Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Laurel Elizabeth Dec 2015
God killed Summer.

But caught her mid-Fall,
And laid her in a goldenrod dress.
We held our breath-and wept
To see her more lovely in sleep:
        Green eyes closed brown,
                   Crimson lips
                           Windswept hair

God cried hardest-
Saturated her bedside in rain.
We drank deep draughts of her vibrant complexion
Brandishing onto our gaze
Her rosy palms and frosting fingers.

God blanketed Summer.
With a sheet of fine lace,
And lowered her into the earth.

We trudged home in the snow.
Her warmth had left us cold,
But we carried God's promise burning our ears:

"Whatever entity I take,
With tenfold will I bring.
Our Summer's hardy, just you wait-
And from her grave she'll Spring!"
Laurel Elizabeth Jun 2014
Kiss me.  
                                 Kiss me, soft, as I am… passing.  
          kiss me while my lips are burning, while I yet believe in romance
                                  with soft blush face,
                                                                ­ hammer heart,
                                                                ­                        sloppy eyelashes.

                     Lift me.  
   Lift me like a child on stilts, elevated above the feeble dreams of adults
                                            with tendons taught,
                                                                ­  fingers splayed,
                                                                ­              playing my hair like seaweed

bless me.
                              bless me with your consciousness,
          with your most pensive furrowed brows
                                                         with your aspirations
bless me with your future.

Feed me.  
                                    Feed me at my bedside—but not just tepid broth.
                       Feed me the window view
                                                     when my eyes forget to flash,

Feed me the sky

Free me.  
                          from the IV,
                                       the monitors,
                                                          the smell of chlorine

          So that it may be you and the moon
that sing my last lullaby.
Laurel Elizabeth Jun 2014
Don’t just take a walk in my shoes. Become my feet.
Laurel Elizabeth May 2014
I  miss you all humdrum floppy eyed
like crinkle face spit flying mad people

I Miss You Cause You Are Crazy 2

you are petroleum seeping through my brain waves
and when i light the fuse

You'll just about blow the place sky High.
Laurel Elizabeth May 2014
You stepped inside a pinhole
and found yourself in water                            
                                                   you and your floatings, prayers, gloatings

dripped listlessly through
others’ problems,                     funerals, bad jokes-
every persons puddle music
in a torrent of watery grievance

Welcome to [Big City,   Foreigner Country]—Traveler.

This ocean smells awfully polluted
and not just the grey in the air
but the blood in the streets from the
succulent meats.
and the way that the people stare.

but tread lightly,                  and don’t drown,
you fishes from other lands,
Chin up!
your gills open-- and you will find that you
swim as the culture demands.

bless you, watery wanderers,
with your blessings and cursings
and tears.
for this ocean of raging attitudes
is made human by all of your fears.
Laurel Elizabeth Feb 2014
Move over incompetence-
That’s my seat.  

We’ll have tea.  The herbal variety.
And talk about my listless absence
over rosehips and peppermint.

It has been a long road trip
on awkward interstates,
since I have eaten poetry.
It tastes tangy on my tongue-
tahini and tap water,
like salad dressing gone south.  

I went south, since last we spoke.  
I cry still for the colors,
the blues and greens that burned my eyes
and transfigured my palette.
The mountains spoke foreign languages
but blessed me with new ears to hear,
but I did not record their tales.

I sit now trying to catch a shimmer of their dialect
but I am full of empty English.

I repent now,
of my caustic neglect,
to the nymphs of creative order—
and humbly bow myself to the sword of
Laurel Elizabeth Dec 2013
[allow] me to lick the Newness:

off your face,
                                                                     away from the yapping white noise in the distance,
out of the infant smile you shed.

Lets dance the color of welded [souls]

                                                       all you who fracture under [the heavy mass
of] my emerging grin, cast the [humanity]
from your leaden chins

lets [radiate beyond our stiff] elderly shells-

stretch to the most intricate composition
of every genre of pebble [person]

Don’t stop there!

                                                                     [pass] pockets of serendipity to the greyest nimbus,
the slightest twitch of grass,
the [breath] of soil.

why must we comfort Zones?

                                                          I will ****** your plush practiced demeanor
to [nurse] your pallid glimmers
of certified [You].
Next page