[x]

The SuitorI know, indeed, that I've been dreaming
but now I wake; I hear it breathing
there is a monster in my room
he wants a dance, he wants a kiss
"come be my wife, and live in bliss
and garb yourself in nightmare gloom."
I am aware that I've been dreaming
but I wake now, and hear him singing
this creature, now, comes near my bed
and twisted thoughts are brought by him
my vision bright, now fades, and dims
and though I'm his, as he has said
I beg the monster, "let me go"
to which he laughs, and tells me "No".
I am afraid that I've been dreaming
and even fancied he was leaving
but now, before me, on his knees
he tricks my failing heart with lies
"where we will go, you will have eyes
to see our home set on the seas
if my little wife you'll be
if, my love, you'll come with me".

WordsmithsHow long did you think
we could pound our vocabulary with hammers
before it fell flat?

an attack that is massiveso,
here's my hair
and my knees and legs
and even some of my shoulders
and they are dressed in purple -
don't ask me why though
an artist told me
purple was dangerous
'cause purple is red and blue
and red is fire
and blue is water
and i am red
and he is blue;
it doesn't matter now
'cause
''we'' is not me and him anymore -

so,
here's your hair
and your lips
and your eyes, and just maybe
some of your fingertips
and you still don't have a colour
and maybe that's better
'cause
i'm a mess
and you're happiness

and you use
complicated words
like ''phantasmagoria'' and ''ephemeral''
and you use
cologne that smells like h

wrists that roarmama says
pull down your sleeves
they'll see, they'll see
but no-one's even looking

i say mama
tigers are proud and strong
and tigers show their stripes
so today i'm a tiger

and who says
i can't be a tiger
when razors made me fierce
and secrets kept me lonely

who says
i can't tiger-roar
when everything unsaid
ripped my throat raw

i made my stripes
with tiger-claws and tiger-teeth
so damned if i'm not a tiger
and damned if i won't roar

mama, i'm a tiger
mama, hear me roar

bits of bonelet it be known:

i loved you most when you were messy,
unkempt--your fingers like a spotted
cow's hide with ink and peppered with
paper cuts; a faded old t-shirt and your
hair on end, holey jeans loose on your
hips. your flaws were your beauty, when
i pressed my cheek to your chest, i took
in the sweet, spicy scent of you and knew
if you smelled like clean and simple soap,
it wouldn't be the same.

you were wild with wanderlust, it hung in
the air around you like a mist of rain and
it soaked you through, ate you up, it
seeped beneath your skin to take root in
your heart.

i was as captivated by you as you were
by the ocean,

UntitledThe effectiveness of an umbrella is
inversely proportionate to its comfort,
you mapped the world in gradients
of notes that slid open on spokes.

watching a city under an inverted sky,
you tethered your soul to the tops of buildings,
following runway lights that
bled into a fog of classical and thoughts

there is something ethreal about music,
intangible-
you try to grasp the rain
but the words slip through your fingers

the night we met,
on the piano, you tried to play the sky
but all that rolled out was a muted thunder

Sometimes it rains in people,
You can see it in their eyes

artemisShe is gazing back through centuries with green eyes,
and she is dreaming of the sun.
he asks her where she's from,
and she thinks of
a band of beautiful bright-smiled girls by her side,
and of a beautiful bright-faced brother she wasn't supposed to love,
and of being beautiful,
and she answers,
'Vegas, baby',
because she kind of loves the fact that
the city is too loud for her to hear the
last echoes of a long forgotten hunt
calling her home.

She is standing at a red stop light,
taking in the smell of the town,
and remembering the smell of blood
and adrenaline
and glory.

