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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.

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

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

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

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.

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
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

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

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.

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YouthO Sonho e a Harmonia
São mil vezes melhores que a covardia!
Correr por becos à luz da lua,
Ficar perdidos em alguma misteriosa rua!

A liberdade da mocidade
Me amedronta e me assombra...
O poder da juventude, da jovem-idade,
É um perigo escuro que não aceita a sombra!

Ah... Os olhos que tudo enxergam...
Ah... Os beijos que queimam como gelo...
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E a força dos braços para erguê-lo!
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Tão belas, tão sinistras, tão ávidas!

I'm Not A Conventional PoetNão sou uma poeta convencional.
Nasci na madrugada, e não na aurora.
Fui ensinada a escrever com um enfoque social,
A andar sempre em frente, não importando a hora.

Não sou uma poeta convencional.
Não tenho os olhos brilhantes de segredos.
Não quero o bem das pessoas, mas não lhes quero mal.
Tenho sonhos e pesadelos, tenho minhas próprias alegrias e medos!

Não sou uma Modernista, muito menos uma Romântica!
Penso sobre o meu passado, mas não sou presa à minha infância!
Não sou uma estrela cadente ou senhora de amores...

Sou uma poeta solitá

They Say, I AmDizem que nós, poetas,
Não temos do que se queixar.
Pois então, nós temos nossas próprias metas,
E nossos olhos, eternamente voltados ao mar...

Dizem que nós, poetas,
Não deveríamos gritar tanto de dor.
Pois então, nós não escrevemos em retas!
E qualquer um pode morrer de amor...

Dizem que um poeta verdadeiro
Tem olhar distante, fulgor passageiro,
Que nasce ao pôr-do-sol e se esvai com a aurora...

Essa, no entanto, não é minha história!
Pois nasci com os olhos presos ao nosso mundo...
As pessoas... Elas são o objeto de estudo mais

True PoetsThey say poets should write sonets.
Should love exaggeratedly,
And die early...

They say poets should have a strong voice,
To cry out their pains
And everybody's...

They say we should walk streets at night
Talking with the moon
And with the stars.

We should listen to all
And be the voices of a century.

People say we should blame ourselves!
We should live a living hell!
True poets should wake up at first light,
And never sleep well!

I have distant eyes
And a shy voice...
I like to smile, and to make people smile!
Sometimes they say I'm morbid,
Just because I like to talk about Death and Past!
I believe in love,
But I don't think I would d

Hope Won't FadeJust when you know defeat you know what is
Being in despair, praying without meaning to...
But when all seems lost, don't look back...
Hope don't fade so easily, that's all I have to say.

Hope won't fade
No matter what you say,
It will be the last thing to go away...

Have you ever woke up from a dream so good
You wished you could have stayed?
Have you ever felt so empty, nobody by your side,
That you wished you could go back in time?

Remember: hope won't fade
No matter what you say,
It will be the last thing to go away...

Have you ever felt so lost,
Like everything has gone stray?
Don't despair,
Hope is there...

Because hope won't go awa

You Don't Know How I FeelYou don't know how I feel
When all people leave me
And, in the distance, you stay
Smiling...

You don't know how I feel
When all my dreams are shattered
And thrown away by the wind...

You don't know how I feel
When all you left me
Were some pictures of ghosts
And some sweet and sour memories...

You don't know how I feel
When all I loved is broken into pieces
By dark nightmares...

You don't know how I feel
When my hope is so close
And so far away...

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I'm a Dragonfly

by ~PhoenixOfWinterfell, Jan 3, 2013, 8:34:13 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I've had dried my tears
And made my mind.
Now I don't know means.
I'm a dragonfly.

I've changed my crown
For a place in this town
Full of wings, I testify.
Now I'm a dragonfly.

Had you sang this melody?
That floats here only.
And is heard by the blinds...
Yeah, I'm just a dragonfly...

Fear my open eyes!
I'm already sick of lies!
Here they are like butterflies,
And I'm a small dragonfly.

I know myself
Very well.
I'm transparent like ice.
I'm a dragonfly...