Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jan 2014 Dhirana
Lappel du vide
"granday"

its not a *******
twang,
like a rubber band loosened up,
you're like a white sheet
with absolutely no
wrinkles no
lint no
culture.

its not a droop of letters,
like the syllables are carrying old bathwater
on hunched spines;

you sound like dusty paper
left on the shelf too long.

its
"grande"
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.

fill your mouth with mid-august sweat
and belt it out like a pistol,
bullets ripping the fabric of blue
sky.
you are a flame in snow,
your tongue is supposed to be dancing on the top of your mouth
when you say it,

"grande"
roll your 'r's like you would to tamales in
corn flour,
like you would your body in mud
carpeting every inch of your soul in dark, crusted
veneer,
stuck between your toes.

your tongue is supposed to be ***.
exotic chocolate,
french rain.

your tongue is supposed to be like a wild motorboat upon
the raging ocean,
hitting the 'r's with savage animosity
                                                    "g­-rrrrrrrr-ande"
none of these
"grandays"
words like plummeting wrinkles
under tired eyes, your lips like dead fish floating
shallow and flaccid
in lukewarm
soup.
like rotting fruit left out too long,  
squashed, useless, a waste.

do not fill your mouth with
mierda,
****
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.
"I'll take that," I said.

"No, it's fragile," she said.

"Ah, your heart!" I quipped.
To the man who taught me how to love.

Erich Wolf Segal
June 16, 1937 – January 17, 2010

People like these will never die.
Because they left their legacies
not in their words but in the hearts
of us lonely lovers.
He gave me something to live for
and something worth waking up another day for.

He wasn't just a writer. He was a fighter. A philosopher. A man who lived as his words.

A million thank yous will never suffice.

You will never die.
You never could.
 Jan 2014 Dhirana
Conrad Aiken
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,--
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
I was walking down the street one day
And I knew that nothin was gonna be the same
And I might catch the midnight train
Cause I've got nowhere else to go

I bid you farewell I'll return some day
With a thick gold chain and a pocket full of change
With a fresh new suit and a white fedora
Exotic cigarettes and a new Toyota
And you'll question me when I say
That way back when I used to know ya

I'll tell you tales of Californian waves
And hitchhiking down on sixty eight
But god had laid it in my fate
To come back to you, like I said I would back then
I'm sitting in In-School-Suspension
I flick their air with my tongue,
And I can taste the tension
And the humility
Of the acts that got my fellow **** ups here

One was in a fight,
One was selling ***,
One caught with a knife,
The other blew his snot,
On the principal

This room is as bland as bland can be
Tanned walls and tall ceilings,
That are impossible to reach
I just can't shake the feeling,
Of boredom taking over me

This poem has no real purpose,
I'm writing to pass the time,
Only five more hours to go,
Since it's half past nine

Tick, tock, tick tock,
Goes the clock,
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
There it goes again, the clock
With it's ticking,
And it's tocking
It's driving me insane,
Up the tanned walls to the high ceilings
I can't shake the feeling,
Of boredom taking over me
 Jan 2014 Dhirana
Lappel du vide
be patient, for hell knows i am not.
- let me have my freedom. i am a wild, flowering vine, do not trim me to fit into your garden.
- when you kiss me do it gratefully. be grateful that i will share my fire with you, and not burn you down to ashes instead.
- bite my lips, and do not be afraid to dare. jump into the unknowing with me.
i like surprises.
- get drunk with me. drink whiskey in wine glasses, get drunk with me and write on my body in a pen, covering me with your drunken scrawl. let me show you parts of myself that have never been kissed by the sun.
- hold onto my waist with strong hands, do not be afraid to put your fingers on my skin. do it, and do it surely. do not touch me lightly, do it with a purpose. be strong, yet be fragile. i am not delicate, yet handle me with care.
- kiss my neck, graze your lips all over my body. let me feel you like rain on my body, a steady thrum.
- do not for a second have the impression that you are ever using me. you are a silly boy and i am a dreaming girl, who walks fast, who has a whole world in her mind. believe me, you will know if you are ever even a tiny portion of it.
i'll probably just end up using you.
i know what i want.
and do not assume that you are always it.
- speak to me like your words are roses, that graze my skin under soft cotton sheets. do not hold anything back, say everything that can possibly fit in your mouth, and do not be surprised if i leave you when petals become thorns.
- i am not attached to you.
i have a whole life ahead of me, and i want to experience every moment of it, living so thoroughly that i will not miss even a second.
i want to see the world, walk barefoot in the most remote places, i want to love and much as i can.
i want to kiss strangers, i want to make love in France with a beret on, i want to drink coffee in the shower, and i want to listen to vinyl late into the night, dancing with the music pulling me to and fro, that is enough.
i do not need you there to step on my feet.
- if you want to enchant me, do not speak unsure or shyly, move as if your fingernails could cause hurricane, and hold me in your arms like i am a storm just waiting to rain down its fury.
kiss me like i am a volcano, at any moment ready to erupt. however do not be cautious of this fact.
be ready to throw yourself in.
- speak french to me.
- even though it is dangerous to be attached to me (like driving a car over a cliff, to end up barely alive sinking into the restless ocean, actually), you must treat me with the utmost respect.
i will not always be happy and kind, but i will kiss you often, and i'll like touching you, and i'll like your bare, raw skin, bleeding on the pages of your journal in the late dusk of the oncoming night.
however if you think that i am your plaything, that you are using me, that i am a flimsy, easy girl, then you are deathly mistaken, prey only to your childish ignorance.
i am the universe.
i am so vast, you will never know even half of me.
i am an elaborate piece of art.
you are only a part of this journey i call my life.
- i will love you, but only if you understand that i am an endless book of poetry,
a whole bottle of wine,
a masterpiece made of golden flesh, blood of fire,
and each of my bones are engraved with stories to tell,
and i crave this life more than i will ever crave any dependency on people who i know can never
give me exactly what i want.
because i am incredibly brilliant and endless, and i hold every word to
pleasure you,
and destroy you,
on my mere tongue.
 Jan 2014 Dhirana
Sia Jane
I think perhaps as a writer, we seek the adventure, the unknown, the destructive, not only to know we are alive but to know what it is to live. We live fast, we love without restraint, with impulsive desire. Are we the tortured, the wounded, the broken, abused. We have lived a thousand lives, loved a million times. We dream, we idealise, we fall in love unintentionally, we make mistakes, we endure deep suffering and we fall to the hands of lust within a heartbeat. We choose to show our *******, our *****, our hearts or our souls. We refuse to sell our mind, to which we must always remain held to. Our body is a vessel, one of productivity made victim to abuse. It's such neglect, despair, that leaves us enveloped in patterns of trauma and deeply embedded psyache. Once touched, our bodies remember as an elephants mind always will. We are tainted, scarred, stained by another's love, lust, cheating, lying, crying, kissing, losing, dreaming. We are the risk takers, the ones who dare step into the unknown and often don't adhere to rules and regulations of societal ideals. We crave love. We crave endless excitement. We crave the adrenalin rush of a new lover. We don't settle. Wanderlust writes us. Each journey shapes us, choosing a new direction, experimenting with style, fiction, autobiographical tones. Landscapes colour our pages, pollute the rooms with a myriad of paints, smoking out those who don't endure, slaves to the written word, a pledge to keep reading pages of paper, dusty from step ladder high book shelves. Finding joy in limited first editions, autographed and locked behind glass doors.  Fairy tales whispered by Hans Christian Andersen - The Snow Queen in a pop up book laced with glitter and scintillation. Falling into stories, Alice's rabbit hole, lost to liquor saying drink me. The young ingénue, naïve and shy, her first role acting, embodying the spoken word through the masters written script.

© Sia Jane
I didn't use "I" in this piece, I was merely thinking out loud, a stream of consciousness maybe.
 Jan 2014 Dhirana
Johnathon N
That punk rock girl with that dip-dyed hair
Standing around, her skin so fair
Smoking that cigarette she stole from her friend
After all, it won't **** her till the end

That punk rock girl with that dip-dyed hair
She looks at me with love and care
She thinks I don't notice the twinkle in her eye
I do, but say nothing, I just stand back and sigh

That punk rock girl with that dip-dyed hair
Standing around, her skin so fair
Breathing in the cancer she stole from her friend
After all, death is just around the bend.
Next page