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Nov 2013 · 777
Leaving Home
Allison Rose Nov 2013
When I woke up
The sky was on fire
A red and orange blaze
That consumed the leafless treetops
Emitting a purple hazy smoke
That turned the world around me blue and grey and pink.

When I woke up
My world was on fire
An invisible inner blaze
Feeding from the oxygen in my lungs
Clouding my mind with hazy smoke
Pictures of you in dresses that were blue and yellow and pink.

As I go to sleep
My sky is black as endless night
Stiff, ashy remains make everything look ancient
Like they are covered in a century of ash as dark as grey
Here my pictures of you are dull and out of focus
And I am far, far away from our world of blue and green and pink.
Allison Rose Nov 2013
The children of inconsequence
Ah to be so carefree
Spontaneity running through their blood
as quickly as the dollar and dime alcohol
that they consume nightly.

The children of inconsequence
They do not run from their shadows –
Their shadows run from them
Delighting in the light
Of their fluorescent, radioactive spirit.

The children
Breathing in the thick vanilla air
Running to who knows where
With two feet on the ground
They never stop moving.

Inconsequence
They need no belts
They will wear dresses
And drawstring flannel pants
They know they will not fall.
Allison Rose Nov 2013
All Clara wanted was clarity.
She wanted to be lifted from
this oppressive closedness of
all of those around her. She
felt free but only to herself
because she shoveled the joy
and passion and life that grew
inside her vigorously out into
the world. But with no one to
pick it up, to reciprocate her
joy and openness, she withered.
She never stopped until she
had shoveled it all from inside
her, and was left with an empty
vessel, no one to refill it with
their own. No mountains to
grow inside her, no rushing
river to fill her to the brim with
vitality, no seedling aspens to
sprout along her inner banks.
She felt utterly barren inside.
She felt weak from empty, faint.
Everything in her world seemed
fuzzy.
Oct 2013 · 615
The Magnitude of Stars
Allison Rose Oct 2013
We were kids again in the dark,
Standing on a hill and looking at the lights of the city;
Shining pin ****** are easily digestible when the magnitude of the world gets you down.
Infinity begins where the sky is darkest,
and the stars, unmarred by light, shine in brilliant multitude.
Breaths of cherry smoke and drying straw
Are still invisible in the uncharacteristic warmth of a night in October.
What kind of pictures would you draw
If you could pick the stars from the sky and rearrange their order?
What kind of constellations would we make if we dove into night’s great infinity
And shone like city lights glimmering against the velvet blackness of it all?
Oct 2013 · 1.8k
Sunset in Prague
Allison Rose Oct 2013
It looks like the entire city is on fire.
Black statues on the Charles Bridge
like charred remains from the blaze coming off the shining roof of the National Theatre.

And you might be able to picture it
when I say gothic towers glow like points of flame,
But you really have to go yourself to see what I mean when I say
there's a wind tunnel running from the Florenc metro station to Naměstí Republiky
that catches in it a gust of a thousand people in shades of red and black and gold.

If you are in the right place at the right time,
you can see the moment the streets lamps all light up in unison
by some command of the darkening sky
And suddenly everything is picturesque, even if you don’t know what that means.

Your favorite park might be the popular place for adolescent delinquency
but that doesn’t change the way the light from the setting sun
turns the Vltava into melted gold.

David Černy’s fluorescent ******* signals to the world
That here in Prague the world’s on fire.
Oct 2013 · 585
Hugo
Allison Rose Oct 2013
A keen observer looks upon the world with infant eyes
To notice how the hinges carved from wood fit into one another like a shoulder joint,
And the cracks in the wood give way to tiny, yellow flowers.

Co děláš Hugo?

What are you doing?
He puts the knife in his mouth without fear.
The cool metal sooths his teething gums.

Co vidíš?

What do you see?
A baby’s laughter is the most contagious sound.
And the way he pets the dog you’d think he didn’t know the different between friend and brother.

Kde jdeš Hugo?

Where are you going?
The world is a beautiful, amazing place,
On hands and knees the kitchen looks like castles and peaks of mountains.

Co je Hugo?

What is it?
I don’t know if he is crying because he fell or because we picked him up.
A piece of bread lies undiscovered on the ground.

