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Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore  
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of
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.
SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

       all of the things
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
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
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
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home
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.
We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite  
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this
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.
Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.
Dry Spell   I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
  fleeting,
        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
BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I
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
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.
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
You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare
untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received
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.
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More from *akarra

EyesLike a mosquito,
her eyes spoke hunger, leaving
only freezing blood.
If you want a new beginning...If you want a new beginning, consider investing in a mechanized suit of armor

Streets shattered as giant robots
strode in the city's center to duel.
They aimed pulse guns,
hit everything but each other.
That was the day I knew I had to move.

A limb of steel and wire
fell and smashed the garage.
Salvaged my old journal,
plans for a new design.

Papers flying out of skyscrapers
reminded of drawings you sent.
I stopped by your house;
in your absence left a letter.

Finally, about to evacuate,
an eyelaser wrecked the highway.
Border of concrete and fire for miles.
Sorry, right now I'm trapped in my fears.

One day I'll sneak into a
For My MotherMarigolds tried to eat his leg,
lilies wrapped around his arm.
Gardening almost collapsed into chaos.
He stepped away from the marigolds,
watered the lilies.
Consoled the piranha plant
with the googly, tearful eyes.
Even got a wheelbarrow
to collect from the money tree.

In kindergarten they get bigger quickly -
toys still lie scattered.
Caretakers make us wonder
when they can be shown care.
A sun with a smiley face
always lets happy plants and resting gardeners
cast playful shadows.
On a Quote from Anais Nin    You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living.
   –Anaïs Nin

The collapse of conventionality can be more than fatal. Our death – heck, even just our failure – brings down others. I can't emphasize enough how correct characterizing the world as "delicate" is. The unjust, awful things that happen to us on account of institutions partly occur because they feel threatened by the smallest of problems and we don't wish to cause more trouble for others.

Maybe we can say man is the conventional animal. Is he the one who can make his bed and lie in it? Not quite: the delicacy of the worl
SpringPfft.
This is a time
of renewal, rebirth?
Please.

Here, we all sneeze more.
It rains.

Dumb slutty kids
underdress for prom.

There, the ice is still frozen.

But.
I saw a female cardinal
in its dull brown beauty
stand out against the brightness
of the day.
It endures.

Not the rejection,
but the recognition of winter.
BachelorSomewhere on the desk,
between the computer, the sketchbooks, the coffee,
lies the telephone.

The floor is a mess.
Containers of take-out Chinese,
junk mail, old bills.
Tempting to sift through a miniature hill
and find that old men's magazine,
the one with that "Keeping a Scorecard" article.

But then the phone rings.
Knowing who it is,
the eyes look up, quickly.
Not unlike those mornings in Catholic school,
Where, once buried in a book,
All of a sudden ready to pray.

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April 25, 2012
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Music

:iconakarra:

That loud crap blares
from speakers large and small.
Can't understand the words -
just dull thuds, synthetic sounds,
style of dress I'd almost laugh at.

Almost. "Deviant," then in my mind, "thugs;"
no fun being scared of everyone younger.
I remember how my wife's family
talked about me before she was my wife.
Nat King Cole and Sinatra played all too clear.
Too much vinegar on the salad.

One dinner I stared at a candle
flickering on the table.
The room had more than enough light.
In discrete moments the flame struggled.
My wife remembers the slight smirk I wore,
bright in its own way.
:iconakarra:
Thought I'd see what I could do with the contest prompt: this is definitely not a submission (I'm judging, after all).

I've got a bunch of new watchers. Please do check out this interview with me; facebook likes for my work are more than appreciated.
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:iconserelenntidude:
~Serelenntidude May 31, 2012
I like the synthesized and classic music, but I get the loudness thing, the rudeness.
Reply
:iconmerikuu:
~Merikuu May 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Haha, I like this alot^^ I love the personal touch in it, that makes it interesting.
Reply
:icontheomelette:
~theomelette May 5, 2012
Very intriguing. I don't understand it really, but is poetry ever meant to be understood? You have a very distinct voice here and the ending really gives the poem a spark. Nice work.
Reply
:iconmrs-freestar-bul:
*Mrs-Freestar-Bul May 1, 2012   Writer
Featured on our facebook page [link]
Reply
:iconsanityfallen:
Mood: Love *SanityFallen Apr 30, 2012  Student General Artist
Haha I love this. Very powerful and I love the playful but sharp energy to it
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:iconlewanut:
*Lewanut Apr 26, 2012
Doesn't this poem violate the thirty-word limit? ;)
Reply
:iconakarra:
Mood: Joy *akarra Apr 26, 2012  Student Writer
Very much so. If I were doing this for the contest, I would still write the long version, then cut down, cut down, cut down...
Reply
:iconblumiu:
Mood: Love ~BluMiu Apr 26, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
I love how you tied in personal experiences, the music, and created an atmosphere; Definitely felt a setting coming to mind for me~
Reply
:iconakarra:
Mood: Joy *akarra Apr 26, 2012  Student Writer
Thanks! I definitely tried to set a scene instead of dealing with more/less abstract images.
Reply
:iconblumiu:
~BluMiu Apr 26, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Definitely~ I tend to linger on abstract, so it was great to read a poem like this executed so well! ^^
Reply
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