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Jude kyrie Jan 2017
Windchimes
By
Jude Kyrie


The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees
Sometimes it seems like you are here.
Memories now float in the summer breeze.

Aged Confusion brings me to my knees
That I can't find you my biggest fear
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees

Then I see you gods have answered my pleas.
The windchimes voices brought you near.
Memories now float in the summer breeze

You say the trellis is choked with sweet peas
But your beautiful voice is all I hear.
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees

The center of my universe is all I see.
Your beauty abundant soft and clear.
Memories now float in the summer breeze.

Then you fade far away from me.
Just the lilting chimes is all I hear
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees.
Memories now float in the summer breeze
Another attempt at form poetry bu Jude
I really should not have spent two years
as class clown in English class
but in my own defense
she was awfully cute
Jude
Jude kyrie Dec 2015
Windchimes

In my advancing years
Clarity eludes me now and then.
I sit quietly in the gazebo.
Your book and glasses
not yet removed from your seat.
Drifting into sleep
I awaken suddenly.
with confusion reigning again.

I quietly call your name
The need to see you is overwhelming.
I search the gardens for you
Panic setting in to my heart.
Then in the cool evening summer breeze.
The gentle chiming of the windchimes
Calm my panic as your soft words once did.

Then under the blooming arches
of the rose arbor I see you.
A basket of flowers hang from your arm.
The fading light from the evening sun.
Frames a halo about your long hair.

My eyes mist
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful
As calm as the mist on a summer's morn.
You smile at me
The windchimes ****** softly in the air.
You tell me the sweet wudruff is taking over
The hollyhocks need trimming
And the roses need pruning
You tell me all of these things.

But all I see is your
sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I fall to my knees to pay homage.
As you fade into the evening shadows.
Just the lilt of the windchimes
Dance over the perfumed bounty
Of our flowering gardens
Jude kyrie Oct 2016
Windchimes

A story of advancing years

And loss

By

Jude kyrie

In my advancing years
Clarity eludes me now and then
I sit quietly in the gazebo.
Your book and glasses
not yet removed from your seat.

Drifting into sleep I awaken suddenly.
with confusion reigning again.
I quietly call your name
The need to see you is overwhelming.
I search the gardens for you
Panic setting in to my confused heart.

Then in the cool evening summer breeze.
The gentle chiming of the windchimes
Calm my panic as your soft gentle words once did.

Then under the fragrant blooming arches
of the rose arbor I see you.
A basket of cut flowers hang from your arm.
The fading light from the evening sun.
Frames a halo about your long hair.

My eyes mist
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
As calm as the mist on a summer's morn.
You smile at me
The windchimes chime softly in the still air.

You tell me
the sweet wudruff is taking over
The hollyhocks need trimming
And the roses need pruning

You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.

I fall to my knees to pay homage to you.
As you fade away into the evening shadows.
Just the lilt of the windchimes
Dance softlly over the perfumed bounty
of our flowering gardens
For all suffering the horrible loss of dementia.
Blessing
Jude
Sarina Sep 2013
I was born to a woman who smoked cigarettes
and since I was a child, I tried to inhale blueberries until they
stalled my windpipe.

My mother taught me that word –
windpipe – after she coughed for hours upon hours. I
was so happy that day, imagining how I must have swallowed
windchimes for the doctors who helped birth me
in December’s final snow –
how I hoped they believed I sounded pretty, although

covered in that sop adults call life juice. Life juice sounds nice
but I had known babies who
came just as sticky as me and never got to breathe.

Windchimes, you know, the things
beautiful ladies in ankle-length dresses hang outside,
my daddy lived thirteen hours down the interstate and I knew
somehow that he owned one.

In my dreams, I touched it
and pulled on it. I twisted the copper-ends up like my
momma’s hair and pretended we were with my dad by some
lake where the breezes are heavy enough and I
am small enough for them to carry me up, up, and away.

Everyone insisted that windpipes are inside
while windchimes stay out –

I fixed that problem, too. I tried three times to plant chimes in
my ears, unglue parts of the skin there from myself
to make room for dangly jewelry. A tiny
slit was all I needed, but it would not stay open for long

and I never got to swing my head
pretend I possessed the ability to create music like how God
let my momma grow smoke. I never got to exhale.
Miranda Oct 2019
I sit in the red rocking chair on the front porch
Back and forth
Rocking and feeling the wind move across my skin
I look out at the trees and the pond
Tinged with gold as the sun sets
I hear the windchimes
And the sound almost brings me to tears
For the moment is so beautiful
This is how it is supposed to be

I sit in the red rocking chair on the front porch
Back and forth
Rocking and feeling the wind move across my skin
I look over at my dad
Eyes sunken and body smaller than ever
I look over at my mom
Her heart pain spilling out of her eyes
I hear the windchimes
A beautiful sound that I wish would stop
For this moment isn’t beautiful

