you are my seasons.
your eyes
remind me
of summer:
green grass;
green tree;
green eyes.
your skin
reminds me
of snow:
like winter;
snow flakes;
pale skin.
your lips
remind me
of spring:
pink tulips;
kiss me;
tender lips.
your voice
reminds me
of autumn:
dying trees;
falling leaves;
falling harder.
(qtsp)
My grandfather would describe the weather today as the kind of weather brought on by the devil beating his wife.
I am not sure I can agree, because I'm not quite sure yet if I want to personify the devil, and what good is it for the devil to have a wife?
Anyway: The sun is shining bright light.
Not the kind of "yellow" light that makes me think of hot summer days, but the kind of clear blue-early morning light.
Rain drops gracefully trickle down the tree outside my window.
I like to paint this picture in my head, like it was something magical.
But it really wasn't.
But I am not sure if I would use the adjective "magical" either...
I'm not quite sure I believe in magic yet.
But anyway: It was not really that beautiful.
My window needed washing and the tree needed trimming and the bright light kinda made my eyes water.
I almost felt like crying.
I haven't cried in days.
It wasn't that I wasn't sad, the tear just wouldn't come.
It was almost like I had no feeling for if only a few minutes.
But I am not sure if I would say "feelings" because I think I lost those a long time ago.
You know how Peter Pan was always losing his shadow?
My feelings are kind of like that...
Everybody has got a shadow (and feelings)
But for some odd reason (like Peter Pan keeps losing his shadow) I keep losing my feelings!!
Peter Pan has his shadow sewn to his feet, but I think that it would hurt too much to stitch down my feelings...
And I think this poem has gotten too long.
But I shouldn't say that, because I don't think a poem can get too long.
I guess I have decided that I haven't decided a thing.
An orange glow and bright red teeth,
Oh, darling, won’t you sing me to sleep?
She drank her morning breakfast, Percocet and tea.
She played piano with bitten fingers, feet shaking underneath.
Her daddy taught her years ago, his bitten fingers touched those keys.
I should have beat him at his game, should’ve made them know this name.
She twinkled like a little star, lonely diamond in the sky,
Beautiful and woozy, not perfect like that Lucy.
She’s nothing special, damn sure not pure,
Thought she’d finally found her cure.
She wears those star-shaped sunglasses, knows she’s nothing good,
Smokes cigarettes and Mary-Jane, what are your demons, baby?
I’ll be your demon, baby.
Roof over her head is burning, eyes inside are ice,
She’s glacial and she’s tree bark, she’s a set of loaded dice.
I’ll finally beat him at his game; make that fucker know my name.
He’s gambling with danger, daddy dearest why’d you go?
Hung flowers across her bedroom walls, wilting brown and old.
She likes the smell of rotting, the sly slickness of mold.
Before she was glowing amber, now she’s those fading flowers.
Her lips are blue like the empty bottle on the table.
The TV’s on but only for static, she doesn’t believe in cable.
She didn’t believe in cable.
Just play the piano and please don’t call my mother,
The only friend I ever had besides you was my brother.
He ended up in prison, Father left years ago.
I should have beat him years go.
I should have done this years ago.
I loved you.
We used to intertwine like vines growing up a tree
Now the only thing that intertwines is this dark and me.
You’re tequila for my bones and braids, the starlet in my smoke,
This trick has got its grip on me; my song’s become a choke.
True love never fails and that’s my failure in the night
Marijuana medicine taken ‘fore twilight
Thoughts resurrect like zombies, grow between my veins,
Even when you’re absent you still keep me insane
Poetic, pathetic, diuretic, drain me of my blood
Mixing spit and hate and love until it becomes mud
Sheets of shame and guilt’s to blame for my empty heart
Foreclosed, alone, this isn’t poetry, this isn’t art
Eighteen and way too broken to be reckless and to care
Pull the trigger, shatter me, pull on my long dead hair
Scar-less little dream-catcher holding onto golden wings
Baby girl with bad dreams drinking up careless flings
I’m an alien with history just looking to get high
I prefer my world fucked-up, on the rocks and extra dry.
I was buried ten thousand leagues under your sea,
Hide tide and low tide eroded me away.
From a great big rock to a land of sand,
I couldn’t get a grip without your hand.
But it’s been nearly a year; I’m growing like a tree.
After long surfing your wavelength, I am finally free.
Do old trees cry
when widowed wives
finally leave?
Do they shiver
in their trunks and quake
in their leaves?
Do old trees cry
when old lovers
touch lips?
Do tears of sticky sap
roll down their bark
from their tips?
I swear I’ve seen an old tree
smile in the sun
and under the moonlight, sing.
