#tercets
A rolling ocean, a plea of pain, watch me
In shades of purples, browns and indigo,
Within shades of azure, slate and arctic,
I grasp within the walls if inseparable grief,
A capsule of destruction
Clutched, sculpted and caressed
Ashes have come to me in colours
And you came to me in memories
Faded ones where I could dream of
Beach waters that kissed my toes
And roads in December, deep in snow.
Skies of blue, mulberry-
A scarlet coloured scar, crimson rivers and bricks
Contorted with pain, ****** with metals like
Bronze and gold to shine, smile, dazzled with a
Little of cherry wine.
Burnt parchments and withered ivory,
Years of snow later, chiffon laced mistake
that tasted like poison I stowed under
My tongue, whispers of dearth powders that
Screamed of betrayal and hurt,
All the people who loved me
With silver pepper and creamy salt,
I walk away from them and scream into a
Void, a word that spells like love
Something flies out like miserable-looking
butterflies and I watch the people who
Love me burn, all the while whispering
Just please, never return.
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 11:54 AM UTC
a toothache lost in smouldering pain
like what i expected to see on my face
when i looked into the mirror.
a universe of paper hearts, fragile and
so very lost. if i can wonder what and
where i can swiftly try and presume your face
it's by that rock where we had our phase
teeth gnarled; skin blemished
i wait in hoods everyday wrapping myself
of the thin paper hearts, that are
of no use anymore, to anyone.
lost. so invariably beneath those
piles of sand and circumvented lungs
that instead of bleeding hungrily
callout my name, in yours
and yours in mine
deadly whispers like that of a snake
when will i push it away?
i hesitate, nothing like today.
but nothing like now.
so i take a bow.
bye.
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 9:50 AM UTC
Enticing smiles
Wretched hearts
They're all clawing at me.
My skin a mere fragment healing,
looks through the stifling pain.
I have an entire life to spend, alone.
Collecting memoirs, Indigo shaded lilies
And heart-shaped bruises
Coloured like my veins.
Enticing smiles.
They give you a lot to believe in.
To rewrite the philosophies you own.
To revolutionise your mind.
Glimpses of heaven.
And the sea bed.
But they're enticing smiles
and so they are gone before
you realise.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 2:52 AM UTC
Chaque fois que j 'escalade
Les parois des mots vers les pics inviolés
J 'emmène avec moi dans l'expédition
Mon éclaireuse d'élite.
Ma sherpa me guide et me prévient
Des chutes de sérac et des avalanches,
Cuisine les rimes embrassées, porte les alexandrins
Installe le campement des rimes embrassantes.
Alors elle se repose sous sa tente
Et, satisfaite, cure sa pipe
Tout en fredonnant inconsciemment
Ses deux quatrains suivis de deux tercets
Tandis que que moi je suçote
Mes surelles poétiques confites.
.
Ma pisteuse pose ses pitons et ses broches à glace
Dans l 'ombre des cimes
Sans oxygène sans assistance
Dans les nuages de la haute poésie.
Nous avons ainsi planté nos sonnets
Dans les vingt-et-un sommets continentaux
Ma sherpa c'est mieux qu 'un sur-homme
C'est une sur-femme, une sur-muse
Une sur-déesse
Une vieille briscarde
C'est Junko Tabei et Bachendri Pal
Et après chaque sommet qu 'elle franchit
Sans désagrément
Elle se retire sous sa tente
Et, satisfaite, cure sa pipe
Tout en fredonnant inconsciemment
Ses deux quatrains suivis de deux tercets
Tandis que moi je suçote
Mes surelles poétiques confites.
Parfois la chute d'un sérac imprévisible
Nous emporte, nous ensevelit et nous broie presque
Mais jamais ma sherpa ne se départit de sa pipe
Ni moi de mes surelles
Dans nos joutes poétiques.
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 6:59 AM UTC
Proudly standing, rigid trees
Swaying gently in the breeze
We watch the shadows fall
Switches whip, the twigs are severed
Yet the mighty wood persevers
Awaiting its next call
Day becomes night; sunshine ends
Branches soon begin to bend
Raw bark peels in strips.
Autumn comes; the trees must fight
For each burning speck of light
Drudged from unwilling lips.
We watch them quiver in the breeze
The axe-man comes to fell the trees
The thinnest shall go first.
Year by year, the seasons change
We ignore the passing strange
Stiff bodies, in one hearse.
No one knows if it shall end
The loss of foe, alike with friend
Means sunlight for the living.
“What shall happen to them all?”
