the daughter universeLonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little housesthe daughter universe by spoems
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion graves
will wash up on your thighs and the moon searches the dark pitch
of water like a frantic mother. Pick any wave and follow it fondly
until you forget of me,
AlchemyInside these walls, I wait past dark.Alchemy by spoems
The shadows steep and over-brew
long before I move a bone;
I’ll never return to mother’s moon.
Star and night, my bench flakes off
cicada shells and sunflower wilt.
By Venus light, it’s a driftwood throne,
an old carob bullet firing straight for the sun.
The air like ink collects and cools:
it is the black throat where braying forms,
and where shady gardens melt and pool;
absorbing the ghosts of cigarette-waft.
These onyx planets swell and bloom,
and metabolise like sheer witchspells -
I turn these crystals to my core
And try unlearn this spiderweb gloom.
Former days contort through tremulous fisheyes
relapse at the bottom of two emptied mugs.
My disfigured mass quakes in its past,
crumples like a demon husk, roadkilled in a dream.
How many molts with their veiny dead hues
do souls need traverse, an urbanex sulking
through concrete petals, ’till our sin
becomes sarcoline, an imperceptible solute?
Electromagnetic eyes to lick
workshopThe hearth in your denim pocket,workshop by spoems
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
workingI wakeworking by spoems
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
from their sleep
with a cruel child’s
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
in the early grave
I took offMy day off.I took off by spoems
I stand in sunlight
I can watch it being day.
The mud is soft and cool at home.
I'd bury well without a casket,
I’ll be a naked pill for earth.
I build a garden box from wood,
smash my thumb.
too late for lettuce.
I had a premonition
I would live like this.
No one will remember me.
I’ll forget by Tuesday.
i ami am the freckled child of truthi am by leigh-kath
all red and glorious inside
and all at once consumed by
the tips of fingers on hems of dresses
betraying girls' blushing knees/blushing
brides buying into wrinkled vows
and looking for the crush of
and i will watch you
break her until she is raw,
august sun rising and you
slip under the clouds like
the edges of neat napkins, crisp formalities
and you are nothing but the final frame of credits of some
(you are the) life of birds,
Suffer1Suffer by AlecBell
You suffer now, the blow is fresh.
You are suddenly adrift on a
wild sea of uncertainties. The flesh
that clothes you seems to be
familiar, but now it is dumb, Your
heart is probably still beating, yet
it's become insignificant.
a neglected metronome.
It seems you have been sentenced
to an impoverished life. Aground
on an unfamiliar shore, you have
nothing to anticipate but empty
mendicant days until that metronomic
clack is finally stilled.
for jason.i think of your eyes in moving bussesfor jason. by when-it-rains
how they must be gawking at the landscape like
i think of foreigners and your shoulderblades
the salt of your sweat and fingertips
i think of sepia and steeped in tea
there's something brewing in the belly of you
deep and tiresome and gravid
in a dream that may or may not have a depth or
. . . your forehead is what i remember most
its starkness and whiteness and plunging
through the darkness after the city and the lights
fall away at the same time
and it's in your apartment
lamp-lit and draft-littered
that i imagine us best spread out like terrain
yawning or shuddering and moving like waves
there's a heaviness in my veins
and it's all syrup and silverware when
there's another small part of me that
aches with your shape
a kind of falling that's realer than any other
like raindrops or
drawing of drapes or
turning down sheets
like chlorine or
the deep end of both our insides and
there isn't anything left to drown in.
Eldritch FlameEldritch Flame by Zarathustras-Crown
The topography of your
grimace sends me scurrying to
There's a hidden cadence I'd offered,
Dionysian humming I'd begged and bribed
to bring me home.
There was eldritch flame here once,
vacuum and color, wanton creed
of filling and Godhood.
Where now lie Elysian fields
of cauterized space
and enigmatic weeping.
can I not even sleep here?
JuvenileWhen I finger paint, I use my entire hand,Juvenile by LadyCrimson
dipped deep before in oils.
No one ever tried to teach me or explain
the moves, the patterns, the colours' dreams
before they meet their canvas.
I had to find out on my own that certain
shades would never get along and that some textures
refused to fuse and claim their own.
The reds would bleed,
the yellows roared
like lions sinking teeth and claws in flesh.
The greens would blend with blues
eliminating all horizons in my landscapes.
The violets then would melt like improvised dawns
While my beautiful orange dusks would dry to my despair.
Perhaps I wasn't meant to be a painter;
I haven't the will to lend my ears to textures like one Van Gogh,
I would've listened though - if I knew how.
But I was dedicated. No, not ruthlessly - that would have bred insanity...
Perhaps I should have stuck to monochromes.
Blacks and whites I understand, though greys might still elude me.
