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11.7k · Nov 2015
Butt-End of Things
Athina Mitchell Nov 2015
A handful of leaves
Smells just like Autumn.
The bits make me sneeze.
Cheew! Gaia's bottom!
5.5k · Jan 2016
Working and Waiting...
Athina Mitchell Jan 2016
I am nowhere near
My desired career;
I feel like I have
My thumb up my rear!
Seems like it's just another **** joke! haha!
Athina Mitchell Dec 2015
Dear Sanity,
In the night, I wake to find myself without your company, but the warmth of the chain about my neck keeps you at the forefront of my mind. The heavy links rake across my flesh searing your disapproval; pulling me to your ankles so that I might kiss them for mercy. Branded at the chest by this heart of yours, though, I am the very antithesis of your will. I was seduced by the comfort of your homogeneous masses and tempted by the fruits of my curiosity. Yet, it is through fire—the deep passions of my essence—that I will be reborn. And you, who I loved through the eyes of others, will HOWL at my betrayal! Then stand upon your mountain peak and bludgeon me with reason so that I might know what your light looks like.  

To what end? So that I might cling to this chain, this keepsake, which I did not need until you bestowed your judgment. Yes, judgment, though you would have me believe it is your friendship, your safety, your sympathy. Like the swelter of a thousand suns you oppress me saying, “Keep quiet your ***** yearning!” So who would know better, the hour of my discontent, than you who watches me, unblinking, during the day? It is here, at the tween of night, that I shed the scales from my eyes and throw off your burden of want—the goals for which you leave me always pining, but never appeased. Is this shirking to seek the dark? So be it. I will cloak myself in blood—for all that I am wrong—and dance in the pale light of the unassuming.


And the faces of the homogeneous masses drew forthwith to witness dawn.

In a drawer,
There was found,
A locket with
A minor crown—

Of leaf: laurel,
And shaded night.

When opened up
All succumbed to fright.
For found inside
Was a broken light;

Pandora’s hope
Had lost the fight
This is not so much a poem... it's just baroque, with a poetic finish.
I wrote this a year or two ago, but didn't have a place to put it.
1.9k · Dec 2015
Little Drummer Boy???
Athina Mitchell Dec 2015
Him and his thumb
Up in his ***!
***, ***, ***, ***!
*Normally spelt RumpelstiltsKIN, but I changed the spelling to keep in tune with the song (KUN). It is meant to be read with a UN sound.
1.8k · Jan 2016
Gaia's Shrug
Athina Mitchell Jan 2016

When red ran from the sand.

From the depths, rose a creature quite old.
Solemn and slow, not a care to be bold
It anchored itself, and gave no expression
The strength of its shell, shook in depressions
Tall extensions: its lifeblood, its protection.
Found scattered, on its shell, in cert’n sections.

The pride of Madagascar—the creature by name—
Are Rosewood and Ebony now mangled and maimed.


When red ran from his hand.

Trees are felled, and the humans displace:
Lemurs are losing, they can’t find their space.
Hear the creature wail, its shell echoes with grief—
The sounds of its guests, find little relief.
For its pride is valued, and cut for a price
Hard decisions made—it is life’s device.

Wooden splinters bite back trading flesh to save flesh.
Living masses are caught in our culture’s great mesh.


When red in hand and land.

Oceans to flood, new depths to behold
Our desires to fill, balk: “Don’t let them fold!”
She tires of our, meandering session;             
Beating-out paths, to varied oppressions.
Laugh at the onslaught, of one great convection!
As humans propel, in that direction…

In all this, Gaia shrugs, naked-apes are to blame.
Fruiting, of hand and land, need-be one and the same!

I mean to use Madagascar as a vehicle to express some of my compounded frustrations. Above all, this poem is an address to all our fellow ***** sapiens*. If we insist on digging our own grave then so be it. The earth will spiral on with or without us, and that is the simplest truth... if there is such a thing. We might think less about our inalienable right to plunder, and more about the stewardship of diverse lifeforms if we truly care for our lineage. People have been beating this drum for so long, who cares--right? I defer to Kurt Vonnegut: "Had I been a Bokononist  then, pondering the miraculously intricate chain of events that had brought dynamite money to that particular tombstone company, I might have whispered, 'Busy, busy, busy." *Busy, busy, busy,* is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is" (from *Cat's Cradle,* pages 65-6). At the end of the day, we do what we feel we must... busy, busy, busy...
1.5k · Feb 2016
Beasts of Pleasure
Athina Mitchell Feb 2016
At the base
Of the door.

Cloyingly sweet,
"Let me in..."

If only
To rapture.
1.4k · Feb 2016
Sensation and Futures
Athina Mitchell Feb 2016
Have you tasted
A campfire?

