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Frankie Gestone Mar 2013
He woke up in a rapid sweat, darkness surrounding him, his soaked pillow was pressing up on his neck as he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing cold run right threw his whole body. His mouth was dry and his body was in great pain. He lay there practically naked, but not just physically, also emotionally. It was like a catatonic state where the person’s body is paused in reality, but the actual person is far away and isolated even from himself. He wondered why he was so comfortable being uncomfortable and remaining frozen in time.  He saw nothing but the subtle moonlight that peaked through the blinds of his window. A point of existence, he feels nothing because all he has ever felt has drowned him. His numbness was being accepted and he embraced that if he remained this way, he would never have to feel hurt or heartbreak again. It’s better this way, he confirmed.

Eventually he got up out of his bed, walked outside to a nearby empty field. He looked up at the infinite night sky and contemplated the moon, the stars, and the endless space that sustained all of its existence. A tear fell down his cheek as he remembered the beautiful wonder of life and the universe; his realization that he is just a small spec of dust compared to all that is and all that is wonderful. Whatever happened to that universal happiness he used to feel? The feelings of the unseen, the cosmos, the mysteries that remain unsolved were all love. He then felt ancient and brand new at the same time-always being around all that is, but recently born into the unknown. The silence of the night swarmed him, and he suddenly embraced all the things he could not accept. The lullaby of the wind put him to sleep.

When he awoke, it was twilight. The sky was a lighter, deep blue and the sun in the far distance was rising in a fiery halo of mixed red, orange, and yellow colors, and the early morning clouds were clear and transparent. He heard the sound of a train horn in the far distance. He followed the sound with his ears as the sound became slightly louder and louder. Then, suddenly he could see the light of the early morning train.

The train had stopped as he approached it, and he hopped on with no hesitation or looking back. This runaway train was going to take him to where he needs to be, and he blindly and faithfully accepted that his fate was out of his hands now. No more heartbreak, no more reminders of the past, and most importantly no more drowning in his tears. As the train proceeded to move forward, he could feel fresh air gently touch his face, and all that he saw and ever knew were now flashing lights disappearing into eternity.

It was hours into the late morning when the train made its first stop. He listened to the train conductor speak out over the intercom, almost incoherently, say, “This is Brightstone Park. Next stop will be Riverhead.” A nostalgic feeling suddenly came over him as he could remember that his very first kiss was in Brightstone Park with Jessica Garzi. That was not his first true love, but his very first heartbreak. Riverhead was a forbidden memory, as he knew a classmate who had committed suicide off the Riverhead Bridge. He had not returned there in five years because of his haunting memories that would always come back to remind him just how cold and frightening the world really is.

While lost in thought, he felt a rough, sand paper-like wet feeling on his forearm. He looked down and it was a black cat, but not all black. The paws were all white like socks, and the chest and stomach were snow white. The loud prominent purr was a very peculiar reminder of a cat he once owned. Her name was Midnight. She was not the friendliest cat to strangers, but she loved him, especially when he massaged her paws. This cat was practically identical to Midnight. Midnight was put down three years ago though. As he began petting the cat’s back, it ran away and jumped off the moving train. He looked out in a hurry, but it was gone. It was just like everything else he loved. There for one moment, then gone the next. The strange thought that has one wondering if anything had actually existed that is now no more. A person, or a thing, could mean everything to you, but once they slip away, they become like the wind: occasionally brushing up against you, but never revealing its form.

On the train he began to wonder how he got where he was, and in general how the smallest decisions he made lead to bigger events and all in all, everything was all connected. There are no isolated events, or isolated people- it is all proven fact and science. Everything depends on each other to survive. The trees depend on the sun to keep themselves alive; we give off carbon dioxide to the trees and in return, we receive the oxygen we need from the leaves of the trees. He thought about the potential of a seed-for example, a tomato seed. Within that tiny seed is unlimited potential of life: The seed may produce one plant of several tomatoes, and within all those tomatoes are countless other seeds. This is all from one seed. Then, one may take a couple of seeds from a picked tomato and plant them throughout the yard creating a garden. That original seed came from another tomato seed inside a tomato on a plant, and that seed came from another seed. When did this cycle of reproduction begin and when does it end? Is it just another form of the infinite? When a person eats a tomato from that original seed, he receives certain essential vitamins his body needs for surviving and sustaining good health. This good health will effect his offspring and so on and so on. When he defecates, that will all return to the earth for potential fertilizer used for other tomato seeds. This is the same when he returns to the earth again. His dust will fertilize the same world that he came from, for all things come from it just to inevitably return to it.

He continued to think about how matter is never created nor destroyed and the same for energy. Nothing ever truly dies; the form changes into something new, like how water becomes a cloud and the cloud becomes water. Though this comforted him, he noticed that a few feet away from him was a former coworker and friend, Natasha Karev. She always infatuated him and they became close friends, but he always wished it had continued and gone even further than it did. One night, only a couple of years ago, they were at a friend’s party. Both were drinking, but not so heavily. That night they bonded and got so close, that she admitted she loved him. He was never quite sure how real that “I love you” was, but it was burned inside his heart ever since. That night there were moments she would tell him how much she wanted to make love to another guy at the party, Kevin, but was afraid to approach him. She told him she desperately wanted to lose her virginity that night to somebody because she was eighteen and only getting older. This was like a sharp knife slowly penetrating into his heart. He remained speechless for quite a few minutes. Finally he decided to go up in a bedroom alone. To his surprise, she followed him up and kissed him. He felt her clothed body up and down, and she touched areas not many have touched before. She told him she wanted to have *** and that she wanted him to rob her of her virginity. He was speechless, but extremely excited. Then, abruptly, she told him she could not because everything was happening way too soon. Why couldn’t she just make up her mind? He sat frustrated in the darkness, again, all alone. After that night, they spoke and remained close, yet that night was never mentioned again. It was as if it had never happened. After about two years of an on and off friendship, they just went their own ways. There were no fights or disagreements. Life just separated them.

“You’re just a figment inside somebody’s dream. So far from reality, you are a dream within a dream within a dream.” Startled by this soft voice, he quickly turned around to see Natasha smiling at him. “Ha-ha! I knew I could scare you. Were you abused as a kid, or something?” No words could come out at that moment, but he hugged her tightly. She explained to him that she is getting off at the next stop to meet a friend. He was sure he wanted to follow her and see where life would take him. She reminisced and told him how she had been away inside her own cave for several months, but is now very happy to meet up with everyone she had lost contact with.

The next stop arrived, but he did not catch the name of the stop he was getting off. As he got off with several others, both he and Natasha met up with her friend, Valeria, who he found quite cute. She resembled Natasha a bit in that they both had ***** blonde hair and blue eyes. They walked right into a giant street fair with a crowd of people looking at the foods and desserts, the trendy clothes, cheap jewelry, and children play rides.

As he looked around, he began seeing many familiar faces. He saw Kevin, a childhood and grammar school mate there with another co-worker of his, Jenny. Jenny was a Colombian beauty in his eyes and who was a flirt and tease to him, but never actually gave him any time alone. Incidentally, he knew both of them at different times in his life and had no idea they knew of each other. Kevin stopped contacting him during high school without any arguments or disloyalties that would tear a friendship apart. Keeping his head down, he walked a few feet to discover another childhood best friend, Jack, who was with a mutual childhood friend, Melanie. Melanie was a best friend of his and also a first childhood crush who also had a crush on him. He thought it was odd because even though Melanie and Jack were also best friends, Melanie never liked Jack in a special boy/girl way. He felt a moment of heartbreak, but quickly turned away and kept walking. A little further up the road, he saw two more childhood friends, Chris and Jimmy, who as children did not get along that well and only hung out with each other in the company of him. How peculiar it was suddenly seeing them together after ten years, and as seemingly best of friends.

That was not all. Things were getting stranger and stranger. It was like all the people who had made an imprint on his life were now coming together around him. He saw his two therapists, one he had gone to as a teenager and the other as a young adult, stand next to each other selling prescription drug samples. Both stared at him with a blank face, but with a prominent smile. He could barely nod at them. Natasha directed them to a local bar. Inside the bar was huge and also had a second floor. He noticed the music playing in the background was, Nocturne In E Flat Major, Op.9 No.2, by Polish born Romantic composer, Frederic Chopin. He became fixated on the elegant eighth note, left hand arpeggios, and the sweet and peaceful fast moving seven, eleven, twenty, and twenty-two notes from the right hand. If he thought about the most beautiful song ever written and all that is wonderful in one, this was the song.

They all took a seat and began looking at people and laughing at their behavior. Everyone was wearing masks. Social masks. They observed how different people act when they are in social gatherings, and how if you carefully study their body language, it will become clear that what they are saying and trying to put out is not what is actually being expressed through the body. One young man was frantically shaking his right leg as he tried to flirt confidently with a young woman he had just recently met. His face began to turn noticeably red, in an embarrassed flush, and he was making sudden hand gestures and quick eye blinking. She, on the other hand, pretended to be interested in what he was saying; yet her eyes would often look around the room and her body was a good distance from him with her arms folded.

Then as they were all laughing, he abruptly stopped and looked ahead to see two drunken women making out two tables away from them. As his eyes focused in on them, he realized they were two of his former crushes, Claire and Veronica, who he had no idea knew of each other because in fact, they were from different time periods of his life. He began seeing former teachers and professors from each stage of his school career, laughing hysterically with one another. Some of his most inspiring teachers and professors were gathered with other teachers and professors he despised. A young, tattooed hipster woman entered the scenery with a little Cairn Terrier that had an uncanny resemblance to his recently passed dog, Petey, who was put to sleep when he was away on a vacation, unexpectedly. His sorrow began to overwhelm him for not being able to say good-bye and see him for a proper last time. Everything about the dog’s high energy, playfulness, and watchdog attitude was exactly like Petey. A tear ran and fell off his cheek from his left eye right into the hand of Natasha. He looked up at her and she said, “Your tears are my tears. For what pain you withhold, I take and share with you.” She then wiped her right eye with the hand that held his tear. Natasha’s friend began to speak slowly into his left ear in Russian. Though he could not understand a word she was saying, it sounded just like a poem based on the pattern and rhythm’s consistency. It made him feel free of melancholy, but then thought of Angela Antonaci entered his mind.

He thought that the last painful experience ended with the break up of his closest best friend ever to play a part in his life. She was his girlfriend for the last three and a half years. They had known each other for ten years before they broke up their entire relationship. She was thirteen and he was fifteen when they first met in a park. She was always all over him like a little schoolgirl and he would often get frustrated with her obsession over him, for he believed he was no big deal. She was the first person to ever make him feel special and important, and even though he would resent her likeness towards him, he could never keep his eyes off of her or stop himself from always coming to her when he felt lonely. After about seven years, he realized he was in love with her. He had always been in love with her from the first time they met eyes. His long road had always lead back to her home in life. Every time he tried forgetting her and moving on, they would meet again. That person people search their entire lives for, he had found.

He rose out of his seat and briefly said goodbye to Natasha and her friend and went upstairs. He wanted time to be alone and walk around until he suddenly saw Jessica walking towards him. He stopped and waited for her to say hello, but she walked right by him, as if he had never existed. He felt a little insulted, yet relieved as any awkwardness that would arise was avoided. Looking ahead, he saw Angela’s two best friends, Kate and Julie, with her high school crush, John. John was playing an acoustic guitar on a lounge chair, singing to the two friends, almost enticing them with his eyes and voice. His jealousy overcame him, as Angela had been infatuated with him on and off even though he had played with her feelings throughout high school and college. John would tell her he loved her and make her believe he was a romantic, then when she fell into his words, he would leave her and keep a distance for long periods of time, leaving her in despair.

The conclusion occurred to him that maybe she was nearby. He searched throughout the entire bar not finding any other clues that she was around. When he went downstairs, he saw Natasha and her friend asleep, as well as most of the bar, except for the bartender. It was like everyone just passed out from the alcohol or possibly inhaled some type of knockout drug. The bartender was watching the news forecast of a tornado watch and dangerous thunderstorms. The bartender looked at him and said, “It’s better if you stay in here. It’s dangerous out there. I recommend you don’t go out!” He just listened, but decided to leave to the outside anyway.

He walked three blocks through the heavy rain and strong winds. He took a moment to stop and look at the black and gray clouds above him. As he looked across the street, he saw her. She was with her mother, sister, and mutual friends of theirs, Chrystal and Mike. He also saw behind them, his own mother and sister. He ran across the street to her and she shockingly with excitement screamed, “Hey!!! Oh my God!! Please stay with us. I missed you so much. You have no idea. We have to get to a shelter away from this storm. Hold my hand…” Smiling, he kept walking with them. They walked for twenty minutes and entered a giant field. After ten minutes of walking restlessly through the field, they all stopped to catch their breath. Angela’s mom ordered everyone to hold one another’s hand. An enormous gust of wind pushed them all to the grassy ground. He began to shake violently as he felt the touch of death nearby. He wondered if this would be the end, as he felt unaccomplished and left with so much left unsaid to her. Thoughts raced through his mind like a speeding highway about how to get to safety. Unable to control and remain focused on one rational thought at a time, he blacked out for a minute.

Then there he was right in the middle of a storm. In so many ways, he realized where he was ending was where he originally began. All the imprints from all he ever knew came back all at once to watch him finally leave all he ever knew from this life. And in the last moments, he found himself with her. He held her hand, while she held his, and the hands of their family and friends. The world was so dark and cold. The wind became much more rapid and an enormous bright light from it came within just miles of them. He kept looking up at the dark black and gray clouds over them, never as frightened as he was now. His focus was on the great strength of the wind. Whatever melancholic thoughts he had of his life, he would not give up hope. Maybe he was just hopelessly hopeful, but holding each other tightly might, in some miraculous way, save them. Then suddenly a deep peace began to sustain his very being. He remembered whose hand he was holding- the only woman to ever understand every level of his being. He looked down at her big, precious eyes pouring out tears. Their eyes locked, as she had been watching him the entire time. No words needed to be said from one another. They knew exactly what they felt and meant. For the first time in his life, everything was all okay. All was beautiful. The whole situation was beautiful, not tragic. In that moment, he understood this was where he was meant to be. This was where he wanted to be, for only in such a life altering moment does one comprehend the very nature of love and life. To just glance into her eyes and see the same person staring back in suspense, while all he ever knew was being born, growing, and dying simultaneously in complete acceptance. They began to fade and disappeared into the light.
The Terry Tree Aug 2014
Spirit Dolphin

To be in tune in natures light
To be in touch and resonate
Intelligent communicate
Heartbeats of love and breath of life

Superior to human sight
Your sound waves and reverberates
To be in tune in natures light
To be in touch and resonate

You touch the stars and elevate
Our spirits to become alight
Giving us freedom to ignite
Centers begin to emanate
To be in tune in natures light

Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
You teach us how to breathe with care
Oceanic friend, solar flare
Communicating our monsoon

Teaching in us how to commune
Opening our minds to beware
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon
You teach us how to breathe with care

Your innocence rests like lagoon
On the surface emotions bare
Vulnerability is there
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon

A good omen to protect us
Saving the lives of so many
Selfless creature giving plenty
From outer space some do discuss

To touch you frees us from raucous
To ride with you fulfills empty
A good omen to protect us
Saving the lives of so many

With you we find our playfulness
Self-confidence more than any
Never to lose our assembly
Connect us all with inner trust
A good omen to protect us

Helping others finding our truth
To be One Universally
What might seem strange is certainly
A reflection upon our youth

Make bright our eyes with wisdom's root
Free from shame inadvertently
Helping others finding our truth
To be One Universally

Though we may taste forbidden fruit
What we will learn so artfully
Forgives our aches so perfectly
Flipping through curious pursuit
Helping others finding our truth

© tHE tERRY tREE
Poetic Form | Rondel
Tea Dec 2013
I start to answer her question,
She seems taken aback.
I rattle off my list.
“Witty comments,
An easy found laughter…
I like competitiveness
That’s wraps itself around playfulness,
Like I want to wrap myself around
His big found epiphanies.
Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and
Good intuition.
A quick reaction time, helping you step away
Before **** has had time to hit the fan.
Eagerness to help other human beings…
Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people
Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed.
Awareness of one’s self.
a knack for insightful observing.”
These a list of things I find attractive
But yes he also has a nice jaw line
It traces lovely underneath a finger tip
But it’s a faraway line on a map
That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts
It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s
It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful
That I hardly understand how out of all of it
That was the only thing you really responded to.
The only part of the map you related enough to
To point to and say I have been there.
berry Oct 2013
for my mother*

the lioness is both a fierce protector
and a gentle nurturer

nothing escapes the gaze of her amber eyes
but she seldom feels the need to roar

she hunts with unmatched precision
but still has the patience to teach, and work with others

she understands her role in her pride
but is never proud

she possesses unparalleled strength
as well as the wisdom to know when to use it

she won't  hesitate to grab her cub by the scruff of its neck
to keep it out of harms way

she is more than capable of working alone
but understands the importance of community

she never loses her spirit of playfulness
and her primary habitat is in the grasslands of Africa

but there are some things about the lioness
that you can't learn about by reading

she will wait up for you, when you're out past curfew
just to make sure that you get home safely

she will always be a listening ear
but she will never judge you

she loves others without condition
but knows better than to feel before she thinks

she will encourage you ceaselessly
and tell you you're more than good enough

this lioness, of which i speak
has not claws, nor tail, nor fangs, nor paws

but she is far more powerful
than any jungle cat could ever hope to be

- m.f.
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
Mom should’ve been here by now. I sat on my frilly blue and purple polka-dotted bed waiting for the knock on the door telling me mom found my dress. Finally, it raps on my door. “Mom! Did you find it?” My eyes widen as the silky blue sways in her arms, it’s beauty sings as a caged bird let free. I gasp in admiration. “I-It’s wonderful!” I pick it up and it glides down into a perfect fit.  “I’m glad you love it. Come down after you finish getting ready.” The door thuds after her. Looking across the room I note my honey brown hair that curls into pigtails. Restraining the squeal that is caught in my throat, I travel the length of my room to the mirror.

     The mirror sits on an antique dresser that my mom found at a garage sale. At first I didn’t care much for the ancient wooden junk that is at least half a century old. Now the gold-tinted metal gleams with pride once again. Rusty gems were in carved into an arc surrounding the mystic glass. “Lydia! Can you go upstairs and get that box down for me?” Mom’s request interfered with my thoughts. … Go in that dusty attic? “Sure mom!”

       Out the door and into the hallway stood a door like any other in our house. It squeaked open as eerily as what you’d expect in a haunted house. ‘A box, a box’ than out of the side of my vision I thought I saw motion. I shook it off as just being a spider or mouse. Soon my footsteps lead me to come across a dresser and mirror identical to the one in my room. It was cluttered with cobwebs and spiders. “Not very well taken care of, are you?” I muttered the joke. I looked into the mirror expecting to see a light blue dress covered in dust and sparkly silk material, but there was no reflection at all. I looked even closer at the mirror, before realizing, there was no mirror at all.

     I looked around until I found it behind the dresser, sitting on the ground. I touched one of the gems that surprisingly glowed despite the rust. Something shone until I was blinded. A tingle ran through the hand that brushed the mirror’s gem and flew through my arm until it encompassed me, racing into my every feeling until I couldn’t feel anything. My eyes shut and refused to open themselves.


     A gentle breeze grasped my hair, as music descended from the air. I could smell what seemed to be a banquet of some kind, mixed with perfume. Slowly my eyes lifted their veil to lock with waves pounding against a brick wall. I was looking down from a balcony into the erupting sea. The white brick-made balcony was large and lonely even with the brush of people walking by. I hid behind the rose-red curtains to look around. People danced and talked. Some ate. The music paved the trail for their feet to follow, all very gracefully. The men wore suits that tails drip to their knees. Their white shirts buried under sashes of gold, red, or blue. Sometimes holding medallions, some only dressed in ties. The woman wore Victorian dresses of every color and shade. Frilled hats with flowers were arranged on their heads.

     Wait, I’m not supposed to be here. I was in the attic, going to the café with mom. What was I doing? My head ached from the effort to recall my actions. Why can’t I remember? I stumble backward only to reach the balcony’s edge. Where is this anyway?

      I dive back into the curtain to search for my answer. The softness of the curtain was a rose pushed to my nose. I peeked through the small gap to find a page carting some clothes past my hiding spot. I sneaked next to the cart being wheeled into a doorway, planning to find a way out. I lost the page and walked around until I went through an archway door. The cool air spiraled against my silk-trapped skin. The scent of flowers bloomed around me. I found the garden labyrinth.

     Walking through the maze’s hedges I arrive at a beautiful fountain displaying crystal clear pouring waters. Everywhere I gazed, flowers embraced the greenery. My breath deprived my lungs of air as I took in the sight. It was so magnificent under the light of the full moon. A few lamps lighted a sidewalk path maneuvering along the hedges. I circled the fountain, taking in the surroundings. My silk dress was shining in the dim glow. The sceneries beauty entranced me.






     I didn’t see a shadow before me, and almost fell to the ground. In a graceful swoop an arm latched around my waist to pull me to my feet. “Be careful to look where you’re going, please my lady.” He bowed his head while his slim rimmed glasses started to fall off of his face, suddenly he looked up at me; sliding them back on with a slight wave of a finger. “That garb isn’t from around here.” He noted my sky blue dress with interest. I’m not even sure where I am. “I seem a bit lost. Will you help me?” he stares at me closer, a deeper curiosity shines in his green eyes, daintily brushed by his dark hair. “My dear, if it brings you comfort to know, we are in London at the Buckingham palace.”

      I gasped; London was so far away from New York. It’s across seas. I gulped at my next question as sweat pricked the nape of my neck, “What’s todays date?” His eyes sparkled at the question. “Why, it is June 28, of 1838. The entire castle is bustling at these very words. It’s a day to remember. Now my dear, I must take my leave and see to the ballroom. Farewell.” He bowed, than turned to leave. His slow stride seemed like a dance all on it’s own. My gaze was caught on his figure following the foot trail until he had disappeared. I sighed at my first encounter with someone in this grand place. The Buckingham Palace, in 1838. …1838!! That can’t be right, it’s 2014. Then the shock hit me as if bricks fell from the castle onto my forehead; the clothes, the language, the pages, and royalty. This couldn’t be London in present Great Britain.

    I circle the garden once more before I decide to go back inside. The young noble had realized my clothes didn’t belong here, probably anyone who sees me would recognize this too. I start off towards the footpath. The melodic rhythm still swirled in the breeze. Than for a second I thought I heard a footstep. My head twists back only to see a shadow move. The cool air now seems icy. Multiple possible things to say to the night air gallop through my mind. “ Such a lovely night,” is the one I decide on. From behind me a few feet back I imagine a sigh. No, not imagined, but actually there. It’s too real. I turn on my heels just to catch a glimpse of a black cape caught in the wind, as it’s master floats into the open. “My, It is lovely. However, I didn’t realize such a strangely dressed commoner as you could enter this palace.” His smirk shows sarcasm as easily as his eyes. “I never intended to visit a palace, even less in London.” My honest answer only has him conceal his laugh.




     “I’m sure you didn’t. Yet, your dressed for a fine occasion.” His hand reaches for mine. I pull away from the willowy figured glove. “Why not allow me this dance in the garden?” I back away, aware that his voice is too prescient and I should be careful. “Are you going to be wary of me?” his gaze turned pained, his blue eyes that were once full of playfulness now melted into hurt. I unintentionally reach out for his gloved hand. His laugh echoes past the foliage. “Such a naïve girl.” Dread decided that this nobleman should be avoided at all costs. I ran towards the palace. “And so the chase begins.” He snickers and rushes after me.


     I pass through the archways, glancing back now and again to find the caped captor flying along my tracks. If only there was some way to lose him. I ducked into the nearest doorway. At the far end of the hall I could see a door with a sign saying, “Dressing room”. I flung myself under a table and tablecloth to hide myself as my pursuer rounded the corner into the hall. I tucked my head between my knees and waited for his footsteps to fade. The warm place that held me trapped was close and too easily discoverable. I held my breath and tried to sink into the darkness. I’m not here. No one can find me.

     After enough time flew by to ensure my safety, I crawled out from under the table. The cloth draped over my head. I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a smirking smile, and haughty eyes. A girl stares down at me. She’s at least ten years old. “Shhh.” I press my finger to my lips and gently smile at her as if we’re keeping a secret between us. She giggles, copies the motion to her own mouth, than delightfully skips away. I let out a sigh and stand up. I follow the hall to the dressing room. The door creaks open and I look around once more, startled by the sudden noise.

     I sneak inside hoping find that the room is abandoned. In the darkly lit room, only my footsteps sound. As far as I can tell, no one has entered lately. I walk over to the carts of clothes and run my hand over the first one on the stack. It’s a ruby-red dress with fine material and some gems similar to those in the mirror. … The mirror. Not in my room, but the attic. My head hurts again, but I know I touched its gem before winding up here. How? I look through the dresses until I find a light blue and white one. The bowed sleeves come down to my elbow with frills encasing the bottom. The neckline forms a squared area of similar white frills. A small white sash acts as a belt that drops into the skirt of the dress. Two similar white ones come down each side. I pick up the light material and set it near my feet.
      My old silk dress easily slips overhead, making way for the new clothing. After tugging tight sleeves and bodices into place the light dress swoops over my feet. I spin through the dark room only to stop at catching someone’s eye. I immediately turn towards the frozen face. It is my own reflection in a mirror. I face myself as my sight settles on the dress I wear. My honey brown hair curled over the dress from my pigtails. My eyes sparkled it’s matching blue to the dress. In the corner of the room, next to the mirror, sat a large wooden box. I looked through it to find that it was full of jewelry and accessories. I prodded its contents until I found sky blue bows to wrap in my pigtails.

     I walked into the open hallway, now littered with people going to and fro. Anyone from passerby’s, young nobility, servants, and pages. Once the hall emptied I fled the room, hurrying through the corridors until I met with the room that created the harmonious trance. At the ends of the great ballroom sat crowds eating and laughing. Clusters of on-goers danced and chatted. In the middle of the farthest side of the room sat a throne that was embroidered with metal marks from centuries of legends. On the throne sat a woman at least eighteen of age. Her regal crown shone despite other attractions surrounding the dance room. A page strode over to her as she flourished her hand for his service. He stood and listened intently to her whispers. Finally, he stood and roared for the room’s attention. From his mouth spilled cheer and wistfulness, as he demanded the crowd’s ear. “Our young Queen Victoria’s coronation has completed. Now starts a new era! Let the celebration proceed.” The room reverberated with hope, love, and admiration for their new ruler.

     ‘Queen Victoria has been crowned’ having no clue how to find a way home, I disconsolately decide to join in the festivities. The crowd moves into a larger room. I stagger after them; the mass pushing everyone forward. We pass the kitchens. The aroma of cakes and deserts of every kind rises into the cool night air. The only smell more perceptible than delicate delights is the perfume penetrating the entire castle. We enter a by far more spacious ballroom. Empty amphitheater seats loom overhead, tied into the walls for onlookers to watch the ball unravel. Once again I glance at these to notice black material hangs over the edge. A head moves as people fill the seats. A nobleman with a black cape and familiar blue eyes takes their seat next to men and woman of high status. I walk into the mop to hide myself, while watching him. He laughs and chats with them as if he’s known them all his life.


      Unable to watch where I’m going, I trip. The harsh, solid ground hits my knee as if I’ve met a tornado. I wince at the pain as I strain myself to stand. A firm, but careful hand grabs mine. I look up into green eyes shaded by recognizable glasses. “My dear, you are very clumsy.” He smiles at me as I pat my dress back into place. “I see we’ve met again.” My response comes weakly as the sore from my knee makes me flinch. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” I inquire. “You have not requested my name, so I haven’t told it. However, if you do me the honor of a dance, my secret may be leaked.”  He bowed and offered me his arm, as I timidly accept it.

     A new song disrupts the last, as new pairs take the stage. He walks me onto the floor, and diligently starts to dance. I watch my feet, not wanting to mistake my pace. “Lift your chin, my dear. You don’t seem to but much of a church-bell.” I looked up at him puzzled. “Church-bell?” As he tried to conceal a grin, his glasses couldn’t suppress the laughter in his eyes. “Your rather quiet. And most likely not from around London, are you?” I looked to the ground once more. Should I tell him or not? Will it start problems, or will I be okay? “It’s fine, I shall not expect you to answer a question you wish not to.” I looked up at him, solemnly. “I promised to introduce myself, correct?” I nodded, as the music that echoed around us faded into the next song.

      His movements were so fluid; he was a wave at the end of the day, flowing into the sunset. “Miss, I am known by most as William Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He procured my sweaty palm into his, tenderly swiping his mouth to my fingers. I let my hand be brought back into the dance as I searched for words to speak. Once the dance ended a few moments later, I curtsey and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you. I am Lydia Olsen.” At my gesture he bows, and requests once more, “Am I trustworthy enough to understand why you are in a mysterious place you don’t understand?” My answer had been decided and started to splatter from my mouth. “Y…”









     The next sound bounces along the room, it’s symphony starting. My words mix into the noise. In my vision of the seats above, snowy dots shoot arrows in my direction. Blue eyes gaze down at me, their iciness piercing me as icicles prickle my skin. I exchange a glance with William, nod and answer, “You are. I’ll explain.” My discomfort is surely recognizable. I often peek over my shoulder above as we dance. The shadow with a glare starts his voyage through the seats to reach the stairs that pillar into the wall. He descends from the tower, only adding to my panic. My hand seizes Williams, as I give him an apologetic smile. We hurry from the room, stumbling over each other’s feet. His graceful prance, now a faltering wreak.

     Once we are outside the ballroom, I turn towards him. “I trust you, so please understand, I live In the USA in 2014. Not London, not Even in the 1800’s.” His expression is masked, but I’m sure that I’ve confused him. “I went back into time, from the future.” The simple words struck a chord with him, his glasses tilted off his nose as he listens intently. “The future? How?” even I don’t know how to answer such questions. “I’m not sure. I was in the attic with a mirror, than … ****! I’m here.” Confusion once again wonders onto his face. “I went into a storage room with old things, and found a mirror, touched a gem, now I was here.”

