Instrospect Apr 2014

There are moments.
I want to scream
Your name
Out loud
Not so everyone could
But so I could
Loud and clear
To let it surround me
To remind me of
Your eyes
Your smile
The awkward
The lovely
You are
All these things
To me
You are
Who you are
I would drown in
Your ocean
Just to breathe
Your air
To bask in
Your sunshine
I would scream
Your name
Out loud
So I might feel,
You could


For moments I wish you were near.
Moon Ariella Dec 2014

Listening to your heartbeat like it's a story that'll never be told again

listening to your heartbeat like it's the first edition vinyl
of my favourite song
and the only copy ever made

listening to your heartbeat
like the universe is sending me a message
through the whistles of the wind

listening to your heartbeat like science is trying to contact me
via the thuds of your organ
and justify the inexplicable
of how two astronomically unidentifiable catastrophes
clashed and become one planet
in a galaxy surrrounded by false stars
that actually turned out to be passing planes

kaye Dec 2014

he walks by me
his scent lingering in the breeze
seeming so innocent--
oh so innocent--
in his faded jeans and white muscle tee.
the soundwaves fills with his voice
as he sings along
to the uncountable stares
prevailing in his presence.

our eyes never waver
as he fades out of our view.
but as we look back
at our unimportant,
unnoticeable selves,
all our chests had were gaping holes;
empty and desolate.
for he had cruelly,
but unintentionally --
out of fleeting impulse --
stolen our hearts.

Lenanoid Nov 2014

Husky eyes
They stared at me
Like a terror in the night
I'm being terrified

Soundwaves get so low
To where creatures howl
The thread inkling looks to thin
Cells explode to their looks within

Bluff, puff, bloody eyes
Don't stare at me
I can get no sleep
Please let go of me

Mica Light Nov 2013

Lost in the soundwaves of the soul
that's lost in the heatwaves and out of control.

Poles are changing;
contemplating, rearranging.

Waves are crashing to the shore
that lies above a molten core.

Plates are shifting;
ground is lifting, people drifting.

Time is ticking.

Danielle Rose Sep 2012

Soundwaves Break
Vibrating through as
his heart swells
Building up sensations
an unignorable spell
Releasing an excitment
so divine he slides
out of his hiding
and begins to rise

Kyle Dedalus Oct 2012

Not so far away girl
still so impossibly far
why must we wait until sunrise
to fall asleep?

Why is this beauty only conceivable
after the bottle dripdrips empty?
sinking deeper and deeper into saturn's orbit

youthful vibrant fluffed up peacocks
clucking on about research chemicals
and music festivals and last night and 6 days before
about banking and obamacare
and oh, my they're all talking
all at once
talktalktalking about this this this and that
not even asking for audience
soundwaves echo into nothingness
screaming lungs void of substance
fleeting purposes
failed courtships
unheard unimportant words
and oh, my, what a tedious thing
the night has become
but to stay at home alone
would be even more unspeakable.

Outside the party across the street
there is a tree
splayed out overhead and undergound
soaking up carbon growing tall still growing
slightly sad tree breathing in the silence of our sighs
dancing fallen leaves wrapping up the deadspace around us
deadworld space where we two sit under the edge
of revelry and absurdity
laughing, drunk, with the moon and the stars and
for just a second
slightly less impossible.

Brian Clampet Dec 2010

I know winter has
The nights
are now
frigid silent
As if the very
compressed soundwaves.

As if the very
cold that crept through to
my marrow,
by however many layers I was wearing
(it was two),
laughing and biting my nose,
burning my
throat and lungs with
each breath,
could actually
block out the noise!

As if the very
ice in the air had
magnified the moonlight
wiped away the
fog and smog
pollution and dust.
Cold Air Filtration.

...And that's why, with
weather cold enough,
from high enough,
looking hard enough
mortals may see the light
will probably

Lizz Parkinson Dec 2012

I was grown-up for the first time
Sitting at the bar alone.
I left my scarf on, let my
Coat slip off to reveal bare shoulders.
If it was cold that night I never noticed.

We slipped into the car and
Sat breathing the same soundwaves.
I just wanted to be happy.
I just wanted you too look at me with
Older eyes that used to take
My clothes off, that used to keep me
For later.

We sat on the edge of your bed and
Slowly laid ourselves down into
Strange hands; new calluses we never
Felt and new feel
To those same sheets.

I don’t remember the morning overtaking us.

