winterice sculpts the sunrise,filters down to still the day;silver mists echo
ResidueShe wilts in the wind,but laughter still sounds from aleftover shadow.
Aurora Borealisstars streak the canvasof goddesses witheclectic brilliance
Broken BoyMy broken boywith the button eyes and puppet strings -I clasp you to my heartbeat.
CynicismCrassly creative caricaturesof crisp contradictionsclutter my cognition.
JoyMay life whisperjoy through your veinsbefore lidding your eyes.
Rebirthsunscape your stale asheswe will fall to rise anewyour phoenix glimmers sanguine
WithdrawnI paint my fingerprints red,for courage; panics coalesce,and regret stains my handshake.
Mommy DearestHer maternal stareis sharper than usual -perhaps it's the fangs.
Space BlanketsPurple cloudsdraped over crescent hips--bashful twin moons.
.i would shed my skinwith autumn, but my veins wouldcrack like the dry leaves
spring meadowsbroken breezes throb;a slow smile and naked nights.clouds of porcelain blush.
.a lover leaving hishome for another, a sparkthat becomes a flame
MythosThe Hunter Orion's prey— a sky of fleeing stars: dawn.Chiron Sagittarius: the archer's arrow, piercing eventide.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;full of stories and easilybroken at the spine.
Bashful SkiesThere will be nights you stay awaketo see, to count, to make wishes onthe stars...and they won't be there.The city lights will be too bright,the moon will take center stage for a tragic soliloquy,storm clouds will be thick and angry at you for not paying attention. They will get in your way.There will be mornings you get up earlyto see, to paint, to be inspired bythe sunrise...and he will disappoint youby wearing faded colors that wash him out,by being so late you have to go to work with unwashed hair and yesterday's wrinkled blouse,by deciding to wear no colors at allbut shrouding himself in last night's storm clouds instead.At these times, take a deep breath,think about all those moments you've had it rough,and remember this:even the sky wakes up feeling ugly...but the sky still tries to put its best foot forwardwhen the time comes.
Sorry Then Safeiwe like to play with fire.as it eats away at ourinsipid nature, and licks thedesolate consistency of our bones,our inner cold is warmed.you say that it reminds youof my fevered eyes.ii.we make scarecrows into humansinto saviors, then tear them down againfor not cleansing out our wounds.we forget they were only bornto keep the birds fromdevouring us further.and they watch, feebly, as wefall face-first into our fateiii.you looked me dead in the eye"we are all walking ghostswaiting to die so we can live"and your whitened hands becamea symbol of achievementivwe write our epitaphs the day we're conceived,like a taunt to something greater to comeand steal us away in the middle of the nightfrom the livelihood we were promised.but it's less than that, we're erasingall definitions of chance. we'remarking the path we never want to follow.vwe drift in and out of self-awareness,human consciousness, competing philosophies,delusions of grandeur and deeperrelevance
on self-assessmentThis is a poem for all the people who stillhave something to see in me. I couldcut myself on the sharp edge of my thoughts,bleed out a saturated river ofsomething sweet; I could be like a millionother gifts from mother nature to preservein glass cases and scientific journals andbuzz words, to picket and fight over andeventually forget. I couldwrite a million stories about the universein my stomach, and my lack ofa gag reflex and the irony in that.I could write about the blooming stormsin my head and about how I’m addictedto bad weather, and how I can’t hear myselfover the static waves rocking me to sleep.My best friend is the most beautiful hurricaneI’ve ever seen, slow motion wreckage who says things likewhat does it even mean, where arewe going, maddie, what am I even here for;My first love wasn’t special. It wasignorant and narcissistic and orbited around melike some neglected planet, like Iwas finally the center of a universebesides m
meanwhile, statesideheat in the darknessyour pulse in your fingertipsthoughts of distant skin
pyrrhic lamentman's final sunset,lost in embered horizons;the purge is complete.
Haiku IIThe moon shines bright whiteThe tides of sea send shiversWhen will my turn come?
HaikuWriMo1Church spire, stretching,weds the moon.2Slate skyand a heavy heat;collapsing.3Embroidered stars—celestial needlework.4Fairy wrens:steeds of elven knights,armoured all in blue.5Raindrops—wet wings,startled honeybee.6Huntsmanupon orange glass:a specimen, fossilisedin amber.7Scarred grape,veined in gold—kintsugi.8White blossoms,fallen like snowdrops.9Eagle in flight,great wings cradlingthe half-moon.10Pastel sun,peeking from a soft,smoky grey duvet.11The world settles;the heavens awaken—storm.12Black swans:two arrows in tandem.13Mirror-verse—sunset’s reflection,river-bound.14The yellow of anold book:crinkled paper moon.15Tangled in old web—a spider, noosed.16Rough brushstrokesof a smudged landscape:Impressionism.17Giant’s treasure:pot of molten goldspilledalong the treetops.18Raindropslike gemstones,flinging light.
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
Love-ku'dlesLovekus to cuddle to.1.Two armsThree little linesOne ku2.Your body embracing mineTwo halves of onerejoin, rejoice3.Ku'ing in the eveningI think of your tiny smileCooing near my ear4.Sky darkens from peach to plumInside I embraceyour flushing5.Blankets or your arm-Warmthone way or another6.Waking up in the morningbrushing teethbefore a kiss7.Hair can wait--Brushing what is baretakes priority8.I ku for you submitting--one ku for a bended kneeone coo for needing9.Baby, nobody ku'sthe way I ku for youso indiscreetly
okt 1crisp dawn breaks,'luming ice blue skies;herfst is hier.
Jealous WatersPale twilightfrosted the waters;nymphs sigh, jealous of Pan.
metalin telling the robotthat she doesn't have a heartyou break it in two
LoveCaramel kisses drizzlefrom your lips, and Istill to a pulsebeat.