     “I see, but why did we run away from the celebration? I was looking forward to another dance with you.” His casual smile does nothing to conceal unasked questions. I’m not sure how to answer them ei
murari sinha Sep 2010
hereunder is served some poetry pouches full of love,
dear reader, stir them as you like,
if you wish you may crack them to pour into mouth,
you may smear them on your body
or you may sprinkle them on the ground
and then chant the name of god
with love and enjoyment

1.
the simplicity that rolls down
from the body of the sweet-meat
made by my mother

let it brings light
to our radish-red love-story

to hear or to notice
love
does not need
putting an ear on the wall
of the wall-street journal

the bottle could be filled
from the voice

when you go to fill the bottle
you would see that everywhere
the arrangement of picnic is ready

when i want to take part in that feast
my neighbours would drive me towards
the home  

although i’ve spent all my life
running behind the love

2.
who’s won the muddy-battle
was yesterday’s politics

my addiction is actually to cater
the pouch of love
to develop all vitamins
and all bathrooms

people say you don’t love
the claps of the rats

yet i’ll come down
from the branch of a guava-tree
as a wave-of-shopping-mall
to the lake of your love

now i’ll jump out
from this computer screen
to register a kiss
on your lips

don't miss to applaud
by clapping the hands


3.
the heart is half-sunk
in the window

to some extent
in the lipstick too

on the dinner-plate
there is the feelings of the lord

that means
i’ve to be burnt more
i do agree

i would become
the sculpture of khajuraho

this happenings may have been
the right search for love

on either-side of which  
a green is being worked out
by the nostalgic-cycle

whose colour-texture is very much harappa
which has too many geometric-memories

4.
an undertone is speaking
from within the solitude

now i’m in very much
distress

or i’m in love

i don’t know my love is what-for
may be that’s an arrangement only

so easily are those interactions
stitched with words

strenuous or effortless
in flight
initiated
with seclusion

but when in the sinking of the playfulness
i  write the games of the street-charmers


the birds again and again
pierce the archery

thus becoming ashes
through travelling

in time-gaps still
the audacity to compose poems
on you

5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love

or i do love to think
that i’m loving

and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love

my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less

6.
in course of burning
i look around

the chilly-plant  in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies

oh-** how sweet they are

it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death

no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf

now easily some words
can be written
on you

i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem


7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another

there is the far-off
whispering

at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly

i notice her
for the first time in six weeks  

the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence

within our skull
there is the love

or the midnight of the orion

the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties

those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling

the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses

would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper

in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if  a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain

within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time

had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger

9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself

whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die

rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look

beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues

beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be

is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra  
tell me

i would now make love
with that idea from you

10.
the  apparent golden *** that i thought
to be the underneath of a kadam-tree

in the dim light i can notice that
the stars in the sky are disappearing  

this session of poetry
is coming to an end

now where would i
go

to that little home

the home
a tiny word of 4 letters

within that home
the children are giggling
playing … and making funs

when i entered
with a tri-cycle in hand
for them

i have been perplexed
many old persons are waiting there
to shake hands with me

10.
almost most of my desires  
are very much hurt

to show it publicly
i wrap bandages
around all over my body

i keep on the stage-drama  

in our programme of reading poetry
tea is served twice
current has gone off for three times
for four times the mobiles ring

to pick up love  
some people think about returning back
from today’s dais to the ancient stage
of performing folk-drama

then they are also sympathetic
to my sufferings

12.
everyday
on my way to return home from the school
when my mom took hold of my hands

i could see in my body
the dancing of an unforgettable
aura

even now that mystical halo is walking
on the leaves of the trees
to fulfil my mornings

that wayfaring along the road
is ringing far and far-off

thus taking bath in every day’s  
dust smoke hue and cry

many such love
gradually gets aged

is it true
in the long run
i too
would be the ingredient
of a fairy-tale

just because i love
that paddy field

some time later
she will also become
human

13.
then she will make all of us  
join her walking

those inmost feeling
those memories meditations

the loneliness  and solitude…

sans the touch of the imagination of
a crater…
a creator…

this blunder…
this socially outcast white …

this type of uneven…
and irrelevance…

sume words
when peep in the mind
i surprise to see that
it’s ten to 2 at night

then in the balcony
my father is crying

he always notices some grave-yard men
in front of him

and sheds tears  

14.
after the dry leaves of the winter
fall in innumerable drops
the spring comes

the cover-face of spring means
a note-book of the rain-tree
letting float in the sun-water

and mr harry says that
this question of change
is a major pull

because all the unreal talks
you are delivering one by one

to keep pace with it
the ambulance comes at 10am
with a stale dead-body

in it’s shirt
is written the spelling of myself

i then sat on the grey volume
of the college-campus

in the front
a beggar from the war of waterloo
is passing by

over the dust of myself
with a faster pace
blowing is the thoughts of

ataraxia  
in the air… and air… and air…
    

15.

if your wishes colour silver
then do return back to the x-mass dancing
of the autumn

sound of whose far-off hoof-steps
digging so much soil of
story-weeds

i went into the nail-polish
with the proof of tea-cup
in my hand

there in the midst of lot of snow-flakes
and in the bed soft with the light of the candle
is now that honey-name more tarnished

now the atomic-howling
does not follow the rules of nature

so the rain-tree that seeks a-field-more-sky
with the hope to become king after the sun-rise

so that king is now waiting
in the grocer’s shop
at a stretch  for an hour

16.
does her well-wisher esse then thinks
to escape from the love-making whirl-wind

on the dry branches of the axis power
the new generation of the birds

rather stop a while there silently and listen
which song is hidden in the bronze-buddha

or in the school of the terracotta-horse

i’m now opening the coating
of the night-enamel to read this home

and behind the coo of dove
is smiling

the god of the penalty-kick

17.
sitting on an orange-coloured balcony
in an outsider lane
the green is writing poems
  
better than the face-powder

from this side all long the famine
i’m the priest of the
agro-based civilisation

still-then i think
why so much light of partiality
is on the body of the chrysanthemum

within the monsoon
in collusion with the  hair-band
now thousands of birds are born  

they can hear my
dry straws and twigs

whose hearing is the police
in so depth of the forest

don’t move the
dreadful resorts

one such photograph of the girls
who wakes up in the midnight

speechless…
unmindful …
destruction…

that is you now

i’m then in the spore
of the perfume-bounded body
of match-making

18.

who has lied in the box
made up of the temperature
of god

all on a sudden
there is a hue and cry
in the abdomen of the time
wearing a ***** pajama

actually that has been filtered up
from the voices of rock-songs

the roaming
of a fatigued traveller …

the lies
within their wishes
write my existence

and then run
to buy vegetables
from the station-market

so many lay-offs
come to the body of paper-weight

to listen to all those
is not improper

walking through the traffic-jam
gradually
this home becomes solely my home

one day the golden of
human

then it is i
who is you

and walking through the
monsoon

on either side of the field
it is all autumn

19.
when borrowing the religion of
the night-queen  
i fall in love

then is it real
that our mangos and jack-fruits  
can make the perfumed-soap
vigorously from the light of the
blood-line

