http://www.sp-uster.ch/medien/bilder...mpo30_2008.gif
Printable View
day 1
Break me down
into words.
Feelings fashioned into passages
scrawled 'cross screens
for audiences to pick apart
once again.
It will take pages of days
to strip away the many ways
I hide within the lines;
reason and rhyme
competing for a chance
at sanity.
Reality
becomes most clear
when we are broken.
And so we don our best dresses,
wrapping the wounds
with satin gauze,
readying ourselves for the moment
when it all becomes stripped away.
I play you like a song
flipped on repeat,
needle stuck in groove,
tongue stuck in cheek.
And now it's time for you and I,
poetry,
to dance.
.
It is faultless.
The line breaks and scheme was perfect, your writing was smooth right up to the end.
It brought out some emotions that gave me the idea to write about some of my old wounds (day 1 poem) so for that I thank you. The last stanza was perfection as far as I'm concerned.
I'm excited to get to read something recent from you, Abi. I hate leaving feedback on people who don't need it, but I really found this to be a great poem. Moana pretty much hit the nail on the head w/ what he said and I hate being redundant. But your line breaks were the icing on the cake. The emotion was great and the imagery was extremely vivid. Thanks for the read, and sorry for this lack of feedback lol.
day 2
http://img231.imageshack.us/img231/9...966andywar.jpg
Primal Scream
Catacomb Cathy,
this woman is a tomb.
Echoing voices
leaking out through pores
into rivulets of reminders
running into her corners.
Doors that open to empty rooms
filled with the ghosts
of those who've left.
She splits herself
like hairs,
victimology collected
at the nape of the neck,
a noose to hang herself
on her own separation anxieties.
We fill the holes of absence
with regret,
collecting memories into boxes
to remind us
we were once whole.
Hoarding shards of glass
from former reflections
that prick from beneath the skin.
What sins are locked behind her doors?
What faces haunt
her midnight hours?
Their portraits drip heavy with tears
until watery paint
clouds her eyes.
And as she feels the emptiness
crawling inside,
is it any surprise
when she screams?
yeah, i double dipped today. lol
day 3
last night
as the rivers of my eyes moaned
i found myself
naked and shaking,
wings stripped away,
a featherless bird
in a gilded cage
of my own creation.
there is nothing left
and there will be nothing more.
nowhere to go
for here
is not where
you are
and i am alone
with this sorrow
once again.
day 4
I have learned to speak
in constellations;
gaze skyward,
looking for answers
that have gone missing
from your eyes.
For sometimes,
they are vacant
and I lose myself in tunnels
searching through mazes
trying to find you
and bring you home.
I remember
the night we met.
Your arm through mine,
and how I felt more alive
than the city streets
we walked along.
We seemed to glow
and though fully clothed,
I have never felt so naked.
Humbled
by my own vulnerability.
Where do you go
when you lose yourself
and why can I
not draw the map
that will draw you
out of this chasm.
I'm lost here, in the darkness
no flashlight
no candle
no wings to wrap around you
and fly you out of this place.
Just a vacuum
suffocating the air
in which we have built
our dreams.
day 5
A bitter pill to swallow,
these words, they get stuck in throats,
choking back reality
like tears
hovering
on a blinking lid.
Precarious situations
tread lightly on tightropes
balancing
future fantasies
with past fallacies,
arms outstretched,
heavy with the weight
of all our words carry.
We're dancing with the devil,
you and I,
tiptoeing around issues
to keep us
from losing footing,
following steps
that lead us in circles
around the truth.
Truth is,
we falter with forgiveness,
holding tight to the walls
that keep us
from eventually caving in.
day 6
Medieval love affair -
crowned you king of my castle
in ceremonies
attended only
by shadows
that clung to bedroom walls.
My knight on horseback,
I rode you,
deep into sunsets
until we collapsed,
a perfect blend of
sweat and skin
that formed a tapestry
in monument
to our story.
day 7
The bottle holds many faces
messages from yesterdays
bobbing in a see of memories.
I drink them to remember
all the many times
I've failed.
Drunk on the past
these midnight musings
stumble through hazy scenes
A trip down memory lane,
it seems,
is always longer
in the absence of sobriety.
The bottle holds many faces
yet erases the days
that joined them
days spent wishing a drink
could erase
the ways I felt
dissolved in oblivion.
A somber routine
of sip and swallow,
until all that remains is your face
at the bottom of the bottle,
reminding me why I stopped drinking
in the first place.
day 8
talisman.
tuck you into my pocket
for safe-keeping,
fold you
into the space
between pillow and sheet
so as not to lose you
when you are gone;
the night is long
and there are many battles
still to fight.
day 9
hang ups
words fall on deaf ears
like stones
skipped across a darkened lake
skirting the surface
before sinking to forgotten depths
to collect at your feet.
and all I can ask
is for a back
that is strong enough,
a heart that beats
loud enough,
and two hands
to hold on long enough
to keep me
hanging on.
>mfw there are going to be 21 more posts.
But I have to say I don't know much about/appreciate Poems or whatever, but this is pretty fucking good.. Like.. really fucking good
Uggh. I'm slippin. brb.
And thank you Bongkers. :]
day 10
gravity...
...and a world on its head,
I have walked in circles
down these streets
before.
Followed them
to the sidewalk's end
and dove in.
We don't fall in love-
we leap.
Spreading wings
to fly on winds of faith
and praying
the ground below
does not rise to meet us.
day 11
postscript to the final chapter
i.
these paths that lead me
out of and away from
become twisted and double back.
snaking over sand dunes
of doubt,
minutes slip through fingers
as wasted time
spent waiting for an answer.
ii.
i can't pretend to know
what cruel ties have left me
bound to a sinking ship
or how the lungs can
bear to breathe
as they slowly fill with water.
iii.
there is purgatory on your lips,
a taste left lingering on my tongue
that keeps me clinging to the darkness
and hungering
for more.
iv.
faith emaciated,
i walk your streets a beggar,
empty hands and empty pockets,
and back, heavy
with these burdens
waiting for the moment
when feet
no longer carry me home.