pratum - Hello Poetry

The leaves scrape mid dance Encased into a joy none know Puppeteered by gusts A mouth of our own couldn’t exhale Six moths linger soft Wing dust fallen and lost Luminescence calls Even our smallest We are all just scraping Against the harsh urban concrete Pulled by the wind of our own breath Which will one day pause And the leaves will settle To prepare for the sun to beam once more For the moths who are left.

0

Jun 27, 2014

Jun 27, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC

pratum

Moth Wings on Concrete

The leaves scrape mid dance Encased into a joy none know Puppeteered by gusts A mouth of our own couldn’t exhale Six moths linger soft Wing dust fallen and lost Luminescence calls Even our smallest We are all just scraping Against the harsh urban concrete Pulled by the wind of our own breath Which will one day pause And the leaves will settle To prepare for the sun to beam once more For the moths who are left.

15

The wind is teasing my laundry as it lays limp on its nasty cheap clothes horse Five dollars on sale. Whip that up they said. Is that how people get their kicks? Hugging their shrapnel to their chests as if that’s what everything comes down to? Haze back to nothing. Focus on eyeline. Bra strap lolling rudely over the cool metal bar. Like a fish in a bowl I’ll potter around my room until I can potter no more Until no knick knack can be moved to a more perfect angle I moved the owl ornament so the sun hits it in a way that makes it look scared of light. How cruel of me. Until the carpet is positioned beautifully Until each piece of fluff, each gathering of atoms is disposed of in the bin to create a new earth with stuck people like me. That’s how we were made you know. I’ll feel the walls until I feel my warmth bleed into the drywall Meaning only one thing I’ve been there a while An hour or so Just kneeling Watching the laundry Shiver in the breeze Faked by my plastic fan.

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Apr 27, 2014

Apr 27, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC

pratum

Boarding Houses make me feel like this.

The wind is teasing my laundry as it lays limp on its nasty cheap clothes horse Five dollars on sale. Whip that up they said. Is that how people get their kicks? Hugging their shrapnel to their chests as if that’s what everything comes down to? Haze back to nothing. Focus on eyeline. Bra strap lolling rudely over the cool metal bar. Like a fish in a bowl I’ll potter around my room until I can potter no more Until no knick knack can be moved to a more perfect angle I moved the owl ornament so the sun hits it in a way that makes it look scared of light. How cruel of me. Until the carpet is positioned beautifully Until each piece of fluff, each gathering of atoms is disposed of in the bin to create a new earth with stuck people like me. That’s how we were made you know. I’ll feel the walls until I feel my warmth bleed into the drywall Meaning only one thing I’ve been there a while An hour or so Just kneeling Watching the laundry Shiver in the breeze Faked by my plastic fan.

20

We wandered through the woods and found a wallowing bridge, creaking softly in the symphony of the spineless sighs of wind. Gushing through its planks I could feel the water seeping at the weak cavity’s of the wood. I was there and she was there and we were on that bridge together, struggling on its loose and yielding bones. As we stepped on its ribs, the wood sighed beneath our feet and the water swelled and the wind sang and we held on. And the wind slipped through my clothes and hugged at my skin. And we walked in silence. I didn’t have to fill the atmosphere with empty words with no meaning. In the silence we Struggled across the softened wood. So soft that our feet were but muffled padding underfoot. We were careless of the bridges unpromising purpose, that its defeat and surrender could leave us swept away in the cold stream below. We were just moving away from the forest. Moving together.

0

Apr 27, 2014

Apr 27, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC

pratum

A monologue

We wandered through the woods and found a wallowing bridge, creaking softly in the symphony of the spineless sighs of wind. Gushing through its planks I could feel the water seeping at the weak cavity’s of the wood. I was there and she was there and we were on that bridge together, struggling on its loose and yielding bones. As we stepped on its ribs, the wood sighed beneath our feet and the water swelled and the wind sang and we held on. And the wind slipped through my clothes and hugged at my skin. And we walked in silence. I didn’t have to fill the atmosphere with empty words with no meaning. In the silence we Struggled across the softened wood. So soft that our feet were but muffled padding underfoot. We were careless of the bridges unpromising purpose, that its defeat and surrender could leave us swept away in the cold stream below. We were just moving away from the forest. Moving together.

