The dew is frozen.
It glitters on the ground like crystal,
Diamonds to those who see.
It brings an edge to the world,
As though everything’s in sharp focus.
So ephemeral, this frosty dew,
Gracing us only so long as it’s permitted.
Its cold beauty is breathtaking,
And demands silent reverence.
So why, then, do people find it
Nothing more than a nuisance,
And yet gripe when its life expires?
Beautiful even in death,
The dew blesses our sight with its grace,
Reminding us that every so often,
Silence must be kept,
So that the world may speak to our hearts.

Seventy-four fast flights through sleek, black, breathtaking blocks cascading over the world
And the most beautiful sight I saw that day
Was you

Your lips they taste like June
Your eyes are a rocket to the moon
More like the sea
Infinite and deep

I don’t believe that you’re from Earth
you’re from the sky,
past what we see of space,
From the heavens babe

You think you’re obsolete
I think you’re an angel
You could be
Fiery flames and all

That hair
Soft as snow
Bright as the sun
More Beautiful than anything
Then again, it belongs to you

High off your kiss
Just like absinthe
I crave more
Over and over
Magic of the moment
Or maybe it’s just you

I just want to be with you
Along for the ride
By your side
Whenever your soul takes you
I crave to follow
Mine embraces yours
Welcoming every single bit

I want the future
No
I need it
That house with the view
White fence family
Birds whistling the tune of our hearts
Our love
Our days
Our history
I crave to make more

Hold onto me
Each bear hug, squeeze, each grasp
A security blanket
The pain and anxiety fades away
A blank canvas ready for a painted heart
Smooth, but drawn on with a brittle battered brush
Maybe even broken
But no matter, it’s my favorite one
My only one
I see through the damage and look only for the color it strokes

Tape only works half the time
Comfort only applies pressure
But with love we can begin to heal
The wounds
A scratch or total break
The pain will fade
Only the past
Forced to fade away by the foundation for the future

Hold me
For each warm hug powers my day
Hold me
For the days without it are the worst days
Hold me
For with each embrace I can breath again
Eternally forced under the water
Under the pressure
Under the current, holding my breath

Stay
Stay
Stay

But no worries
If you don’t I completely understand
That’s fine
I’m fine
It’s all fine

But without you I’m not

If only the words that roll off my tongue
Or more my fingers
Could truly express the feelings
The thoughts
The love
Love
Woah.
I’m in love.

“The girl from Latin”
That’s what you say to me
“The girl that made my day better with a look”
You forget I was looking at you
“Never would’ve thought”
You smile to yourself
Well I never would’ve thought anyone
Anyone
Anyone would think of me in such a way
I’m that girl
That girl
Beautiful?
Smart?
Funny?
That’s what I was?
Is that me?
Couldn’t be
I believe you’ve made a mistake

I make your heart flutter?
Well honey
Just the thought of you is a migration of monarchs
The color of butterfly wings beat my heart
Battered
Bruised
Bleeding
What a beautiful feeling

I love you

What a beautiful phrase
Although
Every drop that falls from your mouth is beautiful
To me every drop forms a waterfall as it makes it’s way out
Pours
Soaking my soul

As life rushes past
Zoom
Each moment faster than last
But somehow
Better
Beautiful
Bewildering
Breathtaking
It must be you

All the highs
All the lows
All the needles
You put it aside for me
But it’s your life
It’s mine now too
Each meal
Each alert
Each injection
It’s on my mind too

My love for you
Is stronger than bricks
Has more value than gold
Diamonds
Power
A lock with no key
Although
You are the key
Perfectly fitting in a stubborn lock
Rusted but sturdy

The key fits
The door opens
A dark forest
Infinitely wide with no clear path
But through the darkness
Through brush and tangled vines
Through hopelessness and desire to turn back
A light can barely be seen

But you followed
Did not give up
Reached the edge
And through denseness concealment and intimidation
You found the light
The gold
The eternal brilliance
Something hidden
Yet more alluring and brilliant than anything before it
You found my soul
Hidden among the hideous
Thank you.

<3 > ^ v

This could be brilliant,
but the static electricity is eating me,
the cause to the storm is unknown,
and there's poison leaking from your veins,

A story so raw,
Behind the green eyes that gave this world a name,
So bare, so open,

It's breathtaking--

                                        --In the literal sense of the form.

This writing spills like word *****,

The peircing cold is lonely;
but the burning bridges sting,

And it's all we've ever known,
to ****, to hurt, to succeed,
...and to love.

But to run?
My feet can only take me so fast,
and I've learned to give up that past.

The vast unknown I only call home,
The mixed signals and mixed drinks have brought me here,
And I can't shake this feeling,

I am a paradox myself
And no one can know the whole of me.

This anticdote of fables,
My treasure chest filled with lies,
My heart is the bare, lonely story,

**And only the pen can console me.

stop looking
in the mirror
at your imperfections

don't look at your
acne scars
or if you don't
like your nose
or the color
of your eyes

but let's look
at that breathtaking
smile you have,
the amazing
personality you
have

and how
special you
are because
you are different
from everyone else

i could tell you all the things that i wish you'd noticed
but my only regret was the way you packed yourself from me and refused to listen
i could tell you where to set your once vibrant eyes on,
but you'd only ever kept them shut, closing those windows to undiscovered beauty

you were only ever interested in perfection,
lamenting of the world's unfair ways and incomprehensible occurrences
wanting to be flawless yourself but
unfortunately we were never one of the lucky ones destiny picked to favor
i could tell you how perfection is overrated,
like butterflies with wings pinned under tempered glass
amaranthine and frozen in the time trapped within a transparent case,
beautiful, breathtaking, brilliantー
yet they don't really get to live at all; they are too fragile to brave the world

i wish i could have made you see all the insignificant wonders
everything that touched my heart and would hopefully touch yours,
i wish i could have shown you what you could have lived for
or rather, through my selfishness, i wish i could have made you stay with me
because i could see you standing there with the light slipping
off your tainted skin, like a cascading waterfall
as the tentacles of night shrank back in utter defeat

you started a flamboyant affair with your demon because it'd never leave you;
but you never fell too deep in love because you knew it'd never love you back

still the urge to be faultless and never wrong sifted through your desires
i was wrong to let you pursue an endless dream
and i wish i could tell you how i felt as if i was shattering into pieces
every time you held me so tightly and desperately,
yet it is as if your arms were the only remnants binding my entire essence together

everything faded away as you clawed on to any remaining presence
to any scrap of worthless memory to remind you of yourself
i wish you could have seen yourself through my eyes:
the way your words spilled in fervor, mindless of induced tears and welling disbelief,
how your voice lashed out in a wild arc, madly throwing up shields around you
and i couldn't get closer

though lastly, i wish you could see me now, looping threads with boulders attached
at the ends around my ankles and tossing them off buildings
so when i fall down to reach you, it'll be an elaborately planned accident

- - -

Why would he remember?
The times we kissed
And he held me
Inside his arms.

And I was young and lovely then,
Last year.
And I was loved and lively then.
And he was mine and I was his.

I was his lovely, breathtaking, ravishing creature.

Why would he remember?

Why would he look back and sigh at times when I
Discreetly shut my eyes
And fell asleep.
And he would watch me in his lap and feel somewhat mesmerized.

Tell me
The color of my eyes.

Did he forget my eyes?

The very ones he said he'd fight for,
Live for,
Die for.
They're still the same old eyes.

What color are her eyes?

And did he forget my smile?
I forgot my smile.
I left back in your room on your bed or in your car on the backseat or in the window seat where we watched the rain.
Or maybe it got twisted up in your curls,
Or between the sheets where we'd spend days
And nights,
Or maybe on the flight of stairs --
The ones you sat me down on and we said words and you
Stopped
Remembering me.

Maybe you'll find it there.

Though it could be anywhere.

And frankly
I want to forget
Too.

Savannah is beautiful is she not,
With her lovely homestead lots?
Have you seen her in the spring?
She is the most charming thing.

Azaleas blooming everywhere,
Adorning parks and town squares:
Fuchsia, red, pink, and white.
Such a breathtaking sight.

Dogwoods scattered here and there,
Nestled among the trees.
Magnolia fragrance fills the air,
Borne by gentle breeze.

Wisteria lends a delicate touch.
The aged oak we love so much.
How charming, spirited and brisk;
So beautiful and picturesque.

Crape myrtle with a crimped look
Brightens lawns and scenic nooks.
The river with its gentle flow.
The beach where many love to go.

Juniper, cypress and cedar too,
Give contrast with their dark-green hue.
The sago palm in bold fanfare
Is seen almost everywhere.

Savannah is fortunate to be
Richly filled with history.
Beautiful art for all to see
Adorns the various galleries.

Fancy eating, southern style.
Down-home cooking worthwhile.
A little time is all it takes
To visit the restaurants and lakes.

Come see Savannah in the spring;
Enjoy the view that nature brings.
And may God's blessings ever be
Upon our city by the sea.

The first time I saw you
was breathtaking
You are beautiful and amazing
At the same time.
(How is that even possible?)

Little by little,
I noticed the blue in your smile.
I wanted to explore your deep thoughts
no matter how treacherous it is.

The more we talked,
My feelings went deeper
and later on I realized,
you have always been my ocean—

*You have drowned my demons
and washed my troubles away.

bent Hallmark card (for BJ Donovan)

”I'm a bent Hallmark card with no stamp. It won't reach my love”
                   BJ Donovan (HP gone, Gray Dotted, r.i.p.)

at the drug store, loose poems,
no right-sized envelopes left,
loosie cigs, for newly ‘underemployed’
both, thumbed, finger oil anointed-stained,
and
bent

all available for purchase
24/7, in these United States,
in national drugstores jailed,
kept in “chains” till discarded

therein hides the rub-bled best,^^
great verse writings, deadline-
inspired in a Ohio bullpen office,
@ corp. HQ by an Eng. Lit. major

composed, vetted, approved, yet
marked ‘failure,’ by quality control,
third Tuesday of every month, ritualized,
manager freshens display, victims chosen

Hallmark display, pruning the die-marked,
the no-hope cards, consigned, to a green
in-the-back-garbage dumpster resting place,
where you just may see me climbing-in

(and where America safe keeps its treasures)

droning on, as per usual, I’m kicked away by a
rent-a-cop, muttering insurance assurances, just
business, not personal, grab what cards I can, mine,
stolen pleasures, resending via insertion here ‘n there

my resurrection act, a new business, wife thinks
me stinks, but for me, a perfume of saved  words,
an act of rebirthing, god bless America, making it
great by giving Hallmark poems a second chance

gonna send one of those cards in envelope,
addressed to BJ Donovan U.S.A., no stamp,
inside note, your poems were ordinal, small
plates of sardonic pith, human foibles, on being

old, recalling youth, both celebrated, Icarus and Daedalus

pretty sure this poem may not get there but I believe
in poetry and the US Post Office, who delivers
mail to me, marked “Nat”^ and to Santa Claus,
which impresses, cause I’m mythical, he’s real

your compositions were breathtaking, literally,
miss your hallmarked witticisms, criticisms,
glad you escaped that virus nursing home jail,
if needed, write to “Nat, NYC, living somewhere
in a park, scribbling close by the East River”^

I’ll get it, like I got you, they know my special tree,
and the rock nearby, that too, is a known hideout,
no worries buddy good stuff may perish, but somehow
it gets a second wind, can’t keep a good scrip, down forever...

a very humbled admirer...

NaTTy

Fitting, isn't always what is craved.

I know you're right
and it all makes sense.
         I drink in your personality
and douse it with a splash of mine.
         They mix together perfectly.
Making a sweet concoction
like a glass of fine wine.

But there will always
be a part of me
dying for something
to clash.
Danger intrigues me,
and pulls me in.
           We don't slosh together
as expected;
           I am excited by the disturbance
of ingredients.
           My heart races thinking
of this harsh, breathtaking drink.
                         *****, if you will.

