The noise beyond the roaring city bustle
Harsh blaring horns
Frogs croaking in a pond
The whippoorwill its sad call
Crickets talking in a secret rhythmic language
Bats fluttering eyes shining
Left to right
Snakes wiggle across cold ground
Wildcats scream calling
Into a eerie starlight sky
Silver speckled fish leap out of the water
For the winged bug in flight
Armadillos root for their food
Having sufficient but limited sight
The owl swoops into predatory dive
In its sharp claws his meal clutched tight
These are creatures of the darkness
The unique musical sounds of the night
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)( Tammy M Darby
everyday my eyes go fluttering,
here and there, everywhere,
every hour seems like a year,
waiting for a person in despair,
not a person I would love,
but someone I long to see,
every minute of the day,
I may sound confusing,
but pay attention,
'cause I do.
Attentively watch, await,long,
for that one envelope,
inside which would be a page,
a white but unblank paper,
with words and exclaimations
About your explainations,
and your whereabout,
as I wait for that person
To bring me a letter from my beloved,
my dear love, my craving,
my sole purpose of living,
I convince myself by saying,
the post man must be lost!
or perhaps just lazy and late,
for he never comes,
and makes me wait in vain,
Sometimes I loose hope,
the only thing I've got,
but recall your face,
and remake my mind,
saying, maybe times are rough,
reason why you can't write to me,
perhaps just the work
that keeps you busy all day,
but yes I do wish you could just take time out,
to write three words on a card,
i love you.
send it to me,end my vacant wait..
It's been five years now,
you never wrote or even called,
ah! yes I received a telegram today,
Right now I opened it,
and as I opened it,
tears kissed my cheeks,
of happines that you did care!
but soon my tears of joy
turned into blood sobs,
when I read in the letter that you were gone,
passed away five years ago,
while saving someone at war,
sorrow could not leave my side
knowing it was all I had,
and my heart wept,
my eyes went numb,
at the letters on that little note,
but at the end were the three words
I had longed to hear,rather see,
"he loved you."
Was all I could bear to see,
my brain stopped working,
my limbs went void,
now, I still don't know why,
I wait for you..
I'm old now you know?
I wish you could see me,
wrinkled and stupid,
for I still wait for that day,
when I would get to see you at last,
with a letter saying those three little words,
"come with me"
tonight and forever,
we would make up for lost time,
and spend once more our lives,
but for now my longing is still not over,
for I still wait for the postman,
behind my window,
and I need no doors or even locks,
as my gaze still remains fixed on my post box..
The raw sunlight pounding on my neck
Throbbing air, painfully cloudy
Wooden lips that rip my tongue
Hands that grain pieces of deception
Clattering roots, with pounding bones
Polluted words giving me blisters in my head
A blind stillness, captured me
Portions of creations, harboring hate
Callous and raw fists fluttering
Eyes trembling into my skull
With a sadness that I shall not have at all
In a shapeless silhouette that saunters
In hands full of prayers
Beautifully fluttering to speak
Paper thin promises on the horizon of reprieve
Through broken sunsets and flowing streams
Twines made of a language I can't speak
"You came," her voice floated in the white
"Of course I came," I knew she was behind me
But I couldn't turn, only feel her hair touching my back
"It's a good sign." Her voice was a million echoing silver bells
"I guess I've started to realize..."
Her fingertips brushed my palm, light as wind.
"I have realized that it wasn't my fault"
"I told you it was a good sign"
In the corner of my eye, I saw strands of her hair, fluttering
"I miss you." I wanted see her, see her smile, white teeth and dimple
"I miss you too," her silver bell voice rung out sadly
"I can never forgive myself," my voice shook, my eyes burned
"Don't say that, it's not true"
Flowers underneath us were red, yellow and sky blue
"I should have been there, I should have always been with you"
My every atom ached for her, to turn and see her
I could remember the smell of waking up beside her
Starting my day with a wonder by my side
"Forgive yourself please, for me"
A flower was slipped into my hand, it was yellow
I turned and I saw her, she wore the garb of an angel
She smiled before she disappeared
Leaving me crying in the red, yellow and sky blue.
the chill of a frosty kiss
the kiss of love given by the breeze
gliding as if alone on the rink
with only the sound of slicing ice underneath
I reminisce the highlights of the past
My little world built on a fantasy
As I, the queen for the moment
alone with my mind set free
only thinking of what is now
not caring about what could have been
because there a piece of my heart lies
on the ice
childhood, a piece of childhood coming back
not one to haunt
but one to bring a warmth in the midst of frost
that excitement and feeling like it was meant to be, all along
a place of belonging
now that I am older
I have not wholly let that world go
I remember and my heart flutters
love, comes back
and I only imagine
like a hopeless romantic
to find another fluttering heart on the ice
so we can flutter together
... g l i d e
I wonder what Heavens like
Is it white with fluttering doves and shiny golden gates that tower 7 feet above the clouds?
Or is it outside the atmosphere where a stars twinkle is so bright its blinding?
Are you suppose to walk up an ivory stairway or fly with your feathered white angel wings?
I see Heaven as a place you go when you are loved
A place where you don't have to be good to get in or bad to get kicked out
It's where your guardian angels gather and interact among the holy gods of Allah or Our Creater himself
Heaven is the clouds passing daintly and lazily by
Caught up in the leisure winds, grinding against the azure sky
Where the demons hide beneath the entry way, laying low
Wishing they were loved like the rest of the afterlife that lives in Heaven
I can see the future.
It's not a happy foresight.
I dream about it every night.
It's not a nice dream.
Massive constructions made of concrete and steel.
Grey giants moulding the cities.
No colour, only the cold colours of illuminated signs - eyestabbing sabers of light.
You can't see the naked soil, no plants, no sky.
People have no presence, wandering around spiritless -
Controlled by the artificial intellgence they once created,
People themselves are nothing but copies of their past,
Built-in in this huge system of nothing.
You know too much? You die.
The sky is always crying about the lost planet.
Tears in the form of raindrops fall on the city all the time.
Sometimes in my nightmares
a butterfly appears out of nowhere.
Just a small, white one.
A fragile piece of hope fluttering through the dark future.
He watches the school bus turn off and out of sight. He'd see Elaine get off at her stop with her sister and others. She didn't look up at him as the bus drew away. Preoccupied, deep thought, maybe. Some one had a called out, see you Frumpy. She didn't respond or didn’t hear. That Tidy kid, probably; mouth on him like a horse. John walks up the side of the road towards the cottage. he thinks of her, her slow walk along the aisle, looking away from him. Shy probably after that kiss on the sports field, lunch time. Or annoyed. He doubted, shy more like. He sighs. Cars whiz by. Too fast. He wonders what she made of the kiss. Lips to lips, touching just on. Brushing soft. Didn't want to press on her. Hand on her arm, gently, holding. His other hand; what had that been? Touched her back, felt bra strap, just there beneath fingers. He enters the front gate, closes carefully. Click of metal lock. The garden has been freshly dug. His father dug yesterday, carefully, back into it, machine like. I helped, not really my scene. Did my bit. He opens the back door and enters in. His mother is at the wood stove, cooking dinner, dark haired, blue of eyes, flush of skin, heat and rush. He says his greetings; she asks of his day at school; he smells the cooking, smiles, passes by, and up the stairs to his room. He closes the door. Peaceful. He goes to the window and peers down at the garden. Small orchard of apple trees to his left, hedges surrounding. He sits on his bed, looks around the room. Few books by the window, boyhood favourites; Roby Roy, Treasure Island. Ivanhoe, others. A sheet of paper with a list of birds seen recently. Some unticked, rare. He hadn't expected to kiss her. Wasn't planned. He was just going to talk and get to know her. Better, more. Instead he kissed her lips. Brushed softly with his. Skin on skin. Exchange of juices. He licks his lips. Wonder if part of her is here still? He licks again. Tongue over lips, bottom, top. He picks up the list of birds. Unticked are rare. Did she touch him with her hands as he had her? He can't recall. Too suddenly done, unplanned. He felt her bra strap. Fingered it, briefly. The whole afternoon spent on thinking of her and the kiss and her lips. He sensed, when he drew her near to him, her breasts, cushiony, soft. Unintended. Some birds were from foreign climes. Unticked, but not forgotten. The book of birds is by his bed, well read, thumbed bruised. Something stirred in him when he kissed. A buzz along the wire of his nerves. Buzz in his groin. He turns the page over, birds ticked, more common, some more so. Odd that male birds had the beauty, females dull as mud. What did she think after the kiss? He had to go off as the bell rang across the sports field, needed to see what happened to him, as he kissed and after. Down below, dampish, unusual. In the boys' bog, he noticed damp stickiness, odd, unknown. All through afternoon lessons his mind was on her. Couldn't close her out. Lips seemed numb. Licks them now. Tongue over top and lower. Frumpish they called her, others. The glasses did her no favours. Her dark hair untidy, her eyes large and watery. Her lips partly open, teeth, smallish, white. Ears hidden by her hair, but just visible. She smelt of countryside: apples, hay, horses. She was shy, blushed after the kiss. As he had crossed the field, after the kiss, towards the school, his legs seemed jellied, wobbly. Tomorrow he would see her again, then what? Even on the school bus home, he avoided looking over his seat, to where she sat with her sister. He was tempted. Have a quick look, gaze casually, but he hadn't. Regrets now, too late. Should have. Just one peep. Goldfinch chattered almost the