i count the bells of the churches
ringing repeatedly

and piercing the image
of your prominent face

rounding through lots of old
the love becomes exhausted

and the love comes back
in the form of college-classes

there are you myself
and so many notes
of the body
I don't ask you to be faithful - you're beautiful, after all -
but just that I be spared the pain of knowing.
I make no stringent demands that you should really be chaste,
but only that you try to cover up.
If a girl can claim to be pure, it's the same as being pure:
it's only admitted vice that makes for scandal.
What madness, to confess by day what's wrapped in night,
and what you've done in secret, openly tell!
The ******, about to bed some Roman off the street
still locks her door first, keeping out the crowd:
will you yourself then make your sins notorious,
accusing and prosecuting your own crime?
Be wise, and learn at least to imitate chaste girls,
and let me believe you're good, though you are not.
Do what you do, but simply deny you ever did:
there's nothing wrong with public modesty.
There is a proper place for looseness: fill it up
with all voluptuousness, and banish shame;
but when you're done there, then put off all playfulness
and leave your indiscretions in your bed.
There, don't be ashamed to lay your gown aside
and press your thigh against a pressing thigh;
there take and give deep kisses with your crimson lips;
let love contrive a thousand ways of passion;
there let delighted words and moans come ceaselessly,
and make the mattress quiver with playful motion.
But put on with your clothes a face that's all discretion,
and let Shame disavow your shocking deeds.
Trick everyone, trick me: leave me in ignorance;
let me enjoy the life of a happy fool.
Why must I see so often notes received - and sent?
Why must I see two imprints on your bed,
or your hair disarrayed much more than sleep could do?
Why must I notice love bites on your neck?
You all but flaunt your indiscretions in my face.
Think of me, if not of your reputation.
I lose my mind, I die, when you confess you've sinned;
I break out in cold sweat from hand to foot;
I love you then, and hate you - in vain, since I must love you;
I wish then I were dead - and you were too!
I won't investigate or check whatever you try
to hide: I will be thankful to be deceived.
But even if I catch you in the very act
and look on your disgrace with my own eyes,
deny that I have seen what I have clearly seen,
and my eyes will agree with what you claim.
You'll win an easy prize from a man who wants to lose,
only remember to say, 'I didn't do it.'
Since you can gain your victory with one short phrase,
win on account of your judge, if not your case.
Translated by Jon Corelis
frankie crognale Dec 2013
she was in love.
she was in love with a boy.
she was in love with a boy who didn’t love her back.
she was a beautiful girl when she was sixteen.  she was the most insecure girl you’d ever meet, but you’d never know because her award winning smile hid all of the insecurities. black curly hair, olive skin, beautiful big brown eyes, cherry lips, and naturally aligned perfect teeth.  she knew she was beautiful deep down, although she hated to admit it, because of an unfortunate series of events that occurred in the past.  she was the happiest girl you could ever meet, or at least that’s how she came across.  she acted as though nothing was wrong, when in reality, a lot was wrong.  she knew her peers thought of her as a person who tried too hard to be different, but that’s who she was.  she was different, and she knew it.  
he was a breathtaking boy when he was 16.  he was just as insecure as she was, but you'd find it hard to believe, since he was so picturesque. blonde hair, pale skin, pacific ocean eyes, bright pink lips, and very white teeth.  he didn’t know he was breathtaking, because of an unfortunate series of events that occurred in the past.  he always thought of himself as a person without a place, even though he believed everyone had a place in the world, he just hadn’t found his yet.  he bottled things up inside until they sunk low enough to go out of view, until he forgot about them.  he knew he had a place, he just didn’t know where.  he was different, too.  just as different from everyone else as the girl was.
she told him everything.  more than she told her other friends. more than she told her best friend of fourteen years. she didn’t know it at first, but she would fall hard for him, harder than when she fell off her longboard the first time.  just like that first fall, it would hurt.  it would make her bleed, and it would transform her.  from it, she would become a better person, and definitely a more cautious one.  she wasn’t aware of it yet, but he would change her in two ways.  for the better, and for the worse.
the background knowledge of this tale isn’t important.  all that needs to be known is how she has now fallen in love with him, harder than she’s ever fallen for someone.  however, he’s since moved away.  how far, you ask?  3,000 miles across the ocean.  her love for him has grown dramatically since this, and she’s told him, but he doesn’t feel the same way.  he’s said it straight to her face, on multiple occasions.  to directly quote it, “the feeling is there, but it just isn’t prominent.”  naturally, this kills her inside. the hardest thing to endure is watching the one you love, love someone else. in fact, this makes her want to curl up in her comforter and cry, and hopefully never come out.  she loved this boy, and she loved him completely unconditionally.  no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get him to see her that way.  the only time he ever takes any interest in her is when she’s undressed. she would use her body for love, and he used love for her body. she was blinded, and she didn’t want to see him using her, so she refused to believe it.  she’s confronted him about it, and he’s said he isn’t using her, so she was convinced he wasn't, mostly because she could never make herself believe he was lying to her.  
he knew everything about her.  he knew her full name, which not a lot of people did.  he knew about her past; the past that involved a small wrist and a large blade.  he knew about her future; the future that involved a small apartment in new york and a job at vogue. he knew about the husband, or wife, she wanted, since she was bisexual.  only he knew that. he knew how much she loved him, as well. he was well aware of that, but obviously he didn't know how much it would **** her inside to know he didn't think the same of her. he didn't think it through. if he did, he would have saved her a lot of pain.
she was sitting in her bedroom one day. she was thinking mostly about him. she kept playing the sweet things he'd said to her in the past back in her mind, and suddenly she found herself smiling and feeling warm inside. she loved him. she loved him more than anyone she'd ever loved before. just as she was thinking, he messaged her on facebook. her heart fluttered, she couldn't wait to see what he said.
"i have to talk to you" his tone was stern, which somewhat scared her, since he was never sincere like this.
"okay sure, what's up, deary?" she always called him deary, it was the most natural response for her.  she was trying to lighten the mood a bit, as well.
"as you know since i've moved here, my feelings for you have somewhat gone away. and with that being said, i've found somebody."
she could've sworn she heard her heart fall down to her feet and break into one million tiny pieces.
"you have a girlfriend now?"
"yes."
she logged off of facebook without answering his message, and went to the corner of her room where a tiny piece of her carpet was cut into a square and ripped off the floor so it could be lifted up. she lifted the piece of carpet up to reveal a bag and a blade. a tiny plastic bag, and a tiny metal blade. a tiny plastic bag that had an assortment of different pills in it, and a tiny metal blade with dried blood tracing the edges of it from her past. the pills were things such as ibuprofen or acetometaphine, and the blade was a replacement blade from her dad's razor, since his was sharper than hers.
her past wasn't particularly something she liked to remember. she had once been suicidal. she had cut herself. she had intentionally burned herself. she had snapped a hair tie against her wrist during school. she's tried ending her life with those same pills. she kept them there if she needed them.
as of right now, she needed them more than ever.
she opened the bag, got two bottles of water, and began to swallow the pills. one by one.  as she swallowed them, she found herself taking the sharp piece of metal to her wrist.  she caressed it gently before dragging it across the noticeable scars, going deeper and deeper with each ****.
after about thirty five pills and twelve lacerations, she began to get terrible stomach pain, and her blood wasn’t clotting any longer.  she strayed away from her wrist and moved down to her hips, her v-line, and upper thighs. she could feel her demise coming, but she wanted it right then.  she didn't cry as she threw the pills down, her heart was too heavy, her body too frail, that she couldn't produce the tears, even though she wanted to.
twenty more pills.
three more cuts.
five more pills.
two more cuts.
one more pill.
and just like that, she was gone.
about an hour or so later, her mother knocked on her door. she made sure to leave the door unlocked so her mother wouldn't find her and be angry. her mother hated when she locked her door. she walked in, and once she saw her daughter laying on the floor near the piece of torn up carpet, she collapsed to her knees over her top of her. she noticed a small paper laying next to her body. she unfolded it. on it was this:
"you know, it’s funny. now everyone will care. now he’ll love me. if you all had felt this way when i was alive, i wouldn’t be dead."
it’s almost like she knew her death would be one of the biggest news highlights of the year in her small town.  it’s almost like she knew photos of her would be everywhere.  it’s almost like she knew her suicide note was going to become the most viral thing to hit the nation in four years.
her mother had no idea what that meant. she couldn't think anyway, for her teenage daughter had just mutilated her insides with common household drugs.
with the little energy she had left in her body, she stumbled downstairs to where the telephone was. she dialed her husband's work number, and was completely hysteric when he answered the phone. he told her to calm down, so she tried to. when she finally stopped crying long enough to get words out, she told him.  he said he was about to leave his office. he didn't care about anything else in the day, he just had to get home. he had to get home to see his little girl for the last time.
her mother told her friends, and the entire town was a complete wreck. memorials were hung everywhere. pictures of her death note were posted in newspapers and on street corners. a segment was even on the news about her. she had never felt loved in her life, but when she died, everyone turned into her friend. girls who called her fat and ugly in middle school said she was beautiful.  boys that called her obnoxious and annoying said she was fun to be around.  teachers who told her she would never get into college and didn’t have a future said she had her entire life ahead of her.  just as her suicide note said, if they had all acted this way when she was still here, she wouldn’t have left.
the boy messaged her one day, wanting to tell her something again. when she didn't answer, he sent her another message. he obviously hadn't looked at his facebook news feed in a few days, considering everyone's status was about her, and there were pictures of her everywhere; pictures of her and her friends, her and her beloved cats, or her alone.  looking at the pictures was painful for everyone, since her beautiful smile was only lived on in the pictures now.  her eyes sparkled in the photos, but not as much as they did in real life.  now, the photos were all that was left.
he sent her another message, saying this:
"well if you aren't going to answer me then i guess i'll just tell you. i broke up with my girlfriend already. i realized a few things when i was with her. she isn't you. i love you, i really do. i hope you can forgive me and i hope we'll talk soon.  bye babe."
he only called her babe when he felt closest to her.  some days, where they would flirt a lot, they would both feel warm and fuzzy inside and completely loved.  neither ever admitted it, but they both knew exactly how the other felt.  among the pet names and multiple kissy faces, they had great conversations.  they were so open around each other, neither of them had ever been like that with anyone else.  she knew she was made for him, although he didn’t realize it until after it was too late.
after he sent it, he decided to check his news feed. he saw the pictures and status messages. he couldn't believe it. he didn't know how much he hurt her. he killed her inside so much that she actually killed herself. he was the one that always made her feel better when she was feeling down. he's the one that got her to stop hurting herself. she told him once that she was going to stop for herself, when subliminally she stopped for him, because she knew he didn't like it. she didn't think he could ever love her with the cuts up and down her arms, so she stopped making them. she was alive because of him, but now, she was dead because of him.  he gave her a reason to want to live, and a reason to want to die.
life was still odd for him after her passing. he'd think about her often. she would come to him in dreams. he’d listen to her favorite song, which was one of his favorite songs as well, called “i wanna be yours” by the arctic monkeys.  he introduced her to the arctic monkeys, actually.  he never realized how much the lyrics meant to her, the more he listened to them he recognized the relevance of them.  he's sworn he’s seen her on street corners in his city. he knew it couldn't be, but every time he thought he saw her, tears would well up in his eyes and he'd have to turn around and go home. he didn't speak to anyone, nor did he tell anyone about her, especially not what he felt for her. everyone would think it was out of pity, pity for her and her death. he regretted making her feel worthless when he told her he didn't love her, because he did, and they both knew that.  she always knew deep down there was more feeling to it than he said, but she couldn't get past him saying those things. and that's why she killed herself.
years passed. he never found anyone, and she decayed in the beautiful tiffany blue dress she wears for eternity. it would've been her 25th birthday when he first went to see her at her final resting place. there was a photo of her on her stone, one of the last pictures ever taken of her. his breath was taken away by her beauty, she had the same warm smile he remembered when he saw her the last time. her eyes bright with playfulness, and her cheeks round and rosy. he could still hear her laugh. it was almost contagious. he was in love with her all over again, and she wasn't there to tell.
although, she was there. she heard every thought inside her head and saw every emotion he was feeling. she regretted her decision. she hated herself for not being patient and not going with her instinct. now, they could never be together. they were made for each other, and they both knew it.
he flung himself onto her burial site, weak at the knees and tears down his face. he missed her just as much as she missed him. he regretted never kissing her when he had the chance. he wanted to take back every time he ever told her he didn't love her. she took her life because of those things, and he was too pessimistic with the thought of "i'll never see her again" stuck in his head that he couldn't hear what his heart was saying.
he never married. he continued to visit her, almost every day. he couldn't stand to not see her, even if she wasn't there. she visited him every night as well, just to watch him sleep. she still thought he was the most breathtaking boy she'd ever seen. and she was just as beautiful as she was before. just as beautiful, and just as breathtaking. just like when they were 16.
From the kingdom of death thou wildly run,
as though to die not; as though all shall be fun.
Even though thou might not be as fine as mine,
And hesitate once not, like many other minds.
Under the staggering sun thou art the sun itself;
Unlike the universe any mortal shall never have.
To thee but heaven shall never be adequate,
To thee whom fate shall not mind; but dare not ever bend.
Thou, who deemeth everything is futile and late;
Thou, who hath neither words nor poetry in thy hand.
Thou art at times like a piece of youthful innocent art,
Which amorous feeble hands long to tear apart.
Like a flower t'at grows on the window behind the curtain,
Thou shall return to youth, and be younger-every now and then;
For with thy playfulness thou shall bitterly mock Determination;
Whilst thy childishness shall help thee dream of, and silently miss Salvation.

