Oft I find
I am at once
deer and arrow.
GambleSome days I persist;
others, I exist
with a tacit acceptance,
a reluctant signature
to renew my lease on life,
that maybe one day
it'll all change,
that it's not true, what they say
throwing their money
Flow of MeaningHearing half of a conversation,
the poet speaks,
on paper napkins
about love and other demons.
He calls it the art of destruction,
but art creates the self.
Sunlit scales in unblind eyes
gild your prism wings
like the blue sky come to life
as you brace for your first flight.
Not By SightLiving blind
can turn a simple grocery run
into an altar call.
Enter good Samaritan:
just a hand on my arm
and a prayer
for my sight,
to be restored.
Am I not whole?
My eyes took early retirement,
but that doesn't make me
a collage of scars
of train rides and tea leaves.
I've had a good life,
a hard life,
a full life.
Today, I can't
find it in me
to gently correct her;
in society's eyes, I am
made invisible one moment
and spotlighted the next,
ready either to stand back
or stand out.
The pressures imposed
by duty to educate,
by forced intimacy,
are enough to render me
Her words come from the heart,
and in a world
where people are quick
to say hateful things,
are truly refreshing;
but I wish she didn't equate
I believed the same once.
When I was small, I hoped
for an unneeded cure.
Now, I find purpose
in every aspect of my being;
even with my
was the first familiar voice
as I lay, broken,
in that hospital bed.
I know he sped
from downtown Dallas
in lunch-hour traffic
just to be with me.
DeterminationFew would expect
that Melissa could carry
the weight of worlds on her shoulders,
but when she recovered
from her worst crash landing yet,
she didn't bother to walk--
she opened her wings
and soared instead.
Singing in ColorWhen Caitlin sings,
something in my heart just
Like a blend of
the balminess of dusk
and the coolness of dawn,
indigo and silver mist
come together in my mind's eye
and take the shape of
the face I know and love so well,
haloed by the notes
blossoming from piano keys
as her delicate fingers flit across them.
I'm never far from her embrace
if I just listen.
And Dream of me Tonight There are shadows under your eyes
From either lack of sleep
or too much time alone.
But if you're feeling Restless,
Lay your head
when the papers are colored by wonderthe silence will be filled with wind and debris;
i disentomb my dreams to write them apologies.
Bird BeatsDeep down, I know
love is only a four letter word--
that it can't hurt me unless I let it
and it won't hurt me if it's true--
but there's the whisper of a fluttering
between these battered rib stalagmites
and I, broken spirit woman
trapped in a chasm of bottomless breaths
and cracks forged from mosaic memories,
am afraid to give voice to the bird
only to discover my wings
have molted in the wrong hands once again.
i buried your best
friend in the front yard,
from their caving ribs,
i lived there too.
subtle (3/30)I carve my stories
into your skin and
hope you'll catch
all the insecurities
I'm too afraid to express
out loud --
but you sweat them out
and keep them to remind me
how I always
WWI - 1Gauge a man by how strong his drink is,
while pouring smoky, wooden notes
into a shot glass boasting of hunting
deer in the woods of Tennessee.
'Take a swig old chap'
Aim down your sights,
your heart races for the kill--
feeling fire in your throat
and your eyes wavering to see
a single shot.
One too many and out
on your ass - waiting for
perdition to save you
from the bottom of a bottle.
night, angriest of the fallen angelsi box my eyes in with my blanket-warm palms:
they beckon to my eyelids, which
grow upwards to kiss the sandy rough skin
the green gatsby light of my smoke detector is needle-like,
pricking and metallic and threading
into my very
own brain through my vision
i blink again, maybe
an airplane this time, wandering
aimlessly through the purpling galaxy
the endless skies of my ceiling, infinite (ever since i stripped it of its name, its stars)
i don't know where to pinch (or punch)
when i realize that i
will never again
make contact with my forgotten dreams,
fallen comrades, unintentionally and unwillingly
left within the tides of
memory that continually sift the timesands in my mind
delicate bird wings encase the dust of my dead
dreams and wash them asea
and i am never again to revisit them because they have
no resting place, no final destination, and my burning 2AM heart, loveliest and liveliest
in the earliest hours of the new day, throbs and swells and pulses and aches
like any re
the infinite universe runs under my skin.how can these cheap, year-old, peeling, plastic glow in the dark celestial beings take on such a real, too-good-to-be-true form during the earliest hours of a day? must be why they call it the witching hours. i feel invincible. i feel unconquerable; if i decided to sprout gold wings and fly to the moon, i know i would do it. if the Angels called to me, i would soar to them instantaneously.
if i could fall in love every time i opened my eyes, i would.
little beast 2.0take some of the muesli
right outta the carton.
swallow. throat goes animal
like a boy in siken’s poems except
you are no boy and this is not poetry-
there’s no litany in these crossed out calendar dates
and no comfort in your 1000 arabian nights
princess scheherazade, butch angel
all soft and tough in the wrong places,
all hushed laughter as rome falls. you are already holy-
you are no fox, you are
more than crushed paper
and if your hands are an afterthought
at least you know
foresight’s 20/20 –
he had green eyes
so you wanted to
sleep with him
steal his jacket. even strong girls feel cold sometimes –
you cannot punch the weather forecast in the face.
Words like wingsI caught a bird, the other day. Opened my window, leaned out, and there it was, right in front of me. Almost like it wanted to be grabbed. Strange little thing, all bones and breath and that frightened heartbeat thudding against my fingers - and warm, warm as blood.
I cradled it in my hands and, fingers cupped tight around it, pulled my arms back in and tugged the window closed with my elbow. Not locked, mind you - just closed enough it wouldn't fly away the moment I let it go. Not before I'd had a chance to look at it, anyway.
I sat down, back against the wall. Opened my hands.
The bird stood there, balanced on the platform of my overlapping palms, tilted its head on one side and looked at me.
I looked back. It was a strange kind of a bird, all told - unblinking little black eyes, red-tipped claws, and feathers that, once I looked closer, looked more than a little odd.
It tilted its head to the other side, eye fixed on my face. Hopped closer on my palms. Spread its wings
The Saturday Spotlight for December 22nd, 2012Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
Saturday Spotlight for December 22nd, 2012
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Artists will be featured in a special news article every Saturday. Major points to SilverInkblot and lion-essrampant f
Prayerthe last time I was in a chapel
I got a nosebleed
at the start of
when peace like a river
I don’t get nosebleeds
I took it as a sign
I retreat inside my skin
not because it’s safer
but because I know this temple
was built to withstand the
burning spirit that inhabits it
these windows shatterproof
these walls flame resistant
I make my own stained-glass
busted mirror —pools of silver
of my busted fist repeated
my mother always said
I had too much fire in me
I am a fire sign after all
what did she expect
I contain it within myself
no, I try
when I open my mouth
I catch them smoldering
between my teeth
you said my demons
do not scare you
but I am also not
afraid of the lion
flashing those brilliant teeth
meant to rip skin
& tear away red meat
while I stand securely
on the other side
of the laminated safety glass
that divides us
when your pause stretches
to absence I imagine your
hands drawn together
palm to palm soot-sme
Washing Down WordsA miscarriage of unwritten words:
she washes lead streaks
from the side of her hand,
quicksilver water spiraling
down the bathroom sink.
GhostsGhosts lie and lie inside my brain,
They echo, echo and drive me insane.
I can't find a way to shut them all out,
With their whispers of mistrust and doubt.
I can't sleep with all the silent sound
As thoughts just echo around and around.
Soon I won't be able to pretend.
Soon, I'll more than crave the end.
I'm sick of the migraine within my skull,
I'm sick of these thoughts I cannot cull,
I'm sick of the little voices inside my head
Dragging me down until I wish I was dead.
Growing desperate, fighting a war
Against myself til I can't take anymore.
Always battling the ghosts within
Until I join them in the realm of sin...
Concerning PrejudiceThere is no force so violent and so monstrous
As a people unified by their prejudice.
abyssdark-eyed girl, you are so much more than beautiful.
when i look into your eyes i see heartwood, great rivers,
coiled limestone fossils pulled from the primordial sea.
i see riches, black-gold as the oil and ore that they
claw up from the bones of the planet. i see myself
drowning in drops of amber glass. you are ink on paper
and the rain-soaked earth of springtime. you are fiery
knife-edged obsidian, born from the blood of volcanoes.
you are the fury of a midnight storm, ancient and celestial,
splitting the sky and cleansing the world. you are the
infinite depths of space where the light does not reach.
you are the dark new moon, the shadows between the stars.
you make abyss-gazers of us all.
Daily Literature Deviations for August 27th, 2012Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
Daily Lit Deviations for August 27th, 2012
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