|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Expectation Of An AvalancheOur emptiness, our spades and saws,
Old tools become debris,
The shattered bricks, a flayed applause
Shaking the snowy sea.
Tomorrow and the muted crawl,
The air's shock caught up, surging fall,
Beyond, until the motion stalls.
The bloodless gallop of the void
Between a dreamer's bones,
And at the foot lay there, destroyed,
Dissolving little ones -
So was it then, an elegy?
To soften their geometry,
So was it, then?
So was it then
When ice was all that I could see?
Alignment of translucent dunes,
Glass roofs but gravestones be;
Giving shelter to shedding moons
All polished perfectly.
An avalanche, as one would say,
No anchored noise thrown in the way,
To seize the feet with frozen clay.
Yet convalescence strips away
That jewel-box whose stems may slake
The eyes' long-thirsty lust of gray -
Our emptiness outwears and breaks.
No arabesque to dress the heart
Nor quickly sway its idle aches;
To whisk off vertigo, to part,
Our emptiness o
And Chains Will Not Release MeA certain pride and certain awe I see,
At times, your ardor all but has you gripped,
Yet not with love for your own child, or me,
But only for his newest manuscript.
Your verses are a gift from God himself,
Yet you dwell on those sentences amiss,
'Tis your novels that should be on the shelf,
But you treat each word as a crude, lewd kiss.
I'm writing this in hopes that you may know,
Finally understand what you ignore,
My veiled voice has long been pleading "Go..",
But 'tis I who must choose to stay no more.
Your words have chains and meaning thick as lead,
And chains will not release me once they're said.
Every Word I Say Has Chains 'Round Its AnklesI think of Hemingway everyday,
and murmur that it's going to be okay,
there's considerable difficulty
upon just being okay.
Just for one day.
Every word I say has chains 'round its ankles, running
for a porcelain knob too slick to turn,
and it seemed
that sentences inhabit darkness better
which is why they hide when exposed,
Oh how they pine.
I told myself calmly those words that had no sense,
and thrown away
so their leprous company
would not inhibit his craft.
Those he would never want to get back.
I'll desire in every way just to write like that.
Environed By Lights The traffic lights change too quickly around here, maybe because they know that nobody is coming. Heck, when we're not looking they probably turn purple and pink.
There's a certain poetry about them, like infinitessimally small stars we have the opportunity to watch die, and be reborn, we navigate about them and chart the best course, reading their instructions like fortune tellers. They are small Gods we honor with our approach, they govern the great consensus so that we may move fluidly together. I always thought randomness was true freedom, expectation a secret ruler, a calculable surrender.
I watched the walking envy the driver's speed, the drivers envy the walker's intimate view, neither truly happy to be doing what they were doing. The human condition: to compromise oneself, always finding something to want, something to give up in order to reach half-satisfaction. But that's the point I guess, to take something and leave something else leaves a man never overwhelmed, always i
A Flower Wouldn't Be So BoldAutumn leaves
Barely nothing, the wax of Summer wings
Long dried and scraped away.
And suddenly Winter cold — the mistletoe.
The new solstice, death and rebirth;
The air opens,
Upon the hearth a bough was hung,
And snow caught the tip of
Buildings clothed from head to toe,
And cars, too, as they inched a touch
It moves past you
In a flash.
Leaving only spiny-finger withered oak,
And one too many a stuffy nose.
We curse the cold,
Long for something old
To turn us away,
Reframe the mold.
A flower wouldn't be so bold.
A Conversation"What does unadorned beauty look like?"
An abrupt stillness came upon the snowstorm, as if the weather itself had posed the question. Not being able to see five feet in front of me, it didn't seem entirely unlikely. The bright and biting snow had left me disoriented, and I was sure I had been walking in entirely the wrong direction since breaking down on the highway a half-mile back. Just keep North, I told myself, because being lost is for people who take too many turns, like that even matters when each slow step is into the exact same nothingness. Supressing thoughts of the various scenarios of my death out in the cold I turned to where I thought the voice came from and shouted above the again-angry storm, "Hello? Is that you God? I can't talk now but if you've got any mechanic experience I could use your help!"
The blizzard snarled.
I nodded my head as if I understood.
There's nothing like being lost for the first time, it's as unique a feeling as being in lo
AgueAll vicious tinctures
Of changing textures
All that love's pleasures,
Flesh, in Death's measures,
By my own pressures,
The Metamorphosis AffairThe gardens rioted with weeds of glass,
Now and then a moisture deadened the glands;
I saw the world through gray water, no grass.
The floor-boards buckled, warped their weightless hands,
Thoughts held down by a sickness, viscous, slow;
I did not resist, scraped again by gray sands.
The muscles taut to plant new seeds to grow,
Just one night's sleep and suffering would rust;
I meddled in medicine long ago..
..but now cannot begin, unless from dust.
What Dreams May Come
As I lay me down to sleep I dream of tales untold.
Lovers who can drive me wild and some who leave me cold.
Bitter dreams of bitter things and sometimes streets of gold.
Dreams of timid angels and of some who herald bold.
Flying high o'er barren lands and seas of aqua hue.
I relish sights unseen and cherish every hidden view.
Earth relinquished planet Janus now is born anew.
Wondering if truths held dear were ever really true.
Heaven's carriage with no riders sailing toward the moon.
Wishing wells and private hells and Macy's day balloons.
Under water still can breathe a miracle lagoon.
Living happy dancing slowly singing lovesick tunes.
As I lay me down to sleep I dream of tales untold.
Some are newly painted and some dreams are really old.
Never given thought to meanings as these do unfold.
Waking hours living life have kept my dreams on hold.
Silver Slips and DancersIt’s there in the beaten mirror she holds
In broken hands she cries of a defeat
The night will take her before she grows old
And they will cry, “narcissist” in the street
There, she dances softly on the surface
And shows the swan what it means to pirouette
But she cannot break exteriors face
found so ashen from the year’s cigarette
They will write books about that wayward girl
Speak of once easy laugh and softest eyes
That such light could be consumed by this world
should show that both bones and beauty will die
Pressed fingers to lips form a last cachet
In silver, shard veils, sashaying away
RageRage, building inside.
Rage eats away the heart,
Rage, can't think straight,
Rage taking over your sanity,
Rage, feel the violence,
Rage, you hate the world,
Rage making everyone your enemy,
Rage, you can't control it,
Rage painting your vision red,
Rage killing the happiness,
Rage, why won't it go away?
Rage is destroying my world,
Rage hurting everyone near me,
Rage only brings misery.
Love Sonnet #3Love Sonnet #3
My tranquility, my peace of mind
Cannot be found outdoors
Nor can it be found in a throng of men
They have a voice like a lion's roar
They never frighten or intimidate [me]
Nay! They only disgust and bore me
My peace of mind, my joy at heart
Is found at home, with one
Who I love and who loves me
From dawn till dusk, till dawn
For I know that we both crave much love
And we cannot bear to live alone
Aye! there is but one source of peace for me:
That is my love, my sweetheart, Puabi.
Forget MeIt's funny you can't forget me,
You still bring up my name, the cause of your pain,
I'm the cause of all your friends to run away,
You speak of the day as if it was only yesterday
Putting your own spin on the storyline of events,
You say this, you say that, but what does it matter?
My name is only a tool to gain others' sympathy,
When in truth they'll never know the real me,
Erased in your life I remain only a memory,
That's what you wanted, the path you chose,
Forget me now, I don't want to be part of this show,
What's done is done, just let it all go,
It's behind us now, why can't we forget?
Com on don't tell me you still have regrets?
What happened happened, no changing the past,
The words to be said you're speaking them last,
There is no apology to the friends you had,
Why do you remember me when there is no forgiving?
It be best for both of us if there is only forgetting,
Forget me, let this memory be erased,
I don't want to be a memory that causes pain,
If I could, I would take i
Il est temps de partir, infants de l’aube grise
Il est temps de savoir, ou d’aller à la brise
Nous fûmes sœurs de sang, d’âme et parfois de corps
Mais la nuit nous priva du repos dû aux morts.
Comme la feuille au vent, nos racines sont sèches
Fiancées aux tombeaux froids, mariées aux ravins rêches ;
Sous le soleil Corinthe, et Athènes et la Pnyx
Sous la lune le Nord, et l’horizon d’onyx.
Marchez, blêmes infants, découvrez sous la terre
La triple damnation accablant votre mère,
Prenez garde en entrant dans l’antre du passé
Son goût pour le sang froid jamais ne s’est lassé ;
LandonLandon he came to my wooden table,
His dark youthful portrait eclipsed the sun.
It could have been a playground; it could have been a stable,
Wherever it was, it was where he was from.
His ignorance astonished me in a beautiful way,
He didn’t seem to care what the class had to say.
He was so weak; he was knocked by the wind,
But a harsh word or two could never change him.
Landon was rebellious in that he was kind,
He saw a dull Virginia boy as a heavenly sign,
Of an end to his internal bleeding, his quiet suffering,
Whether he’s nursed or dies.
But on an airless Georgia afternoon, I ran away.
Said that I would return come what may.
Forever underground he’ll waste away,
For it’s my belief he died that day.
But I never knew what he became,
Probably blended within a scene.
I like to think he ate a poison berry,
Or maybe fell from a tree.
He could have been nailed to a cross,
Along with the rest of his kin.
Or maybe he faded from existence,
Or rather existence faded
The curse of a Disable HeartThe curse of the disable heart.
We feel too much,
So we get hurt so hard
For we are the cursed one
Of the disable heart.
We are big target
So we get hit easy
From insulting comments
To unkind staring
We wanted to be normal.
We want to be belonging
But we are not accepted
Not even in our own family
For we are embarrassment
By what we do and what we say
We sometime wear thing differently
Or wear something from yesterday.
We are the unseen
Cause we put our family to shame,
To the point that we are not invited
Cause they have forgotten our name.
We are the black sheep.
And we carried the most scars.
We are the cursed one
The curse of the disable heart.
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More