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Healer Dec 2021
My earth was waiting for your stormy footsteps.
They say,
It's not a crime to love what you can't explain.
So you'll be my secret forever
just like the sea's oath to the inquisitive siren.
I promise to hide you in
the crimson of my eyes,
in the blues of my veins.
Elizabeth Kelly Nov 2021
It’s the early morning that does it for me

I don’t mean to seek it
But I am sought in these quiet empty-full hours -
All or nothing out-with-the-bath-water seclusion.

(Delusions of liqueur
Every flavor of azure)

Oh god what I would give to extend the great expanse of 4am, ribbon slick and taut as a ******

And me, warm and creative.

It’s the early morning that does it for me

I’m staying up with a song.



Eyes and lips and abandoned ships
Mirages of **** below long, fluted throats
Gliding between notes
and me too

Ready to drown you.

(It’s the early morning that does it for me)

As you give yourself over to the caresses of the mistress
and dream of flying over perfect fields of wheat

and then land

and then wake


disappointed to find
a cold pillow where a head should be asleep

I release my held breath and meet you
Half way

I was singing
I say
And collapse in a heap

Wet hair
Bare feet
It’s dawning and day

Closing my eyes
Sunset at sunrise
Holding onto a secret key

I dream of the sea
A nice dream
jee Oct 2021
rain is running down your window.
its drops, akin to constellations, decorate the glass in clusters, running down the pane when too many join the group.
you watch the chase like a child, tracing each competitor’s path with your eyes until they hit the bottom of the windowsill.

each drop is dyed yellow with the light of the street lamps behind them.

the smell of damp earth is lingering in the air, present even through the walls you hide behind.

the storm outside wears a dark coat of rain clouds, heavy and full.
she touches down on the earth with every raindrop.
your neighbor’s lawn is overflowing with her gifts.

she is insistently loud; demanding that you acknowledge her, comment on her power, complain about her generosity that is flooding your garden, and take shelter in the wake of her downpour.

but beneath it all, the rustling of her heavy grey coat and the thundering of her many feet...

a siren sounds.

a song, sweet and promising, chimes through the night air, its melody akin to a lover’s embrace.
the ozone-heavy wind carries it gracefully and you can almost picture the creature it came from, honey bubbling up at its lips.

you know this sound. you hear it ring under every rainfall.

an urge grows, twitching your feet where they are planted to the floor.
your wrists, as if puppeteered, long to reach for the door.
a deep pull, hooked around your rib cage like a fish doomed, is threatening to uproot you from your chair.

and you wonder, if the rain were to touch your skin, would you be given the sweet salvation you were promised?

would it wash away the ache of existence, the permanent stone settled at the bottom of your stomach that anchors you to the earth?

you swear, if you could just feel the lines of rainwater drip down your skin that you would give yourself away for the promise of a new beginning.

a siren song, the temptation of the sea.

a distant fantasy in the streets of suburbia.

it’s singing to you tonight.

it’s the pull to go outside in the rain in the hopes of washing away all that you are and starting anew.
to watch who you were run into the gutter and feel your soul ebb and wave with the waning of the moon behind the storm.
to feel water running down your arm and soaking your shirt, prickling your skin with cold just to remind you that you are alive.
to surrender to the power of the torrent, to tilt your head to the sky and feel the drops hit the thin veil of your eyelids and run past your ears and trail back into your hair.

the chill of the air is weighted with rainfall, and you feel the urge to cry. you might already have.  

it would be hard to tell in the storm.

the sweet siren whispers in your ear, and her voice is made of rain-slicked tires and damp earth.

“Is this the rebirth you were looking for?
Have you escaped what you were running from?
Will you give yourself to the sea if she asks it of you?”

you ponder. silent.

a deep empty is beginning to settle where the stone was in your stomach.

how far are you willing to unmake yourself?

you already know the answer.

you can’t.

when you open your eyes, you have to blink the tears out of your eyelashes.
your ears ring with the absence of song, as if they’re aching to remember the echoes of a melody just out of earshot.

water beats on the metal cars and slanted roofs outside and you ache silently with the loss of something you knew you could never have.
the absence of it sits heavy, gnawing at the inside of your stomach and making its way up your throat in cut-off mourning.

the storm whips the trees around, as if berating you for ignoring her, for ignoring her gift of thinning the veil so you could escape to where you would always be unknown.

if you decide to go out, perhaps the siren would come back to sing her sound to you, delivering you to the ocean where you swear you belong.

maybe she'd sing you to sleep away from it all.

