erin-haggerty
Poetry is nothing more than an intensification or illumination of common objects and every day events until they shine with their singular nature, until we can experience their power, until we can follow their steps in the dance, until we can discern what part they play in the Great Order of Love. How is this done? By fucking around with syntax. All poems ©erinhaggerty
But all i ever am is true
But all i ever said was the truth
I live with a black cat he follows me daily
I see it in his eyes
I was interrupted by the truth
The reaction of jealousy
And sometimes i beg for it
Noise is too loud
And i drink
I drink but i love it loud
My being is too intense
My power is the magnet repelled
Therefore i show myself
I deserve better
Witching hour
I wish it would snow
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
When every other breath was smoke
Sprinkling hiss of night
Copper and blue
Creeking amphibians
Disturb the foggy blithe
What do we not hear
When the time has yet to cease
Unto the darkest shadows of now
Ringing in the buoyancy with
Its epileptic fright
I can't understand the friction
Of old love and fault
When there is no clarity
In the ones i can't combine
I will breathe in my own conviction
By the route of the
Bathwater's wake
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
The chandeliers
The tapestries
Our golden curls
And deities
Shift dress and ice cream
Yelllow light and silent gatherings among us
And in circles
The sharks swam around us
Our anger became one
And in this dream our souls
Became symbols
And the sisterly flame
Stirred within
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
I am the reincarnation of my mother's murdered spirit trying to rise
Do i go
And where
Moon has led me
To my kin
It is up to which part of me
Who thrives in best intentions
Never unfaithful implications
Let stubbornness subside
Teach in mind of love
New patterns painting plans
So hurtful hands shall never bear
An equal
Or a heart left to let go
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
two lovers run blind
through the meadows in the sun
milkweed and clover
breathing fast and just for fun
still it’s cold inside the thoughts
which palpate for tragedy
so we'll speak of heaven in human form
beneath the willow's wishing tree
tell everyone how it hurt
lover, it’s the only way
make sure they know its soft-
the wound you bare for me
i’ll tell them all you tried to swim
but pointed fingers turn to fists for you
in an ocean full of mutiny
the bad man beats the
weak mans blues
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
i saw my former love in the shadow of the moon
for a short time my desire ensued
the grass was grey and the dark was night
cold fear and change were evil delights
the ghosts whispered songs to their body’s decay
spirits spoke of words the living could not say
heavenly heartbreak, bittersweet end
i shared my solitude with what i didn’t know then
i felt the books the candle’s read
beneath the bindings were my thoughts all dead
remember your pain if you’re anything like me
write it down and kiss it, then set it free
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 11:29 PM UTC
foresaken scalpels
dig close to past lacerations
i think regret did me in long before you
there are pictures in a box
i remember burning
all the ashes ingested like memories through music
youre strong now at my expense
cant say im feeling like coming around
theres a song i used to hear
its to remind us of an end
we write to move on
but im still choking beneath my wound
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 11:53 PM UTC
a gull
i saw myself in a gull
wet and tethered wings
spread the span of my life
as i knew it
as i blew it into the ebbing tides
drying the salt of summer
through the fading sun
struggle and suffer
until the south wind blows again
i cannot wait
i cannot wait
much longer to fly
i cannot wish
i cannot wish
to be carried
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC
Love awaits
When the glass spider
Finally shatters
All that ever remained
Is a reminder
Of what should be- always
On the other side
Of letting go
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
this is the dwelling where wind is a bell and a beacon for death.
where youthful pursuit is punctured by family names or famine of fortune.
boys in bands buoyed by Onos and shared women.
lawyer fathers and social ***** mothers whose children are forbidden to **** up.
one street reserved and smothered by talking townsmen
whose belligerent brides keep tabs on their fellow middle-aged malicious
minded low-lifes
engorged in gossip are the parading fat men who rise early to feed off ones business capital tragedies
****** shortcomings of the stuck and single prey off tweens tweeting of body glitter and b-cups.
clique chick coquettes play house with their shiny image seeking male counterparts
who sing songs of their leather faced lady friends with plastic claws they now admit they would never marry
antagonizing cute couples secretly copulating with former loves' lust
only to mingle with conspirators molding to dominant thought
once a waitress always a waitress
with overdrawn bragging rights and unemployment checks
serving snobs like themselves who sip savignon
self-righteous polo popping perverts accompanying their prized play things
who join the charles river emigrants and stale french pastries
scouting the waste colored palace of prejudice.
now blades of winter draw months of blue blood
bringing forth frozen thoughts slowly dripping onto thawing skin.
another warm summer sun forthcoming
foreshadowed by this wind-chafing forlornness.
though i will fall in love again
and bridge rats will always be kings.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 3:33 PM UTC