And whenst all t'is business is to say goodbye;
Thou shall still stay, forever and never die.
For thou art undead, and forever and ever immortal,
No stab canst wound thee, as no torpid wound of thine fatal.
Thou art a fatal prince-yes, a wicked, wicked heir;
Heir of cheerfulness-of a soul so full of spirits yet fairness.
Ah! And so thus thou shall leave behind not t'is worldly affair,
Thou shall be eternally bent upon it, and makest of it, thy happiness.
And when at the very end, all dead souls should awaken and retaliate,
Thou shall stay calmly and twitch not by heaven's wooden gate.
Thy agelessness is a mirage no blunt living soul can afford;
Thou art infallible, unlike the decrees of our dear Lord,
For thou shall never dwell among a thousand earths
And be lain among lilies and roses yonder, of irrevocable green hearth.
Thou art, in any midst of grievousness, cold with mirth;
When there is no more born thou art blessed with anew, birth.

Thus thou art forever unsinned, and shall be so gullible;
Thou art an adult inside; 'spite appearing so weak and feeble.
People canst, by thy comely appearance, fall deaf and misunderstand,
Thinking thee a ruddy friend; a robust and sincere fellow.
But thou art indeed, and in truth-a witty and good-hearted man,
As bold and ever unhesitant, but caring and good-willed, as tomorrow.
Thy naivety thus fights against, and befalls any mercilessness,
Thy delight is but our timid society's frank joyfulness.
And every song is benignly rooted in the delicacy of thy tongue,
To whom thy streams of love, as well as hate, shall belong.
But again, more and more loving hearts shall complain-
For when they fade and ought to disappear; thou shall firmly remain.
And duly thou defeat for evermore any tainted miserable heart,
Especially hearts that hath no beat when they supposedly beat, and are alive.
For thy heart is as fresh, and inevitable-like a solitary work of art,
But innocent and intelligent-like a young sword; or the neat blade, of a cold knife.

So whatever love claims to be love-which is too proud, though clear and sanguine;
Is not at all, or by any chance-pure, tolerable, nor delightfully keen;
For love is not the same as pleasure-as pleasure is not love,
Love is the one no senses canst touch-nor for pride move.
Ah, thee, we canst but teach thee more lessons of love itself;
For there are more than our anxious souls canst tell;
Love is not something t'at canst one satisfy, nor is for one to drink;
For any to satisfy or drink is yon that makes oneself sink.
I figurest above are imminent to thy knowing;
For thou shall still mature more; and be independent in thy living.
For family is still more essential than any money or gold;
To which we humans oftentimes too sternly hold.
Ah, but thy journey is still upwards and steep as a hill;
An endlessness our mortality is but too scared to feel.
So be wise and fill thyself with rich wisdom likewise;
And as thy findeth bitterness on due roads-turn to poetry, and seek its advice.

And so to thee hath a world of supremacy be assigned,
So thus I entreat-t'at be with thee all the reciprocal goodness-and dexterity!
Ah, and by thy cleverness shall all be mutually aligned,
For naive thou art still, about the very course of extremity!
But severity shall not burden thee, as to thy endurance and good will,
Thy willingness to share, and rely and lean on how such fellows feel.
Thou refilleth 'em always, with endless and plentiful splendours,
Thou cheereth 'eir minutes, and stay comely at all 'eir breathing hours.
As every single day's dates themselves, thou art undeniable;
Thou art real in thy eternity, though sometimes unbelievable;
Thou art worth all the bogs who are so merrily singing-
Thou art so graceful, thou art everything!
As in both reality and dreams thou art present,
Thou who art obscure; but coincidentally, sharp and inherent!
Ah, thee, thus I hope t'at every poem-such as t'is, shall make thee even more truthful;
For poetry itself is relief; and our most reliable urge to be brave, and thoughtful.
NuurSeraph May 2014
There is a Softness in the Shadows,
On a breezy, Sun~filled Day.
Splashing Contrast divides the Colors,
trading within the shade,
An interlacing patchwork, Arrangement by Rotation,
Earth's Grandly Spun Bouquet.

Movement amongst the shifting Patterns,
playfulness in~All direction,
Like children chasing randomness, Laughing in the garden
that echoes through with effortless, nonchalant Expression.

Eastwardly to Westwardly,
Tracing loftily between Tree leaves, Mountains broad projectories, deepening the Shadows Shade,
Yawned in stretching reach,
Duality of Accolades,
like Coastlines of a Beach.

Lost in Lover's parting Kiss,
In Amorphous Amore,
Animates explicitly,
A shy Shadow's story.
Into the deep embrace of Night,
A lingering at Sunset's Crest,
Hallowed out in Shadow's shade,
Sewing~dreamy patchwork Seams
of Fabric feathered Sleep.
Intro + Middle + Outro
Kyle Nov 2013
Magical creatures in all shapes and sizes,
When encounter a goblin,
Remember disobedience and playfulness,
When crossing paths with a troll,
Remember brute force and persistence,
When you see glitters under the moon light,
Remember fairies migrating from the mess we have created,
In their forests.. Our forests,
When you see acid rain,
Remember the water sprites,
Encapsulated in the filthy droplets,
Their tears purify the carbon we emit, While we feed the machines,
Tears unnoticed, cries unheard, Of beauty we fail to see,
Of dense forests, magical trees, Of Yggdrasil, Of Bodhi trees, Or tiny sprouts near your feet,
Of angels, demons, bodhisattvas, buddhas,
You, Me, Us,
Love,
Balance,
Harmony,
Samasati.
Samasati is a phrase used by the Buddha to encourage students of his teachings or otherwise to be constantly aware of their surroundings in all of their daily endeavours. This requires a centred and balanced state of awareness.
Floating, like a specimen,
in a bell jar in the Chemistry Lab
of Grade XI in Lucknow.

I am suspended. I am floating.

Everywhere is blue.

I hear bubbles and see them rise.

I open my mouth and water rushes in,
salty and warm. I can’t speak.
I can’t cry out.

I am drowning.

I think of Varanasi; skulls
that float. Why do dead
skulls float? Why do the living
sink?

I want to rise. The sea
is inky black. An octopus
floats by. A school of clown
fish gaze at me curiously.

I think of swimming
like the fish in a warm ocean
in the Andaman Sea. I hear
laughter, I feel the sun on my
shoulders.

Oh, the sun. I miss the sun.
I crave heat. It is so very
cold. It is so very cold.

I feel something warmer
on my lower back. I look.
A dolphin is smiling.
Yes, smiling!

I look down at myself.

I am a mermaid!
My hair is blonde, my waist
is tiny, and my *******
are encased in shells.

I laugh gleefully.
The dolphin, as if on cue,
swims below me
and I mount him.

And then, like we have been
doing this since time immemorial,
our bodies in sync,
we float upwards.

Joy abounds. An effervescence,
a lightness of spirit, a playfulness
that heals.

The water is getting warmer
and paler. We playfully swim
with all the time in the world.

And as I surface for the air
that I don’t need,
I am full of peace.
Amber S May 2012
it took you quite some time
but with the tropic breeze and a historical book,
you were there.
the grass tickled.
i wonder if it tickled you too.
i always knew.
sly glances. quick comments.
timing is everything, or something like that.
you make me laugh, which is rare
(especially for your kind)
reminds me of bubblegum and sunshine.
time when clues were not given or received.
i bat my eyelashes in return,
respond with chirps and playfulness.
i haven't played in a while.

it's a shame the grass didn't tickle sooner,
you could have had a taste a long time ago.
Twinkle Jul 2014
I guess u r leaving me behind
all that u have given of yourself to me
those memories u have caused with your laughter ,
your playfulness and exbuerance for life
I will miss, the fine juxtapose your presence created

You have changed me beyond myself
Though outwardly calm I may appear
This pretense I can hold on no longer
While inwardly I sear…and long..for u.

Go on move on, I cannot hold on to you forever
You are a free soul and nothing can stop your force

Momentarily I basked in your fond attention
your eyes searing my soul
Awakening in me a realization I myself did not know.

I thank you for those fond moments
Etched forever in my heart and soul
of your tenderness and the love that never spoke a word.
Unspoken emotions, searing the soul!
k e i May 2017
her patience was starting to wear thin, impatience growing as one of the pervs from the table across his eyes preying on her. she gave him the finger and her hardest glare.

where the hell are you  she typed out, texting him

be there in ten i kinda just got out of bed...sorry

she just sighed looking out the glass panes that gave a view of the busy street, letting her thoughts wander. sam was waiting for her bestfriend, noah to show up. she was going to help him find a flower shop that caters black roses. he was going to give it to jean, the girl of his dreams as he liked to call her (sam just knew how much of a cliche he was underneath; they barely had a conversation in which he didn't insert her-sam stuck up with it and listened to him, always assuring him that he's going to get her who wouldnt)

"sorry im late" he says, panting as he arrives, varsity jacket slung in his arms

"you owe me" sam says cooly, ignoring the drum pounding in her chest. he looked like he always did; and gave off the same effect to all the girls in town (he had quite a following though he didn't mind)

playfully he rolls his eyes at sam and the two walk their way into his beat up camaro (which was very good at overheating and taking too long to start)

"bet this thing would come up with its tricks again" sam started with their usual banter

"oh hell no it's got my back"

"your flat back"

"my bootiful ***"

sam scoffed "wanna bet?"

"game on" noah smugly retorts with the smug smirk on his face that showed off his angelic structures

"on three two....." sam had her fingers crossed please don't work please don't

noah tried gunning the engine a few more times, turning the key into the hole over and over again but the engine kept dying. he tried for one more time;it was a miracle that it did. he faced sam who's face turned down into a frown. "ha you owe me now"

"i owe you none" she says slumped in her seat though deep inside she was enjoying this. their friendship had alot of these immature playfulness which she usually started.

"just buy me an extra waffle cone and we're even"

"*******"

noah laughed and sam heard the lilt in his laugh that she grew fondly of. they drove off the road with only the radio to filter the silence for a while. sam started tracing patterns on the car window.

she felt something for noah and it wasn't something she expected, neither was it something she was looking for. the first time they ever interacted was in a class they both had. his eyes had that mischievous spark that day and  he wore a devilish grin-sam thought he was the perfect guy to turn into one of her casualties or better yet get his heart broken. but all they did after class that day was hangout and drive around town. sam was quite shocked with the numerous things they have in common. since then, they've meant alot to each other. although it was different for sam. sometime in their friendship she started feeling something for him, someting more than friends do .she hated it; the thought of it made her want to rev her guts out;

she was never the type to like guys or girls and fantasize about them being together or even feeling the same way. she was the type of girl who played with guys for a night (a week was her longest) whenever she felt like it. she toyed with their hearts and felt satisfied when she saw them with tears in their eyes. she felt no remorse for leaving them in the gutter. she was never vulnerable  she was a heartbreaker. she was that type of girl. but with noah it was all different, it was all new. it was like being on the other side of the spectrum

it frustrated her, all of it. most of all the fact that she couldn't do anything about it. she couldn't just steal him away from jean especially now that he stood a chance. plus, he was serious about her, sam could tell-even if she tried making moves on him, he'd leave because that wasn't how he knew her-they went so well together: her being on the cheerleading squad with her perfect friends and her perfect grades, perfect life ahead and him being the quarterback of the football team and the perfect college waiting for him, heir to his father's company someday-they were the power couple. they deserve each other sam thought bitterly. she could be one of the "perfect" girls in her school if she tried. but she didn't, didn't find the need to because why bother? she'd rather be on the outside and deal with her own company and just resurface whenever she felt like it. he had dreams;she didn't. she was just a heartbreaker, a mess.

yet she didn't want to lose noah; couldn't lose noah-it wasn't a risk she was willing to take. around him she let down the high walls she usually was encaged in and instead had vine trellises wrapping around her almost as if caressing her. it wasn't like in the movies but it was a **** cliche which she felt in gradual waves.she could hear wind chimes in the edges of her nicotine corrupted lungs whenever she was with him and none of the nails splintering against board in the emptiness of her house she felt in the dark while her sister slept soundly in the next room, none of the stale unfamiliarity of her mother working herself thin in her round the clock shifts, staggering home the next morning smelling like alcohol. she felt something other than the hollow in her stomach when she's out partying with strangers, the bass sounding too much like her heart breaking and her existence decomposing. she felt none of the filth she did when she slept with guys and let them make love with their exes through her body. she felt none of all the ugliness, heard none of the monsters' calls. noah made her feel pure. made her feel bliss. there was no irony, no catches, no waiting for the other shoe to drop in what they shared.

some days she's accepted that they'd always remain platonic, that it was better for them to stay this way. but today wasn't one of those days, for it was one where she wanted nothing but to plant her lips against his and make him tell her that he feels the same, for him to wrap her arms around her and bury her face in the crook of his neck, drown in all their memories, become the memories become an us. it wasn't love but he made her feel loved.

her daydreams were cut short when noah parked the car infront of the flower shop near the outskirts of town. she smoothed her hair as noah opened the car door for her. she felt her palms sweat, immediately telling her brain that he was really just sweet and it's jean that he likes stop spewing up hurricanes and thunders for every sweet thing he does.

"so first stop"

"i still don't get why you can't just buy her a bouquet of plain roses and spray paint it black. i'll help out yknow" she replies in her usual mocking way as they enter the shop, the floral fragrance enveloping them.

"because you gotta put all your effort and your heart to get her"

"yeah right, hey you gotta put effort in spray painting too yknow like shaking the can and making sure the roses are all covered. we can cover your heart in black paint as well if we still got any left" she replies sarcastically as they start perusing for black roses.

he rolls his eyes at his best friend, throwing one of the discarded dandelions at her direction. she picks one up and throws it at him quickly. it was only a matter of minutes til they were both on the floor laughing, sneezing in intervals, dandelions scattered around them. the florist scolded them when he saw the mess they caused and made them pay for a daisy and a petunia boquet that was haphazardly upturned in their rowdiness-no black rose in sight.

sam laughed as noah took out his wallet and paid the florist who's face was now red. she heard him mutter a sheepish apology and for a moment, she allowed or tried to let herself get lost in the fact that she and her bestfriend were spending the day together she tried to forget that she was spending the day with him to help him be with the girl that he likes.
hi this is my first time here
and this is a new writing style of mine
let me know what you think about it
x
Owlycat Sep 2014
What does love represent?
It represents kindness,
strength,
another perspective on life,
commitment,
greed,
playfulness,
securities,
joy,
and selfishness.
We cant live without any of these.
We cant live without love.
dafne Nov 2013
"If anyone botheres you
I've got your back"
You said

So I guess you'll have
To reevaluate your statment

Because your phrase
Echoes in my head
Bugging me each
And every one
Of my days

How you told me
To stop being myself
Because I was a little weird

And now my fears came true
I got to know that everyone else
Thought that too
Because how could a father
Tell his daughter
To stop being who she is

So my smile slowly faded
You saw it less and less
Each time
And my playfulness halted
And turned into series of complaints

I hear it all the time
In your voice
you are disappointed
You are slowly shriveling me up
Weighing me down

I am sorry
I am not enough.
Lilith Avenue Jun 2014
you once asked me why I was so
infatuated with a boy that tried to write me off
in forty eight hours I found some reasons why

he’s sweet and he’s bitter in all my favorite doses-
the words he told me were kind yet at times held a sarcastic playfulness I find in myself.
we’d tease each other with little resistance and
laugh at each others misfortunes with kindness.
his actions were soft no matter how aggressive they may have looked
because not once has he ever come at me
with the motive to damage;
letting him easily flesh my soul out for show.
the walls I put up nothing but tainted window panes
I once let him hold my raw emotions bare in his hands
then found myself cold from the lack of his embrace when he pulled away from the hug

and I can go on with these reasons-
these glimmers of hope that sound more like excuses
to why I refuse to let go and hoard his memories within my ribcage.
his hugs got me the most though
Immortal.
Oh, yes, he is immortal.
Immortal in his youthfulness indeed!
He shall age and grow but never change;
he shall wane and wither just in pain!
Just like a stubborn day rainfall-
ah! which remains a thick stifling veil
to our young sky, and its starlights-
like a loyal fence and its old window;
sitting and hoping that endings shall never show
Yes, he shall but still look the same tomorrow.

Ah! In his silliness and bold playfulness,
he sometimes makes fun of his own madness,
with a conscience that somehow be rapid
and cheerful smiles so genuine and sweet.
Like a miracle in one dull puppet show
He canst list five jokes in a row!
But a certain poison is in his blood;
and unreachable thoughts forever colour his heart.
His youthful lips are full of secret tales;
and his white skin can at times be pale.
His stories are songs we've never sung
and his breaths are simply words to my poetic lungs.
With daring steps that this earth never fails
into the moors every morning he sails.
Once I found him behind the walls
among the long corridor of my halls.
With lightness he sounded plain but sure
Yet the cold outside made him obscure;
his purity was like a shadow of lightning
so calm but innocent and bewitching.
But as soon as gales wafted through the grass
He would once again; flock away into its mass.
Glee, glee, was what then astonished my poetry;
with tears and feelings that might have lit-
o, immortal man, I have only words to play with!

And ah! How once I startled him by my lover's name;
which he enquired more without any shame.
But envious was my heart's flame-
and delight was sadly never there to tame.
I ran, and ran away-without staring back at him,
no matter how absurd it'ght hath seemed!
With turmoils that were inside of me-
I clouded his picture once more,
stiffened by cries, but hated by my own delight-
scarred by lies, and loathed by very fright-
but now and then he would spring back into my steps,
demanding me to give what had been said away,
but I sped and hurried 'till he no more tapped,
and was turned aback and into his own day.
O, immortal man, please just forgive-o forgive me,
for I shalt have no more courage to face thee.

And lust, and love are but my forbidden triumph
Which he can only be see within my poems.
With his hands that shall stay awake forever-
and never age behind eternal rains and thunder;
to every single day he shall wake gladly in wonder.
Gazing through his very own unnatural universe
with holy regrets but intense admiration
But sadly his life might never be my verse;
neither his charms ever be my wifely laudation.
The fate of his might just not be my course;
and as how my being; is not his envied incarnation.

But blessings be with him, whoever's precious treasure
and be pains his heart shalt never endure.
O, immortal man, our paths are one, but never meet;
and forever are just enemies like coldness is to heat.
Again whenst I am to die I shalt remember thee;
for being more awesome than even the lake
and more delightful than any words canst take.
Ah! And thy silliness is one that makes thee so special
and even lighter than letters that hide behind the wall.
How thou would be one of my firsts to call!
Just like how thou art always immortal;
as thy portrait is eternally young and genial;
from which my pondering eyes shall never stir;
as whispers my human heart forever longs to hear.
Pax Oct 2016
I am not in pain
but I’m standing in the hard rain.
The wetness makes my feet numb
I succumb to be dumb
a foolish playfulness
hiding my crudeness
-  I roam around in happy commotion
                                 A complete illusion.
The eye of the storm will come my way, someday
I hope not too soon, but in the distant future
For I am not prepared on the messiness it harbors in its back
The harsh judgments that will pour heavily on my shoulders
Then flowing water will flood my sane world
I need my time to organize
My mental, emotional and physical stability
To stand the outburst of the tempest.

© Pax 2013
Star Gazer Feb 2016
Trees swaying against the gentle wind,
The birds vocalize their melodic tune.
Across the tree sat an unloved boy,
Who tried to make sense of the world.
He would ask the birds questions,
As though they were his friends.
Play with a colony of ants
In pretense that they were his siblings.
One fateful day an unloved girl,
Placed herself next to him,
Mesmerised by his playfulness to nature,
She asks, "Do you know what love is?"