1

Think of the best, then think of the worst, Of where humanity might possibly burst. Travelling here and travelling away, Many are so fond, so fond to escape. One has to admire evolutions work, From atoms, to monkeys, to men hard at work. Many conceited, precious or rich, Though the question of questions is what makes that man rich? Is it the kiss he was given by his mother that morning, Or the kiss of the money that paid for his awning? Usually I think, who gives a **** If your house is a shed or for a king made to fit? Though the sad truth be told, and this is it, Many do care, many give a **** Not for the forests, or people in Africa, But the reputation the generosity earned them thereafter.

0

Apr 27, 2014

Apr 27, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC

pratum

12 years old.

Think of the best, then think of the worst, Of where humanity might possibly burst. Travelling here and travelling away, Many are so fond, so fond to escape. One has to admire evolutions work, From atoms, to monkeys, to men hard at work. Many conceited, precious or rich, Though the question of questions is what makes that man rich? Is it the kiss he was given by his mother that morning, Or the kiss of the money that paid for his awning? Usually I think, who gives a **** If your house is a shed or for a king made to fit? Though the sad truth be told, and this is it, Many do care, many give a **** Not for the forests, or people in Africa, But the reputation the generosity earned them thereafter.

16

You had torrents and storms in your hair Grey dewy eyes that whipped windy stares And at the beginning I didn’t feel the cold weather you brought around with you. you flickered like the hesitant cheap matchstick That resides in between the fingers of the adolescent that doesn’t yet understand Friction Caused by two opposing forces for a reason For an end product, to commit treason But not according to your abundant manual of Do’s and don’ts that mention in the title you’re exempt under the weight of so much paper thin equality chapters damp with words that stank of expectations I found a home under the printed lines of I love you, the running ink dousing me with a blackened perspective on what it was you really wanted for me To give but not receive to be free to talk but not to breathe but everyone knows you require both to form a voice and without that my fingers would slowly snap to the beat that my bones would crack To the rhythm of your whiplash tongue Which would flush waves against the shores that were my shrinking figure The small women you requested at the doorstep of our relationship Has finally shrunk to fit through the keyhole in the shape of your accessory Which is obviously necessary to put up with me.

0

Apr 27, 2014

Apr 27, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC

pratum

Friction.

You had torrents and storms in your hair Grey dewy eyes that whipped windy stares And at the beginning I didn’t feel the cold weather you brought around with you. you flickered like the hesitant cheap matchstick That resides in between the fingers of the adolescent that doesn’t yet understand Friction Caused by two opposing forces for a reason For an end product, to commit treason But not according to your abundant manual of Do’s and don’ts that mention in the title you’re exempt under the weight of so much paper thin equality chapters damp with words that stank of expectations I found a home under the printed lines of I love you, the running ink dousing me with a blackened perspective on what it was you really wanted for me To give but not receive to be free to talk but not to breathe but everyone knows you require both to form a voice and without that my fingers would slowly snap to the beat that my bones would crack To the rhythm of your whiplash tongue Which would flush waves against the shores that were my shrinking figure The small women you requested at the doorstep of our relationship Has finally shrunk to fit through the keyhole in the shape of your accessory Which is obviously necessary to put up with me.

25

I heard the tapping of your foot as you approached and your presence beat like the heart in my chest, pedaling a clockwork of miniscule sighs that I’m finding harder and harder to wrench into myself. If I could sound out the letters to the hollow sound the wind catching on my ribs makes, it would be a symphony I wish you could explain to me because the sway of your voice seems to fit in just fine with the cacophony that escapes.

0

Apr 24, 2014

Apr 24, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC

pratum

For you

I heard the tapping of your foot as you approached and your presence beat like the heart in my chest, pedaling a clockwork of miniscule sighs that I’m finding harder and harder to wrench into myself. If I could sound out the letters to the hollow sound the wind catching on my ribs makes, it would be a symphony I wish you could explain to me because the sway of your voice seems to fit in just fine with the cacophony that escapes.

5