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Alexander Klein Oct 2013
I

In eras weird with old mythology,
As if asleep the fabled country lay:
Her wave-like hills and faerie forests dense,
Her thorny brambles budding curling claws,
And ivy circling all the woodsey way --
The far swan's cry came soft and woke them not.
Forlorn, that selfsame call upon the gates
Did break; those gates of Britain's long-lost keep.
She too slept fast, the weary weathered stones
Of fairest Caerleon. O pulsing stream,
Thou vein of life in woods a-slumber, Usk!
Alone are you in knowing castle's face,
From years of timeless burbling at her feet.
What tales are told by water over stone?
What lark or wren can sing of sadness come?
Aye, answers are the beach-wet sand, yet hark!
Rejoicings spilled, proud hails, from Caerleon:
They cheered the ****-frost's melting with the Spring;
The holy Gwyl Fair y Canhwyllau
Had come at last, in foliage of dawn.

Within, their goblets sailed, wassailed, and crashed
Like growling Jove, their boasts and toasts like wine --
They drank it spiced and over-strong. Indeed,
Some stretched exaggerations: 'twas Sir Bors,
That spotless sheet, who tried to contradict.
He quoted purifying texts and spurned
The wine that nature raised and crafted sweet.
Yet "Loosen up!" uproared the host to him.
"The time has come to celebrate," said Kay,
Beloved knight, step-brother to the King,
"Aloft thy wine, below thy gills! Drink! Laugh!
Your stomach is a falsehood-spewing fool,
It must be drowned for you to feel a lord.
I speak a sooth, you need wine's fleeting bliss!
Know thee that man's tomorrows bleed him dry:
A wade through death and depths as sure as pain
That shall tomorrow light your brow. Laugh! Drink!"
Bold cheering spread with Kay's advice, though yet
To no surprise Bors turned aside the drink,
Unblemished bore, so celebrates alone.
Weep not for him, for soon he'll find a cup
More suited to his strange of chaste and grace.
And none to waste: his share was drunk by all.

Engaged in feast Owain ap Urien,
Engaged in tale now Bedwyr and Kay,
And Lancelot made eyes at Gwenevere.
It was a feast of great success and joy
As fitting of the season's robust gleam,
Yet two there were with shallow-rooted smiles.
Prince Mordred one, though ever-somber he:
Accursed spawn with bone in place of heart
And dreaded incantations for his blood;
His brooding perched like crow on him. Alas:
The other joy-bled man had beard aflame,
A bear-skin drape, and crystal eyes, the Lord
He was of Caerleon and Mordred both.
'Twas not the gleam in lover's gaze that vexed
Though it was seen; he had no heart in him
To chain his Queen as if in dungeon steel,
For Arthur lived believing to be fair
Was paramount, to even paramour.
It wreaked its toll, yet caused small grief this day.
Not even serpent son gave cause to mourn
That greater was than missing nephew's spot
Among the feast. His chair was naked bare
Returned though he should be from faerie quest.
At Calan Gaeaf they expected him
When winter storms had racked their shoddy hall,
Yet since, the months had rolled to Gwyl Fair
The milder season come, but not his kin.
The image of his maiméd corpse did taunt
And haunt the agéd mind of Arthur, King,
His phantom nephew slain anon by knight
That of no flesh was made. In year that died
This green-mailed knight arrived a guest and called
Infernal challenge. Trick it seemed to them
And trick it was, for subsequent the blow,
This seaweed knight did lift his severed head
And from dead lips he cried "Well struck! Now come,
Fulfill me of my game. The year to come
Shall see thee in my home, and as agreed
My turn 'twil be to answer with my axe."

So rapt in recollecting, Arthur missed
The growing clamor that beset his hall.
His ******* cleared the grief from him with taunt,
To bring him into grief. "What say thee, Dad,"
Dripped venom from his mouth, "No love for us?
Your hail we called, but disapprove your eyes.
Methinks that far away thou seest a dream
That visits oft the elderly: a place
Thou knewst when in thy prime, with love
Now filled to burst. Yet fear us not, away!
To land of youth far more beloved than we
Whose happiness with thine own heart is twined."
"My fellow, soft!" the King began, distressed,
Yet Lancelot rose to his feet and spake
"Blackguard is he who mocks our Lord to face!
Thou palest hide, thou Mordred, sit thee down!
This sniveling craven knight should be replaced."
A sounding of the table met his speech,
Again was hailed his toast, and Arthur glad,
Though burdened to his breaking point, and sad.

"Blackguard is he who mocks our Lord to face,"
Had spake his bravest champion and friend
With no regard to Blackguard wrapped in stealth.
See how his roughspun fingers coil in hers
And how some sweetened whisper 'scapes her lips?
The beams of color-stainéd light slip down
To play upon their blissful sin almost
As if King Arthur's King approved on high.
Sovereignty is ruthless, Arthur thought,
Well-wishings of my God grow ever-faint.
I must believe in good though I am ill,
Just as I find my countrymen displeased
Though I did calculate my every breath
To see that it did stand with God's own will
To help my common people from their murk.
I fear I am not what I wished to be,
And now my only solace peaceful death.
If up to me, I'd wish it in my bed.

What horn's blare? Hark! King Arthur roused from thought.
Court gatekeeper Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr,
Dressed plain in brown, took down the horn from lips
And loud as elk called to the hall "Have cheer!
Sirs, drink another beer and wreath your brow
With springtime blooms, for lost knight fair is found!"
Old Arthur trusted not his feeble ears,
But came a hush and Lancelot confirmed:
"What **," he boomed, "our brother has returned!
'Tis grey Gawaine, aye, Gwalchmai! Drink his hail!"
The uproar was enourmous: "Gwalchmai! Cheers!"
Was like to wake the sleeping wilderness
That hung suspended in the myth and mist.

II

Astonishment had come like breaking wave
Upon the thirsty sands of monarch's face
So long consigned to reap the low-tide's grief.
When Arthur's ursine hand clenched round his cup
And hailed his nephew's presence with a roar
Long lost to hibernation's hoary spell,
The hearts that beat in armor under him
Did swell to find their lord with cheer at last;
The toast they drank so hearty as to give
Sweet Dionysus pause against excess.
Though only two there were who did not drink,
And one of these were Bors, a sadness fell
Once more as tangible as any wrong
That chose to haunt a hall. 'Twas Gwalchmai grey,
The conqueror now home from quest to rest
Who would not lift his eyes to meet the King's.

"Has cheer so fled from you? Your life remains!
What black has inked you in?" the King did ask,
And silence overtook the hall to hear.
How strongly then did Gwalchmai wish to leave,
To blend once more his form to root or branch
Or soaring river. Wind, the songbird's muse,
Had been his fast companion on the road,
For known to him were many things. He was,
They say, some god that stalked the minds of man
In young enchanted places of the world
Though all his magic helped him not at court:
His shyness was a leaf obscured by rain.
Yet even gods of silence know to speak
When words of pain encircle heavy hearts.
He let them fly, birds in the sky, he said
"I failed. My quest was long and arduous,
The seasons changed while I in heather lost,
The moon its phases shed as fen-frogs called,
I floated through the endless cloying mist
That flows, a ghostly sea wrapped round our isle.
The path had nearly drowned me when I found
The chapel green enough to spell my doom.
When entered I, methought "It cannot be!"
So kind and courteous a host met me
That would have been disgrace to call him green.
He feasted me, and warmed my wounded bones,
Yet I betrayed him in the end; I failed.
I stayed his guest, and friend, and swore to him
That for his hospitality I'd share
Each thing I won while underneath his roof.
And all was well -- I'd rest, he'd hunt -- until
His wife played hearts with me. I did refuse,
But by her final trick was tempted and --
So lost all knightly honor and renoun.
Her lusts I spurned three times, but on the third
She offered me that which my heart desired,
Instead of love she begged me take her boon:
A silken girdle sewn with charms, and green,
Deceit I should have seen. She said the spells
Would keep me safe from harm and spare my life...
When on my rugged journey all I'd feared
Was twisting face of death that loomed so near.
I could not help myself, it seemed so tame,
Yet when the time had come I could not share
That gift, or else expose the husband's wife.
Beneath my armor tied when left that place,
My secret wore me down upon the bog.
It seemed the mist grew thicker, wind grew swift,
I now know under spell was I, but then
It seemed some vengence coming to a head.
My tale grows long, and past the point am I.
The Green Knight and my host were one in fraud:
An airy insect's dream. His "wife," a witch,
Had formed him out of acrid moorland soil:
Homunculus to carry out her scheme.
The blow he owed me carried little force,
Though still this scratch is plain upon my nape.
And so you see my folly plain as oak:
For though I kept the life I feared to lose
My lie grows in me like a cancer bloom
That in the span of time shall **** me sure.
I failed; I'm gone; to revelry return."
The silence, vast again, gripped all the knights
And king too dry to cry, who drowned his heart.

III

"Is there some madness come to roost herein?
Thy folly is ridiculous," said Kay.
"I valued mine own life past honor's flame,
A sin of selfishness, and blame, and wrong.
What of the world, if all would act as such?"
A weeping noise he made, but choked it back
And turned to leave in shame, and might have done
Had not the stout Sir Kay gripped Gwalchmai's arm.
He raised it in the air and shouted thus:
"Percieve our stunning champion stands nigh!
Though of a frail ennobled heart, we know
Thou art absolved. This trinket given free
To aid in quest I wager was for thee.
And as for sacred broken vows, this man --
You said yourself -- was conjured from a bug.
You owe him no alleigance Gwalchmai, sit!
This serious you need to be for wine:
Come sit with brothers now! We drink to thee!"
"Dispel the failure all you can, it stays
As weighty on my brain. It was a sign
To signify the kind of soul I am,
To me it showed my grimy ills and plain
Did tell my shaping, shape, and shape-to-be."
King Arthur to this nephew spake: "My child,
Is there no antidote to questing's woes?
What has become of jousts and silver swords?"
The anguish in the old man's eyes so keen
To those who knew him. Gwalchmai did reply
"Your majesty, there's not a grief can ****
My bird-like love of questing through the trees,
For only questing can redeem my shape."
"Then let us have this quest!" cried Kay beside
Him at the table, deep in drink he swore.
"Come with me, brother-knight, to clear thy mood!
You do you wrong blaspheming at yourself."
The wine was quaffed by Gwalchmai, yet he said
"I first shall stay, I need to rest my ills."
"Your ills are that which keep you ill, good knight.
I bid you come and we shall quest as birds
Who savor springtime berries in the mist."
"I shall not go, I seek my quietude."
"In sunlight you and I must bask. Comply,
Or else I challenge you by burnished blade."
All eyes on Gwalchmai, under pressure cracked
Into a grin and downed his kykeon.
"In stubborness persisting, Kay, you've won,
A river such as I could not keep stead
Against a boulder. When shall we away?
When come the summer blossoms, fair and red?
Or else not til the saps have lost their leaves?
Departure yours to choose, my brother-knight."
Kay beat upon the table and their ears
When called triumphantly "This very day,
This very hour! To help those who need aid
On holy days shall surely fix your heart.
No time to wallow in the swamp that's gone,
We now away, to break our swords with day!"
"You mock me or you heard me not, Sir Kay,
I wish not to away, I wish to rest!"
The fairest Guenevere, like silver bells,
Chimed in "You must forgive your heart's despair,
Or emanations of its guilt will plague
Your mind. I have a lunar garden if
You wish to sit in soothing calm and think."
"My queen is holy," Gwalchmai spoke in grace,
But Kay had cut him off with "Hear her not!
She will ensorce your mind to not explore,
To sit and think and mold with lunacy;
Beneath the sun we'll tred. It's known on quests
I favor Bedwyr, 'tis true, yet you
My fairest Gwalchmai, keep your wits -- and arms --
Two things in need of we shall be.
I mean you no offense, dear Bedwyr,
But I and Gwalchmai share a severed soul
And shall succeed; two sides of selfsame coin.
So come my cousin grey, to right our wrongs
We must away, to break our swords and say
'My heart is glad I did not stay at home!'
Consume your drink! We go," he trumpet-called.
Thus Gwalchmai was convinced, and so was forced
To nod politely to his Queen and stand,
Declaring to the court "I shall away,
This gloomy mood is dried beneath the sun
Though dearly do I wish some lunar grace
To lose myself in mysteries anew.
To bear this flesh is weighty, yet I've found
The strain to be rewarding in its way.
Think nothing of my former woes, they've passed
Like summer storm or wisp of misty cloud."
The hall at large did drink his hail, and then
Did thrice more drink for quest to which they went.
And Mordred scowled and drank the foulest wine
For his monsoon and fog would last his life.

So summoned then Glewlwyd Gafaelfawr
To hearken unto birds, as was his gift.
He said to all, "I shall now call my friends
And see what worthy tales of quests they bring!"
"There may be naught on Gwyl Fair," said Bors,
"A holy day, all wove with peace. Nor Gods
Nor men would stir their strife this day of days."
"We all shall see," the gatekeeper replied.
Beside his King upon the dais came
And played a serenade upon his horn
That rang throughout the keep and lands beyond.
A time did pass with no response recieved --
Slain silent was the raptness of the court --
But then through open pain in stainéd glass
A thrush did bob and weave in melody,
On finger of the Queen he briefly perched
Before he flit away upon the air.
His song so sweet, but then - what fright! No more!
A hawk had entered, just the same, and swooped,
And now the thrush was silent in his claws.
The cabinet of augers all took note
And sketched their calculations into books,
Though none, in this, more wise than Gafaelfawr
To whom the hawk said "Hail, you man of rank
Who speaks the tongue of wing-in-air. Now hark!
'Twas not in hunger slew this thrush, but fear
That what I have to tell might go unheard.
My family, we roost near Cornwall's sea
And late, the noises off the coast grew strange
As if some evil kraken raged at love.
My chicks; my wife and I; we're simple hawks.
We eat and some of us are eaten, yet
Beware the thing that slouched from out the waves.
His shape is something like a boar, but huge,
He dwarfs his kin, and hill, and oak,
This hall is large, yet he'd be stuck inside.
He does not eat what he has killed, instead
He smears the bloodied flesh on stones and trees,
What man could face a fear that bears this face?
If you could hear the rutting squeals he makes!
I swear this sooth by wind and waving plumes:
You men who craft with metal, hark!
Destroy the beast!" And then he flew away
Still calling after him "Destroy the beast!"

The court at large had heard the warbling hawk
But did not know the tongue, so only watched
Glewlwyd's unease upon his face
Until with stiff and rasping voice relayed
The content of the predatory news.
Unease began to show among the knights,
For many there recalled a beast so shaped
And all the blood and guile he took to drown
The first time. Arthur, grim, forbade Sir Kay
And Gwalchmai face these perils by themselves,
But recommended regiment of steel
To bolster ranks against the fearsome boar.
"I know this foe from days of old," he said,
His years of rule etched rough across his face,
"And so do most of you, though many gone
And this monstrosity not even slain."
But Gwalchmai said "'Twas hard indeed to win
Those relics that he bore. Remember I
That Trwyth was the name he chose, and we
Shall best him fair. Though not for trinkets now,
But with the zeal of mother guarding young:
This foe, Twrch Trwyth shall not raze the land
Nor wage a war against some peaceful ilk
While rounded table can beco
I have seen seconds encircle the night, one at a time
So often within the twinkle of an eye
Waking me to wander from the deepest slumber
Into places where my spirit seeks
The moon on high

Seconds lay waiting like butterflies of innocence
Passing silently without any regret
Until a stroke of midnight rings in so boldly
What is nothing becomes that
You cannot forget

I close my eyes on sleepless nights; listen to the sky
Laughing and smiling as if it understands
Why seconds encircle the night, one at a time
Then appear so innocent while I lie here
Under their command

Passing seconds can change into minutes, then hours
While you wait within the twinkle of an eye
To wake up and wander from the deepest slumber
Into those places your spirit seeks
To see on high
Copyright *Neva Flores @2011
www.changefulstormpoetry.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm
Johnny Q Mar 2016
I scream and I dream
I frown and I drown
A sea of melancholy engulfs me
The wave caresses my cheek, then passes by
As I begin to make my way down
I remember what I 'd forgotten
And people appear, crystal clear
Faces I knew
Bodies I touched
Souls I explored
They silently muster what I've become
Hollow features and lifeless limbs
They look like dolls grown up
There are more and more, until I lose count
They encircle me, one desperately tries to speak
Only to be silenced by the sea
Now they grab me by my arms and carry me down
to the bottom of the sea, where my feet touch ice cold ground.

Surrounded by statues of sand
your face lights up this dark place
like it always used to.
A confident gaze, a wry smile
you haven't left for a while
You've been here and I've been somewhere else
we've been in the same state, but never the same place.
You open your mouth and words break out
They sound artificial, like they're from a tape recorder
They echo back at me from everywhere in the sea
“He who travels to the bottom of the sea
Has learned oh so many things
But if he ever goes back up again
all those things he will forget.”
And now here I am
Alive and awake
Pouring cold water over my face
Staring in my bathroom mirror
and it stares back.
Iska Feb 2018
'Why is it so painful to grow?'

A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.

The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.

A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.

Yet still... It grows.

A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.

Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.

Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.

And still.. it grows.

The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.

The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.

And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.

The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.

Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.

Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.

And still.. it grows.

Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.

Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.

They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.

You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.

And now... I can't grow.

So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.

And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.

Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.

And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
O MY LOVE, COME WITH ME,
LET’S CLIMB THE MANGO TREE,
ITS GOLDEN FRUITS ARE RIPE,
FULL OF SWEET MEMORY,
LET ME LIFT YOU GENTLY,
TILL YOUR HANDS GET A HOLD,
THIS WARM ZEPHYR HAS MADE ME,
SO STRONG AND SO BOLD,
LET US CLIMB WITHOUT SCRATCHING
YOUR FLAWLESS IVORY SKIN,
MY LOVE WILL GUIDE YOU THROUGH
BRANCHES THICK AND THIN,
YOUR RAVEN HAIR CASCADING ON
TO YOUR NECK SO SLENDER,
SHINY NEW LEAVES OF THE MANGO,
SO DELICATE, AND SO TENDER,
SIT CLOSE TO ME ON A LOFTY BRANCH
TO HEAR THE SOULFUL KOEL SING,
LET'S SWAY WITH THE BREEZE
LIKE SOULS ON A SILKEN STRING,
MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER
YOUR LOVELY FACE SO CLOSE,
SUN BEAMS DANCE ON YOUR LASHES
MY PRECIOUS VELVET ROSE,
YOUR FRAIL HANDS ENCIRCLE ME
LIKE CREEPERS HUGGING THE BOUGH,
YOUR WARM EMBRACE ENTHRALLS ME
TO KISS YOUR SHAPELY BROW,
YOUR SWEET FRAGRANCE INTOXICATES
AND AMONG THE CLOUDS I FLOAT,
LIKE A BUTTERFLY EMERGING FROM
A CATERPILLAR’S UGLY COAT,
WE SIT THERE FOR A LONG TIME
SUSPENDED IN SPACE,
I AM BUT A CONTENT SLAVE
TO YOUR HEAVENLY GRACE
LET MY LIPS LINGER ON
YOUR SOFT PETALS SOME MORE,
TILL I ETCH IN MY MIND,
EVERY BIT OF YOU TO THE CORE,
OH MANGO TREE WE NESTLE
IN YOUR MASSIVE ARMS,
LOST IN THE MYRIAD MISTS
OF ONE ANOTHERS CHARMS,
WHEN OUR YEARS ARE GONE ONE DAY
WHEN WE ARE AGED AND SPENT,
UNDER THIS GREAT MANGO TREE,
WE SHALL PITCH OUR FINAL TENT,
UNDER ITS VAST CANOPY WE SHALL LIE
LOOKING AT THE STARS,
OUR BONY FINGERS ACHING YET
TENDING TO OUR SCARS,
MY MIND’S EYE SEES YOUR WRINKLED FACE
SMOOTH WITH AN INNER GLOW,
SOFT AND BEAUTIFUL AS EVER IT WAS,
AND YOUR LOVELY DARK HAIR FLOW
YOUR FLESH AGAINST MINE
FEELS JUST AS YOUNG AND WARM,
OUR HEART BEATS MERGE
LIKE BEES FLYING IN THE SWARM
COLD TOMBS ARE NOT FOR US
NEITHER MARBLE NOR GRANITE,
UNDER THE LIVING MANGO TREE
FOREVER WE SHALL UNITE
OH MY LOVE, COME WITH ME,
LET’S CLIMB THE MANGO TREE,
YOU ARE LIKE ITS GOLDEN FRUIT,
AND FOREVER YOU WILL BE.
v V v Mar 2011
His nights are restless, endless dreams
of young men climbing ladders.
The ones who stop to fix their vests
are left below, row after row
there seems no end, distorted faces,
silent screams through bottle bottom glass.

Twenty winters wishing that
the dream might finally end,
he tilts his head and looks at God
above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall,
his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins
of lesser men but for him there is no comfort,
he can't escape the scene of drifting death
and flotsam, sailors drinking blood
from swollen corpses, greedy
in the eyes like the sharks
that encircle them.

When daylight comes
still no relief, he sits among
his salty sheets and chokes
on waves of guilt. Deceit
will always be his master,
every day no different
than the rest
except,
today he’s had enough,
the dead,
they will not cease their torment.

Twenty winters waiting
but the dead won’t go away.

The boys who stopped to fix their vests
The man with gaping wound in chest
The burning wreckage going down
The screams of those who soon would drown
The oily water thick as mud
The utter chaos, flesh and blood
The rabid thirst he could not quench
afloat in pools of human stench

He goes outside and lies upon
the grass, a Navy Colt revolver
in one hand, a toy soldier in the other,
he puts the gun against his head
and pulls the trigger.

Twenty winters

Twenty winters

Rest
In memory of Charles B. McVay,  Rear Admiral US Navy, commanding officer of the USS Indianapolis, sunk buy a Japanese torpedo, July 30, 1945 IIIhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_B._McVay_III
The Noose Jan 2018
Your face is the moon
Guiding
These feet
That always tread
Towards the uncharted
In search of home
Distant places
Euphoria
It gathers
Washes up at my feet
Takes root to eager bones

You encircle

My spirit drifts towards these things
Your face is the moon
Gleaming with zeal
The asylum of your arms
Mending the snare
Spliced by old knives
Long forgotten
At the bend of nevermore


You encircle my yearning

The asylum of madness
In the center of winter
Some kind of palpable presence
Forevermore drips down your chin
I am a ship passing in the night.
AmberLynne Oct 2014
Standing in a room of hundreds,
a cacophony of voices rising
to form a moving mass
of noise and confusion.
You look down at me and smile,
swing your arm up to
its familiar position on my shoulder.
I encircle my arms
around your waist,
their rightful place,
and wrap my brain
with nothing but thoughts of you.
And inside my mind,
a quiet peacefulness settles.
10.2.14
Stephen Purcell Aug 2015
Not merely soulmates, matched and equal, but two halves of the same soul incomplete without the other.
Intricately woven links, platinum meshing with layered silver.
Breath-stealing, life exuding, divine.

'Oh, the tales that will be told of this love.'

Hesitant, wondrous and cheerful, the strings of unstructured consciousness circle. Living, imagining and eternal.
Revelling. Crisp, pure and untainted *joy.
An ode to uncapturable impossibilities.
Prabhu Iyer Jan 2013
These birds of war that encircle the sky
painted dark by smoke from fires engulfing
events here: every one of them spawns
an illusion, spreading in all directions, until
no twig is untouched: everywhere only
the Mistletoe. Fragrances of the deep night
by the ford under the moon, silken hair
soft for touch under first rays of the golden
morn, images, return broken like imprints
on the ramparts; where now, those oaks
of love that sustained our passion for war?
Years sunk into the quicksands of greed,
After nine winters, now only the Mistletoe.
Odysseus recalls how years rolled on without any promise of return, as he reminisces his lost years (during the Trojan war), while a prisoner on Ogygia, in my (new) take on the classical epic tragedy.

This is a series in the making - here I seek to focus on Odysseus the man and his inner journey, rather than on the (external) Odyssey! In this re-imagining, Athene has conspired to stall Odysseus in his journeys, so that the pain makes him reflect on himself, leading to Her Self-revelation in him.
Aaron Combs Jul 2016
My Lady:


Oh, can you dance, can you dance strong
until everything below turns into pure gold?
And do you see this precious sunrise as a gift to all of us?
         Do you number the sound of the whistles in the wind?
     For I have a year more to love, to breathe, to see life with you.

My dear, my dear do you see that everything
is filled with new power and new strength?
Would you hold onto my voice
like I hold your hand and feel forgiven?
Before every desire falls from my lips,
do you know how to run free?
 For I have the melody of life & second chances
engraved into my hands.

Can you hope - against the teeth of wolves
that encircle our own feelings?
 Will you fall upon your knees when heaven forgets your voice?
So when you lose hope and strength,
you will find me again and again.
For I found the power that destroyed
death so that you can see everything new.

Do you know how to love,
like the endless numbered stars?
Will you write His promises in your heart
so that you can always hold on?
               So when nothing makes sense and
            all desires fades, we will rest in adoration.
For everyday the angels are taught
 how to describe His great love for us.

So behind the winter rain,
we can dance into the sunlight time after time.
Until the moonlight falls by
        will you sing with me until we touch the sky?
Robert C Howard Feb 2019
Morning Rainbow

Myriad prismatic crystals,
     refract the morning sun-streams -
painting layers of spectral arches
     across the misted horizon.

Eyes turned to the western skies,
     we suspend our meteorological selves  
acquiescing to miracles unveiled before us -
     un-beckoned and scarcely earned,
proffering thanks for the radiant epistle
     of healing, hope and promise,
artfully encoded in transfigured light.

Synthetic Refractions

A luminary ballet takes center stage
    when synthetic refractors come to play:
crystal pendants bathe our foyers
      with dazzling swaths of color.
Hazy coronas encircle streetlamps
      discovered by headlights through the fog.
A science class prism slices light rays
     into pre-ordered spectral strata.

If the sky denies us a rainbow,
     we can always fashion one of our own
and we do!



Spectral Sound

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls
and the murmur of woodland streams
     held us captive by their banks.

Soon we learned to sing and tint the air
    With prisms of wood and wire and metal
and to color soundscapes in our spirits
     With songs of wonder, joy and longing.

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls.

Robert Charles Howard, 2019
This is a rewrite and expansion of a prior poem called Morning Rainbow. The poems are design to go with an original piece for solo flute also called Prisms.
Laura Jane Mar 2015
The body remembers, though it has been
four years since the summer you shattered your
knee but still limped out across the continent
to Boston to see him you idiot and
this is the fourth summer you've placed between
yourself and the last pin and the last *****
your body remembers, though in the
torturous lengthening of fused and toughened tissues
the bad leg is finally catching up,
and the scar with its ten numb inches of
puckered track has come to fade bone white
against your skin
but it’s still stored somewhere
in your sockets or cells and when you fall off your bike you still cry
Though you’re not really hurt your body remembers
So that when you’re confronted with their engagement photo
(you didn’t even know he was seeing anyone)
the darkened garden at the Plymouth Plantation
begins to bloom up around you before you can stop it
like a seizure or a vision, and you’re there again
trespassing after him through shadowy pines
and night-damp atlantic air
to where the white chairs encircle the altar.
Lori Carlson Feb 2010
I. The Encounter

I awaken to the lull of your voice: seductive whispers that send waves of electricity through my being. And then I see you. The demi-god that you are. And I worship you. Give me strength to endure your charms. And you do charm me, just as I know you will. Lapis eyes dance back at me. But then I'm dreamy; not awake, not asleep. Still in that state between dreams and realities. And to me, you are a god. But reality ~cruel mistress~ charges at me, and I see you for yourself. A mere mortal as I. But still I worship you. You've already begun your seduction. And I am a willing victim.

My first encounter with you is brief, only moments spent in your company. I would've scorned any human brave enough to insist that I would some day love you. I don't want to be aware that you have any power over me. No man has power over me. I have pushed all thoughts of men from the dusty corners of my mind. My life evolving around school and work and her, my lover. You know we are lovers. And I know you are married. Neither of us have scruples.

You offer me a bowl. Soaring above the world helps you cope. I am grounded and decline. But I watch you carefully. Pipe in hand, breathing deeply the smoke of the gods. And I find you amusing. Eyes turning glassy, mirroring my soul. Your face lit by uncontrollable laughter. And I am spiraling from the slightest contact of you.


II. The Seduction

Just a look. It takes only a look from those lapis eyes. And I'm hooked. Captivated by their icy-blue fire. And I'm burning there, burning in those lakes of infinity, those magnetic pools. Electric shocks wave through me, toss my senses, turn me into pure desire. And I desire you. You and the musky scent of your body lit by lust. Driven. Pushed to the insatiable limit. Inflamed.

Spoken and unspoken, your words ****** me. Enticing me, those words encircle me, swirl about me, intoxicate my mind. Notwords. Those words you say with your eyes, your smile, the rhythm of your body. And your whispers. Hot breath against my cheek, my ear, my neck; a trail of kindled passion waiting to explode. And I cannot resist the temptation. Tempted beyond reason, caught in the moment, trapped in the never-ceasing yearning of my body for yours.

Smoldering. You smolder me with kisses. Blaze my body with your tongue, your touch. Smooth skin against mine. A hand filled with impulses, pulsating, beating the rhythm of our hearts, like beats of the tunes you make love to. Wild, savage drums. Wild, savage love. And I long all the more for you. Your touch, your scent, the feel of you in me.

You recreate me. Change me. Make me want you again and again. Seduced.

III. Missing You

Missing you as I do, I cannot remember my life before you. Before your smile touched the depths of my heart. Before I gazed into those familiar eyes and saw my soul staring back at me. Before I felt your lips on mine, sweet, intoxicating, the slightest hint of tequila and lime. Your hands upon my flesh, electric waves. And the movement of your body with mine in cadence to the primal dance. Before you took me into your arms, I existed as only a shell of a woman. A tiny speck among specks in the vast universe. But you reshaped me. Molded me into a goddess. Allowed the woman inside of me to resurface and reclaim her sexuality.

And now you are gone. Out of my life for weeks. Out of my sight, but not my mind. I see you gazing back at me from the mirror each time I look into my own eyes. And then my mind takes flight and I escape with it. At that moment, I can once again feel your arms around me. Your soft, tender touch. The lulling of your husky voice. The musky scent of your skin. I watch from my grounded plane as you lead me to bed, turn down covers, and then motion for me to lie down. You remove my clothing, stripping away all resistance, all inhibitions. Prince sings seductively in the background. And I lose myself in your loving. You descend upon me like a child with an ice cream cone. Lapping at the cream you stir from within me. Your tongue tracing circles upon my skin. A flick of an ***** ******. Kisses trailing my body from lips to thighs and then there. And you linger there. Minutes seem like hours and hours like days. But I cannot imagine time without you. Only after I have traveled into the netherworld you lead me to, do I finally feel you. Hard and long, buried into my flesh. Deep inside me. Inflaming my body with each stroke. You take me, over and over again, to that netherworld of pleasure. And I want to stay. Remain there with you, eternally.

So missing you like I do, I have no appetite for anything but you. Depression falls upon me like a black cloak shielding me from the outside world. And I realize that missing you is missing a piece of me too. Missing my eternal friend. My soul's mate. My heart's constant pounding. Missing you is missing me with you.


IV. Betrayal

You said you'd made your choice: she and I, that's all you'd need. And I wanted to believe you; almost did, in fact, believe that two could be enough. I could've lived with that. She, bound by contract and children; I, bound by lust and desire. I know the game; have played it hundreds of times. And I put my trust in you to keep your word. But you don't belong to me. I have no control over you, no real ability to keep you under control. And so I baited you. Ensnared you in your own trap. Shoved temptation under your nose to test your honor. You have none. You accepted my trap; opened the door to her: a third, an easy, vulnerable prey.

And now you've lost. You will keep the first; she is bound by a higher law. But I am your loss.

Cheap words. You say whatever it takes. Words fall from your tongue as carelessly and easily as a dismissed annoyance. Your heart as cold as the snow surrounding us. You work emotions like a stagnate river: stuck in the routine of building up and tearing down the very dams of trust and passion you blueprint. But I am not like the others in your past. I am a true player. One of the faithful few. But you've destroyed that faith. I know where I stand with you. You've placed me in some category with your other casual notaffairs. But there is nothing casual about me. And if you had taken the time, been true to your word, you would've learned this. I give my all. All of my being, my heart, my soul. Not obsession, just loyalty. I await the rules, and when I have them, I play by the book. But you constantly change the rules, make them up as you go along. And since I cannot claim any part of you, I stumble over your turn of events. And although I try to keep up, I no longer want to match you set for set.


V. Exposed

You breeze through lives like a windstorm: tossing and turning, stumbling along into one life after another. *** appeal, your weapon: a loaded gun, a sword, a double-edged axe. You are crystal in your attempt. Pristine in your approach. Primitive, you take women back to the primal, the cave of the Neanderthal. Back to pure animalistic intoxication. And I almost allowed this. I wanted you. I did want you. You and the beauty that existed on the outside. Muscular facade that shields the turmoil within. And you could've had me.

Those eyes, so like mine, pulling, dragging me further into their blue lake. I would've drowned there for you. Allowed myself to get caught in the whirlpool of your loving. I wanted to more than you could ever know. Whirling there, swirling there. Sinking further and further into the fiery lake of your seduction. And I would not have defended myself. Passive. A kitten de-clawed. I would've sank into your abyss willingly, awaiting your strong arms to enfold me, save me, wrap me into your soul. Die from the shear ecstasy of you.

I confessed. Opened my soul to you. Permitted your entrance. And you took the challenge. Stepped in and put my inner world in order. Sorted through the chaos within me. Within. You were deeper than you knew. In that enigmatic space, you found the seed of my essence buried in a dry desert. And you rained on me, reigned over me, until I blossomed for the first time in years. I unveiled fully for you. A lotus petaled and filled with sweet, sticky nectar awaiting your touch. I removed all masks, all defenses, stripped away all layers. Showed you the sincerest parts of my being. Exposed. Naked. Displayed this being to you without shame or regret; I bore all. You knew me. The new me. The hidden me. The me that rarely allows passage. But I couldn't resist you. You entranced me. ****** me into you. Stole my breath. Exhaled. And scattered me into the wind.


VI. The Fool's Folly

Making restitution. This is what you say you want. And I struggle within, look to the stars, the cards, and my own inner voice. Should I trust you? My horoscope says a fifty percent chance of let-down today. And the cards say, sure trust him, you fool. But inside I scream I want to trust you!

Then I take a reality pill. Swallowing it hard and dry. And I realize this is what I do with you. I swallow you, refusing other nourishment. I swallow you in gulps, like a fine wine. Allow you to descend inside of me, make me raw from the wanting of you. And when the effects of you occur, I immediately become induced, intoxicated, high from the effect. I lose all sense of existence, except for you.

You become the center of that little world you say I've created for myself. You lay there on a bed of black satin, your body shimmering from the candle-lit radiance. And I see you there, there with me and in me, beside me, circling my body with your passion dance. Prince bellows another scream in cadence with my own.

Perfect timing. Too perfect. You give away your method of operation. But only I know of its existence. I have one of my own. And so we come full circle. Knowing you as I do. Knowing your secrets, your methods, your devices of seduction, can I allow your restitution? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Can I risk playing the fool?


VII. Vanished

You've vanished again. Escaped to god-knows-where without me. Again. Without me in your life. Recluse, you've turned me into you. A recluse without explanation. Locked me into the world that exists around you. Trapped me there, helpless, without you to guide me through. And only you have the map, the way to the gate: the escape route you use to flee when life attacks you in the dark. And I want to explore the passage with you. To tell you all that I feel. Feel you with me, in me, beside me. But I'm covered by this web of confusion. A thick heavy blanket of your tormented soul. And mine is there with yours. Our lives intertwined as they are. Twined into enigma. If you would only step from the shadows, motion me forward, I know we could make it out again. The blinded-by-lust leading the blinded-by-lust. And together we could cut our way through this thicketed labyrinth.
(c) 1996, Iona Nerissa


All poetry under the names Lori Carlson or Iona Nerissa are the sole property of Lori Carlson.
Please seek permission before using any of my writings.
~Lori Carlson~
CH Gorrie Jul 2012
Around me architectural mastery:
sycamores, embankments, enduring ionic pillars.
I round a walkway bordered by trees,
enamel thawing, gliding off their low leaves.
Beneath the late-May’s pounding sun,
through the glittered trees’ reaches,
a gazebo crackles into sight.
Children in their prime, sunbathers, a wistful portraitist
encircle it carelessly:
a leisured chimney; the billows of life.
The foliage escapes into the river,
purplish, palpitating, cyclic creases
receive the dewy notes.
Kayaks licking acacia-gum-edged
ripples sputter and slip
through reverberations
of leveled white-water terraces.
Blackcurrants in clotted cream
slide on the plush lips of a young passerby.
The 8 above a doorway
dances motionless, silent in my periphery;
“Nicolas Cage just sold the spot”
pops from unknown lungs
inside the Circus crowd.

Unacknowledged, half-proud
hands built the Roman baths
alone, closed-in by such grace,
forgotten, then as now.
I wander these ancestral lanes
more or less alone, the same.
English Jam Apr 2019


Luke 12:49
“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!”


This wasteland, desolate vegetable garden
No crops will grow, no sun will shine
No cool breeze to clean the air
of the smell of decomposition
Just dead things, the decay of man and dreams of hope
Which my black boots stomp on
I walk the ruin in silence

I walk past a monster sleeping by a tree
Turning, frowning
The monster is me
Its eyes are as red as judgement day
As red as the faces of the condemed
Those who stare at the 144 000, wondering if they are worthy
As red as the blood ******* in this ancient garden

This is a battleground
Oozing with pain, pleasure, splendor and misery
Even if Pythia already circled the loser's name in bright red
Allowing the victors to trample holy ground underfoot
Before they disappeared
But me
I stood here
Feeling all feeling being drained out

I walked past a monster weeping by a tree

“Everything good must come to an end,”
Mystery says
Pursing her lips
“And so must everything wicked
But the memories
Those which encircle their victim
And slowly tighten like great snakes
Suffocating their prey
Those last forever
And if those memories last forever
Then how can one remain pure in heaven
Without thinking about sin
Temptation must surely creep in
Poisoning the mind until it is consumed with the idea
Who is pure anyway?”
I know she is lying
(Turning)
But her words are surreal, slurred, seductive
(Frowning)
I look inside my heart to reassure myself
(Turning)
There is hope
(Frowning)
But there’s nothing there

(And the monster is me)


In the vegetable garden
A ruin
A wasteland
I stand
Not really existing


⊣⊙⊢

PNasarudheen Sep 2013
ODE TO  RIOTERS
The clouds rumble , O! sons of Malice ,hear
The smoke of arson and roar of lies
In the name of God in heaven; to the tune of lords near
Ignorant men  , followers of Dionysus fly like flies.
Think ! read ,what the history of man tells
Of fire that Prometheus brought for our happiness
But, ingratitude of satanic forces by  spells
Inflame the fire of Ire and burn the huts; brings unhappiness.
Tempters like Hera of Zeus pleasantly smile
Resting in Bars or legislatures , counting votes on computer screen
Echo of slogans on Equality, Fraternity, Liberty from a mile
Makes in social conscience  a  scathing scene.
The land of Buddha. Abraham Lincoln, prophets of peace all
Sent by God to every race and all clans dull,
Told the people all over to be kind
Loving ,lovable and of service mind.
(2).
O! political crookedness, in struggle for power  you tempt
People to compete and hate and conquer
By communal spirit forgetting  Divine Spirit and contempt
Religious heads and political aspirants together
Like criminals think and twist the holy ideas, even
They hold holy books in left hand and in right hand gun
And advice disciples to die and **** for heroic heaven
For them, as if death is an easy going fun;
The First Estate of France still as  impulses here in world
Reign the countries as rulers  of Democracy mocking
And they jointly exploit subjects ; and devotees of the spiritual world,
Misguide men and women  by prayers rocking
Hope of Heaven and horror of Hell
Make the people, forget all , and yell
When the villainous leaders signal by baton
The desperados become boys wanton.
(3)
O! devilish War-Lords, do you read Vedic Books?
What they mean ? for you mean? as they tell of God ,the sole Creator
The Creator of you and the “Other”  in your hooks.
The Preserver and Destroyer , may not be for you Pharaohs greater,
O! Pharaohs , you don’t  cause rain, make the Sun rise
And the greenery, birds and fish flourish .
When the Earth rumbles and tsunami rages you give the price
The rewards of hatred you sowed nourish-
All around ,as chemical war terrorism-a horrible nightmare
But, Epicureans! All are from Him and unto Him all shall return.
Marketing competitions and sale of arms cause the Wars
As history reminds us :none gained but failed to sustain peace;
Still, the blunder of division of people and exploitation stars
Rise , at the West with the dying Sun’s horses and Mars.
Politics and Economics -two horses of Civilization unbridled
Terribly gallop with men on them girdled.
(4)
O! cruel  egoistic  businessmen ,you globalize immorality
By greed, you trade with  fanatics and  terrorists,
Spur clashes: Multiculturism versus monoculturism  denying plurality
Challenging Eternity; certainty of scientists.
At Saranath,Lord  Buddha told  disciples on the Middle Path of  life
To Torah “The Lord our God , the Lord is One”, so Jesus taught us all
And guided to worship  God in” Spirit and truth “ in our life
No other Lord but Allah deserves worship of us all-
Allah is the Light of the Earth, and of the Sky ,O! Lord
God is the Eternal  Light  to illuminate all  ;to be worshiped
Bhagavat Gita says,"The body is the temple of God
In the Spiritual realm : all are from the One ,the  worshipped.
God is the only One without birth and death
The Unique unlike the creatures on earth
The Force is called “atma” by Vedas no trade and
Sciences  tell: it is Eternal  , cannot be made by human hand. .
(5)
O! the ill -taught  simpletons , think !why shall we spoil life
in feuds communal or political  for the luxury of masters
Suicide never a sacrifice; if at all ,it is beheading of human in life
At the altar of regal, egotist power-mongers.
The Only God is the  Seed of all; names may differ by language difference
Holy books use all noble qualities to the name the Supreme Lord
Then, why the sons of that One Lord, in repentance
Think on action : virtue  or evil and pray: forgive ,O! Lord
In democracy, we are free to believe  the God or not
Still, we can be human by refraining from paining others
Freeing ourselves from communal hatred, the vicious knot
As the political fences   encircle us that make us enemies of others.
Stars in the sky and the Sun and the Moon
Are mortal ones from God for our boon.
Let us be men and women loving all , serving all;
Not severing heads; but lead a life ,culturally tall.
                                             ***********
Note:atma=soul.
Adam Childs Mar 2015
I am the fire that holds the glow
of a hidden flame that captures
all that fall within.
As all my fire flowers around me
bellowed by every heartbeat.
As many invisible doorways break
open and all is awakened in air of ruby
reds and orange flame, as they
burst and bloom.  

I am the fire that swallows all fire so
shout at me more little drill sergeant
for you light my fire.
For I will explode all over your anger
and blow you out like a little candle.
As I am a colossal fiery breeze as turbulent
winds encircle like a forest fire I engulf.

My coat shines and glows with orange
embers fanned by a million life times
of survival.
The power of my radiating heat melts
bones like ice in boiling water or the
hot sun against margarine.
Dare you look into my stare take a dip
a little swim and I will reignite your
flame.

I am the WILD Tiger never in caged by
any shouldst or ought to for I am a free
and my path always open for me to seek
fuel for my flame.
As my fire is never suffocated by conditions
or rule as I possess all the space around me.
Like oxygen I **** it all in while exploding into
higher spaces much greater places.

I feel the taste of LOVE and HATE as they are
both painted upon my tongue and feed my
appetite.
Like two sticks Love and Hate I rub them both
together please give me more smoke and fire.
You rub your soft injustice against my hard wood
I will bring you storm clouds and flames.
As I fight for right as naturally as gravity is
pulling us to earth.
I will transform any situation never stopping
to ask if I can as I throw myself at anything.


I wash souls of petty despair as they bath
within my glare.
Come close to me and I will hold you tenderly
in the nets of my sight like hammocks
in my eyes.
Let me lick and sooth your many wounds
as we together we softly purr.
Purring sweetly together like a V8 engine I can
slowly restore all your strength and power.

I pounce and spring of solid rock that feels
so soft and elastic like rubber.
A thousand coordinated sparks ****** themselves
forward as they blaze a trail to fast for the brain.
You will be liberated when you find my fire
rocket blades ignited we will dance and play
through time.


So much can be gained when running with the
Tiger, caressing air with a watery velvet.
As you slip through a jungle with a silky strawberry
orange flame, how we Love the beautiful
Tiger's Flame
Anna Mosca Apr 2016


where I live
now is very hot
it's the dry desert

mountains encircle
the valley where
the rainbows lay

for short breaks
on periodically
sprinkled grass
From the collection California Notebooks 01
Alicia Harger Nov 2011
Diaphanous silk skirts glide gracefully around tiny ankles attached to perfect legs.
And the string quartet plays in the background.
Strong hands encircle a tightly cinched waste
And breath brushes against a neck.

Then the clock strikes midnight or the alarm sounds.
The spell breaks, totalitarian reality invades.
And dreams flutter away, evasive and light,
Like diaphanous silk skirts.
Unchained day beneath dumpling clouds in a baby boy broth
I tumble from the snake's mouth into the belly of the bullfrog
kicking across the river in fits and starts of sloshing and falling
great mirror arms reach imploring
asking the sky to see their brilliance
as steel-grey bracelets encircle one wrist and
then another
and skyward we turn
and vomited unceremoniously from the bullfrog's mouth
I slog easterly through the setting concrete of the new-fettered day
kicking across the avenues in fits and starts of staring and falling
shiny electronic arms reach imploring and
ask the stars to hear the cries
as invisible chokers encircle one's throat and
then nothing
and skyward we turn
and jostled and sweating as fresh popcorn into the gluttonous hall
I ride the current past the kiosks and shuttered kitchens of boutique cafes
kicking down the rapids in fits and starts of surfacing and falling
a majestic and world-weary arm reaches defiantly and
shakes a fist forever at one moment and
then knows
and northward we turn
and
     the girl shared my Luna bar
and
     the phones were passed around
and
     the woman had no shoes
and
     the conductor took no tickets
and
     the women shared their seat
and
     the man gave her cab fare
and
     the woman went home with no purse, no keys, no shoes
and
     the girl went back to Buffalo
and
     still we turn
and
     still we turn
and
our shackled arms raised against the sword reaches
                                                                                             necessarily and
blocks the blow as if we were one arm and
then holds
and
     still we turn
Jo Oct 2014
Poppies blossom like open cuts.
Ripe and red, they fill the air
With a cloying sweetness
So potent anyone downwind
Must shut their eyes and breathe
Through open mouths.  Tasting
The breath of flowers, they grow
Nauseous and afraid.  

The fields sway in the hot breeze
Until they resemble an ocean aflame -
It is here, among these poppies, I have
Found the blood of the Earth.  
It is moist and toxic, an acid eating away the soles
Of all that wade through it.  
How many gaunt, pale bundles of bone
Rest below these soft, red petals?
No one dares to count.  

People do not fear such
Lovely things - if they’ve only seen
Pictures.  How nice it must be
To know nothing of poppies
But their color, their shape.  
They seem almost beautiful -
But you know better.

You have stood waist deep in the
Malignant fields, breathing the air
That slowed your limbs -
Turning your arms and legs into pendulums
Swaying to the beat of the buds
That encircle them -
Until you knelt, weighed down,
Nearly submerged by saccharine terrors,
And cried, hoping the water leaking from your heart
Would put out the fires you find yourself embracing.  
After all, during the darker hours
Any light is better than no light at all
(Or so something whispers in your tired ear).  

You know the horror of poppies -
But  still you have yet to plunge
Past the black eyes of those red beasts -
For when the wind blows clean, cold
Air to you what do you do?
You raise your arms and let yourself
Feel as though you can fly -
And one day…one day
You will look down
And see yourself above
A ground free of poppies.
For a friend
Raj Arumugam Jul 2011
hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***;
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins

Crane sees Phoenix
and in Plum Tree Garden of Scents
Plum Tree Arms
Encircle Double Mountains;
Pine Reaches for the Skies

Drunken Monkey Jumps
and Pheasant Sings
and White Pearl Slips;
Dogs Unite and Clouds Merge
Tiger Bites and Lion Roars
Grand Dragon Withholds

Jade Gate Opens
Jade Stem enters
Wild Boars stampede
and Cherry Blossoms Fall

Drunken Monkey Sleeps
White Pearl Smiles
Drunken Monkey Awakes
and Blue Pearl Awaits -
and again Serpent on Rock hisses;
Wheels of Legs Rotate


hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***;
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins
no illustrations available; we leave it to your imagination
i sit here, with one desire that opens to all others.
                      Warmth.
i just want your arms to encircle me,

just hold me till i melt,
and i am loose,
hold me till the tremors stop,
hug me till all my fears fade away,

let me rest upon your chest
and breathing in. and out.
over. and over.
as i embrace your warmth,
may the shivers stop.

Can we halt for just a moment,
and just breathe,
here,
together,
in this warmth filled bubble of protective silence,

in, out,
our chests rise and fall,
in sync,

And would you just hold this hand,
till you can give it to another

And i can't sleep tonight,
i can't find the  words to make this right.

Won't you stay? please don't fight.

I am not asking for what the others want,
just lay here, beside me, share with me your sunlight,
i'll  borrow some of your warmth, and tell me of your day of monotony,
long enough that my breath hiccups, long enough for you to pause.
to remember back to when,

she said, "its cold here"
it's always so cold,
its your warmth that left me,
and i struggle on.

all i wanted was to sit near you and feel your warmth,
and i don't want your touch,
that's not what i have come here for,
but i want the burning sensation of your warmth,
washing overme,
as the intimacy of your warmth melts me to the core,

why is it we can't hug without expecting more,
and i don't want you,
i just want you here beside me,
leg to leg,
as we melt together,
our desire to just breathe,
in ,out, in, out,
and hug me long till slumber grabs me strong.
Elise Aug 2013
It is as if someone has taken every
single one of my poems about you
and plastered them all over the walls
in my room.

Every which way I turn I see my words,
my feelings, on display for anyone
who cares to see.

I want to tear them down, but they are stuck,
they are forever, they were real feelings,
they were put into words,
by my own two hands.

I feel as if I have betrayed you,
I didn't mean to,
I want the best for you,
but now I am so afraid to lose you.

Stay in my life,
I will find a way to get these poems
off the walls,
I will find a way to make the feelings
disappear.

Let me stay,
I want you near,
everything is wrong,
you misunderstood,
I couldn't help it,
my heart felt too quick.

The poems are bleeding,
the ink is evaporating,
you're breathing it in,
it's a poison.

I have betrayed you,
make it stop,
i'm losing control,
I can't stop the words from melting,
your words are cold as ice.

Let me stay,
it can change,
we will find a way.

There may be no fire,
but that doesn't mean
there is no substance.
Rod E Kok Jun 2014
Breathe.
Warm caress against your skin,
tendrils of love embrace you.
Playful whispers and
whimsical sighs take us
on a journey of
love.
A breath of passion
enriches our lives
as we breathe in unison,
keeping cadence with the sounds
of nature.
We are surrounded by life,
by love,
by desire...
our flame adds to summer's
heat.
Relax, my love.
I will encircle you with
a rapture which takes your breath away.
Remember, my love...
exhale. Let stress and pain
emit from your body as my adoration
holds you.
Recline in the arms of
my devotion
and remember to
breathe.
Anecandu Aug 2018
Your words are like precision guided Bombs in clunkers,
Exploding between my ears. there are no bunkers.
My response tumbles out stuttering like anti aircraft nests.

The alarms in my brain go off suppressed by tears discharged
Heart, Trust, Ego, Friends over the years........
Your armaments know where to hit and cause most damage,

Plumes of fiery emotion flare up, soon loves smoldering cracks .
I dodge your heat seeking adjectives, they encircle in packs.
Cold nights afloat clinging to this yellow deflated ego. ergo.

Our love is war
Soft and silky you cross round my neck
You smell like tinted ***
your color makes me worried
for I cannot run
You encircle
hold me down
Yet your warmth is
so confound
you bring color from my cheeks
a tribe of specks and fleets
your spindled gentle down
easily sets me down
As I slowly die
Tears rundown and fly
for the scarlet brings me to defeat
my throat scattered with ribbons
as a Red Scarf flows down
Anoushka Jain Dec 2014
Dobby's ideas,

Are more of a glitch.

Flesh memories,

Buried in a snitch.

Life is tough,

And such a heavy fight.

When dark times encircle you,

Remember to Turn on the light.

Weasley twins are strong,

More like human beaters

The world is not divided

Into good people and death eaters.

For in dreams,

We enter a world entirely our own.

Turn to page number

Three hundred and ninety four.

Dumbledore smiled,

Everyone has bad days.

Snape replied,

Always.

The people we love,

Leave us never.

The stories we love best,

Do live in us forever.

Cause the books we truly love,

Right back, they love us.

Draco, Dormiens,

Nunquam, Tittilandus.
For all my fellow Potterheads!
Rangzeb Hussain Feb 2010
I want to taste your delicious basket of ripe red fruit
Which drips with the aroma of an ageless golden summer,
Warm honeydew tantalizes my barren tongue
And enriches the roots of my parched soul,
Your orchard is blessed with succulent charms,
Pearled flaxen curls encircle the gorgeous bewitching branches,
Leaves beautifully green and bold orchestrate the
Choir of sweet nature to a rapturous symphonic crescendo.

Kneeling,
I enter the kingdom of your supple flower garden,
Looking,
I am astounded by the silken beauty and curvaceous bliss,
Birds of wondrous paradise float before my amazed eyes,
Colours of the rainbow glaze my sight with contentment,
The sound of your breathing fires my imagination and
I unravel the mysteries of your unexplored depthless universe.

Biting deep into the amber nectar I taste your husky fruits,
I take my fill of your heavenly food,
It restores, refreshes, nurses and sustains me,
My senses are heightened and my experience sharpened,
In return I offer you my heart and you drink lovingly of
My desires contained within this butterfly cup of life,
This chamber of fertile dreams and everlasting
Passion fruit.

Exploring further I find your Eden has no limitations,
Boundaries are only erected by our imagination,
I search softly with practiced fingers to find your
Velvet spirit in this empire of dazzling jewels,
Your rose flavoured apples glint in the morning sunlight,
Their juice sparkles as it drips down my throat to
Tickle the hunger of my now heated soul,
Aromatic mists caress my nostrils and
I satisfy my senses at this exquisite banquet of ecstasy.

I trace my tongue across the purple peaks of your pomegranates,
The burgundy juice tattoos your desire into my soul,
The grapes of your insatiable dreams leak with pleasure,
I feel the moist heat rising and your lips parting
As I explore the fibres of your existence,
There are beads of beauty in your diamond shaped melons,
I slide through the doors of your soft and ripe pear,
And your breath comes fast and hard as I plough deeper and deeper.  

Travelling to my journey’s ****** I am excited to a liquid frenzy,
My desire is to remain lost in your voluptuous forbidden city,
My aim is to become one with you and stay there for evermore,
The paths, alleyways, marble arches, golden halls, curved architecture,
The blue skies and fountains entice me, all of your charms plead to me,
You whisper hoarsely to me, “Stay awhile yet",
I want to remain within my lady of these most wondrous and precious treasures.

Soaring to mountains where even eagles dare not surmount
I reach my life bursting ambitious decision,
The rain of my throbbing soul at first drizzles, then showers before pouring
Molten honey over your fertile garden of life,
These drops of salt sweetened rain are graciously and hungrily received,
They seep into your moist soil to feed young peacock coloured seeds
Which will one day spring forth and be born as
Colourful and majestic flowers.

I am content and happy now,
More happier than the music of a mute swan,
I admire my sultry flower resting beside me and
I inhale her purple perfumed beauty,
The restoration of my starving soul is now complete,
I am sated and will remember this magnificent bouquet till the end of time,
I promise to become a gardener
In her generous Paradise,
Let me begin by composing an
Ode to my hyacinth.



©Rangzeb Hussain
Sean Critchfield Jun 2012
We are big.
Like mountains.
If I am the mountain side, you were the wild fire.
Hot. Piercing.
Rendering my solid flesh to molten liquid and then to dust.
But only that I might grow again.
And more beautiful than before.

We face our compulsion. Spinning like mad children, in a ring of rosies, dangling dolls in the infinite black of space.
My binary star. My coupled light spinning my opposite.
Twice as bright.
Twice as beautiful.
But from a distance, we seem as one.

Perhaps this soft light I imagine surrounding you are our gods. Mouths open. Shamed by your beauty, that they could not have created you. Only dreamed you into being. They seem like fate, don't they?

And I am consumed with the constant reminder
of your absence. It plays on my tongue like bitter wine.
Leaving me drunk with want and yearning.
And so much more.


And this madness. Like a force undefined. Hurling our bodies. Like freight trains destined to collide. We can be bigger than mountains. We can be the trees and the sky and the pulse and the moon. All lit by twin stars spinning.

Your lack of light is desperate. A quiet void.
If I were a black-hole. You would be the event horizon
of my unmaking.
A voiceless abyss.
Incomplete.
And slowly growing.



If my eyes were moons. You would be my eclipse.

And this pulse. This landscape caught by rhythm. This thump. Like beating bodies. In carnal rhythm. Remembering each caress like history.

You are my legend. Your touch has written confession on my body, that I read like litany. Cuneiform.
Your fingerprint, an ancient code, written on my eyelids. Spoken on the tip of my tongue that I eat like Eucharist. That I drink like communion.

And my morning prayer is a mourning dirge.
Sung like a sailor for your return.
That you might find the wind of my breathlessness
And return to me
once more.
For I am motionless without you.


Yet.
I am mighty. Like wild beasts. I am stronger then before. I grow wise. I expand my eyes to encompass the horizon, that I may see every curve of your landscape. That I may feel every burn of your wild fire.

My longing is armor, that I wear. To conceal my beast. Like desire. Hungry. Waiting.

Tame me.

I miss your mane.
I miss your smell.
I miss your pulse, beating opposite mine.
I miss your light.

My shadow was massive. Stretching to the corner of maps.
My arms, a wingspan, that crossed time. Waiting to encircle you to me.

I have no light to cast a shadow.
I have no reason to fly.
My heart is barren.
Kept vacant for your return.
If not for you then always.
A singular place that once held your step.
A precious palace that you once danced in.


Spin.
Spin, Wildfire.
Devour my skin again with your hungry touch with your wanting kiss.
I wish to be reborn as yours.
Again.

Circle me that we may light the sky again.
And grow our horizons to outstretch the corner of our eyes.
Until we are blind.

Give me sight.
Let me see.
Let me see you.


That we might see our own light.

As one.

As yours.

Burn brighter than before.
fairyenby Jul 2017
No, you cannot join in.
Unless of course you also want the backlash that comes with kissing girls in public?
Take it-
please
share the homophobia.
I have had enough to last me 18 years of shame

no, this is not a game and you do not have the right to take photographs of me while I kiss her.
Unless of course you are a photographer  
here to celebrate our queer love in all of it’s natural beauty.  
For my love does not exist for your enjoyment
we are not the characters in your fantasy novel
my love is magical and you cannot publish it.
My love rains all over your non existent parade because your homophobia does not exist at pride

wide-eyed boys
encircle us as if to say that our mouths brush only so that they  
can paint the picture,
but you do not belong within my self portrait
you will not dip your ***** brush into my rainbow coloured paint set.
Clean your homophobia into the water
for our love is art
but you are not the artist
and my love is not yours to keep for later  
for wanking your anxieties into pleasure whilst you turn my pleasure, into anxiety.
This, is plagiarism.

Copyright my love.
For I should not have to be aware of who is watching
or pointing or shouting or stealing, my love.
So put your hand down your pants and think of your homophobia.  
No, you can’t come now
no, you cannot join in.
July 2016
svdgrl Apr 2014
To it, I've never been.
but I've dreamed of a place where everything
is coated in corn and comfort.
Wished the past had taken me,
can't help but feel it was about my skin.
Cactus candy and cowboy boots.
Zydeco and haunted hotels.
The voodoo Frank sang about in the end.
The horns sound the streets.
Close curtains, be discreet.
Encircle the barest neck,
with colorful beads.
His family reunions
made me realize I'm on my own.
Until I met a prettier soul.
I don't kiss frogs for love.
I forget the ease in slime.
and let the grease define
an unhealthy outlook.
Sip another lime or a sour.
A ginger begs the hour.
Lonely never leaves,
but warmth is a soco shower.
J Colin Feb 2011
What makes you
want to be with trash
pond **** who can't make you,
but he sure comes fast

Who made his mind up
about life too quick
What about adventure
and the risk of it?

I've seen your moves
they **** me every time
Hip ******, and **** bumps
encircle and enthral my mind

You are far to beautiful
to be with that creep
he probably snores
and won't let you sleep

If I kept you up
with a bubbling nose
I'd ask you to wake me
and we'd plow till close

I don't mind a snuggle up tight
With you in my arms
is a desirable,
and significant fight

Does he ever marvel
by the beauty of your eyes?
Does he ever tell you
he could never compromise?

With you and the world
it is your pretty life
to choose the hands
who delicately caress you

With your support
and all my work
we'll run this hellhole
turn it heaven on earth
To the girl who doesn't even know
Timothy Brown Nov 2012
Four white walls adorned with posters.
Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd and an odd cluster
of animals and dinosaurs.
and a strange man relaxing his pores.

I could learn something from this

The wall space around Van Gogh
is lined with empty cigarette boxes.
A constant reminder of life shortening though
they encircle the skull like rabid foxes.

I've lost count of how many I've smoked

The carpet is littered with stains.
A reminder of past strains.
Even industrial shampoo
will not fade the marks scarred into.

I've been here too long

The drawers are a symbol of a cluttered mind.
Nothing is organized. but anything is an easy find.
Random thoughts make the air stale.
Only freshened by the 3pm arrival.

Its just junk and coupons

Its difficult to balance all these things out
without a feminine touch to soothe.
A soft laughter to rile the doubts.
Another pair to line with my shoes.

*I'll be with you one day Caroline
Caroline, you like I, must have an equilibrium between your mind and the world.
© November 26th, 2012 by Timothy R Brown. All rights reserved.
Denel Kessler Dec 2016
tepid waters do not lie
gale is to cyclone
as rain to thundercloud
no amount of counter-spin
will make them anything other
than atmospheric unrest

El Niño, La Niña
how to read
the unsettled waters
upwelling from the deep
what should feed us
leaves us starving, weak

orcas encircle their kin
emaciated mother, tiny calf
dying from ocean’s lack
while we look on and moan
all the power to change
if we only cared to own it
In the Strait of Juan de Fuca (between Washington state and Vancouver Island, Canada) a resident female orca recently died from what scientists believe to be malnutrition and environmental toxins.  Her young male calf likely died as well, he was too young to survive without a mother.  The last aerial photos taken of the mother and calf show her emaciated, held afloat by family members. A heartbreaking sight.

On the heels of these deaths, there is increasing concern that this resident pod of orcas, numbering about 80 individuals, is declining to the point where it can’t recover.
M Clement Mar 2013
I search the shores of San Diego
Couples embracing
Rocks bracing against the wind
Lonely hearts embracing the
massiveness that is the Pacific, Atlantic,
whichever
I watch as surfers awaiting the next gift
that the ocean will bring
I watch the waves,
they fall into themselves like a man losing everything
And slap against each other like a man slapping his own knee
hearing something too comedic to leave be
I watch the birds as the encircle but a measly patch of land
covered in sand
and others encircle but a small, infinitesimal speck of ocean
I watch the pier stand firm in face of waves that threaten
the stability of the entirety
and people, like ants,
walk up and down the way
The infinity of the ocean is something that I take no part of.
Like a child that doth not wish to take part of a game in the schoolyard
I traipse along the sand
looking towards infinity.
Saul Makabim Jun 2012
Creeping vines climb
crisscrossing the cracked clay
Crumbled brick shards collect
at the base of the tower
Essential oils permeate the air
Invisible liquid fire
Inflaming all feeling
skin bubbling and peeling
Grotesque **** oozes
from ragged ripped flesh
Itching is incessant
Swollen red eyelids
Tear drop elicits twitching
A scream of unfulfilled urges
Vines encircle the neck
countless green nooses
contaminate flesh
Breath becomes brutality
swollen esophagus
Red and green monster stalks
searching for someone
with skin thin enough
to climb underneath
into the innermost layer
Death
brings an end to the maddening agony
Body a bulging red ball already collects maggots
Creepy vines questing
never ending searching
not satisfied until they find
the next target
Cycle continues
no escape from the ivy.
Kendra Sep 2010
the timing was all wrong, but the words were all right
every time you near you completely lock my sight

i am blinded by you, and everything that you are
your beauty, your humor, your illuminating light

you should be mine, as i should be yours
but i guess the line of communication was a little too short

i'm writing to tell you how i feel, because these emotions seem so unreal

i hope you know that i would never hurt you
in fear of us parting and saying adieu

just know you are my best friend, my confidant, my mind, heart, and soul
maybe one day, this will turn into more
for you will always have my heart under control
TigerEyes Dec 2015
The station wagon bounced down a dusty road toward the farm house, and Phoebe, who had just turned fifteen  felt the pit of her stomach coil, and tighten with dread. Gazing out the window she locked eyes on a bored looking cow slowly chewing a mangled knot of grass. Phoebe wondered in that moment if even the cows were more depressed in Bismarck.

Her step-father, “The Glenner”, had been too cheap to fly her back home to Oregon from a summer camp in Minnesota, and had arranged for their local minister, Cru Hayward, to pick her up along with his daughter, Lizzie. Phoebe’s sun burned skin ached as she pealed it off the sticky back seat. The air conditioner had broken down in Fargo, and the eight of them were all squeezed in like a pack of cranky sardines.  

Phoebe was going to be spending the rest of her hellish summer with complete strangers in Bismarck, North Dakota on a wheat farm complete with cows, chickens, and one grey mare along with Lizzie’s six cousins.

The car door swung open, and a large man wearing blood stained overalls with extremely bushy eye brows lunged toward them, “Why I wrecken’ it’s been goin’ on five years, Cru! Bout’ time you come home with the kids to work the farm.” He took an oily handkerchief out of his back pocket, and wiped the dripping sweat from his brows; appearing out of breath at the same time. Phoebe took note of how “Bushy Brows” had replaced the word “work” instead of “visit”, and suddenly felt as though a chicken feather was caught in the back of her throat. Cru Hayward looked stiff, and managed to put out his hand to shake Vern’s, but instead was pulled in tightly, and given a bear hug smudging the wet chicken blood on Vern’s overalls directly onto his brothers white Oxford shirt.

As Phoebe entered the farm-house a variety of scents wafted through the steamy air. Lizzie’s Aunt Doodie was nervously leaning over the kitchen sink peeling a large stack of potatoes so high they were beginning to topple off the counter one after another. An extremely obese cat  sat by her feet pushing them across the floor with as little energy possible.  Standing on a small foot stool in front of an old-fashioned *** belly stove stood, Trina, a small child around the age of five who was busy feeding a dog the size of a small pony. She appeared to be in her own unsupervised world; busily shoving strips of steaming barbecued  chicken from a platter into its wet slobbery mouth, and then licking her fingers.

Phoebe glanced into the nearby living room, and noticed the walls were decorated with handmade plaques quoting scriptures from the Bible along with various cheap prints of Jesus; like the kind you’d buy at a church fair. Small miniature figurines decorated the home throughout. An open bible lay on the arm chair of a tattered recliner.  Feeling self-conscious, and out of place, Phoebe tried to hide in one corner as she watched Lizzie hugging her Aunt Doodie’s belly wearing  a hand-made sweat shirt with “Elvis” on the front. Gospel music was playing loudly from the living room. Phoebe mumbled under her breath,  "Where's the donation jar?” Aunt Doodie’s eyes narrowed when she looked at Phoebe, “Did you say something, Dear? What’s your name?” Phoebe managed to croak out her name, and say she was just talking to herself.” Aunt Doodie gave her a wry smile, “Why you’ll have plenty of time to talk to yourself tomorrow in the wheat fields when we get you up to work at 4 a.m., Missy.” Her snarled lips faded, and she continued talking to Lizzie smiling big, “Now where were we, Lizzie darling?”

Phoebe already hated it there. It had been less than five minutes since she arrived. She began to think if she had a money left in her suit cases to take a bus home. She frantically dug in her front jeans pocket, and pulled out a piece of lint, and a dime.  

Lizzie’s cousin’s all stumbled into the kitchen wearing clothing that looked as though it had passed through several millenniums of “Goodwill Store’s” in the 1970’s. Their straw hats hung low over their  eyes, and  Lizzie could tell they were ******.  Lizzie’s cousins had all been stamped out by the same cookie cutter mold like twins. Their ages ranged from seventeen to thirteen, to age five. Trina the youngest being no doubt an accident.  Marty, the oldest at seventeen, wearing a ripped Metallica shirt was the first to speak, “Lizzie look at you! Why you all but growed up on us. I bet you’s the most popular girl in school with that pretty face of yours”. Marty was handsome in a Emelio Estevez actor kind of  way. Phoebe couldn’t help but lick his beautifully sculpted arms, and chest with her eyes; but when he caught her staring she quickly looked down at her shoes. She felt her face burning with embarrassment.

Aunt Doodie turned around swiftly on her bare heal with a large milk pail in her hands. "I'll be back girls. I'm out to the barn to milk the cow for supper. Don't break anything."
  
Twila was sixteen with black eye liner under her eyes, and red lipstick. She suddenly leapt onto Lizzie from behind, and covered her eyes while wrapping her large chicken fried steak fed legs around her. Her hair was curly, and extremely frizzy like it had not seen a comb in it for several years.  Twila whispered, “Hey Lizzie, who’s your dweebie friend? Don’t look like she can smile much. Maybe our cat got her tongue. She looks like one of those uptight city girls!” Lizzie couldn’t hold onto Twila any longer, and tried to drop her down gently. A loud “thud” bounced the floors as she fell. The inside of a nearby china closet rattled as she hit the floor forcing a glass plate to fall, and break. “Ahh  ****! That’s mama’s favorite platter.” Twila looked straight into Phoebe’s eyes, “We’ll just have to blame it on you, Phoebe. You just keep your mouth shut about it!” Ignoring that Twila had just accused her of breaking a platter Phoebe heard Lizzie mumble, “Oh, this here is my friend from home. We both went to summer camp in Minnesota together, and we’re her ride back home to Oregon.” Phoebe at this point was already imagining a large pig shaped nose on Twila's face; and not the kind that was cute. Twila glared, “Looks like you in lots of trouble now city girl”, and walked away with her cousins leaving her to stand alone in the decorated gospel room near the kitchen.

Phoebe wondered if she landed in some kind of Twilight Zone episode that had not been written yet. She decided to go for a walk all alone on the wheat farm until someone called after her for supper. Phoebe was lonely but she was lonely at home with her mom, and step-father too. They always left her to fend for herself, and her mother rarely spoke to her.  Phoebe felt as though it was like living with two ghosts you can hear; but can't see.  Besides, she had decided that this summer would be spent working on her writing. She had always wanted to be an author, after all, she had always noticed everything.
Her thought was broken when she heard someone say, “That sister Twila of mine is mean as a snake. Don’t pay no attention to her. To this day I feel like I must have been adopted. Hi, my name’s Shawna.” Shawna had a beautiful face, and was tall for her age. She stood about 5’8 with long blond hair making her look almost like a mermaid with her fair complexion. “My twin sister, Shaylynn, went into town to rent a movie for us all to watch tonight. We ain’t got internet. I think she said “Back To The Future” was finally available, or maybe it was “Jurassic Park”. Have you met Joel yet? He’s about your age. He’s always hanging around the bowling alley with them local boys. Don't know what they even have to say to one n' other. It's not like anything ever happens in this town.” Shawna seemed like the nicest out of all of Lizzie’s cousins as she reached out to give her a hug. Phoebe smiled politely saying, "If you don't mind I think I'm going to go for a walk. I think I need some air" while waving a quick goodbye.

When she returned from her walk she opened her journal to page one, and this is when it all began to get very interesting.

My Summer In Bismarck & Other Quirky Observations

by, Phoebe Snow

August 7th, 2015

The horizon seems to encircle this entire small farm as if someone drew with an orange crayon around it like a child would on paper, or perhaps with white chalk on the sidewalk. Everywhere I look it seems flat; and at night the moon hangs so low in the sky with the brightest stars next to it than I think I've ever seen in my fifteen years of life. Lizzie's Aunt, and Uncle, and all her cousins talk funny too. It's like they stretch out their "o's" when they speak. Kind of like hearing a bike tire that's going flat with a pin hole in it. It seems forever for it to finally run out of air; and sometimes you just want it over with as fast as possible. That's how they talk. I'm always finishing their sentences in my head ten minutes ago. These people seem so foreign, and yet I know them like a story.

Journal entry: August 16th, 2015

Marty has come into my room. He is standing in the doorway with  his chest pushed out. He is seventeen, and I am fifteen. I know what he wants by the gleam in his eyes. I won't give it to him.

I got up from my bed, and closed the door on his feet. Silently. I left the scent of coconut oil on my body drift toward him. An invitation; but not yet.
This story is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
WGA - copyright 2015
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Krisselle S. Cosgrove November 27th, 2015

This is the start of a novel. Thank goodness for starts.

— The End —