Danielle C  

NJ    1993 -   
I'm a writer and that's all I know.

Poems

May 5

outside the ocean waves roared, and Jeanette heard their melody from her bedside.
the clock ticked a quarter to seven, but she’s was already late for work. water dripped off of Richard’s dresser. the bouquet of crimson roses fell over, but the vase wasn’t broken. “I’m leaving you,” was all he said as he packed his final bag.

the roar wasn’t the door slam, but the shatter of the glass frame on the nightstand. it  
was a photograph taken the first time she laid eyes on the horizon of the kite  beach. it wasn’t long after she remembered saying, “let’s just not go back,” a line she’d recite at her wedding reception.

she thought her dream of living in Cabarete with the love of her life left with the roar
of his plane. that was about sixteen years ago, but she’s still in love. her love was not the one she traveled to paradise with, but paradise itself.

Oct 16, 2012

You can only see the mountains,
from the fifth floor.
The post says, "no swimming,"
but the kids do it anyway.

He said she left a love at home,
"but I'll be back by the weekend."
We're all stuck years behind us,
and that seems to be the norm.

Snuggled close to the border,
but still in the home-state;
where the city is south of us,
so we go down, we go down.

Oct 16, 2012

"Hand over the glass,"
I wish someone said.
Weak stomach, broken heart,
sick for days alone.
If these nights are spent living,
I'd rather not live at all.

When the storm settles,
it's just the eye of the hurricane.

When you can't find happiness,
everyone else does.

Sep 22, 2012

solo piano and contemplation
songs in D minor to distract desolation
and turn it into poetry
bittersweet, solemn, raw emotion
encapsulated through rhetoric
into the sound waves, into the billows
a letter read aloud, a message in a bottle

with melancholy rigor,
and the finest of pledges to sentiment,
a vow to exhibition and art,
and commitment to fighting trespassers

but please, dear, don’t escape,
the woods of stability is for the wild
and those who are lifetime trained
so toast to passion, stay for the verse
delay the sojourn for the song and show
often rest is the answer to unsettling dreams

sip the grape vine, if you please,
but not forget the pen and paper by your bedside,
never neglect the manuscript,
not ever cease the creation

write away the man that left you,
destroy the character in your prose,
demolish the utopia he once yearned,
a poet’s fists are stronger than the fighter’s
for the writer’s battle continues beyond the ring

step out of the sorrow,
relay the violin’s lingering echo,
and one day the call outside will pause
for a tranquil summer day when you are not alone

Jul 28, 2012

the clock strikes 8:17
"the first book of the Old Testament?"
asks the professor

a temporary silence
until ten faint voices call out, "Genesis"
all off-beat in tempo

the professor scribbles on the board
as thunder roars from outside
"how fitting," he says

Jul 15, 2012

and if only everyone could understand
when I don't want to see the world
or the sunshine beating down on the floor

and if only everyone could feel
one another's pain, one another's gain
if we didn't see the heart transparently

I guess that wouldn't work
there's a reason for the things we are

thunder roaring in the sky,
what makes the gray clouds cry?
I think it's something in the air
but to be fair, I wouldn't dare
to blame it all on greed
as if every rose is a weed

Jun 17, 2012

The spring’s efflorescence,
the sunshine halcyon,
the withering rose fetching,
the ripple in the lake a talisman,
and the birdsong mellifluous,
is ephemeral,
yet quintessential.

Through wherewithal of it all,
we find ourselves pyrrhic,
because it passes like a scintilla,
but in our hearts, it’s eternal.

Jun 16, 2012

the pages are the frames
the words are the artwork
the publisher is the curator
the writer is the artist
the binding is the museum
the literature is the art

Jun 3, 2012

Who knew someone so strong,
could feel so weak?
How her thoughts scream so loud,
yet words soft when she speakers?

She’d only want the best,
she settles for much less.
What’s she to do when they’re all gone,
when there’s no one left to impress?

When her eyes water with tears,
she climbs under another girl’s arm.
Though she might hide from the world,
a penny’s fine as her lucky charm.

Apr 29, 2012

growing waves
from a glowing contraption

inhale the fruit
exhale the rings of desire

flow into me

Apr 29, 2012

from the fold
into the air

a cloud

the warmth of the innocent
a freeze of the sinner

a star

reach higher
let it pass

we are majestic
we are young
in a dimly lit hell

the sun is out
but it will set
to bring in the shadows
and the chaos that follows

Apr 22, 2012

Time is not a picture,
in the century of hell.

Can’t you write the fate,
if you know the crown?
Can’t you draw the kingdom,
if you know the son?

“Words, words, words,”
your face is melting.

Mar 9, 2012

He said write anything and everything
He said sing something new and something old
And he said go anywhere and everywhere,
any day and everyday

Because you're young
and free to live

There's something wrong
There's nothing right
I'm here to live
I'm here to fight
I'm here to love
I'm here to write

Mar 9, 2012

go to school
work hard
get a part-time job

graduate
get a better job
get a promotion

start a family
lose your job
loose benefits
starve
die

Mar 9, 2012

semantics
communication
of a playwright
of a speechwriter
of a poet
of a freelancer
of an author
of a journalist

to express
and to love

Jan 28, 2012

across the continent
just my disposable Kodak
and what's on my back

Jan 15, 2012

a bittersweet call
of Pomp and Circumstance
that echoes in the wind,
like a memory from a photograph.

soon the school band
will chant a Recessional song,
the brass ensemble roars
like an inspiring church choir.

today's hymn will become
tomorrow's nostalgia.
the teenage years filled with misery,
we will forget, in years.

but we'll remember the times
as if they were golden.

Jan 15, 2012

the stimulus inside
from the marvels around
filled with wanderlust
captured with my camera.

write, paint, sing
or play the violin
to create new lyrics
and a new melody.

the aerial inspiration
is everything I need.
others need a someone,
but I am my own muse.

Jan 15, 2012

whiskey breath,
cigar smoke.

thick rimmed glasses
over those green eyes.

Jan 15, 2012

an unlucky day
for a lucky fellow

Friday the 13th
was the date
my dad got struck by lighting

and lived.

 
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