Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I need to go to a burning man. I need to lose myself in the woods for a year. I need to make my threshold and enter through. I heard my call a long time ago but I just never...
   I can't stand myself any longer! I must lose who I am to find what I am to become. And I can't do that in a world where I exist in everyone around me. I need a place with none of me and plenty of else. So much that I can spread myself out to one thought thick. Finally be raw, enough to see myself clearly.

   I shouldn't worry about forevers, because forevers are simply composed of nows.

   I want quiet place to sit against the tree, look out over a lake, and read until my eyes bleed pleasure, my brain secretes knowledge, and my heart wisdom.
   A place to harbor a gentle haze of mind, a place to leave myself behind. Just and think and think some more, until and passed the point of being head sore.
   I want to place with plenty of glasses, and plenty of cracks, plenty of muses and no ways back.
   A place full of forevernows and nevermores, where people are ****** enough to cross the desert because of a recurring dream. A place of pink purple sunsets and endless shores.

   How mirrors have learned to lie I will never know, because I don't recognize the person they show. I have to turn them around because even my own eyes try to deceive me.

  If I don't I will always want to. If I do I won't enjoy every step, but I will a few.
   The hands that shaped this road are now, older.
   I don't know how I will, and a not even sure I understand why I will. All I know for certain is I MUST.

   Because I can't stay here. If I do I will fall in love with possibilities, and not realities. I will fall in making people out to be more than a person. I will lose my heart to and afterimage of a dream, and even if I do I would never have pursued it anyways. I want to leave the field, sell my flock, and start my full circle, or square.
   Wherever I go I have no plan know method know fall backs, but the beautiful hair of uncut graves. With only the Spektor inside my books to hold me.
   I want to hear the symphony of stars each night and have the wind tell me its stories of its travels that day.
   I want to sleep knowing the poppies stand guard.
   I know nothing, and I'm ready to listen, but first I must get out of my hand made prison, burn the map smashed of compass. Put my feet anywhere besides in front of the other that way I'm going nowhere fast and never looking back.

   I want to teach myself the song of my soul, so that I can hum every bar by heart, but I can't do that here. Not in this place of paper people and towns who live their lives never getting wet.

   It says if I can ever catch my breath, that I'm strangle lading in the stench of mold and excitement of leaving and never coming back.

   Mark here this day, as I lie awake at night as the last moment I spent outside the labyrinth. I need, no, I must leave find a place where I can listen to my heart and drink and its wisdom. But that place is not here I don't know where to, but I must start.
   Thomas Edison last words were " its very beautiful over there, I don't know where they're is, but I believe it somewhere, & I hope it's beautiful"

                                                     ­     ~Crow
esther Dec 2017
there are always two sides to the same story
two voices singing the same song
maybe i was never enough
maybe i was, more than enough
sometimes i wonder if you wonder the same things

have you ever had the thought of running back
to put a semi-colon instead of
a full stop to our infinite possibilities?
do you sometimes fantasize us two
lying on paper-thin ice
in Alaska
and having no fears
because i'm holding your hand?
under the green, blue, pink, purple, yellow, red
aurora borealis
and millions of stars?
have our heads tilt toward each other
at 4:09 am
in our fluffy snow jackets and boots
and lean in for a forbidden kiss
then go back and gaze at the Milky Way
with more thoughts in our minds than there are stars reflecting in our eyes
imagine a place that is ours
it's where a wise man confused reality for dreams
it's in the middle of nowhere
in our deepest fantasies
it's where we hold on to each other
and everyone else simply doesn't exist...

at 4:09 am
i wonder
if sometimes
you wonder about me too.
Sadly, fantasies aren't real. For Jason.
sadgirl Sep 2017
after robin coste lewis*

the dogs do not have names
so you just call them
with a whistle
they bark still and still and still

they are not animals
they are just humans
that have lived out their lives
and found a new body

the dogs do not speak english
so you bark back
and they look at you,
ears raised

and mouths dry
and dumb, tongues,
rough like sandpaper
and teeth that shine like enamel pins

the dogs do not run
they move like water
muscles like leaves in

all you need is
an ocean calling
your name, the dogs
can't give you that

the dogs are all you need,
as they run and whisper to
each other
they do not speak english
so you curse each one in tsimshian
Inspired by Huk-Huk by Robin Coste Lewis and my Alaskan roots. Also, my dogs, Charlie and Sally.
Mark Lecuona Jul 2017
I didn’t know I needed to travel so far
A cup of coffee in a Sunday café
That was all I needed to explain
the things I found inside myself

But how could I know if I remained behind
Next to a fence deciding which side I’m on
And I knew that it was both
I can come and go,
remembering you either way

Mile markers waving goodbye
The top of the world,
white caps and wilderness
I knew where I was from,
what I was to become;
will you walk with me?

Winter carved summers underneath my feet
Glaciers waving to the lakes left behind
So much, the melancholy of nature
But I wasn’t sad,
No I was not

I longed to tell you something
I wasn’t gone; only away
But in everything I find new
I was reminded of why I love you
Dark Fjord Apr 2017
what docile posture gets you out of the way
when fighting the clock ticking real fast
move upstream with me, the river moving
the ice is wiping me out, once the salmon show up
I'm good on paper.
CK Baker Mar 2017
the walls of inside passage
look the same
from sound to straight
tugs and plugs
dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare  

pods are in sequence
and the high tail smashes
and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows
bob and weave
as bow heads glide
over haida gwaii  

northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly
on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea  

driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast on open flames  

villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
…in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies

ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade  

trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feast
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
donia kashkooli Jan 2017
i'll be home soon. i need to be surrounded by emptiness and bitter cold so i can think about something other than you and your angelic soul and how i'm so in love with you that i can't think straight anymore because you don't love me back

i could go all the way up north
to the oil fields where alaska
meets the arctic ocean and
i would still be reminded
of you with every wave,
every breath that freezes in
the air,
every drop of oil that pollutes
the water.

i could go all the way up north
to the oil fields where alaska
meets the arctic ocean and
i still wouldn't be far enough
away from you.

-z. vega
Dana Skorvankova Dec 2016
Didn't write this one, but its spirit cannot be undone

*She reads poetry in her pajamas
And laughs when there is no joke
She runs away from the rain
And dances in cigarette smoke

Pictures never capture
The whisps of silver hair
Surrounding her face
And following her everywhere

She never dreams when she sleeps
Only when she's holding *****
She drives around in the prairie hills
With a childish smile
After all, what has she got to lose?
Next page