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heidi Sep 4
there’s a melancholy tune
from the shallow end
pulls me in, broken-hearted
else Mar 19
sirens blare and shutters close,
we sit calmly in our humble abode
until we smell the smell I’ve smelled
a thousand times and going strong.
we joke and skip idly around the stairs
in a fashionably orderly manner,
like in an empty amusement park.

“the fire smells good”, says someone,
and i nearly choke at the absurdity,
but i have to agree, it smells like
nostalgia, the plumes of charred plastic
filaments, remnants of 3d printers
bringing me back to better days.

as the chaos rolls along in the background,
we order truffle pasta from the vending machine,
giggle at the firemen who lost their way
and watch the sorry-excuse of a smoke
trailing away into the blindingly blue sky
as the exhausted sirens blare once again.
Zywa Mar 1
After the **** breach,

somewhere in the water, still --


a howling siren.
Composition #021 "hYDAtorizon" for paino, string quartet and video ("Rooted in water", 1988, Yannis Kyriakides), performed by Quatuor Bozzini and Reinier van Houdt in the Organpark on November 26th, 2023

Collection "org anp ark" #327
KarmaPolice Jan 29
His senses held him prisoner
Overwhelmed and alone
Walls were his burden
The light too much to bear
The soaked linen of yesterday's news
Stained of fear from battles before
He needs to be cradled
Yet no one comforts him
He rocks back and forth
Rhythmic on the floor
Anemic screams suffocate
Silence fills the void
That breaks with a rasp
Sirens in the distance
They did not come for him
Noise bleeds through gaps
Like it did before
He weeps
hyun Dec 2023
I still hear the ocean
whenever I close my eyes.

"I love the beach," you said.
I looked at you then
with a grin on my face.
It wasn't intentional
but I used to make those
when you were near.
I guess it meant I'm happy,
or stupid enough to believe
what you say.

I still feel the sunset—
its glow, the overrated
orange skyline,
the melancholy it
wrapped us in.
A subtle reminder that the day
was about to die
and that it's so **** beautiful
when it does.
I told you this kept
my heart beating.
You were too quick
to agree.

Maybe that's why
you had to leave.

Maybe you liked
the sunrise more.
a rewrite from one of my pieces back in 2016.
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
cocksure
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.

-Call-

Respond

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

≈furrowed≈

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
mikarae 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
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