twisted tines of silken thread
turn truistic vines of dread
into total truisms that fed
on tectonic overtures

turnstiles of treacle thin
ties, that tickle skin
and whisper tactile lies
turn tiny faces to taciturn skies

Tiptoe across a threadbare rug
tiny traces kiss treads remembrance

Touching histories of true memories
Tugging threads tight in a trance

Winter brings crystal tears
that forms on eyelashes
that never once blinked

Eyelashes upon eyes
that stare silently
at your retreating back

Unblinking in a snow storm

Winter brings a quietness
where I stared at your back
and yelled

Don't walk away, please stay
I'm so cold without you
Landscapes of white are faded
taking away the sparkle of the jewel

Don't walk away, please stay

I'm screaming silently
to a retreating back
in a snowstorm

a back with shoulders hunched
a back which has no face
a back which is retreating
from an unmarked time or place

as snowflakes fall upon hair
they melt beneath the burn
no breathe could I take to lie
The cold I expected would make
it a lesson that I should learn

Instead the mist of Winter
escapes my frozen lips
all that came out as a whisper
was this,

*Turn! Please, just turn.

I reveled in the smell of sulphur like that of a struck match. Then I remembered I gave up smoking 2 years ago.

I saw everything you did to me, the cut of the knife, red blood dripping down my legs, my heart beating in your fist. Yet the only intact thing they retrieved from the shallow grave was the blindfold.

You touched me lightly on the shoulder, I thought you woke me for a kiss. Then I remembered I already kissed you before they closed the coffin lid, 6 months ago.

I always smile when you speak to me in German. It's the last language you learned before you died in 1942.

My dog is always able to tell me when we weren't alone, he'd wag his tail in Hello or he would growl when a stranger was near by. He's growling now, even though he died, a year ago.

I screamed at the oncoming light! I wasn't frightened until I realised you had tied me upon the railway tracks.

I wanted to wear my Mothers wedding dress. Even I can't remove the dirt stains.

I sit in the corner of our bedroom staring at our bodies entwined. I see you tilt to the side, to text message your girlfriend, while I'm oblivious.

They used to embed bells above ground for those that may have been buried alive. Mine is missing its ringer so I just continue to scream.

I removed all the trees from the side of the house. Still the scratch at the window keeps me awake.

Married in White, Buried in Black. I continue seeing you in shades of Gray.

sat alone, beside a lake
neither would ever mistake
each other, for their love
two sisters, bound by blood

They sat upon common ground
neither tried to make a sound
Two sisters by a lake
what a montumental mistake

Two sisters sat upon higher ground
Each knew, the other should drown
but they held hands, so tightly
Never taking their vows lightly

Two sisters turned their heads, as one
to glare indignantly at the Sun
because they were unhappy
that the darkest Night
crept away and left the fight

Two sisters sit upon the edge
of water, rushing beneath a ledge
and kissed each others frights and hurts
because just the thought of sitting alone
*Hurts

No more reading
No more words
No more bees
No more birds
No more hurting
No more rain
No more anger
No more pain
No more breathing
No more sighs
No more seething
No more Sky
No more Sun
No more Stars
No more Moon
No more scars
No more worries
No more regret
No more tears
No more sweat
No more wondering
No more days
No more anything
*Where we lay

I stepped left when I should have stepped right.
It was a dance that ended my life.

I loved with grand passion
and lost with grander shame

Only those that burn with me
will know such pain

To truly know the fire,
one must taste the ashes.

To truly feel the burn
one must know the flame

To truly burn with fire
casts off the brightest light.

and in the ashes lay
the taste of another day

May I have a slice, please? Plain would be fine...

a plain slice of happiness

no sir, I don't have Cancer or MS,
I'm not not a paraplegic or quadriplegic,
haven't served my country and lost limbs,

I'm nowhere near as heart sore as so many,
my plain pain is just -
plain but powerful
in a plainly powerful way

is it possible that
when I feel
that life has taken a nose dive
when it crashes,
I'd prefer to sink than swim?

is that ok?

hope so.

drown in molasses of every day,
try that an any age,
struggle with every decision made,
wrestle with forces that come
at you from every side of life...
wry smile, wry groan,
there is no explaining,
when you chose one thing over another
it is one that missed out
that,
of course was...

is my heart shattering,
my tiresome immobility,
lessened because it is
unseen on
the outward unbound,
leeward side?

is plain pain somehow
insufficient, lacking in
character?

the delirious mystery
of my thoughts
doesn't need spicing,
oregano or basil,
sympathy cards,
and tsk tsk cluckings....

but the steady erosion of exhaustion
weakens me in ways
that leaves me
asking, hoping,
for just
a plain slice of happiness

how can that cost so much?

I've been blocked
well an good
by some obtuse
butthurt mindfuck

cant believe my luck!

but please unblock me
long enough
to delete your unread
message (so I can clean
up your verbal Diarrhea)

It's annoying
to me
as its messing up
the aesthetics
of my screen

The bottle and old thoughts haunt me all the same
In whispers of what was and should never be did we lose our way
or just vanish as quickly as the night before the day?

So many times I thought of lines
now simply I cast shadows where the blank spaces do reside.
Tomorrow cannot promise so why should I?

Let the words hold there own where I never could .
We all have a cross to bear and me?
I prefer to simply drive in the stake

But make no mistake,
what's nailed upon
an empty cross
is full of regret and loss
and underneath a barren plain
is buried pleasure and sadistic pain
self recriminations and needless blame,
but all the same
we build empires of shame
to live inside as truly insane
we drink from memories
that stoke a flame
to burn eternally, assuring fame
and comfort in a well of regret
we drink to forget, tomorrow
was just a promise made to us
by those that sit at our feet
when they crawl upon our laps
we are beat, we are trampled beneath
our own demise, we hid beneath
our own disguise
and we expired, when we desired
surcease from our wickedness

As I walk a red card in my jacket and miles of empty thoughts long cast aside
No words find solace were the demons cling to their vices.
All things decay as if to remind the living of the walk we all must bear

I find no guilt in my pleasures just more scars to bare in happiness to none.
Whispers of once was lay in empty thoughts.
I speak with a mouth full of razors all to eager to cut down the meek .
No words hold me in chains I simply but as I will nothing speaks clearly as a pause of silence.

And the old thoughts that linger to grow into rumours
Now they are all that is left of me .

Rumours of old bones that litter
the path to ruin are spoken by
those that whisper to dead ghosts
and kiss bloodless lips
inside crumbling passages
of age old keeps, on windswept
moors where bleeding eyes leak
tears weeping for something more

Down the streets cobbled with fear
slicked with garbage and the stench
of ever rotting verbiage,

Speak no more in silence, cry no more in penance of an oft abused
life that only walks alone under an
ever present thunderstorm of
howling winds and lightening strikes
and icy rivulets that trickle upon skin

This walk of sin is where it begins

The sound of running water is soothing.

Ritualistic, by nature, it just flows and pools until it stills, to be able to reflect back a scene that is silent, if you stay frozen long enough, staring, it captures a picture like a photograph. Still, unmoving…

Inside the steam that rises is like an early morning fog that delights the human eye because it can’t see beyond the ugliness that lies outside its door. Inside the fog, a whole new world is created. Something else, becomes more…

In the silence of the water no longer running and the steam that evaporated and has taken away the message from the mirror that you wrote, who knew it would run away to hide?

There is now the choice of a weapon of disposal. A choice that would forever be the marking of a soul, never caring, will never take a side.

Standing in front of a still whisper of water that is ready to receive a body that is intrinsically woven within its own fabric and ready to step back into a time when it was just, was... a time when it ebbed and flowed and could just be…

As a sacrifice, the robe drops from naked skin, dancing, floating, to pool at feet that have walked through fire, have been burned by ice, that have traveled a road that should have never been walked and ended up with photographs, of things, that nobody, NOBODY, should ever have to dream (as nightmares) let alone live, or see…

Sinking below tepid water to wash away every sin that has ever been, ever was, or, God Forbid, should ever be. There is horror looking upon sights that most would consider evil or gory, but still they tell their own story.
Looking down through clear, still water, it’s still possible to see, everything, including all imperfection, in all it’s glory.

Taking the weapon of choice, a razor sharp edge, like a sword that has been swung to defeat all its foes, it is forged by the fires of Hell to cut through skin and bone, to bathe the water red, to hide all the imperfections from a sight that is never blind…

It’s not beautiful, but it is bliss, there is no beauty inside a world that takes away a haunted soul that thinks the only way is to make it to the water, to be washed away on a tide of self hope and never think about the shore that it has left behind…

Nov 28, 2010

all the little children play
in the streets
their grubby little faces
smile with cherubic grace
all the while
little worker ants
dance double time
along invisible threads
and get confused
when a finger spreads
North to East
when they should be
travelling South
How come, little baby
you need something
in your mouth?
Guessing rhymes
is a favourite pastime
to a literary Genius
two stepping
to a pop beat
that should be waltzed
but the grubby children
only see the rain
running fast
down the gutter
Their tiny ships
made from discarded
plastic
are ocean liners
and their inarticulate
shouts
whisper into the ether
dying a harsh death
upon the frost
Scattered bits of flotsam
are piled up high
upon the curb of
no longer relevant
Wastage to the scavengers
but not asked
of the grubby faces
if they grew out of it

We built this city
On the blackened ash
Of white splintered bones
Thrown out like trash
On piles of rubble
Never built to last
Sleeping with one eye open
And one foot in the past
With walls made of glass
And foundations of false hope
We built this city
Hoping for synchronicity
Never realising it was a slippery *****!

We long to roam through
discarded gardens overgrown
with antiquated notions
to pluck the weeds from
the very soil we often
refused to simply toil
Espying the single rose
beneath the creeping vine
asking not what encouraged it
to be simply divine, it just is
Little weeds that head with colour
springing beneath a summer flower
ignored for its parasitic ways
flourishing beneath a distant gaze
growing in a barren wasteland
untouched by a living hand
Unguarded garden in riotous
bloom, little weeds that like
to loom, beneath the heady
fragrance of another day
asking that you not pull them
from the only soil ever known
to them, they grew heart whole
despite you staying away

Drink in hand, and a perfect face
An empty glass is just a disgrace
Conversation is simply asinine
Like a vulture sipping on wine
Just waiting to begin the feast
But the beast is slow in dying
Ignoring the soul that's crying
Talking to the hand, instead of the fist
Never would the words flow like this
We'll always have this at least
No cease to the lesson learned
That emotions are not earned
They're drunk from the deepest well
Spilling into a levy, where they dwell
Mayhap the chatter will surcease
Silence is achieved in rotating worlds
In a universe of unspoken words
When realistically all that will matter
Is this dizzying, inane chatter
*Where only syllables will decrease

we had different opinions
but the moon set us right
we see the same silhouettes
under the same filtered light
we saw different shadows
but the sun saw new meanings
we danced beneath the moonlight
in shadows that were fleeting

the same aches
the same pains

the more you suffer
the more i bleed

the more you try
the more i succeed

the more you exert
the more i recede

the same loneliness
the same lost cause

the more you race ahead
the more i pause

the same hurts
the same lies

the same taunts
the same cries

the more you hurt
the more I try

to make you realize

the same heart beats
underneath a broken rib
the more you draw breath
the more painfully I live

We both knew it would never be enough
when we both tried to walk away
We said our goodbyes to an overladen sky
if only one of us had tried to stay

We could have laughed, we could have  cried
we didn't have to say goodbye
Only both us did know
when the tears fell to the snow
there was nothing left to try

Then summer came
and thawed our hearts
we both started again
A river flowed
and a conscious glowed
New beginnings became an end

We laughed, we cried
we forgot where we started to be
we lived
we'll die
forgetting it was you and me

So please don't forget me
as the river starts to dry
my tears are never ending
unrelenting from my eyes
So please don't forget me
Even though we said goodbye
We tried...
*we tried...

