Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zemyachis Mar 2014
tickity-clickity whirr went my father to set
the little merry-go-round musicbox by my bed
with its adorbsable mini-suction cups lining
purple porcelain tentacles
winding round and round
lulling gently with that nostalgic ice-cream truck tune
reminding me of sweet tang juicy mango slush
on a hot afternoon
where the posh-painted ponies fly by with the tide rising up and down
in a seaside villa of some spanish town
in all the grandness of their primary colors so carefully chosen to brush
at the command of a fairy princess with her crown gold-gilded
she's twirling whirling, a mechanical ballerina on springs
gracefully petite her frame, so small the sash on her shoulder
that slips in the breeze to catch the eye of a little soldier
in his regimentals properly fitted, buttoned in brass
a lass like me lovingly adoring bunnies in top hats and bow ties
spats on their feet to tap dance for me
in my dreams the never ending spin of a teacup party
the catch of a hook where the lullaby loses flight
but I'm already asleep with a kiss goodnight
Senor Negativo Sep 2012
Is it true
what you said,
in the grip of the plague?
That you would love me and my broken musicbox.
I said the worst thing I could, to save you from pain...
Oh the pain it must have
caused,

Accusations,
allegations of my limitations,
I know something in you
still feels my wet tears on your hand.
Twice from the chasm edge you recalled me.
Now I wonder,
if there is a miracle left in the bag of light.

Didn't I bring a sparkle to your laugh
in the days before I tasted poisoned honey.
I built collages for what I thought was you.
I see the weariness in your words,
shake me from this world.

Once,
you made me smile through agony,
when I fell from the greatest height.
Now,
the very thought of your smile,
drives a thousand pins into my head.
Tomorrow,
another piece of me will be missing,
never to be recovered, permanant loss.
mark john junor Jul 2013
birthed in toxic soup
of nesscessity and lust's needs
her own words haunt her
with simple phrase pronouced
clear and heartfelt
sorrow fear hope lust love love lust

like her little ballerina musicbox
such an entertaining little toy
such a long daydream to wake in such a
strange place
with its strange names and faces so flush with anger
why are you here
snowbunny go back to your mountains
go back to cold serenity
and the dream that she could care
for a malfuntion like you
snowbunny

clear and heartfelt in the morning
are full of doubts and questions by nightfall

in her dream
they lay in candlelight
and speak in whispers
though they are alone
they are as one with love
they are as one in heart
she awakens in a trash littered feild
by the highway
wet from the long night of rain
cough
the latter days of her sainthood
had faded

she wakes in her bed
and alls right in her world once again
for the moment

snowbunnys come to paradise
seeking new lives and easier living
in the sunshine state
but when they arrive
its raining
rain
rain
rain
rainy season in the tropics
sunshine state is an advertisement
not a reality
nothing friendly
nothing real
"snowbunny" is what florida natives call the hordes of homeless and others who head down to florida every fall to avoid the cold winters up north.
janis tsai Aug 2010
The summer heat in Ypsi pounds my back
drumming notes of sweat into my clothes.

My song of labor for all to see.
Yes, I did it. Yes, this is me.

How my muscles contract and move in time,
One, two, trash
One, two, trash
Picking up trash is my dance agony.

A dancing soldier-I step and I bleed.
I look up at the sun-my source of melody.

The sun is my musicbox
-my tune and my clock.
I cannot stop dancing until the sun stops.
Justyce Regular  May 2013
The Boy
Justyce Regular May 2013
Four years ago I kissed your eyelids
and told you that when we grew old
I would tell them to bury my dead body right next to yours
so we'd never have to sleep apart
A part of me always knew you wouldn't last that long
You reached your rough hands to the clasp of my bra
and danced naked with me in our livingroom
I met you when you thought needles were magic
and you thought God was found in a cloud of smoke

I was 17 and the curls in my hair were designed by mother
I had my "father's eyes"
and my "sister's cheekbones:
but you liked my hips and the heart shaped freckle on my lower back
the way my brow furrowed before I fell asleep
You liked the parts of me no one could whisper "were passed down through the gene pool"
You were 20, you had track marks like sleeves up your arms
and your frail frame was a byproduct of your mother's addictions
and your father's love was formed on the thick skin he made you wear
Your lips tasted like peppermint
but I loved your heart.

When we got older you got down on one knee
and promised a lifetime of yourself to me
No one understood that I would have given a lifetime of fighting for you
if it meant there was even a small chance that I could mend those wounds
Even if I had to suffer every evening tear
every glistening moonlight
that you begged for more
because even though the needle   in your arm made you weak
I saw the strength you held me up with
and I saw the lips that craved for better
and I wished a lifetime of happy endings
because you'd had a lifetime of sorrows
I wanted to capture you in a  musicbox
because you always made my heart sing
and there was kitestring on your finger
that you promised you'd never forget
and I thought beyond everything  else someone must understand
so I wrote this poem to show the world the beauty I saw
despite the flaw
and my parents dreams for "better for me"
They didn't know the things you'd seen but they were right
I never said you were perfect
but when that hot July sun came
and you married me under that sycamore tree
and promised that you'd spend your life quitting
but never on me

So now I'm collecting red roses
for all the petals you left on my bed sheets
and I'm cleaning out the shirts in your closet
because I tried for years but you never wore them
You didn't get it
I loved you with a fire so deep in the ground
I swore I'd never let it burn out
and it hasn't
but in the end time couldn't let me keep you
Time wouldn't let you keep yourself
so now they're digging a hole in the ground
and I have to leave you there without help
because there was a boy with a needle in his arm
that couldn't face the past
and he cast a long shadow down a forever path
and even though he promised forever
he had given me the best that he had
So I kept his kitestring for another lifetime
when we get to sleep together again
Colm  Sep 2020
Musicbox
Colm Sep 2020
If my heart sings
   And I give you songs
   You'll know of such sounds
(in a quiet whisper)
   And in sounding out
   Before so long
You'll know
Your love is a song
IcarusHatesSun Mar 2019
The tune your heartbeat makes
Has the affect of a musicbox
With an exponent of infinity

— The End —