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Nov 2015 · 841
Gaby Lemin Nov 2015
Around a glittered lake I stroll,
its water flecked with spots of peach.
Specks of light that whisper warm,
the dreams of homes that live there, each.

The glowing hue I follow round,
but stopped by something soft.
I lift my head, my face, my eyes
to the figure before me, lost.

A halo of watery moon light,
hangs about its head.
"I am but a lonely shadow",
is what the stranger said.

Filled with disbelief I feel,
my heart contract with fright.
The dust path billows beneath leather boots,
twirling away from the sight.

A darkened arm curls around my own
and the bitter wind be stills.
"Fear not" the shadow whispers
like the wind amongst the hills.

Enclosed by warmth a sudden,
a fluttering appears.
Transported to the woods above,
just this befriended darkness near.

Hours dance about the night
as sheltered secrets I am told.
Warmth engrosses all around
whilst the mellow evening grows but old.

Sunlight creeps into the sky
and new love begins to fade.
"Find me not by morning,
only drifting behind the shade."
Nov 2015 · 1.2k
Gaby Lemin Nov 2015
in high places.

Roof top terraces.
The Eiffel Tower,

down as if
I am God.
Or just a crow?

and looking
like art. Poised
to be observed.
Hang me.

In a gallery.

through mud and roots.
just to be higher.

Or I'll lean
over a balcony
and try
not to
Nov 2015 · 955
Mama lune
Gaby Lemin Nov 2015
I feel like a child
of the moon and the stars.
Every setting
of  all my daydreams
Take place at night time.
But my lust for the dark
is not why I take
my Mother's hand.

I take hold of the moon
as I was already there.
The blackened mirror
at the heart of my home.
Its captivating me
all over again. Every time.

But the moon mother
doesn't see me at first.
Show me night sky, stars
I'm ready.
Mother, I am here.
Nov 2015 · 340
Thoughts 1
Gaby Lemin Nov 2015
Sometimes the sky was a funny kind of colour
Sometimes she didn't know quite how to feel
Sometimes the lilting glow of moonlight
                      Answered all her questions.
Sometimes she needs to feel how she felt
Sometimes the rain pattered on the window
Sometimes she was submerged in a tidal wave of thought
                       And her questions were answered.
A piece of prose found in an old notebook converted into poetry.
Sep 2014 · 650
Vacancy for Rationality
Gaby Lemin Sep 2014
Cold eyes hang above an overcast
bed and my arms indent
this tainted spread.
One more time, pressing down
and I have no will but
the want to have this second still.

And so I stay, but should I leave?
Rather than be pressed
and have my mind sieve
the minutes through
a darkened room, alone and
cold and unsure but you

You make me stay, how? Who knows?
As long as we're drifting
across this stormy ocean - tossed about,
I'm close to broken. But bruised and beaten
and battered blue? The appeal's there.
I'll stay forever, provided you swear.

And so I lay, contemplating my friends
and sanity, but O, what is
my concious thought? All I could say
could still be sought when all
is done and the scene is closed,
I shiver and sigh and do not know.
Aug 2014 · 2.6k
Gaby Lemin Aug 2014
There's  a world outside my little square window
that overlooks fields and woodlands and sunsets
and that world overlooks a bustling avenue with
shutters on windows and constant, humming traffic.
There's a world outside my little square window
that keeps wakes me with the same sun every morning
and the same old singing birds,
and that world rouses me with a different kind of music;
of people and chatter and busking and life.
There's a world outside my little square window,
a world I would never have been tired of exploring,
and that world is named Paris.
Another one I wrote in Paris. It really is a beautiful city, mesmerising in fact, it was difficult not to write millions of poems so there may be quite a few Paris themed poems in the future but let's say this is the last one for today.
Aug 2014 · 861
Gaby Lemin Aug 2014
I see no clouds
by my eyes,
no air be stills these
powder blue skies.
Smoke curls through
the sun scattered trees,
a whisper of bliss,
a touch of green.
A monumental grandness
disparages naivety
of a summer breeze.
I've been on holiday in Paris and during my stay I wrote a lot. This one was actually written with a friend so I can't take full credit.
Jul 2014 · 7.3k
Gaby Lemin Jul 2014
You're like a white, hot flash of lightning.
Burning with passion and heated desire.
  But just like a lightning strike, you never stay for long.
One flash, bursting across the sky, filling my heart with excitement,
                                                                then gone again.
And just like the lightning, you bring the thunder and the gale.
  The darkness of a thousand rumbling clouds sweeping across my sky.
       Shaking every branch of my being and rousing the rain from my eyes.
           All in one flash, bursting across the sky, filling my heart with a beautiful dread,
                then gone again.
I really do like my weather themes...
Jun 2014 · 847
Gaby Lemin Jun 2014
Draped am I, across his chest and
with heavy hands, him firmly pressed
to me, in dark rooms; split with light.
Legs are tightened and glazed eyes, bright.
To feel his lips as they swallow my tongue,
above heaving ******* of two so young,
would be transcendent if he were mine
and eloping as lovers in heat, sublime.