I hear the windchimes but the beauty is lost on me
All I can think about is how badly I wish I was living in a beautiful moment
Instead of this one
But that’s the thing: beauty exists regardless
The windchimes make beautiful music on a sunny day and during a storm
They don’t care what’s going on, they do what they were made to do
It’s up to me to hear them out

m.h.
Jude kyrie Aug 2016
Windchimes
A story of lasting love
by
Jude Kyrie

At the end of a hard day’s work in our garden.
Now exhausted and resting in my chair.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
I quietly call your name.
There is no answer of course
you have been in heaven for so long.
The onset of confusion clouds my memory.
Just the jingles of the breeze on the wind chimes
answer my call.
By your chair an open book and your glasses
still remain as if you may return.
My need to see you is now overwhelming.

I seek to find you everywhere in the house.
Then I see you stood under
the large flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening now
a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist at the vision.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
So cool like the mist of summer rain
You smile at me.
The wind chimes ****** once again.

You tell me the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.

The rose arbor framing the light of my life
Glowing as the sun
at the centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage to you.
to say to you I love you darling.
but you fade into the sparkling
remnants of the melting sunlight.
As the wind chimes lilt in the evening air
over the blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty
Hayleigh Jun 2014
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with your inner turmoil.
And there's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound, emits.
As you sit in fits,
Of hysterics.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To carefully breath life back into you.
The life that you seem to have let
Slip through your finger tips,
Like dry sand,
And there are wants and demands,
Taped to the pupils of your eyes,
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
If i could prize,
open,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
Before they curled up and died
and left you entangled,
In the remains.
And the valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
Falling from unreachable heights,
And there are marks on your body,
Where you've lost the fights,
The sleepless nights,
With yourself.
And you're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has sought to be free from you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
they constantly rain,
Torrential down pours,
And there is hopelessness,
Embedded deep within your poors.
And despite the ongoing rain,
You
You're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health,
Is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates
And you greet with haste,
The familiar taste of
Self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
Watching you all the while,
As you destroy and defile,
The cold skin,
That stretches over your protruding bones,
This terror your living in,
Lures the wolves home,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
These revolving doors,
Inside of your mind,
Leave a carcus, a morsel,
A shell,
Of yourself behind.
And your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Counting down the time you wait,
For freedom to meet you
With open arms,
And your arms,
Paint a picture of self harm,
In bright red pen,
And the ringing of alarms is renewed
Again and again.
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
And weaved,
Between fragile pastel pink scars,
And the hesitation in your voice,
Jars any conversation,
And you scream in frustration
As we express your complications.
And you,
You wish desperately,
That you could be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
And there's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And the further you slip,
The more knots you tie,
In an attempt to buy time,
And you drink down each crime against yourself,
With another bottle of wine,
As you search and unwind,
The mazes within your mind.
And you can see in the way you carry your frame,
That you've been to the depths of hell and danced with the devil in vain,
On many occasions,
And your eyes they tell tales wanders
Of liquid sedation,
As you squeeze into a nation,
Too small,
Too handle,
Too inexperienced,
Too dismantle,
The train wreck,
You see,
Every time you look
Intensely,
At your reflection,
And your recollections of your past,
Are like shards of sharp glass,
Scattered between the seams of your life,
And you,
You batter the strife,
With drug filled bombs,
Painful tongues and licks,
Of the kicks,
You deny to be true,
As you continue to fall through,
Reality in a clarity,
Smeared with drunken violence,
And ear piercing silence.
Redrafted :)
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
My butterfly windchimes
Mean nothing to me
But it's still pretty nice that they're
There
Jude kyrie Jan 2016
Wind Chimes

A story of lasting love
by
Jude Kyrie

At the end of a hard day’s work in our garden.
Now exhausted and resting in my chair.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
I quietly call your name.
There is no answer of course
you have been in heaven for so long.
The onset of confusion clouds my memory.
Just the jingles of the breeze on the wind chimes
answer my call.
By your chair an open book and your glasses
still remain as if you may return.
My need to see you is now overwhelming.

I seek to find you everywhere in the house.
Then I see you stood under
the large flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening now
a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist at the vision.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
So cool like the mist of summer rain
You smile at me.
The wind chimes ****** once again.

You tell me the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.

