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The Remnant ShellTurquoise and green with a tinge of brown
Beneath subtle, sculpted ripples
Like plants laying to rest on the sand,
Swaying passively as I run my fingers through the water,
Carving little blue waves over them.
Colours and ripples shaped into a gentle swirl,
A remnant of a past life.
Sweet SmellsSweet smells of pine trees,
Comforting roughness of bark,
Hold me tenderly.
Sweet smells of nectar,
Cool raindrops against my tongue,
Calm embraces me.
The JourneyBeneath my skin, my veins pulse with desire
To know why I am here.
As I journey to find the answers to life,
I sail through the monotonous seas
That stretch forever beyond the horizon.
As my ship sails towards the dry land,
Mountains tower before me,
Filling me with both awe and intimidation.
But the mountains are eroding as time passes by,
Into merely fragments of what they once were.
I move my eyes and watch the glaciers
Melt slowly into rivers.
But even though they disappear,
They melt to provide water for all life on this planet.
You could say rivers are created by glaciers for a purpose.
I ponder those mountains and glaciers as the scenery
Changes to a monotonous desert.
Hot sand spreads around my feet,
And the heat drains away my energy.
I travel onward, searching for answers in the heavens above.
I look on as the starry sky stretches before me
Like a blanket concealing what lies beyond
The world as I know it.
The stars merely pins on a map
Beckon me to explore them.
But there is
Hope is GoneMy world crumbles down.
As I gaze out the window,
All hope vanishes.
Tears dissolve vision
As Lament envelops me
In his icy hands.
Color turns to grey
As redness creeps over me.
I'm lost forever.
BlackBlack rainwater falls from the sky,
Staining my skin with hateful words.
It scours my soul with evil,
Eating up flesh from the inside.
I stumble blindly as my purities wash away,
As I cry blood for tears
And scream as knives stab from the inside.
I cough up pieces of my heart
As tufts of hair fall to the ground.
I am only a monster now.
ClearKnowledge dawns upon me,
As the waters, eerily clear and lifeless like acid,
Recede from the shores of my mind
And dissolve away my ignorance.
I stand firm as the clearing waters reveal
A seabed of lies that once trapped and buried life beneath its surface,
Choking the ability to speak the truth.
As innocent life around me takes its last breath,
Acid burns my eyes and awakens me to new understanding,
And propaganda that once intimidated me like grand mountains
Now erode into meaningless grains of sand.
The world is clear now.
ArtA work of art is a true enigma.
Perhaps the blue triangles in the work
Are the meaning of life
That the mundane elements of life conceal.
One could say that the bright colors represent extravagance
And that the blue represents the simplicity of happiness,
The beauty of the heavens above us,
And one must look past the deceptive colors
To find the true purpose of his existence.
But step back, and one may see
The great enigma a person can be.
Multicolored blotches of color like pieces of character
Forever in opposition and never reconciled
But yet somehow unified by the paintbrush of the soul.
Or perhaps the multicolored pieces are not parts of a human's character,
But are stories and memories of a past life,
A quilt held together by an artificial smile.
Look in the centre, and one may see a person giving into hate
As his heart, black with the poison of depression,
Slowly seeps through the rest of his body,
Consuming all that he once was.
The borderless mosaic tiles that once held him tog
Je Suis La NuitThe night belongs to me, in all its whispering shadows
I am the watcher, the seer, the stand-in-the-dark-and-knower
The darkness is the cloak around me, the rough ground my dance floor
I am the silence and the sudden laughter,
And the melancholy melody of the party you weren't invited to.
This is my kingdom, my house of evening adventures,
Full of the clink of wine glasses and the shouting of revellers
My manor, with its well of sorrow and alcohol
I see how the light slides from graffiti and love it,
I smell the smoke of the burning barbecue and smile,
In concrete ginels, behind green gardens.
The stars are my hair-jewels, the moon my fan
The fading reflections from office windows are my dresses
The lipstick I flaunt is the red of cars hurrying home,
My perfume, the river at the end of the day
I prowl without prey, in the shivering anticipation
At the wind-down, in the high before sleep
My spotlight is the amber moon, over bare branches and shingles
My people, my subjects,
Are the quie
Letter to a PoetDear Sir/Madam,
It has come to our attention
this is the twenty-third rejection
of work you have submitted to our site.
We don't wish to be alarming
and we hope this sounds disarming,
but your use of metaphor is somewhat trite.
We somewhat like the concept
(the execution is inept)
besides, your work just does not meet our theme.
You need to have more adjectives
and words like gloam and mucilage,
and phrases that go along in kind.
Please keep the imagery obscure -
the reader never should be sure
just what it is the author has in mind.
Pick a structure we all can stand -
we find your rhythm rather bland
and no deep meaning can the reader find.
So in short, we will be leaving -
please consider basket weaving
or perhaps take up bowling as a sport.
Or perhaps try stamp collecting
for your work we are rejecting.
Poetry should be your last resort...
The night is aglow, sitting
in the depths of my heart;
the city lights knitting
pale orange halos above.
In breaths pale with Argyle pink
diamond, the lovers rise
over the very brink
of the iceberg's cyan crown,
like celestial bodies.
In the crumbs of honeycomb
scattered on the table,
I'll find our proteome;
I want to decipher our
genetics, map your heartbeat
and find constellations
among every discreet
naevus nestled upon you,
joining the dots.
I'll pursue you forever,
until my worthless bones
(in boundless endeavour)
are at last compressed into
Argyle pink diamonds.
Breaks In My MindI've watched your words break her skin,
For so long now,
Her tears have stained my chest for so long,
My chest is covered in them,
Why must the pain you create consume her?
Push her past the edge,
Only for me to catch her hand,
And help her back up,
Why must the pain you create,
Break my mind like no other,
That I've ever felt,
To stare into her eyes,
That are full of hurt,
Gives me a break,
That I've never known before,
One that i don't think I could ever mend,
The pain you create will push her past the edge again,
Once more for me to pick her up,
And try once more to mend our breaks.
Save MeI'm waiting here,
waiting here, for my angel.
She's yet to show her beautiful face.
But I believe in her, I have faith.
She will show, and light my way.
She will come even if its not today.
I'm still here waiting,
My angel will come and save me,
my angel will come maybe.
Come Back To MeWhat is it girl
What did I do
Why won't you talk to me
What happened to us two
How did I hurt you
And in which way
What can I do to make it up
To make everything okay
You mean the world to me
And I'll do everything within my power
To see you smile again
And bloom like a flower
What's in it for me
Is nothing but your smile
It makes me complete
It makes living worthwhile
I'm not saying to forget this
But merely put it aside
Focus on the more important things
Like my heart, where you truly reside
Don't quit on me now
We need to pull through this
And when we do
We'll share nothing but bliss
Come back to me girl
It'll be like the good old days
I won't lose you forever
We won't go our separate ways
Everything I Want To BeI want to write something poignant and moving.
It will make you cry and make you laugh.
It will win awards and give me prestige.
It will change someone's life.
I want to write something hilarious and heart-wrenching.
It will make and break relationships because of realizations of truth.
It will make you think differently than before you cracked open the first page.
It will make you want to read it again and again and again.
I want to write something that means something.
It will be translated into language after language, copy after copy published.
It will be read in schools, but the kids will actually enjoy it. Even after the thing is analyzed to death.
It will make them stop to think.
I want to write something real.
But don't we all, I suppose?
Quoting ShakespeareThe fault, dear Brutus,
is not in our stars,
but in ourselves
Everyone does it,
you know they do.
They sound clever,
but not to you.
are less than
Give me a book,
battered and beaten
and marked to the brim.
All the world's a stage,
and all the men and women
Check the lines
and word counts.
As he was valiant, I honor him.
But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
Play the part,
But even if they don't,
you're not quoting Shakespeare.
You're letting him live again.
This is a poemThis is a poem about life.
This is a poem about love,
This is a poem about life.
This is a poem about hate,
This is a poem about dreams
And how they are lost.
And how they die.
And how it begins.
This is a poem about life.
This is a poem about nothing
BlueToday is blue.
Like a placid lake was draped over the sky,
An oceanic quilt knitted between clouds
Posiedon's blanket that allowed me to see
everything in a sad shade, a jazzy hue,
the color of notes that fly from a harmonica.
Today is blue.
Like wise rain clouds that blend and fade
into the reflective sea above, glass broken
in the pool of just deeds, like sunglasses made
for combating depression because if its out of sight
its out of mind, like indigo sadness for navy caskets
and sailor's hats that graduate and congradulate
Today is blue.
Like the milky ink that personifies our tiny universe,
pirouetting stars of perwinkle that pool and coagulate
where words form jewels, and where beauty meets innovation
where her body fits perfectly in azure jeans and sweet dreams
and her sapphire eyes capture the sky because she knows
as long as there is a heaven we can all spread our timid cobalt wings
and fly. Lift your head, and calm your aqua mind. The world is drowning.
Armature ScriptureSometimes my left side tells me
that I'm coming on too strong
like a tidal wave of too good of intentions
and my right side wishes that these
waves would do nothing more but turn
into roses or maybe
or things like romance that float singly
in the air and travel to your lips,
slip into your mouth
fall down your throat
and reside in your lungs
only to be evicted when you decide
to let it all draw out in one long
But be careful what you sigh for
because you could easily float away
and I'm just at a love letter's length
waiting at your door step
with a paper and two pens
just in case one runs out of ink,
so take these words and eat them;
I really am willing to write forever
if it meant you would
to taste every single word
for I am nothing but a poet
and soon you'll have met another
but touch me while I'm here
and I'll stay
I'll ask why
this is why I write
to transcend the syllables,
and the similes like metaphoric smiles
Living life and marking time
Another day has passed
Learning new and teaching old
As others fates are cast
Hoping to find another heart
To travel next to mine
Choosing paths and walking trails
As the journeys tale unwinds
Though many years we wander
And youth will fade away
We must live in the few hours
Between tomorrow and yesterday
Dancing in the WindI look up at the branches
And see the leaves blowing
The trees swaying in the wind.
I feel it between my fingers
The air slipping through them
The wind, tenderly holding my hand.
My hair, thrown about by the gusts
It gets in my eyes and tickles my face
But I don't mind. The Sun is warm.
I close my eyes and reach out
Until my arms reach the sky
The wind flows through me,
My essence flows into it
Merges with it, twisting itself
Into the wyrd of the World.
I can feel it all within me.
The grass is damp under my feet
And I feel the life without.
I open my eyes.
The Sun is setting now.
Vivid, wonderful colours!
All, beautiful beyond reason.
The wind caresses me yet.
I feel life bubbling up inside me
Drifting throughout my being,
Every nerve is excited by the rush
Of the air over my exposed skin
Chills dance up and down my spine.
My limbs insist on movement
Such wonderful energy! Such life!
I find myself Dancing in the Wind.
Night falls as I flit about
The Moon shines, brilliantly
Truth in the LIghtTRUTH IN THE LIGHT
The light shines down and exposes the truth,
Displaying imperfections from the beginning of youth.
Not to expose problematic choices you've made,
But lighting the way so you are not afraid.
For change and strength come from exposing our faults,
It hardens the soul or opens hearts vaults.
To a treasure some seek and may never find,
But additional light is there to remind.
That the light which made every living thing,
Resides in each of you welling up like a spring.
Helping one another to drink in that light,
To stand there beside you as a friend in this fight.
For true light that's bright in perfection and pure,
Unconditionally washes away the obscure.
And whether a nemesis or a friend,
The light will hold true and expose in the end.
That it's independence we think we seek,
Yet pride and ignorance keep us blind and weak.
We can not do this journey alone,
At the very least you must know God to get home.
Realizing it is not by our grace that were saved,
On Whimsy1. Find your voice. To write, you don't have to know yourself to write, but you have to accept how you sound. Write that way.
2. Listen to the rain pour. Last night I stayed up late working on my novel while I listened to the rain. Patter, patter, patter. Clack, clack, clack. As I climbed into bed the sound melded and I fell asleep listening to a lullaby of rain and inspired writers.
3. Throw Jelly Beans and popcorn and candy into the air and try to catch it in your mouth.
4. Try to do a handstand. Fail. Try again.
5. Take the time to sleep until noon and write until five AM.
6. Always forgive but never forget.
7. Listen to the sounds of different fan blades as they whirl and whip the air. Each one sounds different and they can make a lovely melody.
8. Never tell your friends until after it's published. It's a nice goal. Try to keep it for a week.
9. Let yourself cry every time you finish a novel. If the ending does that to you, FANTASTIC. But do it anyway b
My Constantinople, iScribbles lie on
The passing book
is a nomad.
cross plains of
Mountains are pastel
Boxes of pine
as monuments to
Pillows brood as
They lay such
illusions on to
steal the cold
watch it smother.
croons a cranial
into the night.
flirts, fails, cries
over its lover
(a miniature sun goddess)
decides to dance
of a fly
plays to the
of stained glass,
the tears of
with my lungs.
lies like a
Knock, snuffle, slept.
Sleeper rise up from your dreams
And spirits draw your sight
The silver moon beyond your door
Draws shadows from the night
Step forth and run beneath the stars
Behind you leave your walls
The wind blows cool in summer night
And freedoms voices call
Strike a chord across the sky
The shadows voices ring
Find resonance within your heart
And make your spirit sing
Raise your face to argent light
No longer stand apart
Now add your own voice to the song
Within the forests heart
Within the world of man we dwell
It daily takes it's toll
But golden eyes and silver light
Are woven through our soul
Upon the earth that made us
We do the best we can
A guide the spirits gave us
The wolf within the man.
The Drug of WritingWriting is like a drug, except it's not really a drug.
For some, it's a painkiller.
For others, an antibiotic.
For me, it's my magic mushrooms; my LSD.
I go far, far away.
Sometimes I don't ever want to come down.
Sometimes I want it to be over and done with as quickly as possible.
Sometimes it's a bad "trip".
Sometimes it's lovely, wonderful.
And there are always flash-backs.