[x]

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received

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.

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

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 606 bytes more ▶

More from ~Meggie272

structure is goodStructure is
good. I
like it
a lot.
I know
exactly what
to do
on Wednesday
afternoons and
I have
my tea-drinking
ritual mapped
out. But

you were entirely
unexpected and that was

not good
and also

music music music in my veins and laughter and
it's not
how even
and the pulsing of life beat drums bass
click of high heels and the sweat of heavy makeup
eyeseyeseyeseyesmouthskinvoiceyou

There is no way to sum you up
or organize you
and you're an inconvenient human being
and I hate you.

oh dear.

Fact.There is a love between you and me
and this fact we know to be true.

We know it like we know these things to be true:
the air
and the sun and the sky and
what to do when we are bored together
and the buzz and crackle of creativity
and the taste of cheap fried chicken on a cold Sunday night
hot and salty on your tongue and oily on your fingers.

Someday things will follow their natural course.
We will kiss
awkwardly, because my teeth are not good for kissing
I think we will get the hang of it, though.

And I'll run my hands down your arms
and trace the hollows of your faintly discernable ribcage
and put my head against your chest

DrawingSpoilers for The Reichenbach Fall.

Molly found Sherlock asleep, sprawled out on the tattered couch. "About time," she said to herself. He hadn't slept in three days, and she had been starting to worry if he was going to have hallucinations any time soon.

But no, there he was, thin chest rising up and down slowly, curls limp and straggly over his pale forehead. His ribs were clearly visible through the thin blue of his shirt, and her heart ached for him.

One of his hands – beautiful hands, violinist's hands – was hanging over the edge of the couch, fingers tapered gently. The crescents of his nails were still perfectly clean. Afte

PoI: chapter two.~POINT OF INFLECTION~
an antipodeanshipping story by meg

CHAPTER 2.
when you come calling

"Newton! NEWTON!".

"I'm coming!" Newton yelled, running down the stairs as quickly as possible. The walls were cramped tight on either side of him. Only room enough for one person on this staircase.

"Doctor Graceland, it is pissing down out here – "

"Roxanne, I was in the middle of an experiment!"

"Do you think I give a flying – "

Newton pulled the door open.

"Hello," said his best friend sweetly.

"You're quite wet," Newton observed.

"Only a little," Dr. Roxanne Garcia deadpanned, pulling her hair out of its sensible ponytail. It fe

Inbetween.They speak of moonlit nights;
and silky summer days.

But there is a magic in the twilight.
The black reaching silhouettes of trees
know this magic and reach with it
spiny fingers yearning for the places they can never touch.

It's an old song, an ancient tale
born of the earth
of the mother
of the father
of life
and death
and the things
in between the cracks.

This is the tale of the twilight
and the time when the worlds pull apart
and you are standing in the gap.

Leaves are brittle and breaking beneath your bare feet,
and the wind yanks at your hair
trying to take you away

somewhere else.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#15-Minutes-of-Fame
World famous in 15 min or less

Details

Submitted: April 10, 2012
File Size: 606 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 25
Favourites: 4 [who?]
Views: 95 (0 today)
Downloads: 2 (0 today)

[x]

good conversation

by ~Meggie272, Apr 10, 2012, 4:18:08 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Words spill out of my mouth
tumble over the curve of my lower lip
and dance excitedly into the open air.

My hands are moving swiftly
shaping the atmosphere
and telling the ideas where to go
giving vowels and consonants a quick shove in the right direction.
(I've always been one to talk with my hands.)

I grin widely and crookedly
and laugh a little
because I love this topic
and I love you
and sometimes, just sometimes
I love life.

good conversationby ~Meggie272

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

NaPoWriMo - Day Nine.

I love good conversation! I think I'm just an insufferable chatterbox, but it's great when the going's good.

~hannahlily Apr 22, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

i feel like crying again!

~Meggie272 Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oops.

*MercyAntebellum Apr 11, 2012

_{i love the feeling that your poems give me.

i love the feeling of what you descirbed.

fuck it. i'll be right back. i'm going to right my own poem.}

~Meggie272 Apr 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Gee, well, thanks. And I'm glad I was an inspiration. Biggest compliment, I guess.

*MercyAntebellum Apr 12, 2012

heheh

~Is-lnds Apr 10, 2012

just sometimes - Perfect.

(to be honest0 good conversations tend to be some of the
time i look back on with the most satisfaction. its too rare.

~Meggie272 Apr 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

They are rare, aren't they? I think good conversation is one of the best things in life. Thanks for reading and enjoying!

~Is-lnds Apr 20, 2012

Course!

~Dragonia27 Apr 10, 2012

A very lively change.

I like it quite a bit. Reading this, I would take you for someone who loves a good time out with friends.

~Meggie272 Apr 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed a bit of a change from the usual vaguely depressing and obscure topics. And yes, I love a good time with friends! You're very correct there.

If only I could meet some of you dA fellows in person, we would have the best time ever.

More from ~Meggie272

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

good conversation

good conversationby ~Meggie272

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style