The wine is so convenient
and less risky.
The proper choice, and we all know it.
                          (I need this. But how do I know if it's worth it?)

This doesn't stop the craving inside me,
desperate -- for a hard drink.
                          *(Constantly in the back of my mind. Gravitating me back to my old ways.)

With trembling hands, I reach for your palms
Remembering our first touch
The terrible human hands I have
long for the glorious oddities of yours
You are my sin
and mostly my redemption

Late at night I try to resist
Thoughts of our firsts drown me
Like lighting my last cigarette
and secretly wishing I had another pack in my pocket
You are the worst kind of hangover
One that I swear to God I will tell my poetry about
Your lips are as breathtaking as the heaven they promised

I'm not the person I used to be,
honestly I'll never go back.

I found a power higher that the one I knew,
one that would change everything.

After hearing hopeless prayers,
I wondered if I should even try.

But then I remembered that day,
I'll never forget.

In a dimly lit room;
In an old, creaky church,
there was a room.

Inside there was a breathtaking sight;
thousands of paper doves,
each a different color,
each a different prayer.

The darker the color of the dove,
the darker the prayer.
Almost every dove was grey or black,
But amount the few there were reds and yellows.

Even though my doubt rushes through me,
I still believe.

All of these people were like you and me.
except they handed everything over;
not to billion dollar corperations,
designer clothes,
but to the Lord.

Even though my doubt rushes through me,
I still believe.

I guess this is my prayer;
to be taken and excepted,
not laid down to rest,
but to be heard by someone who will never turn their back on me.

Even though my doubt rushes through me,
I still believe.

If you have the expectation
you can avoid the unexpected
in life, then you will never
end up making a left turn
unbeknownst that it is right.

For it is the simple sense of you,
and the vulnerability, and the
admirable quirkiness within it.
The unquestionable understanding
of self stands atop the world.

And with wandering eyes, which
are unlike any star or moon,
and a bold heart that beats
beneath your chilled skin, you
hope to find a deserving warmth.

So you take this world by storm
and create waves that rush
and break even the smallest pebble.
A world that was not ready
for such a breathtaking force.

And this world was stunned,
ill-prepared to embrace this gift.
You threw the world off course.
Now caught in a strange situation,
he wonders what's next in store.

This world has been overcome
by a force it can't avoid.
But this force is something special
the world can't seem to deny,
so it's attempting to tempt it.

This world has been overrun
by a light that gives the blind sight,
something beauty can hardly describe,
something that is overpowering,
something that this world can't shake.

Your sight has livened this world
and made it greener in all corners.
And now whenever your bright eyes
set sight upon it's bountiful land
it is overcome by a storm of feelings.

But what this world is yet to know
is if this force is receptive.
Because this world wants to show
how it feels towards something
that is so unearthly beautiful

Inside and out.

My heart is addicted.
A love it can not grasp.
Withdrawal is an infernal hell.

Nostalgic for the heaven in your arms.
Angelic chocolate eyes drowning me in an ocean of love.
Strawberry lips entrapping me in crystal skies.

Breathing abandonment in like oxygen.
Left on the shelf with books you never read.
Bleeding wounds and running on empty.

Loving you was breathtaking.
Now I am left breathless.
Addicted to wanting more.

His hair: as black as charcoal
The kind that would leave a stain
On your fingertips
When you run them through each strand

His eyes: as dark as the forest
The kind that you would get lost in
But their mystery
Would make you never want to leave

His lips: as pink as cherry blossom trees
The kind that would leave a mark
Of possession on your skin
And would only exhale languages of beauty and love

His fingers: perfectly-shaped like candles
The kind that would light a fire
Inside of your heart
As he slowly makes circles around your chest

His skin: as pale as the clouds above
Yet, the kind that would electrify your body
From the slightest brush
To the most intimate touch of passion and love

Him: the most precious work of art
The kind that makes you feel everything
All at once;
My own shot of euphoria and bliss,
Simply the most breathtaking masterpiece

The ability to listen

To have awareness of not only the monumental amount of good
But the awful truths
To open your eyes-
Your mind and heart wide
So wide you swallow galaxies whole
Taking in each detail
Each minuet make up
Extravagantly beautiful
With every individual perception
Every method inside ones madness
To hold onto that and bring it to fruition

Is a speechless-
Breathtaking thing
We all have this ability in one form or the other

Use it and create the difference

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro

I held onto your t-shirt for a month after I left your house before deciding to write this poem.

They say that if you hold on to something that was never yours in the first place, you'll start to feel guilty within a few weeks after you've taken it.
I took your shirt because I wanted to have a piece of you once I had stepped foot out of your door;
The guilt followed about two minutes after I even thought of taking it.

But I kept it anyway.

Sleepless is all I am nowadays;
Your arms don't encompass me anymore,
Your breath isn't hot on my skin,
Your scent doesn't travel throughout my sinuses,
and I don't have anyone to hold me when the nightmares do.
I guess you can say that I grew to need the comfort of the plaid shirt you gave to me-
The shirt I didn't decide to steal from you-
Because it's the closest I'll get to something of your own  choice that you gave me to keep besides memories.

This poem is a mess but so am I,
And I have never been messier than I am when buried in thoughts of you.
Some say that is about as healthy as a whole bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream,
But I beg to differ because at least one brings some sort of real comfort.

I can't tell you how many nameless metaphors I have written about you,
How many countless letters I have written to you.
I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I have gone through,
How many dryless tears have rolled down my face because I am engulfed with thoughts of what we were,
What we could have been.
I can't tell you how many timeless pieces of paper have made their way into the trash because I could never finish my trail of emotions to you.

My veins are not sober.
My heart is not weightless.
My eyes are not shiny.
There is no guide to help me out here.
There is no book of rules to follow to help me get the **** over you.
You have been my strong sense of calm that has put me at ease for so many months.
And all I wanted was for you to love me wholeheartedly,
To love and want me as much as I did you.

This poem is a mess, and so am I,
So I'm not even going to try to finish it with some magical, metaphorical, realization of mine.
Because the only realization I have come across, painfully, is that I'm not going to get another chance to show you how hauntingly, extraordinarily, completely, utterly, and truly breathtaking I am.

- { m.j. }

You don't belong somewhere
Average.
You don't belong with someone
Ordinary.
And right now
Your life is grey and white
Not too dark and not too light
But I'm telling you, darling,
Don't let your life be newspaper clippings-
Born, Married, Died-
In cheap grey ink.
When you cut your ties and discover every color of your sunset
You won't have the patience for anything less than breathtaking.
I'm asking you not to have the fear
To settle for less anyhow.
I'm asking you to risk for you
To be selfish
To try the stormy seas instead of sitting in the harbor because
You are not a two car garage with a beige house attached
You're a castle, stained glass windows throwing rainbow cut outs of stars on all the floors.
You are not a November drizzle,
You're a summer hurricane.
Even if you never choose me
I'm begging you not to let your love be mediocre
Not to let your life be.
I'm asking you to go for what you deserve
Instead of what you fall into by accident.
You deserve the moon and the stars,
The sun and the planets.
You deserve the richest, loveliest of lives.
Please
Find your adventures, find your passion.
Just cause it's here
Doesn't mean it's good enough.
Don't let your life be newspaper clippings
In some old scrapbook under a bed.
Don't let yourself get caught in a practical, faded existence
Just because it seems like the safe thing to do.
You are not grey and white,
You are every spectrum, like a prism,
And it would be a crying shame
To let this life
Contain you.

Above, if you'll look,
can be found breathtaking
views to the olden.

A flickering faraway warmth
rests in the vacuum
welcoming souls that peak.

Recall the stage before;
when you cannot remember,
as a child indifferent.

Abandon now, project yourself
to that bright star
and emanate pure contentment.

You're so beautiful
In a way I can't describe
I won't even try

You're so breathtaking
Language isn't enough, here
Inamorata

Simple syllables
An equation for feelings
I just like haikus

You asked me to write
a poem that killed
all the parts of you
that make you love yourself less.
But darling, I don't
know if anyone's told you:
The things that make you
afraid to show yourself
make me love you
all the more.
And you may talk
about how much you hate
the bumps and ridges
splashed across your skin,
but you also talk
about how much you love
the mountains in Colorado.
Do you think that the earth
has ever cared
that it has drier parts
or areas with a little more texture?
Do you think that Nature
ever wanted to cover up
the parts of her that weren't perfectly smooth?
If the water stayed still,
and never rose or fell
the oceans wouldnt be quite so breathtaking
because waves would never crash.
And you might think you're covered in tsunamis,
disaster zones left in the debris of your disease,
but don't ever tell me
that a home in that aftermath
isn't still a home.
Because with or without the water damage,
the part that makes it important
is the things on the inside—
and no, I'm not referring
to things in a home anymore.
Now I mean your heart,
now I mean your passions and your past
and ever single word
written in the story of you.
So darling, you might tell me
that you hate the bumps on your skin,
but there is something amazing
spelled out in Braille
written on just the outside cover
of one of the greatest stories I will ever know.
The thing about Braille like yours is that
it can open the eyes of a blind man
without even needing any magic.
And the thing about book covers is
that you'll never really know
how much you love a book
based on the words on the outsides of it.
But darling.
I need you know know
I've read you cover to cover
and I absolutely think
your story is one of the most beautiful ones I know.
With or without the tsunamis or Braille.

Monday night
Because weekdays make a woman ache
after a heart break

Strawberry sugar sugar
Caress me in all the warm and wet ways
(papillae)
viscously ****** strands

Broad shoulders Breathtaking Collar
Bones
Is what I’ll pick with you tomorrow
Because atleast a margarita hits the spot every time

Toss

mmmh
Darling don’t stop

Toss

Sticky pulp invigorates
Rejuvenates my taste buds
Fills my hunger
moan louder, ******* stranger

Toss

Deeper and Deeper into the papaya womb
Don’t stop! Don’t stop!
The mango the endocarp
Slurp it till it runs dry

Toss

Lap it up boy. We’re both famished
But only you know I’m the fruit piece
You’ll toss

Everytime we went
skipping stones
you wore
wildflowers in your hair.
They accentuated
your pretty face,
spoke volumes
of your inner grace.
Breathtaking.
Every man loves a lady
who wears
wildflowers in their hair.

I am lonely tonight.
My mind sits on frayed ropes and wearing wires -
And right to the right -
Sits my heart, sounding of empty choirs.

It's not always quiet.
It used to sing of light and blue and full-
I may be biased -
But it was breathtaking, filled with such soul.

My mind sits on wires.
Which may or may not be there when i wake -
Below there are fires -
My hope may burn, but my soul it wont take.

I may be lonely tonight -
But i am still here.
Right to the right sits my heart -
And i know the music will eventually reach my ears.

That word has lost it's meaning and its use has fallen short.*

The camera lens is cold and feels nothing except mathematical equations, performing actions; much like a part of the world that keeps you and I in chains.
But if I look at it, it looks at you and that is all I want to do right now.
So I can bare the cold for a just a little while, because warmth is waiting in patience

You called me timeless once.
            I had not felt such a heartbeat in so long.
...like drums in the forest...

              I am timeless?
My dusk,
          if you were a clock,
      it would melt into water and seep into the fissures of my heart.

Tomorrow
                  may not arrive but you know my
yesterday
                  and you are my
today.

So take my hand and the universe will be our ballroom.
                                                                ­The stars can be our audience and the sea can be the orchestra.

If the garden you were plucked from emanates the
musical and breathtaking fragrance
where you tread,
then it is where beauty first was born.

Forgive me but you have captured my attention and I will not use that word.


My lips can show you what waits within those fissures
and my eyes can tell you what words fail to comprehend.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XZkLmomNgA