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  Jun 2018 Madalyn
touka
the wind is drunk on its liquor

a subtle slurring

lilies stir on the lilt of its voice

as harsh a requitement
again, I find no respite

as lithe as the life
in those ever-rearing gold rows of wheat

mistral born, on the rise
like prying eyes

I am thrown
into some tumult,
where some enemy rages on
shakes his staff against the cold

where the lighter chaff is tossed
toward the salt that laps the sand
on the sweet breath of its benthos

I am withering
but the wind blows on

whiles along –
drones its tepid mourning song
springs the dew
from its calloused palms

I am thrown
as sure of war
as trees will shed and flourish
and shed and flourish
in seasons to and fro'
freshly disowned
by the earth and its shoulder

a carapace of autumn's
exhumed again
it seems so easy for trouble to find me
  Mar 2018 Madalyn
touka
a blip
on a blight
on a mote
on a microbe
a sea of stardust
black silk
and white rope

hung
above her head
passing, people start to pour in
and limbs hang like they're dead
tingle with their poor sin

a bead
on a brow
on a cry
quiet mystery
a blip
on a blight
on a brick
in the wall

phase
the night, the numbs a haze
the sounds, the stars that scattered
how far she'd had the ache
how slight, the rings of saturn

a haste
on a heart
to calm it down
a push, a pull
to soak it in
the art around

so small, then
regret sets in
the song in the room
and the ghost let in
long that one would leave it soon

a pulse,
a parse
and a hubric hope
tense,
tingling, the sinking *****
sinks into
the stars around
"it's all a blur, happened way too fast
but I'm glad that it's what we had"
  Mar 2018 Madalyn
touka
staid,
so sober
tossing pages
closed on clover
sank for a sennight

cream
and green
and white
and red
like spring cloudburst on her head
from stride
to sulk
to sleep
to cry
clutch, cradle and cast the die

******,
sleeping, sneaking sot
windswept, waifish
closed on clover kept to rot
fold for a fortnight

fix a thousand paper cranes
taking pains until it wanes

cream,
and green
and pallor,
plum
forswears all her working numbs
from sink
to sink
to cough
and cry
contemplates with vacant eyes
the stars above, where they reside
and when they dawn, their bright visage
where could the glimmer be
"but why are orion and the other stars rushing to leave the sky, and why does night contract its course?

why does bright day, presaged by the morning star,
lift its radiance more swiftly from the ocean waves?

am I wrong, or did weapons clash? I’m not – they clashed.
mars comes, giving the sign for war."
Madalyn Mar 2018
o
why am i always out of ideas when i want to write?

this poem is ******.

goodnight.
Madalyn Jan 2018
You stir through the room,
as if breathing was subconscious.
Your breath never wavers.

I'm acquainted with my breathing,
It's almost never instinctive.
It flickers.

Realistically,
we breathe the same air,
But yours is nimble.
And mine is undexterous.

My air is stagnant,
Breaths are fatiguing.
Lackluster.

You seem to rest on water,
Your movments are graceful.
Ethereal.

I struggle to breathe,
but our realities are different.
You'd never notice,
That I'm drowning.
  Jan 2018 Madalyn
touka
cold,

I will my eyes to focus
reprimand my dark surroundings
and the many failing lights that sit
just a few yards away
blurry, blue dots
that jut out from the soil
of my neighbors yard
some decoration, I suppose

wet,

I hear the past, present and future collide with a crash
with a few strong voices
who bargain for nothing more than an insight
into each others inevitability

cold,

light flickers back on behind me
and I could kiss it hello
potent and poignant,
I'm so glad you are breathing
maybe that's a little forward, but it's more than power
I still struggle to focus my sight
maybe my ears, however
quiet still could not fall if it had untied shoes

wet, and so cold it's become dull

the ground is malleable, mud and muck sloshing around my pathway
my feet toss the puddles of winter water up and around my ankles
it soaks into my socks
sends a chill that stalks the length of my spine

wet and cold

I meander through the murk, biding it away
I jump onto the sleek black surface, staving off the frigid pains
and lay my head down to hide from sight

my vision is full of black holes

it's lovely, the rain
but not when its best accompaniment is the long silhouette of the house you'd escaped
who would I tell
a few foggy figures latch onto my regard

cells collapse in on their own

my face grows warm and I feel my features contort
a sad scowl appropriate for the situation at hand
tears roar past the dam I'd crafted
but it was dark, no one would see
I was hiding under nightfall
which might sound cool if I didn't mean I was laying on top of an old car crying at 5 in the morning

reborn starving and unconsoled

I still hear a few voices, then a few footsteps that quicken
a pace, a parse, a prying for more
and then a collective quiet
I stiffen, stifle my woes

the bite and the cry as it corrodes the hull

numb creeps in around my skin
especially my feet, the extent of the cold finally settling in
but I wasn't ready

the bigger the bang, the brighter the star

I have a conversation with myself in my head
and not to come off loony
but there are a few things that shouldn't have been said by either parties involved
if you catch my drift

theory tugs at the strings in my heart

a soft gust of January wind strokes the bare skin of my legs
I wonder
I wonder if I could stop if I were to start
and so I wonder and wonder
but it seems the answer isn't quite so mysterious

paradigms practice their weight in the void

I bet an imaginary amount of some imaginary currency
to myself, of course
that if I wasn't able to before, I definitely won't be able to sleep now

the dance of matter and its taunting toy

I hear my name called, footsteps shuffling, offering their warn
a somewhat concerned voice from beyond the beyond
the front door, I mean
out of sight, I freeze, my mouth stuffed full of cotton
half hoping they'll forget I exist for a few
so I can try to compose myself

with the space around it as it threatens tall

however well I could compose myself at this point, anyway
I know I'll be found
I don't want to speak, I'm not sure if I could
when these things happened, my mouth tended to malfunction as much as my spine
so I'd bite my tongue and stand shrinking
my muscles curling into a shaken stir

saturn sleeps, its uninhabitable crawl

a warm blanket, I don't remember the color
I'm brought inside and laid down
and I avoid the hot remnants of some loud, leering summer
the air is thick with it

its air stings my skin, and I hear a song
  ‍    ‍
so this is the weirdest, longest and most intimate poem I've ever done. It also kind of deviates from my usual style
(the italics are a bit glitched out BC of hellopoetry so sorry for that)
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