[x]

the underside of bones.i. what glow once kindled so astringent,
hot-coals beneath the feet
now pleads in the whispers
of a light desperate not to go out.
how quickly does the mind flip.
society's winds blow
and the blank stares and misconception blow
and she's stumbling around on bird legs
in the hurricane's aftermath,
keeping up a semblance of assurance
like she's expected to.

ii. and it's fine, she says,
it's fine, that light doesn't matter and
hasn't ever mattered, it wasn't
for the illumination but rather the knowledge
she was not alone in the dark.
but it's not fine
because somewhere in between
repressed thoughts and stifled sentiments
may

lonely astronaut meets damsel in space.isn't it simple?
your eyes
(they're as big as the galaxy
and they shine with all
its stars)
bring me in from the
cold outer space I used
to call home.
- turns out, you are
the only home I'd ever need.
am I:
a grain of sand
in our galaxy
contained
by your nebulous eyes?
this black hole will taint you
forever
you'll be stuck.
like that lovely bartender would
kid me,
"metal flying through your skull
or perhaps,
a cup of our lovely hemlock?"

don't love me for who I've grown up to be,
because there's no such thing as
growing up where there's
no way of measuring time.
and I love it.
I love you.

Innocent Purgefingers not full grown
still manage to pull free
undesired calories
and a mother's fear
"honey, please"
says the mom who has too many
worries and wrinkles for
her daughter of nine
"please"
tears spring forth
from wells not seen
since her own pitiful choices
"you're already beautiful,
and there are so many better ways
please, please, please
don't make my same mistakes"
tiny fingers just long enough
to grasp at insecurities
and struggle with feelings
of inadequacy
I want to be pretty

drain her empty
in the filthiest of cleansings
the mind of a child can't comprehend irony,
and that is her only solution

"but mommy" she

Sky EyesDesert hands tell tales
of a hundred arid summers, but
you are no longer as cloudless as they

(there is a storm
creeping through blue, blue veins).

But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,
that grey cascade blurring against
eyelids and horizons;

and suppress her misbegotten
droplets, seeping into the sodden
ground underfoot—

for there is still sun in your sky eyes.

apatothe ocean air is selling
moist and salty caresses
there is a metaphor to take
in each skimming wave
but I am tired so I
so I will
will let it rest
my turning mind
with the tides
and breathe
with the gilled creatures
below the rhythmic surface
gulping gaping gas-gasping fish mouths
mine will open too and
open till wide enough
for the cry clenched in my
throat to caw-claw
its way out till I am
chorusing with the seagull
and if I fall
into the water now
it will envelop me
wrap its foam arms around
my corporeality
touch its crest to my head
kiss me dead
I will be complacent
in its sea indoctrination
this is how I will stay
above the darkness
infinite below me

admittance is defeatthey called you beautiful

with porcelain eyes about to crack
and cigarette skin crumbling
away, a knotted spine and
jagged smile:

you were never gracious.

you're slipping underneath, this
virulent smog masks a paper sky that
never allowed a dream and

you're afraid because it's soaking in
your pores again, unattainable and unoriginal;
the meaning of life never meant enough-

you were never hopeful.

there's a getaway map on the underside
of your pillow, and a lifetime of secrets
on the underside of your bones

you're a walking travesty:
your chest ticks, dull
your wrist beats, dying
time is keeping you but

you were never pa

lukewarmshe had the kind of voice
that seemed to be stuck
in the hour of four o'clock
in the morning - soft
and tired and luring,
mumbling her way through
subways and tunnel lights
all pale yellow with noise.

there was tea and long baths
and longer absences,
hiccups of breath
the best
she could do.
long springs and
longer falls,
one equinox to the next
and still the bad
was never that bad
and the good
was never that
good,
and she continues to hum
the birds continue to sing
the apples continue to
grow and
sour and
fall,

and bury themselves
again.

the anguish of the sky.( look up and get lost )
for the sky is a thief with a pocket full of jewels
that gleam through the holes of his trousers-

and each night he fiddles with his stolen treasure
crudely fashioning constellation crowns for his beloved.

but often times, she disappears
and the sky cries in comets and meteors-
as the thunder rolls around the earth
like the unsaid prayers on his tongue

and you can see it in his planet eyes,
he is nothing when her light is gone
and he stumbles blindly across the galaxies
with black hole corneas and wet eyelashes.

adieu my love!
he cries as dawn kisses the horizon-
but the moon never replies,
too caught

the four faces of the year.i.winter was shy,
never had much to say
and stumbled over dirt
because she only knew
how to walk in snow.

she wrote in cursive
but spoke in chimes
and her cheeks were
forever the color of
a weathered cabernet.

she only loved once
and when she did,
she lost her heart.

you see,
the boy used her
in the night
and left her in the day
and she was content.

she resolved that
beautiful people
deserved more love
than herself
and were therefore entitled
to take love from those
who were less worthy.

(she loved a boy
who would never love her back.)

ii.his name was spring
and his voice dripped nectar
into the ears of virgin

Salsa, Rice, RhythmThere is something splendid about
a Peruvian man leaving the rice to burn
because he is unable to keep himself
from dancing
when a good Salsa song comes on

there is something exquisite and wild about a woman
eyes closed
paying uncontrollable obeisance to the rhythm
thrilling to the beat
waxing and waning to the sound waves

there is something gorgeous about the
I-can't-help-it
the movements, like an untamed clockwork
the way the line between sound and
limb's poetry blurs

fantasia's demise comes with a soft
violence, unanticipated
followed by a drought of wakefulness

surprised to see walls and ceiling
surprised to be alive

Stitching Wounds with Stringent FeelingsYou breathe me in with desperate, shriveled lungs--
for I am a sordid necessity.
My words are like a salve for judgments hung
so selfishly upon your blatant needs.
And maybe you're a martyr in your eyes--
surprise, I see you lynched by your own thoughts.
Self pity and resentment are a guise
to hide the nothingness that starts to rot
your blackened insides. Take me into you,
feel whole from my magnetic pull towards those
robotic dialogues you think so true.
Just take me in, only the Lord could know
reflections meet you with a deadened stare.
You distant angels never really care.

Arise and Breathelittle siren girl, held up by fishhooks
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.

still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)

you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.

there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)

a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]

Leaveme.
battered, unstable,
improperly built.
I no longer house sanity
only ghosts that were never
told how to move on.

maybe we used to be the same,
but now your cracked reflection
only adds to my years of bad luck

you never counted the lines in my smile,
or the notes between my freckles,
you only measured me.

I'm something to get by on,
but I'm simply not enough.
my watered-down voice
is growing weaker.

and you feed me sugar pills
to diminish the pain
(these bones still bleed)

there are vultures in your eyes,
they know what's coming next

children call on saviors to vanquish demons
from their closets and I'm begging
the s

crystal catastrophies bottled upv
her shaky hands couldn't hold a pen
or a promise
"my fingers have broken
trying to rewrite clichés-
believe me when I say, I'm special"
hollow laughs glossed over her
tempered smile

as she waited for the day
when that might actually mean
something

i
there was an eve long before dawn
ever tainted the starry night sky and
inflicted vision on those who preferred
to stay in the dark, where a girl
crooned quietly to herself
"what if when we meet,
I've run out of I love you's?"

this was before the sun whispered in her ears
that they'd never mattered, anyway

iv
hopelessness descends
on wearied souls
who couldn't lear

My LadyA diamond noose stole the breath from her chest,
Where ribs caved beneath creaking whalebone corsets
And her hands lay useless against the curve of her waist.
An hourglass standing with each grain assigned,
A time and a place, a husband, no thought for her mind.
To be instructed and moulded into icy precision
Because in her heart the royal blue ran in vain
And her prison was forged before birth by name.

Fairy tales make pretty the twists of her life
As she's wound into tapestries, the good, obedient wife.

Let those who weave take for granted stillness in her lips
And forget to check the eyes which dip from sight,
For those who's

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myths and the things that really matterin a season of wavering will
and ripe regret, I was born
too old - into a fragile world
of butterfly feathers and
springtime secrets, tied tenderly
around hollow hallucinations and
carefully called a "dream"

they promise you things
when you are too young to
understand the monsters under
your bed are really fragments
of you, left to disintegrate
in the dark. they say: you
will touch the world, you will
know the stars by name, you
will be our deliverance from
all the things we were not

you will be strong.

but they don't know, no,
I am a yard sale:

I sold my heart to a boy
with lilting lies and eyes
that looked human

In Piecesrum-lust lips make gentle friends,
words slurred in hands blurred,
burning in between the lines to find
some
drunken concoction of wilted laughs
and heavy sighs, scented sultry
with desperation.

you are that
rasping in my throat when my voice
deteriorates and I am left breathless
and hopeless and raw, my
muscles ache in memory of the
motions to forget-
we do not let go.

and cold beds call, stability,
metal frames and sunken heads –
rest now, rest with
a prayer on your lips you don't
care to share, a dream in
your mind you'll never get back;
rest and the earth will lend you peace
and

you will stop. the rivers will cle

Vexed Affectionssecrets entwined,
sugared kisses lie (dormant)
her starry smile twinkles,
linen skin, fresh, unwrinkled,
"wear me"

bodies out back in rows,
stowed, head to toe, measured
by stature, counted by
statistic.
you are a number.

hearts quiver, splayed
openly beating
bleeding defeating
purpose and point, pain
holds no meaning,
crudely careening

you are a number

and sailor boy swoons, caught
in the tides of her moon.
quaky sea feet hold no
ground

he's drowning on land
breathing in sand
falling

she's already gone,
grave gusts at dawn
whisper

you knew it all along,
she's gone

you are only a number.

embeddeda sunset blister[pops] overhead, dripping
security. she kisses her lover and leaves
with splinters in lips. there are moments
when she swears she can hear a breath
rattling somewhere within his
reciprocating chest
she swears in vain

and sometimes it's like they recycled
an old day, it fits the same and that
is an alarming halt to progression-
she says, we have to move on

but she doesn't ever leave, feet buried
under years of promises and plans and
anxieties. she's had a bird cage by her bed
since she was a little girl (begging wounded
blue jays to escape)

the day won't break, he watches
her sleep uneasily, respiring
like

The Art of Detachmentdehumanized:
I am a stirring in the breath
of an unswept sky, an itch
in the throat, a tear in
the lining of the sleeve you
keep fingering- like reminiscence
will repair loose strands

(I woke up this morning
in a new carcass, trapped,
by fleshed out flaws and
dismal dreams and the
hush hush thrum ,steady,
[pulsations are riddled with
intent] of my veins)

I am the dents in the floorboard
where boxes of I-can-never-forgets
lay, I am the aching cold of walls
untouched, I am the callouses
of your fingers forgetting
how to work.

(my voice will melt the icecaps,
it will draw all salt from
the ocean and carve a careful
coffin

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Beginnings and Endings Both Sound the Same

by ~intricately-ordinary, Aug 27, 2012, 7:34:46 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I woke up this morning
and the sky was falling
I cried, because
it was bleeding, too
_{(and I wondered what happened to God
to make him shed such painful tears)}

but they said it was only a sunrise
and I was being too loud.
I asked why it was that solar rays
ran in rivulets throughout
prominent moments of time
_{(like wars and funerals and departures
and those heavy events we pretend never happened)}
but they ignored my cries
and the sunbeams that were entangled in my feet
and trailing behind me,
showing all the wrong turns I made
_{(they wouldn't see my limbs
raw, ragged, from running
with no destination in mind)}

I guess I was a little too loud-
they can only hear you
when you're completely silent
and, by then, it's too late
because the sun has already set
_{(the opposite of a sunrise,
but they each have the same affect
because they both signal an end
of everything you've come to know)}

it's too late for me, I think
God knows, too, and he weeps for me
bits of sky and bleeding sunrise

I'm growing quiet as I stop to nurse the universe
_{(already dead)}
and it's only now they begin to hear

nothing

except the still
that comes when you're forsaken
_{(but they only hear nothing
because they never took the time
to heed my cries
or hold up the sky)}

it's too late for me

Beginnings and Endings Both Sound the Sameby ~intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I always felt that Chicken Little was a heavy idea for a kid's story. To tell the world your fears, and be told you're crazy seemed like a very complex thought to me.

That was my loose inspiration. But I also wanted to dive in much deeper and tell a much bigger story.

I hope I achieved that, as always, I love feedback

Critique by ~ohio-writer Aug 29, 2012, 3:34:18 PM

There is such a rich amount meaning in this work; it really has a great feel and en even greater presentation. The way this piece is presented nearly leaves the audience out as they take a backseat to the actions of the speaker. Its actions and feelings can truly be felt as the piece surges through both confident and saddened depths as the confidence in one's personal thoughts becomes a matter to question - something that ends up creating an epic bout of personal strife.

The way this strife is presented is by the accompanying parenthetical phrases. It was quite a powerful tool to use here as it both separates and showcases the realities of the speaker. To create an abstract sense of awareness can be quite difficult, but with these pieces of sentence structure a writer is able to help distinguish between what is happening and what is perceived by the speaker. Aside from that is the richness of inner-dialog which is propagated by this type of construction - a wise choice indeed.

I do always bring question to making the emphasis by the font and not by the function of the words. You have clearly made such a beautiful set of mixing of dialog and action, yet it seems to be filtered unnecessarily by the addition of a different text. Besides that presentation, the words in italics were quite fantastic to read through - making this whole argument a bit frivolous in the end.

Some of these abstract piece tend to have a less concrete ending. A lot of times they refer to these irrational types as they oppose a normal structure. What is interesting is the abstract nature of finding the balance between both dialogues is represented by this stylistic choice.

Overall it has a lot of character and a neat style to present a full spectrum of ideas. This was a very nicely done piece - thanks for sharing.

- Ben M. Walls

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~featherback Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This was so interesting to read, and incredibly written! I love how the font changes throughout, it gives subtle power to certain words and more of an impact to others. You are so talented, and know how to convey emotions in all the right ways. Everything of yours has that certain unidentifiable spark that just leaves me wondering. Beautiful!

~intricately-ordinary Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I still loved the idea of someone who was a little crazy, after our collab. I wanted to experiment with various thoughts, and creating a poem where you weren't sure who was sane. Thank you so much for your incredible support! You have made my night

~featherback Sep 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're very welcome, I'm glad I could make your night!

*0hgravity Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

"I asked why it was that solar rays
ran in rivulets throughout
prominent moments of time
(like wars and funerals and departures
and those heavy events we pretend never happened)"

my favorite part for the observation. I like specific details like these.

Overall an interesting read.

~intricately-ordinary Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I had tried to write that- both thinking of solar rays as blood, and the fact that time rolls on steadily despite all problems.

Thank you for the comment, it means a lot.

*0hgravity Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

you're welcome

~August-Green Sep 3, 2012

This is really well done. I appreciate that you've addressed the oddity of "being too loud" -- there is a curious tendency for people and/or chickens to quietly accept a tragic ending if they know it is coming. We need more noisemakers. Great job.

~intricately-ordinary Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It's sad, though- when you're loud, it makes it so people who can hear you, don't want to. Thank you for the thoughtful comment. (The part about chickens made me smile

)

*sleyf Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Hi there!

We liked this piece so much that it's been featured in out Weekly Round-up!

Thanks so much for writing it!
From the admin team of:

~intricately-ordinary Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh my goodness! I am so honored, I will love to go check all the other beautiful works out.

Thank you very much!

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Beginnings and Endings Both Sound the Same

Beginnings and Endings Both Sound the Sameby ~intricately-ordinary

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