Cracked in the middle, down the bark,
Broken-hearted, I swear I’ve seen
a tree dancing in the rolling wind.
I’m a weeping willow,
Rooted in my tears,
Watching life go by.
I would kill for wings,
but I wouldn’t have the courage,
to actually fly.
Your heavenly drums are pounding hard upon the rim of everlasting blue,
scraping your way through the surface until you
cloak the sky with a brilliant shade of grey.
Your rumbling roars are rolling faster now and
the groggy animals are suddenly alert,
fearfully fleeing the dampened forest,
anticipating your storm.
Within moments
the air becomes vigorous, wrenching the roots and climbing its way up the
tusk of a tree, strangling the branches until they snap off and come crackling down.
The painted world is sucked in entirely through your simple breath and
we stand, dumfounded, probing our eyes into your darkness while
searching for an explanation to why your tears are thrashing hard onto our skin.
However, while we look up, the answer remains directly in front of us
as the grace of your rain
drowns us.
You extend your brawny arms and electrify the world in hopes of revival.
In those brief seconds, the earth illuminates as the overpowering radiance captivates our vision.
Your authority compels us to listen, for once,
to your grumbling roars encroaching the earth
filling our ears with pleas and knowledge
and now
we can finally see the damage.
we can finally see the cruelty we inflict on each other
and how our judgements dictate everything we see.
Your thunderclaps chill our blood
and the world continues to shake.
Through your destruction you hypnotize us
and show us how we destruct each other.
but you don’t mean harm,
you grant us hope
as every breathtaking thunderstorm
ends with a luminescent sun.
by Jonathan D Maraccini
They say
Dreams are not real in the world we live in
They say
Angels are fiction outside of religion
They say
A sinner is condemned unless forgiven
I say
Dream of angels who forgive our sins
When I was young I had a dream
It was the day I turned 14
I was a king who married a queen underneath a beautiful cedar tree
In this dream we had a beautiful baby then we lived happily ever after
What a perfect ending, everything was perfect it seemed
Then tragedy struck without warning
In this dream
I lost my home, my wife, my child
In this dream
I lost my wonderful family
With tears of sorrow underneath the cedar tree I screamed
Then I fell to the ground and said some horrible things in the darkness
But it was all just a dream I remind you
At least that is what I was told that night
The day I turned 14
I am not a little boy any longer
I grew up and became a man
Then I met a beautiful women
How she made me happy then
So we married and had a daughter
The happiest day of my life
Was the day I became a father
A bond had formed as I watched her eyes
I held her close to keep her warm
I knew I would never leave her
Life was a perfect delight
Or so I thought, or so I thought
In the end
We leave our mark
In the end someones the victim
A fool from the very start
Like lambs for the slaughter
As the truth is hidden
Sitting on a bench in a redwood forest
I heard a bird sing a glorious song
This was not my imagination
So I began to sing along
Next to me a girl with black hair
We laughed together
We walked together
Love of the forest we both shared
Her eyes were black, her hair was long
Such a spectacle
Nothing on earth could ever go wrong
Or so I hoped, or so I hoped
Knock on wood
For I was blind
Evil was there the entire time
Sitting underneath a cedar tree
Whistling a haunting song
They say
Dreams are not real in the world we live in
They say
Angels are fiction outside of religion
They say
A sinner is condemned unless forgiven
I say
Dream of angels who forgive our sins
Eventually she left me
It was Christmas Eve
She took my daughter
She took the angel from me
She ran away
She spread her wings of deceit
She lied to everybody
But first she lied to me
Maybe she was the one whistling
Underneath the cedar tree
Underneath the cedar tree
Where evil withered the leaves
So now I hate her
The destroyer of beautiful dreams
The filthy liar
The wrecker of families
As I wither away behind her
I’m left with only my words
With the cedar tree on fire
I quench my angry thirst
And my pain becomes a curse
I do not care who see's these words
My anger festers for all
Two faced liars in a family herd
So stand in line as I fall
It is what it is
When it is understood
It is all it has been
For the bad and the good
As I hang on this cross
As I hang underneath the cedar tree
Crucified to this wood
© JDMaraccini
VAPORSiX CREATiONS
^
You
Were the
Lightening
And I was the
Tree, and your words
Were the fire that burned
The best parts of
Me.
Beyond the ridge of my window sill
stands a young lemon tree, still
unbroken by the wind. Above fly
sparrows, gophers run below. By
the tree's trunk are ripe, fallen fruit.
The wind slows down; all is mute.
The more I study the sunflower,
or the lilly, or the rose,
the more fully I see their station:
subtle expressions of nature's power,
of the unending repose
opposing human consternation.
