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Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore  
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of
The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.
SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

       all of the things
Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home
Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.
We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite  
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.
BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I
with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.
Dry Spell   I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
  fleeting,
        evaporating
              through the cracks of
      my fingers and high

             above my head.
  I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
    words,
         silences,
              or actions
   could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
     all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
              or stretched
                       so far
           that it dissolves into non-being.
 I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo
untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received
You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare
Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.
When... But...When I was younger, we held hands and we had fun,
But now that I'm older, I see you and that's all gone.

When I was younger, I got hurt and you were there,
But now that I'm older, you're not there to pick me up.

When we were younger, we had our fun, we were friends,
When we were younger, I knew you and you knew me,
But now we're older, you're just one of those faces,
And now that we're older, we have drifted apart.

When I was younger, I looked to you and saw it all,
But now that I'm older, I'm just a broken record.

You're such a preety thing, and I'm not your lover,
Please don't forget, I remember those times together...
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More from *Moonbeams

After ArmageddonWhen kingdom comes,
like mammoths left
fuel to flow the earth,
we'll leave our shelters from the weather;
as our stories hibernate in the dust,
on rusted tables
in dos screens,
flickering through webs
like old megaliths and cuneiform,
and sounds still echoing on chimes--
in orchards rain micro chips and petals.
While the nectar of technology still flows through wires,
for the newly emerging,
the world will come with instructions-
blueprints blowing in the afternoon breeze,
and our memory,
evading the winds that climb down from a mountain,
drag our dust through steel beams
as diaries and journals hide away in homes
like tr
To Your Brief BeautyPerhaps a cockroach, with its history
would have appealed to you; its amber body,
sleek and smooth, draped in delicate wings

could have been the most beautiful thing you ever saw,
if you hadn't known what ugliness was,
or what your world had made it to be.

Perhaps their long life and resilience,
their ability to slide through every creak and crevice
their dark and slender form, dashing through the night,
evading every trap and light;
foraging feast upon the slightest crumb,
and immunity to every illness we succumb.

All this as opposed to ten days of life,
and the short lived ability to flit and fly-
Be the colorful spectrum to a
Domestic SilenceThe sirens screamed for ten minutes
down the interstate.
I can only imagine the gurney of sorrows
being hauled away now;
the staring, the silence.

I need you here,
your face in this scene
might send me into oblivion.

Your side of the bed
is part of the wreckage scene--
empty.
The mist of breath
that rose and fell,
the interlocking of legs and then seperate sides,
the tenuous molds of our bodies
leaking a greyness and a thin wasting away of fabric
that began a solid white
looms like an abandoned site.

Now you wear away the road, and tires.
I cannot think of these peeling away scenes
in this fragile world.

I used to keep surrogates--
talism
Myrtle BeachNovember, and your loneliness
already quivers on poles;
a visual silence
just feet away from the seasonal crowd.

You began a beach, I'm sure.
Plain, with sand and sail, and sky;
lovers along the boardwalk--
  youth and dreams pulled high
in the tide.

But vacation is no longer a private retreat,
with home away from home,
life away from life,
and so beach succumbs to beach.
The drifter had sung his boredom a road
and kept your name
only in rows
of planted palm
and dancing light.
Only the night would have made such changes;

But yours will always be the grandest view,
even behind these light bright walls,
these buo

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November 15, 2012
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Crumpled Paper

:iconmoonbeams:

It is told that death goes this way

The sketch curls into the bone white;
vines gather.
A tree limb contorts
to where a moon will rise,
a heavy graphite sky
drips into shadowed
corners.

The sun is my memory,
has its light upon everything
as it spools the green,
and a sprig leaves a snag of it
against an oblique cloud.

The incline of the park
chases upward--
a steady stream of strollers
marching through a ray
as an arc gathers enough
light to brighten you;

It is the lines
and marks that fade first
as you meld with other faces.

And then there is just
the outline of you
tilting over the water.
I know it is the water
because it draws a bowing moon
and treads the light.

And no one told me
you can see the end
in a single point.
It is the darkness within the dark
that gives it away

and through the incision,
the snowing sky
casts an eternal day.
:iconshehrozeameen:
Critique by ~shehrozeameen Nov 16, 2012, 11:23:59 AM
Whatever you were thinking while writing, its certainly something interesting to think about - its not exactly spooky, but its food for thought.

The poetic structure is unique - this is a poem to be read at heart, rather than simply picked up and read aloud to an audience; for that to happen, they have to understand the subliminal essence of this poem.

In a way, they have to be like crumbled paper - they have to represent themselves as the ilk which is incapable of anything outwardly distorted, but rather far too introverted to be put aside as mere fodder for compensation...
What do you think?
Fair Unfair
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:iconimcnaughton:
!imcnaughton Nov 15, 2012
I'm afraid I'm not so good at critiquing...but this is very nice! I think you have great talent! :D
Reply
:iconmoonbeams:
*Moonbeams Nov 15, 2012
Thank you so much. And I'm glad you liked it.
Reply
:iconimcnaughton:
!imcnaughton Nov 15, 2012
that's my pleasure! I was just wondering, do you want to play a game? you pick a theme, and we both write poems around it? of course, only if you want to, but might be fun!
Reply
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