The Two StreamsDrifting down between the riverside trees
Early afternoon sunlight kisses you
As your raft glides over the clear water
Your focus is held by the horizon

In the distance, a split in the river
Presents itself, and you must make a choice,
Similar to one Robert Frost once faced
And like him, you stand in uncertainty
The one stream appears in a wilder form
Verdure bulging over it unrestrained
Keeping the sunshine from touching water
As if it welcomes neither man nor beast
It offers danger... and adventure too.
The other stream seems safer to explore
The plants on either side yield evidence
Of passage made by creatures unharasse

Don't Kill For Mea thousand blood red
long stemmed roses in their prime
sacrificed for love

dust-centred bones she can't
say she holds
the world on her
coathanger
shoulders,
but the
weight
of
everyday
drags her down
like nothing else:
until she thinks
maybe she
might
be
slicing
open sharp
hip bones until
they soak the
air with rust and
salt and
dirty desire
and
the mirror
steams to
hide away

nobody ever texts her first. you will tire of her. she will not always
be there to turn sealife to stardust,
or be the receptacle for your anger.
she will become that girl you used to know,
the one with the notebook and no friends.

she's been hanging with unloved kids,
underachievers-- just to remember
the insanity of a smile,
the feeling of being noticed.

already she has forgotten
what it feels like to dodge quick remarks, the thrill
of apprehension in quotation marks & parts of speech.

she sleeps backbone to floorboards
because they're softer than regret.
she wants to bleed through
someone else's wounds.

already she sees the frays
in your interest

Other Girlsit's not a simple thing
reading old magazines
like that
by yourself
like other girls
with other girls
in the same room
with the same shame
but they're not you
and they weren't there
but they know
they know

Waiting rooms that get stuck in your joints
Like screwdrivers
flat heads
how different names seem spelt now
closer to a gamble than a title
now, you're gonna have to spell
selfish
differently
closer to this hell
than hellish

your good sense
chirps in your sleep
chips at your teeth
too smart for that
right?
too determined
too you (makes sense)
to end up like other girls
who look like other girls
with other g

All Dressed Up And No Where To GoI drape myself in words
With redundant fabrics,
Cliché buttons,
Plot-twisted zippers,
And "happy ending" slip-on shoes.

I conceal my precious nudity.

I hang "love" on one ear,
And "me" on the other.

Midnight Bug BitesWe gather words and
Stories like squirrels
Gather nuts; for the
First half of our lives
Is spent fighting to find
Reality,
While the other half
Is spent
Escaping it.
In these sheets crawl the
Bugs of better times,
Stinging and biting me until
I whisk them away with
The opening of my eyes.
And on this book sits
The imprint of a tree:
Written on for ages and
Always forgotten.

But the squirrels who
Live there never forget
Where to go
When they are
Alone.

Of Children and SweetsI see the faces of angels
Where laugh lines have freshly started
I see chocolate-covered wings
Dripping souls of youth departed.

There- upon their candy-coated fingers-
Innocence lies sticky on the nail-beds
Hope and pleasure are stuck in their robes
Tangled close in the loosely woven threads.

The glitter that used to dot their eyes
Is littered on their dirty, crooked toes
The blooms that found homes in their cheeks
Have left for that dark land called No-One-Knows.

They bid me to speak and to sing
They ask me to remind them how to laugh
I show them and they try to do it too
But the closest they ever get is half.

They have busi

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Paperclips and Pyjamas"A boy died at the top of the street last night." Marge was leaning over the fence, peering intently at Joe, gauging any type of reaction. She was bragging, really. She just wanted to see if she knew something Joe didn't.

The trees' shadows dissected the concrete into a million minute cracks. Joe nodded vaguely, his mind elsewhere, not really concentrating on Marge's gossip.

"Yeah, that's what I heard. Well, actually, I saw it. The tarp, I mean. Not the body. On the news. Made me feel all cold inside," Marge babbled disconnectedly. She spun around quickly, moments before Joe's less-receptive ears heard a yell coming from her house.

"Excuse

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Creativity's Creature

by *BlakeCurran, Aug 28, 2012, 11:30:44 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Crack open the spines,
Let the lifeblood of literature
Run warm on your hands,
Stain your eyes with its inky
Spilling soul, tumbling words
Over words into worlds.

Use your finger as a crowbar
To prise paragraphs from pages.
Be aware of rustling parchment, whispering words:
The sound and the light conspire
To damn you to sleep.
Escape: paper rushing by – like a train's – view…

Drain the last dregs, as grounds
From a well-brewed mug of coffee;
The sweet settling leaves you achingly alone,
Wishing once more for the feel of creativity's creature
At your fingertips, tainted with its inky blood,
Its bloated, papery flesh indulged by imagination.