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 Apr 2013 wandabitch
DieingEmbers
Can you not see I'm dying

no blade
no bullet
no poison down my gullet

no rope
no river
no liquer in my liver

no pills
no pillow
no stakes of sharpened willow

but I'm dying all the same...

dying

to be with you again



my love.
My best friend did steal my heart.
I didn't catch it when it happened,
only after it broke did I notice
something very wrong.

Stealing hearts.

Thief in the night,
leaving me to wake up to an empty house.
You escaped
Through my fingers again
That answer which I
Have been clumsily chasing

With scabby scabby knees
Under starry starry nights
In quiet, lonely corners spent
Watching something indecipherable

A small answer
With such a resounding voice
Which I hope will soothe my brow
My nightmares it will quieten

An answer which I've been restlessly searching for
In the blood on my wrists
The scars that appear on my body-
Intentionally and otherwise

Digging open my heart and sometimes others
I rip them apart, stride (run) through recklessly
But when I leave, I don't leave a single mark

Sadness, weariness, desolation, isolation
All belongings of the poet
I will say hello to whichever one
I haven't greeted yet

Just so I can define and finally see
In all my sanity and insanity
That elusive, elusive answer

Born in starry starry skies
Starry starry cosmos
Descending beautiful

Maybe you might give me a kiss
In all your infinite knowing  
Something too beautiful for this world
At the moment when Oblivion opens
Its arms to me
Comments?

I have used some vague references to Vincent by Don McLean as well. :)
 Apr 2013 wandabitch
Lucky Queue
Scarlet is the only paint I know
Gone from my palette forever
Are greens and blues of every hue
Yellows and oranges no longer acceptable
Purples blacks and whites, no more
Red, scarlet crimson; only these
The color of blood and roses
But wait, I don't like order
So let's say that french kisses are red
And cool water is too
Redefining red as I wish, I make
Soft curling ferns and fuzzy bellied hedgehogs red
And you know what?
Scarlet is now the only paint I know
3.7.13
A could tell you a story,
an epic tale of gigantic proportions,
of heroic endeavours,
where women swooned at my feet,
and men were envious of my secret ways.
I could make you sit,
ears tantalising on fire,
awaiting the blazing crescendo,
of love, romance, abuse and, loss,
and still you would want more.
I could wrap my words around your mind,
and delicately place images,
in your head that you want to see, feel, taste and touch,
of a woman meeting a man,
for the first time, and it lasted in fairytale romance.
I could sit you down,
next to me,
and hold your hand,
look in your eyes,
and give you my world, heaven, hell, moon and stars.
I could give you a story,  
that not all women are beautiful,
and not all men are men,
and maybe you could understand, conceive, accept
what, my story is.....
The flowerlike
animal perfume
in the god’s curly
hair —

don’t assume
that like a flower
his attributes
are there to tempt

you or
direct the moth’s
hunger —
simply he is
the temple of himself,

hair and hide
a sacrifice of blood and flowers
on his altar

if any worshipper
kneel or not.
 Mar 2013 wandabitch
Glen Brunson
this cup of tea
is dedicated to her butterfly wrists
opened chrysalises
3 hours before the dawn
would have found her
spread-winged, imitating lotus.
 Feb 2013 wandabitch
Jon Tobias
The answer sits awkward in my mouth
Like an Egyptian vowel
Some language I have yet to learn

And I stand like a third world country that there are no commercials for
There are no heartstrings to tug
No Sarah Mclachlan songs
No one sees the hunger
Building in the bellies of my motherless country

But if there must be indifference in this love
I want to love you more than you love me
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