Sharps spike my brain
With their taunting technique.
I can feel my lungs
Expel air as my fingers
Move in a movement
As crisp as winter rain.
I surface for my next bubble
Of air while my lips continue
Their evanescent struggle so as not to
Bend to the will of the score
During which I engrave my
Heart upon each note
To convey elation. The
Elation I feel as I let the piece
Ravage my brain and leave my
Lungs barren. It’s in my
Brain, my blood and hopefully, now
In you.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Spindly supports elevate
Its be speckled body while thread
Outpours from the spiders portly
Frame. Swarms of prey
Bolt as the spider moves
Lethargically, still full from
Its earlier meal.
Thread ensnares the
Frangible flies in their
Cowering conglomeration.
One by one they are
Picked like daisies
On a school field,
Leaving the spider to sit
Back, content with his
Play for the day.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
Now I can only gaze up
Toward the pedestal
Where I once resided,
As I lay on the floor broken,
Bruised and utterly raw.
No more pretences and
Performances to hide behind
And to act out with the grace
Of a Shakespearean actor.
My body curls like a wounded
Animal trying to preserve
Dignity while my sins march
Around me in a death parade.
The drums ricochet through
My skull and the footsteps
Echo through the lonely halls
Of my mind where the memory
Of him burns and scorches because
That’s all they were to me.
A flickering flame that I tried to use
To heat my chilled heart.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
Cold, smooth and gleaming.
Your body jests me with
My own reflection. Each
Key and note releasing your
Voice and song till you speak
Louder than any human.
Aged worn lacquer glimmers
In mirth as notes as deep as
The everlasting ocean
Are released to waltz upon
The air and embrace my ears
With its melodic magnetism.
Fingers on valves moving
As if all the time in the world
Were allotted to this one
Tune. Each note clinging to
The ear and whispering
Sweet nothings. Light seems
To emanate from the bell
As the melody draws itself to
Its grand finale. Each note
Punctuated till…..
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
Gasping. You lay there
Gasping before me. Each
Breath strained like the
Earth was laying on your chest.
Unfocused eyes glazed across me
Looking at me like I was a stranger.
Each blank glance causing a crack
In my glass heart.
Words circle me like a predator.
Cancer, terminal, stopping treatment.
These words wrap around my throat
As they close in for the ****
I start to gasp as my world fades and dims
Till only the tiniest drafts of light
Invade my sight. The words tighten
And I know in my heart, they’ve won.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
On a sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.
From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.
The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!
There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very gray rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"
And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.
So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.
We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!
"The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops will fly.
"And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"
Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor,
A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:
Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!
And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To that strange minstrelsy
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me:
"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!
"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.
"To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!
"And, could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
BECAUSE they live to die."
The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.
Published in the 1846 collection Poems By Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell under Emily's nom de plume 'Ellis Bell'.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,
But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.
And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
Unlucky the hero born
In this province of the stuck record
Where the most watchful cooks go jobless
And the mayor's rôtisserie turns
Round of its own accord.
There's no career in the venture
Of riding against the lizard,
Himself withered these latter-days
To leaf-size from lack of action:
History's beaten the hazard.
The last crone got burnt up
More than eight decades back
With the love-hot herb, the talking cat,
But the children are better for it,
The cow milks cream an inch thick.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
’Twas noontide of summer,
And midtime of night,
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, through the light
Of the brighter, cold moon.
’Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
There passed, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC