Tag Archives: poetry

Memories

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Memories

Missing you out in this field of separation

All the things so jumbled.

Both of us boasting our indifference.

The clutter of emotion and memory.

 

Your deafening arms across my roadmap skin.

Oh, the fires you light there, and speak guttural languages to my bones

How can I survive the heat, kilns igniting my heart?

Every faith, sewn upon your hands with determined fingertips

 

When every movement is the sound of your voice

When every thought is borne of your happiness

When the caress of your skin is branded upon my body

When the taste of your tongue is a maze upon mine

 

Oh memory, oh the sweet longings of love

The hope that broke me in two, my soul a victim

How starved you must have been to feed upon my tender heart

What a hurricane I have become

 

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Red Poppy

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Red Poppy

How sad it was.

I grew into the woods, a silent form among the trees. I belonged there, so straight and still.
I threw my love into a million pieces. I gave it away. And my heart cried for them back, as the struggle spoke of the difficulty of finding love returned. For, they killed me with it, dearest. My heart frozen into shards and sent burrowing back into my veins. They killed me with my love.

The wind in my winter found my face. Bitterness and burnt cheeks from kissing Requiem. How my love burned inside my body, like icy waters lapping at my sternum and burrowing into my eyelids while sleep availed me.
And so I stood on that embankment of my soul, a harrowed ship in a grey sea. And I closed my eyes to my despair to breathe in my future, but the salt burned my lungs.
Perhaps that is the price of soul, to burn with such intensity. To feel lit up in a room of black particles, landing on your shoulders like ash.
Burn Burn Burn.
Oh light of love.
Red poppy rise from the ashes.

Leaving

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Leaving

What will come of tomorrow?

When you’re gone and I have nothing but your scent on the breeze to hold?

What will cause my heart to leap up with elation and hope?

What small token may I take from it all?

 

The moment draws close.

Like the looming autumn rain

I look up at the inky sky and whisper your name to myself.

Wishing to be warm in the fire of your eyes.

 

When every word is about you

And every kiss I kiss tells a story.

But more so for when I don’t kiss your boyish mouth

For that is when I want to the most.

 

Across the room, your eyes trickle down me

Standing still like alabaster symmetry.

Can you hear my forest eyes whisper your name?

Deeper into the wood. Deeper into the dusk.

 

My feet dance through our asphalt jungle

Light and soundless as the hanging moon

The beating drum of your hips on mine,

Caterpillar-shivers up your spine.

 

Oh, the music between us. Our voices, our admission

The guitar in my hair, and your smooth flute lips

Gnawing cello played on my neck, with the piano,

pressing, upon your shoulders. Symphony and harmony.

 

 

Red waves drowning your sweet expression, breathing

The ecstasy into our lungs.

All sound forgotten, just touch

a hundred etchings of release.

 

The quiet that comes, breathing heavy and deep

Skin the only barrier, between heaven and hell

Limbo absolving us for a brief moment

Our warmth starting fires in the sky

 

I have drawn lines around my heart.

The cursive wrongs that fit so perfectly

In the confines of your arms

Among the scent of muffled emotions.

 

Your battle-scarred back, is some reminder

To you of days that passed in the wilds.

But to me you have earned every measure

Of the stripes you bare. Warrior of the sun.

 

Your solitude comes, unbidden. A strong

Wind to take you away from the night you love.

What bronze left in your bones, must keep you safe

Among the jackals teeth, and the desert storm.

 

The sound of your leaving is so loud

Like a siren blare in my mind, eating at the edges

Of the books that hold my adoration

Burning me like a fire.

 

I have felt quiet leaving, which dies a slow death

I have felt the leaving of dreams, which slips

Out from under your feet in a crash

I have felt suddenness, which takes your breath

 

But this.

What is this leaving?

Such a burning in my stomach

The slow decay of my sanity.

 

Why must you go, leaving behind my trail of feigned acceptance?

When everyone leaves, but I wished that someone might have

Decided to stay. The need in their eyes as great as mine

I wished too hard for wings to fly.

 

 

B.C.

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B.C.

Black coal eyes,  mimicking the night.

Lights within,  drawing me close.

 

Deeper.  Deeper.

 

Vines of your fingers, deftly entwining in mine.

Spindles to the web of my capture.

 

You stare, hypnotizing me and casting your spell.

Words like burglars out into the dawn, stealing my sanity.

 

How i fear the light that takes me from you.

Dissipating in the beams like fog that clouds your mind.

 

Your rich skin,  a silk coating,  slippery and soft.

The waters of your ocean spring up between us.

 

Droplets on the flesh,  the rush of a breath in and out.

Harsh rasping and crying,  like waves against the beach,  the dock,  the cliffs.

 

The expanse of your back.

How etched is your skin, riddled with promises of tomorrow.

 

Furrows of pain and fear,  healed over in survival.

Little lines of adrenaline, you breathe sharply into your lungs.

 

Oh, how sleep engulfs me.  Your sweet bed of fern, a haven.

Oh,  how i have become a creature of the night once more.

 

The knives of your hips carving lullabies into my skin.