The rose arbor framing the light of my life
Glowing as the sun
at the centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage to you.
to say to you I love you darling.
but you fade into the sparkling
remnants of the melting sunlight.
As the wind chimes lilt in the evening air
over the blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty.
loss confusion love sadness
Jude kyrie Aug 2015
At the end of a hard
day’s work in our garden
Now exhausted
and resting in my chair
I quietly call your name,
you have been gone for so long.
but in my older age
confusion fills my head
and I do not remember your loss.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
There is no answer of course
Just the jingles of the summer breeze
on the wind chimes by the window.
By your chair an open book
and your reading glasses.
I still have not removed them.
The need to see you
is now overwhelming
I seek everywhere to find you
almost in a panic.
then I see you.
Stood under the arched
flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening glows
A halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful,
So cool like the mist of summer rain.
You smile at me.
The wind chimes
jingle softly once again
You tell me
the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart
of purest gold.
The flowering rose arbor
framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage.
to tell you of my love for you.
but you fade into the ether
of my minds confusions.
A light evening breeze
kisses my cheek
As the wind chimes
softly lilt over the
blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty
SøułSurvivør Apr 2017
Wood, twisting iron, wresting  
Incumbent wind of an idiom.
Nomenclature learned in
Direct proportion to the
Clicking of clavichords, the
Harmonics of harpsichords, the
Iconoclastic rather than
Memes which disavow the
Etherial. For a breath of air is
S*pirit. Striking the bells of the *SOUL.

SøułSurvivør
(C) 4/19/2017
#npmacrostic
Aaron Brown Jul 2011
The Phoenix rose into the sky
And blazed so bright
The sun turned its eye.
The moon spun in delight
For finally the sun knew the taste of the night.

In fiery fury did that Phoenix fly free.
The taste of heaven its to sample,
The winds calling it to be.
Its joy was ample,
Its song beautiful in flight.

He flew unto the mountains
To taste the morning dew.
Sparkling lights from his plumage in fountains,
Little flames that rose and flew.
And everything was right.

Its indomitable spirit brought joy to the land,
Yet sorrow to the more covetous soul
That couldn't have him on hand,
And death if they could not capture their goal.
The Phoenix learned to fight.

So he faced their persecution and contumely,
Their arrows like a storm,
Their drive all consuming,
Their hate the norm,
And their numbers like a blight.

Their attacks wounded and even brought him to the ground.
But in a fiery blaze he always rose,
Reborn and not a scar to found,
Returning to the wind's currents and flows,
Outshining the daylight.

In icy lands one day he soared
When a songless tune tookwing.
He searched, adventured, the winds they roared
As he sought the owner of this tune to sing;
No one lay in sight.

The winds buffeted
And the Phoenix tossed and tumbled.
Tailspinning as the winds parleyed,
Into a valley he stumbled,
His landing narrow and tight.

In this valley lay the quarry at hand:
An ice elemental of purest blue.
She swayed and she danced and sang across the land,
Her laugh like windchimes and her voice true.
So the Phoenix let his voice alight.

The delighted elemental joined along
And they played and frolicked in joy,
Friendship made in song.
The Phoenix flighty and the elemental coy,
Raging flame temperedby cold's fierce bite.

They journeyed and traveled in wonder.
Where one dare not the other paved the way
Their compliment tore previous limits asunder
And made wonderfull each new day.
Their bond a happy fright.

But nothing lasts forever,
And shadows dwell wherever
The light shines free.
Thus came the darkness inevitably.
It stole the elemental away
Bringing an end to their play.

Then, did the Phoenix know sorrow;
Bitter, painful, dimming the light of tomorrow.
Then, did the Phoenix know anger,
With wrathful thought to linger.
And with determination did the Phoenix fly
Into the realm where darkness lie.

Once was there did battle engage
As torrents of flame flew with righteous rage.
The darkness stabbed and slew, bringing much harm
But the Phoenix rose again and again to face the swarm
And the darkness cloaked him in endless night,
Yet the Phoenix prevailed with blinding sight.

The battle won, hard fought,
As the darkness scattered did he see what he sought.
There lay his elemental fatally struck,
Phyrric victory claiming his luck.
And in the air rose a beautiful song
A sorrowful lament that played ever long.

And those who heard it wept,
Tears spilling from their eyes.
Heartache as they slept,
And sorrow in their cries.
They knew the Phoenix no longer alive,
For life doesn't exist where a broken heart may thrive.
Tulip Chowdhury Jan 2016
I lay awake last night
listening to the windchime
I knew for sure
it was telling tales
singing songs
and some poems too.
At times loud
at times soft
it talked and talked.

will the windchime be ringing
tonight, again?

Maybe I should be dressed
to join windchime and her friend!
Ah, yes I will listen
for the howling sound,
the first gusts of wind
and rush out
when it joins its friend.

On lonely nights
wind chime is my friend.
Solaces Jul 2016
The storm is moving in on the horizon.
Its been a very long time since we had a storm out here..
The winds where picking up and all of my windchimes rang..
When I heard the wind chimes it flashed all before me.  
On where I was the night before and many nights before that..
Chimes and vibrations where the first to greet me..
Followed by lights directly shined into my eyes..
I could now remember sleeping with my eyes open..
Everything around me was made of a shiny lustrous metal.
Shadows would pass over my eyes from time to time.
To my horror I then realised what was going on..
They were studying what I was.
Looking inside me to see what makes me alive.
They spoke to eachother in strange clicks and hisses..
As they returned me home, my windchimes started to sing..
I awoke in my bed..
Was this just a bad dream?
They come from above and look inside..
Sleepy Sigh Mar 2011
There was a place I knelt
In the light of chicken feathers,
And heard the song of God
Pouring from rain frogs in day lilies.

There was a bark bench in a wood
Underneath an apple-cedar rusted tree
That yielded its slimy children to me
Whenever I needed entertaining.

There was a rabbit that did not run
Immediately, but stilled and watched,
Nose twitching in apprehension, as if
Maybe I was no interloper, no enemy.

These things were -
And some still are -
Though I no longer remember
The path to the fallen pine
Or the hiding place of the rabbit’s burrow,
And the tree has been burned up
For many years.

There are pangs of hunger in me,
Not to hear God in the day lilies
(For I am still shaking from the sound),
But to find in myself the
Absolute wonder that I found
Inside a circle of roses.
Bailey B Dec 2009
I.
I lift my eyelids.
plipliplip.
The rain invites me to play.
Her cold fingers curl around the doorframe,
"Come on, come sing again! Sing, just like you used to!"
She burbles gleefully.
"Come on, old friend.
We used to be ballerinas, whirling and laughing.
We used to be one
one and the same."
Her fingertips inch through my solid oak door.
I frown and shove the door closed
throw down the lock
yank my curtains closed
Closed to the scent of moss
to the wail of the wind
to the percussion of the weather.
(I prefer the smell of coffee
the sound of silence
of security.)
"I used to be a lot of things," I call.
"But then I grew up."

II.
She knocks at my door.
Again. (memories are persistent.)
Teasing me with her calm voice
whispering lofty and cool.
I sigh
begrudgingly I follow
sliding into my raincoat
tugging up the hood
drawing the string tight around my jaw.
She dances in watery windchimes
sluicing across the slick sidewalk,
she pirouettes
leaps
beckons for me to follow.
My galoshes are not as forgiving as toe shoes; I trip.
I reach out my hand tentatively
curiously
feel a cold ***** of water slide down my index finger.
Icy. Biting.
I gasp and flick it off.
The world is a box of watercolors
but all smeared together in shades of earth.
Shadow, cornflower, lilac, mud
muddy colors I identify straight away.
They bring a smudgy comfort
a hesitant nostalgia.
I feel a note catch in my throat
like trapping a dragonfly in a glass jar.
It flits violently to escape,
but I dare not let it out.
It is sunny under my umbrella.

III.
Late late night
midnight and a half (to be exact.)
I hear her call
frosting my windows with condensation.
I etch into my foggy breath,
feeling the panes hard against my pale skin.
"Come." says her voice.
"Listen--" I protest.
"Live." urges her whisper.
So I fling back the door
let the coolness trickle down my head.
Silver bullets sparkle in the moonlight
I tilt my face towards the crystal beads,
watch them pour across my face.
I shake my flimsy nightgown
sodden with tears never shed.
I twirl, laughing across the yard.
"Old friend, how I have missed you!"
The rain calls to me.
My tears melt with hers
tumbling down my neck.
My words burst forth, a crescendoing horn
swelling across the rooftops
resounding to the deepest roots of the trees.
"I don't want to grow up."
Let’s talk of love,
Of sunsets,
And peace,

Let’s talk of roses
And romance,
And full glasses of champagne.

Let’s,
Talk of joy
And having a baby,
And windchimes,
And feasts,
And,
Well,
Anything.

But let’s not talk of hate,
Or war
Or crimson rivers;
Wounds crackling with pus,
Popping scabs,
The sizzling gashes on my face.

Don’t speak of lost soldiers with forgotten limbs.
Don’t think,
Of discrimination,
And sorrow,
And divided skin.

Don’t waste a single breath
On misfits,
Outcasts,
Or widows.

Ignore conversing about infants
Left in the gutter,
Or orphans without arms,
Or bombings,
Or fire in the streets.

Don’t mention parents
Who **** their children.
I don’t want to know
About ******,
Trauma,
And ****.

Don’t look at the spires
Constructed of bodies,
With insects crawling out holes,
And eating out frowns.

Absolutely never speak,
Of anger and sadness
And anything in between.

Why bother with illness
Of mind,
Body,
Spirit.

Forget about the times
When liberty bled.
That’s not on my conscience.

Why mention families,
Torn,
Apart.

Why speak of agony,
And brokenness,
And death?
Don’t speak,
Of suffering
At all.

But let’s talk,
About anything,
And everything,
Anything at all.
As long
As it’s not,
You.
Jude kyrie Nov 2015
Tonight the softness of the air
touches my skin gently.
Like once your fingertips did.
The air blooms
with moonlight and Jasmine.
A breeze touches the flowers
one by one
Roses Dahlias Carnations
night stock and Gardenia.
Ahh Gardenia your favorite.

I close my eyes
in my mind my senses
bring you here to me.
You are wearing the gown
that once we were married in.
Your lips so red
and eyes so inviting.

I touch you long flowing hair
I can feel the softness of you
even in my mind.
You reach up and
unfasten the ribbons
that hold it.

it flows like a storm
over my bare chest.
Outside I can hear
the ****** of your laughter
like a sweet night song.

But it is only the
windchimes
that you loved.
bringing me back
to the empty heart
That only you could fill.
Michael Hoffman Jan 2013
Every morning
I feed the mewling cats,
chug my hot instant coffee,
sit at my rickety linoleum kitchen table
and peer hopefully out my thin window,
through the cracks in the glass
beyond the rusted screen
into the acres of wet trainyards and commercial blocks.

There in one non-descript grey building
underneath the watertower
beside the Sheriff's substation
a band of laughing saints
craft delicate malas of lapis
and manzanita windchimes
while diaphonous angels all a-hover
manifest vast verdant grassland prairies,
great ocean waves, sunsets
and spring flowers hidden in rock crannies
where nobody will ever walk,
and they launch grand air balloons
bulging with epiphanies
that may drift my way.
Alysha Marie Oct 2011
there is blood and grime and rust already
in my backyard and on my hands.
the unlucky baby birds that fall down during june
into my over-chlorinated swimming pool
are ironic.
there are yellow flowers in my garden that i used to take pictures of
before i grew
bored.
and love became a hole
waiting to be filled.
and men
and life became predictable as windchimes.
and
i fell
into all the cracks.
lua May 2021
Crashing waves against the crunch of sand
Touches my feet
Sinking into the softness beneath me
As the water stains my toes blue
And paints goosebumps
Paints chills
Across my legs
Up to my stomach
Full of the same crashing waves
Those which curl
And spin in whirlpools
Up to my chest
Into my lungs full of seasalt
And the bitterness of the morning sun
Down every branching vein
That reminds me of mangrove roots
Yet pale and blue
So small and delicate
It reaches my own shaking fingers
And to the rosiness of my cheeks
All I hear is the soft ringing of windchimes in my ears
And the splash that dissipates into nothing but tiny droplets
Maybe that’s what keeps me awake at night.
Brian Oarr May 2012
Your promised proof lacks rigor
and riots down the corridors of logic,
strong women bleeding inside,
all their energy confined in a wind tunnel.

I am not persuaded that my sisters are a dream,
though they die the long death of injustice.
How their voices swarm in my windows,
like maddening windchimes in a storm!

Your promised proof a color on no spectrum.
I set sail with the tide seeking forgiveness,
seeking the Newland where men do not subduct,
where oceans merge with female currents.
Yvonne Nice Oct 2021
I can’t help but smile when she enters a room
  Beautiful hazel eyes that hold memories that will never go stale,
soft curls that dance with the breeze,
a smile so warm that it melts me into nothing more than my tender heart,
high cheekbones smattered with constellations
  She is endless possibilities and the flame of adventure
  Brilliance, spoken with a voice that not even the gods could hope to have
  Her love is the lick of a flame over your skin that never burns
  It’s the laughter of Icarus as he fell,
relishing in the scalding wax dripping down his spine and tang of sea spray
It’s the taste of herbal tea with a dollop of lavender honey on an autumn evening
There’s nothing quite like it,
overwhelming in the best of ways,
a taste of what it means to live instead of survive
It is an understatement to simply say that I adore her,
it is so much more than that
I don’t think that the word to describe it’s depth has been invented yet
She’s taught me of a love that is incomprehensible to the unacquainted mind
She embodies life
Can you tell I'm queer ****
Emily Grace Oct 2012
Socks are only really okay when they have holes in the soles and some scary stories to tell

The prettiest leaves are wrapped up in fingers and traded around for some days

A nothing together is better than many a venture alone

Knowing where the fork belongs is not a real thing

Best kind of weather is cuddling weather

Life music plays on windchimes

Don’t sleep but for dreams

Never go

Breathing
Izze Jan 2020
I USED TO LOVE THE SOUND OF MY WINDCHIMES

they blew in that wind and they were always my own special symphony, everchanging, reminding me that the world is never the same world twice and that beauty was always with me when i was with you.

the wind blows so cold now.

all i hear is a cacophony of sounds so ugly and melancholy that they sound like the way my heart broke when you called me that day. the chimes i hear now sound like when dad dropped mom's favorite glass and we spent the whole night looking for the glittery sharps on the kitchen floor.

you threw your watercolor into the fire, sure. but you threw me in there, too. you threw every memory we made , every song we sang, everything i ever made for you or gave to you or did for you in that fire.

and i hate you for it.
phantasmal Jul 2013
sunsets and rainbows
stain the canvas, sky
an onslaught of color
mark the once blind clouds

in a world delusional
of beauty irrational
yet auburn sunlight
where the demons fight

hear the haunting tune
of sweetest sorrow
the scarred melody
its bitter determination

the powdered crayons
and drifting wind
feel the pastel snowflakes
of one Wonderland winter

with espoir
and a turn of winds
no vouloir
can't be reached

the cold breeze finds
tinkling glass
and the echo of
windchimes ethereal

and plain old jane
she dulls the pain
all factors in life where
she'll always care

the querulous kind
the insecure kind
but deep down inside
hides a love overflowing

its beauty like roses
yet as wild as their thorns
a smile like gunfire
but a heart closed in ice

so stays in denial
a stretch of black and white
a blur in one's vision
now faded to gray

an unforseen wind
with strange predicaments
perhaps it was all
a hallucination?

- - -
Bailey B May 2010
You say I don’t need a poem
to capture the day in a frame and tuck it
beneath my pillow
But I’d like to have it there in case I forget
the way the armadillo on the side of the road
lay belly up, beer bottle in paw
a redneck's respects for the deceased

or the feeling of three in the morning
pounding in my skull, soaking in memories
trivia pursued and articles of obfuscation: the elucidation of the world
seen through bottle-green binoculars and heard
through the neighbor's windchimes ringing out diminished sevenths
and questions I don't want to answer
or even ask out loud

I want to tuck it in my wallet
for times that I can't remember your faces
or the scent of your shampoo, or the order of keychains
on your keyring, or the times we drove to East Jesus Nowhere
and you ripped the leaves from my calendar, ticking
and turning my seasons by the mile markers in the cement

I do this to engrave it in my cerebrum
the nights we ran outside in our pajamas in the rain
and danced for a while, then danced some more,
turning and leaping and spinning and reaching
and falling down to weep for no reason
mourning the morning
among the sharpened blades of grass

You laughed at me once
remember that? how you scoffed and snatched
my paper from my spiral and stuffed it in the trash can
telling me not to write fiction in history class
but it's just as much history as every other Jefferson
another amendment you'll never read

But I forgive you. you're not the first
to tell me to get my feet out of the clouds
because my head's already gone too far for saving
or to attempt to stifle my addiction to
the scratch of pen on paper
the scent of ink on tree
the pulse of blood in my brain

I cling to syntax like religion
keeping the words pinched in my fists like pixie dust
hoping if I say the right abracadabra
the pen will turn to a wand
and I can paint you the details
one day at a time
emma joy Aug 2013
The three little pigs had it easy
they were destined to be blown away
into oblivion
But,
expectations weigh me down in my sleep
and I have to greet the sun and the moon
with open arms,
and I'd rather be curled up in my bed of rocks
that I made with my own wretched hands.

My nails have dirt under them
so when they find me
when they dig me up
they'll realize
I was more alive than dead.

Perhaps perhaps that is true,
but I'm unsure at the moment if I can breathe anymore
without the man upstairs jumping on my chest
and rattling my bones like
windchimes in a blizzard.

They forgot to take me in from the porch
so now I am covered in ice.
Hypothermia is contagious.
I learned that the hard way.

My mother doesn't know any lullabyes
so I fell asleep alone all my life
there is no such thing as love in a world where
doors are always sewn closed.

My brother doesn't know the meaning of the word death
so he doesn't know who I am
or where I came from.
It's a divided house with splintered shutters
hanging only on one window.

My grandmother handmade the curtains so my mother
wouldn't have to spend any money on décor.
It is important to be fasionable yet frugal
she said.
Know your odds and ends
and always sweep the dust under the rug
at the end of the day.

Clean freak.
Everyday.
Shine the house. Shine her shoes.
I think she mistakes them for her soul.
But, it's okay
because ***** things teach important lessons in life
like who can bring the most to the table.

Honesty is the best policy.
I lied to my aunt so I could go smoke
her cigarettes and drink her *****
while she was gone on vacation.
She doesn't know I've slashed wrists
and doused pills with beer and dry martinis
on Sundays after church, but
Honesty is the best policy.

It's hard to explain to someone that addiction's not
addiction because you sound like
you've been shot
when you ask for the stuff you've been dying
to hold.
And they look at you as if you were the one
that ran over Princess Di.

Back up.
Back up.
Sit down. Breathe clean air and tell them that
you're not
suicidal
you just like the way the word sounds
on your tongue.

Aftermath is fear.
Intentions
always change last minute and as they
stuff the tube down your throat
you question if you are you
any longer.

People like that shouldn't rely on such
demeaning ways to be found,
but I can feel my skin rotting
and I'm terribly afraid
someone is going to cover me in
buffalo sauce and swallow me whole.

I was drunk
but does it still count
I've never truly known a woman
because I know the one for me will be
unknowable.
I am drawn to the things I can't have
and oh god
I can't have you.

I hear that if you lick the alphabet
they will fall in love with your tongue.
No one has made me fall yet,
that is no one I have tasted.
I don't trust they are worthy
if they can't look me in the eyes.

I pray to god no one ever inhales the carbon dioxide
I contain.
It is spoiled rotten with ash.
In fact, I am confident the dioxide
has turned black
by now
Brandon Jul 2013
The wind blows.
The sun shines.
The grass dances.
The ocean calls from too far away.

The windchimes sing.
The cats meow.
The dogs bark.
The city is silenced.
The country alive.

Books get read.
Drinks get drunk.

Stories get written.

Lives get dreamt.

Love is forgotten.
Love is remembered.
Love is forgotten.

Clouds cover sun.

But never for long.

The rays illuminate.
A life once gone.
Random mortar shells in the afternoon.
Sparkling, steel jacketed rain drops,
Glinting rainbows of reflected sunlight.
Plastic explosive seat cushions upon which passers-by,
Rest their weary bones.
C-4 candy bars, nuclear toothpaste,
****** for dessert.
Orphanage flambe', hospital hash, blood pudding.
Human burgers sizzling on a smart bomb bar-b-que grill.
Finger food, toe jam, baby-back ribs.

Bureaucratic double talkers,
Sugar coated body counts,
Colateral stew.
Really deplorable, awfully sorry,
But it was their own faults trying to put on raincoats.
They declined our invitation to the cook-out.
Bad luck to open an umbrella in the house.

Remotely piloted funeral processions.
Radar guided hearses.
Televised in real time.
Precision, surgical,
neutralized, deterrent, disarmed,
Deactivated, stand down, eliminate.

Living pawns on a battlefield checkerboard.
Strategic, defensive,
Dominate, annihilate,
Acceptable loss, public opinion pole.

Listen to the tinkling of sabre blades,
Rattling windchimes,
In the warm breeze of the shockwave,
Accompanied by the drumbeat of detonation and concussion.
Rock...
        ...and heads will roll.

Holy, blessed,
Patriotic, brave,
Courageous, dedicated,
Heroic, dutiful,
Self sacrificing...
                         ...******.
joanna dibble Mar 2012
nascent clover all around
grass so green it burns the eyes.
sulfur pollen on everything
at slightest touch, it puffs and
blossoms into the soft still air
all the windchimes sounding
incongruent harmonies
carried on the warming breeze
all the lovely voices
in unison.
Mikaila Aug 2013
You've been here before,
It's been a long time, hasn't it?
Who can you go to?
What can you do?
Think.
There is always a way.
Emotions like a puzzle
Like a riddle.
Always solvable
If you clear your head and your heart
And try.
Get something in your hands and mold it,
Touch it,
Make something of it.
A puzzle, a riddle,
Find something to solve.
Find something to make it simpler.
Pieces all fit together
None are missing
Like in your head.
Find something outside of it
With all the parts
And put it together
To slow down the whir.
Long time since your hands have shook.
On bad days you self medicate, huh?
With the drowsy high of your favorite person.
Not today, not today.
Oh, Sunshine, I understand you.
I'm sorry I was your medication.
I'm sorry I made you withdraw.
But I know that now since you don't need me,
You are better for it.
I wish I had something like you do.
Animals to care for,
Problems to solve,
Something, anything, to drive the madness from my head with order.
Order solves things.
I should solve things.
What did I used to do on days like this?
Silly fool, they were all like this.
This was a good day, remember?
But not now, now it is tension and shaking hands,
And you can't afford this.
Think, think,
What did you do?
A show, a story, but they don't always hold
Like sails that go limp without a wind.
Go outside, do something dangerous and hard
That soaks up all your focus so you can't think
Or you'll slip and fall.
Climb something, run somewhere,
Do something
Quick!
God, I hate my mind.
It's my mind that does this to me,
Not my heart.
My heart only loves.
My mind...
Interprets.
It damns me.
It likes to play games and make mazes.
Writing only helps a bit.
Safety net gone
And I'm already tottering
Like a child pushed out on the tightrope
Wondering what it will feel like to hit the ground.
The wondering is often worse than the fall.
I won't fall.
I did it before.
How did I do it before?
Gotten soft, haven't you?
Let yourself depend.
There always needs to be a backup plan,
An out,
For these days.
Did you forget they will always come?
People do not always help you.
Even the great ones.
Go out, find a puzzle, find something to solve.
Something with all the parts already there,
None you have to sort of pretend about
Leave a little space for
And hope the wind won't whistle through the holes
To make you aware of them.
Something whole that needs to be understood and figured out.
Something solid like a rock or a puzzle piece.
Something solid to hold onto and feel.
I want to apologize.
Stop!
Don't.
She said you didn't have to be sorry.
That was then.
It's always then
The second it's said.
Stop!
Don't.
This is who you are,
You can't make it stop.
Remember? You try all the time.
I need a better method, something solid and nonliving,
Something that can't get bored or busy or annoyed.
Something with all the pieces
Pieces
So I can put them together.
And they all fit without any gaps.
The gaps always sing in my heart
They like to be heard
Discordant like baleful windchimes.
They sing because the breeze catches their emptiness
And plays them like flutes.
I want to run from that sound.
But it's inside.
I fill the holes with conversations
And passions and work.
But there are days that they'll have none of it.
Brutal days,
When their melody is all there is.
I can't ask for help, fixing myself.
I have to find something out here
To fix
To find
To focus on
To put together.
Something with all the little
Pieces
There.
xpzlol Sep 2018
i bear the cross of faith
tied down to the angels of
Heaven.
He listens to my praises
like the whisper of windchimes.
a tickling of silver tongues.

