[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

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.

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

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.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

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

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.

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

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

untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received

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Chances areI feel you floating, tea stain mocking
and a whisper

Besides temperament, is never when

I hold your offer as die

Shaking Shaking Shaking

Will I let it tumble?

just one, just one

I let you fall.

Consequence is lost.
Briefly intermittent; we hear a sound.

Lights up.

A and B are standing stage right.

A: Preposterous.

B: Indeed, indeed, indeed.

A: Pulls out a crumpled sheet out of pocket, straightens it out. In deed: name of proprietor - that's you - residing at the address - that's also for you - continues on until the end.

B: The end comes from the shining pizza plate in the sky - it told me so.

A: You should never speak to your food.

B: You speak to Horace every day.

A: That's different, he is not food.

B: Not yet.

A: Makes no difference.

B: What's for tea?

A: Horace.

B: He was such a good boy.

Box appears centre stage. Both are unawa

duskthe heart pulses
with the changing rhythm
of day to night

Perpetual Stagnation"And the world fades. Every morning the sun dips as a donut behind the edge of sight and reason, falls as a biscuit into the murky obscurity of coffee black night. Only to be vomited back up again each morning, lurid, belly ache eyes peering over the furthermost reaches of loam. Sneaking steadily until the day is bright with another crucifixion trailing across the sky. Heat staining our cheeks. What does it mean to awaken?"

"Suppose this is all there is," I said, emptying the remnants of twenty-one dollar gin, past too much to be paid for teeth, rotting under a barrage of misuse: too many drugs, not enough of the right kind of brushes. The b

winter tipssometimes when it's really quiet
and morning slices frail fingertips along the surface of far away

i shudder

into myself obscure.

tax behind your teethi sin.

however many ways a flower uncurls,
the rain fragments rainbow sky, before kissing ground beneaths
your feet

how many times a same bird breaks open its shell
warbling lopsided hellos to the world

how many used up filters flicked
of all the goodbyes and scattered finger air dances

whenever every third child smiles, sodium benzoate smiles, with crossed
fingers behind backs

i sin every time i open my eyes
and stare, open faced and open hearted
at the intoxication of the mundane, and subtle beauty

i find, that my illegal awakening and rests
ebb into null. for we all sin when we smile

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say cheese

by ~saturnineguise, Feb 1, 2007, 1:14:26 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

How can you manufacture emotion?

You can't.

Such a bold statement. Look capital letter. Punctuation.

Must be true.

[i smile everyday for you, it kills me, every day, just a little bit more of me, falls to the floor, and i step on it]

say cheeseby ~saturnineguise

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Bad title, but it means, force for.
Always, always, when you smile, when you laugh, you don't get all those annoying questions, those seemingly concerned looks, those you know, 'I understands' those, 'whats wrongs'.
Smile. Laugh. A better picture of distress.

~unexplored-beauty Feb 6, 2007

love that last line. it's gold to me. -erin

~saturnineguise Feb 6, 2007

Thank you Erin

~Raistlindantilus Feb 3, 2007 Writer

This is amazing. Simple as that.

~saturnineguise Feb 4, 2007

Thank you very extremely muchly much

~noiamnot Feb 3, 2007

And the good thing, but also the sad thing, is that I'd grind all the fallen pieces six feet down, just so he didn't feel obligated to pick them up.
But I'd never tell him that.

~saturnineguise Feb 4, 2007

I know exactly what you mean.

~noiamnot Feb 8, 2007

Ah, love, how sweet thy poison...

~saturnineguise Feb 8, 2007

how delectable to fall.

~noiamnot Feb 9, 2007

Agreed

~saturnineguise Feb 11, 2007

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