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Skaidrum Apr 2017
...
I was born into this shadow of beauty we call the American dream, but I was raised in foreign silhouettes. The same exact silhouettes that raised my mother. My first memories were of her forest gods and alpine stories that have taught me how to write spiderwebs into the hearts of the miserable so my words could hold them together. My deadushka's magic could turn monsters into swans with a wink because his love was so contagious. My babushka's, on the other hand, showed me how to howl like darkness so even the wolves would know silence. I was born as spilled as it comes; as ink.  I now understand what tragedies look like at first;  ("Blessings")

As my mother picks her way across a war with me in her arms, the world catcalls that I am a half-blood puppet. The daughter with Russian strings and American footsteps. I arrive in America where I am reminded I belong here, but that was the first lie that my mother ever fed to me. To this day, it still tastes like expired love.

As my father spent all his kindness on me in the earliest years of my life I was given an English tongue and it bullied my Russian one into suicide. That is the only thing my father ever planted in me that he wanted to grow. Those seeds of words I would later bear fruit as ripe poetry.  Those fruit of the novels I will someday write as fiction into flesh. However, what is written beneath our skin doesn't necessarily always fit in our mouths. My father's greatest mistake was beating me into a ghost, but giving me the power to write about his hauntings.  His abuse moves into our house shortly after he realizes I am a tragedy, not a blessing.

As I write myself into the moon one day I will become, I meet a boy who's laughter makes all the planets look dull.  We learn to not walk like apologies, but like young legends. He was my first real taste of sunlight since I was brought here, and he spoke heaven into my eyes until I saw it. We loved each other like Peter Pan and Wendy did; deeply, cluelessly, and forever. Our immortality was a toy in the eyes of those who envied us. Yet he summoned the fires we should have feared as kids, but instead we stared into them and smiled. We were happy, and we were never sorry for that.


April 3rd, 2007. He died. That was the day I was old enough to grow out of a blessing and into the clothes of a tragedy. That was the day the heaven spilled from my eyes like the great flood and went with him. My mother theorizes that is why my eyes aren't as blue as hers anymore. The sounds of bullets hitting bodies today, even ten years later, between then and long ago, has the power to create painful afterimages of him. The post traumatic stress unfastens my blood from my my body and the poetry reacts by shutting me down all at once. Death asks me to write a spiderweb into his own heart, but I refuse.

I adopted grief into my family and he got along with abuse pretty well. To survive, I've left the nostalgia of that boy to hibernate deep in my bones.

Today is April 3rd, 2017.  I stand before a headstone that exists only sometimes in my head. I kneel before it and leave the skeleton of my love like a bouquet of roses. The shadows and silhouettes align, and I hold hands with both of them.

I weep as the odes of "it's not your fault" fall onto my ears like they do every year. From friends, lovers, and family. They mean well. Who knows, maybe someday I will have what it takes to believe them.

But he never grew up, so guilt still ***** it's wings here.


---"Sermons with a colorblind priest."
© Copywrite Skaidrum
Torin Galleshaw Aug 2018
It was perfect before I had a name
I knew she was my wing-ridden angel the very moment my eyes were blessed
she laughs when she wants to cry
and her smile
it only gets deeper
she still holds the pieces of her broken halo...

once again I talk about wolves
because everyone has their problems
yes I do
and I've seen them circling fangs out
when I closed my eyes and made my peace with god
that moment
that moment lasted forever
and ever since I left it I am only trying to get back

yes i do remember when darkness was so constant I forgot about light
yes, I know how it changed me
she was the only beautiful thing I've ever known

Heaven sent me an angel
that's the only way
I wish I was holding her now
I wish I could tell her I love her
maybe I can
once again we talk about wolves
outside its raining
I love the rain
ok
David R Oct 2018
Nag, nagging,
Finger wagging,
Shoulders sagging,
Victim slagging.

Oh beration,
Flagellation,
Irritating
Castigation.

Cutting hemlock,
On her chopping block,
Innuendoes
Spawning ad hoc.

Super-intending,
Condescending,
Never ending,
Insult fending.

Pointless rounds
Of empty double-talk,
Wife, your name is
Self-styled wise hawk.
Thrown together by our meeting in spring,
    the season warmed the earth as I warmed myself to you.
My heart-
a glacier ,
  & the possibility of us trapped together inside.
But you: my anthropologist uncovered us, pulling me from a tundra of loneliness.
In your arms my ice melted, and the emotions I had long since buried,became yours to marvel
Edited by Samantha Neal
Kyle Esplin Jan 2015
Ode to the shower head, so sparkly and fair
Whose warm words seep through her mouth
To encompass my heart and hair
Such unconditional love and caring leaves her lips
I cannot help extend my arm
Just to feel the drips

But if I in her chamber choose to prolong my stay
Icy reproving hits my spine casting me away
Stinging chemicals blind me as I struggle to the door
Having already decided to soon come back for more

Ode to the shower head, losing sleep but it seems
The memories of your embrace are better than my dreams
You wake me in the morning and comfort me at night
Clear my thought and always, help me see the light
Vierra Jul 2013
How can i fight to keep you?
Involved and secure,
it's the inevitable that i can't deal with.
You're with another man
and that's what kills me.
I can't love you the way i do.
I can't think about you the way i do.
The finish line is creeping up,
slow and steadily.
A love so true and pure,
was never able to flourish because of circumstance.
I love you my dear.
If you have to leave i won't stop you
because I love you enough to let you go.
Please just realize that the time we had was special and intimate,
only happening between us.
That moment frozen in time,
is one i will cherish and remember always.
I will compare every love I have to us,
because it is you I will love until I am on my deathbed.
I love you.
Tryst Sep 2018
A lake as still as still — a cloudless sky —
A bird-less forest — silent as the page,
That monk-like sits reflecting for an age
On pious deeds exalted upon high,
The page gilded in wisdom, lauded by
Its maker’s peers, wherein is set the stage
For Nature’s bountied beauty — I give homage
Unto its gifted craftsman, one that I
Have oft’ with envious eyes admired afar,
And matchless to his art, have grasped for skill
Far far above my grade — From him to me
Has come a gift as bright as Keats' Bright Star —
        Unto thy lake, may this stone rend the still,
        And loose thy songbird skywards, Timothy.
To one who inspires us all, in the hope this may inspire thee.
PoserPersona May 27
Better to be Pyramus and Thisbe
than god Apollo and Daphne?
As love oft triumphed by envy.
Oh to be Abelard and Heloise
or Juliet you and Romeo me!
Cleopatra, Marc Antony,
Orpheus, and Eurydice!
Martyrs to Cupid, were you wary
of the price to pay? Did you find peace
from Plato’s coined mental disease
in Pluto’s long halls of Hades
or the self induced daily shade of trees?
What of love dooming kin to Achilles?
When Dido and Aeneas meet
is her suicide guaranteed?
Pray tell us, can true love ever be free!
Michael Aug 2018
The spirit world has spoken
In a dream a consciousness awoken
"Take my hands" says Granny Draughn
They are your hands and will be strong
And the one (of two) feathers you've seen
Is the wisdom gained from where you've been
And where you are going is the second one
It is wisdom to get to a place you've yet come
Rest child you've paid your dues
Wait on tomorrow it'll reveal new clues
to the women I have loved (who longs to be a little girl), and her dreams and odd occurrences about her (3X) great Granny Draughn. It wasn't my intention but the shape of the poem is an arrowhead (LOL); Copyright 2018
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Away, the distant gales bring
The noblest trees to weeping.
Far above the valleys sweeping,
Isolated church-bells ring.

Beyond the brittle urban winds
Of cities never sleeping,
A mute and mournful nightly breezing
Sweeps the moon upon its wings.

Somewhere cold and far away.

Peace is never truly lost
It merely doesn't stay.

Raptured by the valley-frost
Into the veiled sea of grey:
Often gone, but never lost.

Simply weeping

Far away.
A sonnet on silence.
#11 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Daisy Marrow Jun 2018
I've always thought the stars shined brighter
when I was watching them with you.
It was our last night together
so we spent it outside.
Under this August sky,
the stars fell that night.
This was an ode to us
because it was the end of an era.
2017
lifeonLSD Sep 2018
“Thank you for being here”

“Your love is the kind that goes unnoticed rather easily, but is one of the warmest we could ever know.”
a small ode to the sun
Celia Sep 2018
Ode to the Artists
The givers of life
The ones who bring joy
And wondrous strife

Ode to the Poets
The ones who keep giving
The writers with nothing
Who make life worth living

Ode to the Music Makers
Who give melody to all
For life without glorious tune
Would be our downfall

Ode to the Travelers
The ones who devise
They stray far away
And never think twice

Ode to the Dreamers
The ones who make it true
They prove the impossible
To all who need but believe, and do

And Ode to the so-called Wicked
The ones they cast out
Who all know true sorrow
And armed with that, we breakout!

Breakout of convention
Of the daily routines
We make it our mission
To dare and do what we dream

For the ones who are ordinary
Who stay within the lines
They don't achieve anything at all
And live life unalive.
Just a little poem in celebration of us; the poets, dreamers, artists, and music makers. The UNordinary!

Because why fit in when you were born to stand out!
6:43am — A cold July morning
In northern hemisphere.
Early rise with books and coffee,
Her curly hair dishevelled _
Over dolphin patterned blanket.
Her lips gently kissing brown mug cup with undefined time interval,
My index finger cleaned her milk _
Stained upper lip.
Her voice reading softly a poem about sunrise,
My heart heard nothing but audible gold from her mouth.
Her ether's well fashioned larynx —
Gave birth to melodious utterance.
If hearing her reading voice was melody itself
What word will satisfy the art of her
Singing voice?
May Melody be redefined. Her voice is melody.
Skaidrum Feb 2018
iv.

Tell me where to sell
my soul, and I will meet you
there; ode to myself.
Of the haiku series
iv. odes & suicides

© Copywrite Skaidrum
LearnfromBOBD Dec 2018
Prettiful like a pine
Colourful like a wine
Love, I say no decline
For I will be fine
She’s my poem, I’m her poet
My mum knows your name
I can take all the blame
My poetic eagle
My baby boo boo  
Maybe one year today
Or ten days away
Even just one day
I will be able to say
I truly love you
I wrote my mom a letter
I told her I got a princess
If I slit my throat
All I don’t wanna bleed is regret
You my Ode of love
With respect
unnamed Mar 2018
The most important person in my life,
When there is darkness you are my light.
Always there for me, even through our strife.
Keeping me warm, all through the night.
You are my everything, my future bride.
Bringing happiness into my soul.
No more bleak and miserable days,
As long as you are by my side.
Without you, my life would not be whole.
You are my forever and always.
PoserPersona May 2018
'Twas a time I deemed thee love;
  the echoes lacked contraire
Sea moon shadows dance across
  this isle of despair

Entwined flesh eyes doth ne'er perceive,
  outside the mortal's scope
No sole charter giveth passage
  through salty waves unknown

'Tis what I think to see thee there
  on pedestals of gold
Forevermore you place thyself
  on stalwart shores alone

Unfurl thy sails for distant lands;
  the lighthouse shines once more
Praying to gods that long lost ship
  will find its way to port.
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