Blue VeinsTempered heat: Ice on blue veins. Snow greets the valley.
BibliophileBibliophile by Violet Sturgeon Meet me in the book stacks Choose a subject of your choice Such an aphrodisiac Let me hear the writer's voice Pull off the dust covers Let me bend your spine Let your fingers hover Over the perfect find Breathe in Keats, Wordsworth, Pope You bring out the Romantic in me Exhale Atwood, Moore, Burroughs, Show me postmodern frailty Lets bring life back to these tomes Of blank verse, epics, satire Rediscover why we made these words home Let the classics rekindle our desire Remember it's a library We must keep our voices down Be my apothecary As we journey round Let me see your fantasy, adventure, critique Take me down paths I've never seen before Make these book shelves creak Don't leave me wanting more I'm a bibliophile baby The smell of ancient words sets me alight I don't care how you rate me Just as long as you stack me right Don't try to categorize You know that's not my style I don't need to be legitimized I just want to go a little wild Finals always d
Seemingly Intrinsicthe November sky trembles and she's out sleeping on the railroad tracks, again, where no one hears her staggered breaths and stuttered dreams she promised she'd be back in a few summers, once the war raging within her ribcage finally called it quits (she's so close to raising that white flag, her fingers plead) tightrope walkers never feel free, she's bound by the internal pulsation of her heart, going stagnant as she gives away the pieces of herself to people who see her as nothing more than the wide-eyed doll in the corner, yet unnamed, forsaken by children with better things to do and perhaps these are intrinsic qualities carved into your bones before you are born, maybe her parents created her with a tendency to fail and to cry for silent nights, and she's right to stop asking questions – who's and why's are not proper vocabulary for spirits just whispering through. these persistent storms overwhelm her ability to breathe, but she knows was taught it's alright, it'
First SnowfallOn days like this, when the first snow falls like torn lace and the sun is barely a whisper of warmth above the clouds, I hear the call of forfeit possibilities and count the ways I wish that I had loved you better; longing for another lost love with whom I could have made all my mistakes.
67. BlueI used to walk the skylines blue Under blooming stars a field of forget-me-nots in the periwinkle sky sparkle underwater, whispering "hi" Under my feet the sidewalk gleams cerulean with spider blood and lanterns of butterfly heartbeats dance bright, lighting up the streets Under some childish wonder we created coloured rooms side by side: red and blue until the day it was no longer true I gift wrapped an airport for you, my darling, wrapped in the faintest idea of how I remembered the sky to be But when we untied the strings - golden dreams on morning wings it wasn't so blue after all.
dfc 12-5: trijan refrainchasing pavements from 'neath my feet for unimpeded earth; be it mud, dirt, or grass green-sweet its touch signals rebirth. i can't abide its absence long, to do so makes my head all wrong; i can't abide... i can't abide... being apart from Mother's song. chasing pavements from 'neath my feet to trail my toes in wet; where the solid and liquid meet i feel contentment set. water's washing can cleanse the soul, percolate halves into a whole; water's washing... water's washing... exhibits how to fill my role. chasing pavements from 'neath my feet til i soar through the clouds; below restrictions are replete, above there are no crowds. blue, black or grey, the firmament offers dreams no impediment; blue, black or grey... blue, black or grey... endless the vistas it presents.
Emotional MindAh, yes, you've grown on me everything sings you are posed in every line like these. I am mad mad, much as one can be mad O please add up to something! I have in my head, composed a beautiful letter....damn you, for giving myself to you like this. Broken defenses too truly, no resentment. You, a fine art, prismatic butterfly slipped between my heart.
AubadeI am no goddess of articulation. I am abrupt syllables, Bezaleel staining dog-eared dictionaries-- a cinder from God's own panic attack. So when my shivers are redolent, seeped in Earl Grey and the sound of, her whispers against the underside of your wrist I can string together phonemes that ardent logophiles slaver over. This is me, understood-- not a poet, but an anxiety disorder left to pens and paper.
fumesthe talk of my heart unfurls, wisps of smoke
FrostI am devouring chaos, chasing it down with winter's chill. Spare me your fingerprints, summer's lovechild. Those knowing owl eyes have me second guessing the wild churning in my bones. You are the sleep that sweeps my eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams. When was it... that you plastered yourself to my ribcage?
GreenFor a moment there I had you Grasped within a scuffled palm Breathing gently beneath my tulip skirts Then the winds rose again And you left as quickly as you came: A rustle of foliage, dancing with a tumultuous gravity "Ill be back for you come spring."
Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose, a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities. Lovelily, I am potential waiting to be tapped into. I am a spectrum of light, serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake. I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding, fresh, goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath. I spread my spirit wide, outstretching my feather-tips &, supplicated by twizzles, I catch my ballerina's foot & fly. In these fleeting, finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance, a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds. With the key to perfection being repetition, I pray you watch me as I molt my flaws away under the wondrous, winter sun. I shall soar, from my axel I shall spiral sublimely on the outskirts of onlookers' smiles- as well as my own, & I shall skimpily, silkily, glide through the snowflake strata unto the star-studded shangri-la. I find my freedom in a winter only world. Let me lease into my
Flight of Fantasy reworked Once I dreamed I might pilot a spaceship. Help Dan Dare conquer the Treens Unseat the Mekon from his dinosaur steed And end his reptilian reign. I would howl at the moon with Akela After drawing the teeth of Shere-Khan. I'd peer down Zam-zammah's muzzle Then slide down the barrel all day. I would swing through trees with anthropoid apes, Do battle with blue men on Mars. I'd smash the machines of the morlocks Give the Eloi sunshine and ease. But I ate of the tree of knowledge, Perhaps shades of the workhouse closed in, So I know it would take billions of dollars To fulfil my Venusian dreams. Rice Boroughs' apes are endangered Shere- Khan's on a penthouse floor, Mowgli's no more than a cartoon film And the Bandar- Log do as they please. The Nautilus now lies rusting Forty fathoms below the swell With Nemo in Davy Jones' locker Entombed with
an almost epilogueSought out from the ice and snow, where 'twas tossed a summer or so ago, It's mine. It's in my hands so much it sits in the palms and presses through, against my fingernails. I choose to be enough.
Santa Fe de BogotaSimón Bolívar found you como una Flor de Mayo. I know that in your swelling city heart you long por el mar, por la sal del mar, but instead you straddle the roads, hunker down over your landscape and breathe your car fumes, inspiras las fumas como sombras, espiras tranquilidad inquieta. Colombia, madre, you have become bloated in your old age, have grown your ankles, pálidos e inflamados; you should have been a sea lion, morena y rapida y a la cresta como la espuma. Mi alma, I will bring you the sea salt to run through your hair, diamonds with which to crown your mane.
PrincessShe complains of never enough-- old debts coalesce like black oil floating on otherwise unperturbed waters. She sometimes trips over high-heeled shoes that the dog has pulled from their box and left pock-marked and smelly in the corner. She is meticulous about her ever-widening ass and measures it daily in end-to-end plastic-coated capsules filled with empty promises. But she swings it like a queen as she hisses "Get a job!" and clutches her purse in French-manicured nails out of fear.
EmbossmentWe lay among our words, sprouting up from chipped tiles, the smell of airplanes and sleeplessness, enveloping. Here, you began deciphering, trying to put my murmurs on your lips and make sense of the way my hands found yours, a desperate notion. This was where breathing became dependent on you, where speaking was insufficient, and the comprehension of how useless words can be painfully set in. Counting each bipolar star, I let my skin become saturated with the erratic expulsions of your promises. Black satin skies convulsed above us and I felt the way your bones shifted to fit mine. We scarred each other with nails and teeth, magnifying the well developed faults. And when dawn began blotching the reverie, we awoke half ourselves, half the other.
LoveOh, love I know not how The Heaven's above Breathe that vow In which all life, Sings without care Sweetness in the Palpitating air When shall it rain Down from the skies To relieve the yearning Of my deepest cries?
rising from the riverit's one of the drowned days; those that drag like hooks through a river, turning dead things belly-up on your shores. listen. i am listening. to name it lover, this ripening ache stretched between us; to know what it is you carry. you are a deep silence gardened by ghosts; hanging from the hinges of a sprawled elsewhere. (they are here still, pacing the long brim of your memory around to the long brim of mine.) i too have been drowning. if not by one stone, then another. the autumn quiet of the body in bed. this language named skin, underwater, beast, temple, home. you open your mouth; amniotic void of unspeaking, horizontal trespass from dark to dark. lover, i would kiss your ghosts. the spinning prayer of my mouth taking their poison into mine. secrets blooming there, blooming dark like strangers. we sleep now. dream ourselves against them, dancing. promise the space of your breath worth more than its abandoning, the static stain that crawls you out to sea. low, circl
Steady She Goes11.27.12 I was your steady but I was not your miracle, and in the end you wanted me about as much as you wanted coffee grounds beneath your tongue. I will not apologize for this. You believe in a love that does not want, need, or desire, which is no love at all. I believe in a love that speaks. I am all roses and poetry and one day I will love a man who loves the freckle on my ear and can recite my favorite poem. He will stare down my demons and accept the chance of dark winters and he will love me. He will love me like a treasure to hold. I have faced greater messes than the one you left behind, and I will never apologize for finding a greater love than you know how to give.
learning to breathe anewtake me further from these shores from the things I know as the ripples start to form before the cascading water comes crashing down you pull me into this tidal wave turning me inside out twisting me upside down my chest is crushed and quickly emptied I draw you into my hollow lungs as you invade me warmth spreads across my breast I'm surrounded I'm cocooned in your neverending depths and you complete me
no earthly gooddullish drudgery insides all ug-l-y spilling out split seams pitch black and bubbling sick carcass covering brick-heart (beat) mumbling mostly in sane inane ornate mutterings pitted & precious half-blessed & breathless have-not half-knotted up nodding off lest this daydream of days seen seems less dream than real scenes the rou- tine of self checklist heart screams head senseless
NeedI need a ticket to Wrigley Field, I need a better deal I need a bus pass or insurance on my automobile I need concrete to fill the hole in my heart, and to stuff into my head instead of brains, I need a train I need to get somewhere fast, maybe I need a plane I need more daylight and less twilight I need a stranger in the night to make things right I need something new, shiny and bright, I need a new dream I need some ice cream, I need to get to Wrigley before I scream I need you more than flowers in this hospital room, I need Devo on the stereo I need to go go go I need new sheets I need a healing hand I need your kiss on my little feats I need too much I can never have I need a gun to have some fun I need to run I need a boat I need to sail I need to punch a whale I need something like fun but not too much I need to get some sun, I need to leave this room, I need to be groomed I need to stop now soon before I rhyme moon and June I need to stop. Now.
look, little catsteps silently on fences black and white- just like my soul, it dances chases gutter rats in dark alleys or its own tail, while yellow eyes glow not for me, they know I'm only worth light glances
Listening to: Road to Hell, Chris Rea