Have you seen
Polaroids fade?

Have you felt
The sand sparks?

     We howled at the moon.
          Our youth in full bloom.

               Our collective pasts
               Biting at ankles;
               In strength we held fast
               Denying shackles!

           Demons will come soon.
     We’ll conquer at noon.

Have you heard
Our trumpet?

Have you smelt

But, more import
Would you like to?
Athina Mitchell Dec 2015
My table is set for Mirth,
But I will tip my hat
At Heart’s companion:
Kumo is the Japanese word for cloud.
I am referencing my, Kumo Poetry Dribble, in the way I personify cloud.

Also, I would like to see you January 1st, 2017.
Athina Mitchell Jan 2016
“O’re the valley deep and low!
Past the shrouds of long stem rose!
To the princess in her throng!
               A beastly creature by her side!
               A once fare maiden locked inside!
               The soulless chasm: princess’s eyes!”

Sang giddy Goblin down rotted road.
To his house and stolen gold.
With mischief-mayhem in his mind.
He’ll take princess, his wedded bride.
Till kingdom falls and he is king.
Laud-hail the giddy Goblin sing!
“Hark! Fare maiden! Sir Phillip here!
With quiver, sword, and stamping steer.”

Called charming prince in shining mail.
To fair maiden in window, frail.

               “I’ve come aloft, for your hand!
With gifts and treasures from my land!”

“Sir  Phillip  dear!”
Sighed princess leaning at her sill.
               “What’s  made  you  wander  here?”

               “Your hand my lady.
If I may,
I’d tell you of my love all day!”

And on—and on their prattle wagged,
Till sun was set and moon was had.

Upon the Goblin’s knackered table
There lay a thistle from maiden’s stable.
Touched with purple ‘or blind pleasure
And twisted thorns with witch’s feather.
Makes a tea, brewed just right,
For maiden and Phillip’s wedding night.

“Come one come all—into the hall!
               That silly jester’s wailing.
Witness the union of great love!
               What simple-minded hailing.
               After her draught, he’ll be for naught;
               And their faces I’ll keep unveiling.”
          ­     The tea was jarred
                         And dressed with wrapping—

Prince Phillip went looking
For something quite strapping.
               The night with his maiden
                         Remained ever looming.
                         He picked up the jar,
                         Never assuming.

Giddy Goblin, dressed as a man,
Slinked to the counter to enact his plan:

“You have a good eye! This tea is divine!
Maketh and eve’ with your lady sublime!”

Prince Phillip grinned—he couldn’t resist.
Nights with his maiden be only bliss.

Into her room the couple there went,
Princess was drowsy—feeling quite spent.

Prince Phillip was certain, he could not despair,
For there was tea he need only prepare.

“Here my lady, do not demise.
I’ve brought you a gift—a little surprise.”

Princess’s affections e’er did grow,
Drinking it down—her cheeks aglow.

“Now thirst has slaked, I feel sleep all the more.
Have I not told you—no means no, before?”

Phillip’s passions, extinguished and placid
No longer cared—his ***** was flaccid.
“Princess indeed! No maiden of mine,
Would hither come and speak her mind.

My kingdom is good; it does not wrong.
Don’t dare speak of my father’s throng!”

“Now, Prince Philip dear, please hear me do,
For if you don’t I say we’re through.

My kin have heard whispers on the streets
O king’s pact with witches of Eeps.”

“You slanderous cow! No! Keep the dow’!
I wash my hands of you right now.”

And thus the prince, in anger, did leave
In flight upon his noble stead.

“O Goblin king of winter and green!
We laud your keep of summer and sleep!”

Sings tree with wind and water with soil.
               As our kitchen pots begin to boil.
For goblins tread between the beds
               Of flowers grown beyond the hedge
And keeps the balance of nature spread
               So greedy babies can eat their bread.

A goblin’s life is not of glory
Humble vessels they move the story.
With one last spell he will bewail
The Great King of maiden: once frail.
Then stones will fall from the walls
And meet the earth’s and soil’s call.
Enchanted as the kingdom was
They welcomed in the Goblin, Kguzz.

“Tidings, king Kguzz,
From lands afar.
Enter the hall.
Stay near the lar.”

Clipped the knight standing guard
Eyes fixed on the courtyard.

“Jesters shall come
To entertain.
Wait while our King
Prepares his mane.”

Thereupon the Great King decreed
His daughter’s marriage—without heed.

Prince Phillip kneels at the feet
Of his father’s lavished seat.

“Troubled news, from the hill: Tara.
The maiden there is no flower.”

“Oh my silly child, keep calm your heart.
It’s not our nature to beg a bart’.

A strong hand is what we need!
Show them that we will now lead.”

Here begins their brooding council
With crows gathering at the crown’s sill.
Pounding feet—there begins a beat:
The footmen aligning in their fleet.
Clashing and gnashing,
With steel against shield,
The Great King road onto the field.
Philip had a blade for slashing.

“The bond has been broke.
My property spoke!
Smash and crash! I’ll have what I’m owed!”
Cried raging prince with army bold.

Came now the Great King
With his horse careened.
“Your pact is marred—treasonous too!
I will be glad, once rid of you!”

Their battle went on for three days and nights.
The crows circled blotting out what was bright.
The field was covered with us and with them.
A red and orange sun came over the brim.
The Great King had fallen guarding his kin.
Prince Philip sailed to his kingdom in Fin.

To his father, the prince there went
To tell of how the battle was spent
When low, he beheld the witches: three
With his father bowed upon his knees.

“No father! No! Please say it’s not true!
I slaughtered the Great King
                         And many men for you!”

“Oh don’t be a child,
                         G-g-great wisdom they have
They know many things:
                         How to use the land!”

Then the prince left—beginning his run,
His father cried out, “Phillip, my son!”
Till the end of days the prince did sit
Darkness and sadness—his heart a pit.
Reap what we sow, and sow what we reap
Choices to make with penalties steep
“Melted away! Your costume’s no good!
You’re more like a doll made out of wood!”

Laughed Kguzz sitting at Tara’s table—
Turning Phillip into a fable.

“I am to tend to the land and the sea
What are your quibbles to goblins like me?”*

“To war I say! For I’ve lost my father!
Wrath of my kingdom, Burn ever hotter!

The longer we travel to the land of Fin
Where I will complete Sir Phillip’s sin.”

Rose up the new Queen with her Goblin mate,
Forging her oath in a union of hate.

Now the Great Queen took up her quill
Writing a draft for men to fill.

               “Wos bad a ‘nuff our King was slain
               Wot’s the point of battle again?”

               Distraught and despondent the peasantry dallied
When noblemen came to keep up their tallies.
The prices of war are no laughing matter
For during these times all bellies are flatter.
Nevertheless the Queen followed through.
               A march to their end—that much they knew.

Above in the tower, croaking was heard:
Giddy Goblin flying off with a bird.
Wreckage was strewn this way and that:
Kingdoms battled, a three year spat.
An eye for an eye—piteous saying—
Led to mass death and frivolous praying.
All that was left is black and rotting,
But now the soil is ripe for potting.

“O Goblin king of winter and green!
We laud your keep of summer and sleep!”

Sings tree with wind and water with soil.
               The sun is free to keep up a broil!
For goblins tread between the beds
               Of flowers strewn without the hedge
And keeps the balance of nature spread
               So green will be forever fed
By bodies that once consumed its bread.
I started writing this a few years ago. I want to make it a book, but it is still a work in progress. I've cleaned it up a bit and would like to share it.
1.2k · Feb 2016
A Heart Unrequited
Athina Mitchell Feb 2016

With Both Feet on the Ground

Hello, dear-one.
What say you in this lowly place?

"When twilight traces the terrace,
Touch the torch-sky with the tip of your lip.
               A sweet heat
Will draw your willful mind,
But watch! The torch-sky takes:
               Petals shower
The firelight blaze, like my root vein,
Spills languid and warm across the sky.
               Beauty in elation
               But now breathe out!"


Then Into Deep Water

Say, dear-one,
What's all this now?

"The blue of night is sweeping over the torch-sky,
And shadows steal swiftly as silent silhouettes,
               Come coldly dancing
Do not disdain—dreams form feather-light foam,
And fade heavily in a salt-wash, flooding fervently.
                Covered darkly
                ­Shiver forward
From terrace to sea my foot falls easily.
Then the eerie eels entwine in the brine.
                Feeling supine
                Let the deep creep
                Until next time."


But the Canvas is Brighter Still

Stay awake, dear-one.
Is there not more to tell?

"The search for halcyon has wrought hush-flickers:
Stars  staring brightly stripping night's dark domain.
               Drifting dazedly: humorous
'Theirs is a humming neatly humbling hysterias.'
Whispers Nyx, 'Dwelling hinders what dreaming may fix.'
               Sleeps slips
               Morning stands
Beacon! Bright butterfly, beckon bravery!
Billow boastfully—this day will be mine!
               Keep in mind,
               It's always divine."

Very good, dear-one,
A fine farewell.
Another poem I wrote awhile ago
1.0k · Jan 2016
Spring Rain: Just Strollin'
Athina Mitchell Jan 2016
Shades on

Is the
Rain that
Falls on
My head
Listening to Katy Perry's "This is how we do" in Portland, Oregon. Jammin'
941 · Jan 2016
Athina Mitchell Jan 2016
Trip once.
Trip twice.
Trip thrice.
But I,
Will fight!
Beat off
The blight!
With all
Your Might!
Just make sure you always get up again
811 · Dec 2015
Dionysus (10 words)
Athina Mitchell Dec 2015
Distilled dreams drift dazedly.
Drumming dares defiantly!
Defeating deafened demons
Athina Mitchell Nov 2015
When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Beware the Sidhe
And Faerie Rings."

When I was young?

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Bring tea and cakes
So they'll be gay."

When was I young?

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"They'll keep you safe,
Or take you 'way."

Am I human?

     I am Leannán.
     This one whispered
     To you, sweet boy."

     "Your name! Your name!
     Your spirit i claimed.
     A vow you made,
     And now you've paid."

With you I'll stay!
     "Among my folk?
     Keep fast your yoke,
     Or flesh will fade
     And farewells bade."

A song! A song!
     "Your song, my love,
      You've sang it well,
     And flowers laid
     For our parade."

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Beware the Sidhe
And Faerie Rings."

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Bring tea and cakes
So they'll be gay."

When i was young,
My ma would say:
"They'll keep you safe,
Or take you 'way."

     *A Faerie Friend
     Forever more.
Sidhe, is pronounced SHEE. It is one syllable. The sidhe is a world that exists alongside the human's and refers to the places where faeries dwell. More specifically, sidhe is the Gaelic word for mounds.
Leannán, is pronounced YHAN-NAN. It is two syllables. Leannán is a faerie who inspires and feeds off the life force of artists.
617 · Feb 2016
Kicking Rocks
Athina Mitchell Feb 2016
Dawdlely-dee, no work for me!
Fell from a roof, and broke a knee!

Skiddlely-dee, skiddlely-da
Nothing to do, I guess I'll draw.

Tweedely-dee, tweedely-dumb
Brother Jimmy, called me a ***!

                         "**-hum, to you!
                         **** on my shoe!"

Fiddlely-dee, can’t blame Jimmy—
He’s always looking out for me.
Just a bit of fun
610 · Feb 2016
Can You Live Without It?
Athina Mitchell Feb 2016
Dolphin bend

Swing-set dreams
Common memes

593 · Nov 2015
Kumo Poetry Dribble
Athina Mitchell Nov 2015
Kumo, kumo, in the sky.
     The talk of love, I deny.

Kumo, kumo, in the sky.
     Dreams be rooted or they die.

Kumo, kumo, in the sky.
     Elation, comes, after the sigh.

Kumo, dear, your house is vast.
     My floor is filled with endless tasks.

To love, and dream, and prance, and play;
     Yours is the place for this fray.

To work, and plod, and plan, and save;
     Mine is the ox 'till the grave.

Gaia, friend, your house is tough.
     Kumo's loft is nothin' but fluff.
Kumo, is the word for cloud in Japanese.
560 · Nov 2015
Athina Mitchell Nov 2015
Withering willows wave in the night.
Neko nearly snarled at my sight.
Sneaky sister sitting on the floor.
Fearsome fellow fiends rap on the door.

Midnight moon marvels at this lay.
Leering lovely loonies come to play.
Parting parties parade o'er the hill.
Happy Halloween heap-up your fill.
528 · Feb 2016
Desert Devils
Athina Mitchell Feb 2016
Diminutive demons dance.
Devouring, drinking: draught.
Devoid destitute dawdlers,
Derive depredated dreamers.
I want, draught, to be read as a current of air--not a beer....
381 · Mar 2016
Athina Mitchell Mar 2016
Dude pulls up
In a Honey Bucket truck

I want to say,
"That's a ****** job."

He's heard it all before
I'm sure.
274 · Dec 2015
Once More
Athina Mitchell Dec 2015
May I deign
To drink champagne
With you?
267 · May 2017
Athina Mitchell May 2017
Love the feeling of words spilling from fingertips. Flowery language is meant to prolong this feeling. It is certain. Writing sternly without hesitation makes the words absolute. For instance when I write, thunderstorms are formed by ocean sweat, it is absolute and without a doubt true. Coincidentally, the previous statement is a great example of how writing extra, unnecessary, adjectives and declarations brings joy to the writing experience, but this sentence is the best. Truth. It is certain. Absolute. I am absolutely write.
Not a poem.
212 · Mar 2018
Athina Mitchell Mar 2018
Here and there, and everywhere,
Around the world they are so fair.
Yet here I'll stay and drink the air,
On specific Pacific's blue water.
129 · Mar 2018
Athina Mitchell Mar 2018
Upon the roof, my *** did sit,
And gaped down at the lava pit.
It spit and split, and threw a fit.
So I dropped a couple antacid.

— The End —