Of passion and beauty and gold.

 

The branches of your ribs,  a place to hold my hummingbird heart.

An anchor for my hungry claws and my warm mouth.

 

The steady motion of the waves,  pulling me in and out.

The shore is but a distant memory.  A whisper of safety reborn in the dark.

 

Your lips open me up, curling around my desires like slither and shade.

They are wild and wry and wet.   Like cliff stones.

 

Those hours are ours,  darkness eating shadow, birthing the howling hour.

The carpet rough against my baying flesh.

 

The midnight sky,  black like your eyes,  my legs.  Palate of forever.

Absolving my heart and eating worries; forgetting the aimless woods.

 

A labyrinth of your mind,  i wander into it.

Caressing the walls with my fingertips,  begging for them to whisper their truth.

 

You taught that Morse code to my heartbeat.

The one that the stars keep their secrets within. The secrets they hold for you.

 

Winking. Ghosting.

 

What a strange web this is, made of heartstrings.

I hold my breath, waiting for the exhale of rumor.

Winter in July

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Winter in July

Winter has yet begun again.

That crispness in the air, the bite of the wind, the scent of wood burning off the chill.

I sit in front of the stove, pushing the stubborn logs into the mouth of the flame, and think of you. I think about these walls, how we built them together. How we laid and stained the trim. How we cut and nailed boards together. I think of how resilient it is, the caressing warmth from the hearth. It does not escape, it doesn’t leave as you do.

Mostly, I remember. I remember some closeness, some strange endeavor of the heart. Walking in that cold wind, the snow drifting and filling, measuring time like delicate frozen grains of sand in the world that was just ours. So far from everything, from our beds and our lies. It seemed more real somehow. More real than those sweltering summer days that followed.

But you’re gone now. Perhaps that’s for the best. Perhaps it was all just a fantasy. A world of snow trapped in a globe. Perhaps I will find something more real than you. More real than my thoughts of you. You pace. You walk away with a whistle on your lips, singing some song that I can’t hear, or don’t recognize.

Off with your tail in the air once again.

But I think this time, I’ll let you go.

 

The Window

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The Window

As she passed, the brightness of her eyes took in the window scene. She stood, frozen, looking into the depths, breathing in a heart ache.
It was tangible and real in her eyes, but the cool glass protected it from her. Fingers imprinted onto the smoothness, the etching spiriting away as the pads left them.
This was every wish in her heart. This barrier like a net.
How mocking, how cruel.
So she passed on, broadening her shoulders for what was ahead. Every movement, an ‘if only’. Every step, toward a stone. Every word, breathing out. Every touch, toward oblivion.

She passed and thought it all a lie. That beautiful lie in your eyes.

The Romantics’

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The Romantics’

The carousel keeps singing, the longing of goodbye.

A childhood spent spinning, left a dizzy dragonfly.

*

Time may fly, but we made attempt to cut off its tender wings.

To stop the future coming, a youth drawn up on strings.

Oh what a twisted puppet show we all try to perform.

Convinced that it’s our freedom, for which we’ve gone to war.

*

Fight fire with whiskey, try to douse melancholy of the soul.

And pray the heat absolves you, and somehow makes you whole.

The wickedness of broken hearts, the shallowness of depth.

To give my all to something until there’s nothing left.

*

When desert sun burns skin, to which no one gives shade.

The same for those who love alone, filled up with weary shame.

But still it keeps on spinning, that tinny mobile circus.

I hold my head back, dreaming, a beginning with no purpose.

*

I’m back again, sweet lion, your mouth in frozen triumph.

The horses brightly dressed, beside the tiger are defiant.

Unicorns and elephants, all a handsome roux.

We foundlings, distracted by color, ignorant and new.

*

Why does the alcohol not wash my memories away?

Why do I stand objective, unto its power play?

Perhaps it’s memory too strong, and loves lost along the way.

If only someone had turned around and decided that they’d stay.

*

All you need, it may be love, but a sinister of sorts.

To make me choose between the air and a love that hurts.

But it’s a phantom pain, a limb long ago severed.

Like the singing carousel, a mirage of things remembered.

*

Perhaps the heart misunderstands our diligent rebuilding.

Lost in the field in scrutiny, dirty with the searching.

Behold and take these broken hands, these nails abrupt and wanton.

They worked at love and begged for freedom, but were left forgotten.

*

Their only use remains upon the grasping of the frame.

Of the metal menagerie and the memories that remained.

Around. Around. Around. On autumn winds we spin.

While the pain glows ever brighter and the light grows ever dim.

*

Wishes are just lady bugs, swept on a wistful breeze.

Little delicate emotions that hide among the leaves.

Now comes the part where we pretend to not notice each other.

While the fire burns at one end, and we play poker on the other.

*

Meanwhile, my heart won’t quiet so my thoughts can gather round.

So they come out in my smile when thoughts of you abound.

What a strange contradiction that the joy upon my face

Is not quite reflected in that dark and hidden place.

*

For I am just a passenger, upon this dizzy parade.

For hopeless romantics, was the art of dreaming made.