Christine Eglantine

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

I know that you are scared
that your father will do nothing but scream and scream and scream
make you into a speck
decimate you
but, my Love,
let me bring you bravery
even from across the phone.
When the sun rises again,
it will be there
Can you see it?
The fire in your heart
I'll lend you mine and hold your hand
I will be your shield
if you provide the sword.
If you let me, let me be your courage
and stand there for it
Even from miles away
let me be your lion.
And we are not flinching.

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

Well, You Found One

The
butter
has
stopped
flowing

** But the clogs are still there.

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

The Suburbs Got Me

Bees nest chucked into a limousine
OCD's introduced to the filth and strobe lighting

I used to be a good kid.
But the suburbs got me.
Stripped away my hope, my individuality
crammed me into a high school
with 45 blacks,
20 Asians
and only about... 3,000 white run-of-the-mill
Shaler-Bubble kids
(All of whom thought, by the way, that being Catholic
was exotic) ,
and made to eat the **** of nothing to do.

It came out in nightmares
their bad behavior
that I stood for
touched and beaten by boys
I bared it
ostracized and devoured
last year I came into my stride
but do you have PTSD?
Can you look into the eyes of another man
without wondering ******* him?
Do you want to hurt the people you love
because you fear,
no, you know,
they will **** you?
A whirl wind of insanity.
What was precarious
was pushed.

No ma'am,
the suburbs got me,
and I'm a burn out by the road
fingers dripping with paint and my own blood
and smudged with ink
I'll drink in your pity
whiskey on my mind
thank you
pass another flask of it
no drug makes me feel alive quite like asprin
maybe love, I guess
don't know how I got that, ma'am
the suburbs got me
maybe I can get out.

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

The First Song of the Katydids

The first calls of the katydid
It's a mystical affair
One that marks the summer
and swells through the air
Like a thousand tiny whispers
forming one booming voice
So nice to hear the summer night
Embrace the stars and rejoice.

Sticky humid evenings
where the ceiling fans hum
and the moths dance around the bare bulbs
and my eyelids start to strum
It's a wondrous cacophony
of love, of muse, of hope
One I could not describe to you
The sheer inhuman scope

I am a girl of two lives
One tortured, one free
Somewhere between rich wilderness
and a fairylit city
And you can always join me
If you're ready for the ride.
In an odyssey of summers
where night and dreams collide

The sleepy call of firelight
It crackles through the gloom
Lights our eyes rich amber
as they reflect the golden plumes

If I could spend every night
in the company of friends
A novel or a notebook
What comfort that they lend
Some days I live for Summer
And anxiety's reprieve
Where all my worldly troubles
pack up and take their leave
And dash off on the frost
scattering to leave the room
Until next September
but that won't be coming soon

If you would like to join me
You can always find me here
I want to lend you my hand
I want to lend you my ear
I'll always be there
when you need someone near
Cause I've been there
And I'm here, I'm alright
And if I can make it, you can
Just wait for the summer nights

This is something I wrote for my band :)

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

Lips

There are lips between me and the sky
whispering down to me
spread your arms!
feathers will grow!
You will be an angel and you can soar
you can fly.

But if I listen hard enough,
I can hear them whispering
heh. I told her she can fly
What a silly notion
a spider
*that thinks it can fly!

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

Mr. H (or the romantic)

His days in the saddle long ago spent
and grand children in school or on vacation
(he could never tell which)
Old Mr. H took
to gardening.

One day, he was bent over with a rake in hand
over some big bulbs
peonies or tulips, he wasn't sure
and then
he just
stopped.

The world was not as he had known it.
It is the curse of age, he supposed.
And he was lonely,
people so far away
his wife three miles over and six feet deep.
She didn't bother him much.
After the first ten years, the pain had mellowed out
and another ten,
while not forgotten,
it was dulled.
Still,
there was not a magnet on his fridge
and no new smudges on the front welcome mat
'side from ones from his own boots.
The flowers kept him company,
but they weren't much good for talking.
And all the while
the sun would whisper things
clicking like a clock
till his own last day.

Mr. H,
he lit a cigarette
picked a flower
and walked next door
where pretty Miss Diane, widowed for fifty years
sat with some sweet lemonade and a floral mumu.

Excuse me, Miss
*I think these are for you.

Christine Eglantine Jun 2013

The Reader of my Stories

You are the only one who can see the fireworks in my imagination

and the graveyards of my discontent

You are the only one who ever has, who ever will

and I, in turn, can see your stories and your ambitions

I want to see all of you

I want to touch all of you

and be as one

that is all I want

This is from a conversation I had with boyfriend. So taken was I with longing that this trickled off of my fingers. I took pause and read it again and realized...Jesus Christ, I am corny as hell, haha.