but the rain continues to fall and the urge comes and goes and you remain, glued to your window, tracing the constellations of what could be if you only step out the door.
have you ever felt the intense urge to stand out in the rain? it's like a place where reality has thinned and you almost feel like you could slip away unnoticed and wash away every trace that you were ever there. but you can't. and you'll carry that ache with you for the rest of your life. inspired by the recent video trend of lying in the street during a rainstorm
JKirin Jul 2021
Cherry petals through currents of air
travel far to get caught in your hair.
Just as I travelled, woeful, worldwide
to find home here, at last, by your side.
Thrown off balance when first meeting you,
I resisted but fell for your charm
and strong heart that can never wish harm.
Blooming trees around you—what a view...
I reach out, set the pink petals free
from the waves of your locks—a brown sea.
Like a siren, you call—my head dips.
You're the one in control, don't you see?
My mind races, my pulse wildly skips
as I steal a warm gasp from your lips.
about finding home in another man, worshipping him under blossoming trees
Colt Jul 2021
I tried to write a poem for the moon.
I searched the earth for
words worth wooing you.
I made some pretty phrases for your face and your phases,
and thought I’d said it all.
But I’ve said nothing, because
Earth words won’t work.
I’ve just made a pile of noise from stupid earthling dirt.
I sent the pile into space, fueled by foolish grins, and waited (with pride!) for tides to bring you in.
My words were just quiet, colored dust against your atmosphere.
My grins and smiles can’t carry those dusty piles of
Noise into the wind
hard or far enough to make you near.
So I must DO.
To make a journey to the moon, I’ve got to makes some moves
instead of barking at your light.
I’ll start with exercise,
building thighs and biceps to
climb the skies
you and I.
Keeping shoulders wide so if
You light my planet up
I’ll keep you up at night.
Then I’ll scan by hand your every surface, where rough meets smooth, where your smooth keeps on going,
and where your toughs meet your trues.
I won’t leave it to my luck to have
my love
reach the moon.
I’ll learn how soft and where to land.
I’ll learn how strong you are and when
I need to have plan.
When to take my helmet off
when you need me
to be a man.
So, as moons do, if you get blue
I’ll have found and know and own
the fastest way
to get myself to you.
Next I’ll find out every
stone that broke
your heart,
every rock that smashed your sides
(starting with my pride) and make them pay for not watching their orbits.
I’ll clear the way and make the oceans do three quarters worth of work.
they keep the rhythm while you dance around the Earth.
If the sun
falls behind your time,
I’ll fire that ball of fire,
float around and put up flyers,
and find another star to make you shine.
Now, If I ever prove to be a
man who got the moon
I’ll still fill my pockets with dusty piles
Of favorite words
From Earth
every time I visit you.
And when I know I’m close
-it’s when my smile beams in your beams-
I’ll ignite those words I’ve gathered and shower you with comets upon comets of compliments.
Over time, in walking your valleys,
Napping in and mapping your grooves,
throwing comets at your craters, and
Staring at you
Through the roof;
One day those marks start shifting into the words I made sure to do.
At midnights and sometimes noons
They’ll see me from the Earth
Sifting out your smile, glowing in your dunes.
Written on your face in shiny piles,
“This Man Is Over The Moon.”
It was fun but I’m back to Earth now!
Tran Thuy Anh Feb 2021
My city sings like a siren
Its brash tenor, an incision 
Fading into mundane life

My city rises like smoke 
From a freshly lit cigarette
Until the sickness sets in  

My city mourns like a lover
Begging for more time
Before the flame subsides

My city trembles like a sinner
Before a god 
Indifferent to her pain
belbere Jan 2021
i cast myself into the sea
an anchor mooring an empty vessel
to a body that never asked to carry
a weight heavier than its own,
the waves roiled,
the moon called out
the sea called back and
i cried out beneath the waves,
the night was quiet.

i cast myself into the sea
the moon slept on the surface,
i called her harbour and jumped.  
her craters swelled and burst
into the night, the stars collided
and i sank beneath the waves,
opened my mouth wide
and swallowed a star whole
as the sea swallowed me,
i tasted salt,
licked it from the corners of my lips,
wiped it from the corners of my eyes,
the moon rippled back into place,
i reached out beneath the waves
and watched her shrink.

i cast myself into the sea,
i thought the moon would swim after me
i found a siren instead,
she beckoned me into the deep,
took my hand and led me
down, down into the trenches,
i felt the moon in the currents,
she reached out to me
and i shrunk.

the night was quiet.
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