And as soon as it started, it stopped.
There is too much world to waste a minute on salty tears.
Oct 2013 · 608
Polička
Allison Rose Oct 2013
I am on a shelf.

I am in a jar
     many jars
     my heart and brain and stomach are stored
     apart like ancient Egyptian princes
     preserved for burial.
I can put my heart in one place,
     and bury my body in another.
I can split my consciousness into a thousand little tchotkes
     preserved in piles of papers
     and colorful leaves picked up on a breezy autumn day.
I am a jar of flour
    and a ceramic bowl of honey
    with a little wooden spoon to scoop me out.

In this little wooden farmhouse, the shelves are filled with memories.
Leave a piece of me on the shelf here;
    Tuck me in between photographs
    and baby teeth.
Let part of me rest in the peace of Polička.
Oct 2013 · 714
12 Glasses of Wine
Allison Rose Oct 2013
There was a world at the end of that road,
Made of red and white and gold.
You told me a story about the first time you took a photograph.
Looking through a sparkling wine glass is how I found out what you see.

We took a shortcut home because you said you knew the way.
It didn’t matter because we could see well enough where we came from.
And the sky was a hundred different shades of orange and purple and gold.
Walking across an open grass field is where I found out where you once lived.

On the side of the road is where I really got to know you.
Climbing up the hill to the crown of Europe.
Illuminated by the passing of headlights,
Walking along the cracked asphalt is where I found out what you love.

I’m not sure how we came to find ourselves alone on a road away from nowhere.
I had to take a photograph because I couldn’t believe the color of the sky.
Until we left the bottle on the table, I felt insecure.
It was then that the darkness fell and I found out who I am.
Allison Rose Oct 2013
the flap of wings exploding into flight
the silence of a black and foggy night
Sep 2013 · 1.4k
Two Cats
Allison Rose Sep 2013
Two cats were sitting in a box
One sitting next to the other
One said to the other, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
And the other said, “You’ll just have to see.”
The first cat said, “I can’t go alone, brother.”
And he replied, “You’re not alone, you’re with me.”

Two cats were sitting in a box
One was blind and the other could see.
One said, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
And his brother said, “Just follow me.”
One said, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
But it was the other brother who couldn’t see.

Two cats were sitting a box
One was blind and the other could see.
One brother was afraid of the world,
And the other had no reason to be.
Everything that could have scared him,
Was as black as the faraway sea.

Two cats were sitting in a box,
And both of them wanted to see.
One said, “I can’t go alone, brother.”
And the other said, “You’re with me.”
But only one brother jumped,
And guess which one was he.

One cat was sitting in a box
And his brother was sitting alone.
The cat who could see sitting inside
And the blind cat outside on his own.
The blind cat said, “Brother, you coming?”
And the other said, “I want to stay home.”

So one cat stayed inside the box
And the other explored everything.
Then, one day he returned to the box,
To tell his brother everywhere he had been,
But he had no sight to see the world
So he couldn’t explain what he’d seen.

One cat was inside a box
The box was the only thing he’d seen
And one cat was outside of the box
But couldn’t see anywhere he had been.
Said the inside cat, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
And his brother said, “Don’t listen to me.”

“You’d know what is outside the box, brother.
If only you’d just come and see.”
But his brother stayed inside the box.
Too afraid of leaving was he.
So one stayed inside and the other outside,
And the great world remained a mystery.
Sep 2013 · 628
Walking Past A Stone
Allison Rose Sep 2013
One day I am walking, walking past a stone
I see a painted pattern undiscerned.
A marbled sort of mess, in shades of grey and brown,
the mass before me wears a cloak unlearned.





But upon closer inspection, I am surprised to find
a stone more tightly packed than first imagined.
The  large  and  solid  mass, from  distance looking  pure
Brought to light is seen to be deception.
The pattern I first saw, of messy marbled streaks
reveals to be of more compound complexion.




When I with curious eyes delight to look more closely
I  can  see  the tiny  bits  of  rock  and bone,
sand  and  shining  mica, and shards  of  shell infused  
bits  and  pieces  fused  in  solid  form.
I recall the recent past, when only grey had cloaked this rock,  
A spot that from a distance yawned a monochrome,
And I see this spot is parcel of a hundred tiny pieces–
An unapparent universe in stone.



The closer that I draw to this planetary exterior
The I more I see each particle discrete.
I think that if I took a hammer, and blasted it apart
Each sediment could be a stone complete.
If I am solid body, who is there to say
That I'm not so composite underneath?
A thousand microchosms, from the inside out;
My solid form is only the relief.

That I would find companion in this ordinary stone
Is destiny of day quite unforeseen
Discovered by surprise, in boredom’s hefty hour,
Tracing over simple path routine.
But more surprising still, while comparing flesh to earth,
I can’t decide if it more likely seems seems
That stones resemble bodies, pieces of a whole,
Or if bodies help us view the Earth extreme.

I think I may be too up close to see.
So I am walking past this stone to let it be.
Sep 2013 · 831
Walking Past A Stone
Allison Rose Sep 2013
One day I am walking, walking past a stone
I see a painted pattern undiscerned.
A marbled sort of mess, in shades of grey and brown,
the mass before me wears a cloak unlearned.

And to pass it by I am so apathetically inclined…



But upon closer inspection, I am surprised to find
a stone more tightly packed than first imagined.
The  large  and  solid  mass, from  distance looking  pure
Brought to light is seen to be deception.
The pattern I first saw, of messy marbled streaks
reveals to be of more compound complexion.

I feel the want to approach it closer…


When I with curious eyes delight to look more closely
I  can  see  the tiny  bits  of  rock  and bone,
sand  and  shining  mica, and shards  of  shell infused  
bits and pieces all combined to  solid  form.
I recall the recent past, when only grey had cloaked this rock,  
A spot that from a distance yawned a monochrome,
And I see this spot is parcel of a hundred tiny pieces–
An unapparent universe in stone.

I am now a nose’s length from this sight superior...

The closer that I draw to this planetary exterior
The I more I see each particle discrete.
I think that if I took a hammer, and blasted it apart
Each sediment could be a stone complete.
If I am solid body, what is to say
That I could not be so composite underneath?
I could be a thousand microchosms, from the inside out;
My solid form is only the relief.

And yet that I would find companion in this ordinary stone
Is destiny of day quite unforeseen
Discovered by surprise, while in this boredom’s hefty hour,
Retracing over simple path routine.
But more surprising still, while I’m comparing flesh to earth,
I can’t decide if it more likely seems seems
That stones resemble bodies, pieces making up a whole,
Or if bodies help us view the Earth extreme.

I think I may be too up close to see.
I am walking past this stone to let it be.
Allison Rose Sep 2013
Nobody knows why,
          on the quietest of days,
          we decided to walk into the forest.
But the wind wasn't blowing,
          And the rain wasn't falling,
          And the castle was silent as stone.

With knives in our hands,
          And room in our baskets,
          We looked toward the ground with tenuous step.
Searching in brambles,
          Though we hadn't much practice,
          Looking for life where dead things had fell.

There wasn't much on the ground that day,
But the dog's playing fetch and the baby is laughing.
Just climb up the hill and we'll find our way back;
Whatever you are looking for is just on the other side.

Soon we are wandering,
          Without saying a word.
          You don't know where we are, and neither do I.
It takes getting lost
          To know what it feels like
          For the crunching of leaves to remind you of home.

We hadn't been here before,
          But it all looks the same now.
          The trees are still green and their bark is still brown.
We couldn't quite see him
          For all of the trees here,
          But we followed the sound of the baby's cries.

There wasn't much on the ground that day,
But the dog's playing fetch and the baby is laughing.
Just climb up the hill and we'll find our way back;
Whatever you are looking for is just on the other side.

I don't know what we've found here,
          But my basket is heavy.
          I think that it's time that we start heading home.
The path doesn't fork here,
          You just make a new one.
          Just follow the sound of the baby's cries.
Allison Rose Apr 2013
[attempts at Shakespearean sonnet form]

If spring is daylight dawning on the night,
Then you are March's unforgiving snow;
When time of year has come for evenings bright,
You are the clouded sky which eastward blows.
With rolling thund’rous clouds you come to rest
Upon the blameless springtime of my heart;
And wither baby blossoms in my chest,
Unwelcomed winter snowing ‘gainst its part.
Caught in the wake of unforetold advance,
I’m naked and defenseless with you there;
Prepared for longer days of spring romance,
I'm burned by icy tempest of your air.
          But snow knows not what time of year he falls,
          It is but chance of when the weather calls.
Apr 2013 · 601
For Linda
Allison Rose Apr 2013
[In the Anglo-Saxon lyric style]

