[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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

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InterludeSilence plays a broken violin.

Without strings to break her stride,
one upon which her bow cant ride
and so she dances
out and inside
of the space that lies between us.

She plays as her feet tap the bitter ground,
pounding down as she spins 'round,
a dervish, twirling without a sound,
let her bound
as we sigh alone.

Her laughing steps are mocking
locking
tick-tick-tocking the time away.

The smile upon her lips
belies innocence,
bow sliding over empty air as she plays.

Her sound.

Her bound.

Nothing but quiet all around.

Silence plays a broken violin with
no strings for her agile fingers to bend
or press and lift in a hea

ProleLead me, lead me on my leash
This chain that causes thought to cease
Make me obey and seize the day
Carpe diem in the name of peace

Condition me to bend and sway
So that I’ll listen to what you say
Show me what you want me to see
I’ll be nothing more than malleable me

A slave who cannot emancipate
My heart, my mind, trapped in this state
Of blind devotion to your ideals
I’ll eat the shit thats on my plate

Feed me, feed me all your lies
Content in your masterful disguise
Until my eyes open, until I see
For then your chains will be broken, I will be free.

OptimisticRelease those empty mannerisms that stand
Encourageable, though they isolate
You and yours while me and mine
Find solace in facts better left unsaid...

The lies that have been adopted,
Constantly shifting in their own wavelengths
As words that might have been truth
Spin off unnoticed...

Why would you not find reason
To defy logic and demand conscience,
As the endless stream of falsities
Pours from the source into the waiting ears of the masses...

Perhaps when they are dead and gone
Passed beyond this mortal coil
Shuffled off...

Maybe then they will open their eyes
And see...

How Dare YouAsk me to hold back the sun, the tide, the rotation of the earth
Ask me to reverse time
These impossibilities are far more possible than your request.
Constrict my thoughts to your schema, your form
I would sooner die than harness them and bend them to my will.

Their beauty is that of the stallions, galloping freely over the earth
Hooves churning up fresh-scented clumps of soil to mark their passing
Grunting as they push aimlessly towards the beckoning horizon

They are unchained, unburdened, free of the worldly attachments that hold me still
Do not presume to control them, even I cannot

Easier to stop the Niagara with my bare hands

EulogizingThe clouds wept
Empathizing
Heavy with the burdensome melancholy
That comes about
Through the loss of something dear

They mimicked us
Chameleon cumulo nimbus
Their sombre attire and ours
Matching sets

Milling about, hovering over our shoulders
A grim vigil from overhead
Were we but a passing fancy?
A momentary diversion?

I wasn't thinking about them then
I only barely noticed their presence
In the moment that I turned my face upwards
For a few short seconds
Our tears mingled
Water and water

Indistinguishable.

First of Last SuppersBreak bread with me
my friend, my blood

Let us sit in quiet company
at this table

It plods along on creaking legs
out of all boundaries

Tables cannot move
and yet our chairs follow along.

Break bread with me my brother
let us sit and see
the you and me
the blood, the flesh
forms so similar
with softly simian features
upturned lips
dextrous fingertips
rip the bread and pass it

Dine with me my brother
let us sup on time and life
differences minor, all forgotten
our features are so similar

Insubstantial, this space between us

We are one after all

Break bread with me my brother
we were always one and the same
the one rese

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Learnt In Science Class

by ~Tallnfrosty, Apr 28, 2010, 6:47:12 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I heard once that white
flames burn the hottest,
and that if one burnt you
it would feel cold, because
it kills the nerves so fast
your body goes into shock.

I heard you can die from that,
going into shock.

If feelings were flames, I
think that loneliness would
be a white one,

because when it burns you, it
doesn't burn orange and yellow,
just hot enough to hurt, hot enough
to feel, like anger, or passion,
or rage, or love. It burns you cold,
burns you numb, deadens all the
nerves at a cellular level,

and it leaves you with useless
scar tissue that never heals
properly, it just turns into ugly
off-colour gashes that sit ominously
over otherwise clean skin,

like tire-tracks over fresh road-
kill, marking where the hide broke,
and the stomach burst, and the
heart was curdled by the open
air against unforgiving asphalt.

Learnt In Science Classby ~Tallnfrosty

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2010-2013 ~Tallnfrosty

.

~EpicPseudonym Apr 29, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

Beautiful. Thumbs up.

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~Tallnfrosty Apr 29, 2010

Thanks Wango

Reply

~EpicPseudonym Apr 29, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

No problem Frosty

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