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astronomerswhen we're together
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.

we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
into speech.

do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?

that night,
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;

stars forming,
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.

i imagined
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers – creator and destroyer
of worlds,
so close to your lips.

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

white noiseThe only thing that seems to keep the world out of my head these days
is white noise
it's a rush of excitedly flapping wings
it's nothing you could grasp but a sound and a colour that is none
I try to keep the world out
(she is playing her music too loud too much these days)
and I think of you, ears buzzing with white noises until they ache.
And I catch myself thinking
I wish you were my white noise -
the sound in between my heartbeats,
the same words whispered so close to my ear they sound like beautiful little secrets,
the rock I cling to when the waves crash violently all around me to keep from drowning, I wish you were
my home, my favourite pair of arms, my heart, my safe place, the one to soothe my mind.
I wish you were so many more things
than just far away and as impossible to touch
as white noise.

and I still keep running into parked carsMama,
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels

I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight

I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you

sunshine streamingwaking up begins with
i. counting the freckles
   along your shoulders
   like an astronomer maps
   constellations; then get
   distracted and
ii. make love between the
   sheets and perhaps
   roll off the bed and land
   on the cold floor laughing
   with sparkling teeth,
iii. brush them in the
    bathroom sink and
    exchange small smirks in
    the mirror because your
    tousled bedhead is just so
    goddamn
iv. gorgeous, you whisper as you
    close the clasp of my
    diamond necklace and touch
    my bare, unfreckled shoulders.
    the heat of your eyes may
    just undo the zipper of my
    new red
v. dress pooling on the floor, we
    just can't contain ourselves.
    don't make me late for work.

Beekeeper12.13.12

I read a book once about
a beekeeper who
spoke to the bees
with her thoughts,
"I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love
you."

and so I decided
to do the same.

Please do not
misinterpret me,
I do not wish to
trap you with my love,
I do not cry out,
"Love me. Love me.
Love me. Love
me."

In fact, I do not
want your love at all
if it is not
all-consuming and
desperate to reach me
as if it were a plant
thirsty for the sun,

but do not be surprised
if I close my eyes
and chant silently,
"I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you."
and you start to feel
that you are someone
wonderful and cherished,

Psalmi. earth

your kingdom come

easement grass
swaying tall like wheat

the galloping horse
who eyed my stick with fear
and mistook my approach for vengeance

earthworms
dawn into the open by rain

moles
caught by the spikes
of traps that father placed
where the earth was soft

the thundering lump
of the pine tree
being cut piece from piece,
it's limbs falling,
the workers squinting against the sun,
and I, woken by the noise,
sitting dazed on my bed

ii. sea

In the strawberries
growing flush and firm
on Californian fields.
In the small girl
groping among berry bushes
as it is in her father
keeping a watchful eye.
In the bloo

lukewarmshe had the kind of voice
that seemed to be stuck
in the hour of four o'clock
in the morning - soft
and tired and luring,
mumbling her way through
subways and tunnel lights
all pale yellow with noise.

there was tea and long baths
and longer absences,
hiccups of breath
the best
she could do.
long springs and
longer falls,
one equinox to the next
and still the bad
was never that bad
and the good
was never that
good,
and she continues to hum
the birds continue to sing
the apples continue to
grow and
sour and
fall,

and bury themselves
again.

Under DreadThe winter, the whole winter
is sitting on my head, nesting its fingers
in the little hairs over my ears.
Its friend, the great and unnamed doubt,
is leaning against my collarbone
in a most familiar fashion,
and I fall in and out of balance

irregularly irregularly.

I have a beauty waiting, warm, willing
on speed dial, but the phone--
where did I leave the phone again?
Beauty is as elusive as
the car keys, which, I swear,
were just in that pocket. I

had my hand on them. The whole winter
keeps coursing its little nails
up and down my neck and taking
all my breath away.
There was a dream I had that
I almost remember, almost r

To LondonGypsy hopefuls once told me,
there are flights leaving for
any destination
at any given instant

Upon sizing up our town with
a fingernail
did you realise how little
our frustrations were?

I spoke about this ineffable feeling
of stepping out of one tub
and into new water.

The hotel was done up nicely,
chandeliers and polished English accents.
Labels aside they still mixed
milk into their coffee
and had toast with jam and butter.

I was living under the impression
that most of the Internet
came from my same slice of city pie,
conveniently forgetting about
the undersea cables.

I loathed the lack of vernacular
sentence s

AffannatoIf my ribs were weighted keys,
I'd play you an ocean song that tips you
right off the edge of the earth,
and clinging to my last phrase, you'd say
'what a tragedy, what a helpless dreamer,
such a beautiful pair of lungs gone to the dust'.

And night would hold us in that distant desperation,
playing our heartstrings so we couldn't keep up,
no, not with that soulful, off-tempo portrait
of who we could have let each other become.

I'll crawl back to bed on my bare boned knees
and when I wake to the black holes you've burned
into the sheets you and I were 'us' on,
I'll write you a desert song
about how I jumped off the edge of the earth
and yo

InfernoSeptember is a sultry tangle
of curly hair and corduroy jackets stretched
over broad shoulders that I've been leaning on,
metaphorically.

He won't press for answers
and I won't trouble him with my problems.
So he complains about the weather –
he's never gotten used to these sticky, southern delta summers –
while I hold the door
and press the call button.

The half-lit elevator drops us off above Dante's first layer.
I feel sorry for anyone beneath,
but I've indulgences to buy
and my own hell to return to.

But there's a light in my pocket –
abandon not all hope,
and

smile.

Dead Bodies Don't Cryi.

You are born with twisted feet
and a pockmark on your chest.
Your poor mother is drenched in sweat,
straining to breathe,
thanking God it's over.

She cradles you in her arms
and kisses your forehead with curved lips.
Your father reaches out to hold you
but has to pause because
your mother will not release you yet.

The family pays a visit,
hovering in awe, praising, laughing.
You look around for someone to blame.

ii.

When you learn to write
you use all the wrong letters
because you feel sorry for the ones
that get left out, like X and Z.
And you wear mismatched clothes
because you don't like the idea that
only certain c

Let the Sparrows InI.

Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the sun.

Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin's tracks collect.

Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:

Seven-seven-thirty-six.
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family

So let the sparrows in.

The house,
With its branching hallways
And
Overhanging décor
And
Furniture rooted to the floor

kids cut through the middlewhen you spend a summer somewhere
where people squirrel away their
ugly children, it's hard not to notice
the subtle strain of the truth
on certain smarter faces,

or the absolute oblivion
in certain spinning eyes
and stumbling legs.

--

i met a girl named K,
just K,
with ankles like a deer and a voice
loud like noise and swampy like a swamp.
she liked orange foods and big words and
her hands shook like the girls in jazz class.

K clicked her tongue between words sometimes
but nobody ever mentioned it. her socks
were alphabetized. she carried a comb in her back pocket
but only 'cause she needed it, she said.
her hair was turning

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A girl had set him there,
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He watched the world from his spot
Higher than dangers could reach
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And pets with their teeth

So he was happy at first
Because he knew that she cared
But soon he thought worst
He was all alone in the world

He waited, he waited
He waited some more
But the girl was grown now
She had walked out the door

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To the window glass as she listened
It relieved her that their voices held her
When nothing else did

Her eyes ran neither hot nor cold.
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At night she lay with a baby doll
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ConvictedYou must remember, We are moving backwards in time.
And it is such a sad thing.
Because forward in time, things get better.
Or so We're told.

It's expected, We guess
Since We were pretty ugly
And filthy too
At that--those--these times
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Submitted: November 11, 2012
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Dry Bones

by *TheTerrorOfTheDeep, Nov 11, 2012, 12:22:00 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Sometimes I replenish my whiskey bottles with water
And swirl it around. I drink up
To make sure I didn’t miss a single drop of that alcohol.
Diluted or not, I ache for it.

Grief.

But not as much as I ache for you.
I would rinse you out and sip all of your insides.
Then I would drag your skeleton out of your skin.
Help me. Worm your way free.

Grief,

My love.

I would jumble our bones together. Mix us up.
Not so we would be two with replaced bones.
No, I want us to have four arms, four legs. I want,
I want us to have two heads and a long twisted spine
Of vertebrate upon vertebrate.
I want us to clank out hollow sounds
When we come rambling along.
Our ribcages would be split and spread.
No longer cages, but wings of rib bones.
Your hips would jut against mine
And our fingers would intertwine.

Grief,

My love,

Never leave.

Our skin would not go to waste,
Oh no.
Instead, we would tear them to shreds
And weave them together.
We could nest on them.
With all our empty bottles.

Dry Bonesby *TheTerrorOfTheDeep

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I couldn't sleep for all the wakefulness. So I wrote this poem. I'd steal the bones for my own, but I thought I'd ask first. I'm jumping your bones, *linaket.

*goes back to sobbing and cuddling an empty Jameson bottle*

Critique by `OfOneSoul Jan 5, 2013, 6:31:00 PM

Okay - first I'd like to say that I'll be critiquing this piece as a part of ^Beccalicious' Critmas is here! (Contest). But don't be afraid... it means nothing.

At the beginning of my critiques I like to give my overall impression of the piece before I go into the delicious details. This was astonishingly powerful. I loved the grim tone & the wording overall. You are certainly a wordsmith and I worship your originality.

