I’m giving birth to a kaleidoscope of baby blue hopes
she’s green gelatin under me
breathing cerulean clean like a newborn baby and
she’s free


to feed from fire and ice
her fingers find distant dips deeper than webbed ligaments
dripping pearlescent beads to be placed over her beating brain
too many aged grapes
the violet light tying her tongue from spilling
secrets held together by straw ribbon


Stuffed cheeks of fluffy pink confetti cake
the shuffling of young hips
lift the veil of cream to brand my face with
your bubbling lips


O, belittling eye
Beat me blind until I shy divine
let’s live within the interior of the tattling tulips
who shush each other sweetly
Poor petals
silk with their speckled sickness it’s
sickening to beckon forgiveness


Bronze with wooden eyes and apple cheekbones set high
she slips into the figments of my imagination’s creations of her and I
I and her humming low
damp breath decorating the faces with indigo
Her opal fingertip prints mock fossils on the window
whose fingertips once tossed rusted coins as a child
pennies from nineteen forty eight stained with wishes that
may or may not have been cast at all

I've never been good with
Women or girls
Never brave, never able to speak
Mumble was the best I could do
And I did that too quitely
And too often
No... never good
Lucky enough though I guess
With the wild ones
The ones that didn't play chase
Or damsel in distress
The ones that wandered the night
Hungry for life and pain
The ones able to see me hiding
And mumbling to myself
Being shy in the corner
The ones that weren't afraid to strike first
They bought me drinks until I was drunk enough to forgot who I was
Or that I was shy
They lite the matches and the cigarettes and the fires and the madness
Took me back to their homes smiling
I was always too innocent and naive to know why
Until I woke up naked beside them in the middle of the night
And we would do it again
And in the morning too
Sometimes I got lucky for months
Sometimes years
And sometimes I got lucky
And fell in love
Thank the gods for the crazy ones
The stark mad lunatics
Crazy for the beautiful pain of being alive
I never would have known love without them
Would never find it again if they weren't still out there
Dancing in their darkness with their demons and heartache
No I've never been good with women or girls
But I've been lucky more times than one man deserves in a lifetime...
Still, it would be nice to fall madly in love one last time
Just one last first kiss from lips burning with the madness of love
Just one last time...

In the night garden, star flowers linger
long before dawn, before the sun
vines climb, with ivory flowers hung
bringing light, where the moon glows pale
flowered jasmine is sweet beneath the air of fire
with lanterns lit in floral scents
glowing through diaphanous petals
here, where the earth shines like heaven
and blooms not unlike the stars.

I was born with fists clenched
And full of contradiction.
I was born teeth first
And mouth last, which is to say
I knew how to bite back
Long before I knew how to open.
I was born with an umbillical noose
And blue skin.
Sometimes I forget that
There was, in fact, a revival.
I was born into a family
Of magicians.
Maybe thats why
I find comfort in the empty rooms.
I was born there.
Sometimes I think about
The sins I have not yet commited
And can't remember
Anything about Eve in a wedding dress.
Sometimes I think about the sins
I am actively committing
And relive the Leviticus stoning of
my own Mother
when I was seven
And she made my father disappear.
I was born hearing folklore
Of a hare that was too tired
to finish the race.
I was born being the tree that it napped against,
And also the hare
And also the finish line
And also the unfinished line
And never the tortoise.
I was born on Noahs Ark. 
I have always been
The 39th night.
Always close to the sun returning in the morning
But never and closer,
Though I have been a rainbow
And I have held concrete.  
I have gone swimming in the mud.  
I **** the panic with smoke.  
I know all three states of god
Because I was born the
god of something.  
I was born the God of my body
And that's something
That's never going to change.

pain knocks on weathered doors
fastened ever tightly
cryptic access is denied
it camouflages in the shadows

stealthily it watches
hypervigilance enhancing
catastrophe awaiting
it strikes in latent graveyards

the gale begins to form
and unleashes its fierce torrent
the latch shattered and torn
there’s now an open entrance

creeping in it slithers
engulfing to encompass
digging up emotions
buried underground there

hovering and foggy
tho’ murky does not smother
but fleshes out the psyche
entombed and cobweb covered

it crawls along the edges
and peers in secret ledges
seeps into sequesters
like dust settled in feathers

it slides through every feeling
and when it’s at its blackest
it carves the darkness out
and let’s in sunlight’s presence

© 2016janetaylor

Nails clambering on soft soil,burrowing into earth.
Noises gesture movement, then where nails were
pristine now broken and bleeding on dirt.

Depleted actions fade on clambered soil, no further
to what was sunken beneath. A glimmer like mist
fades, as tears of rain fall in only one place.

She will wait repetitively an endless cycle greets,
He took her heart, all she wants to do is now hold
his crushing it beneath her fingertips.

The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey caim on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you.
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.