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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.
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.
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
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More from *akarra

Kobayashi Issa: Don't worry, spidersHappy Mother's Day

Don't worry, spiders
Kobayashi Issa (tr. Robert Hass, from The Essential Haiku)

Don't worry, spiders,
I keep house
casually.

Comment:

1. I spared many a spider growing up. Mom said spiders killed other pesky insects and shouldn't be smashed promptly. They could be helpers for keeping the house clean, if it weren't for those webs they tend to create.

I still spare spiders for the most part. (Admittedly, I don't think I've ever lived anywhere spotless.)

2. Hass makes two points relevant to our consideration of the poem. First, there is probably a hidden seasonal reference. This is about summer, where housekeepers are
We see the sky where it is skylessNot the crystal with the bluish tint,
nor the dark wisps rising from cigars.
Another realm entirely. There,
day ends in royal purple, fiery orange.
Gray walls hold those colors for an instant.
Air places dew drops upon grass,
as if to say the world begins afresh.
Birds fly together, each supporting the other.

Now the sound of change striking the sidewalk,
the smell of dirty pigeons collected.
Noting the white of the closed blinds of hospital rooms.
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

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two (after vildrosor)

:iconakarra:

fell head
first from clouds
plummeting
landing
in gentle arms
of a tree
as motion stopped
a willow branch
hit my face
the tears were
wiped clean
:iconakarra:
~vildrosor wrote a wonderful poem in "two," and I thought I'd write what I call a "paraphrase." My poem and hers are distinctly different: check out her original - [link]

If you have poems you'd like me to try playing around with, send them my way. I typically like shorter lyric poems.
:iconohio-writer:
Critique by ~ohio-writer Jan 9, 2013, 3:11:52 AM
One point I want to highlight is how the piece is able to show the action of falling, of course further than actually saying it explicitly, with the line structure. The speed of the piece shows how the fall is happening, and careful readers will notice that the speed of the breaks helps to initiate the action. My argument in this case though is that perhaps the stoppage is not quite as abrupt.

My take would be to show the stop either through a longer line at the point of impact, or create a stanza break there to make that point ever more clear. This piece could do wonders with subsequent revisions, and in that light I suggest also looking at the part about the willow tree. The action has two looks to it: one implies a striking force, the other shows a gentle wipe of teary eyes. Finding a good mix that is not as extreme as these two representations will enlighten this end section even more.

Overall I really appreciate the form of this piece and all it aims to do. With a little tweaking I feel the piece has an even more valuable message and scene to share with its readers. An intriguing piece nonetheless.
What do you think?
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The Artist thought this was FAIR
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:iconthenaughticallife:
Critique by ~TheNAUGHTicalLife Jan 6, 2013, 10:21:50 PM
I enjoyed the initial few lines that brought me into a helpless feeling of dread. It seemed you were aiming for a loss of control that stuck and I did appreciate the breaking in the beginning.

As the poem went on it seemed you lost the drive you had in the beginning. The conflicting imagery of a soft landing was marred by the unseeming reference to sorrow in the tears.

I think I can see what you went for, and I like it. Some of the imagery and metaphor (at the end) didn't bring the piece home the way I'd hoped it would. I think if you revisit this poem a few times and bang it out you'll have a solid poem.
What do you think?
Fair Unfair
The Artist thought this was FAIR
2 out of 2 deviants thought this was fair.
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:icontrenomas:
~Trenomas Jan 31, 2013
Brevity is the soul of wit.
And condensation is the soul of poetry.

Here something to mess with. Make with it as or if you will. I wrote this with an idea, but i feel it soesn't connect well between stanzas. What would you do with it?
[link]
Reply
:iconcandrarose:
~CandraRose Jan 14, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
I can't decide which one I like better yours or hers :D they are both do brilliant in their own way great job with this as always it a pleasure to read your work :)
Reply
:iconvildrosor:
~vildrosor Jan 9, 2013  Student Writer
i very much like it. they're very similar, and yet, by paraphrasing, you've incited a different sort of atmosphere, of emotional response. brilliant.
Reply
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