emily-grace-1 - Hello Poetry

They proclaimed she was the “all-or-nothing” breed, a single lark thriving amongst the wrens. The sweetest sacrifice Her eyes were as lanterns, luminous and protruding, as if she had ingested the heavens and now they sought a means to escape. For the good of the many The slow slant of her lips was textured and fine, a simpering halt in her meadow of face. Do not fear, little one The disciples sang at her altars and allow her put-upon face to blur through the lines, streaking under the curls of their incense. You will be blessed Skin faintly blue shines silky as lies, still like the cloak wrapped tight around her soul. A knife presses close, slight You are the savior and silver as the pulse of her heart. Eyes flicker wide; her last breath slides through. One life paid for all She is the world, they whisper, hushed as the tears of her blood cry down their arms.

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Dec 10, 2012

Dec 10, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC

Her Hands Hold Many or Her Hands Hold None (Revised)

They proclaimed she was the “all-or-nothing” breed, a single lark thriving amongst the wrens. The sweetest sacrifice Her eyes were as lanterns, luminous and protruding, as if she had ingested the heavens and now they sought a means to escape. For the good of the many The slow slant of her lips was textured and fine, a simpering halt in her meadow of face. Do not fear, little one The disciples sang at her altars and allow her put-upon face to blur through the lines, streaking under the curls of their incense. You will be blessed Skin faintly blue shines silky as lies, still like the cloak wrapped tight around her soul. A knife presses close, slight You are the savior and silver as the pulse of her heart. Eyes flicker wide; her last breath slides through. One life paid for all She is the world, they whisper, hushed as the tears of her blood cry down their arms.

27

Trapped. I am snared, forever burning. The very feathers circling my throat tingle with flame. Embers shiver as they drip down my back. I am ashes. There are hands, with want to touch, the desperate feverish mortals seeking forever, scrabble about, thieving my eternity. But I do not hold the grail they seek. I am no fountain for life and for living. I am an undead curse, ringed with flame. My talons are pitch and empty as coal. The pool of my eye has the haze of raw steam. I did not choose. I was a spark and no new-born flicker shall birth from my flank. I will never put tinder and flint to my breast, never pull forth a struggling bairn. I am barren. Never will the scorch spread further than my soul. The swoop of my neck is the tongue of the flames. I am bound in this burning. The smoke fills my lungs, blacken and sear. I cough as I choke, my skin catches light. Cracks. I am dying. Everything flames, spirals within. I am free, roasting to pieces, crumble to dust. I am burning, beaten wings an inferno. I am free. Inhale the ashes. I am reborn. Again. Trapped.

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Dec 10, 2012

Dec 10, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC

Phoenix

Trapped. I am snared, forever burning. The very feathers circling my throat tingle with flame. Embers shiver as they drip down my back. I am ashes. There are hands, with want to touch, the desperate feverish mortals seeking forever, scrabble about, thieving my eternity. But I do not hold the grail they seek. I am no fountain for life and for living. I am an undead curse, ringed with flame. My talons are pitch and empty as coal. The pool of my eye has the haze of raw steam. I did not choose. I was a spark and no new-born flicker shall birth from my flank. I will never put tinder and flint to my breast, never pull forth a struggling bairn. I am barren. Never will the scorch spread further than my soul. The swoop of my neck is the tongue of the flames. I am bound in this burning. The smoke fills my lungs, blacken and sear. I cough as I choke, my skin catches light. Cracks. I am dying. Everything flames, spirals within. I am free, roasting to pieces, crumble to dust. I am burning, beaten wings an inferno. I am free. Inhale the ashes. I am reborn. Again. Trapped.

61

They proclaimed she was the “all-or-nothing” breed, a single lark thriving amongst the wrens. Her eyes were as lanterns, luminous and protruding, as if she had ingested the heavens and now they sought a means to escape. The slow slant of her lips was textured and fine, a simpering halt in her meadow of face. They sang at her alters and allow her put-upon face to blur through the lines, streaking under the curls of their incense. Skin faintly blue shines silky as lies, still like the cloak wrapped tight around her soul. A knife was pressed close, slight and silver as the pulse of her heart. Eyes flicker wide; her last breath slides through. She is the world, they whisper, hushed as the tears of her blood cry down their arms.

0

Oct 23, 2012

Oct 23, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC

Her hands hold many or her hands hold none.

They proclaimed she was the “all-or-nothing” breed, a single lark thriving amongst the wrens. Her eyes were as lanterns, luminous and protruding, as if she had ingested the heavens and now they sought a means to escape. The slow slant of her lips was textured and fine, a simpering halt in her meadow of face. They sang at her alters and allow her put-upon face to blur through the lines, streaking under the curls of their incense. Skin faintly blue shines silky as lies, still like the cloak wrapped tight around her soul. A knife was pressed close, slight and silver as the pulse of her heart. Eyes flicker wide; her last breath slides through. She is the world, they whisper, hushed as the tears of her blood cry down their arms.

21

I’m always glad to hear your ***** is doing well. Their temperament is, as always, forever hard to tell. I heard that Mercy Lane had to have hers declawed. It scratched her over quite a bit and left her slightly flawed. All the things I know of friends fly from my mouth like birds, but idle gossip I should not spread when purpose steers my words. With weighted heart I tell you the reason that I write. The man she feared used tempered words and put her down tonight. I didn’t know my ***** was tame ‘til she laid heel for him. She rolled right ‘round under his palm and shocked me to the brim. Little more did I suspect that she would now submit, especially when his liquid voice just set her teeth to grit. He oozed some words and touched her sides and caused her eyes to glaze. Then, when we were both sound asleep, he shattered her to haze. It burst me out of all my dreams to find myself worn thin. Now I don’t know what to do without her in my skin. Tell me now, my dearest friend, what should I do hence? Should I let him have me too, or rise to her defense? The only problem seems to be I’m without her; she’s me.

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Oct 23, 2012

Oct 23, 2012 at 3:53 AM UTC

Dear Carolyn

I’m always glad to hear your ***** is doing well. Their temperament is, as always, forever hard to tell. I heard that Mercy Lane had to have hers declawed. It scratched her over quite a bit and left her slightly flawed. All the things I know of friends fly from my mouth like birds, but idle gossip I should not spread when purpose steers my words. With weighted heart I tell you the reason that I write. The man she feared used tempered words and put her down tonight. I didn’t know my ***** was tame ‘til she laid heel for him. She rolled right ‘round under his palm and shocked me to the brim. Little more did I suspect that she would now submit, especially when his liquid voice just set her teeth to grit. He oozed some words and touched her sides and caused her eyes to glaze. Then, when we were both sound asleep, he shattered her to haze. It burst me out of all my dreams to find myself worn thin. Now I don’t know what to do without her in my skin. Tell me now, my dearest friend, what should I do hence? Should I let him have me too, or rise to her defense? The only problem seems to be I’m without her; she’s me.

1

Look at all the ***** that I give I labor through each, contraction after contraction pushing through the breach Nine months of waiting and hours of screams will not be stillborn This way, when I give a **** someone will appreciate it Someone will be there in the delivery room cradling my hand as I spasm across the sheets They will coo and observe over my sweat streaked shoulders waiting for the feels But maybe, just once, once my **** is free sliding from me in a wash of catharsis after the placenta peels free and the afterbirth escapes maybe it will be cleaned and weighed and wrapped and laid upon my arms maybe then I will feel the feels I will contract the disease of affection a want for this **** that I carried A stubborn resolve may just rise in my throat and not a single **** will I give

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Oct 23, 2012

Oct 23, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC

And Not a Single **** was Given

Look at all the ***** that I give I labor through each, contraction after contraction pushing through the breach Nine months of waiting and hours of screams will not be stillborn This way, when I give a **** someone will appreciate it Someone will be there in the delivery room cradling my hand as I spasm across the sheets They will coo and observe over my sweat streaked shoulders waiting for the feels But maybe, just once, once my **** is free sliding from me in a wash of catharsis after the placenta peels free and the afterbirth escapes maybe it will be cleaned and weighed and wrapped and laid upon my arms maybe then I will feel the feels I will contract the disease of affection a want for this **** that I carried A stubborn resolve may just rise in my throat and not a single **** will I give

20

When I remember you, I conspire with you. now I flee you. I ran you across the heat of my arguments: snippets of friends, trials of unfortunate others-- As I stretched out in hope, I fought you blow by blow. Your mind should have eased off by now, not constricted like the strangling fist, empty angry space-- I touched your every pore, crimes of the disinterested mind, the stones of ambivalence dropped into my stomach-- you slathered more, spreading your reasons like the trails of slugs. Whatever you think, you will not sway me thus, among the condescending blind. Your path is not sprinkled with wildflowers like mine: your tongue is the angry chatter of sparrows which pluck and bicker in wickedness-- which pluck and bicker, in echoes keening the helix from our sides to the lake of fire.