in the trying times
He burns in my head
a fireball of glory
a lavish thought in my brain.
He instills fear
He instills pride.

we read the words from His Grace
memorising the holy scripture
pretending like we understand Him
pretending like He
understands us.
the loss of faith is lost upon all.

and so as i sing these monotonous
phrases of glory
inside the church of alabaster
i ask of Him a delirious question
and he would answer deliriously.
a consciousness of oneself.

and as i feel my feet on the floor
the gold tiles freezing my soles
i bring into His Grace
a sinner
i ask myself
i reside in a golden cathedral.

i bear the cross of faith
joanna dibble Mar 2012
all the windchimes sounding incongruent harmonies in the warming breeze.
JN Feb 2017
Someone once told me
that butterflies only live for a year
so could you tell the ones you left in my stomach
that they've overstayed their welcome?

After you left, I catch myself running my fingers
over the things you touched the most.
I just want to feel the warmth of your fingertips.
I just want to know if the sound of my heartbeat
still sounds like windchimes to you.
—J.N
Mosaic May 2015
We met during a meteor shower
at a party on Cloud Nine
And we were high, high, high
         out of our minds

Drinking the Elixir of Life
     From Vampire bartenders
The bumble bee of time
                whose sting is reality
And idealism is a crime

You were trying to plant trees
with seeds inside rain drops
Like Redwoods and Populus tremuloides

I  think your father was a giraffe made out of sticks from the Swahili language
              by the carpenter that is your mother
Who you look like

I wonder what you would carve from the
   wood of your harvest
A Wife like the Blue Fairy?

But you only saw in colors of green
With absinthe stuck in your teeth
you wear windchimes and windmills like earrings
and hummingbirds nesting in your ears
Your blood is honeysuckle

You caught me a Shooting Star,
              Calling me Eyelashes and Pretty dresses
I  like it best when the stars fall,
sizzle sizzle pop Like the beginning of time
and water fighting for its Life

I asked you, "Have you ever cut down a tree?"
            Pause button lingers on your lips
"What does that feel like?" I ask.
Your reply, "Hot, like the burn on your chest from the sword you made for the King of Aliens."
"He was just an Ex boyfriend" I reply.

You continue your work, eyeing as ghosts
     linger like houseguests on my shoulder pads
Pretending to be my consciousness
I put my morals in the recycling bin last week.
     And threw my soul into a Wishing Well.

You said you were going deep sea memory diving.
Amnesia a Past time, last time, previous life girlfriend you had
Who cheated on you with Reincarnation

You say that's why the dinosaurs
are extinct

I ask you if you need a ride home in my Time Machine.
It's made out of cardboard and childhood memories.
blue mercury May 2017
doll face
lavender thighs
rose gold heartbeat
alternate endings tracing cheekbones
like broken glass
your sawdust jawline

summertime soiree
knee-buckling faith
a mouthful of metaphors
forevers
daisy chained couplets
some purple skylines

feathers
cotton
hushed loving between
celestial bodies
grapefruit and coconut sugar
closing time

deities not quite worshiped
revered
hightop/high heel
purple jolly rancher
dress and tie
fingertips

hips swaying from side to side
windchimes
music
moments
love or truth
now or never

healing
breathless
full of life
merry-go-round mindset
happy dizzy
revolve around the sun
summer is approaching but the weather is cool
Dominique Apr 2019
Flesh hooked on lampposts (ribbon-like)
Railings, bus stops, fences too
Unlooping miles and miles of eager skin
Colouring the pavement with vivid

Bone strung like windchimes (hoisted high)
In all the brightest places
Mainly on rooftops, we have an affinity
The sun splatters them pastel each day

Muscle- candyfloss on benches
Warm, thick (seeps into their mouths)
Chunks of wriggling bliss in the tighest corners
Embossed with sweet disaster sprinkles

Me me me; the essence of Me
My pulse spread out across the city
My veins in the underground
My heart cut up onto various plates
The pieces will take years to be found
And they're not all mine anymore.

But under the ivory moon
When I'm sighing, "I'm lost" to each night
My city rocks me straight to sleep
And walks me through the dying light
So while I'm here, my soul's all right.
free verse literally gives me anxiety ****

— The End —