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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.
Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet
(you tell me to be
dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name
my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words
you tell me to be
so I can hear the world breathe)
I want to go home
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
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.
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
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
Dry Spell † I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
† † † † evaporating
† † † † † † † through the cracks of
† † † my fingers and high
† † † † † † †above my head.
† I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
† † words,
† † † † †silences,
† † † † † † † or actions
† †could possibly satiate it.
I realize only now that it can never be filled:
† † †all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
† † † † † † or stretched
† † † † † † † † † † so far
† † † † † †that it dissolves into non-being.
†I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo
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
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?
Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.
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.
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 Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.
Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.
Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!
I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even
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
Fairytales Gone WrongSomewhere, I lost my way-
Isn't that the how these things always start?
I lived for a wedding, my heart,
the love of my life...
My God, what became of that
lost little girl?
So certain someday to make a wife.
So sure that eventually, there would be princes,
white horses, white lace, and picket fences.
Someday, by God, he would make his appearance.
Now my biggest fear is... If he did?
It wouldn't make any difference.
I wince every time I hear "beautiful" from
the lips of some sentimental sob
who wants to make me into his newest hobby.
Probability tells me
the whole thing is destined to fail.
Every match made in heaven is hea
Winter NightsA moment, crystallized in mist,
as we brave the elements-
whiteness begets whiteness.
Snowfall the only witness-
that there is nothing pure about this.
Frost-kissed lips, noses, fingertips,
as wisps of smoke wreath your face,
embracing you like a lover.
You seem out of place against this perfect stillness,
the amber pinpoint of your cigarette splitting the darkness
as you fill your lungs with what will
someday be your death,
Yet, tonight it is I who cannot catch my breath.
The wind reaching beneath my dress,
caressing my breasts like a lover until
you press against me. For warmth
or want? I can only guess.
Despite the cold,
On the RocksGuess there's something
to be said for a girl like
as she's getting trashed-
In the the strobe light flashing,
She's a spray-tanned princess,
a walking ad for peroxide rinses
And she doesn't mince words-
leaving men defenseless
with her lipsticked grin
when she's trading winks
for her next free drink.
She's not thinking of you:
Her mind's on butterfly tattoos,
appletinis, bikinis. High-heeled
shoes and her matching purse
are her universe,
but she flirts her way to a
few too many,
then she's anybody's
if they only ask over
one last glass.
If she doesn't pass out,
maybe she'll give in
We Have the MusicCohen said that
only ugly people can
make music of love, love of music.
Sounds pour fourth from our lips
that resemble symphonies,
violins in the ringing in our ears.
tympanis beating time in our chests
as each caress suggests another note.
Our love is an opus
surrounded by the
of a hundred pop songs-
pretty for a moment, but
forgotten by weeks end,
never to be heard from again.
But we make music to be remembered.
Our crescendos will swell the hearts
of every lover whos ever known
the beauty of
not needing beauty.
Nous Marions...?You've got much to hide,
But you're terrified that
I've learned to look behind the
wide eyed innocence you
used to shade your eyes
There's a big black hole in
your sweet guise,
and it's full of lies-
take your own advice,
If this knot unties
all you've got is rope and the
slickest slope you've
It's early yet for
the easy thrill,
can't you just stay still?
Make yourself un-feel what
cannot be real.
For a sleek mirage,
as you sabotage with
your secret sword,
then your praise the Lord,
claiming your remorse?
Let it run its course?
Has your heart divorced
The child is grownHair parted in the middle,
The pigtails fell lose
Some time ago.
Can't say I'm sorry
To have traded the jumper
For a pair of fading jeans.
Some things I miss, though:
My mother's careful hands
working through the tangled
mess of curls,
clothes neatly pressed and starched
skillful fingers making perfect bows
of the ked laces.
Some mornings the only thing that keeps me going
is that one instruction:
"Make a loop, over and through."
The hair I've left to its own devices,
clothes haven't seen an iron in years.
I don't always sit with my legs together
or keep my elbows off the table
but one thing I got right:
Lose ends always
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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