we've come a long way
from the days when we
passed notes between mates
secretly pretending
the words on the page
meant nothing
hiding them in pockets
to take them home
to smooth them against
the bed, reading every word
again and again and again
we've come a long way
from leaving little pieces
of paper, parts of our soul
on pillows and in bedside draws
from scribbled messages
on bathroom mirrors
written in lipstick the colour of
Siren Red and Bleeding Crimson
breaking out of our prison
we've come a long way
to being able to say
how much we mean
how hard it is to say the words
how easy it is to shove letters
into verse and choke
it's a long way from face to face
conversations that evoke imagery
from our distant dreams
it seems we've come a long way
with *Poetry

I think I would not like to be
a single tree on a barren prairie
for you see I'd be a rarity
eager to be culled by all that see

I think I would not like to be
a mermaid drifting out at sea
for you see even though I'm me
I'm an oddity not allowed to be free

I know I would never want to
be just a possession you have got to
Own!
Where is my voice?

I know I would never want to
be an oddity you have just got to
Possess!
Where is my choice?

down the hallway
where destiny led
inside a room
where inhibitions shed
white miracles bled
I’ll lay my head
to dream beneath
a non de plume
I’m not me, are you?

riotous beauty will bloom
where it is aptly
coveted
smell the sweet perfume
told our sweet, sensual song
will long be often
coveted,
down the hallway
where destiny led

But this is reality.

What I am thinking, believing,
She, I,
cannot speak to you...it is that

On the edge of Saturn,
watching 3 moons
sink and burn
drowning sorrows
in a intergalactic tavern.

I just can't find
the energy to believe,
so I keep asking,
who is inside my body?
not you, not him,
who is me inside of me?

On the edge of me,
is not the endless roses or
the fact they seem
to placate themselves in repose.

It is not even the field
of riotous color
that undulates endlessly,
what I was led
to believe.

Not even the heady scent
that has slowed my feet,
can compete
with what I believed,
and what now,
no longer do...

What if God was there
as you lay inside your cardboard box
What if God was there
as you drowned in your Whiskey on rocks
What if God was there
when you laid your child down
six feet under the ground
What if God was there
but never made a sound
What if God was there
when you shot a foreign stranger in the chest
What if God was there
playing the weakest against the next best
What if God was there
when your car left the road
What if God was there
and did nothing, although
he. would. have. known
What if God cured World Hunger
Stopped Wars and abolished Cancer
What If God stopped Greed and Avarice
and just gave the world a coherent answer?
What if God is just someone
to hold on to throughout the bad times
What if God just doesn't really care
and you are simply responsible
for your own crimes?

i n g*

hahaha

very cute but,

No!

What's at the end is, hopelessness
the feeling that gets the better of
most of us
That small realisation that nothing
is there and a minuscule hopefulness
there was somebody to care

Nope

there's no answers, no pretending
what our heart hoped to bring

what is at the end of everything?

Nothing!

Read a poem about anti bullying online
Noted the writer wanted to be impartial
Pointing out those that continued their assault would be dealt with
by 'serious' threats all of their own

When called out they disappeared....
All. On. Their. Own.

Met a couple of Daily plagiaristic personas
It was a shock to see two in a row

One disappeared with little to no fuss
(It is nice when the trash takes itself out)
The other continually claims what they don't own...
Deleting comments but hopefully suffering guilt, no doubt!

There's been a few snipes, some gripes,
some snaps and grabs of other sites
But you have to be quick with them!
They disappear quicker then what's
acceptable as a modest lady's hem...

Overall?

There has been fantastic poetry
Some marvellous writes
A great deal of Awesome
you can take to bed at night

So much to read and to ponder,
to listen to and contemplate

I'm going to give HP
a 9 out of 10 this week

It's the best I can rate!

A poem, that's not a poem
but gets 2 thousands reads
lands on the Daily
and makes my heart bleed
So much fighting, back biting,
such inverted sense
of there own
proliferate nonsense
Drowning out the artful voices
of the souls that bleed
poetic choices
Sitting in their towers
built from dung
measuring  how meanly
they are hung
while many other voices
chime in and you can't hear the truth
crowing inside the din
it's like an ache in a tooth!

Some truly beautiful poems
that will hold your heart,
most bearing their souls
and simply enjoying the art!
Connecting on a level
that cares little for 'hearts'
just waiting for someone to say
'Hi, I feel what you wrote'
Not caring about figures, or charts

Be you one voice under one name
or one voice under many
If one is a vitriolic persona
rest assured the others are just as ugly

I'd have to give HP
a 2/10 this week

Sadly it's impossible to articulate
while being drowned when trying to speak.

Before you start reading this I feel I must tell you, this is long and very possibly, very very boring but, so very important to me and hopefully to my dedicated*


I sat back upon cracked heels
that represented, simply,
just a good place to sit
Somewhere close to the ground
where I could trail fingertips
in the dirt, drawing pictures
of deserted castles
and skeleton butterflies
with wings of fractutured glass
and fairies
with silken headdresses
of thorns
and Unicorns,
missing their horns
and other creatures
of similar ilk

Staring at the fence,
Fifty million years high
I sigh
because beyond the fence
in a babble of voices
they whisper of
Contentment
The underlying sentiment
of precocious antic dotes
spilling precious needs upon
any slight breeze
drifting like glowing dust motes
fills me with a resentment
that is voraciously ferocious
because they
spoke to each other
while all I had was dirt
beneath my fingernails
and partially deformed nightmares
that blew away
on the slightest exhale

As I cleaned the slate
with a flick of my wrist
Rain turned to mist
my dust board of memories
became a mud pile
I couldn't smile
I could hardly even frown
I was still as close as I could ever be
to the ground
I was now no longer kneeling
I was laying with one cheek
against my impression of Calliope,
who is carvorting silently
with rucked up skirts and lute in hand
but not longer in motion
just a muddied mess of dirt and tears
capturing all my naked fears
erased beneath a spirit
that hides in the dirt
on the other side of the fence

This is where he found me
All ragged and breathing stale air
All gasping for solace
trying to wrap myself in warmth
of the voices
from the other side of the fence
It was not blanket sized
more just a crocheted square
enough to cover my heart
which needed the warmth
I swear, I went cold so often
that the dirt that remained
under my fingernails
was the only thing
that kept my fingers warm

He crouched beside me
and said softly
What have we here?
Oh baby bird with broken wing
but whose song I did hear sing
Little Callista, mute from your screams
Broken from your nightmares
that started as dreams...
I saw you through the fence

As I stared into tapestry eyes
and followed the outstretched hand
that didn't try to touch me
sensing my fragility
He pointed to a pinprick space
devoid of concrete and mortar
Just inches from my dirtied face
in the Fifty million year high fence
he graced me with a weary look
I heard you ask once
while chasing skeleton butterflies
if they came from over fence...
Would you like a look?

He stood up over ten feet tall,
simply clasped his hand together
With eyebrow raised
and a twitch to lips
he invited me to stand
with a nod of his head
and a flick of eyes to the fence
I simply unwove all my dreams
and delicious unfantasies
stood, put a hand on his shoulder
a ***** foot in his palms
and he hoisted me

What I saw over the fence was
Magical, Mystical
a complete break to my reality

A simple garden of verdant green
the sublime shade of an unspoken tree
a single little girl
with ten thousand voices
spilling from her lips
from her I caught
just a small crocheted square
on the other side
but it still made no sense
what I saw,
hanging from the fence
until I looked back down
into taperstry eyes
that smiled
with a knowledge of Soloman
having pulled apart
and put back together
a struggling humanity
He simply grinned at me
and trumpeted
She is you, she writes Poetry
You are her and I, We, believe
in both of you.
As you can clearly see
there is nothing beyond the fence
that you cannot be

