The-Night-Owl - Hello Poetry

But it's as if you’re ****** into the page on which you sit so precariously. You realize his eyes have become weird again, throbbing to the beat of your love. He looks away, leaning back on his hands, arms taught. And you sit as if alone, watching him tear a piece off your history and craft a paper airplane from your devotion, fingers gently folding and creasing, lovingly shaping, his head turning, focusing, admiring. And when he is satisfied, he throws it with a flick of his pale wrist. It sails beautifully through the air, buoyed by affection and adoration, leaping through the gusts with pride. You reach out a hand willing it to come to you, wanting something so tender for yourself, for your gasping heart. But as you lean in, poised with glory, a thief melts from a burning tree, morphs from the shadows, an ugly, beaten creature, scaly and peeling. It slinks foreword catching the plane in its mottled claws, pinching it slightly as your lover lets out a small gasp, eyes widening. The creature places it inside the steel bars over its heart and suddenly the thing changes and becomes lovely, blooming and whole, an infection of grace and slender frame. Fragrance floats back to you as you cower and your lover looks at the lovely figure descending upon him and you scream and scream, seizing and foaming, something mad, unwanted, hidden from sight. But he is no more than smoke; naked body drooling, jagged blades protruding from his back; and where his heart should have been, there are only iron bars. He turns and howls, an alien sound, unreal, lips curling back, twisting and forcing his screeching notes into your chest smothering your mind. But finally you have had enough; finally you understand, finally you find strength to pull apart the stitching and release yourself and you fall.

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May 17, 2013

May 17, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC

The-Night-Owl

Paper Forest

But it's as if you’re ****** into the page on which you sit so precariously. You realize his eyes have become weird again, throbbing to the beat of your love. He looks away, leaning back on his hands, arms taught. And you sit as if alone, watching him tear a piece off your history and craft a paper airplane from your devotion, fingers gently folding and creasing, lovingly shaping, his head turning, focusing, admiring. And when he is satisfied, he throws it with a flick of his pale wrist. It sails beautifully through the air, buoyed by affection and adoration, leaping through the gusts with pride. You reach out a hand willing it to come to you, wanting something so tender for yourself, for your gasping heart. But as you lean in, poised with glory, a thief melts from a burning tree, morphs from the shadows, an ugly, beaten creature, scaly and peeling. It slinks foreword catching the plane in its mottled claws, pinching it slightly as your lover lets out a small gasp, eyes widening. The creature places it inside the steel bars over its heart and suddenly the thing changes and becomes lovely, blooming and whole, an infection of grace and slender frame. Fragrance floats back to you as you cower and your lover looks at the lovely figure descending upon him and you scream and scream, seizing and foaming, something mad, unwanted, hidden from sight. But he is no more than smoke; naked body drooling, jagged blades protruding from his back; and where his heart should have been, there are only iron bars. He turns and howls, an alien sound, unreal, lips curling back, twisting and forcing his screeching notes into your chest smothering your mind. But finally you have had enough; finally you understand, finally you find strength to pull apart the stitching and release yourself and you fall.

1

You still have not released me Though it was many years ago Lips swollen from kissing Stuttered as hate began to grow Rusted hands pried open Salty twilight spotted cracks And yet you still flicker warmly Above my chipping eyelid’s clotted wax A bump from a gentle stranger Sends me spinning from the train But those that beat me hollow I filter through my veins My hands scream for passion My heart for pulpy gore My legs tire from tensing But my mind still wants more It would prefer so mightily I danced overgrown with spines Pursuing eyes of Persian blue Golden hair, unleashed jungle vines It would rather have me wounded Bashed in until I bled Over and over again, no truce My mind, it wants me dead --Lily

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Dec 29, 2012

Dec 29, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC

The-Night-Owl

My Mind, It Wants Me Dead

You still have not released me Though it was many years ago Lips swollen from kissing Stuttered as hate began to grow Rusted hands pried open Salty twilight spotted cracks And yet you still flicker warmly Above my chipping eyelid’s clotted wax A bump from a gentle stranger Sends me spinning from the train But those that beat me hollow I filter through my veins My hands scream for passion My heart for pulpy gore My legs tire from tensing But my mind still wants more It would prefer so mightily I danced overgrown with spines Pursuing eyes of Persian blue Golden hair, unleashed jungle vines It would rather have me wounded Bashed in until I bled Over and over again, no truce My mind, it wants me dead --Lily

25

You know the way I took it, At the break of dawn You know how I slid from your window sill, Like the gold flakes from my fingernails, Fandango in the bluing sky You knew when you awoke, Rubbing cobwebs from your cracks When you looked to see it gone, The gun into your mind Surely someone clever as you, Would never let it sit For a replayed taboo like me, To steal it as you slept Your periscope eyes have found me, Hurdling from the howling woods, Deep with festers From your pets You, you scrawny herbivore While I eat carnage Tangy and red You, it seems, possess some bravery When you shot those mind bullets Pushing through my back But you missed, my dear You missed Or was it just your intent To slash And torment Instead? But you missed, my dear You missed --Lily

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Dec 26, 2012

Dec 26, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC

The-Night-Owl

Periscope Eyes

You know the way I took it, At the break of dawn You know how I slid from your window sill, Like the gold flakes from my fingernails, Fandango in the bluing sky You knew when you awoke, Rubbing cobwebs from your cracks When you looked to see it gone, The gun into your mind Surely someone clever as you, Would never let it sit For a replayed taboo like me, To steal it as you slept Your periscope eyes have found me, Hurdling from the howling woods, Deep with festers From your pets You, you scrawny herbivore While I eat carnage Tangy and red You, it seems, possess some bravery When you shot those mind bullets Pushing through my back But you missed, my dear You missed Or was it just your intent To slash And torment Instead? But you missed, my dear You missed --Lily

32

Sleek are the dragon scales small as a leaf Grey like the coming storm Bright lights pulse my way Clicking in its own weird talk, Understanding proves impossible Talkative one stops jabbering When night consumes the day Memory is impeccable The shell as strong as rock Many times adventuring But always returning to stay Shivering when left alone Erupting fury when it’s not Talking again in that language Quivering where it lay Replacement after replacement Each smarter than the last But impatience with each in turn As their lives slip away

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Dec 25, 2012

Dec 25, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC

The-Night-Owl

My Strange One

Sleek are the dragon scales small as a leaf Grey like the coming storm Bright lights pulse my way Clicking in its own weird talk, Understanding proves impossible Talkative one stops jabbering When night consumes the day Memory is impeccable The shell as strong as rock Many times adventuring But always returning to stay Shivering when left alone Erupting fury when it’s not Talking again in that language Quivering where it lay Replacement after replacement Each smarter than the last But impatience with each in turn As their lives slip away

20

Teetles tuppled storpidly, along the clurby path Her toes gribbed at the plirky sand When she lumbled swanuously round the ragthall pebbly wrath Her stlilting head tipped back as she breathed the roopled frand She trippered toinulously pausing at the gurgil streef To drink slaverously from a Burbore skinned flask Sea shells stolen plumberlingly from the Briley Heef Dripped from her pockets as she svointered on the shubbled crask And in her furling hand she snatched a Stoodle, Feathered little spine smuffled from the wind so grabbily, Its beak produced a little snawdoodle And she laughed so jorbid and trabbily “Little one, a seashell for you” She exclaimed and stooped to pluck a sleemish one And in the Stoodle horpled with a gentle twoo And she set it in the blurkish sea, spinning loorfilly in the sun With a sudden shloop both shell and Stoodle were ****** under so she stood waiting peering into the gloop as the Stoodle sunk into the murky punder Then up the Stoodle popped with sloopish swriss But Stoodle it was no more, instead a brilly Havergrath With grey silk back and wuverbul muscles twriss A smarmy smile upon its jarby grath And she smiled back at him A korky, vubblious thing And he flipped through the air with krim As one only a Havergrath can bring --Lily

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Dec 23, 2012

Dec 23, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC

The-Night-Owl

The Stoodle

Teetles tuppled storpidly, along the clurby path Her toes gribbed at the plirky sand When she lumbled swanuously round the ragthall pebbly wrath Her stlilting head tipped back as she breathed the roopled frand She trippered toinulously pausing at the gurgil streef To drink slaverously from a Burbore skinned flask Sea shells stolen plumberlingly from the Briley Heef Dripped from her pockets as she svointered on the shubbled crask And in her furling hand she snatched a Stoodle, Feathered little spine smuffled from the wind so grabbily, Its beak produced a little snawdoodle And she laughed so jorbid and trabbily “Little one, a seashell for you” She exclaimed and stooped to pluck a sleemish one And in the Stoodle horpled with a gentle twoo And she set it in the blurkish sea, spinning loorfilly in the sun With a sudden shloop both shell and Stoodle were ****** under so she stood waiting peering into the gloop as the Stoodle sunk into the murky punder Then up the Stoodle popped with sloopish swriss But Stoodle it was no more, instead a brilly Havergrath With grey silk back and wuverbul muscles twriss A smarmy smile upon its jarby grath And she smiled back at him A korky, vubblious thing And he flipped through the air with krim As one only a Havergrath can bring --Lily

29

I used to tell my mom I'm scared when the wolves came calling out back but really I was shy. was ashamed to admit all I wanted was to be one of them to slip into their paw prints feel the dewy night kissing my ears to lift my face to the wolf gods, their bodies reflecting my dark eyes I'd scrabble through the stale snow, run until my lungs were scorched I'd follow until they let me in to touch them feel them lick their cheeks, winding into their memories with a slightly steaming spool slowly spinning, ready to gobble them up and replace my own I'd yap and howl the way they do Leap; spine arched, into their midst and match their moon choked tones I'd want to be a mystery Have those feeble humans claim they know everything about me but really, they’d never even scratch the surface of the wolf who gleams like ivory of the wolf who streaks like fiery song pulsing through the snow I'd want to be the invisible; you know, that thing that’s watching you bending through the slip of trees the thing your eyes strain to find the thing you wait all night to see I want to have them look at me, the ones who think they found me first, I want the poets the artists and writers to look into my face and say how beautiful, those eyes how brave or fierce or wise and I would grin my wolfish grin bare my snarling teeth on cue ignore their stupid human stupor knowing what they never would that being a wolf is better than sitting alone inside waiting for them each night to lure me with their round raw voices their silver heart shaped faces their unforgiving bodies tensing tails whipping hammered paws sailing like white frost oceans the kings and queens searching for castles among the rabble rubble waves --Lily

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Dec 21, 2012

Dec 21, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC

The-Night-Owl

Wolf Wishes

I used to tell my mom I'm scared when the wolves came calling out back but really I was shy. was ashamed to admit all I wanted was to be one of them to slip into their paw prints feel the dewy night kissing my ears to lift my face to the wolf gods, their bodies reflecting my dark eyes I'd scrabble through the stale snow, run until my lungs were scorched I'd follow until they let me in to touch them feel them lick their cheeks, winding into their memories with a slightly steaming spool slowly spinning, ready to gobble them up and replace my own I'd yap and howl the way they do Leap; spine arched, into their midst and match their moon choked tones I'd want to be a mystery Have those feeble humans claim they know everything about me but really, they’d never even scratch the surface of the wolf who gleams like ivory of the wolf who streaks like fiery song pulsing through the snow I'd want to be the invisible; you know, that thing that’s watching you bending through the slip of trees the thing your eyes strain to find the thing you wait all night to see I want to have them look at me, the ones who think they found me first, I want the poets the artists and writers to look into my face and say how beautiful, those eyes how brave or fierce or wise and I would grin my wolfish grin bare my snarling teeth on cue ignore their stupid human stupor knowing what they never would that being a wolf is better than sitting alone inside waiting for them each night to lure me with their round raw voices their silver heart shaped faces their unforgiving bodies tensing tails whipping hammered paws sailing like white frost oceans the kings and queens searching for castles among the rabble rubble waves --Lily

64

I am the one who owns this game This game of cat and mouse; the chase Not him, not them, not those The men Who think it is in their place The ones who covet the loving gleam In a woman’s drawn up eyes But then tell her that she was no more Than a ***** a **** filthy pennies in disguise They leave her rotten, confused, revised Writing sickly poems of love and gore Reflection in her puzzled heart Rebuild the sloppy, slaughtered gears, restart and then restore I have written those poems too, When I bore marks of the lost and broken whispered words, shaking from my lips, of things yet unspoken Now I need no more For poetry unheeded brings more sorrow on which to thrive And anyways poetry writes itself for me, Cause I have eaten it, alive I have learned the trades of love And unlearned how to feel I threw my heart away gladly For the others I could steal I am the one who pulls you in, Not you, strong soldier, the statue, clearly cut and manned I am the one whose glistening strife Slides, dripping, through your open hands I have the voice, purring rolls of silk, Emerald slants, gaudy blue feathered eyes Lupines bloom upon my lips And foxgloves on my thighs I have the sterling studs of class The cocky robin smile, A drink like silver wine am I From a savory crystal vile I have the shift of gentleness, A tender, blooming embrace You hold nothing but trust in me Adoration upon your disgusting face But I know something you do not That only I have the key Patience until the shaking burst A monster waiting to break free She howls and rips your heartstrings raw Ignores your pleading glance with glee A smirk, a sneer, arched lips pause Knowing your demise is our reward We won’t stop until you cease to be I have strength beneath my beloved monster’s wings The power to bend with whip-like throw Each man I take, battles for my neck And I slaughter each, basking in the glow We have done this for ages Sold perfection, curving laces at every door Like gypsies we steal what you cling to most Our silver infused fingers beckoning for more Love is no longer fun for us We crave deception, challenged lies, We’ll never give you what you want Only slay your mind and watch as it dies As the madness creeps on mottled claws And you beg and plead curled up in pain Letting us in through your wracking body rocks A glimpse, peeled back to reveal the stain So pound the floors as much as you want Drag splinters from your drooling cavernous screams Throw yourself away again and again Cause I will never leave your mind, Having sown myself into your dreams I am what you think about What you've sold every scrap of yourself for But I am a fake, a mask, the satin covered machine What you fear will reap your corrupted core. You never knew that all I want Is to take but never give To ****** but never stay The girl who steals your love to live And buries it in your own decay After every sumptuous feast, We give a trill, a gauzy lilting stream Notes lift our cool heads high Poised waiting for the choking screams And as we slide through fractured lives, My monster and I We ponder the day we'll wake in hell Eagerly awaiting the reward for all our lies For we're not scared of death or flames Flickering bodies of damnation Cause we know we’ll live forever In those suffering from love starvation --Lily

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Dec 20, 2012

Dec 20, 2012 at 12:44 AM UTC

The-Night-Owl

This is My Game

I am the one who owns this game This game of cat and mouse; the chase Not him, not them, not those The men Who think it is in their place The ones who covet the loving gleam In a woman’s drawn up eyes But then tell her that she was no more Than a ***** a **** filthy pennies in disguise They leave her rotten, confused, revised Writing sickly poems of love and gore Reflection in her puzzled heart Rebuild the sloppy, slaughtered gears, restart and then restore I have written those poems too, When I bore marks of the lost and broken whispered words, shaking from my lips, of things yet unspoken Now I need no more For poetry unheeded brings more sorrow on which to thrive And anyways poetry writes itself for me, Cause I have eaten it, alive I have learned the trades of love And unlearned how to feel I threw my heart away gladly For the others I could steal I am the one who pulls you in, Not you, strong soldier, the statue, clearly cut and manned I am the one whose glistening strife Slides, dripping, through your open hands I have the voice, purring rolls of silk, Emerald slants, gaudy blue feathered eyes Lupines bloom upon my lips And foxgloves on my thighs I have the sterling studs of class The cocky robin smile, A drink like silver wine am I From a savory crystal vile I have the shift of gentleness, A tender, blooming embrace You hold nothing but trust in me Adoration upon your disgusting face But I know something you do not That only I have the key Patience until the shaking burst A monster waiting to break free She howls and rips your heartstrings raw Ignores your pleading glance with glee A smirk, a sneer, arched lips pause Knowing your demise is our reward We won’t stop until you cease to be I have strength beneath my beloved monster’s wings The power to bend with whip-like throw Each man I take, battles for my neck And I slaughter each, basking in the glow We have done this for ages Sold perfection, curving laces at every door Like gypsies we steal what you cling to most Our silver infused fingers beckoning for more Love is no longer fun for us We crave deception, challenged lies, We’ll never give you what you want Only slay your mind and watch as it dies As the madness creeps on mottled claws And you beg and plead curled up in pain Letting us in through your wracking body rocks A glimpse, peeled back to reveal the stain So pound the floors as much as you want Drag splinters from your drooling cavernous screams Throw yourself away again and again Cause I will never leave your mind, Having sown myself into your dreams I am what you think about What you've sold every scrap of yourself for But I am a fake, a mask, the satin covered machine What you fear will reap your corrupted core. You never knew that all I want Is to take but never give To ****** but never stay The girl who steals your love to live And buries it in your own decay After every sumptuous feast, We give a trill, a gauzy lilting stream Notes lift our cool heads high Poised waiting for the choking screams And as we slide through fractured lives, My monster and I We ponder the day we'll wake in hell Eagerly awaiting the reward for all our lies For we're not scared of death or flames Flickering bodies of damnation Cause we know we’ll live forever In those suffering from love starvation --Lily

94

Upon her back, a smooth mossy boulder rests An old turtle shell that has not yet lost its aqua blue hue or the blooming flowers between its cracks The skin on her slim legs are the color of jean her feet are soft and padded, much thicker than could be called delicate they are like puppies feet the other girl's feet tumble and toddle over one another clumsy but she has mastered their bigness Around her ankles is a woolen strip creamy white and fluffy fair and curly like a spaniel's chest soft as a cloud's skin her hair is a lion's mane I have seen it whip and sting when she is angry but now its floating round her head in a golden halo like sun burned wheat it curves, dips and dives rippling down her back blazing The best part of her as she turns her head, I catch a glimpse her eyes sad, dark moons fanned with lashes, curling upwards, brushing the lids they glitter as she moves If I were to dive into a bottomless pool of chocolate that still would not be deep enough If I slid into a smooth black lake rimmed with obsidian stone that still would not be liquid enough If I leapt into a ebony panther's fur that still would not be dark enough to match those eyes that melt and freeze in turn If there was a golden goose who laid a golden egg and if a spider delicate as lace spun around it a thin moon dust thread then placed it inside the black heart of the cruelest duke of old and took it out after three hundred years then that might resemble the two scorching molten drops that were my lovers eyes --Lily

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Dec 19, 2012

Dec 19, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC

The-Night-Owl

Her

Upon her back, a smooth mossy boulder rests An old turtle shell that has not yet lost its aqua blue hue or the blooming flowers between its cracks The skin on her slim legs are the color of jean her feet are soft and padded, much thicker than could be called delicate they are like puppies feet the other girl's feet tumble and toddle over one another clumsy but she has mastered their bigness Around her ankles is a woolen strip creamy white and fluffy fair and curly like a spaniel's chest soft as a cloud's skin her hair is a lion's mane I have seen it whip and sting when she is angry but now its floating round her head in a golden halo like sun burned wheat it curves, dips and dives rippling down her back blazing The best part of her as she turns her head, I catch a glimpse her eyes sad, dark moons fanned with lashes, curling upwards, brushing the lids they glitter as she moves If I were to dive into a bottomless pool of chocolate that still would not be deep enough If I slid into a smooth black lake rimmed with obsidian stone that still would not be liquid enough If I leapt into a ebony panther's fur that still would not be dark enough to match those eyes that melt and freeze in turn If there was a golden goose who laid a golden egg and if a spider delicate as lace spun around it a thin moon dust thread then placed it inside the black heart of the cruelest duke of old and took it out after three hundred years then that might resemble the two scorching molten drops that were my lovers eyes --Lily

43

Sometimes I wonder why the tears I cry aren’t letters black and inky to stain my clothes why my paper skin is not covered in words like a disease without a cure or an addiction without help why stories of princes and poppers do not pour out of me when someone is brave enough to delve under my cover why pictures do not cover my face, ink bottles spring from my hands when they ask for a demonstration why leather bindings do not make up my home buckles and ribbons locking me up tight since I am made of books and not flesh and bone. --Lily

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Dec 19, 2012

Dec 19, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC

The-Night-Owl

I Am Made of Books

Sometimes I wonder why the tears I cry aren’t letters black and inky to stain my clothes why my paper skin is not covered in words like a disease without a cure or an addiction without help why stories of princes and poppers do not pour out of me when someone is brave enough to delve under my cover why pictures do not cover my face, ink bottles spring from my hands when they ask for a demonstration why leather bindings do not make up my home buckles and ribbons locking me up tight since I am made of books and not flesh and bone. --Lily

15