The darkness of a winter,    white and bitter,
Suddenly turns     to treasure precious;
For in the wake     of waning day-light
I am reminded,      remorseful truth,
of life departing.    A prayer is sung
Of a loved-one’s body-draught;   the bleakest sorrow.
Time and fate,     fellows of legacy,
Become ice-clear.     I see their meeting-point,
In measure of days,     drawing closer;
And this winter solemn     now seems frost-fleeting.
Growing dearer     are the days of chill
now seemingly wielded      of wealthiest gold.
Dec 2012 · 1.2k
the year without a summer
Allison Rose Dec 2012
snappy synapses predict the end of the world
and i am growing tired of growing older
while the year without a summer continues plummeting
toward my house in time
and we bide our time on our backs
smearing the yellow pixie dust of sunflowers on our eyes
because at least the yellow makes us smile
asking can the moon tire of orbiting the earth
and break away like a rubber band on its last snap
triumphantly spitting into the windless night
until our lips are dry as oxygen-starved mountain air
but I know better now
than to judge a night by its morning
because the truest words have always been written
on the bitter parchment skin of almonds
masking the cherry-sweetness of the flesh
and the artist may be starving but she is never starved
if she can learn to feed on pits and branches
for the flesh of the fruit is never quite as sweet
and in a dewy stupor we raise our faces to a dawn
that shatters the illusion that we are encased in a racing darkness
that slides under our feet with the slippery stealth
of the thin layer of water evaporating off the top of the ocean
to join the ranks of droplets that gather in the sky
hanging enviously above the surface of the earth
but always in danger of slipping back down
and splashing into the great blue depths again
Nov 2012 · 2.6k
selfless
Allison Rose Nov 2012
my mind is selfish,
my soul is not.
but my soul is weak,
consumed
by the immensity of my mind.
my self relinquished
to the battering thoughts
that traipse across my soul.
soldiers of the self,
that seize my body
in the vicious pincers
of my mind.
Nov 2012 · 658
steel stcks
Allison Rose Nov 2012
what is lft

of th towring giants

metal skletons tht have
grwn brittle

wth age

but we cnnot retire thm

tke them dwn nd let them
rst in peace

becus we are sure

tht as long as the rmaining piecs

stay stnding

ther is smthing tht can
nvr die
Nov 2012 · 629
if i exist
Allison Rose Nov 2012
people don’t mean
they exist
in relation to others
relationships don’t mean
they do not exist
only we exist
in relation to others

if i kiss you right now, it does not mean anything. i don’t mean anything, and neither do you. we are simply touching, touching at the lips, though it might as well be our elbows or knees or ankle bones. and if that contact feels right, it does not mean. we are simply two people touching, and it is right. why shouldn’t it be that way?

i do not mean
i only exist
and that can be right
i can be right
simply because i exist

i don’t need to be apologetic for who i am. i can be right, and my rightness does not change your rightness. if i kiss you right now and it is right and i am right and you are right then we both exist. in relation to one another. simply touching, touching. and it doesn’t have to mean anything.
Allison Rose Nov 2012
_____________
I loved the idea of a symphony captured on an easel
spelled out in shades squeezed out of tubes like the
horizontal expansion of a note dispersed in air but
soon I found that the canvas was too small to contain
the notes of the score and so I began to paint them
on the side of the easel itself and down the legs of
the frame onto the floor and once on the floor across
the entire length of the room and up the frame of the
door and spiraling around until I was writing the notes
of a sonata around the circumference of the doorknob
and painting tiny key signatures on the barrel of the
lock and soon I ran out of paint but there was still so
much music in me so I started to spell out the notes
with my finger until even the air in the room was
covered with notes and I inhaled the melodies and
they swirled around so the symphony could be plucked
out among the fibers inside of me and resonate in my
empty cavities filling me from the inside out with song…
_____________
Oct 2012 · 6.2k
pomegranate
Allison Rose Oct 2012
sweetness overwhelms--
          like the pleasant pop of a pomegranate seed.
sweet sharp burst
                    overtaken by a flood of tangy red
                    overcomes the mouth and drips from the corner of the lips.
Allison Rose Oct 2012
it is the clouded day
that drives me to your side,
in search of the colorful flame
          you spark in me.
in fickle inconsistent light,
i feel momentarily illuminated.
          and it's enough.
but unknowingly,
          [or knowingly],
i have walked into my own winter.
the clouds are thick,
like a grey blanket made of wool
that has been pulled over
           my eyes.
but it is your warmth
           i'm blinded by:
radiating in the slight distance
           always between us.
i let it take my senses from me,
and i am hopelessly lost--
constantly just out of reach
of any sort of spring.
i am lost, hopelessly lost
          in your colorless eyes.
so i read you like a map;
endowing the twists and turns
          of your body,
as if the road to my happiness
were printed on your skin.
i can only imagine
how those roads might look
if your limbs became intertwined
          with mine.
Oct 2012 · 549
winter romance
Allison Rose Oct 2012
i have decided that,
         like the ashes in november,
i must drop my leaves
and enter dormancy.

i must endure this season alone.

for one should never start a romance
          in the winter.
as one can never know
how the fruits will bloom
until the ice has melted away.

....yet i continue to read your body
like the map to happiness
is written on your skin;
and i wrap you around me
so i may trace my path up and down your arms.

i have decided
that i cannot let your hand
slip around my neck again,
but I still wear you
          like a winter coat.
i use your fleecy down
          to hide me
like november's blanket-clouds.

i need you
in the face of waning daylight,
because you light me like a lantern;
and the heat of the fickle flame--
          though inconsistent be the light--
seems to be my only source of warmth.

i have decided
that i cannot want you,
          but i need you
so I may endure this bitter winter.
Oct 2012 · 535
said the moon to the earth
Allison Rose Oct 2012
silent and half in shadow
i orbit to your obligation
pulling on your tides
          if i may draw you closer
dancing in hysterical pirouettes
i turn just for you

but as i spin in circles
you turn likewise for someone else
dancing your own frenzied dance
you look away from me
to gaze into the brilliance
          of her light

as i am tied to you
in concentric circles
you dance in wider orbit
around her fiery immensity
leaving me a spot of light
          in empty darkness

and even as i pour forth
all of me from my very core
i realize that the only light
          that i shine forth
is but a meager imitation
of her glorious radiance

surrounded by speeding rocks
i have become desolate and cold
full of craters of expansive lonliness
but i am always turning for you

i am under the spell
of your inescapable gravity
Oct 2012 · 425
Poles
Allison Rose Oct 2012
Be my North pole
        as I am the South --
Two constant points,
Incessantly revolving
         around the same core.
Oct 2012 · 3.5k
candle
Allison Rose Oct 2012
what i thought was heat
was just the smell of
melting wax...
Oct 2012 · 433
poetry on poetry
Allison Rose Oct 2012
the very irony of this pursuit
is the stubborn root
over which i trip again and again and again...
Oct 2012 · 419
the intruder found
Allison Rose Oct 2012
dark this
the stage. distant
the end
mystical self
not say
for property
good truth
beauty, through them
truth; not blind
warning, learned and
dark,
Sep 2012 · 752
radio haus
Allison Rose Sep 2012
it always smelled like beer.
like beer and **** and sweat and mold.
palpable smells spread liberally onto the air
          and breathed in through our laughter
          and out through our shameless belting of the songs
that played again and again and again...

we all knew all the words, even if we didn't
          know what the song was called,
which we could laugh about
gathered around the sink to catch a drink
          and ride out the pounding in our head.
the floor was sticky. audible smacks plinked out
to the beat in the background as strangers
           with familiar faces wove in and out
of the tapestry of the night again and again and again....

and we were happy here,
made artificially warm by the concoctions
we spooned out of buckets or serving bowls.

          and that's how we expected it to be.
again and again and again...

when the lights came on and
the pale carpet showed its spots and
the cups and crumbs and twisted nails bore themselves again,
          we smiled at them again anyway.
something charming in the musty sincerity of the walls
          slick with the condensed moisture of our sweat and saliva.
our breath bringing the surfaces to life
with our light.

all in one place.

again for the the last time
Sep 2012 · 391
dark (k)night
Allison Rose Sep 2012
07.29.12
a hero is born
always in the face
of humanity's darkness

who was the hero tonight?
was it the man
           who crawled across a row of seats
           to shield a child with his body
or is it the dozens
           who lost their lives in sacrifice
or is the hero
in the end
the one who won what he came to win

           the chaos of a knight
           a place in infamy untouchable
           a name without a person's face
who made us lose as much as he had to gain
before successfully vanishing into the dark
Sep 2012 · 547
super moon
Allison Rose Sep 2012
singing a lullaby we
are rocking in a cradle spun
of liquid white straight
from the bottle wrapped up
in the darkness of the night until

we find ourselves in stillness

laid out on the damp shingles
                laughing
                at the clouded sky
because we know
that somewhere behind the blackened grey

the moon shines bigger and brighter
than it ever has before
Sep 2012 · 346
autumn haiku
Allison Rose Sep 2012
do you change color
so we do not mourn your fall?
too bright your yellow
Sep 2012 · 972
aspens
Allison Rose Sep 2012
high along the timber line
in everlasting green expanse
there is a colony of brave young shoots
that dare to change their dress
          to yellow
preparing to face the winter naked-bare
their fair white skin
          vulnerable as they are like the snow
but they stand together unafraid
because beneath the ground
the golden aspens hold each others' hands
though on the surface
          they are quaking
Allison Rose Sep 2012
pineapples.
why do we like them?
i don't know.
they are prickly
and pokey.
and kind of ugly.
and man, are those things ******* hard to peel.

apples.
why do we eat them?
i don't know.
they are shiny.
and kind of boring.
and you can't eat half of it anyway,
because it's too close to the seeds.

strawberries.
what kind of fruit are they?
their seeds are on the outside.
and their flavor of starburst doesn't taste anything like them.
and sometimes they get really squishy and covered in mold.

bananas.
why do we eat them?
i don't know.
maybe because they are yellow.
Allison Rose Sep 2012
in smoke and ashes, we keen
at the feet of the largest funeral pyre
that we have ever seen
counting the bodies in
the number of limbs fallen in between
charred, scarred
as if to remind us
of how alive they have always been

and until then, we had complained
the loss of something we have always felt
was in our right to contain
but sitting a midst our "domain"
counting acre by acre
and then mile by mile
as the flames reclaimed
what has always been theirs to take

and in a fortnight we awoke
and it was silence like it had never broke
and the mountains, as far as we could see
wrapped in black cloak
but it was us
who felt like we'd been choked
and not for smoke
because we could finally see what we had done

so in our grief, we gathered in the street
to greet our proclaimed heroes
and make a victory of our defeat
thankful for salvation from the heat
that blazed up in our face
a uncomfortable reminder
our of dominion incomplete
Sep 2012 · 846
archer
Allison Rose Sep 2012
this air isn't thick enough to
stop a speeding arrow
and i fell the narrow distance
two steps back from where i stood
you knew the stance but how?
my voice has found resistance
sound is wound around a puncture wound
too soon, my lungs deflate
i can feel my breath escape and i can't -
if only it had gone right through
you said you knew, but that's not what i saw
it was still raw when i watched you draw it's head
i recognized that heart-string thread
red, the rest could spill it all
to **** the fall
your best
there's still an arrow in my chest
Sep 2012 · 1.4k
Fishbowl
Allison Rose Sep 2012
Bodies moving in the glass
But, alas, the snow falls
Outside the globe
Who knows?
While inside
This side, like flowing tide
Points and pirouettes
Reflect in shapes like snowflakes
More unique
A picturesque finesse
But bleaker in the light
Than under glow of moon
Because they know
The show
Lacks something from
The airport shelf
Becoming
Something greater than the self
Silent ballerinas dance
Underwater glitter
Fancier than windows taller than the sky
And why
Can't they appear
And here
We disappear
In light among shadows
Sep 2012 · 831
aurora
Allison Rose Sep 2012
it wasn’t an accident
to commit such a crime
bodies falling in a line
symmetrical, detestable
with the measured hand
of a stable man

to take a knife
to a wife is what we call
a crime of desperation
but in the range the
****** of a stranger
stranger still must have
a plan
he is a man
and a man of mind
of careful calculation

because only a man
who has reached this place
not rashly
to raise above
the smoke and ashes
knows what kind of
clarity it takes
to take away what
man himself can’t make

he knew
that we’d put on a fuss
to save our face
he knows
the joke’s on us
Sep 2012 · 848
wordsworthian lament
Allison Rose Sep 2012
i worship you silently because
i know you do not speak and
i do not wish to mock you with
the feeble talents of the gilded
molding soapbox on which we
rationalize our superiority.
                 instead i am content
to lie in your sunbeams and
communicate through the rise and
fall of my natural breath, the only
thing my wretched racing mind
has not stolen from my unbridled youth.