The boy pondered and pondered,
Coming up with a simplistic explanation,
"Love is like the tree, it holds everything together",
The unloved girl took the boys hand with hers,
And said,
"Love isn't something figured out,
It's not meant to be known but felt,
It can be confusing as black holes,
To as simple as a bird in a nest."

She took a deep breath with his hands still in hers,
"Love is what I want us two to figure out".

This was how an unloved boy,
And an unloved girl,
Became just a boy,
And just a girl,
For they found love in each other.
Raj Arumugam Aug 2011
I walked past and I heard
you play the sitar, Kadambari;
and I waited at the side in the streets
as I heard the soothing tunes and the notes
and the playfulness and the pleas and eloquence
and the pain and the joys and the ecstasy
O I heard the coming to of each note and raga
and I heard each improvisation
and I stood at the gate, hidden behind the green vines
not allowed in, always the outsider
always left outside, marked by clear boundaries;
but I heard each turn and each leap and fall
and I saw you in all your beauty, Kadambari
I saw you in my mind as I stood outside  
and I heard each note
as you offered each note to Kama, the Love God
Kama with his bow and arrow of flowers;
and the jasmine plants around me bloomed
and the trees in the street and the vines over the wall
they all bloomed, as you played, O Kadambari -
and so did my being, so did my being open like the sunflower
so it did, as you, O Kadambari,
as you had your fingers on your sitar
as you made music
poem based on Kadamari,  painting by Ravi Varma....
Astounding Mar 2014
When your eyes drop to the floor.. And the pain creeps within your soul
When your heart cant take anymore..
I pray that the love in my tender kiss will be the last thing in this life you will know.

I will cradle you when you are crying
I will love the fact that you know where everything is in your room, even though it's a mess
I  will cherish the way you kiss my neck..
The way your hands feel beneath my dress

I will fight with you,
Through any battle we face
The make-up *** will be incredible
Reading each others movement's and pace

When you're quiet and your mind wont stop racing
When you get sick of the game and the chasing..
I'll be waiting with some beer and your favorite snacks
I'll give you a massage.. Help you relax

I'll keep your secrets
I'll laugh at your jokes
I'll be your partner in crime
Full of love, playfulness, and hope

You can **** with the door open
Hell, you can even blast me with a paintball attack..
Just be yourself, don't put up an act
and.. most of all
*Oh, please.. Love me back.
Swan girl Jun 2013
I smile when you walk
your steps make me laugh
when I'm sad, you're always there
greeting me at the door
jumping up and kissing my face

In the morning, you snuggle in my bed
I don't grumble or sigh, instead
I smile at you
for wanting to be so close to me

I love you my sweet little dog,
and all that your playfulness brings
shaqila Aug 2013
I love the smell of your hair after a shampoo
I love how the sound of dogs barking ruffles you
I love the sight of the scars on your hands
I love the way you try to hide your legs
I love your vampire teeth showing when you reluctantly smile
I love the way you heartily laugh at my jokes
I love the way you strum nothing into a tune
I love your random songs and play on my name
I love your hold on my hand and warmth therein
I love the hugs and cuddles and nuzzles you bring
I love the feel of your fingers against my skin
Just one more reason to show how you are endearing
The tingle I feel every time our ***** lips meet
Makes it difficult to continue working when you’re there watching
I love how you speak of Higgs Boson so intimately
No other person I know can quite grasp this theory
I love the way you play with Vladimir and Kimmy
Your kindness and concern shows, amidst playfulness,  it’s so funny
I love your mean pancakes and your hot morning coffee
I love most things about you, why don’t we marry?
Aditi Mar 2017
I realised I loved you
When I realised
That you're much more than the softest words,
Stitched together in smoothest cursive,
To produce the most beautiful poem.

You're much more than any word I could use to paint you with and though, the playfulness in your innocent smile deserves a chapter written all about it, you'll always be much more and nothing like the comparisons I use. And I admit it.

And when your decision to never write about me, slowly started making sense, that was when I realised I loved you.

I realised I loved you,
When you taught me
That most of the things I found romantic, are not really love. When you made me question the way I looked at you and through the crumbling foundations, I realised, that what they call love, is usually endless needing. And love does not always need, but love always  wants.

And love chooses. Love chooses to work hard for oneself, and for each other. Love decides to uplift itself. Love does not need you to be its walking stick or support. And I realised I loved you, when I decided to be what I needed from you, so you can see that I want you to stay around, for all your charms and wit and not because I'm a paralysed mess when you're gone.

I realised I loved you,
When I found that no people you love are supposed to be answers, or a destination to a long quest, no. You're not my favorite poetry, or my home, or a problem. But a person who I want to share these with. No, You're not the sun light filtering through the leaves, or the sound the water makes as it falls down a lake. You're not calmness personified and no, you're not some superhero looking for a maiden to help.

You're a human being. All sweat and farts, skin and bones, perfect moments and flaws. You're a human. And not a word I could twist around to shape any way I want.

You're messy handwriting, and heart beating for itself. I realised I love you, when I realised that my heart wanted to beat for itself too. And maybe, just maybe sometimes when we are together, our heart will beat in sync. Or not. It really does not matter. Cause we are much more than all of this.
I just love you, mahn
Nigel Morgan Aug 2017
I

after a bath
and the window open
I was touched
by an air of autumn
against my body
not quite towelled
hardly dry but ready
nonetheless to feel
something of the season’s
change against my fragile self

(an autumn air)


II

so very green
and multitudinous shades
holding the late afternoon
in greenness
only the towpath
measured out in sunlight
and the seat of a bench distant
providing a goal
a sensible place to aim for

we set out with her guiding hand
clasping my weakness
when a dragonfly
intricate in full sunlight
moves against a backdrop
of dark-shadowed trees
poising at eye-level
to look us over
and is off away

on our return
(from that distant bench
our goal our aim)
there a kingfisher
flashes past
and into a canal-side bush
we wait and wait hoping
to catch again the trajectory
of its miraculous flight

(canal side)

III

to whom it may concern

presumptuous I think to wish for anything
beyond one has and holds - anything
in regard to property or possessions
I have no wish to consider further
Who has what of me I disdain
and whatever it might be can only be
in my gift and surely that must be freely given
Should there be the slightest hint of dispute
I hope some Almighty Hand will
remove all and everything
to the very darkest depths

in friendship


(a letter of wishes)




IV

begun as joyous celebrations
of musical art bright and lively
on the page welcome
to the ear as to the eye

so often full of dance gentle
reflections sonorously sounding
out in playfulness
and reasoned movement


(Beethoven’s Op.18 string quartets)




V

with only the bare essentials
the most limited of means
this music grips and stirs
springing out of unisons
octaves bare chords of the fifth
and a play of rhythms
straight and straight-forward
four-square angular tight
against the beat within the bar
a simple subtlety and space
between two instruments:
the legato violin tempering
the insistent piano - always
movement no repose a constant
unwinding thread
of perilous invention
hardly a breath taken
a pause made

(on hearing Shostakovich’s Sonata for Violin and Piano)



VI

he types:

the post-box is too far way
as I must (e)mail this note today


so with no maker’s mark
this message will forego
the papered page
ink’s curved line and flow
the fold the sticky edge
the stamp well placed
the stroll with the dog
to the box along the lanes
in evening’s light
sounds of roosting birds
and flittering squeaks of bats

(an email from a former student)



VII

aware of my fragility
his gracious manner
moves me to tears
In speaking
he places every word
with infinite care
in practiced deliberation
. . . and I am crying
at his understanding
that he knows my loneliness
in dying and how I wish
to rise above
this momentary upset
to assure him I can
and will cope
that I am in his hands
He just has to say . . .


(visit to the doctor



VIII


Daily I curate the contents
of this window sill
a changing exhibition
backdrop to a sedentary life

Today: Japanese wallpaper c.1925.
Mead Cloth by Matthew Harris,
Hokusai – Mount Fuji and six cranes ( two flying)
Post card from the Pyréneées
An earthenware blackbird and thrush in a cherry tree
David Hockney, April 25 from The Arrival of Spring
Un passé plat empiétant tapestry from Madagascar.


(exhibition on a window sill)



IX

being twenty-one
seems no great age
but I remember it dimly
when adrift in my life
it came and went –
a spring and sunny day
a watch from my parents
a few cards . . .

but for you
a family day at Kew
a meal with relatives and friends
altogether a good time to remember
I so hope you will . . .


(at twenty-one)


X

To members of the London Symphony Orchestra
Ralph Vaughan-Williams is reported to have said:
‘Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the man
who writes my music.’

Unfortunate this, as his copyist Roy Douglas
had the job of deciphering the composer’s appalling
handwriting, the result of a natural
left-handedness being corrected as a child.

For me, the person who has written my music
so faithfully for fourteen years rarely dealt with
illegibility but had instead to cope with conflicts
of musical spelling.
Is this a sharp? Should this be a flat?
Do we need a cautionary accidental here?

Fortunately, he and I were not espoused as Stravinsky and
Elgar were to their long-suffering copyists, who often berated
their husbands for their inability to spell chromatic pitches
correctly. Stravinsky had an excuse: the vagaries of the octatonic scale
he often used and loved. Elgar was just ******-minded! Poor Alice . . .


(saying a warm goodbye to my copyist)


XI


to talk about yourself when
dead and gone How strange!
This need - to put in place
to sort the detail now
and so avoid confusion
What then?


An indeterminate wait
until the moment comes
the eyes won’t open
on a woken world
ears not hear
the sound of traffic
from a nearby road


there will be
an emptiness sublime
a finishing of tasks
and all those earthly
mysteries solved
and deemed complete


So this is what
we recommend
It could be this?
It could be that?

and every which way
it’s yours to choose
for rightness sake
Amen


*(the interview)
This collection of poems are to be the final part of Nigel Morgan's poetry available here on Hello Poetry. Nigel was diagnosed was terminal cancer in June 2017 and does not expect to be adding any further poetry to his on-line archive from today (15 August 2017).

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