky. Her eyes are shut tight as she listens to the wind tell her tales of its travels. Recently it was visiting an old friend deep within the Irish Isles. How interesting, she thinks. How freeing it would be to go where she pleased, to get up and walk and walk and walk, never stopping until she found home.
Where was home? Was it hidden within the dense Amazon forest? Did it lurk within the alleyways of Old England? Her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing new places, visiting new people, and p
Daunting MelodiesThe fire inside the sparse cottage crackles; sparks escape the flames and hit the protective steel barricade. Hidden low in the Irish countryside lays a worn down hut with a thatched roof and aged brick walls. The exterior is covered with growing vines and crab grass surrounds the front pathway. An overgrown flower garden with weeds needing to be pulled hides behind the west side of the haven. The evening light hits the daisy's petals and glides across the lily of the valleys' upturned faces. Stones as broad as the neighbouring valley slip together perfectly to form a walkway to the back door.
Upon opening the backdoor a kitchen is first see
Judas PriestWhen I see the names Lizette and Charra,
Beatrix and Teo, I think of girls
with cocoa powder rubbed into their cheeks,
with summer stained on their brow.
I think of hail storms in a dessert and other
unexpected, glorious miracles. I see callused
hands and songs sung in words I can't
understand, but I try so hard to piece them
together in my mind because in a moment,
they'll be gone, and I'll be left here with
only words on a page.
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More