Masterpiecea Monet sunsetdotted along the canvaswith clouds by Van Gogh
tide of changefloating in high tidefar out beyond the breakersfinally I escaped you
midnight bluebeneath the shimmering seais another worldsoaked in midnight blue
Late OctoberOctober rain spills on top of fallen leaves; puddles of water over red, orange and yellow. Glassy pools of color raging in a last flourish of life. The drops are cool on the tongue and refreshing- sending a shiver down my spine as they drip down my neck.Autumn's rushing windLittle lakes of brilliant huesFields of thriving corn.
a beast is bornLucifer wove my sins into horns.
Halos are overratedFreedom rings. Freedom waves like a banner in the wind. It's old and tattered. So very frayed at the edges but all anyone can see is the big red letters, so bold they're on the verge of blinding. A mess of scarlet ink is all I could make out, the words blurred from a rush of adrenaline. Some make out a blessing, a soft flowing font spelling out a prayer, but me…I was a bull charging, daring those words to come into focus- challenging my conformity.I was whiskey brave or was it wine? Oh yes, it was a nice Cabernet left to breathe between my lips then a Moscato so sweet I couldn't see past the taste. A glass half full of defiance that left me drunk and enraged, thrilled and almost out of my mind, but it's not what you think. You see, I used to be a coward. I was a being whose self-worth didn't exist and whose voice was never more than a whisper.I was told I was loved but never felt like I was. I wanted to be beautiful but my flaws made mirrors run screaming
tattooeda trail of tattooserupt from my fingertipsand wrap themselves around youI want to paint youwith colors I createdand stain your skin with my lips
Playing Dress-Up with RealityYou weren't easy for me. You were all the wrong words and too many missed chances and I couldn't breathe around you. Not really. Not in the ways it mattered. And maybe that was the real problem, at first--you stole the oxygen from my lungs and I couldn't think when you came around. So I didn't. I just stopped. I stopped the breathing, and I stopped the thinking, and when it finally came down to it, I think maybe I was starting to stop the caring, too.You were so different from me. You were an adventure, an adrenaline rush, you made my heart spin dizzy. I fell so hard that I laughed--convinced this had to be love. Love runs amok, right? Love leaves you breathless and aching. That's what made my chest pound. Not lack of air but your need for me. Or was that my need for you?You were difficult, darling. Every breath I stole around you smelled of chalkboard dust and brittle autumn leaves and I don't know how I ever thought not breathing was okay, because it wasn't. You were a cobra
insomniaIn a world infested with the undead, peace is a thing of the past. We're traveling in a pack, nightmares robbing us of any sleep but the madness is divine.
Beyond appearancesA fire is set up,to slowly thaw that soft ice;floods rise from beneath.
Architects paint with light and concrete.I dreamt I was an architect,a handful of doubts andcorrosive intellect.The clock tower has the most lonelyview of the industrial sunrise,rising like the old Indian song inside.From where I sit, sunlightdrips like honey freshfrom the earth over concrete elegance.Sometimes autumn feels like winter.Once a classy hoteland now an urban puzzle,consumed by kudzu creepingall along the broken windows,choking the windchimes.How do cities understandwhat soul sings behind their windows?There’s so many different sunsdesperate to connect;the light through a dirtywindshield; the sun in an emptyroom; something ordinary in the quietpresence of light and shadows.Some moments are golden,as if even the city knowsthe art of being perfectly still.
Noah's SongI dwell below the blue, always watching, always waiting for a sailor's soul. They drift on high in vessels they think will float forever. It amuses me so- to see their determination, their will to live at sea. Every so often I stay beneath the surface and spare them my wrath, but only for those with a true respect for my home.The ocean.This swirling pool of cerulean. This sapphire lifeblood of the lower world, a world so wholly unknown.I spread my wings and glide. I stay submerged and play with phosphoresce, guiding them with my fingertips. They swarm me; illuminate me, making me look like a true sea nymph. Ethereal, beautiful, bright like the sun with my wings spread wide and shining.I can hear it in the distance- a ship holding what I need. Licking my lips, I close my eyes and break through the swell. The air is crisp and ridden with salt, the breeze light and playful. The moon is high and full. It’s a perfect night for a feast.So I swim, stretching my legs before finding
hauntedour house is hauntedmemories floating like ghostsscreaming without sound
night breath collisioni knew that we weren't meantto last forever. we'd firedshots at the bulletproof sun.i ignored the others forpulses, strobes, and light,palming a smoky sky in a cold,cold world alone.we are the fringe on aleather-bound romancepoised above a soul sea frozenin a filthy sheen.i was the one who keptmyself hidden in newspaper;you were the one whodestroyed the world.your words fell like bruises;exhilarating pain stabs andscissors across my jaggedearlobes and into the leaking earth.i think we've bothdone enough.
Sleep WellBedtime storiesare told by memories,and often endwith a hero dying inside us.
BlurI looked at the worldfrom a thousand angles andnow it's all a blur.
a touch of lovehis fingers exploreheart beating in a rush rushnerve endings gone wildevery time he touches me
The sound of an approaching train282 days into the yearand I’m still not living, lostin this urban ballet, this cityof blinding lights. We knewa place where no cars can go,where even the cricketscouldn’t be heard - fifty one milesdown an old country road, where the wildflowersgrow like frilly laces, moonblossomstearing through the earth.You could feel the sky in yourthought out gaze, ignoring the starsand drifting into five am on velvetwaves just about to break.We don’t go there anymore.This thing between us setthe night on fire but it only lasteda little while. I still have that firesmoldering in my ashtray heart, butflowers aren’t apologies. You’ve enduredso many storms that you became one – I wore you like a bruise.I’ll be on the next train to Vegas, dreamingabout photographs from another time.Love is a smoke made from the fumesof sighs – may as well buy anotherpack. My lungs are empty anyway.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;full of stories and easilybroken at the spine.
Microcosm.The world has unexpectedly inverted.Gravity has shifted, we’re falling onto our ceilings, our ceilings are now floored.We stare down, while draped in reverse, long hair swinging, hands suspended, blood rushing to the head.Furniture is falling up, rain is rising––the gravitational pull is bemusing.Cars are oscillating around buildings, birds are flying towards the ground, animals are hovering, water is levitating, we’re flying void of orientation…STOP.Everything falls back into place instantaneously.What you’ve just witnessed––the world has unexpectedly been picked up, and shaken.We’re just a speck, rotating and floating through infinite vastness, our entire world is something else’s single atom––a grain of sand in an enormous sea.There’s a tiny Universe in everything, there’s one inside you, reacting to your influence.There’s one in every flower–– those worlds smell parti
A Year in HaikuOn July 18th, 2013, Multhaiku was created, and the group quickly became a haven for all kinds of Eastern and minimalist poetry. In a year's time we have: created a successful and thriving twitter account, GenreHaiku, co-managed by myself and hopeburnsblue (she is always looking for pieces to feature, go contact her, go! ). created a haiku sonnet hybrid and held a contest around the form. participated in our very first HaikuWriMo with a Bingo in February of 2014.What the group specializes in is minimalist poetry of fictional genres, such as scifaiku and horrorku, just for example. We take pride in this and wanted to showc
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -from the magic lights of New Yorkto moonshines in Georgia,until the colors dissolve.The anxious poetry of autumnmade a memory of me.Here’s to things I take for granted:September blues,chasing airplanes,country road thunderstorms.Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.October, I follow you;I thought I saw you on the shorewhere the river runs through goldon the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -or perhaps Pittsburgh(it was the lights I guess).Here’s to the things we leave behind:sunbeams in November,letters addressed to no one,poems, wounds, dead birds.I’ve got that summertime sadness.Maybe you’re gonna come back;we’re changing our ways, taking different roadsand loneliness knows me by namebut October, I follow you;without you I’m a winter heart,a love story you don’t want,a November shade of grey hunting ghostsin cities that sleep inside our heads.You told me you lied the night you kiss
glassi didwhat your shaking fingers asked me to do,the clattering of your bones,and the ash that is your flesh,saying everything that needed to be said.to this dayi can still hear the way the glass shatteredand broke into shardsthat we never thought would cut our skin-we were wrong.they say glass cools so quickly from lavathat it doesn't have timeto form crystalsinto a set, steady pattern,and maybe that's what happenedto me and you.
It only hurts because we both feel the same wayDuskAnd in the depths of this never ending twilight my mind retraces its steps,Following the veins along your arms and across your chest.Counting the memories as they slip between my finger tips,Remembering when times were goodAnd you said you’d write a love song for every one of my tears.But those days are long gone, now fading stars in the darkest of nights. DayWhen our souls were light and our days care free,We would watch the leaves as they fell from the trees.Each one a dying light, like a firework that streaks through the nightBut we built a fire so big and so bright,An undying passion blazing in the night. I found heaven in your eyes the murky blue like stormy skies,The curve of your lip like a mountain range,I could sit forever and gaze at you this way.My piece of heaven in the depths of hell,Your light reached out to me and healed all my scars.ButWhen you said that every breath I take is a tiny gift to you in a miraculous way, I welled up i
now i see the stars.there was a time when icouldn't catch my breath whenever ithought about you , (crippled lungs and-boy, you hit me like an asteroid,there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,even withoceans of my tears cried onnights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,andfor a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,weighted to the ground andburied in myself, butwhere there is no light there are no shadows, andsometimes, i wonder if i miss me.yes, yes i do.i may not see the moon, but
Winter was never my favorite season.It’s 3:05 a.m.and I am thinking I justmade you up to hurt myself.Remember last winter:they blamed the snow in our handsfor our blue flesh,ocean snow settledwhere they used to swim.It’s 10:33 in the morningand I am winter.I am ice;snow and sunrise;chilly mornings from another time.Tales of my winter heartbeckon like a big, flashing,neon sign that says steal compass,sail north,and disappear.It’s 4:15 p.m.The snowfall is so silent.I know a place whereeven the crickets can’t be heard,winter air chokingeverysilence.It was a cold,winter morning when you left:when we realized it was a different kind of coldcaused by 3mm of distancebetween our fingertips.This is about forgetting your silenceand my vague memories.The weatherman didn’t fail me –when love grows cold,ice shards crystalize on the blacklake surrounding my heart.
a seraph in the stormBeneath the shimmering surfacea thousand piecesall in whiteare the angels who can't fly.Peeling awaythe moon's scars,the fallen angelsare stitching seems-little hopes in the stormy sea.A wicked wind blowsimmortal embersinto a new dawnwhere we can walk togetherin the last shafts of sunlight.