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Oct 20, 2012

Oct 20, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC

Empty Space

When I remember you, I conspire with you. now I flee you. I ran you across the heat of my arguments: snippets of friends, trials of unfortunate others-- As I stretched out in hope, I fought you blow by blow. Your mind should have eased off by now, not constricted like the strangling fist, empty angry space-- I touched your every pore, crimes of the disinterested mind, the stones of ambivalence dropped into my stomach-- you slathered more, spreading your reasons like the trails of slugs. Whatever you think, you will not sway me thus, among the condescending blind. Your path is not sprinkled with wildflowers like mine: your tongue is the angry chatter of sparrows which pluck and bicker in wickedness-- which pluck and bicker, in echoes keening the helix from our sides to the lake of fire.

23

Socks are only really okay when they have holes in the soles and some scary stories to tell The prettiest leaves are wrapped up in fingers and traded around for some days A nothing together is better than many a venture alone Knowing where the fork belongs is not a real thing Best kind of weather is cuddling weather Life music plays on windchimes Don’t sleep but for dreams Never go Breathing

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Oct 20, 2012

Oct 20, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC

Prime Opinions I Have

Socks are only really okay when they have holes in the soles and some scary stories to tell The prettiest leaves are wrapped up in fingers and traded around for some days A nothing together is better than many a venture alone Knowing where the fork belongs is not a real thing Best kind of weather is cuddling weather Life music plays on windchimes Don’t sleep but for dreams Never go Breathing

9

You know it’s good when it takes ahold and refuses to let go. Even better when it climbs inside and wiggles to and fro. It argues around inside your ribs and creates a mighty row. It builds itself inside your lungs and takes your air to grow. Open your mouth and let it out with a mighty crow. Sometimes it leaps but other times it simply drips with woe. Either way, if it’s done right, it should set your heart aglow. The only thing that matters is that if it’s good, you’ll know.

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Oct 20, 2012

Oct 20, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC

Music

You know it’s good when it takes ahold and refuses to let go. Even better when it climbs inside and wiggles to and fro. It argues around inside your ribs and creates a mighty row. It builds itself inside your lungs and takes your air to grow. Open your mouth and let it out with a mighty crow. Sometimes it leaps but other times it simply drips with woe. Either way, if it’s done right, it should set your heart aglow. The only thing that matters is that if it’s good, you’ll know.

16

The spring air, dusted with pollen, Yet clear as fine glass Filled our lungs as we ran Laughing teasing Breathing until it hurt Remember the books I gave you Returning what was stolen And adding something more The heavy smell of your fireplace Coated my tongue We sat on your hard red Furniture, uncomfortably fancy. That day in the light was the first, The buds in the apple tree were bursting, Flowering in the clarity of the day, Exposing their sweet butter insides. We were the constants, Uninterrupted energy Flowing like water in the sunlight Staring at the eggshell walls On that wooden bench As dark as my soul I watched you pass by Without the slightest Glance in my direction I never saw your face as I kissed your forehead

0

Oct 20, 2012

Oct 20, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC

Pieces of Love

The spring air, dusted with pollen, Yet clear as fine glass Filled our lungs as we ran Laughing teasing Breathing until it hurt Remember the books I gave you Returning what was stolen And adding something more The heavy smell of your fireplace Coated my tongue We sat on your hard red Furniture, uncomfortably fancy. That day in the light was the first, The buds in the apple tree were bursting, Flowering in the clarity of the day, Exposing their sweet butter insides. We were the constants, Uninterrupted energy Flowing like water in the sunlight Staring at the eggshell walls On that wooden bench As dark as my soul I watched you pass by Without the slightest Glance in my direction I never saw your face as I kissed your forehead

27

I deny your whole stupid game. It always ends up just the same. You forever jest Never your best, You forever missing A beckoning thought, You forever running, An infinite cost, An infinite lurching, An infinite frost.

0

Oct 20, 2012

Oct 20, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC

Just the Same

I deny your whole stupid game. It always ends up just the same. You forever jest Never your best, You forever missing A beckoning thought, You forever running, An infinite cost, An infinite lurching, An infinite frost.

10