And he simply bent his knees
and lifted his hands
to the Sun
and toppled me over the fence
so I could, again
become one

he'll try hard to not
            just to prove
                        he can

Wonderment
Holds me in thrall
Embraced in sweet delight
Never letting me fall

Innocence undreamed of in

A
Minefield of Love

Wickedly sensual thoughts  flow
Intensely wild and free
Touches that taste like candy
Heaven surely sent you to me

You dazzled me from the start
Offering to never depart and
Understanding my heart

when I was a kid
you woke up on a weekend
and met your friends
at the local park
you spent all day
playing on the swings
or exploring
and went home
when it was dark
just in time for dinner

when I was young
we got home from school
had a sandwich
did some homework
then met our friends
on the street
for some fun
shooting the breeze
poking tounges
at all the boys
oh the joy

when we couldn't
make it outside the yard
you meet your siblings
out back
where the lawn hadn't been mowed
in days and
you worked together
to create an elaborate maze
for our clothes peg people
to navigate
it was so great

Nowadays

We all live in this tiny fishbowl
I check my daughters Facebook
times untold
just to see what she's feeling
because we are 'Friends'
then I text my Son
that dinner is here,
He's only in a room downstairs
he may as well be living
Siberia

They don't need me
while they have their life
Unlimited cable internet
streaming to their Xbox, iPad,
cellphone, laptop, talking to friends
like I never did unless
they were standing in my front yard
propped next to a bike

and as I sit here sipping grapes
from an old chipped teacup

*I grew up

Imma gunna
create a new
persona
complete with
stupid backstory
an' a picture
of some random
that's pleasing
to the eye
to enable
my ****** glory
and help spread
my *******
to the world
because my ego
demands
to
be
heard!

words create a soulful like
to what is supposed to be
a picture creates a glimpse
of worlds beyond you and me
A picture, a photograph
is what happens, in words
when we let it
we express our focus
we never forget it
For in our hearts
such words evolve
from pictures we are,
as art
no words can describe
the scribble
that has been etched,
upon our heart

By the capture of the Clouds,
the Moon and the Star

in one such frame
we sit in silence
only to marvel
in very amicable thought
*we are as we are

I miss you
We used to have such fun
Was it something I said?
Something I done?
It’s hard to believe
that you made a run…

I’m standing in front
of the open fridge
but it is not Misery
that is piercing my chest
**** useless emotion
would not be so bold
It’s not because I’m hungry
and I welcome the cold

It’s nostalgia that carries me away
as I catch sight of what is sitting
on the back of the shelf
All alone
A can of Harden Up
your favorite drink
but you didn’t know
I used to slip it
into your white wine spritzer
to try and stop your self esteem
sinking
like a stone

But now your gone

Right in the middle of planning
our next dinner date
where we sit and shoot daggers
at each other
through candlelight
as we eye
a great big plate

of

Revenge

But you'll be late
again
and as usual
it will be served cold
again

Why did I ever hope for more?
We were like a complimentary meal
served by the most
lowest of restaurants
Free
Wholly unsatisfactory
more like takeaway
really...

You're not coming back are you?

Obviously you are now finding
your own brand
of fun
I thought we had it all
But I guess I was wrong
and you proved it

You're just a big coward

Run

Baby

*Run

Expanding into existence, perfectly formed
Given life by a soft gentle blow
Caught by the breeze to be carried away
Floating on by, languid and slow
Creating the ultimate joy at heart
With a life too short for it’s kind
Gifted it's sparkle as it is kissed by the sun
A more simplistic life it will never find
Such altruism should not go unrewarded
As I watch them skitter and dance and hop
I wonder?
Where do the bubbles go?
When they pop?

Imperfect lines carved into skin
etched in deep by sharpened pin
tiny road maps to insanity
little. tiny. tracks. of inhumanity

Gouged into a perfect slate
filled with blood and sealed with hate
a rutted path to macabre damnation
no salvation in the ruination

A meandering road in total eclipse
from empty eyes to barbed wired lips
to the broken heart so badly stitched
stretching all the way to apocalypse

Fragmented memories line the paths
edged by tears of broken glass
echoing in silence of words unsaid
these are roads even the dead fear to tread