Two nights ago.
Instead of class, the last
before they went down
or up the M1,
a note from you.
I could tell it was you,
dotting your 'i's'
with blue hollow pebbles.
How clever I thought.
How unrealistic I thought.
But I went beaming,
soaking in joy to find you.
'Don't fall over now!'
'Don't bruise your shins!'
And there you were outside,
scarf and gloves
and breath in the air
like pockets of fog.
My voice went wheezy,
why? I'm not sure.
We w a l k e d ,
saying things no-one else knew
or so we thought.
I missed class for this.
All I could think
was the way
you dotted those letters.
I missed class for this.
Then the scene broke,
of course, it crumbled
as thinly-cut bread.
I don't know what came next,
e c e n e t l c
s r e w n b a k
b b b b
l l l
Explanation: A poem written in my own time about a dream I had. The first rough draft was written in a university class.
Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,
What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver
In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation
And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.
every achy bone inside me a relic
of the former self still inhabiting this shell.
exquisite fossils of the life once lived
my silhouette, housed in rock,
yet the softest part of me rotted out.
the vacancy in my expression
mirrors the hollowed out spaces
between each rib and every "what if"
my lungs carry haunted cries
apparitions you forged in my memory
phantom fingers singed the word
“remember” into my paper skin.
i am still smoldering.
chambers of my heart filled with cobwebs;
every strand of silk an unfulfilled wish.
we are still tangled up.
the spiders have crawled from our throats
but the dust is settling.
your fingers have intertwined
with the segments of my spine,
fists taking root in my chest, cradling a stone heart.
knuckles bent comfortably around each vertebrae,
your hands are cold.
the weight of all my sins is crushing me,
i suppose i should have noticed
when you read the lines in my palm like an obituary.
- m.f. & j.a
Watching the sun rise,
I am looking for you
In the Land of Nowhere
where the water
is so blue
the lavender so fragrant
I can almost remember happiness.
I taste it in my tears
see it in my past
but the days keep pulling me
and my heart I can’t find.
Where are you?
but the wind just pushes the long grass
makes my knees cold
makes me listen for foreign whispers.
When I wake,
it is alone,
and my heart used to cry each time
but it is silent in my ears now
afraid of waking
the screaming child in the next room.|
To the Land of Nowhere,
I faithfully keep returning
but in my quest of failing to find you,
I will find beauty in the world again.
After a night of new faces, warm hands and, countless mason jars over flowing with cheap wine; they settled down as soon as standing up became too difficult. His words went away with the smoke from the fire, the stars fell to their feet that night and, arms embraced the body of a lost soul. Adolescence and state boarders piled inside the dorm room along with, spoon fed youth. Friday night turned into saturday morning a new day under the same sky. Hollow hands come with a hollow heart. Shaky words and unwilling eyes, yet yearning to be wanted the way he once wanted her, when the snow flakes fell out of place on the noses of unprepared lovers. But winter shed its layers and new years bring new seasons and, new reasons not to love them. And new ages never bring guaranteed maturity; but time will let you know that not all hands aren't meant for holding. But she still hasn't learned that loose lovers don't make up for half written papers and, bright blue veins begging the body of rest. She keeps telling herself that happiness is a key that everyone is continuously hiding from her. She hasn't told a soul the full extent of what she's actually seen, or how her skin has been ripped open time and time again; and they refuse to be her friends. And if you ever play a game of connect the dots it always lead back to him. Isolation is just another excuse for an unknown absence she cannot control. She watches candle lit lovers kiss in the moonlight. Her shadow always reminds her how ordinary she is; but started putting her thoughts into containers and puts lids on lessons that mean the most. Like how she knows that kisses are not apologies and, even if he is still present she knows she no longer swims around inside his head anymore, simply because he is lost inside of it and, that's okay. And if words are the only thing that currently keep her company, its much better than the false hope she used to patch up her jacket with. Because those patches will tear again anyhow. And as lost she may be, she still finds herself envying the solitude that sits above the mountain tops, she cannot reach.
A dark dark blue overcomes gazing sight,
As a blue, tinge of black, blanket covering you,
Concealing all that's real, and it defeats all light,
To fend the soap of your skin,
And to blight the harmless lively solar sight.
It comes softly, the night,
A bitter cold to make things sweet,
The blue muddies deeper and deeper black,
It is overtaken by shade,
And makes all things dim in midnight gloom.
The fade comforts you though,
Relieving senses, melting worries, soothing temper,
And challenging thoughts edged in
A deep and mournful life:
A heretic, monster, evil to the world.
But lives, as yours, were
Just dirty grains of sand changed to glass
Neglected, and gone to last.
You'll never know the dark
As it has when it made you then: happy.
So please, take a step,
Make a move and love the darker hue,
Relax as the dark does for you,
Worry for the worried, but not your own,
That is for me and the dark to do.
How does the competent optimist endure the positives opposite?
The prerogative to remain positive is the only option for an optimist.
Every day is a happy belated celebration of its creation.
Exposing pearly white incisors to express a bipolar condition.
A giant grin with lips spread open.
A face with a giggle in the face of sin to face demons.
The monster with in becomes, a polite bestial delight, a young baby boy eating joy, the excitement emitting the submission to a feeling of complete air under the soles of feet.
The feat of sky walking never lukewarm, a feeling newborn.
Yesterday was the best day ever you could have sworn.
However, today will be so much better the endeavor to find pleasure in everything and whatever.