Memories

We belong
to whispers at night
                      drunken interludes
                and innocent occasions
                      in stolen shadows
                  witnessed
                     by strangers
                           in passing
            and only half
        borne true to life
images hidden
   pressed between pages
            of pictures
                    of a life
                once wanted
                    now unfulfilled
        vodka stained lips
           and Red Bull laced veins
    hold memories
barely contained
       by the silence in a seam
                                        time
                        spent in a dream
                          …Just you.
                      …Just me.
            and our pages
           have no names
our story ending
    forever left
           untold
                  just as a song
                        unsung
                has no lyrical home
       and a love
    never expressed
touches but only one heart.
                                As for you and I,
                        changed forevermore
               surface of skin
   to depth of soul.

Alive

I want to feel the breath
  from your body
            escape
                  in short fragments
      through the tiny slivers
    of space
      between my fingers
  so I can confirm
       you really are
             alive.

And your heartbeat…
      I want to hear the rhythm
    the thump
                thump
                       thump
                   as the valves
              in your heart
        draw life
    outward
             from the chambers
           towards
                             your arms
                 which I want
             wrapped tightly
       around me
     so you can confirm
                 that I really am
                         alive.

Whispering Wind

I like to listen
  when the wind talks
             because I feel
            that secrets
         are carried
               in the breeze
but sometimes
   it’s too hard to hear
       with all the madness
              surrounding
           the day.
Send your wishes
           into the sunshine
                 on the tail off
     a warm,
         eastbound breeze
I will put
     my ear to the skies
               and send a sign
            if your words
                     capture me.

Not a Keeper

I claw at my throat
but it’s no use
I still cannot
begin to breathe

Half a life
slammed shut
in a dusty book
and shelved
only for future
generations
to look back on

Saved
by only me
and me alone

You are not a keeper
of memories
nor my heart

Always easy for you
to throw away
people
places
and things

Still
it is unsettling
sitting curbside
with the rubbish

Think Tank Thursday

I've joined the Poets United community and they have a prompt today as part of their Think Tank Thursday. I chose to do mine using blackout poetry that I created using the local horoscope that I always read on a news website near me.  Here's the clip, followed by my submission.

enough of

people, places and things

decide 

to stir up your ire

your pride

or your fear

you're more than average

fuel this fire

break it down

more honesty and truthfulness

Little Lies

We all have lies
we tell ourselves
to make everything
feel right.
To bury that feeling,
that shouting within
that tells us where we’ve gone wrong
when we’ve gone astray
or when we have abandoned our path.
That gut instinct that screams the truth
in the back of our mind
and can’t be quieted.
These things,
they haunt mostly on lonely nights.

To listen or not, this is our choice.

(February 7, 2012)

Restless Mind and Fleeting Thoughts

Empty nights
Yearning for touch

                                        People tire of such things
           Floors littered with “some days” and “maybes”

Captured hearts
and tender feelings

                       Writing in stitches fueled by emotion
           Waning fires eat gently at the crescent moon

Restless spirits
and bridled wings

                                  Passion stifled by boundaries
                             This is why the caged bird sings

Wounded dreams with
Yesterdays immortalized

                                Can’t fight passion with desire
                          Paint aching lips in lyrical empathy

Riveted eyes
left forever wanting

                             Walls never stopped stampedes
                         Such electricity could fuel galaxies


(February 6, 2012)

Loving Artist

You have painted
                      desire
    so beautifully
          on my skin.
Your fingertips
    making lovely brushes.
          Tools to share truth.
  Emotion easily spreads
      in colors and starbursts.
            Fluid lovingly glows.
My body is a palette.
           Your canvas.
   To mix
           and to blend
       with what you feel
   and where you have been.
Your experiences
          and your love for me,
    written gently on my skin.
You paint landscapes
      against my mountains…
  breathless and captivating.
         Longing
                   to be hiked
           by your skillful hands
         and ardent tongue.
In the dips of my valleys
  and rhythmic pulse
    of my natural stream
            you quake and peak.
Your deep brown eyes,
   both lustful spectators
       loving participants
in the art
      that you carefully create.
The cool shade of my shadow
      always offering
  a soft mound
       upon which you rest
                 your weary head.

(February 1, 2012)

Free Fall

You take me
to the edge of reason
and push me over
where I hang
like a dense fog
on a crisp, fall morning.

I would wear a parachute,
but I was hoping your arms
would save me from the darkness
and depths reaching out from below.


(January 31, 2012)

Bitter Heart, Bitter Words

Anger bites at me
like bitter frost
on a winter day.
I should wear a scarf
and mittens
but I’d rather let the cold
seep into my bones
and turn my tongue
to a knife and cut deep
into that which dares to bruise me.


(January 30, 2012)

Pieces of Me

Lately,
  I feel my only weapons
    are words.
My only therapy,
  phrases turned
    and painted
  and woven carefully
onto paper
  in delicate patterns
    that move and breath
  forming a life force
all their own.

Each letter.
  Each word.
    Each sentence.
….A piece of me,
  ripped from my core
with brute force
  leaving me breathless
    and torn,
  adorned with emotion
and freckled with truth
  forming chapters
    of myself
  in tattered pieces
left scattered about
  in all of the places
    that I have been.


