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Sunrise GallowsCrimson
Crimson
Sunrise haze.
Morning gallows
Gather today.
It's heard through the forest
It's heard everyday.
Another has fallen
Another is saved.
Keep your eyes open
Don't look away.
They want you to see this
They want to see pain.
One's losses
Is another's gain.
Sunrise Gallows
Gather today.

EclipsingI'd probably forge my whole heart, anew
if you only asked

but you're out of words, tonight
the stars are shining much too bright
unlike you've ever seen before
if you blink, you'll miss them
don't blink
you'll miss them

(you have already missed enough
to make you wonder what's really left)

your eyes are shining
reflections
of everything you hope to be—
so you cannot see me.

and sometimes I wish
you'd just shut your eyes
because they say resting
is the greatest relief

when you can sleep,
and let go of everything you've ever seen before
for something more

and something dark
because it's there, I stay
laying in wait

The Loungemascara band-aids
and cosmic blush
tepid hand shakes
and trysts of lust

forever daunting
the panther prowl
forever seeking
somewhere, somehow

smoke rings gather
in spectral mist
slow movements
elbows and twists

shoulders furled up
in the cold
no one knows
which way to go

but car crashes
are just as common,
as hope.

My Dearest

Dearest Robert,

Every night I walk the narrow path to The Door, Your Door. (I tell no one. I make sure they're not watching). They tried to keep me from you. Did you know they hid the letters? They hid them, but I found them in the attic underneath a pile of your clothes. They tried to donate those too, but I stopped them. I had a fit and I made them stop. Everyday my nightgown is damp with tears, but at night I have comfort. I know you're with me then.

Already there is talk of moving on. It's been a whole year, they say. I need to Let Go, Move On, but I'm making plans of moving in. They tire of me day after day; not dressing, hardly eating

Caffeinated JellyfishI'd trade my sweetened tea
for your stingray beliefs
but i know that even broken teacups
couldn't fill the cracks between your teeth;
the holes in your bones from all your
haphazard hopes and
lackluster lies;
i can't fill the void
of a rotten soul
that's been dipped
in too many ice cream cones.

and now, i am a
jellyfish.
my hopes are propellers.
i soar through starshine
with sea-stained wings.
i am dangerous.
i am a caffeinated jellyfish;
i've learned that hope only stings.

Poets Always Lieambrosial fabrications are
easier to swallow down when
incandescence is a blessing bestowed
only upon those with silky tongues.

deceptions are beautiful
in the right words

because they are salvation, like a
rapture, they save the sickly,
self-indulgent souls from those
tragedies they used to write on the insides
of childhood notebooks about who
they could never be [themselves]

they rescue them from tremulous
corners and closets, hideaways
where they've grown too akin to
the demons they nurse; and drag
them into a land beautiful enough
to wear light as a second skin

(where lies are never discussed
but always shared)

cl

LointainListen carefully, for I am plucking spider-web harp strings in the light of your glistening, rain-sodden breath. There is such beauty in this city, and in symphony, you see—so keep rhythm with these skeleton trees dancing on street sides, winter branches quivering. Can you hear the beat of your heart? Its cadence is being matched by that of the shadows, ephemeral figures waltzing hand-in-hand across cobblestones and twirling at the very cusp of the lamp posts' soft glow...

Sway now, my dearest, to the allure of this chorus in the night; to the echoing sound of this moonlit sona

Verifiedsometimes fear is a little black monster that waits in your closet
nursing all your skeletons back to health, tempting you
with tightly wound lies like bitter almond candies

and compliance is second only to believing that maybe, just maybe,
the words slithering out of its mouth (then around your throat,
choking you when you are finally alone enough to be convinced truth
is objective) are something real, something worth believing in

unlike all the other things that have forsaken you,
there's a certain comfort in knowing that fear is
a constant, it is a shadow, it is as concrete as the bags
you carry excess time in under your eyes;

Southern SummersSun-bleached patio furniture
and the remains of melted mosquito candles
are the only forms of Church
against the Carolinian summers.

Naked children drink water from the hose
and spit out boiling refreshment
while being yelled at by grandmothers
not to waste the air,
and close that door!

Generations of matriarchs gossip over
who's arrested now, who is pregnant
and what funeral is coming up Sunday.

"Oh I do declare," aged summer belles exclaim
clutching their over-highlighted Bibles and
fanning themselves with yesterday's obituaries.

Only the men seem interested in the pig,
as they hoist it high from the bathtub
(where I went

untitled 01life writes stories on the skin;
told in blood and bone,
stamped across the body.

Drinking Lit GasolineI think I'm drowning in your words
as they drip
and soak into my heart
until I'm submerged
in liquid thoughts
I can't handle.
I'm choking.

The thoughts won't come out,
they only scald my throat
leaving the taste of ash in my mouth
because they are your words.
not meant for normal tongues-
and I'm burning from the inside out.
This is what I get, I suppose
for letting you burn a hole in me

It's time I learn to float
and carry myself in debris
and wreckage and destruction-
because they are already cascading
over my waterlogged bones
your eyes are sodden
tinged purple and grayish-blue-
the look of someone
who's spent too

Innocent Purgefingers not full grown
still manage to pull free
undesired calories
and a mother's fear
"honey, please"
says the mom who has too many
worries and wrinkles for
her daughter of nine
"please"
tears spring forth
from wells not seen
since her own pitiful choices
"you're already beautiful,
and there are so many better ways
please, please, please
don't make my same mistakes"
tiny fingers just long enough
to grasp at insecurities
and struggle with feelings
of inadequacy
I want to be pretty

drain her empty
in the filthiest of cleansings
the mind of a child can't comprehend irony,
and that is her only solution

"but mommy" she

I'll Be There When the Wind Blowsi
one day I'll be nothing but a whisper
in the swollen sky, which ebbs and flows
whenever you choose to open your eyes

this voice will be lost in the onslaught,
and I'll fade into my greatest fears

ii
my thoughts have been known to shatter
on occasion, into fine powder
that scatters in the face of execution

I always worried roots grown in unstable ground
and remembering the way my body was built
would free the catastrophes sighing within me

it's easier to succumb to future's inevitabilities
that welcome you with undefined arms

iii
sometimes I release pieces of myself
because I don't like the story they tell
about the history

Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longer
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.

I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?

They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where y

starry eyes implodeshe cannot recall all
the things she's
swallowed:
pretty pills, rancid
razor blades and
wasted words coat
her sorry throat

she can't count her
fingers, like she can't
count the days again--
it's zero to zero, in it
to spin it:
time is measured in
lengths of abandonment.

she comes home empty-
handed; defeated,
depleted, repeated:
"I gave up again
I gave up I gave it
away I gave up"
repeated like some
makeshift lullaby

and once more she
apologizes to a
broken window,
shattered, scattered,
just hoping to
know somewhere
better to go

and when she walks,
she holds hands
with the yellowed
skeleton of a
forgo

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The Beginning Or The End?

The Beginning Or The End?

I dreamed a dream that was in my head. I had unexpectedly taken an afternoon nap, resting peacefully in our secret place. I laid out on the softness of an old quilted blanket I often took with me when I went deep within the woods outside of the town of Chester. My aunt Lori had made it when she was just a girl and then gave it to me when I was born. Raggedy and slightly torn, it was the perfect thing to use for a picnic without fear of it getting ruined because it was already on its way out. Octagon pieces of fabric of faded reds, blues, and grays, decorated lightly with tiny daisies. The stitching

My Dearest

AbsorbedFingertips hold the edge of pages absorbing their moisture. A piece of me to you.

Mesmerized eyes lock into scripture. Opening the door.

And now, I'm with you. Beside you. Inside you.

I now sit in a dark room theater among rows of empty chairs. I get one ticket and only one is allowed entry at a time.

The fashion is Gothic, Victorian, elegant. Curtains are held still, pulled satin fastened to the wall like a human statue, hard and soft.

The screen glows brightly and the show is mine.

After sometime of absentmindedly shifting in my seat and occasionally eating popcorn, I sleepwalk over to the silver screen, absorbing like a sponge in mil

Purge The SoulRifts of layered satin
move and cover whole
Overlapping limbs
and binding to the core
Struggling direction
as the rift provides more
Ways to turn and toss
and question
lessening the hold
Interwoven truths unbound
tethered to the sea
Currents carry taint away
simultaneously
let go of the handle
offered by the spout
Quench your thirst in rivers
clearing up the drought
Throw it all away
clothes cast upon the shore
'till ghostly skin is crystal clear
and find out you have more
~the purging of the soul~

UntitledI had no pen or paper
to write it down
so I ascended the stairs
into the attic
where dreams fly freely

tucked a blanket here or there
beneath yellow daylight

the moon was caught
in a misty blue
so early
the sun appeared
fighting for the sky

the white puffs of cloud
seemed to envelope
the globe like a shroud

and gleaming eyes
are enticed
to view the fog
like a spectral mist
deciphering molecules
stuck in the glare
of sparkles

lazily abides
to shake off
what once was there.

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Submitted: August 27, 2012
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Science and Mathematics

by *lantern-rose, Aug 27, 2012, 5:35:28 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Songs & Lyrics

Take all of your silky words
And tie them to a rock
Throw them in the ocean and
Watch all of them drop
Will they sink to the bottom?
Or will they float up top?
How deep does your meaning go,
or is it just a flop?
Your de•lect•able honey-spice
Sure did cook up nice,
but upon the swallowing
I learned I ought to, think twice.
Think Twice.

Don't take my silence for, grant-ed.
With eyes to the skies
And head Under water
You're a flickering light
and under you falter
You can't take the heat
Under salt water...

you bet your teeth
I'm counting
you better believe
I added it up.

Science and Mathematicsby *lantern-rose

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Songs & Lyrics

Old Problems.
Wretched Equations.

Critique by ~intricately-ordinary Sep 5, 2012, 6:05:48 PM

This is definitely one, if not my favorite piece I have read by you. It is simply astounding and worth many reads.

Your imagery is fantastic. "silky words" "delectable honey-spice" are the two I loved the most. I also love how clearly you can explain the message in this without ever explicitly telling us your intentions.
"How deep does your meaning go,/ or is it just a flop?" Your thoughts are so wonderfully articulated. It seems someone's once sweet words no longer have a hold on you. Will they float? (do they deserve to sink?) You are learning that maybe they aren't what they once meant to you.

The whole piece easily rolls off the tongue. You have employed a well-developed rhyme scheme, meter, and similar vowel sounds to connect all your phrases. It sounds amazing to the ear.

I think my favorite thing about your writing is your metaphors. I have told you this before, when I have mentioned how I loved your unique way of thinking. You have an entirely new way of seeing the world and showing it to us. You first tell us how their words are meaningless and perhaps buoyant, then move on to how they are easy to swallow down (although that is not beneficial.) Then you move on to how they are out of touch, head under water- and they can't take the heat they give off. You finish in a way that takes my breath away. It ties in perfectly to the title and completes the full circle of your poem- because it is no longer a matter of sweet words, it is a matter of measurements and weighing what those thoughts truly mean.

Beautiful, beautiful work