On the lawn in the court,
on the bench by the bush,
pipes are singing cacophonic rhythms.
Breezes, on becoming aware of said tune,
gather to dance
and trade their burden treasures
Once wearied by translucent celebration,
the breezes turn home
carrying echoes of song and gifts.
The piper stifles his tune
and leaves the court,
which returns to equilibrium
I am always caught
on the ragged
edges of your breath. There are too many
words in the syncopation
of your sighs
and I never know
which ones you mean. I know
that I need them. A sequence
of notes is not always
a song, but I still listen
for a melody. And still, I expect
more than I find
in your slanted
glance. Your eyes are dissonance
trapped behind glass. Once, the secrets
hiding between your lashes
peeked out. Their echoes
are still tonguing the air.
Like a discordant chord striking the piano deaf,
Or a saxophone that lost its swanky sex appeal,
When you breathe down the neck of my violin,
The horsehair refuses to bow,
When you huff out your limitations into my harmonica,
You disrupt my harmony,
[But I refuse to be beaten].
the harmony of discordant tunes
closed to thought
strewn against wind
in the onslaught of scattered
attuned to this one alone
messages of self-loathing
that medication covers over
the bandage merely adequate
a stale, small blanket
so that this one
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012
Infinite and default.
a poets' boon.
is not our lot.
language and noise.
Wonderful, rapturous noise.
movement of earth,
Noises of lives,
big and small.
And we're getting closer,
filling infinity with our mounds
Meaningless and beautiful,
what's here and what's left,
resounding to the edge of reason,
Streets of this city are isolated
Whoever said cities do not sleep might
The morning touches the sky so gently
As a lover
Paints it so tenderly
Yet with passion of blinding love
Has people of most ardent eyes
Of most wonderous hearts.
I will be one of them sometime
That will be when I’m at my best.
I haven’t been
At my best yet.
I want to write until tears fall from my eyes
and my pen runs dry and I draw silent and still
I want to write you into words I can take with me
I want to capture your being and form on paper
I want to write to soothe the cacophony inside me
I want to pull it out of me, pull me out of myself
in ribbons and strands until I fill a room
I will look at all that was in me, tugging on strings
that have left me empty. I want there to be nothing left.
Hollow out my insides leaving me with nothing but air in my spaces,
leave me with air and pencil shavings
Put all that is me out on display
Maybe then I will find calm.
I want to write about you,
I want to write until I know and understand you so well I confuse you with myself.
I will write and use up all the words in this language,
then make up new ones to describe exactly how 2,630 miles feels like when it weighs inside a heart,
how it feels to smile back at a photograph,
how I recognize voices through doors and it turns out to be a stranger.
I want to write about things gentle and soothing,
things that can act like a surrounding embrace to a heavy heart. I want to comfort myself.
I want language to be like my imaginary friend I whisper to behind a child's hands.
I want to hurt and I want to need, I want to evoke and I want to express.
I want to strike a chord and resonate for ages, a reverberation to last a century beneath the earth.
I want to not make sense and be misunderstood.
I want to cry silently in my pillow,
filled with emotions so human and so real that I know I Am Alive.
I want to find new words for your eyes, your voice, the curve of your spine.
People talk about making homes out of hearts and ribcages,
maybe I can do that too, live inside the marrow of your bones.
I want to fall into your deepest corners and find You,
then I want to surround you with a tender warmth that will calm and douse you
and you will know that you are Loved,
I want you to know that I will take care of you.
There will never be another who will do just This for you.
Shadows dance in torment
Lured smiles led to drown
Laughter is beheaded
Beauty lays dead
The warbling calls
of the peace and the calm
seem pacified and subdued
far from the ears of man
The shattered cries
of the cacophony and the chaos
too loud and incessant
close to the thoughts of youth
With blood spilled,
splashed over years
of adversity and trial,
we stand tired and stained
waiting for everyone
To see the world through
a peaceful gaze
is to see the world in beauty
A beauty that is not often attained.