summer-novak
American
the sea offers up flowers of glass, like thick light. they are transparent landscapes / ~Jellyfish by Raquel Jodorowsky / / One of my favorite poems about the ocean, and the only one you'll find on here that wasn't written by your's truly; / / In most of my poems you may experience a glimpse of a character's life, a moment in time where emotion is brought forth, just for a moment or two... / / Comments and critiques are always welcome / Thank you for visiting / ~sn
dropping the vile,
she curled up next to the man lying on the bed
she'd always thought he looked so serene when he slept
she ran her fingers along his chest
creeping up to the dip above the collar bone
and back down to his ribs
tracing little patterns near his heart
eternally loving him,
knowing there would never be another...
her hand floated up and down
making the smallest of motions
with the most kind precision.
before drifting off, and joining him
in the only slumber which lasts forever...
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
a mixture of colors and laughter,
dancing and swirling around each other.
how lovely they were,
basking in their own light,
radiating off of them as they glowed with contentment.
the pair would never separate,
for they had no reason to neglect the other.
and so they danced,
from dream to dream,
simply existing to cherish one another
with all of their being
for the rest of their existence
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
the rubber burned and made the nerves in her nasal cavity burn and singe.
she recoiled from the horrific fumes exhausting from the tires.
the day was blackened with smoke that rose past the peaks of the surrounding mountains and up to the stars above.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC
there were always the pumpkins
or cider
or the smell of pine
but the leaves.
the leaves.
different hues of scarlet
of amber
of tawny
and gold
all melting into one another’s lives,
interrupting their own deaths.
throwing a wild tantrum of color and aroma
before letting the wind take them
before they float and flutter down
dead.
the most beautiful death known to this world
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
she entered the dimly light room in the dull apartment skeptically.
dreary wall paper surrounded her, though it was even more damp and dingy than that of what she had been expecting.
she dropped her ***** bag to the floor, darkened to a horrid brownish color.
and she wished with all her being she could return home and away from this undesirable den within her dream.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
the moon shone in the sky
like a large luminescent platinum disc
in the dark of the night.
she stood as the edge of the wide pier
with her feet dangling down,
teasing the water with her boots.
the boy looked upon the gazing girl
and smiled to himself before walking over
and sitting himself down next to her.
she turned, surprised,
and he saw her face illuminate
brighter than all the stars in the sky
and even the moon herself…
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
the darkness had taken her away
with deceit and promise of an escape.
as it happened to be,
this path lead to a tunnel
which led to a cave with great wide jaws
and teeth of stalactites and stalagmites
one could marvel at for hours on end.
the cave ate her whole and she plummeted
into the world of misfortune and misery called Earth
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
and so it flowed along the floor,
newly waxed and cleaned and polished,
just for the occasion.
it had layers upon layers of beauty
and she felt exquisite
The Prince looked upon her
in all her jewels and silks and satins
and felt nothing for her.
and so he turned his eyes away.
and looked upon his servant boy for comfort...
which he found without delay in the servant's face.
in his eyes...
and his lips...
curling up in just the slightest way,
almost undetectable.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
her brush strokes
erupt on the page
leaving a fury of colors in its trail.
singing songs of feeling
of emotion
and rage
when the bristles
are close to withering out
it's voice grows raspy and pained
so it returns to its home:
familiar,
nourishing,
and chaotic
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
that fireplace was a threshold for memories.
it was made of a brick,
red as you like,
that was older than you could imagine.
the fireplace had watched the families
sit before it for years,
it knew more stories than it could tell in a years time
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC