×

Angles of SeparationI was born at right angles to the earth
your houses are inscrutable
I stand on the shores of my heart
perched like aliens in a spaceship
who think mirrors are photographs of someone else.

My lips are bitter-tainted
from eating discarded fruits
I need someone to see my hands
waiting like constellations
and grab them through the clouds
to see that this universe is made of stories
so I can finally stand up
and live parallel.

Haiku Ika-Unom

the morning mist fades
a golden sun revealed
her eyes kept westward

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

outgrowing gillssea-cradled urchin
child has a salty heart yearnin'
for a glimpse of mother moon
tiny spiked wunderkind
punk, studded belt
you know life's answers well
shuffling through the seaweed-less halls
missing the ocean swell
tidal waves foaming at the mouth
everyone is laughing now
at the boy born on a boat one sunny afternoon
cause mama loved the sea like lovers love the sheets
landlocked kid is homesick and
sea sure, he's searching for the sea shore
life's a blur for Davy Jones at his locker
capsized by sea-legs on solid ground, he finds his seizures
and he hates his earth mother
he hates her
for falling for the ocean and
how he's rocked by the moon
how he's mesmerized by her glow
her pull on his sea-conceived cells
no
he hates her too
for the puking in the stalls
for the ridicule

cannibalistic cityit will eat your brain first.
you will wait for your coffee in orderly queues.
you will smile at the fake blonde receptionist at the orthodontist.
you will talk to your neighbor about the serious problem the management has with the cat infestation problem and you will agree to write a bitchy letter if something isn't done soon.

then, it will take your limbs.
your arms and legs will disintegrate into a melange of taxis and buses and metros
and your bike tires will go flat and you won't even notice.
your arms and legs will become so weak that you won't be able to hold yourself up anymore.

it will devour your eyes.
it will suck all the

revealhasty pine needles
fall like piercing rain upon
cold, taut, open skin

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

expectationI am not ready to grow up,

but dissonant chords, memento mori,
and the date of my birth
clamour at my senses
abusive, aggressive, morose -

I wonder how other people
put childish notions away
in order to be polished,
in order to be sophisticated,
in order to feel the same

and
I wonder
why they want to.

knock knock.there is a sound like something has died.
you make this sound, like someone has died.
when you see me, you make this sound, like someone has died,
and i have to look down at myself and check i'm not dead,
that it wasn't me who died, and you aren't making that noise
because you came here expecting a warm welcome,
and instead you got a corpse.

but no, i'm breathing, i can see my chest moving
up and down with the rhythm of it.
i'm sure if i stopped, it would burn.
but you still made that sound, and i'm not dead,
so it must be someone else. i'm sorry for your loss.
who was it that you lost? should i be making a similar noise?
should i be

Honeythief.straw-stitched and hanging
off every word--

violated:

pressing my ears
against your brittle
hives

and smoking you out

ScribblesAnd he hated the way her portrait was painted
on the walls of his mind

so the thoughts would come and go
like little men with suitcases,
rushing through in the flurry of ideas,
in the death and birth of a dream, but they

would always
pass by her picture.

astronomerswhen we're together
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.

we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
into speech.

do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?

that night,
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;

stars forming,
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.

i imagined
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers – creator and destroyer
of worlds,
so close to your lips.

kids cut through the middlewhen you spend a summer somewhere
where people squirrel away their
ugly children, it's hard not to notice
the subtle strain of the truth
on certain smarter faces,

or the absolute oblivion
in certain spinning eyes
and stumbling legs.

--

i met a girl named K,
just K,
with ankles like a deer and a voice
loud like noise and swampy like a swamp.
she liked orange foods and big words and
her hands shook like the girls in jazz class.

K clicked her tongue between words sometimes
but nobody ever mentioned it. her socks
were alphabetized. she carried a comb in her back pocket
but only 'cause she needed it, she said.
her hair was turning

an attack that is massiveso,
here's my hair
and my knees and legs
and even some of my shoulders
and they are dressed in purple -
don't ask me why though
an artist told me
purple was dangerous
'cause purple is red and blue
and red is fire
and blue is water
and i am red
and he is blue;
it doesn't matter now
'cause
''we'' is not me and him anymore -

so,
here's your hair
and your lips
and your eyes, and just maybe
some of your fingertips
and you still don't have a colour
and maybe that's better
'cause
i'm a mess
and you're happiness

and you use
complicated words
like ''phantasmagoria'' and ''ephemeral''
and you use
cologne that smells like h

Browse More Like This

More from ~Meggie272

HorseBright, wet-gloss reflections shimmer and ripple across summer-sleepy muscles -
he grazes, at peace with himself.

warmth without heatI don't want the ache in my bones to go away.
It reminds me of you, of your arm
flung sleepily across the dips and rises of my stomach
of my hip pressing hard into the lumpy mattress
of the t-shirt cotton warmth that is your chest
of the sharp jut of your collarbones
and the bony ridges that are your shoulders.

Tall, thin, eager-eyed boy -
we both love another.
I do not want to kiss your freckled face
or whisper romantic things to you.
Night is a temptress when it wishes,
seductive, clinging shadow woman that she is,
but she is tempting others tonight.
She will not come to us, offering her wares.
I do not want her to.

Oh -
b

View Gallery

Featured in Groups

Not currently featured in any groups.

×

A Look At The Process

by ~Meggie272, Dec 19, 2012, 3:18:00 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I wish I could tangle up my words like you do;
create paradoxical, beautiful, undefinable nonsense
with that gleaming hint of meaning,
that contextual truth, the pearl hooded by
words upon words upon words and
wrapped around with soft whispers of nothing
harsh bites of ironic irrelevance
and carefully misleading references no one will ever understand

Alas, my heart dribbles off my sleeve
and lands exactly where it falls;
it beetles across the page,
being what it is

I wish I could look at my poetry -
smile, and go:
"Yes - that is a mystery"

202

11 18 1

A Look At The Processby ~Meggie272

Favourite

Description Details Share

Download HTML download, 735 bytes

A poem about writing poems!

EDIT: I am very honoured to have received a Daily Literature Deviation award on this - thanks so much!

Details

Stats

Submitted on: December 19, 2012
File Size: 735 bytes

Views: 202
Favourites: 11 (who?)
Comments: 18
Downloads: 1

*xlntwtch Jan 5, 2013 Writer

Featured here [link]

Reply

~Meggie272 Jan 5, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!

Reply

*xlntwtch Jan 5, 2013 Writer

Reply

*beeinthebottle Dec 31, 2012 Writer

Congrats on the DLD!

Reply

~Meggie272 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you! 'twas a lovely surprise

Reply

*beeinthebottle Jan 1, 2013 Writer

You deserve all sorts of lovely surprises.

Reply

~Meggie272 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Aww, gee shucks golly whiz!

Reply

*beeinthebottle Jan 2, 2013 Writer

Reply

~ExistenceWeSummonYou Dec 31, 2012

Congratulations on the DLD! It's an insightful piece of ars poetica - there's a certain strain of contemporary poetry that's equally elusive and beautiful that this poem seems to describe well. Good stuff.

Reply

~Meggie272 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much! I know the type of poetry you refer to, it was my inspiration in writing this, and I'm glad the reader can pick up what I'm on about. ^_^

Reply

Previous
1
2
Next