"abaigeal" poems
By: Abaigeal Skye
Society's guidebook to being a "successful woman"
Was surely written by men who wanted to be more "successful with women"
For it is graced by the grimy fingerprints
That bound these pages with the soot
Of burned out attempts at seduction.
Look how
She turns her face away from you
As she erodes inward
To escape your invitational glare.
Hear her
Breath as it catches on each prickling remark,
Slowly unravelling from politeness
To annoyance.
Threatened.
Your mother
Must have told you that
We're humans, worthy of respect, of decency,
But
The posters boasting flesh and flesh alone
Invite you,
Condone.
This is the coward's excuse.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
By: Abaigeal Skye
*The sun is in my eye,
Wintry breath upon my spine.
Spring in my clumsy step,
Falling into your seasons,
Each as divine.*
Sprouting from the grooves,
Sidewalks melting moons.
Life dripping from the leaves,
Green driving away the blues,
Spiraling up with the loons.
Lapping at the heat they crave,
Rush by, lush grasses wave.
The earth bursts, untamed.
Eyelids flutter with robin skies,
As they rave.
Crackling ribs for kindling,
Omens for what wind will bring.
Eternal, infernal synergy,
Whistling through branches,
Weaving crowns for a king.
Crystallizing each shuddering breath,
Trees seem to whisper inevitable death.
Cheeks of primrose,
Sending crimson back,
Encasing the aftermath.
*The sun is in my eye,
Wintry breath upon my spine.
Spring in my clumsy step,
Falling into your seasons,
Each as divine.*
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
By: Abaigeal Skye
From green to gold,
From new to old.
Everything's crumbling,
So ball it up before it unfolds,
Shoot it in the trash before it leaves you cold.
Don't do what you're told, don't do what you're told.
Woke up shivering,
Pulled the blankets over my head.
Gazed outside looking for breath,
But found even the ground was dead,
And the bees weren't buzzing;
The air howling, unfed.
I'll look for the day's redemption
Where the sunshine has led.
Chills murdered greenery in the calm of the night,
And they fell slowly,
Like injured birds taking flight.
They all shed their skin,
Leaving the world threadbare.
Creation looked in the mirror
Admiring the wise being with graying hair.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC