[x]

just likehe said,

"

you taste kind of nice
ill give you a try.

"

i said,

"

its been too long
i know ive forgotten.

"

he said,

"

its just like riding a bike

"

i said,

"

i always used to crash

"

Let's Take A Spin

Youthful summer spins
like a dream spun kaleidoscope,
weaving a hammock of bright memories,
That dance in the mind like playful flames,
Each brighter and more vivid
than the one before it.

The weightlessness of nostalgia;
Wandering along sun drenched paths
to secluded places of enchantment,
and our own moments of
Brilliant and unrealistic reality.

Each thread wound with passion,
and dyed in incandescent hue,
marking our place in time's
everlasting summer.
So hop on in, we'll take a spin.
Relive all the faded memories.

Over the Rainbow

Rainbows. She had loved rainbows. She had especially loved this hammock, despite you telling her several times, "It isn't a proper rainbow."

Then she would pout and glare at you.

Seeing the hammock made your eyes overflow with tears, and you squeeze them shut, blocking the view of the sagging material with the dark red of your eyelids. Such a nice colour, you think. Red; the first colour of the rainbow.

You take a shuddering breath and look at the hammock again. You put one foot forward. Your right one. The one with the ring on it – the ring she had given you, so tiny you couldn't fit it on a finger. You inhale deeply. Don't think about th

not colored enough

it seemed so quiet, here
laying so far that our feet touched the jungle air
and mixed it
(like your mother mixed her cookie dough-
you said it made you sick)
and i don't find this new spiral,
spun with foliage and spit,
agreeing with my stomach.

but maybe if i closed my eyes

as shock set, or rather, slipped
far along the hammock to my head,
and what you saw wasn't a tumble
(not even a scream)
but colors sucked into our skin
from the mushrooms on the ground.

Roots: A Tree Study

A set of five haiku

-

watching me
intently plant a tree—
my son

-

not much
more than a stick
with leaves

-

tall enough
for a bird
but not a swing-

-

father and son
laughing beneath
whispering leaves

-

me and the tree
both miss my dad
this autumn evening

-

Rainbow

Lying on a rainbow
On a peaceful summer day
I listen to the birdsong
As the world blurs away
I am in the moment
And the moment is in me
Daydreams are the essence
Of a moment born so free
Dizzily I focus
On whatever I can find
I must feel the rest
As my stomach's left behind
Cradled by the fibers
Of what is real today
I fix eyes on my self
All that I know will stay

Drink me.I say the fleeting warmth of your kisses
are my battle scars
turning to burnt lips
on uncovered skin

The echoing creak of foot pads on carpet
dodging shoes with haphazard dance
in the dark: a duet
accompanying my soft sighs

I say, the way you check
from behind doors, my lying eyelids flickers
,is my shine debate of moon versus sun--
when your fickle light is all i need

The calm way the air fills up the space
you left, to make yourself a drink.
myself, im waiting for you;
stop me from drinking it down again.

Kiss of Approvalthere's a way to test your theory, they say it can start with a tongue
a corollary is a kiss, but your lips are much too hard
there are fine featherings of cracks but i know you won't break
you never were the fragile one in our packed-box love
i was never the sender or receiver, what then? both.
you never checked the mail, your bills were autopay
i can never stop myself, waiting for just one letter of you

shake it and hear the ink stains rattle against your forced words
break your promise with softened lips and try-again eyes
write a thesis on the complications of me not being there
do you know what pain tastes like?
i read volumes

End of TimeEnd of Time

Clocks are ticking, time is running
Dutiful Demise, most cunning
Opens up her bag – so stunning!

Clocks are tacking, time is freezing
With her soulbag, playful, teasing
She will whisper “life is leasing”!

Clocks are silent, time is turning
Standing still with dark eyes burning
Death incarnate claims her earning!

Clocks are ticking, clocks are tacking
Clocks are silent, time is lacking
The ability to stop her packing!

Stand up, my friend, when – in her beauty –
Lady Death must do her duty!
Face her tall, and face her proud
If, for sure, your time is out!

En l'air

In the air

Outside the stuffiness of our kitchen, we were
makeshift dancers pirouetting greyscale streets:
the strip of grass, failing poppies
and the roar of bottlenecked traffic.
Feet flew across floorboards,

secret tunnels squashed between city sights,
our laughter found places where bolts held iron poles,
catering for awkward Pliés. Palms mimed clock-work,
and our muscles pushed against our winter woollies.

We watched light flickering through wood-work cracks,
our chests groaning with breath; the tick of exhaustion
sliding down foreheads, and the whirl of wind fuelling
our feet towards the house where warmth waited.

The End is Only the BeginningI inhaled the confusion of tourists behind me
It tasted like a used cigarette, I might try when I was young
It was good, to a point, where good is enough.
I was distorted by thoughts of autumn in my summer light
It felt cold, and drab like a bath you fall asleep in.
A thousand unfamiliar words set in behind me,
I wouldn't have time to decipher each, as they were directed at me.
They flickered in and around me; rushing out of my tunnel,
Each, like a balloon caught in an updraft.
I cringed with each bare-footed step, needles to my toes,
All ten glowed, as if I were afraid of the dark again.
As I made into the light, I yelled to

Slumber Partyslumber party

won't you come into my night, as i lay here,
almost sleeping;

following a tenderness in the dark,
unknown to me, as weary eyes,
shedding a skin I only fear.

further from my self, it calls
glowing under feet
now a light I'm supposed to seek.

times i swim to you;
you will run to me, running
failing to reach you, near to my end

mystery, misery.

goodnight.

RecognizeOur minds try to recognize.

I am on my back. I am cold.

I am looking at some huge street lamp with thirty or so large round bulbs. The sky is a sickening color that I liken to cotton candy. I know I don't know what I'm looking at. It isn't really a lamp post...but I can describe it. I can tell you in words you understand, even though I don't.

The last thing I saw was Katie. I was mad and drunk and stupid and then I was storming off.

I wound my way through alleys and around corners. I raged and blathered. I ended up here.

"Hello?" Hello.

I blink my eyes and all I can see is that light, that light pole that isn't one but I don'

Sun StrokeWhy we stand, we sit..
We hide from the sun
Believing in shade and comfort
Hypocrisy!

So many individuals live and breath the heat
So many take the time to enjoy
And then the ones who ruin it all:

29.99 Introductory rate,
100.00 for the whole summer
And during that time have no friends
No life.

A fake tan is a fake tan
As a fake tan will always be
A fake tan

You take fans from those who have
A real tan, pretend you're better still.
Than those in buildings tall
Monstrous, holding in so many lives.

Where stands your prejudice?
Where stands the glory in saying you're so cool
If you won't even go outside, 'cause it's too hot?

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.0 KB more ▶

More from ~saturnineguise

a stranger. Placating childrenHer eyes burned into me like the cigarette stains on my cheek in front of my brother's house when I was younger than I can pin-point exactly.

I am sitting on the gutter of that street I overheard you, crying about what you were going to do, how innocent I really was but did not want to admit, how your friend cared, but doesn't anymore.
This street housed me when I had to door knock for a lost ball for a stranger. Placating children, when I wanted you to smile at me, like you were proud, but you were not my mother. Trail yourself back into a taint of blood from seperate shores.
This gutter I nearly tripped over in laughter when I ripped vir

unbrokeni am proud of my wrists
they are not scuffed, nor tilled

they are weak, yes, fighting against
myself to end up in a snow of extended
itchy white

but they are smooth, and

forgive my senti-mental-ityyour face is shaven these days, not billowing with a wisdom
or hilarity procured from sight; a bookish character.
it speaks up with little flicks of cut down feathers of dove,
your cheeks are chicken skin sometimes, especially
at your neck. your solemn ears
waiting for the music to play on, play on

there is laughter in your eyes when you are
pretending to be serious,
locked away in your... what colours?
i do not know. and i am merciless with
my memory, like my mother with her words.

the way you squeeze every last breath in me
as if to prove i'm alive when i wheeze
life back into my lungs when you
release me. how that pressure le

one of those thingsi write when my head is about to crush into a black hole
i write when my heart is breaking into a million fuck yous
i write when i'm alone, in amongst strangers i feel more connected to than my own mother
i write when i'm confused about how i'm breathing, about how sometimes i don't want to be
i write when i'm in love with photographs, representations, copy-cats, plaster, sticky-tape, temporary fix-its
i write when i'm in desperate need for a vice
i write when i cannot fathom the way every little fibre i do not understand works, when i turn on a light
i write when i scald and scold myself with dirty hot words to try to make myself bett

no brine this timeI sidestepped, and missed the shutter. But it was too late, I had already ruined that timeless piece of memory, replacing say-cheeses with Picasso tremors across disjointed faces. A yell. A hey-you.

I smiled.

Her coat was dark green, and the sleeves fell like limp fish hanging by the sides of a makeshift shopfront by the sea. Her fingers the writhing maggots hidden, just beyond your sight.

I had to touch them.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: April 30, 2007
File Size: 1.0 KB

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 14
Favourites: 16 [who?]
Views: 494 (0 today)
Downloads: 5 (0 today)

[x]

I Love -Hate-

by ~saturnineguise, Apr 30, 2007, 10:33:30 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction

The way you scuff your feet. The way you pick the roses past their bloom, so you can jingle shake their petals as you walk, without a bride. The way you haven’t brushed your hair since you were ten. The way you’re comfortable with taking turns in dialogue. Your pauses of breath. Your silver step. The way you croak good morning in the lazy afternoons. The way you only like your yolks runny. Your meat soft. Your bread hard. The way you fill the cup with too much hot water. The way you let things steam until we’re blind, with something not unlike tears. Your apologetic ‘no’s. The freedom in your ‘hello’s. Those jeans you never wore. The picture in my head of your fingers, your thumbs, the backs of your knees. The smile you wore as a badge whenever I was leaving. The way your face becomes the same blur as I swing you into dizziness. Your look of disdain when you’ve realized I’ve written the day away.

Love is a lot like hate.

I Love -Hate-by ~saturnineguise

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction

Title: I Love (Hate)

Blast the inability of brackets in titles.

A streaming from a prompt. I love stimulus writing.
But this one isn't particularly love-worthy.

Anyhow, this is for this =VisualLit --an interesting new project.

Stimulus photography by =SilverBee Over the Rainbow

~noiamnot May 6, 2007

Love the photo. Suits, too.

~saturnineguise May 6, 2007

thank you dear.

~s4br1n4 May 4, 2007

I like this. alots

~saturnineguise May 6, 2007

thank you very much. a lots.

~RedWombat May 1, 2007

Gorgeous, in a way hard to explain. It is so human that it almost sings. Makes me think about my own relationships.

~saturnineguise May 1, 2007

Thank you gorgeousness. Creating pleasant ideals, or unideals, is somewhat gratifying.

~RedWombat May 1, 2007

Ah, indeed. But I love that style of description, it seems to encompass more than it states. If that makes sense.

~saturnineguise May 1, 2007

It does and I know how you mean, and I love that style also, to read of others, and to write.

~SilverBee May 1, 2007

I really enjoyed this!

~saturnineguise May 1, 2007

Thank you for the bobbing eyebrows and the favourite!

More from ~saturnineguise

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

I Love -Hate-

I Love -Hate-by ~saturnineguise

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style