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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
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.
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
dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)
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
so I can hear the world breathe)
I want to go home
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.
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
and thinking without knowing...
all of the things
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.
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
Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
Your muddied paintbrush:
The pristine slate
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.
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
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
and here you are:
facing a choice between
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
this is what
Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
through the cracks of
my fingers and high
above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
could possibly satiate it.
I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo
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.
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.
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a
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
PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink
A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint
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.
GreeceI came for the healing
among the cascading white stoop,
fish, ouzo, and bowlined shores
to leave its cool compress to the mind
wrapped in a sea blue gauze
spread white-washed across
miles, and swelling through Doric columns
to loll over mountains.
I walk with Monks in clouds, forgoing
the sympathy of flowers
rooted in disingenuous hands--
water from tepid pitchers.
My fever seeps into the firmament
in hope that cells can be forgiving,
jostled from their stagnancy
with memories I never knew I had.
I know that I have slept many times
beside their clamor on a well-lit summer noon,
where the road brought noises
I never heard.
Between UsI am the great black voice
that lends sound
to the rebounding gray of your hour,
scares the piss out of clouds,
tears a strip into the fabric
of the sky
and charges fiercly
into the still glare
of your peaceful eye.
You are the sleep that sits
beneath lazy willows,
and parallell to rivers
your tired sigh
moseying through a strip of grass
to fall into the rim of a can
without the nagging presence
of half your mind;
I presume to be the other half,
flung from your shoulders
to somewhere above
of which you only ever look
A Voice On a Trip To Old EarthFar from the seasonal brine
of your equator
you must roam through the ashes here.
If I could only tell you
I always thought of ways to warm your world--
so cold for such bright sun.
My lungs would have collapsed;
a plant would foil.
We were here,
look at the way the bones lie;
one cradles her child
in a perfect entanglement
as if an artist knew how things would fall;
This other hand,
it clutched something;
the ink in books disappears into the yellow;
furniture, building rot,
and rows of interstate rust
with memories that would rip through the sheen of ghosts;
wind vanes have thrown up direction;
Yesterday's RoadIt is that road
that leads to that house--
laid in its foyer
oak wood boards for some other time;
cabinets of web-spun portals,
flowers pressing into walls;
the scuffles of yesterday
screaming in the pale wood,
splinters curling into the air
like brittle nails;
furniture indelibly drawn
into its walls.
Outside electric lines
thread streets to a point
I can no longer see past
as clouds crowd around me
to let me know I'll never
make it that far;
a grocery proves
that things can bury themselves
And the rain is so bright
on the asphalt--
it beams a flattened balefire
into the distance
to let me know I've found that place
BreathIt breaks apart
into scattered fires,
pieces of rock.
dances with the cold;
Gases become lovers--
form skies, oceans;
scales ride into
on a pillow--
the rain catches the light
find their way under
the belly of desires
to flame the drive
that moves objects
across the transom of the world--
another rock cools;
fog crawls upon the surface;
a path emerges somewhere.
In The Shadow Of The Sun i
You are a heavy metal in my mind;
the lead that shoos me away
from your skies.
When I mention your name,
you quicken in the wind,
harden to the frost
on the pane.
By the time I catch up
and chip away at you,
you lash at me with a biting tongue;
it is like walking away from a poem,
you become the nondescript
feeling between the grooves of the air
and my body,
the rising swell in my stomach,
the lump in my throat.
I try to write you
and you gather bones
just to crumble again,
the backsides of letters
and straight line reality
of form and material--
withering in the unfolding time of syntax.
I have to chase you
into the maze
I wonder if you're enjoying
the curvature of her back.
The spine, a row of ossified crowns
crowded and curved around that defining neural superhighway;
that extension cord,
adventurously connecting the visceral
to the peripheral.
The horseshoe crab vertebrae
scuttle to break through skin at your touch;
a defining shiver.
I see your hands
around the rounded hills of her shoulders.
Scapulae jutting out with the extremity of the bend,
like a chicken's wings.
And the bands of these dorsal muscles
stand up like wings,
cast shadows in the dimples of the pelvis that she lifts;
that will fold o
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More