(January 30, 2012)

All Of You

Is it a crime
 to no longer want
  to hide
   behind these lies
    and shallow covers
     of discretion?
Am I wrong
 to want more
  of you…
   all
    of you?
Is it shameful
 that
  I don’t want to share?
You
 carry my heart,
  so delicate
   and warm,
    in the palm
     of your hands,
      and where you go
       my heart goes.
But sometimes…
 sometimes,
  you are gone
   for too long
    and you (and my heart)
     are too far,
      from where I lay
       my bones.


(January 26, 2012)

Entangled

Lately
I find myself trapped
in a web of emotion
so strong
and tangled
that even I
can’t figure out
what it is
that I need.
Want.
Should do.
A web
woven so tightly
that I am unable
to use thoughts
or words
to work my way free.
And so I sit
stagnant
and drenched
in exhaustion.
The sheer weight
of this web
is more
than I can carry
let alone
the force it will take
to untangle.


(January 26, 2012)

That Faint Feeling

I can feel you
         slipping
   (between) the cracks
         of my fingers.
The sound of
   your breath
      gets    f a i n t e r
………the further away
   that you get.
         And your scent
      L
        i
         n
          g
           e
            r
             s
   so much lighter
         (than ever before).
I can feel it
   in my heart of hearts…
         -and in the pit-
            of my very soul.
You are on your way
… … . . out the door.


(January 25, 2012)

Wishes

I wish upon every star
   in the night sky
      that you will
   one day,
near or far,
   be only mine.
      I’m not ashamed
   to admit
that I search the horoscopes
   daily
      and weekly
   for a sign
that my wishes will come true.
   Whenever the clock
      strikes 11:11
   I wish for only you.
When stray lashes
   fall upon my cheeks,
      it is your heart
   that my heart seeks.
And the visions
   in my dreams,
      it’s true,
   are only visions
of a happily ever after
   with you.


(January 24, 2012)

Summer Nights are For Love

The first time we kissed
   I felt my future shift
It was a summer night, you see.
   I love summer nights.
Just before Independence Day
   and during the summer
of my independence.
   The beer was flowing
like a warm breeze,
   and the conversation, easy.
Laughter filled
   each and every hollow,
almost as if it were on draft,
   and our pints overflowed
with flirtation.
   The music,
providing a soundtrack
   that unbeknownst to us
would always
   bring us back to that night.
You had this look,
   a little rough around the edges
and to anyone else,
   you may have been intimidating at first,
but your eyes,
   they told me different.
They whispered to me
   that you were kind.
It would be
   the first night of many
that we were two in a crowd
   but really,
the only people there.
   Later, a moonlight walk
found us in a private park
   where I would swing like
a schoolgirl on recess
   and your eyes would sparkle
with pleasure, while you watched.
   The bridge in that park
still holds a piece of my heart
   and I shall never pass it
without remembering
   the moment
your lips touched mine.
   That summer night,
the first time we kissed,
   I felt my future shift.


(January 20, 2012)

Paper Cranes

A thousand paper cranes
   flew through my dreams last night.

Words,
   fervently scripted,
      on delicate washi sheets
         inscribed in ebony,
      (ink darker than the midnight sky)
         and folded,
            carefully,
      by the tiny hands of the unknown
         then thrown,
            into the atmosphere,
               like heartfelt messages tossed to sea.

They carried with them
   hushed secrets
      of forlorn lovers
         separated
            by miles
               or circumstance,
   wishes,
      whispered into their wings,
         by children,
            that dare to dream
               and to create
                  fairy tales,
                     in their minds,
   and wisdom,
      of those that have carried
         the tremendous weight
            of knowledge
               on their shoulders
                  across this vast earth.

They beckoned to me,
   like paper lanterns,
      glowing in the wind,
         to reach out and gather
            their delicately crafted bodies
         and unfold
            that which was cast to the breeze,
               in hopes,
                  of being harnessed
                     by the universe.

I closed my eyes
   and wished,
      upon all the stars in the heavens,
         that I may
            reach out and cage
               the bird inscribed by only you.

I longed to hear it sing
   the loving notes
      of your sweet lullaby to me.
Your words,
   written on it’s wings.
I want to tattoo my skin
   in a million words of love,
      (your words)
         (your love)
            and bleed only ink.

But when I reached for them,
   they came to life
      and flew,
         towards the horizon
            on paper wings
               powered,
                  by the lungs of creation.

(January 20, 2012)

Necessity

This aching feeling
In the pit of my soul
The spikes
That have grown
Around my heart
This insane need
To drink you
In when you are near
And to never let you go
To breathe in
Every part of you
That I can
To swallow your essence
In mighty gulps
Lest a drop run free
From my grip
These feelings,
I fear
Are the beginning
Of the end
And I think
You feel it too.
I want your fingerprints
Forever
Embedded in my bones.


(January 18, 2012)

Something To Hold

Though wishes are a wondrous treat,
I dare you to lay before my feet
something that I may hold.
For stars,
they may go out
and wishes seldom come true,
but for those that love a story told
a fairy tale may do.
Some prefer the tangible,
something a little more manageable,
…maybe even you.


(January 13, 2012)

Unseasonable December

The rain has washed
   away the sun
   and drowned the joy from coming home.
The skies are dark
   and clouds march in
   wearing heavily treaded boots to stay.
The snow, it tries
   to show it’s face
   but the unseasonable warmth chases it away.
Birds sing melodies
   confusion on wings
   their usual southern route forgotten.
Mother nature fights
   against changes in routine
   there is a war going on outside my window.
December,
   where are the frozen joys
   that you always bring?


(January 13, 2012)