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Tulip Chowdhury Jan 2016
I lay awake last night
listening to the windchime
I knew for sure
it was telling tales
singing songs
and some poems too.
At times loud
at times soft
it talked and talked.

will the windchime be ringing
tonight, again?

Maybe I should be dressed
to join windchime and her friend!
Ah, yes I will listen
for the howling sound,
the first gusts of wind
and rush out
when it joins its friend.

On lonely nights
wind chime is my friend.
blankpoems Feb 2014
If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime;
the song too frozen to melt on her tongue.
I am scared of all her moving on.
The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight.
I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here.
The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane.
I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her.  That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes.
I am scared that I am being overdramatic.
I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars.
Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother.
I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time.
If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees.
Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt.  Like dive bars miss blues music.
When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.
Hayleigh Jun 2014
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with solid ground,
There's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound emits.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To breath life back into you.
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
And left you entangled in the remains.
The valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
You're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has deserted you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
Constantly rain,
But you you're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates,
And you quite like the taste,
Of self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
That you paint on,
Why you defile
Your skin,
This terror your living in,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
Inside of your mind,
Leaves a carcus, a morsel,
Of yourself behind.
Your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Where your bones should be,
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
By red marks where you've sliced open your skin,
In at attempt to be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
There's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And tying knots the further down you slip,
As you sip,
Another shot of courage.
But there's only so long,
One can hold on for,
And believe me I've been down
To the depths of hell and danced with the devil
On many occasions,
And the sheer frustration,
Of the attempts to be patient,
Are wearing thin,
Like the warm skin, that stretches,
Over your protruding bones.
Just a first draft..
Hayleigh Jul 2014
You scream urgency like an accident and emergency waiting room, like a person relapsing into addiction, because they pushed themselves too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil, where you've tried to get to grips, with your inner turmoil.
And there's a danger in your voice, like a lost child waiting to be found, and you string sentences at a time but no sound, emits. As you sit in fits, of hysterics.
Danger, like racing cars and frightened cries, and there are holes in your back, formed by the lies, you've been subjected too. And i wonder if i could use them to carefully breathe, life back into you.
The life that you seem to have let slip through your finger tips, like dry sand, and there are wants and demands, taped to the pupils of your eyes, and i wonder if i get close enough, if i could see, if i could prize, them open.
The dreams and memories, before they turned stale and congealed in your veins, before they curled up and died, and left you entangled, in the remains.
And the valleys of your eyes, run wide and down deep, and when you weep, your tears fall heavier, than a ten tonne van, falling from unreachable heights.
And there are marks on your body, where you've lost the fights, the sleepless nights, with yourself. And you're a shadow of the man, you used to be, and even your shadow, has sought someone anew.
And your foundations are built on heartache and pain, and those little tear ducts in your eyes, they constantly rain. torrential down pours.
And there is hopelessness, embedded deep within your pours and despite the ongoing rain, you,you're in a draught, all the love you've showered others in means you've ran out, for yourself.
And your health, is a picture of cigarettes and late night drinks, old whiskey, poured down sinks.
And you're reaching the brink, the breaking point. But you quite like the sound, of broken plates and you greet with haste, the familiar taste of self destruction.
And there's a ghost, where you used to be, haunting the curves of  your smile, watching you all the while, as you destroy and defile, the cold skin, that stretches over your protruding bones.
This terror your living in, lures the wolves home, could start a thousand wars, and this battle your fighting, these revolving doors, inside of your mind, leave a carcus, a morsel, a shell, of yourself behind.
And your insides stick to the past, like double sided cello tape, and there are windchimes in your spine, counting down the time you wait, for freedom to meet you with open arms, and your arms, paint a picture of self harm, in bright red pen, and the ringing of alarms is renewed again and again.
And your heart on your sleeve, is clouded, and weaved, between fragile pastel pink scars, and the hesitation in your voice, jars any conversation, and you scream in frustration as we express your complications.
And you, you wish desperately, that you could be free, of those demons, the sin, for a new beginning.
And there's toxic in your lungs, and a noose around your neck,where you've hung your expectations too high,
And you're hanging by a thread, and the further you slip, the more knots you tie, in an attempt to buy time,
And you drink down each crime against yourself, with another bottle of wine, as you search and unwind, the mazes within your mind.
And you can see in the way you carry your frame, that you've been to the depths of hell and danced with the devil in vain, on many occasions,
And your eyes they tell tales wanders, of liquid sedation, as you squeeze into a nation, too small, too handle, too inexperienced, too dismantle, the train wreck, you see, every time you look intensely, at your reflection,
And your recollections of your past, are like shards of sharp glass,scattered between the seams of your life, and you, you batter the strife, with drug filled bombs, painful tongues and licks, of the kicks, you deny to be true, as you continue to fall through, reality in a clarity, smeared with drunken violence, and ear piercing silence.
Redrafted with a new format and structure. Hope you all like it.
Broadsky Feb 2022
dust has collected in this once filled room of my mine

it's floated and settled on the last few things left behind

spellbind

windchime

now i can say this empty space is all mine


8 years of pacing this room

8 years of shouting at the moon

8 years of sleeping til noon

just to ignore the fact I meant nothing to you


so much anger has made home in my bones

the way you used to speak about me felt like being casted with stones

I used to try and drown out your tasteless, colorless tone

you type "she's dramatic" in a text on your phone


I expected this feeling of indifference to feel free with no stop lights

yet this empty space

and this empty mind

coincide

with what I've known this whole time


that all too familiar feeling of restlessness has come to an end

and even though there are still memories burned into my head

I don't believe I have anything else left unsaid


I envied your callousness

I despised your self-righteousness

and i ached at your lack of consequence

what caught your eye was never my elegance

but rather my callowness


as the ice in your drink swirls and melts

and you're blaming me besides everyone else

as your anger starts to swell

just remember it was me who wasn't treated well


we can keep our heads down while our eyes meet on the street

while you pretend I don't resemble meadowsweet

and that we never danced in my kitchen with me on your feet

but

to be honest

in the end

we were always offbeat

when you chose to secede

I found you to not be an aesthete

if you could agree

to be without me


this story is begging to no longer be told

so maybe I'll revisit this time of my life when I've seen how my life will unfold

til then my king is fallen on this chess board

my feelings are buried far past the sea's shore

and I've finally

stopped keeping score
Kq  Jul 2017
unwanted
Kq Jul 2017
I can't imagine how this looks
Me, face of clay
Silent windchime mouth
Aquariam glass eyeballs
Snowglobe life
Swimming in glitter
Tsunami at your hands
Plastic toes stuck
Until I lunge
Eyes flare heat
Stove top face
Coiled brain
Orange is the color I saw in you
Finger painted pianos
Mole rat grass
You took my monocle
Smashed glass in the garden
Next to tulip bulbs
That will grow in as your teeth
Fingers on mice
Like your genes
Granola girls take paths
I am glued, plastic feet
You walk around me
Ben Sep 2013
i sit here and overdose in my imagination for the fifth time today
too poor to **** myself with a pharmaceutical fantasy no pain just sleep
it's a matter of time before i'm found swinging in my basement necrotic windchime
i'm not so much a poet as a sad kid rambling who can only write inebriated
this one time life thing is getting me sick and i just don't..
**** me i thought i was stronger than this yet years with a **** job
no girl and 5 weeks a night of left hand ******* while i choke down
another bottle bottle bottled my emotions in a seven dollar anesthetic
i've been romanticizing a wished for **** addiction at least that would be an
excuse for why i'm a wasted wasting waste of life doomed to insecurity
i can't even remember half the words i learned in school
you're probably sick of my self loathing and every poem i write is
just another narcissistic cry for help because i'm to proud to ball up and cry
don't even bother this time i don't want your reason for why i can't top myself
kick my bucket, burn my farm, pluck out my eyes and puke till i die
i'm ******* done i'm just too tired to try
to all those girls i never kissed - i love you
to all those ******* i never hit - i love you
to that boy that i might have found myself with - i love you
to my best best best friends the few that i have - i love you
i was never comfortable in my skin
maybe i'll  be comfortable in my grave
just a thought
i'm past caring what people know
i can't seem to feel anymore
Bows N' Arrows Nov 2015
This barren street at night
       Dust storms
Picking up the Autumn leaves
In cyclones
Decorations lingering
Halloween ghost
Hanging from a tree
The sensation of a witch
Being born at every
Hit of my cigarette
Wondering why more
   Other lost souls
Are not outside smoking
Cigarettes shaking in hoodies
That are too large
For them
Trying to solve this universe
Last night
Dawn Jupiter  Apr 2018
Windchime
Dawn Jupiter Apr 2018
Glass renders it silent,
its movements make sweet music.
Its song remains unshared
until someone, the window, opens.
David Hill Dec 2016
One hot and sultry summer night,
While the trees outside stood dark and still,
I tried to get my checkbook right,
At the desk beside my window sill.

One thing moved in the heat and damp,
The whispering of a hundred moths,
Trapped around the backyard lamp.
In pity, I went and turned it off.

They flew away and left me there,
Wishing that something, likewise, might
Free me from the musty air
That gathered around my dim desk light.

My old brass wind-harp, long un-tongued,
Gave forth a single, clarion chime,
From where it had, untroubled, hung.
A neighbor’s porch gave answering rhyme.

I turned to see the heat-lights leap
Between the towering thunderheads,
Which had gathered in the upper deep,
While I nodded, working, half asleep.

— The End —