all way home, sitting next to him, showing him cards, talking of school. Teachers. That teacher you like, that one who said, you'll be a writer one day? Yes, he had said. Been dismissed. Took kids home with him, in his lunch time, did things, they say. Oh, he had said, hard to believe, but there you go. All sorts. He'd not gone. Boys or girls? He had asked. Boys mostly, Goldfinch had said. A new teacher now. He should have looked and seen her. Her sister was loud and sparkled. Not his type. Kissed and then what? He puts the sheet of paper back. He takes some small binoculars off the shelf, and peers through the window. Scans the sky. Some one downstairs puts on the radio. His sister, probably, twisting the knobs, getting a station, music on and off, loud, soft. Elaine's nails, bitten down, ink-stained fingers. They played together the fingers. Nerves, twisting over each other. He noticed. Saw them. He was about to say about a butterfly he'd seen, over by the science lab, fluttering by. Fragile wings. Thin, God made, wonder they fly. Kissed her. Lips on lips. His heart thumped hard as a drum in a brass band. A blue tit over by the hedge. Two of them. Goldfinch, the bird, not the boy, was one of his favourites. Bullfinch, that too. He sensed her tongue as he kissed, tip of, not the whole thing. Some big boy had told him and others, one lunch hour, in the playground, about a girl he'd had, up in the woods, off the playing field. None had seen. Good quick go, the big kid had said, like entering a bloody cave it was, warm and hollow. A sparrow on the fence, two three of them. They sit and flutter wings. The big kid hadn't said what was quick or like a cave. The girl was bit of a slapper, the big kid had said. He puts down the binoculars, kicks off his shoes, and lies down on his bed. Closes his eyes. Eyes shut. Sees her, lips pursed, eyes open, large eyes like brown stones, through glasses. His lips make a kissing sound. Pretends to kiss again. Keeps his lips there. Not pressing, just touching, soft silk soft, hardly brushing, dust off a moth's wing soft. His heart thumps, he can feel it with his fingers, pressing. He wonders, odd for him, what she looks like, undressing.
"With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;"
- Romeo in Romeo & Juliet, Act II Scene II
I remember fondly;
all the little things, the little details.
everything is like a photograph with a little note written beside it,
documenting the moment in its beauty, treasuring, savouring
what was seen, what was said, what was felt (fluttering inside)
it's never going to occur again.
In my photographic memory, it's all too familiar
the arc of your back
the glistening of your eyes
the way you stand and poise yourself,
ever in the stance I'd knew you be in
because I've observed you so many times before.
To speak in all honesty,
I was very shy.
Thoughts dashed about my mind like
people dressed in work clothes, rushing for the train;
embarrassed flights of thought that
like a bird, fluttering here and there,
not really staying at one place, and never seeming to leave.
What thoughts? oh of course,
Made up scenarios and talks that never happened, but I could envision
1) Your smile
2) The way your eyes would look into mine
3) The sound of your voice and
4) The satisfaction of finally having your attention
seeking only you, because that's what I truly want, you know. Nothing else matters if your presence wasn't here, and I'd still check from the corner of my eye.
Alas, when what anticipation has been held in me flushes out as
you appear before me,
I force away all those silly thoughts...
please, am I really in love with you?
I pretend again, that we're just good friends,
and to enjoy the moments (how little they may be) left with you.
so that when I get home, I'll be miserably happy
that the last time I saw the organic, solid, truthful, existence of you,
I had been happy.
(and no doubt, heartbroken.)