angel wings and selfish things...

i'm sad to say

had i the strength

to reach my hand

out to your face,

i'd lack the spite

to drive my nails

into your eyes---

sunshower blue and storming.

you would weaken 

my already-damaged defenses:

i'd pause with awe

at the feel of my palm

on your cheek,

the warmth of my skin

on your skin once more.

go to her.

go.

i can't make myself scorn you

and you,

do you feel no remorse?

i wonder. when your eyes

saw a new day

and found mine waiting

did you not feel

that they should find hers?

look back to me

from time to time,

but run, i wish i could

push you now,

to her. 

meet her gaze

and hold it---

i know you won't spare

a glance my way,

these unselfish eyes

always looking to you...

well, you know i'm a glutton

for pain.

in darkness she's waiting

with hope in her heart,

untouched by the taste of your lies;

she knows only of needles 

and angel wings.

there were many things

i needed you to give me;

yet all she asked of you

was not to hurt her, not to burn her

like all the rest.

although at times

i close my eyes, 

i'm still not blind.

i realize there's a difference.

you never promised me.

a work in progress...

as is my state of mind, but i will get to a point where i see everything for what it is, change what i can, and accept when i cannot. i am strong enough to do that. and i will.

easy to love you

by the grateful dead.

Good, good morning, so good to see you weren't just a dream of mine 

Real as a raven, real as thunder, real as the sun shinin' 

But still so very undefined 

Can't imagine what's behind those sleepy eyes  

Little stranger, don't try to hide now 

You look so young when you're afraid 

There is no danger, but from the devil 

He may want you, but I'm in his way  

You don't know how easy it is 

You don't know how easy it is to love you  

And come the moonrise when the dew falls 

Don't be the sun that fades away 

Don't leave me darkness, she's no lover, she hides the day...

this is more of a journal entry than anything else.

here's hoping that the sun won't fade away... although i think that may be its intended course of action.

as in my previous post--- "i give, you take"--- it seems those roles won't reverse, no matter what the situation.

well, the song isn't quite the same anymore, i suppose...

the song remains the same

preface: just for the record, i don't "light up and drive" or "get too high," it just sounded good in the poem. =) okay, the end.



i guess there's perks to this
as with everything else i feel alright

light up and drive--- we get too high
don't turn back or drop your eyes

i know only this; you and i are fine
it's the wide world over that needs some time.

i give, you take, we smile
the world turns faster still
maybe our roles will reverse someday
though i doubt they ever will

i need only your eyes
with the smile they hide
and i'll blink away the pain
it's ironic to think that all my life
the song has remained the same

blue eyes telling lies,
brown ones crying,
and waking alone every day.

i mold my pain into a science,
administer it directly where it hurts--
let myself feel it,

one hand on the wheel
the other on the trigger
look myself in the eye
i fire and drive.

pledging allegiance.

i think that 12:58 just may have been
the longest sixty seconds i've lived through;
but you've got to adjust when you're the size of
nothing in particular with
twice the misfortune,
but much better consistency---
and i refuse to let this plastic fork go to waste and i'll
never eat meat for as long as i live---
232 more years or three seconds more
(but you've just got to love america).
water boiling, 1:05 and it's down the drain
still i'll testify to its raging waters
of seven minutes past (once my
mouth isn't full--- but whose isn't?)
we all look the other way.
everyone wants more flavor but why not
pick a flower instead? just ask
its permission lest you get yourself
into a predicament.
i'll tell you.
i'll swear i'm in a cage in a sea of churning water.
hot enough to melt
the eyelashes off a (not-so-innocent)
bystander--- (is anyone still
innocent, anyway? i'll give him a dollar).
still i feel my eyeballs bleeding,
retinas boiling
back into my brain (which feels tender, oh good
maybe someone can salvage it and
make it a meal)---
and as my toenails curl and my
skin turns to rubber i'll swear
up and down i'm not proud.














of course i would find such twisted inspiration in a pot full of boiling water and ramen noodles.
i have no idea, but in a very strange way it reminds me of ginsberg's "america."
okay, make of it what you will. interesting =)

falling

in the heat of the evening,
stifling-- stagnant-- will you falter?
i will follow your footsteps
wherever they may lead,
and mirror your motions;
feed my fire with your fire
until we set the world ablaze.

would you take me there?
so we could rise above the ashes
and laugh at what we've left behind.
the path ahead may burn or bless us,
but our hands, united,
will fight the flames.

i'll meet you where the road ends
heart ablaze from your blue gaze
and i will jump.

will you take a leap of faith,
and join me in my fall
from your grace?






mine

=)

sitting and whilin away the time, got words like flames burnin up my mind. i'll stoke the fire, watch the embers glow; a heavy, heavy burden, but a stellar, stellar show.







just showing my blog some love. goodnight. =)

joyce-lynn

on sunday i will see you,
take one look at your smile
(the adult teeth all grown in)
and tell you how much
you've grown, how much you've
changed, what a beautiful
young girl you've become.

i'll tell you i remember
that goofy smile
of years long gone,
your front teeth missing in action.
they were caught in a limbo
between infancy and adulthood---
and god knows you were, too.

maybe you were just a child,
yet i can't help but wonder
if all that thick grey smoke
has since formed clouds
on your blue eyes.





by me.

it

people find it in different places.

some search in the dark space
under the bed,
take the lid
off the shoebox, and grab the needle.

some skip the bullshit,
get right down to the veins--
take the razorblade and bleed.

we all need to find it sometimes,
sometimes at night
when we're sleeping alone.

i'll get in my car.
windows down and music on,
pretending i'm not the same
as the bleeding,

the ones just trying
to find a vein
and make sure their blood
is still warm.




by me.

