[x]

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Through an Angel's Eye

Some see the world through rose-colored glasses,
some see it only as bad.
Some see man split into one of three classes,
some see it only as sad.

They say that the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others may prefer to focus on shadow,
some seek out fortune and fame.

To see the world softly through colors sublime,
requires a heart that is pure.
Yes, to see the world as an angelic rhyme,
the eye must be steady and sure.

Through the eyes of angels she captures our world,
the wonder of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work beauty is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.

Broken Hearts Can Still Keep BeatingHis hands are not like yours.

Grieving
like lace across glass; a
[a] black galaxy
made a memory of me.
He told me he felt
cast into chaos.

Arms flailing,
he murmured

"A distant red dwarf--
wove stories
of liars."

A subtle kiss of stardust
felt like a promise
holding the world still
but even that
suddenly seemed made up.

I'm sorry,
I still don't know you.

RedRed is the blood of life flowing through veins;
Red is the petals of a lover’s rose.
Red is the stripes looping ‘round candy canes;
Red is the polish painted on my toes.

Red is the crab apple eaten by deer;
Red is the velvet of Christmas stockings.
Red is the lantern welcoming new year;
Red is the plumage of cardinal wings.

Red is the blossoms waving from the tree;
Red is the brick wall protecting my home.
Red is the sunrise saluting the sea;
Red is the faded ink on the worn tome.

Red is the color of life, love, and war,
And yet red symbolizes so much more.

Stand StrongI stand in awe at the strong winds blowing
Hurricanes rising and tornadoes growing
Housing blown away and long hair flowing
Killing the crops of this year's sowing.
Stay strong, dear brothers; Strong in disaster
Stout in the winds that blow ever faster
Stay strong for your children, strong for your wives,
To get to the morning you must first traverse the night.

A Poem for LokiRhyming is hard
Just so you know
But for a friend
I'm giving it a go

His name is Loki
From Scotland, of course
Today is his birthday
I heard from a source

Plays Pokemon for fun
and Nuzlockes them too
Though one in particular
Might need a redo

His adventure in Hoenn
Was not quite grand
Many comrades died
Of course, not planned

But in the end he won
With a badass team
Including a Mightyena
Who reigned supreme

Not forgetting Mad6
Who replaced 5 before him
His chances of survival
Were really quite slim

And then there was Boom
Who exploded with glee
Against a troll Milotic
We won't forget thee

Tittypank is next
In the list of honours
Though

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

SandmanSleepwalking in tainted dreams
Falling through its open seams
Caving into unsure grounds
In a dream where fear abounds

Tightrope nerves are torn right through
All the facts become untrue
Screams are muted and lost midway
Still terror exists to my dismay

Faces change the closer I peer
The way I feel becomes unclear
And in the end I know it's fake
The pivotal moment when I awake

But still disturbed and afraid to dream
I wonder if they are at all what they seem
So I close my eyes and there you are
Staring at me looking bizarre

You told me you were there for me
To fight off the frauds valiantly
Trusting you I did what you said
I unmasked the

What may be a dream?Oh, what may be a dream but wishes mute?
Those thoughts that dance and prance a time or two?
The silent longings of the heart set free
To lift the spirit from chambers dark and cold.
A dream is as a morning mist of spring;
Refreshing, light, and gently promising
To all who sleep and wake in time to catch
The welcome peace and glory they behold.
But woe to waking hours; the bitterness they bring
When dreams escape the loving hold of thought!
The plaintive heart starts longing once again
To sink into the realms of possibility.

An AfflictionA bitter, purging wave of syllables
Unspoken chunks of memories and thoughts
Imperfect, raw and utterly sincere
The phonemes splatter hard against your heart

The sudden, wracking, cathartic release
Of vowels, consonants, and emotions
Completely empties your reserves of verse;
Vocabulary drips from nostrils flared

A fragment of dreams clings onto your tongue
Before it's spat on the reflective pit
That dreadful grip begins anew and forces
A dry-heave of clichés and tired words

And though it tears the lining of your soul
This sickness shall continue; never cloyed

Faerie InspirerThere once was a faerie so stunning and fair
With smooth caramel skin, and long, dark, locked hair

She was clever in mind with a deep-rooted soul
A carnal shaped figured; true beauty in whole

She danced in the wind, with her wings at her side
Enchanting onlookers who fell mesmerized

As she flew through the sky, to her home on the moon
Her departure caused many admirers to swoon

They composed complex tunes, and wrote tales of her splendor
And drew detailed depictions, desperate to remember

The faerie’s return saw loud cheers and great art
Each piece revealing a piece of their hearts

They begged her to dance for their eyes once agai

An Aching NeedAn Aching Need

This Kingdom of magic and wonder suits me very well, for I am without want.

I rule absolutely over my ugly subjects, like a puppet-master maneuvering strings.

The sting of want may not exist, but I have an aching desire for the one I hunt.

They are fairly simple , yet very beautiful to me; I NEED them above all other things.

My wiles and trials to win them over have led to a devious act, for which I regret not.

Whisked away through my mystical Labyrinth, her beloved brother sits upon my capable lap.

Though through her luck, and some help, she has made it to me, and ruin she has wrought.

And even though I thought myself

A man such as meHow do you think it would be,
to be like a man such as me?

Copper mane unkempt, unruly, distort,
from showers too long and sleep too short.
Eyes darting erratically, vibrant and blue,
sunken in purple pits, looking blackened and bruised.
A nose, big and red, once hit with a bat,
a maw full of teeth, yellowed, crooked and that.
A beard full and lush, fit for a king,
(one I should trim one evening...)

Betwixt my shoulders lies a beating heart
one which stirs for music, words and art,
one which constantly yearns for intimate love,
but is under command by the grey matter above.
A pair of lungs, tightly restricted by my bulk,
only shallow breath

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1916Poetry had a big voice,
far away languages
and pages could hold only
thin rhetoric,
but letters invoked a dead
mass, buried pithy flyleaf's grasp
like hands around music.

Coffins named Grammar,
tall yellow candles 'round soul's altar;
a tolling heard beyond the
churchyard, verses clamored
like a castle bell,
built on black paper -
the eldest swelled, tapered.

A dusk like that of the outer world,
silenced by repetition.

Through Metallic Pores, Silver PhotosynthesisPaint is amperage,
steel clear
in tall grass
by concrete man -
thick stitches he spits at you,
call him statue.

Smeared portrait, a wound
resembling
current,
our lives seen
through sunset electrons -
the engineer fawns.

Plume of loose screws
gives God some wiggle room -
poetry is thread on loom,
only lint it accrues.
The smallest and most
pliant settle,
re-fuel; untiring host,
furnish us new metal.

Going Deaf In Different WaysWhy vitiate your senses?
Perhaps a touch speaks
For only eyes' offenses,
While, in space we see weeks
Lure tastes from sleeping yesterday.

These are the novelties,
Uglinesses, my expiation
Deemed worthy; He sees
Cruel tearing in unwilling creation,
How the accordant strain will stay

Once you lend them willing ear,
Sound of withered horse's hoof,
Where from the throat comes here
Some existence of proof
That Fate may indeed decay,

The tones hearken, meeting twine,
They're lost on me, falcon motion -
My ear-drum pats and dampens an ocean
But cannot reach this heart of mine.

Tailored To YouA better toil, triply understated:
to create and not be given,

nimbly leaving
the higher art
and, retiring, question "Is a chrysalis heart
daintily shaded? Making mention of skin,
will not a costumed poet
begin 'Make to me, spirits,
an outwearied claim, I beg of your taste,
some intimation.'?"

CaliforniaPlay William Mount Diablo style, crumble those Stratford bones over Oakland.
Honk if you love Hamlet! Thank this Prince of Letters for it with thy best Huell Howser gold.
O greatly lives this star of false opera,
  wherever forest-
  seekers wend,
   trees are favored by the fog, pulsing in eternal

mind, no less, to lusty William Land Parks of Arden, O California,
this precious stone set near the blue and sea lion sea. Why any Elizabethan can
tell you this little Eden, this sultry realm,
  was an island like
  England, until it wasn't, no
   raw materials or

The Morning AfterI stir, ripping free from heavy sleep,
to meet an aggressive sun beating me.
It leaves the skin silky, sweat less dry;
the fragrant crust
on my lips from other lips I should
have left untouched.
I breathe in, all alcohol and blood.
A rotting breath is expunged like
the heart plucked from the chest
of a sleeping monk -
mornings leave me numb.

Cumulonimbus is memory, I peer through
the mind's fringe of rain,
down chimneys of soft brain tissue
and its sooty furrows...

The pinot noir brought color to her cheeks,
a lipstick ghost's delicate rebuff.
She swallowed, sliced into a pear,
and speared
each delicate eclair.
I thought h

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There Are No Good Collaborations

by ~SedahLiah, Dec 28, 2012, 2:53:36 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Its beginning is a fuse,
Its end a nerve burnt out;
Creativeness is only you,
Before other hands dig in;
A pattern like religion,
The lonely mind of man.

There Are No Good Collaborationsby ~SedahLiah

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Day 27 of DFC 2012: Parallelismus Membrorum

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There Are No Good Collaborations

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