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For love and the distance comesThere isn't a
pupil to guide us
No gulf we bridge or synthesized kiss
Though I remain,
locked into your solenoidal and
Hopeless as a promise
into its depths.
You talked subtle behind the lies;
A hardy stem of your lips,
That climbed love at the
summit of only words
And spoke it so simply,
as if gestures were to
echo halfheartedly within.
But even for a time,
every word had passed between
us like stolid contradiction and maybe we meant what we said.
Each thought. Each pleasure.
When we laughed into our lowest grin
And a grand
ruse would smile back.
Regret at my Grandmothers DeathbedI remember the moment before I broke down.
Her expression, lost and sunken - coquettish of decay. In the hospital room, we listen to "The Six Suites for Uncompanied Cello." I wait for the strum of violin to soften, to draw what time we have into a slow, discordant melody of Bach's symphony. I wait for the stench of chemicals and sweat to smell like nothing. I wait for winter to sift its chill from the window glass and draw the hairs on my skin to stand on end.
I wait for the moment to rise like a storm and break the silent gulf between us. Wait to throw my hideous throng from my chair and roll its thunder beside a bed of neglected years.
I had rained of tears, and fell the parched earth of a caucus plain until every drop had trickle down the withered seams and hollowed cheek.
Until every tear had scoured through her dry flesh and decrepit lips, and flooded regret into its
Great, saltine mesh and I bathe my sorrow within a dimple of her curious grin.
When I had searc
All of the hated and forgotten wordsTO WAR WITH WORDS!
Why do I fail?
day after day,
do tears become my meat and I taste
of its lifeless, thought?
Why do I rise like the burning
and my cold epitaph then slur
into a stone
and is only scarcely scorned?
She was a solitary, light browATTENTION....THIS STORY IS NOT YET FINISHED! TO BE CONTINUED AND LATER EDITED! THANKS.
She was a solitary, light brown complexion. A frail and sickly color that kept to the shade of the underbrush.
Jake had been observing her astutely for some time now, trying his best to contemplate why this one, particular mallard duck had distanced herself from the rest of the flock. The brook continued to yearn into the depths of wild bush. Hissing over rocks and under the shade of great oaks. Occasionally she waddled on the wet sand. Only a few, meager steps into nothingness and nuzzled underneath her wing. She did not seem to care or notice that Jake was still watching her from across the bank. Nipping carelessly at an iridescent plumage of drab feathers, purple-blue and white. Jake noticed that the back of her neck, as well as her backside, had become completely bald. Most of the time she just stared. Her eyes, empty. As if she was blind to the world.
Soon enough, a male had swooped down on top
Fall of the LeafSummer ended at the edge of an equinox
I watched it pass into
saw it fade from slats of fabric
onto Sunday's, overcast
shadow that lapsed at the glass pane.
There was but one
breath left of summer when
time aged its last by the window.
My thoughts then stir where
the saccurums wake,
like winters cage of blossoms to ripen;
I had transcended from each
And foiled the hope of my every
lateral, structure until all are fallen
From the green of lush and
Ever Northward into the fray of their weathered elements is a
deepening Autumn lament,
Boreal and decay
Lustrous yet plain
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
Oxtails (Collab w/ TwilightPoetess)Somewhere between oxen and orchid,
where cattails and foxgloves wilt and weep
at the parting of another fleeing day
and stormed cloud-castles mutiny
against the weight of the rocksalt moon;
somewhere between flightless and fading,
where faery circles and dandelion crowns fall--
somewhere, beneath bark mosaiced with age,
you will siphon the remains of my heart--
churned smooth by false hope’s abuse--
into dehydrated dirt that groans for it.
I will clot the crumbling veins of anthills
with the iron debris that was once us,
until I become orchid or foxglove once more.
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More