daniellefavorite
I'm a daydreamer with a poetic soul, a freshwater mermaid, a wildflower who believes in wishing on shooting stars and a hopeless romantic. / / I have my B.A. in creative writing, have been published in multiple literary journals, and have a poetry book out entitled 'Meraki' which is available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Meraki-Danielle-M-G-Favorite/dp/0615843115/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid;=1432666710&sr;=8-1&keywords;=meraki+danielle / / If you enjoy my writing, please support a fellow poet! I appreciate it :) / / Adieu mes amis!
Not even Seagram's whiskey
can tame tonight's cold starlight
and I'm ok with that.
Reminds me of your blue eyes
that summer night we met.
Right now, there is a narwhal
bathed in the same moonlight
that drifts like a gypsy
into my room.
I am sure Bukowski had nights like this:
not enough liqueur,
too many thoughts.
I just pray we keep the moon in the sky,
away from our mouths, our teeth.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
Safe in my watery church,
I quietly watch warm water-drops
gather on every bit of my thin, scarred flesh.
My eyes become moons, the demi-globes
of water on my skin become moons,
my heartbeats become moons, the moon
becomes an even nearer moon
and I pale in all that sacred bright.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
that I sit in showers
because water understands.
No questions. No judgment.
It just holds me.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
I confess:
I left your yellow-brick road
and followed a forest deer trail instead.
I belong to the unknown.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
I awoke to a piano
lullaby ringing in my ears
and moon lyrics
whitening my lips,
goosebumps illuminate my pale skin.
The stars talk
to me: they blink
Morse-code. I drag
my knuckles along the blue
wall, force my skin away.
I want to see bright bone,
like fresh moon in the dark.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
It’s all come down to this:
prongs and damp curves
and lots of serration.
My bite and your bite
and we all
bite down.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
My heartbeat pulses
like the north star
in my lower lip: I am, I am, I am.
My hair is humid; it curls like
smoke.
I toss Petoskey stones back
to Lake Michigan
where they’ll be safe from
souvenir shops,
at least until they
land on shore again.
I suppose dreams are like that,
washing up again and again
on our eyes shoreline.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Lake Michigan sand rests within my bones;
it slows the timing of my heart
and scratches the vowels
budding on my wet tongue.
I imagine waiting for you
on a bench of ghosts
with coffee and binoculars,
observing the rush of continuous
flutter as seagulls settle
and then unsettle, as indecisive
as the mottled lake.
The afternoon light is brisk,
pulls my breath like a buoy chain--
my heart sounds like it's underwater,
its beats drive the tide
that draws you, like an undertow, to me.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
These 20 milligrams of Prozac
have my brain wrapped in lace:
warm blues and white sighs.
One white pill, each morning
to dull the blade of life
and my brown eyes rust
hazel in the daylight
the doctors shove me, face-first, into.
The sun is so much harsher
than the moon: it burns
holes in my vision
and I stumble and blink
until they scab over.
I do not howl or whimper,
scream or cry.
My face is silent
and stares,
like the white-powdered moon:
wide and brimming.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
I whispered your name into the inner
twisting curl of a conch shell, hoping
an echo from saltier waves would carry
it through shadow-rimmed currents until it
flowed softly along the shore, like my breath
settling across your neck
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC