celtic-lass
I prefer the darkness, and the shadows...there in lies my protection...my sanctuary. / I am a spell spinner, a word weaver--a dark enchantress. My poetry will seep into your pores....crawl beneath your skin..crouch within the calliginous corners of your mind--become an insatiable craving. / / You can always find me in deepest darkness....a presence f e l t, but unseen----lurking in the shadows....waiting......watching...........forever / w a t c h i n g.................
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." - John Keating, Dead Poets Society (1989)
*As a child I loved you Mork, as an adult you taught me the fine line between laughter and despair.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
I will scream into the void with you. Take my hand, let me calm your fears.I will weave my words into a shelter, a place of grace for your troubled heart.
Walk with me until the stars dim forever, until the sun implodes and only dust remains. I am here with you, there with you. Let my tangled thoughts be your remedy, your darkest dreams my salvation. Take my light, for I would rather walk in darkness unending than see the weight of sorrow on your pretty brow.
You are my privilege, my haven, my friend, this will always be, as long as there is breath I will use it to sing of my wonder at your strength and my joy at your existence.
If you believe in nothing else, I beg that you believe in me
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
twilight rain spatters
morse code of vitality
parched plant's s.o.s.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
crescent moon ascends
with cheshire smile the night grins
darkness scoffs at us
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
a bedtime story
In the distance stands a lighthouse
seeing all with cyclops eye
once a beacon, now a hollow,
dead in misted moonlit sky.
Proudly once she ruled the headland,
warning all of crag and shoal
trusted friend to salt scoured sea dogs,
smugglers caught within her glow.
Beauty lived as Keepers mistress
'till one day her love did bloom
walking clifftops with her lover
brought her ending, far too soon.
Bloodied, torn by cliff face ragged
screaming for the life she craved,
Beauty held her rounded belly
As fury deep hit waters grave.
Beauty stands alone in darkness
there above the tempest sea
bloated souls of those who perished
now her only company.
When the moon is high above us
wrapped in rags and witching stare
Beauty stands atop the catwalk
weeds 'a winding through her hair.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
*I have an itch.
It needs soothing.
I can't scratch it, I won't stop.
I'll scratch until the crimson petals appear.
Watch the vermillion bloom against the white.
Then pick and scratch some more.
Feel relief as I watch the red run in rivulets down into a deep pool.
Hitching myself to an already aching itch was a mistake.
A mistake and itch scratched away with a meat fork*.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
"Someday death will take us to another star."
~~Vincent Van Gogh
Painter paint star-spattered-pathways--purple passion patterns;
Grant me glimpses of immortality in indigo inspirations,
Guide me through galaxies glued inside translucent eyelids
With pulsating ivory globes.
Ascending into your astral aspirations,
Fractured atoms crumble into cerulean strings--
Unimpeded by crawling speed of light,
Suspended, momentarily held by moon's golden blood.
Hurtling throughout cobalt cosmic chaos,
Catapulted into vermillion vortex,
Realms rescinding into realms,
Macrocosms into macrocosms--malleable meldings.
Absorbing ancient ancestral dust,
Ten times ten thousand particles emblazened;
Universal union--super-nova soul's rebirth.....
Adrift within a Van Gogh sky.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
*H.P. Lovecraft's most famous quotes about the horror genre is that: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
The Waste Land, T.S.Eliot I. The Burial of the Dead
As a child I was never fearful.
Not of the dark, spiders or ghosts.
In fact I was wilful.
Hard hearted, cold.
I liked that about me, it was a barrier to the outside world.
I was the loner, the malcontent, the strange spooky one.
I loved it more as a teen, embraced the Gothic, elevated the bizarre.
I smoked, it was cool, I drank, it was cool, I was nihilistic, it was cool.
Popular meant conforming, how that repulsed me.
Why? Because conformity meant no individuality, no soul.
My Grandmother said once "be careful what you read, it becomes you"
Yeah right, look I'm Pennywise the clown!
But she was right in a way.
I became repulsed by myself.
I had no compassion.
No true love to call my own.
I was alone with my fear, my fear of loneliness. Irony.
I had no true identity, I hid in horror, then became horrified.
I didn't know what was coming, where I was going, who I was.
I was afraid. Truly afraid for the first time.
Afraid of my shadow, of not knowing, of returning to the grave.
Fear is a loathsome creature, devouring love and hope.
Yet, know this, we are born to die, the clock runs down, no appeals.
So fill up on love, fill up on warmth, for Hell maybe hot, but alone,
it's cold*.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
*We fight delicately, sniping, taking and giving verbal punches.
Our skin doesn't bruise, maybe our egos our minds,
but our bodies no.
Our velvet arguing is seamless, flawless.
Anyone listening would hear witty repartee.
A couple playfully bantering, no more.
Polite meritorious armament of words.
Primed to fire a salvo of cruelty.
Cruelty, covered and handled with crushed velvet gloves.
Textured, cultured, arguing.
Polite parrying, pleasant resentment.
A bottle of wine, remnants of a meal, wounds needing to heal.
Less or more cruel than a punch? This seamless linguistic pain.
Bruises fade, pain subsides, mental cruelty resides.*
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
You smiled today,
just for a second,
and your smile lit a spark
that coloured the cosmos with love.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC