[x]

DivorceLove me until I'm bored
So I can make a scene of it;
I want to be willing to throw
Plates and juxtaposed phrases
In your face
Into the face of
Your snuff-noose compassion.
Please
Smother yourself
With your reverse-spined spite
So I won't be able do it for us-
I would make too clean of a job of it

Sleeping Behind the WheelI want you to sing me a song
to erase all my preconceived notions
about life, love, and (listless?) dreams.
I want your voice
to conquer all my past--
the beast that plagues me.
I want you to whisper words so sweet
the day may finally rest.
Because I've been awake for years, now--
and I need a little sleep.

take me away--
redeem me with your notes
like fables, like promises,
like wishes made a million times before

take me away--
to that place between my mind and heaven,
that doesn't exist.
because there, I can be comforted
into oblivion

but mostly,
ignore the life I've spent
trying to tally all I've done wrong

I want you

The Same Storywe rewrite our lost history
on the same paper,
expecting new endings.
we truly are insane.

these lessons mean nothing
if not fully dead
the mistakes were worth nothing
if not burned in my head

you can't change the veins
stitched into your skin, you can't change
you- with a day, a word,
a breath of used air.

you want to dive back into that place
between my folds of sanity
where you can unravel the strands
and manipulate them in your hands
so I can't stop to think about
the familiarities.

you can't change the blood
which surges through the cold,
forgotten parts of your body.
but you can tell yourself
you have

if you shu

BackboneShe runs out of the house
and doesn't stop until she reaches
the park. She kneels behind a bench
where the bugs surround her
like the love of Christ.
She bends over and throws up—
the vomit burns her throat,
pickles her mouth,
dribbles down her chin.
Her hand goes to her belly,
expecting the fetus to stir,
but all she feels inside her is nausea.

The father calls
and in a voice that's calmer
than when he first heard the news,
he says, "You have to kill it.
Now. Before it grows a backbone.
I'm sorry."

The afternoon she comes home
from the clinic, he is there
with a rose and an embrace.
He whispers in her ear, "I'm prou

Those in Glass Houses Will Always Fall ShortHis knees were practically built for bending,
his heart sounded of waves set to succumb
His lackluster soul required mending
from heroes who didn't exist, or come.
Time goes quicker if you've nowhere to run-
days blaze like falling stars, burning new years
So he'd use sleep to forget what he'd done
(rough living when waking's your biggest fear)
He grew so used to folding for his peers-
his bones turned to rubber, his mind grew dull
the change was seamless, he couldn't draw tears
his insides were deserts- deserted, cold.
Thank goodness his fragile heart did turn fake;
when you're made of glass, you are built to break.

Drinking Lit GasolineI think I'm drowning in your words
as they drip
and soak into my heart
until I'm submerged
in liquid thoughts
I can't handle.
I'm choking.

The thoughts won't come out,
they only scald my throat
leaving the taste of ash in my mouth
because they are your words.
not meant for normal tongues-
and I'm burning from the inside out.
This is what I get, I suppose
for letting you burn a hole in me

It's time I learn to float
and carry myself in debris
and wreckage and destruction-
because they are already cascading
over my waterlogged bones
your eyes are sodden
tinged purple and grayish-blue-
the look of someone
who's spent too lo

ghosts arrive a while before departurein advance of disappearance
sun-struck photos
fade, near disappear

become silent, nil-existent
peripheral, withdrawn
to non-existence

a second dimensional
cued multitude, dull
grey-ly clouded

colors run for exits
hues to tints to hints
of basic beige

seen in a market state
terminal, insecure
waiting to wait

some time later
still seen, skewed
ma-lingering on the job

finally to be found
having finished
the finishing

termination often takes time

llp - dA - mar2013

Nadir

Nadir

A pregnant moment,
though every day must die
this day is bleeding,

a slow, relentless ending
leaving little room for hope.

how to become paranoidbaby black widows are known
to float - to alight on you
to ride you home
to grow, to lurk
hungrily

to birth more young
right where you live
hundreds of them
to grow, to lurk
hungrily

they seem to have no plan
for now
except
to grow, to lurk
hungrily

llp - dA - mar2013

targetedthe inertia of what will happen, if
not somehow seen coming
always has its way

if even then
usually

so
.

llp - dA - dec2012

To Live or Die Upon a WhimHow trite, how trivial, your lackluster life -
a prosaic parade of diminutive drivel.
Covetous, you crave ferocious fire,
intensity ignited, a lively lover,
possibly a plume from passion's pyre,
or a wind of wonder blowing through, bemused -
But, reality must relinquish a muse.

not easy to keep in mindno one has created themselves;
there's no such thing as being "self made".

and, though many believe in Creation,
your HE does not - control motivation;

that is a matter of genes,
with how they've been worn in our lives by our lives,

genetic 'genes', multi-hued, not blue,
after bias is 'worn' by time after time.

at some point we question 'self will'.

then only painfully, and very slowly,
may we commence re-creating ourselves.
we challenge the habits instilled by our lives in our lives,

knowing there's Sisyphus lurking in each-of-us,
our behavior being that ponderous boulder;

from that ti

A Black Teardrop at the Sedona Crystal Shop

for $8.99, they have frozen memories
of hot silica , it could have been your blood;
the wind would have none of it

so the friendly entities at the curios
dig them up, type up little notes, gem-
stone biographies for every order of malady and curse.

yes, they thought of you and your sweltering magic
pin-holed eyes. Rainbow Obsidian: it promotes discovery of Self,
though, it doesn't mention abominations entombed for the good of man,

but maybe it's really Heavens Gate; they don't sell the difference here.
integration of one's shadow - i've thought along these very lines.
the beast ingrows in cavities, feathers softly to

awareness paysfrom random chance memes come afoot

replace the broken - strengthen the whole

serendipitously they appear

somewhat predicted but not expected

seeming from nothing quantum born

a cosmos birth via unknown rules

[we shouldn't even BE - let alone be fools]

llp - jul2012 - dA

we stand a lotlife
as time passes
both heaven and hell

an image
begins to become
a reflection

coincident
with our bodies
becoming
less friend/more enemy

we find people
becoming
less acquaintance/more friend

resilient
though aging
we'll never give up

[at times
with a bit of help]

we won't only
stand

we shall still
deliver...

at least
i shall

llp - jun2012 - dA

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More from ~intricately-ordinary

Glue Worn AwayGracefully fading-
Like a photograph in time,
Uncolored with age
N
D
O
N
Endings resemble
What once were the beginnings:
Ongoing circuit
R
D
E
Reminders linger-
Never to be found, but beg
Always to be known.
S
T
R
E
Wishes with feathers
Anchored by reality
Yearn, but yet, fade

Empty Wordsyour empty words have no meaning,
they only sound pleasant.
they are supposed to be calming:
your pacifying presents
then you bestow these terms of woe-
to try and make my "dumb" brain grow
then you bestow,
then you bestow,
your thoughts and feelings- so hollow

your empty words have no meaning
if you've no intention.
without one they go careening
off into pretention.
wreaking havoc and laying waste
until compassion's been defaced.
wreaking havoc,
wreaking havoc,
on love, humility and grace.

your empty words have no meaning
when I asked for silence
a moment of sweet peace ringing
on the bell of your pretense
I tried to he

Losing Faith a priest is rushing to my side
begins to read me my last rites
father you're too late, my faith is weak
so won't you save your half-hearted speech?

The Priest and the Matador by Senses Fail

I lay down in the grass to watch
stars twinkle in the fading night,
the vastness makes me feel so lost:
a flicker in a sea of light.
With hopeful efforts I attempt
to reclaim all those tears I've cried,
but stillness turns into contempt...
stars whose lights have sadly left-
and with it, too, my faith has died.
a priest is rushing to my side

the air stolen from

String of Lifethe strands of time merge into one,
with past trailing behind
fragmented memories are none
but pictures in our minds.
the time's run out to change our route:
those choices that our life's about
the time's run out,
the time's run out,
and of our past we cannot doubt

the strands of time merge into one,
and here is where we stand.
now is the moment we become
in power of time's sand.
time for a change of pace or choice
be strong with both your heart and voice
time for a change,
time for a change,
take up the power and rejoice.

the strands of time merge into one,
chosen as our future
utopia so we out run
the decay of culture.

Deserted Manalas, buried carelessly
dwindling evermore
gloominess holds irony
jumbled keepsakes linger...
many neglect,
ostracized pauper
quietly remains solitary
the undesirable.
why vanish, exiled?
years zoom.

p.o.vperspectives meet at a set point
lending that point depth's illusion;
can known discrepancies anoint
without birthing more confusion?

lending that point depth's illusion-
whose words attempt to spark anew,
without birthing more confusion
so many notions to pursue...

whose words attempt to spark anew
ancient collective archetypes;
so many notions to pursue
it's tantamount to hunting snipe.

ancient collective archetypes
of unattempted works of art,
it's tantamount to hunting snipe:
the masterpieces of the heart.

of unattempted works of art:
can known discrepancies anoint
the masterpieces of the heart?
...perspec

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Submitted: August 12, 2012
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Blurry Skies, Dreary Eyes

by ~intricately-ordinary, Aug 12, 2012, 1:36:24 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

My days and moments
and gestures and emotions have all begun
to blur and blend together until I'm not sure
what I was to start with
I can't separate these things anymore and
every person is anything and
time seems to go nowhere,
because I've torn a hole in my pocket
that has allowed the drainage of my sanity and youth
to continue, uninhibited.
I can't get any of it back,
blurry memories and all
but maybe I wouldn't want to.
I'm losing definitions
as I'm finding new words,
and even if I don't know what they mean,
I know how to say them
which is just as well.
Sometimes I worry
that if you weighed my thoughts on a scale,
you wouldn't like the way it tipped
and you'd realize I'm really
less than nothing.
Maybe that doesn't matter
as long as my heart still shines
and the sun still bleeds
and my lungs still expand
in an appropriate fashion.
Although, I think when I breathe in,
it's this reality that has begun to destroy
my lungs. Toxic oxygen.
And that's why I'm wasting away;
my body rejects anything that's real.
People always tell me to breathe,
take it easy, and
be myself
but they never tell me who that is.
Just to keep dreaming.
So I dreamed to save the world,
but I didn't have a cape
and I gave up.
So I dreamed to taste the sky,
but they told me it could only be touched
and I gave up.
Then I dreamed to write a poem
because once a boy told me he would create one
about the shine in my eyes when the lights were dim,
but it only turned out to be an
eviction notice.
I cut apart his words
and glued them into something new
which I called my history
disjointed, and lacking
but me, all the same.
I thought up a million questions to ask him
but then the hole in my pocket grew bigger
and I forgot what and why I wanted to ask,
and also his name.
I tried to stop the earth's rotation
so I could remember, but time blurs on
as I drift along with it;
holding onto scraps and words
I don't fully understand,
because one day, they'll mean
something. And if you weighed my thoughts, then-
you'd be proud.
And maybe then I'd find myself.
And maybe then I could finally taste the sky.
Maybe then,
I could breathe,
And I'd finally know what this all means.
Quite impossible, I know
but people always told me to
dream

Blurry Skies, Dreary Eyesby ~intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

This is every single thought that's been on my mind, wrapped around into one poem. The thoughts snake around a lot, and change frequently; much like I think. It really feels like me on paper.

I would love any comments or feedback. Thanks for reading.

Critique by ~winterkate Aug 15, 2012, 2:42:37 PM

This is the first work I've read where too much vision turned out to be the problem.
I think you have too many themes going in this work. Stating it bluntly, stating it honestly, there's way too much happening here. I feel like this one work could have been separated into two, perhaps three different poems.
That being said, I really think I would love anything that came of it.
There are some wonderfully original lines here - some really brilliant moments. The bleeding sun and the motif of weighing thoughts and coming up with self-worth are simple, but very good. I'd like to see these expanded on or used again.
In fact, there's a lot of really great stuff going on here. Perhaps it's too much right now, but I really feel like if you made a bunch of little poems out of this one giant stanza, well....I would probably favorite them.

What do you think?

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Critique by ~SuppressedOceans Aug 12, 2012, 5:01:12 PM

This poem is almost a blur, like the life is described in it. It flows and I love the description used. Especially in the lines, "...I've torn a hole in my pocket that has allowed the drainage of my sanity and youth..." The reader can easily relate to the denial of reality when so long ago life seemed nothing but a glorious dream. I can easily see the lines that relate to the oppression of society and the disappointment of dreams and people.

I also really like the title of the poem. It centers on the true meaning of the poem. In all the confusion of life and love their is a loss of identity. That idea impacted me the most.

What do you think?

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~NotenSMSK Aug 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh and there were moments I really liked... but they were overshadowed by the rest (in relation to my critique)

~MarieEllis-Tolke Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You know, I've always thought that what makes a poet great is how they can describe things so uniquely and eloquently and I really think you have a talent for that. You can describe things in ways I've never imagined, but they still make complete sense. The mixture of abstract and concrete ideas in this poem make it so interesting, also. Very nice

That's probably an understatement, but "very great" is just a weird phrase.

~intricately-ordinary Aug 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you

I'm glad you thought of it like that. And I agree, when you were talking about what makes a poet great. It's the ability to tell the same stories in a new voice. Thanks again

~MarieEllis-Tolke Aug 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're welcome!

~moonstruckbyshadow Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Telling... don't sell yourself short but keep in mind that people are people with their own flaws, goals, and opinions. You must follow your own dreams and blaze your own paths; no one else can do that for you. I see the ability. I see the beauty. You have tasted the sky, stopped time, took a breath unencumbered. I have witnessed it within your writings. You have all the marking of a masterpiece with the tools to sew up those jean pockets.

Keep dreaming and enjoy you.

~intricately-ordinary Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It's the imperfections that make a person perfect. Thank you for thinking so much of me

~moonstruckbyshadow Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

You are welcome. I also think how it's uncanny yet again how we submitted similar poetry from different perspectives yet again today

~featherback Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I am speechless. There are so many lines I could pick out as my favorites but I daren't post them all because I'd end up making like ten separate comments. The entire thing is so lovely, so unique, and the flow is absolutely gorgeous. Like life sometimes, this piece is blurred together, but in an enchanting way, and I nor anyone else I think would want it any other way. It holds such impact and powerful truths. Your descriptions, they just amaze me! The way you think in general is almost like a song, but so much more... something. I'm not sure what; an unnameable quality almost, that one thing which makes you, you. Overall, this is fantastic! Job well done <3

~intricately-ordinary Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're so wonderful!! I think I love you

Actually, I know I do... Thank you so so much. I'm so happy it could mean something to someone else what it meant to me. Really, thank you

~featherback Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're so very welcome!

_{I love you more}

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Blurry Skies, Dreary Eyes

Blurry Skies, Dreary Eyesby ~intricately-ordinary

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