fifteen; the garden

Raindrops like tsunamis
erode canyons in our earth;
we sway, bend, bow to Light Giver.

After the rainstorm ends
our roots absorb Life Liquid;
our petals slowly shine shine shine.

The Spider and the Butterfly
emerge from their hidden home;

Weaving webs of green and new life
and fluttering up, away;

Light Giver breaks forth, shattering
clouds as her face peers through the carnage;

Our stems wave, our petals shake
because the winds embrace our bodies;

we are not alone.

we are those who pepper the mountainside
and feed the beasts who circle around us;
we grow and pollinate, with time to bide
before the Cold Time will kill us.

we live together, amongst the Garden
turning our faces to the sky;
day after day we beg your pardon
before we are picked and die.

fourteen; chess

i don’t ever want us to be anything but what we are
i can’t imagine us
being anything but what we’ve grown to be

and i hate how you always say you’re sorry
when it’s my fault we’re in this mess

our chess pieces are mirrored
but something’s wrong
and a stalemate is where we’ve met

on a battlefield of hurt feelings and
emotions that don’t belong

our pieces move in tandem
yet we’re broken somewhere in the
middle

but i can’t remember how to feel

thirteen; we are, we are

like footsteps on pavement
in suburban city streets
we are natural, we are comfortable, we are content

like warm fires at night
in fireplaces at our feet
we are calming, we are reassuring, we are safe

like books on shelves
in the library of our hearts
we are close, we are ancient, we are bound together

and like the curtains on the windows
in the old home we used to share
we are hiding, we are translucent, we are faded by the sun.

twelve; growing up

I don't really have much to say. So. I hope this speaks for itself.


our shapes are those of phantoms
who phase through emotions (like walls)

and pretend that spikes are cotton swabs
and moving on is like eating your favorite meal

and fire is nothing but the burning in our souls
moving away like two compasses gone awry

we were a pair, inseparable as siamese twins
and now our silhouettes are drawing away

so long, sweet summer;
your rays of warmth are long dead; my heart grows chilly

you are who you are now

and growing up hurts more than I ever thought it would

eleven; cardboard

I'm sorry I suck so much :( I totally forgot about this. :| This past week has been busy as hell. No parents are home, so I've been running around like crazy. Here's something I just wrote. A few minutes ago, completely unedited.

and when you lie to me, tell to me
the things you know I want to hear
I just can’t – won’t
trust you anymore.

we’re falling apart
like a house decays with age

and

we were once made
of stone, never weathered or
eroding

but now

we’re cardboard boxes in the rain
and if you only knew
that I would shield you from this storm
and if you only knew
that I don’t because I don’t know

if you want me to
like I want to
or if you want what
I could never give

but it breaks my heart

ten; a mother that cares

So, I'm super slack and forgot to post yesterday. :| Sorry, guys. I suck. And today really sucked, and I hurt my foot, and my stomach is aching so I'm feeling really uninspired and I just want to go to bed. Happy fourth, everyone.

Upon the hallowed halls of the Vatican,
Clipped the heels of a woman, hand to her bodkin.
A man in fur, vision of her nightmares,
Brings her to Italy, to make her repairs.
At home in Brooklyn she slinked her street,
Committing sins so her son can eat.
Mary was her name, ironic in origin,
She fled her early home, that desolate dungeon,
To make a new life, away from there,
And she comes full circle, making a prayer.
She takes a knee, eyes to the Lord,
Feeling the tightening of her metaphorical cord,
Around her neck, where she placed it ere,
In her duty as a mother to care,
For her son, the child of a man she loved.
She pledged her soul to her beloved above.

nine; like bars

This is one of my pieces written during Calculus class (; It's focus is on friendship, and the...issues that come with it. I think tomorrow I may post a full explication of the work, because for one, I don't feel like typing it up, and for two, the poem + explication is a little much for one day :P

friends make lines (bars)
between
one – two – three five

but four;
if I wanted four as
unattainable goals
(including those unseen)

I could cut, scissor, slash
apart (bars)
but bars don’t break;

bars melt like molten
words

and I’m left behind
(bars)
where four is
unattainable.

eight; a clean break

I don't really know what to say about this one. Tell me how it makes you feel? :)

A glimpse of a calm scene
Never lasts more than a second
For once, my love is a burden
Suffering, my heart threatens to burst.
I lay alone on the icy floor.
Betraying me, my heart thunders,
Purple veins bulge warm and thick
I don’t believe a word you say.
A light flickers on in the distance
Guilty circles run round in my head.
I heave a breath
Putrid odor burns the air
Look at myself, yourself, us –
perfect?
I tried to kill, the fire roars
I saved you instead, perfectly
Lonely I cried out, grief-stricken.
Alone, hope flew in through my open window.
Evil vanquished in the dead of night.
Triggered in silence, God swooped.
Struck, crazed, air-tight.
Salvation imminent, outstretch.
Hide, eat your heart out full of sorrow.
Shot by remorse and I pull the trigger.
Paralyzed, strong inside.
Color flooded my eyes and
ruby was my visage.
Right through me and smothered.
Vases sliding off tables shatter.
For one second I’ll keep you tight.
Kiss one last time, speak in half-lies.
Eternity blossomed in a rose bud.
Clench dead fingers to an iron heart.
“a clean break” I screamed.
It’s not time, it’s not hate, it’s just over.
Head in icy fingers, mirror smashes.
A bite from an apple and the worm arrives.
You can’t kill me, it’s not over.
Steal my heart, arms outstretched
lips cold, trickle blood
a rose on my chest, eyes squeezed tight.
A clean break.

seven; the circus

So the other day, my friend Michelle (and an anon commenter) said that one of my poems was a bit "bad touch" as in, pedophilia/rapist. Therefore, I decided to post my poem that actually IS bad touch. Violaa~

At the circus,
children scream
delight, delight.

They squeal and laugh,
and run past
in blurs of joy.

Shadows shiver,
creep and crawl.
Someone is there.

Cotton candy
fills your head,
while he comes close.

Again you turn,
his arms open;
where are you now?

Dark, deaf, and blind;
at his mercy,
judgment does come.

Before you can
scream for help,
where are you now?

Screaming for mom,
lost and dazed,
what just happened?

For seven years,
you think daily
of the circus.

five; chronicle

Another one of my favorites. This piece was originally one large work, but I felt as though the entirety simply felt too disjointed to be flowing enough for a single work. so I took them apart, carefully, and together they work better when read as parts of a whole, I think. It's sort of...a journey.

Preface
A loss of time. Infinity. a blur; a face
A hook and anchor. my sails aloft, full.
My hometown gone, woods thickly green.


I
I’m here, I’m there
where are you?
A dandelion in winter,
icy fragile, bittersweet
longing
A world apart, but
inches away. grasping
gasping
for air. Smile wanly,
touch the clouds. Hooked on with a string
weigh me down
make me free


II
hands, pale touching
a car, not mine
a sound, too loud
gone, fingertips in blizzards
empty chairs, half filled hearts
walking by without a glance; passed.


III
Begin again, Romeo- I lack the strength.
up down up down, left
Egypt seems familiar now
chariots on wings with me and fire; aloft, full
touch of ice in the desert
a single cloud – nimbus, cirrus, cumulus
a shadow cloud


IV
Voices, chords of heaven - down on leaves and sea
yellow gold and white - calm, nurture


Epilogue
Return, go back, be gone
green, in all and oxygen abide
how it should be
be strong - don’t hide
This is how it should be.

four; starlight

This is just a little teensy poem that came to me a while back, while thinking about how senior year was almost over. (:


the end draws near, our last days together dwindling
like the last vestiges of light at dusk.
soon, we will see the stars.

three; song of silence

This work is something I really enjoyed writing, and really just came from nowhere. Inspired mostly, I think, by the rushing feel of being alone in an empty field, the wind whipping about you, and the feel of something much more, something magnanimous about you. Something you can't understand; something special and magical, even.



From far away I can hear you
As the full moon rides on Her journey
Across a gossamer sky
A soft, wild wind surrounds me
Calls to me
Beckons me
to come and play awhile
There are secrets in the air that only Those who listen know
A wind filled with silent communication
This wind holds echoes
Of little girl giggles
And grown men’s laughter
And the deep, rich silence
That takes a lifetime to build.

oneandahalf; a rosen summer evening

The poem I posted two days ago, A Rosen Summer Evening, has a choral counterpart, written by my friend Zachary Cotton. You can find his choral composition of the work here, at his blog:

http://albinoechidnamusic.blogspot.com/2010/06/rosen-summer-evening.html

two; we stalk by night, we inspire by day

Something Halloween-inspired. Sorry I missed today. It's actually 2:41AM and I just got home, so I haven't gone to bed yet...therefore in my mind it's still the 25th. You'll have to deal (:

cold
the night air is.
I shiv-er and s.h.a.k.e
and the ground starts to q.u.a.k.e

ghosts
walk the streets
and I pass them – blind
a mummy staggers. the road is lined

icy
and the sunshine stripes
glare at me as I cross them, eyes
ever upward. the frigid, darkening skies

open to reveal
every-
thing
and yet –

nothing at all except for what is inside your mind and
nothing at all except for what you want to believe but
everything that you’re scared of in the night and
everything that you wish never existed but can’t control


Sunrise breaks and brings a new day,
it falls through the trees and leads a new way.

one; a rosen summer evening

I figured I'd go ahead and start the posting with one of my favorite works. Generally different from my usual tone, but something I feel really came from the heart.


Alas, the crimson –
waves
of the evening sun
wa – sh;

they create bars –
streams
of light to fall and
(cascade)
across my face;

soft breathing; whispers
flow
slowly – leisurely – and in pink
(caress)
the soft edges
and hard corners

of a looking glass that
churns
whirls
turns
like an (o c e a n) of uncertainty

through my window