there are thoughts inside me --
just beyond the ellipses -- that evade
the nets of language, slipping daftly
through the fine mesh of symbols
we have compressed into what we call
understanding.
                  i am as capable of catching
these thoughts as i am the dust
that dances in a beam of light.
and i know you hear them
as though it is a song that plays into
your ear, yet i know that no instrument
of earth may capture such a melody.
impossibly far from embodiment,
i know these feelings are safe
from the steam-roller plastering of
my most enchanted moments
into a bastardized form, tainted
by the intellectual spirit that evades
even the smallest pore of this human body.
i am with reason in a constant chase
that keeps me fleeing ever faster
towards my long-lost home among the hills...
May 2012 · 559
I Can't Imagine The Trees
Allison Rose May 2012
I can't imagine the trees
Looking any other way
Than the way they do right now

In the winter
I can't imagine the naked skeletons
Clothed in springs blossoms

In the spring
I can only wonder how they'll look
Once the tiny, baby-fresh greens uncurl

In the summer
I cannot see the lush foliage
Enrobed in the reds and browns and golds

And in the fall
I try not to imagine how the trees will look
Stripped bare and cold and bleak

I often can't imagine
Feeling any other way
Than the way I feel right now

Some days I feel cavernous
Like the world around me is caving in
And I can't imagine where laughter comes from

Some days nothing could stop me smiling
Joy fills me up
And I fear the next time when it feels like
The emptiness will go on forever
May 2012 · 981
Take a Tums
Allison Rose May 2012
She's like acid reflux
Bubbling in the balled up pit of my stomach
Pangs of searing acidic bile rising in my throat
I have to swallow to keep it all down
The words I would ***** in her face if I could
The kind of noxious fluid immune to my control
I'd love to see her dripping with my complaint
Stained by her own disdain
Regurgitated onto her own front smock
An adage to her own hysterical hypocrisy
Allison Rose May 2012
i woke up this morning
and i was in a rainforest
and i didn't know how to feel
so i felt happy

i woke up this morning
and i was in a rainforest
green and lush and tropical
and full of hidden life

i woke up this morning
and i was not in my bed anymore
i was on the dense canopy floor
beneath graceful towering giants

i woke up this morning
and i was in a rainforest
and i didn't know what to feel
so i felt wonder

i looked around
at what had sprung up over night
and i realized
that it had been there all along
May 2012 · 847
Under Victor
Allison Rose May 2012
Six friends,
All huddled under the cover of night.
They have known each other
for eternities,
Yet each only for a day.
Sharing memories that they shared
From thousands of miles away
Before they even met.

The fleecy down of cloud cover
Is stretched over their heads
A secretive sleepover tent
But the only secrets they tell
Are they have only been keeping
From themselves.

And they begin to fill with something
Even lighter than air.
And they rested their heads in each others' laps -
The only thing
That kept them held down to the ground.

The damp, soft earth underneath them
Cold grass and the chilly morning dew
Forming beneath their fingers
Were the only things
To remind them that this life was real.
This moment was real.

Above them, the sky turned purple
Then orange
Then pale light blue.
And the morning came
Whether they wished it to or not,
Pressing into the next day as it did the last.

Only somehow, this was different.
Jan 2012 · 2.0k
helium
Allison Rose Jan 2012
my head is full of helium
i am floating away from this earth
into the frightening darkness of infinite space
drawn to the twinkling stars
and their promise of an everlasting light

but then i met you
and for a while it was nice to feel
the weight of your arm around my shoulders
your hand wrapped gently around my side
your knees knocking softly against mine
the weight of you holding me on the ground

for a while, we are happy
you are a warmth
you are a shelter
you are perfect
but i can't help that i am always floating up
our embrace is just the force of you
holding me down

for every moment that we are together
i have never been happier
so why can't i fight the unconquerable urge to set you free?
Nov 2011 · 1.2k
Sex on the Beach
Allison Rose Nov 2011
Oh sand…
You sultry temptress,
You lure me in with your promise of warmth.
You steal my senses from me with your all-encasing caress.
Cradle me
In your earthly *****.
Warm me still
With your sun-soaked tresses.