You stood in the doorway.
I cried as I kissed you.
The only night you let your love show.

Edward Coles Sep 2013

Narcissus was hunted,
His life abated through reflection
‘Till all that was left was his beauty
Stained on the water’s surface,
And his tale as a flare in the night
For every proud soul.

Thenceforth we shamed ourselves,
For every fleeting glimpse at the face
Which contains the twinned thoughts of our own.
The mirror, now a symbol
Of despicable self-assurance,
Man’s vain invention.

It is the microphone
However; the tool that listens,
Clamours attention to every word
And breaks in vicious soundwaves,
That’s the true measure of vanity,
A catapulted voice.

The mirror, used more so
As a reflection of our self-doubt
And all of the fear people can see.
My self-effacing curses,
My knowledge of singularity,
And total lack of greed.

Fiona Guest Apr 2013

My mother's love got taped on reels and spools,
Cassettes she threw on on an old-school deck,
On wheels that spun straight through our lives and went
Unbreaking. What played in us played there on that
Machine, so we were soundtracked to her old-school
Tunes, to folk stuff - sixties hippy shit -
That pulled our radar-hearts around and made
Our souls attend. We'd be bouyed-up on soundwaves,
Beats her hand MC-ed, her finger soft
On PLAY, and sometimes, when the mood was right,
We heard her too. Who knew that half a world
On, on some late night slot, some other tune-in,
I would find her track, and be rewound?
Her sonic reverb tells me, “dance now, dance”.

Angie S May 10

I carry the clothes on my body–
a plain t-shirt and sweater leggings–
attempting to stay warm and keep cool.
I carry my backpack,
my heavy, heavy backpack,
to carry the things I can’t carry in my arms…
my books, pencils, papers, and keys.
In my arms I sometimes carry more books,
sometimes a cup of chai, and sometimes, nothing. Sometimes
I wish I carried a little bit more time;
then I could carry the things I’ve left behind.

I carry all the parts of me simultaneously, and I am full now.
I carry my eyes, for without them, my path would be blurred,
and I would be ignorant.
I carry my ears to hear music and dissonance and
I carry a heart to feel the soundwaves and make sense of them.
I carry my nose to hold the sweetness of a flower in my lungs,
and skin to caress their soft petals,
without plucking them.
When I carry nothing, I sleep,
and in my dreams, I carry the clouds and the stars beyond them.
From there I may see the things I have yet to carry.

I carry my own weight across the populated Earth.
I carry my own gravity and the light of the sun.
I carry the stars from my dreams, and from them,
I create constellations in broad daylight.
I carry my heart.
I carry the soundwaves of voices like
space nymphs, singing songs I want to remember.
I carry the sight of people coming closer and drifting further from me,
escaping and re-entering my orbit,
an arm-length or a light-year away.
I carry their images and sometimes,
I reach for their silhouettes and I try to feel their thoughts.

I carry my heart and it is full.
My heart is filled with emotion,
and my emotions are the Earth’s turbulent winds
across a golden, sun-kissed field and
the sound of a waterfall crashing into
a pool of water at the bottom of the valley, and
equally the eye of the storm in which
the world is a spinning oblivion,
but here, it is quiet.
My heart is the recollection of times past
in a yellowed, well-worn tome awaiting a reader and
the diary of someone whose story begs to be forgotten.
My heart beats for someone to understand its journey,
but it longs to understand what it beats for.
I carry the silence and the music alike;
I carry the Earth and all its wonders.

If I let go of all the things I carried, I would miss the weight on my shoulders.
This is one of the last poems I've written for high school. My final day is this Friday, and I have my graduation ceremony next week :)
Christine Jul 2010

His fingers barely brush my body
It may only be atoms connecting
Molecules bonding between the two.
He uses them to read me
As if my skin is covered with Braille texts
And he's trying to find the answer to a riddle.

The ache in my brain
May be from the alcohol
Or it may be from the intensity.
Maybe too many sensations
Can cause brain cancer.

The memories play in my head
Like a silent movie.
The kind with mustache-twirling villains.
Except in this movie there is no villain
Just a man and a woman
And whiskey and a pool.

Tomorrow his sweet nothings
Will run through my head
Though they're far more than sweet
And far more than nothing.

I cannot need anything more
Than his hands.
His electricity will power my heart.
I cannot need anything more
Than his words.
His soundwaves will bring me to perfection.

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