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I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
to do the things
you intend to,
to be the person
others cannot see,
to live in the mind
without spoken word,
to smoke cigarettes
in place of consumption,
to refuse any thing
unsuitable to your palate,
to find dissonance and
ride articulate mathematics,
to pierce silence with swears
in drunken lucidity,
to wander affectation
of a better’d body,
to close eyes and know
you’re the only movement present.
 Jan 2013 Chandler Lauren
Julia
hospital walls
floors shiny squares
upon which death
stains
white on white on white on white
beep the monitor
says blood cell counts
are all wrong,
they're all wrong too much
shine why does it all
shine so brightly

white on white
on white on
white
Madly-
I am missing you:
As surely as the meadow covets the soft embrace
of morning dew;
as sure as the sky slowly awakens its canvas
to the suns soft stroke of salmon pinks
and crimson reds, light magenta's, oranges,
amber's, and pale silk Persian blues.
In these moments of absence, I am,
in more than one way,
completely enraptured by the thought of you.
Your loveliness, your smile, your kiss,
your magnificently adorned brown bluish green speckled eyes,
undulate in my thoughts brightly like moonlit folds
of surf crashing into the core of me:
slowly soaking through the sandy shores
of my equally undulant, brisk, and fluttering heart.
Then, as an off shore breeze crosses tenderly about
my waist and fingertips, seductively enveloping me,
I am reminded of how closely we laid:
Tangled beneath our blanket of fervor,
side by side, with a mutual breath of passion
as excitement cascaded through our paralleled sensoriums
and quickly translated into a fiery touch of the lips,
as a fervid scratch of the hips,
and finally into a shared exhale of relief
as if to whisper to one another “come closer, be mine.”
Still, even as these grains of memories feather effortlessly
down into my thoughts like the sands of an endless hourglass
encased with the echo of your inviting voice
enchanting me with sweet nothings,
I am left with a yearning for your physical presence.
I want you here.
Time inches along and as I slowly lie my head down to sleep,
hands clasped shut between pillow and ear,
I am, in my thoughts again, reminded of your ubiquity,
of your enamoring effect on me,
of how no matter the distance nor the time between,
baby you are here, captivating my thoughts
-madly.
 Jan 2013 Chandler Lauren
Lee
I'm tired of love poems.
I'm tired of heavenly descriptions
of throws of woe
and ******.
I'm tired of infatuation
some spellbound obligation
to writing unread words
to the ones
we all know we love.
I wish for tales of conquest
great bounding stanzas
pitted on the edge of glory
and mayhem.
Haggered hero's
covered in mystic blood,
and enchanted rivers bathed in immortality
that run pure and crystal white.
Liquid Snow Raging
Some conflict amongst our hero's majesty.
Beasts of old forgotten legends
leaping fiery and writhing from the written page
licking blood from the bones
of lesser men
and past tales.
Devouring swooning poets pens
and ripping the hearts from loved ones
on conquest to find some battle to rage in.
Great tale of old insanity
and wisdom
beyond the mortal.
Fantastic.
I want an escape from the sadness
of my soul
not to be engulfed in it
wrapped in endless pages
of commiserating hearts.
Yet.
I
too
fall prey to
the love poems
whimsical
enchanting
call.
*The deadliest
and most deceptive
of all the ancient beasts
and martyrs.
 Jan 2013 Chandler Lauren
Lee
You are perfect.
Beyond any comparable specimen
photo shopped and filleted under the surgeons knife
splattered puffy lipped across every magazine
in the dime and nickel drugstore isles.
Like some olden goddess drunken ancients
sent prayer and virgins to.
Like a pop culture piece painting
portraying perfection multicolored
and gleaming.
Like the way the sun breaks into every color of the spectrum
when it hits the clouds just above the shore line
amazing even the coldest of hearts.
Like a piece of water frozen and glimmering
with all the brilliance of the sun itself
turning fields into fiery displays with the morning dew.
Like the first message sent across the nation via telegraph
amazing everyone
and bringing wonder and mystery into the world again
as if darkness and desperation never existed
in the first place.
Like all of these things.
You are perfect,
and I don't know you.
I don't know anything about you.
The sick
the chauvinistic
the sexist
the slum dog
and cannibal
and primitive
the ****** and unforgivable
the pure drive
and urge
in me,
wants to walk up brazenly
chest puffed out to you
to say only three things.
You are perfect.
What is your name?
Will you lay with me?
But I cannot do these things
you know your perfect.
I can tell by the way you walk
the way you brush away looks like dust.
Full of pride brought on by good genes
and disdain for others.
I am a gentleman
and I could never say such things
to a person as self satisfied
and perfect in physicality
as you.
 Jan 2013 Chandler Lauren
Lee
I saw a guy.
With a shirt.
That said.
" I eat *****
like a fat kid
eats cake "

and I thought.
To myself.

*With ice cream?
True story.
 Jan 2013 Chandler Lauren
Lee
He told me he was leaving,
to be gone for good and no longer tired.
He told me the decision was final
chrystallized
in the floating mush of his brain.
He told me he would leave in the middle of the night
unknown, unseen
like a thief
or an abused lover.
He said he had been thinking of it for a long time now
that finally something had made up his mind.
I asked him.
What.
What could make him want to leave,
want to leave this sleepy fishing village
settled endlessly in a saltwater fog;
a thick constant fog
that burned the lungs
and made cars rust in real motion.
He stopped.
He thought of how to say it
moving his eyes back and forth
as if bouncing the words he would speak between them
contemplating ping pong.
He took in a deep breath
of the briney breeze
and looked up at the cold sky
above my head.
" It happened three days ago
when I woke up in the dark
just a little before the day broke golden and grey
over the village
and as I saw light faint on the horizon
I stepped out onto my porch
with a hot drink steaming in the cold air
and watched the sun break the line of hills
and saw the dew glimmering on the leaves and bushes
and smelled the salty water
evaporate off the broken streets
and heard the first songs
of unseen and unknown birds
and listened to the waves crash in the distance
and tasted the ground that surrounded me
as it filled my nostrils
and as this beautiful scene unfolded before me
this tired foggy damp wonderful scene
that I've seen a thousand times before.
As it all broke open before my eyes
filled with all too familiar memories
I thought to myself
I have to get the **** out of here
I have to leave forever before this place rusts me dead and shut
I have to get the **** out of here

and I will"
Then he stood
and closed the book
that had laid open on his lap this entire endeavor
the pages flapped together in the wind
like the book was a cat disturbed from his khaki covered lap
and he bid me farewell
never making eye contact
or gesturing.
"Maybe I'll see you in another life
or sleepy town"
and he
my grandfather
was gone forever.
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