However, my work is done, my painting painted,
and much to my surpris
tropical rengatropical renga by almcdermid
beyond the horizon
the snap of sail
a boat challenges the wind
lights and land
will drop away
aquamarine, a faded ribbon
painful memories ebb with time
the wind drops
-I drift along
in a sea of stars
brine-licked and balmy,
coffee had in sips
the scent of a new day
a boat's long shadow
enters the harbor
sunset blooms then fades
I weigh anchor
a lone gull welcomes me
out into the night
and the stars
seduced by dancing waves
my hand on Fortune's wheel
my destiny guided by Orion's dog*
a flash of fin
flirts with flight
other, closer cousins
ride the bow wake
my Sunday vestment
has been snatched
by a breeze
won't be needing it
as I turn to catch the wind
a secret lost in whale song
a secret lost in dreams
But Maybe, I Wanted to FallI miss theBut Maybe, I Wanted to Fall by schriftsteller
Of your verbs
In my ear
As we spied on
Of your lap
That enclosed a gulf
I could swim
For hours in
Inside your eyes-
Inside your mind.
I ran through
You were the Minotaur,
But who was
EntropyHigh ceilings, cornices moulded in the complexEntropy by AlecBell
forms of imagined vegetation. Once the stained
boarding of the floors would have been polished
to a mirror sheen, the windows, standing tall,
hung with a heavy wealth of curtain.
Not any more.
The threadbare carpet on the floor confronts
the small electric fire in the grate. There was
elegance and glamour here, but you have left
your visit far too late. Don't try the lever for
the servants' bell!
No bells have jangled
here since the war before the war, that
most of us have forgotten. The heir
and both his brothers were among the hordes
who found their rest in unmarked graves.
A New Dawn, for AmandaA New DawnA New Dawn, for Amanda by AlecBell
The child, subdued
on this holiday morning,
alone, as the morning sunshine
suffuses threadbare curtains,
to dissipate the gloom of
the defeated winter night.
Open your eyes, my sweet,
allow those monstrous forms,
invaders of your sleep, to fade.
They will eventually drown
in the oceans of your forgetfulness.
Watch them as they sink,
these lifeless hulks of fears
that you have transcended.
They try to haunt you still, propelled
by the anguish that brewed them.
You were innocent then,
they can't paint you guilty now.
The passage of each night
is brief, all those demons who
connive to thieve such peace as
you have gained, lie there
in ambush, believing that you
need the day to resist them.
You haven't told them yet
that I've supplied you with love
enough to sweep them all away.
|my favorite dA poetry|
Little GirlLittle girl,
You've been hurt.
Betrayed by those who should have been the most loyal,
hurt by those who should have loved you,
scarred by most everyone
you ever met.
I know the shadows in your heart,
how they obfuscate every minute
of your life.
Nightmare paths in forests of wakefulness.
Deep in the woods.
One day, you will learn to walk.
One day, you will learn to run.
You will be unable to move,
You're eyes flitting frenetically,
in the headlights of your sudden life.
It will be OK.
Take that step off of that ledge that seems so terribly,
Do the unthinkable,
Take his hands,
I know where you fall,
in the end,
when you resist.
Half your years gone.
Half of your life in Your Hell,
bringing him with you,
pulling on his hand,
nails so deep they draw blood and scar.
You know you don't scar the ones who matter most.
they don't matter any more.
RivalryHello there sir! If I could just show you here,
a painting by none other than myself – glorious!
I have painted for many a rich man like yourself.
Take in my colours, the way the light soars on down
and perfectly lights my subjects face – superb!
I am a perfect candidate for your choosing right here!
Hello good sir, I am but mediocre in this craft
I have little knowledge of drawing the hills, however,
my skills in anatomy and hands are showing through.
Please pick my work, I only strive to improve.
What nonsense this boy speaks! His art is worth nothing.
Compare his forehead to mine, what do you see?
I have lines which show my effort and wisdom, him?
As blank as his mind - you need a real artist
who's art you can hang proudly and not be disgraced!
Look at the canvases alongside and see who is the best!
Excuse me sir, you're not being fair! For you were me once.
My spirit would be lifted, I assure you I am worth-
Come here my good sir, leave this fraud behind.
Name That BabyI'm gonna lay it on the table
Do the tell
Get the spelling right
Got called "depressed"
Took it up to "manic"
Bipolar in the head
And they said --
"Make it longer,
On taking pills,
To flatten my hills
Knock out the frills,
I got double-damned.
'Cause a this shit --
Father dies in a pool
Mother dies too,
In love with a fool
Mother let days pass,
No food or water
How did she last?
I closed her eyes,
They felt alive,
Like little butterflies.
Hector also dies,
Left alone by
The very unwise,
Young white cats
Die like that.
Spat out with
All the cancer-dead
She too went back.
And nothing stopped.
I saw them all
Saw them all day,
Blood and flood
Not from me
Not my feed
Just these -- "things."
Small cold voices
In my ear
None could hear.
Little people sat
And they stood
And they spun,
In colorful fun
They had their run,