methy-architabel
American
I was once schizophrenic but now we're OK... / / Born in 1916, Methy Architabel is the collaborative consciousness of two fledgling writers. One with the soul of a poet and the other convinced that she was once Cleopatra. / / Methy - a frog, muse, mother, psychiatric nurse, and poet, who goes on long walks trying to prove that frogs are the canaries of the suburbs. / / Architabel – a mouse, poet, artist, musician, graying at more than the temples struggles to escape the rhythm and rhyme of common limericks. / / Knowing not what may spring forth from this misguided adventure, let the journey begin.
In your arms
I know
no sweeter Haven.
In my arms
you'll find
sanctuary.
The world fades
Time slows.
Chaos stills.
In my arms
I bid you
sweet memories.
In your arms
I find
Love. Peace. Bliss.
In my arms
I long
to hold you.
In your arms
is the place
I
most desire
to be.
I find haven
with
you here,
In your arms...
In my arms...
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 4:35 PM UTC
Flutterbies and Scallywags
floating in a brizzillag.
Mumbliwags and prissywicks
swimming in a zig zag
All together, stroke, stroke,
the mumbliwags are swimming.
Dipping here and dipping there.
the flutterbies are skimming.
But not so much, those scallywags,
a lazy bunch they are...
and what about those prissywicks,
the laziest by far.
Bumblies are bumbling,
What very funny things.
Listing side to side are they
On their whimsy wings
Prissywicks and Frakkyliks
tiring long before,
any of their counterparts
on the brizzillag shore
Flitting hither and thither, and way beyond yonder,
the flutterbies flitter all day.
It's a shame, don't you know, when it comes to playing,
only the flutterbies come out to put on a show.
The rest are all lazy, and mindless or crazy
and float around in the brizzillag.
If it were a contest, you know who would be the best,
And Flutterbies would be winnin', every blue ribbon.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 8:09 AM UTC
how my cell-mate loved me
i miss him now and then
i am finally on the outside
but he's doing five to ten.
i met him in the lunch room
he followed to the yard
and when he brushed against me
i felt something really hard.
don't be shy he told me
i'll treat you right, you'll see
and then he whispered nothings
while making love to me.
how my cell-mate loved me
let me count the ways
i love his big house nickname
they call him Bubba J
Bubba is a big boy
and really hairy too
if **** rugs are what you love
then he's the one for you.
He is a big bad tough guy
until he is alone
and then he is a teddy bear
I love to make him moan.
He is so soft and snuggly
he is my ******* coo
he hates for me to call him that
as a tough guy he'd be thru.
he is like putty in my hands
for sure when i am done
but at the start he is so hard
at least until he ****
if he gives me sass
i smack his *** and send him to his bunk
i am the boss of this sweet pair
and I treat him like a punk.
he stands real tall when free time comes
and fear is felt by all
but he looks up when facing me
and i'm just five feet tall.
i am the tough guy it turns out
and he is just a queen
i love him and he loves me
he's the best i've ever seen.
too bad i'm here and he is there
i think i'll rob a store
then i'll be back in with him again
and have sweet love once more.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 9:45 AM UTC
my idol, my heroine
my love, and addiction
you are so my guilty pleasure.
young you are not
but in the wisdom
of your experience
there is beauty.
possessed not of
those vacant eyes
seen too often
in today's youth.
i have grown fond
of just being with you.
words unnecessary
how is it we often know
what is on the other's mind.
I find myself
looking for you
whenever i fancy
a lark, a romp
a trip taken lightly.
teasing you
as i often do
i am amused
by your petulant smile.
the glint in our eye
your outlook
so light and frivolous.
you attack life
with a certain bent
an attitude
that I try to learn from.
bringing me out of my funk
with a word
a smile
just the sound
of your breath.
i look to you
for guidance
romance
discourse and
***********
you are
my idol, my heroine
my love, and addiction
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 8:49 AM UTC
2010-Contest: HORROR & FANTASY FICTION
Creeping down the decrepit stairwell,
Dust rising under my bare feet.
Fearing I will become a victim clutched by the night.
Slowly dragging my tortured, mangled leg,
I journey quietly, holding back tears,
Pausing by doorways, to deep darkened rooms.
Listening intently to every sound,
Sure it will be the last I ever hear.
Before I'm dragged to the deepest corners
Of my fertile mind, working in overdrive,
Conjuring images, I'm too frightened to admit are my own.
Having taken part in terrors of my past,
My mind rushes from one to the next as I progress
Finding my way through this deep maze,
Like the sweat of fear trickling down my back.
Bringing shivers in this hot, humid hell.
Making my way through doors,
Wooden floors creaking under foot.
Senses heightened by sheer terror,
Webs, brushing my cheek, creating panic in my mind,
Small hairs standing on end, hair that at any other time
I would be totally unaware of.
Rasping voices whispering,
In every deep, dank recess.
Telling me to run, begone,
Stop disturbing this expectant silence,
Inviting fear, agony, and hopelessness.
And there, before me, the essence of this dreaded night,
Waiting patiently for me to approach as it knew I would.
Every instinct I have telling me to flee,
But the inevitability of this final meeting prevents me.
Looking upon me as though an irritating diversion from its languid stupor.
A shell of my former self turned wretched by the agonies of life's misfortune.
This reflection, does it, does it.........lie?
How can that be me? This soulless, evil thing.
Vile hideousness, even a mother would destroy,
Borne of a past, littered with the remains of victims and perpetrators,
Refuse scattered along the highway of an unsavory life.
And yet, tis truth I see, wavering before me in this warped looking glass,
Wretched self loathing pounds at the shreds of my being,
As I recognize myself for what I have become.
Grotesque in form and feature, soulless, pitiless,
possessed of a demented mind, in which others
appear deranged, not quite human, unrecognizable.
Inciting fear and outrage in my tortured, senseless brain.
Refuge from this madness is all I seek
Relief from the visage of myself unveiled.
At last, with a final stroke, the voices silenced
Solace for a mind now gone.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC