"overtook" poems
you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
that
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]
kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words
it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
fog
tell me I lied then
or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
except
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?
haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?
if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and ******* you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have
then you don't deserve it
ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
dare
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray
you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will
then all these silly letters
all for you
well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life
anymore
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 6:59 PM UTC
I.
And my hair became too much
It overtook the walls
made its way into the office on the sixth floor
and then hung
like a dripping willow’s branches
over the desks
By the time they thought to find me
I’d already been wrapped up in a cocoon of brown hair
indistinguishable from the walls
that was now
also covered in the thick strands of undulated hair
II.
everything and everyone became consumed.
III.
In hairy chrysalis, the scissors uselessly
hung on some poor frantic pair of hands
forced into pupa
IV.
It was on the third day that the streets surrounding the corporate buildings were once again
populated with people, that a young woman in heels swore she heard a
faint choral singing coming from the 5th or 6th floor of a dreary grey building.
V.
everything cocooned
everyone consumed
all in pupa
VI.
During metamorphosis, a caterpillar digests itself leaving only behind imaginal discs
that shape it’s adult body.
everything becomes consumed.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
Dear God,
I heard so much about you
Until it is burning me in my heart
I want to tell you how I feel, but
I don’t know where to start.
They say that you are the answer
To the way I feel inside
And once I am in you, I will
Have something to be my guide
I picked up the bible that
Had collected dust on the shelf
I decided to read it and find out for myself.
I read about how they nailed your
Precious body to the cross,
And the reason for this; was to
Save that which was lost.
Tears poured from my eyes as
Joy overtook my soul
I found a lot out about you that
I was never told.
I read about Job and
All that he went through
And the three Hebrew boys
That had all faith in you
I just had to write you Jesus
And let you know how I feel
No matter what I am told;
In my heart I believe you are real.
As long as I have your spirit,
I will never be alone
You told me if I hold on,
You would give me a new home.
I am taking you at your word
Because it means a lot to me
The day you died on Calvary,
It was to set me free.
Thank you for bringing me out of the world
And giving me a brand new life
I promise to keep your commandments
And do that which is right
I promise to teach my children
To obey every law
And not let a day go by
Without you being in their thoughts
I have to go now Jesus
And share you with someone else
As much as I want to,
I can’t keep you to myself.
I want to thank you for saving me,
And being my friend
I thank you for your love,
And your grace unto the end.
Love Your
Precious, Precious Child
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Here rests a future
Untouched and eager
for light
Wanting to exude its aromas
of which I neither looked
nor cared.
She handed me the match
fresh, burning bright,
a new sense in my familiar room.
Baffling confusion
overtook as I blew her match
so stubborn
to extinguish
in a faint stream of
smoke still thinning.
Was I
the stubborn?
Subsequent darkness
overtaking
Once a sweet home
Now a paralyzing loneliness.
Match burnt, candle gone
future still…
Will another offer to
light my dark corners
--myself willing,
with a newfound scent?
A day may come
to end my night,
but I only care to see
the one I once hid from.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
For a Child of 1918
My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always
speak to everyone you meet."
We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
And I said it and bowed where I sat.
Then we overtook a boy we knew
with his big pet crow on his shoulder.
"Always offer everyone a ride;
don't forget that when you get older,"
my grandfather said. So *****
climbed up with us, but the crow
gave a "Caw!" and flew off. I was worried.
How would he know where to go?
But he flew a little way at a time
from fence post to fence post, ahead;
and when ***** whistled he answered.
"A fine bird," my grandfather said,
"and he's well brought up. See, he answers
nicely when he's spoken to.
Man or beast, that's good manners.
Be sure that you both always do."
When automobiles went by,
the dust hid the people's faces,
but we shouted "Good day! Good day!
Fine day!" at the top of our voices.
When we came to Hustler Hill,
he said that the mare was tired,
so we all got down and walked,
as our good manners required.
7k
When my father was a boy,
in the County of Tyrone,
His father owned a quarry
and he worked the fields of stone.
My Dad grew lean and hard
As he excavated stone
Yielding granite for stone carvers
And gravel aggregate for roads.
His hands grew strong and powerful
He had a muscular physique
He couldn’t read or write
But no one dared to call him weak.
When my Dad was in his twenties
He was working in the mines
Excavating British coal
at Newcastle on Tynes.
Later on in life
He was living in the “States”
Working in landscaping
on large Gold Coast estates.
When my Dad was in his fifties
He was digging graves by hand.
Once again in Fields of stone
a hard working Union man.
Each morning he’d rise early
And walk two miles to work
He never had an office
And he’d never be a clerk.
He rose to be a foreman
Working in that field of stone
And when darkness overtook him
It became his earthly home.
Now when I go visit him
I kneel and pray alone
Beside his Celtic Cross
standing in the field of stones.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
over-caffeinated like a maj-gician (the electricians of existence), Matilda sang her morning brew a lullaby as she convinced breakfast not to panic from the pain of the frying pan- "sit quietly, take the pain, feel the burn- SIZzle! soon you'll be a human being and begin your life as a synthetic deity free within the skin of metastasized consciousness."
soon the egg seized in pleasure; a masochistic joy overtook it as yoke splurged from within like ****** ***** during ******* when the gimp has forgotten the safety word, screaming
BANANA
NEW YORK
CODE ORANGE
! ! !
while the perpetrator continues to scream verses from the Bible and Leviticus 1:3; an audiotape of On Being and Nothingness sends chills down the dark-sides spine in a hyperreal realization of the role choice plays in evils mortality.
must we listen while we speak? does reciprocity die in egoic colonization of the African subcontinent of the mind? is this the beginning of an age of autism born within the confines of illuminated rectangles of permissible distance and social hell-frozen-over?
man, you weren't even paying attention.
**** you.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
They called it a May December relationship
He was the May, she was the December
20 years was the difference
And no one could see why
What do you see in her they asked him?
But they didn’t know
How her intelligence captivated him
How her beauty overtook him, how her sexuality enthralled him
What do you see in him they asked her?
But they didn’t know
How she grew weak in the knees
When he walked up behind her and whispered in her in ear
They didn’t understand
How she and he hungered for each other
His energy boundless
Her passion endless
They didn’t understand
How well he took care of her
And how well she took care of him
In every was possible
They called it a May December relationship
And they liked to judge
But she knew she loved him, and he knew he loved her
And always they continued as one
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 12:10 PM UTC
Thread knuckles into notches of your spine,
you were mine.
Held down as carotid fought hard,
to keep open your eye.
Staring vivid as clouds overtook.
I can taste you through your musk,
hear the quivering in your thigh.
Stomach acids crawled into your nose,
and petals bloom. Belly aflame,
throat bleat with each beat.
As vision tunneled from expanse
to pinhole spindle of our room.
Bared teeth like a wild animal,
eyes wide with excitement.
If you could breathe a word your smile soon'd fade.
Porcelain comtesse *** undress with maroon'd face.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:36 AM UTC
I used to find myself in the reflection of that water,
And cleans myself of troubled thoughts
At rivers bend , claim name as abandon daughter,
I whispered into every tear my shame and greatest fears,
That after all these years that I had made it clear
That no love was real, and that I should persevere.
To have my heart torn out, torn before me.
I soothed it’s hot wounds in the lapping wake
In the ripples that my teardrops make
Examined as the flesh grew mark,
Record each pain in pink puckered scar.
I used to find myself in the reflection of that water,
Strip bear my inhabitations lay bare to naked skin,
Laugh at indiscretion, death, and fear when I dove in.
Dove down into the waters where silence overtook,
To noise and sleepy slumber of the flowing living brook.
I used to concentrate on beauty and the confidence life took,
And drown my insecurities and grin at boys who looked.
I used to find myself in the reflection of that water,
In the moons bright light astride the bank
when summer nights grew hotter.
I used to let the water pull me to the center of myself,
Let it hold onto me when I was lost to everybody else,
I used to sing it lullaby’s , until I found myself,
Now I’m getting older, they say the waters gotten cold,
And I have gotten harder but that I have gotten bold,
And I know I’m apt at swimming but there are some
Bridges I have known, but sometimes I think of running water
Over my frayed and frazzled soul.
But a storm is coming closer with terror in its clouds,
Hiding in shrouds of chaos , with rain that’s falling down,
It’s tearing away the sandy banks and washed my water out.
It took away some part of me and held it tell it drown.
I wonder what I can see of myself in the wake of all this change,
Now all that’s left to do, is start wading through the pains.
And fallow thoughts that whisper “if I see myself the same”,
And I’ll remember I used to find myself
In the reflection of that water,
How much she cared for me
And how much I was taught there
And how everything has changed.
But I have left my mark there.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
this
poem
started off
intending to be the shortest poem in the world
nay,
more aptly
in the whole wide, wide open uni-verse
but ambition overtook it
and it aimed to stretch far and wide
an Aristotelian hubris, you know
like the ambition of Macbeth
going beyond what Mrs Macbeth intended
and so this ambitious little poem of ours expanded
starting meek as grass
growing zealous
and went beyond itself and its kind
this
poem
that
had such humble beginnings
that dared to want to be the shortest poem in the world
but turned out loquacious
and it could go on, it said,
beating all length, breadth and dimension
and would have -
but it got into convulsions and fits
and shock
when it had gone beyond its shortness
and it couldn’t even spell
couldn't even get words right
floating in a soup of red lines in Word or in Mac’s Pages
and so it took its own life
or someone stabbed it like they did to o’erweening Macbeth
or to our poor, poor misunderstood Rasputin who being a Saint was thought a Devil
but was all humble
as the shortest poem in the uni-verse
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
It was definitely winter time as I trotted thru a foot of snow
My eyes were locked onto the sky;
my self-esteem was low
& yet I made it thru the field where daffodils once swayed
The Cottage laid 100 yards before me in mid-day
It's shutters had all fallen off, & only one remained
It's door was busted, rusted--all swallowed in decay
& yet I forced my entrance & stood in the disarray
(The fact of the matter is, I liked it better this way...)
The arms of the rocking chair were worn down to the bone
As pots & pans & tupperware were splashed around the home
At least a home it used to be but that was long ago....
It seems it's one-time owner was knocked far from his thrown...
The windows were all busted out by rocks that laid the ground
The frost had overtook the place by more than heaps & bounds
It was obvious there'd been no visitors for more than many years
The less than freezing temperatures had made this crystal clear
& as I stood there shivering, thinking of the day
When this sight that laid before me was filled with sun & play
The Cottage was so perfectly constructed in this way
Children had once filled the field where daffodils once swayed
& now I had returned to complete my mission from the start
The plan, unfolding perfectly--The destruction of my heart.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
"May be true what I had heard,
Earth's a howling wilderness
Truculent with fraud and force,"
Said I, strolling through the pastures,
And along the riverside.
Caught among the blackberry vines,
Feeding on the Ethiops sweet,
Pleasant fancies overtook me:
I said, "What influence me preferred
Elect to dreams thus beautiful?"
The vines replied, "And didst thou deem
No wisdom to our berries went?"
3.2k
There overtook me and drew me in
To his down-hill, early-morning stride,
And set me five miles on my road
Better than if he had had me ride,
A man with a swinging bag for load
And half the bag wound round his hand.
We talked like barking above the din
Of water we walked along beside.
And for my telling him where I’d been
And where I lived in mountain land
To be coming home the way I was,
He told me a little about himself.
He came from higher up in the pass
Where the grist of the new-beginning brooks
Is blocks split off the mountain mass—
And hop. eless grist enough it looks
Ever to grind to soil for grass.
(The way it is will do for moss.)
There he had built his stolen shack.
It had to be a stolen shack
Because of the fears of fire and logs
That trouble the sleep of lumber folk:
Visions of half the world burned black
And the sun shrunken yellow in smoke.
We know who when they come to town
Bring berries under the wagon seat,
Or a basket of eggs between their feet;
What this man brought in a cotton sack
Was gum, the gum of the mountain spruce.
He showed me lumps of the scented stuff
Like uncut jewels, dull and rough
It comes to market golden brown;
But turns to pink between the teeth.
I told him this is a pleasant life
To set your breast to the bark of trees
That all your days are dim beneath,
And reaching up with a little knife,
To loose the resin and take it down
And bring it to market when you please
3.1k
my first step cracked the ground like phyllo pastry / alarms pierced through dense air that struggled to reach my lungs / massive acrid pills fell from the darkening sky / inching closer to me with every second / as if the world was demanding for me to swallow them / my body absorbed lightning faster than it could ever charge through the sky / my heart seized with every glance / so I kept my eyes downcast / settling on a strong smooth obsidian / that rested below the ground / tremors overtook my hands / and I leaped onto the stone.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 11:14 AM UTC
The mask comes undone.
Once and for all; the rhinestone covered face breaks. Tiny pieces of glass, falling.
And behind it was a face that no one had seen. One that no one would've imagined.
How could such a beautifully painted smile lie in pieces now?
As this fragile girl stood crying. A wave of sadness overtook the atmosphere. And suddenly they knew her suffering had become too much. They saw the heartbreak in her eyes, and the scars on her body that never healed.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
Our world was built to control us impeding our ability to thrive,
induced into a system designed for wealth, power, and lies.
Most of us end up broken enslaved for what little we have,
the enemy divides our family as we follow another false flag.
A price is paid for not conceding to an affirmation worth repeating,
as our minds are all but defeated our souls are lost in a hidden war.
History repeats itself as we are kept under control,
when we accept defeat, we allow the enemy to grow.
I was a victim just like you as degenerates overtook my home,
life in the wake of calamity, cast on a pile of innocent bones.
I am not the one you want to convene because I question everything,
I am just a voice of honesty who was finally set free.
Who finally broke through the construct of lies,
the lies we were taught to believe in the construct of humanity.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
I caught a glimpse, in the corner of my eye.
My heart told me to love her but my brain still made me lie.
I thought about that lie - "She's not the one for you".
Then I caught me staring, and I knew my heart was true.
I try to let my heart rule now,
my brain's too young to think.
They say that young love's sweetest but
I find that hard to link.
I spent a year in her eyes, but didn't feel it pass.
The feeling overtook me, the feeling went too fast.
Nothing seems to matter now, not with her around,
just a moment in her eyes - I know that fact is sound.
*I think I saw him looking, in the corner of my eye.
I didn't want to look though 'cause I'm worried and I'm shy.
I wonder why he's looking, is it something that I've done?
I think it must be nothing, I think his eyes hit sun.
I wish that he was looking mind,
yet heart's too young to know.
My heart says let me love him
but of course my brain says no.
I spent a second in his eyes, and felt it last forever.
But brain said no and brain means so for brain is much more clever.
My heart keeps fighting, shouting - clawing at my head.
It hurts I know but must be so or something would be said.*
I wish she would say something...
I wish he would say something...
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
it reached a point
where lies came easier
than the truth
and the truth was
that i wasn't a liar
but i would do anything
to save our little world
so i lied and i lied
until my heart scrunched
into an empty hole
and i was left with
trembling hands
and a sour mouth
because the truth was
i wasn't a liar
but when i looked in the mirror
that's all i saw
and it spread
like a rash on my skin
and there were black spots
within
because every lie crawled
under and inside
in the deepest parts of me
they'd grow and they'd grow
like a rash on my skin
***** incantations
were my mantra
lie after lie
i'd look myself in the mirror
and say
you're not a liar
you're only trying to survive
but the rash wasn't a rash
it was a disease which owned me
my mouth opened and closed
what came in and out
i do not know
my mind stopped dictating
the words i spoke
and the disease
taught me all i know
the truth is
i wasn't a liar
it wasn't me
because i was hidden
beneath the surface
of the disease which overtook
the parts of me
i could never touch
i ripped my skin
crying-
*let me out
let me out*
but the liar took over me
and i was stuck
beneath a film of safety
lies which spread like gel
over my surface
i was untouchable
until i couldn't differentiate
between the liar
and myself
and maybe all along
they were one
inside me that voice of truth sung
you are not a liar
but maybe
that was the biggest lie
of them all.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
I sat beneath a willow tree,
Where water falls and calls;
While fancies upon fancies solaced me,
Some true, and some were false.
Who set their heart upon a hope
That never comes to pass,
Droop in the end like fading heliotrope,
The sun's wan looking-glass.
Who set their will upon a whim
Clung to through good and ill,
Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim,
Or hit or miss their will.
All things are vain that wax and wane,
For which we waste our breath;
Love only doth not wane and is not vain,
Love only outlives death.
A singing lark rose toward the sky,
Circling he sang amain;
He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high,
And then he sank again.
A second like a sunlit spark
Flashed singing up his track;
But never overtook that foremost lark,
And songless fluttered back.
A hovering melody of birds
Haunted the air above;
They clearly sang contentment without words,
And youth and joy and love.
O silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Have you no purpose but to shadow me
Beside this rippled spring?
On this first fleeting day of Spring,
For Winter is gone by,
And every bird on every quivering wing
Floats in a sunny sky;
On this first Summer-like soft day,
While sunshine steeps the air,
And every cloud has gat itself away,
And birds sing everywhere.
Have you no purpose in the world
But thus to shadow me
With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled,
O weeping willow tree?
With all your tremulous leaves outspread
Betwixt me and the sun,
While here I loiter on a mossy bed
With half my work undone;
My work undone, that should be done
At once with all my might;
For after the long day and lingering sun
Comes the unworking night.
This day is lapsing on its way,
Is lapsing out of sight;
And after all the chances of the day
Comes the resourceless night.
The weeping-willow shook its head
And stretched its shadow long;
The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red,
The birds forbore a song.
Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves,
The ripple made a moan,
The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves;
And then I felt alone.
I rose to go, and felt the chill,
And shivered as I went;
Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,
What more that willow meant;
That silvery weeping-willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Which spent one long day overshadowing me
Beside a spring in Spring.
2.4k
Letters come & go.
Messages from home: love lost.
Jefferson Davis
& “Honest” Abe Lincoln’s war…
…nothing more than flexing strength.
The sun rises up
above the barren Culp’s Hill
as Ewell kept them
back, & Jackson’s wishes were
lost on Cemetery Hill.
Gettysburg was filled
with mudpits, puddlepits, shitpits
& every kind of
pit. Not any kind that they
wished to see as guns moved up.
The barrage of shells
from the artillery was
never ending, not
unlike this cursed war, all
while brothers & sons were lost.
The second day came
with no signs of stopping, he
packed his gear, grabbed his
rifle, & marched out to the
sound of Charon’s ferrying.
The medic rushes
out onto the battlefield
hesitating not.
His crude instruments flailing
about in his pack, he works.
Medicine, horror,
they were synonyms to him
as he braced the man;
scraping against flesh, he screamed.
This Civil War--hell on Earth.
Sawing off a leg
was much harder than once thought,
the medic then knew.
In the thick of battle, screams
drowned out screams, & drowned out screams.
Bullets whizzed by him
as he cleaned up his patient.
Or was it victim?
These days it all seemed the same:
North, South, free, slave, dead, living.
What once was blue ‘n gray
was now brown & black & red.
Explosions tore up
the land around him as he
cleared his vision & finished.
Out of the brush, fear
overtook the medic as
a man in blue clashed
with a man in gray; blood ‘n sweat
drenched both as life was on balance.
The medic was stunned
& failed to bring himself to
act at first. He shook
himself awake, & grabbed his
knife, & leapt into the fray.
His knife plunged precise
into the blue man’s heart. No
soldier, but knew his
stuff. The gray man thanked him, &
the South fought another day.
All for naught, for on
that third day, Lee ran with his
tail betwixt his legs
all the way to Virginia.
Two years later, all for naught.
July fourth, eighteen
sixty-three, no cheers, no love,
no wins for us folk.
Only them **** Yanks get their love
from home: letters come & go.
Sherman’s March left him
quaking in his boots; gone was
his love. Gone was his
home. Gone were his letters. All
of it gone. Gone with the wind.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
I knew Her as an angel
She is remembered as a ghost
Haunting every memory
with love that now is lost
Her ways were
near to perfect
until the shadows
touched Her soul
The bitter winds
they overtook Her
far more fierce
than She could hold
Now the hauntings
of Our memories
and the tragedy
that did befall
is all that's left
me to remember
of the angel whose
name I once did call
Beauty then to darkness
as the shadows
haunting pause
Reveal a ghost before me
where an angel
there once was
Remembering an angel
when surely She is lost
I turn and focus onward
Righteous vengeance
then my cause.
-R.
(12.16)
-LA
-4MAR
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
i just want to sing
sing and sing
sing my words out loud
my heart is beating
beating for passion
passion that overtook me
passion that controls my mind
i just want to write
write and write
because it's where my passion dwells
i wake up with a new story to write
each day with a new poem
my imagination grows each day
i shine in my little world
a world where a few shine
this passion will forever stay young.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
at two years old,
your curious hands
happened upon a bottle of
flea medicine
that lay waiting on the counter.
your mother was absent as usual,
off on an errand,
or walking the dog.
unwatched,
your enterprising fingers
eased the lid from the container,
and you poured the sweet-smelling
liquid down your throat.
the world was still so new to you,
and it seemed to be made for tasting.
who could blame a child
with a thirst for more than
mushy peas and applesauce?
two days later
they released you from the hospital,
your stomach pumped dry.
when you were six,
idly exploring the woods of your mother’s
sprawling estate,
you paused a moment from imagining
faerie queens flitting about in the greenery
to take rest on a log,
your undiscerning eye not betraying
its secret: within it was a nest
of wasps,
and thinking they were faeries
you dared not move as they
rose in a cloud above your head
and overtook you,
leaving your body peppered with
painful angry sores.
you fell to the ground.
a hired man,
strong and tall as the oak trees,
saw your quick descent and
ventured after you,
made a hammock of his arms
to bear you like a fallen soldier
back to your mother’s house,
his tough sun-leathered skin
immune to the assaults of the
faerie battalion.
at eight,
playing in the small child-sized house
in your aunt’s garden,
you sought to make stained glass
from the broken shards of the playhouse window.
having no tool at hand,
what better way to
shatter the clear, flat plane
than with your fist?
before reason could take hold of you,
you drove your hand
through the glass,
and the raw edges cut deep into your veins.
blood flowed in rivers
from your wrist.
your aunt, ever watchful,
rushed from the house to
stop your body’s catharsis
with a dishcloth.
the jagged unpainted shards
lay forgotten on the ground.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
The sun came up early one day
My eyelids burned with golden glow
I sat up amongst the wagging cat tails
And saw naked ladies by the stream
Their lips were a pale magenta
They had eyes that enraptured me
As I took their waiting hands
I felt skin as gentle as a flower
I swam with them in intimate bliss
The trees hid us from prying eyes
Their laughter filled the spring breeze
Bespelling everything that it touched
Together we drip-dried in the sun
They shared their sweet elixir with me
I drank until my heart was content
And kissed them all before evening came
We parted with sadness, but amiably
My weary limbs grew numb as I walked
Back to my home amongst the cat tails
I felt my insides weep with exhaustion
The aftertaste of their nectar was bitter
I looked back toward the stream in fright
But the beauties had closed their petals
And they lay limp in the night air
My love for them left me as I sank
Into the cat tails that still swayed
I closed my eyes and took my last breath
As eternal slumber overtook me
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 10:44 AM UTC