Now, let's get down and dirty.

I'll begin by pointing out the good things I saw in your writing:

Imagery

There is dark, brooding imagery here that is eerily beautiful. You're addressing one of the most negative parts of the human psyche - and yet it comes across beautifully. I love the turn of phrase and description. Especially -

"I would rinse you out and sip all of your insides.
Then I would drag your skeleton out of your skin."

&

"Our ribcages would be split and spread.
No longer cages, but wings of rib bones."

- gorgeous in the most morbid way.

Single Word Lines

I really like the concept of this. Not only do you succeed in getting a certain message across - but you create a beat that is unique and all your own. While reading I was forced to pause and say the single word aloud. Grief. It echoed in the room and the chill down my spine confirmed my understanding. Genius, my love.

Now for the constructive feedback:

Capitalization

There are places during your stanzas where you capitalize the beginning of a line even though it's the continuation of the last sentence. In my experience - great poetry with awesome flow & punctuation usually leaves the continuation of a sentence un-capitalized. So, instead of your stanza reading like it did, it could read like this:

"Sometimes I replenish my whiskey bottles with water
and swirl it around. I drink up
to make sure I didn’t miss a single drop of that alcohol.
Diluted or not, I ache for it."

In my opinion, not only is punctuation now correct - but I feel it flows better vocally than it did before.

Spacing Stanzas

You did a wonderful job until the large stanzas starting with "I would jumble..." and ending with "...would intertwine." For me - this part of the poem is too jumbled. It would add to your flow & make for better reading were it split up into two separate stanzas. Of course - this is just my opinion and you can choose to disregard it if you wish.

Overall, my dear - this was a beautifully written piece and you are obviously a very accomplished writer. It was a pleasure to critique your work & I hope it was of some help.

*OfOneSoul

What do you think?

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Critique by *parchmentgirl Dec 27, 2012, 8:31:08 AM

The poem as a whole is absolutely wonderful, it's dark and twisted, fantastically sculpted, one of the best pieces of literature I've read in a while.
I just have a few points to pick out.
Watch out when it comes to plurals and singulars, I noticed a couple of points in this poem where you have been talking about something in the singular and then switch to a plural reference. The last stanza is the most noticeable since you talk about the skins of two people as a singular object and then refer to the skin as them. It only stands out since the skins seems meshed already at the start of the stanza and then you have broken them apart with the 'them'. 'Our skins would not go to waste' would allow for the plurality of 'them'.
I love the image of four arms, four legs. The twisted spine and vertebrate on vertebrate created the most wonderful images and rib bone wings are inspired. I had the fantastic idea of the rib cage creaking and snapping open to make this creepy, skeletal wings.
I didn't think the first two stanzas were as strong though. I thought that the use of 'I drink up' reduced the impact of the image somewhat. Personally, I really wanted a good punch which can be achieved by something as simple as dropping the 'I' and having it as drink up. The later length of the poem wastes no words, yet the first two stanzas don't quite have that same hit.
Overall it is defiantly one of my favorite poems of the moment, well done on a fantastic piece.

What do you think?

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~neonsquiggle Mar 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Lovely.

*TheTerrorOfTheDeep Mar 10, 2013

heart: Thank you.

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Jan 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Disturbing and haunting in its own beautiful way. Well done.

*TheTerrorOfTheDeep Mar 10, 2013

Thank you!

*ReallyLostMyMind Jan 7, 2013 Student Writer

The metaphors in this really stand out to me, and the image of two skeletons, two people becoming one was extremely powerful. When I read the lines "Our ribcages would be split and spread. No longer cages, but wings of rib bones." I froze up for a second and just saw the genius of using the word cage to describe it, and connecting it to wings. That feeling of breaking free from a cage, and flying away, it swept me away.
The morbid feel to it was fantastic, it intertwined with the romance perfectly.
Altogether, I might just spend the next half hour reading it over and over again. It was wonderful.

*MeganLawler94 Jan 6, 2013 Professional Writer

I'm really loving the whole "dark love poem" vibe that I'm getting from reading this. One usually thinks they're going to read a sappy love poem, but this wonderfully captures the other side of love. Your imagery and metaphors really speak volumes about the love that is being described, and about the desire and longing to have the person you love. And what you'd do to them

Overall, it's a wonderful piece!

=Sammur-amat Nov 18, 2012 General Artist

Thank you for this wonderful read and congratulations on the DLD!

*TheTerrorOfTheDeep Nov 23, 2012

Thank you!

=Sammur-amat Nov 23, 2012 General Artist

You are so very welcome, lovely! <3

*SubjugatedSandwich Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is both beautiful and dreamlike. It seems like the kind of untethered romantic notion that could only come to the mind of one so inebriated.

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