Still we watch the shadows fall
A gift that keeps on giving.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
passions were my strong point. every breath lined with a deeper meaning that makes you embrace any emotion including sadness is a blessing.
i can sit and stare at the clouds endlessly. distance myself from human infestation, so i can spend some time alone marvelling the cosmic manifestation.
i read books, conjure up worlds and press pages with fragile paper wings that let me fly in the summer air making me feel as light as a butterfly.
i stay up at nights and end up painting faces of unrecognisable angels and demons that live inside my head. i'm constantly torn between prose and poetry. one lets me live, and the other helps me to get lost.
i am a girl living on wishbones and rusted blood. a girl covered in an ever-glowing soil. a girl toiled with ashes. but i am reborn every time a part of me is scathed. i reappear till i'm completed.
till i'm finite because i was held by strong points:
passions.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
A moon princess
prepares
for her coronation:
She wakes early
every morning to
chant ancient songs,
remains a light turned
on, a bright good morning
from winter to spring;
leaves offerings of her
tears and laughter
at the alter with care;
fasted, washed her face
and hair and danced naked
in the stream from day to night.
After turning away from
herself she turns
back with rosy cheeks:
A moon princess
prepares
for her crown:
she wears the webbed
melody of singing
stars strung together,
she hums and resonates
her body begins to harmonize
her voice turns to gravity:
she can speak
she can think
she can hear;
her hand outstretched
to the people, her
love refined
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
Eyes left wide, for
Now I've seen
The vanguard of my fevered dreams and
Jungle cats pace in my brain.
Paws alight, their
Claws aflame
And sinews
Incandescent white--
Seamless, green, their glowing eyes
Constellate where shadows heap.
Enough! My skull,
The marrow creaks...
What hells we weave
Through. Bitter dreams,
Awake, asleep or caught between.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
Where is the oui
in we-- in yesness
or togetherness?
There may be a
sense of you and I
a semblance like
a reflection of the
self in the mirror
in a place in time
If oui tried to be
we could be a way
without you and I
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
She's changed and
much more sensitive
than she used to be like:
She'll cry if something
is sad enough to cry
about and say "how sad!"
To herself, she says
softness can be a reverse
blade sword that cannot ****
It says "I will not **** with
a murderous strike: a representation
of a murderous stroke, twice
Removed from a first killing
swing a springtime of ******
youth and creative expression
Exists in the ego only and
the line between signs a
flash of the you in the universe
How natural and harsh, such
lovely waste: an amazing
mazing system of constructing
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
You say things like:
"Caw caw!" and "llamo"
with a hard L
As a statement
you ask: "You my baby?"
Despite the holes in my body
Our shared presence a chaotic
good and I, beside myself, at your
"We love each other, don't we?"
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
Two generations
removed from
the Good
But Good
is not the point
of poetry
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
We all wear clothes,
and lick our lips
against the cold.
As a child things close
with a ziplock zip, and grass
made you a woodland nymph.
A sentiment arises on the first
day of school—and you say: never
let me go or let me go at once—
With a stubborn tug
in the passionate bones
long gone by lunch
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
Where the thought thinks
first of itself is where the Universe
first ****** itself into existence
The old ball and chain
tethered to the ankle is not enough
for me, but it's fun to skip with
The vibrations of skin
friction beneath the fingernails
must be a sounding of the ankh
Another few days tacked on
with hardly even a thought
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
No hasty decisions
should’ve been made,
so you say.
Is it habit or some
other innate thing drawing
in the opposites?
You remembered when I said
love could be like that thing inside atoms:
A force between the quarks and current
with no real will of its own,
but to pulse and pull
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
You say my name when
you see my face, but
you don't know me.
I shied away--just
in case-- but you
couldn't see me.
I spell your name
like a song, but you
don't hear me.
You don't know
me at all.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
I'm some real
thing, but no
real poet.
It's getting awfully
blank in
here.
I don't want
to waste time with
unsatisfied lines.
I need a new, sound
love. No use in chasing
poetic chord progressions.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
"Regular-sized Rudy?
Why do they call you that?"
"Just look at me,"
A touch of incongruity,
like a rogue ****** in
the parking lot of Rite Aid
that's like really close to the entrance
He said: "I want us to
be happy, and normal,
and I want to treat you better,"
Just look at me.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
Like some thread
upon a line,
I can't let go
Cast seaward then
reeled in- but not for
lack of trying
The spool too taut,
a knot in twine, to
set the thing unwinding
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
How many ties are there
exactly and when does
the schism occur?
At some point, a
stance is taken and
a yell is given
“Look at it! Look at it!
I want all of you
to look at it!”
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
The **** of some text
is not in the ******
or the lips of a lover
What pleasure resides
in the text? Is it in its being
written or read or dead?
It radiates from the turn of
the page, the rest of some
sentence forgotten in sleep
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC