[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Riddle My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

What am I?

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

Seaside HolidayI am content
to stay
a caterpillar

Who says
you have
to change?

What's so great
about being
a butterfly?

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a day of metreShaking, shaking, bruised shaking.

I'll pick up my splatters from the wall. Just give me a moment. Just give me a...

Fading, fading, purpose fading.

I'll crack out my splinters from the outburst. Just wait. Just wait for it...

Release will only come when I shut you off.

--

your clear green eyes on a day of yesterday, and how vibrant they were in steamed rooms and glistening. tendrils blooming down your slopes and exclamation dots dotting across the floor.

they helped me up, that one time, that one time when i was standing on that red chair to get a better angle of your disasterpiece, that one time when i fell, and i broke it, and i lau

Fit to burstIt is far too blatant to ignore.
Everyday and it's always there.
Realism? Reality? A different spoke on the same wheel, on somebody else's long forgotten diatribe. (catherine wheeling down the hill)

The relevance; for sure there is some wasting away in the dirty dark corners of my mind. But there I let it lay in quiet disinterestedness.
Me, for it, and it for me.

You know, time moves differently for different people. Or differently in different situations. And no, it isn't just your mind, or perception. It's time. Time elongates when you never want it to, and rapidates when you wish you had so much more, and stands stock still in those m

in a dark dark streetwe could buy a big old house all falling down and ancient in a new world way. wait until its night night time, and leave all the lights on and the music thump thumping.
and we could have a big back yard, overgrown with the flowers of left behind and disrepair, that we would have to brave in darkness.
we could sneak out the back door, and through the jungle, hoping there werent spiders or monsters to jump out and eat us up. we could run to the finish line in the form of a door in the fence to the alleyway behind our big old house.
and we could stay there, and pretend we did a courageous thing, breathing our breaths back in. and we could si

drink it downno more, sounds good.

but then, i don't know how to make that come about.

[one month, try one month at a time]

i'm recognising my love for ampersands.
and how interesting it is to know the names of all the little signs.

it is not up to you to decide what i do, and i'm coming to the belief that it isn't quite up to me either.

[maybe in a few more months]

there's a whore stuck in my head with needle points and gushing, injecting me with so many things i don't want to know about. there's a dull knocking, that i know if i open the door to, no one will be there but ugly little monsters, deformed thoughts, malignance lining my insides with a

perspexenveloped between a static distant picture
and a clear wall of darkness.

i think, i think,
there are a few little words that get used up so often that change to structure doesnt do a thing, no matter how many new things you tack onto the front, or all the attachments you leave onto the end, like the proper titles of royalty.

protector of,
ruler of
et cetera etc.

i think, i think,
there are a few little words that i will never let back into my lexicon, my future dialogues, i leave them be to past documentation and internal monologues.

all my i's
all my you's
and all the bitterness in between.

i think, i think,
that sometimes it pa

brokedbroken eyes
broken smiles
cant see through the broke down lies
cant see through the broke down byes.

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and nothing

by ~saturnineguise, Apr 17, 2008, 8:03:53 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

and nothingby ~saturnineguise

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

you didn't talk to me about it.

and then another you, all you could do was talk about it, about bullshit, about making it someone else's fault but your own, which is not to say i am untouchable, but, it begins to be an idontfuckingcare look of yesyesyesiam listening when everything is about idiotic views on respect.

~cynicalxpoet May 3, 2008

I love how you managed to stuff so much into that.

~saturnineguise May 7, 2008

thanks so much! (:

~LoveShotEyes Apr 30, 2008 Student Writer

You are everything: genius, tender, biting, cuntish, beautiful, pure.

~saturnineguise May 7, 2008

honey, coming from you, that means so much to me. couldn't tell you how much.

~starsdie Apr 25, 2008

interesting (:

~saturnineguise May 7, 2008

thank you lovely (:

`YouInventedMe Apr 19, 2008 Writer

absolutely wonderful

xo!

~saturnineguise May 7, 2008

thank you dear (:

~MissUnderstand Apr 17, 2008

"but in a real -
time - moment sense"

I like the way this flows.
I might like the description of the poem even more than the poem itself...

~saturnineguise Apr 17, 2008

i think you may be right, i actually don't really like this poem at all now, and was just about to scrap it before you came along.

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