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float my body
the sea of stones**

each one,
a memory
composed from
the mountain song
of my life....
calved into the river
of love.

to swim away
from me,
in a mission
of exploration
to the rims of reality.

float my body
the sea of stones.

that i may see
the places i went,
the lives i lived

and then,
lay me down
in their cold embrace.
that i may ,
once more
live in the hard edged
of my juvenescence.
the jagged days
middle age
and the
the latter days...

let me settle down
amongst the
whispering rattle
of the stones,
as they
sing a lulluby
to my aged, decaying bones...
first line
borrowed with thanks from....
Steven Hutchison's
untitled piece.
Check out his work...
a talented writer indeed
 Aug 2014 Steven Hutchison
Black leaves, silver clouds
This night, this now, drapes heavy
Alone with the dark
I know
I’m in love
when once again
the colors start to sing
for me.
NaPoWriMo Day#25
Poetry form: Cinqku
Pouring whiskey down my neck
like what the heck
***** you're reckless
you ain't fancy
wearing liquor like a necklace
you're suppose to be growing
you're acting so feckless
you haven't crossed one word
off that to do or that checklist
you're infectious
and not like a smile
but more like a pile
of junk
stung out
for miles and miles
it's wild to me that you pretend to defend
the fact that this woman is not just your friend
in the end I recommend you extend your arm farther
before you end up to be just like your father
it's getting harder for me to act like I'm not bothered
when i'm talking to myself here
and i'm not getting stronger
i'm alone and i'm scared
i'm not prepared to be slaughtered
with all this fighting going on
it's not making me smarter
but i'm using my weight this time
and i'm hitting much harder
i just did another shot
i guess tonight i need armor
I can't write like you do
I can't really compose
Grace has always eluded me
In movement and in prose

You write of such big things
But they are still all the same
Me? I can't really toy
With ideas so insane

I'm not a professional wordsmith
My art hasn't been trained
When I write, the words flow easy
Unabashed and Untamed

You and your words are sculpted
Precisely, with finesse
But with a subdued gloss and lack luster
So twisted so suppressed

And now I see my dear self
Finally in a clear way
Not in my movements or in the glass
but on my inked page

So if you ask me, dear self
Which cage do I choose?
I'd choose my dented brass one
Instead of your golden noose.
he sits in the corner
of his deserted mind
where not even he
wants to keep
himself company.
the smell of
broken dreams
pang the air.
he feels tired.
he feels wasted.
but most of all
he feels

                                                            ­           alone.

and all he wanted
was a sign
from someone
from anyone
just to know
that he wasn't
the only one
who felt this way.
There’s a girl with curly brown hair
Whose sense of humour is so rare,
She leaves people baffled,
Their simple brains addled
As she spouts one-liners with flair.
NaPoWriMo Day 6
Poetry form : Limerick
I don't know
if I'll ever get the chance to tell you
how the whole world
disappears when you're here

But like the sun
hugs the horizon
and the moon
kisses the sky

Day by day
I am here
and my love
for you is real
You were the daughter of good intentions
The queen of innocence
And now
you shake the leaves from your hair
You haven't gone anywhere
but down

You are the daughter of broken promises
The queen of masquerade
And now
you wish the basement wasn't so dark
You try to think of a last remark
but can't

You will become the daughter of pity
The queen of melancholy
But now
you will realize the leaves were your crown
You will plant your feet in the ground
and stay
© 2014 by Jazzelle Monae. All rights reserved.
i didn’t love you the way people write poetry about.
there were no pretty metaphors, no odes
to the way your tongue wrapped around my name,
no tender words to soften the blow.
i loved you like a vast, white silence,
because i was desperate,
because i had no one else to love.
i’m sorry.
it doesn’t matter anymore.
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