Anthology, Page 157

the mind is its own beautiful prisoner.
Mine looked long at the sticky moon
opening in dusk her new wings

then decently hanged himself,one afternoon.

The last thing he saw was you
naked amid unnaked things,

your flesh,a succinct wandlike animal,
a little strolling with the futile purr
of blood;your sex squeaked like a billiard-cue
chalking itself, as not to make an error,
with twists spontaneously methodical.
He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses

he laughed,and closed his eyes as a girl closes
her left hand upon a mirror.


There are four poems in my E.E. Cummings anthology that are marked with a pink post-it. This is one of them. Another is the first poem I posted--- somewhere i have never travelled. The other two, I will post in time. =)

I love this poem. Is it strange that I know EXACTLY what he means in the last three lines? I know what he means throughout. I think I knew him in my past life. Maybe I WAS him! Wishful thinking. =)

it seems

it seems to me that when it's spring
people bloom and flowers dance
there's no such thing as no such thing
and nothing's newer than romance

it seems to me that when it's spring
people bloom and flowers sing

Sitting in Silence.

Speak to me friend! Or is the world so wide

That souls may easily forget their speech,

And the strong love that binds us each to each

Who have stood together watching God's white tide

Pouring, and those bright shapes of dreams which ride

Through darkness; we who have walked the silent beach

Strown with strange wonders out of ocean's reach

Which the next flood in her great heart shall hide?

Do not forget me, though the sands should fall,

And many things be swept away in deep,

And a new vision uttered to the shore,--

If after days bespeak me not at all,

Nor other's praise awake my song from sleep,

Nor Poetry remember, anymore.

Edward Estlin, I'm going to marry you (after I die and we are united in the afterlife, of course).

How does he know? Seriously.

Wow.

this is one of the first poems i ever wrote. i was twelve years old.

i have no idea how i made it out alive, but i'm so thankful that i did.

not only does this show my evolution as an artist... but as a person...

Sweet

And blood tastes sweet
Delicious like candy I would never eat
Smooth on my tongue like a razor blade
Bleed the pain away til I begin to fade

And tears taste sweet
Bitter like the herbs I would never eat
Smooth on my tongue like a razor blade
Cry the pain away til I begin to fade

And bones taste sweet
Creamy like desserts I would never eat
Smooth on my tongue like a razor blade
Starve the pain away til I begin to fade

The death you give
Black like the life I would never live
Suicide is sweet like a razor blade
Thanking my disease as I begin to fade.




yeah... you know what this brings to mind?


Still Here
Langston Hughes

been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,

Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!

weathered

sometimes the sun
the sun don't shine
upon this jaded soul

jaded by the darkest nights,
down days, and rock 'n roll

sometimes the rain
the rain it reigns
upon this searching soul

searching through the morning dew
for what might make it whole

a hand to hold, a breath of smoke
a book to pass the time

a jaded, searching, restless soul
with a troubled, troubled mind...




















wow. i really, really like this. i think it's one of my favorite works. i think its simplicity makes it darker, and deeper.

Down

My most recent poem. It has quite a few deeper meanings, but you can begin to understand it by thinking about The Matrix.

two pills:
a choice.

alternate reality red
or the blue of this life,
these skies.

so many times
i've chosen red.

i've made
my whole world
bleed.

there never existed
an in-between.

but i've come to find that i
can never be alice
and that chasing rabbits
can paralyze

freeze me mid-fall
down the rabbit hole--

and hours, hours of black.

so why not the blue?

my brain plays the prisoner
of its own illusion:

the red.
take ten.

the mirror tells a different tale:
c a t a l y z e
wipe the warm blood
from my cold brown eyes

and down,
down,
down the blue.

The Only Thing in the World Worth Having

This is from V from Vendetta, and I think it is so beautiful.


Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must NEVER let them take it from us. I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you.

Hi.

Okay, so I'm going to copy Mr. D and start a blog, mostly about poetry. What I like about this is that not too many people, if anyone, will read it, so I can just go with it.

I guess I should start off with my favorite piece of poetry, by my favorite poet, E.E. Cummings.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Everything about this poem appeals to me. It is beautiful. Perfect. Complete. It expresses everything, using such beautiful imagery. The fact that I can relate to it so well is another huge part of its appeal. But it is more than that. This poem is brilliant. Whole. The last four lines are written in ink on my wall.


A great guy, Steve, who I have known for five years, passed away on Sunday, April 20. He took his own life. I have ideas for a poem for him, but I hardly have any free time to develop it. I only know bits and pieces of it.

but it's only ashes--
the sweet-scented smoke
doesn't drift my way.

and you're not in that casket--
your spirit will soar
though your body decays.

I'm not sure if I like the rhyming, or if I don't want any rhyming in it. I know I want to compare the loss of Steve to a balloon breaking free and floating away into the sky... I find that to be a very emotional image. I seriously do cry if I see a balloon flying away.

Well, I'll be back when I have some time to make this into a poem, and not just an idea...