A shadowed denizen writhing, elated,
under a favourable mouth falling, sedated.
Grappling, unfastened,  vivacious and soft
as against the wall pushed, and held aloft
was I as a body, so virtuous - yet carnal
and was held again with a hunger, infernal.
Again were we guilty in a frenzy so vicious
of a tantalizing ecstasy of resentment so delicious.
Jun 2014 · 329
Gaby Lemin Jun 2014
Sitting on a motionless boat, bobbing, futile. Smoking until we are reduced  
into galactic clouds of ash, being propelled only by future and talking about poetry and poets and literature and the classics until we fall under the impression that we might just know what we're talking about.  
Willing the days to fast forward unto something more exciting when we might not even know, just yet, what exciting means. Talking about
all of the cities to which we are going to travel and smoke more cigarettes
and drink red wine when, really, we can't stomach the taste of the stuff.
Breathing shallow, through the hours, as we dream ahead of adventures and being grown up. Watching the sky fade from azure to rose to indigo as we hope with each rising and falling heartbeat that reality won't burst our bubbles and squeeze tears from our saline drenched eyes.
Jun 2014 · 1.2k
A Hawk Watches his Prey
Gaby Lemin Jun 2014
A plethora of metallic chords
echo bluntly through a
hollow skull. The moonlight
burns many pallid, young
faces as they bathe in pools
of dull light.

Watching, waiting, wanting.
My breathing is shallow and
powerlessly, up here, I sit.
Like a hopeful hawk, I perch.
The shame a hawk feels when
likened to a vulture.

But I won't pick at your bones,
rolling as the Earth explodes
like fireworks. I have no
desire for dead meat, destroyed
by shells and their melancholic
tune or heart strings plucked
like a harp.

Two of you scuttle beneath me,
through the dead and the dirt
like cockroaches, burying into  
the ground.
"So long my sorry friends" says
the hawk as he swoops and
dives to catch his prey.
May 2014 · 632
Wannabe Artists
Gaby Lemin May 2014
I think we are all just
wannabe artists
trying to figure out
how everyone else  
managed to get famous
May 2014 · 1.8k
Gaby Lemin May 2014
Back we go, again and again
into that void of
hangovers, bitter-sweet,
and bruised arms and legs.
Melancholic, involuntary smiles
wash away in the shower
with sleep dusted eyes that
barely caught a doze.
Headaches that make walls
quake and rooms spin
whilst cooking greasy breakfasts
and shaking heads.
But back we go again,
how many times now?
Hoping to forget;
dive into that beautiful void.
May 2014 · 483
Difficult to Love
Gaby Lemin May 2014
Maybe it's simple.
I'm just a bit
too difficult
to love.
I'm just a bit
too big
to beat.
I'm just a bit
too much
to handle.
I'm just a bit
too loud
to hear.
I'm just a bit
too hard
to hold.
Maybe it's just
that simple.
I'm a bit too
to love.
May 2014 · 978
The Smaller Picture
Gaby Lemin May 2014
Do we need to stand on mountains with a plethora of
inspiriting music helping us towards our destinies
just to feel as though we have found ourselves?
Or can we stand on mountains in an echoing silence
with perhaps the only sound being boots crunching snow
just because we thought we might as well?
May 2014 · 4.1k
A Thunder Storm
Gaby Lemin May 2014
The  eerie warmth that comes with the calm before.
The unnerving shade of black that only clouds can claim.
The heat that rises from tarmac on empty, open roads.
The scent of petrichor from the passing of earlier rain.
The first rumble starts somewhere unknown and distant.
The suggestion, an omen, of the beginning of an end.
The first drop of rainfall from another night of storms.
The thunder waking creatures from their beds.
The sounds increase slowly as time crawls and passes.
The night is young and roars keep rolling in.
The dark, as such, so early in the evening.
The set of warm goosebumps rising over skin.
The colour of the sunset behind their eyelids.
The blood of Gods is soaking up their breaths.
The momentary post apocalyptic sense of living.
The moody skies catalyse thoughts of untimely deaths.  
The passing of the clouds seems dangerously fast.
The growls now thick and boisterous, vehement and clear .
The dust that whips past legs and arms and faces.
The shelter is no barrier for the splitting of an ear.
The tranquillity of standing up in air now still.
The peace of opportunity to look over horizons.
The aftermath of rain and wind and thunder.
The silence of one mind becoming enlightened.
I like thunder storms.
May 2014 · 2.3k
Thinking whilst on Dartmoor
Gaby Lemin May 2014
Eyes grace the celestial mechanics that
scatter our skies with glittering objects
alive with humming ancient materials.
Down here Man can't see deeply enough
into the skies so brimming with beauty
that he forgets to marvel at the above.
Although the ground is rich with earth
so delightful and thriving with life so pure,
so simple it is to focus solely on the crust.
What objects and footprints grace our ground
and with what items they hold in their hands
is not so important when looking from clouds.
Precious and selfish, pathetic and cruel can't
do justice for the description of Man
and tracing the stars should help one think.
Think with the mind and not with the eyes,
there is far too much that hasn't been seen
yet by curious, clever, keen minds.
When I'm out of light pollution I start to question humanity; it's a fine life isn't it? I also appear to be going through a celestial obsession at the present moment...
May 2014 · 473
Can I be weather?
Gaby Lemin May 2014
I want to be the sun,
dancing on grass so green
and dappled through leaves.
The dreams you've never dreamed to dream
whilst sitting by rivers and roaming through trees.
The thoughts you've never thought to think
whilst drawing on foggy windows or walking up stairs.

I want to be the wind,
dancing on waves so blue
and whistling through masts of boats.
The songs you've never sang just to sing
whilst running through darkness of forests and leaves.
The dances you've never dared to dance
whilst squeezing through crowds and moving to music.

I want to be the rain,
dancing on fields so golden
and spattering down on cobbled roads.
The sentences you've never thought to write
whilst staring through windows and rifling through papers.
The words you've never thought to say
whilst running through storms and perching under branches.

I want to be the thunder,
bursting through skies so red
and rumbling across blackened horizons.
The plans you've never planned to plan
whilst crouching in doorways and rubbing your hands.
The walks you've never taken or walked
whilst breathing out fog and sheltering cigarettes.

I want to be the hail,
rolling down hills so steep
and freezing the water that falls from the air.
The hands you've never braved to hold
whilst wrapped up in towels and dripping in warmth.
The hearts you've never dared to love
whilst sitting by fires and colouring cheeks.
May 2014 · 1.4k
Gaby Lemin May 2014
There's a woman's umbrella
and a noose.
Within a sea of trees that
stand like shadows.
Haunting the souls that
venture inside,
yet innocent enough
to not be blamed.

A mirror left opened
on the mulch of leaves.
It hasn't been broken
unlike whose ever it was.
Reflecting the souls that
venture inside,
yet innocent enough
to not be blamed.

Tape is wrapped across
all the branches.
“If you follow, you are bound
to find something at the end.”
Leading the way for the souls that
venture inside,
yet innocent enough
to not be blamed.

Suicide forest;
a place for troubled faces.
A car left abandoned,
a tent flapping in the breeze.
The final home of the souls that
venture inside,
yet what is guilty enough
to be faced with the blame?
A poem inspired by "Suicide Forest", or "Jukai" meaning "Sea of trees" in Japaese, at the base of Mt Fuji in Japan.
This is a really interesting documentary about it if any one is interested
May 2014 · 1.8k
Gaby Lemin May 2014
The "dark planet" it's called
because a stars light can't reflect
a single atom of brightness
visible to the eye.
Suspended in space
light years and light years away
an entire new world
with a blackened sky.
A human hand can't touch
a surface too hot for clouds,
that swims beneath supernovae,
absorbing the potential of sunrise.
The journey would pass through
the Pillars of Creation
around Sirius and Betelgeuse
and Proxima Centuri.
If I could explore
many a glittering nebulae,
with Sagittarius I could speculate
and with comets could I pry.
But on a marble's where we've thrived,
and speculated a silver rock,
why not look deeper to the veil of explosion
And, with that, the wonders that colour our sky?
Just a little side note as I am aware this may not make sense; I was reading about exoplanets - specifically TrEs-2b- and I was inspired to write a celestial themed poem  so there we are :)
Apr 2014 · 629
Gaby Lemin Apr 2014
"It didn't mean anything"
I said the first time.
Rubbing the hickeys that battered my skin
(I refused to call them 'love bites')

"It didn't mean anything"
The second time round.
But the fumble this time was heated.
(I refused to **** in a shower block)

"It didn't mean anything"
I said once again
When you raised your eyebrows and sighed.
(You refused to accept my claim)

But the bite on my lip
I can feel it still now
And the trace of your hands can burn
"It didn't mean anything."
Apr 2014 · 359
Gaby Lemin Apr 2014
I feel just as broken and lost as you do my baby,
I am your protector and it is my duty to save you.
Yet I can't seem to do that, nothing I do or say helps you,
But sweetheart,
I love you more than anything in this world
You know that I would do anything you asked to make it better.
I just miss seeing you smile these days.
When you were my little baby and I would look at you as you slept,
I swear my heart would turn over inside me.
I could feel it.
Literally overwhelmed with love.
free verse mother daughter love sad
Apr 2014 · 966
The Blue Caves of Zante
Gaby Lemin Apr 2014
Fins slicing through waters slick
at dusk in echoing caves.
The indigo moon hanging alone,
reflections on the dipping waves.

Lazy waters lifting light,
eyes glinting at constellations
in a night that rolls, too quick, to dawn
with a foggy lack of concentration.

Alone and warm in an early morning.
Melancholy rose at sight
of this empty boat, left alone and moored
and gone, the last lick of light.
Apr 2014 · 330
I am
Gaby Lemin Apr 2014
I am happy
I am also sad
It is possible to be both
I believe they call it "harmony"
Pessimists prefer "melancholy"
But poets aren't always protentious
I am simply smiling
I am sometimes crying
It is possible to feel things
Without writing poetry
I believe they call it "art"
Although I prefer a silence
From whoever they are
Apr 2014 · 519
The Most Fortunate
Gaby Lemin Apr 2014
If only I could say that I am dazzled by a single smile that causes the earth to stop moving
And ignites my heart with every crease and dimple.
If only I could laugh along when you giggle and gasp over coffees and
Secrets about lovers embraces and pillow talk

It would be wonderful not to sit here, with a heart not yet broken, but a heart still untouched
And untainted by this beautiful, magical, phenomenon that you refer to as

It would be wonderful if I was feeling it's feather light, blistering caress
As much as you, evidently, are feeling.

But I'm afraid I have nobody to call
My Adam and nobody to call my rock.
You're lucky to know what love feels like.

— The End —