But as I lay with you
You cling to my side. Mold to my skin.
I fear that once I succumb To your tantalizing invitation,
I will never be without you.
Nov 2011 · 1.4k
Playing Doctor
Allison Rose Nov 2011
A booth Made out of Fed-Ex blocks
Tongue depressors Still lingering with the taste of fudgesicle
Diagnoses Of cat-scratch fever
Of applesauce flu
Of –itises and –idias
One end of a jumprope
Held to one ear
And the other
Tracking the thump of a human heart
When the only illnesses
Were those of a sun-spent day
And playdate fatigue
We were all doctors
We could all
Save
           Lives…
Nov 2011 · 1.8k
Names Carved in a Tree
Allison Rose Nov 2011
A girl sits listening to the sky whisper
Secret lines to the brilliant sun
That listens to the apple tree
Where she defies gravity
Closing her eyes tightly; swinging
Keeping rhythm to the beats of the butterfly’s wings

And suddenly she too has wings
And can hear the clouds whisper
The branches all around her swinging
Shielding the heat from the sun
The sun needn’t fear gravity
Flying high above the tree

A boy sits under an apple tree
And watching the silky sparrow’s wings
As it flits away from the ropes of gravity
He calls out, a whisper
Wishing he were bold as the sun
But never stopping swinging

And with two feet on the ground he keeps swinging
Even standing tall as a tree
Looking to the bright sun
For inspiration on the sun beams’ wings
The wind merely a whisper
The boy can feel the gravity

The girl too, feels the gravity
But still she’s swinging
In the light of the setting sun
She hears a distant whisper
She slows under the heavy, wilting tree
And closes her wings

Softly the boy looks to the disappearing sun
As it gives in to gravity
Handing over weary wings
To steady his heart’s swinging
Looking past the haggard tree
To hear the reply to his whisper

Two hands together swinging
Two names carved in a tree
Two voices barely a whisper
Nov 2011 · 646
Burning Bridges
Allison Rose Nov 2011
With my first words
I struck a match
Like a flick
On the zipper of a faded pair of jeans
She notices
Unalarmed
Not convinced

I bring the flame
(Flickering with ambivalence)
Up to my face
Square between my eyes
And she watches

She watches
Behind glasses of dis-concern
The gloss of her eyes
Reflecting the light
Like lies

I make a motion
As if to blow out
The flame
A whispered apology
But instead

It catches with a click
The steps that lead across
A wood-framed arch
Between my eyes and hers

Heat-soaked hands
Climbed like a ladder
Rung by rung
To the space of disbelief
Living in the “o” of her mouth

The flames race
Faster
Burning the bridge
To the ground
Nov 2011 · 807
Red Winter
Allison Rose Nov 2011
Sitting in a whitewash kitchen
Gazing out the window
Winter glazed over the treetops sprinkled with icicles
Clouds danced across the sun
When there I saw
A curious sight
High in the skeletal branches of the plum tree
Perched midwinter
Read-breasted against a bleak, gray sky
A robin
Cooing softly
Its sweet music eerily misplaced
In the dead of December
Nov 2011 · 1.4k
A Castle Made of Sand
Allison Rose Nov 2011
The light comes up
On a sandcastle house
Soft and shivering
A childs’ voice creaks
Through earth-drawn walls
As ancient as the wind that shakes them
Purple and orange sky
Stretches out over the sea
Songs of yesterday
Carried over the glimmering surface

Tomorrow stretches
Upward and outward
Through the stained-glass windows
Pressed into the soft earth
The beach rings
With bells that have yet to be struck
Ripples in the sand
Washed away by the foaming surf
Lapping at the door
Of the sandcastle house

From the highest turret
Struck with both the light of the sun
And the moon
The wind swirls in circles
Holding together the walls
Of a castle made of sand
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