[x]

a lover's observations.when you asked me to define love,
i answered with this.

love is
i. a collection of sighs
strung together
by remembered dreams
and rapid heartbeats

ii. fingertips on knuckles
and the hugging of thumbs

iii. making silverware
on the mattress
in the company of the stars

iv. exchanging dialogue
with our mouths shut
and our eyes open

v. cheekbones and crow's feet

vi. turning every what if
into a reality
when i asked you to describe love,
you took the answer from my mouth
with your lips.

dfc 12-6: monotetrai thought i'd write a tongue twister:
one that doles out oral blisters,
has folks begging 'mercy, mister!'...
i just missed 'er, i just missed 'er.

so...that leaves me writing aimless,
monologuing blithe and shameless.
should i be accused of sameness
am i blameless? am i blameless?

Lighthouses and Rockets1. Lights Out

He lived in an abandoned lighthouse. Always said he'd get it fixed up, be a light for lost souls, but he never did. He always ended up spending his income on coats and shoes for the homeless.

We buried him at sea last week. It was a cold, grey service, but our feet were warm.

2. Lost

I drove from San Francisco to New York, Seattle to El Paso, down every back road and blue highway, all the late night diners and greasy
spoon truck stops, checked into every hotel, motel, bed and breakfast inn, and campsite. Then the neighborhood library closed down and no map could lead me back home again.

3. Pink and Yellow

His first word wa

scar-crossed(my fingers are colder than the solemn blue
buried in her eyes. so much dead beauty,

like an ocean without waves).

she is fading and i cling to her,
and in this tiny little moment
between breaths

we barely even exist.

ForwordI have not become stronger
in the broken places.

Bones ache of age
of misuse
of disuse
and each cracking joint
is an audible reminder
of missteps
of misjudgments
of paths walked too long
and of steps
that should have been,
but were never taken.

Bent fingers jut
from palms of sandpaper,
calloused and crinkled,
they cannot grip
with that same eager desperation
of a child seeking comfort.

Black becomes gray
at the gates
of troubled temples and
dreams,
once saliently sweet,
decay on the tongue
like the sound
of necessary words produced,
but never employed.

I have not become stronger in the broken places

Ocean Captiveplease,
awaken from this
captivity.

you’ve become a servant to the ocean,
obeying its every command –
succumbing to its demanding beauty,
hypnotised by the tranquillity.

waves,
(rising and falling.)
waves,
(falling and rising.)

you fragile, broken thing,
a beautiful golden fool –
your frame filling with
salt-water;
bones stiffening, skin wrinkling
blood turning blue.

you’re visiting the ocean’s depths,
welcoming the cruel world below;
but those lungs of yours are burning,
and those soft eyes are questioning –

so open
(sapphire.)
so hopeful,
(yet wavering.)

please,
you

Heading HomeBitter-boned, I break and crumble to dust
My pockets full of keys to places that no longer exist
An oystershell ashtray full of butts and ashes beside me
Testify to dreams of green hedges and white picket fences

A tapping on the door, a rapping on the wall
Ghosts always like this hour just before dawn
A bird screeches and I wake again to the stinging day
And shufflestep towards home from a thousand worlds away

Feelings with no namesi.

The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.

ii.

The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of

SurrogateI stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.

And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.

AtlantisOur ships float close under sunlit skies,
hovering above Atlantis.
We claimed the ocean miles as our own,
an underwater district which we would call home.

Drown.
Suffocate with Neptune,
as heavens burst through violet haze.
Your gaze,
splits the nebula, infinite space,
and explosions in a faraway place.

And when the sun should close its eyes,
you'll sail afar.
To climb electric vines,
and lay in the arms of the storm.

Of BlissKissing daffodils sway,
serenaded by the waver of
gossamer wings;

faces blushing bright
as the sunlight
slips away.

voicelessi.
I lost my voice one day. I woke up to a hollow echo in the base my throat and knew I’d lost something special before I’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. I checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.

ii.
I found my voice one day. I took long walks with silent friends, made travel plans and came home tired but fulfilled. I pulled a pen from the junk drawer, or sat down at a keyboard, or bought a journal on a whim and found it curled up around my fingers, sleeping, rusty, but alive.

wrists that roarmama says
pull down your sleeves
they'll see, they'll see
but no-one's even looking

i say mama
tigers are proud and strong
and tigers show their stripes
so today i'm a tiger

and who says
i can't be a tiger
when razors made me fierce
and secrets kept me lonely

who says
i can't tiger-roar
when everything unsaid
ripped my throat raw

i made my stripes
with tiger-claws and tiger-teeth
so damned if i'm not a tiger
and damned if i won't roar

mama, i'm a tiger
mama, hear me roar

the complete loneliness of beingGreen, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
– F. G. Lorca, Romance Sonambulo, translated from Spanish by William Logan.

Do not teach me poise.
Learn how to fit your mouth
around my name, around
my geography, my gods, as I do
around yours, effortlessly,
woman, be a language marine.
If you become a mermaid or more,
still, do not teach me poise.
Already, you’re a skeleton willow lean,
and green, how I want you green.

In India, there is a city of gates
but not many know it by that name.
People are gates opening towards a sea,
yet you won't throw w

On Waitingnothing seems worth writing anymore

yet all my bones are coiled in anticipation.

I'm a poet lost, ya know.
And all our stars, they're leaking
oil and pizzazz. Something
grand is building in my marrow.

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Disregard EducationLauren,

Skip college. Become Pokemon Master.

A Soldier's WishlistDear Santa,

It's been a while since I wrote;
just give me a moment to clear my throat.
I'm a little out of practice
so forgive me if I seem quite callous.
I've got some complaints you've heard before,
but let me leave those at the door.

I watched the NORAD radar blip
but never got my Battleship.
Haven't believed since I was nine
but sitting here on the front line
I've got a wish not just for me
but for the men in my cavalry.

If it can't fit into a sack,
if such a load would break your back,
then I'd settle for a smoke and ticket home
but while I'm writing here alone
here's the list I never sent;
peace on earth, goodwill towa

Seafoam and AshA girl once told me she was conceived by the ocean. "By" not "beside" – her skin was the color of new seafoam and you could follow her green eyes into the deeps and drown there. She had a soft, papery voice that sighed in and out and dark hair that cascaded past her shoulders like dried seaweed.

She was born along the sea strand, where the ocean met solidity and pounded it into tiny grains. Perhaps she was delivered in a clump of seaweed or crawled her way out of a pink conch shell and learned to swim before learning to walk. She carried an air of calm serenity that rippled around her like an aura wherever she went, content to flow ins

Rainy Day Waltzi.
The missles fall
like rain in a water-starved world
quenching thirst with blood
that runs wasted in the gutters.

ii.
The rounds fire in 3/4 time
while civilians waltz delicately in circles,
brushing steps with Death and his dance partner
Life.

iii.
The grenades flash like the snap of a camera.
With the click of a pin
Time freezes -
caught between two futures.
In one I die;
in the other

I wish I had.

Two Wolves Walk Into A BarCharacters:
Albert (Little Red Riding Hood Wolf)
Jack (Three Little Pigs Wolf)
Bartender
Foxy Lady

Sitting at the dimly-lit bar, The Kinky Fox, drinking away the day Albert and Jack discuss their own unfortunate events.

BARTENDER: Why the long snouts boys?

JACK: It's a dog eat dog world out there.

ALBERT: You're telling me, today's security systems are way up the wall. I can't even get into grandma's house anymore.

JACK: I know, these modern houses don't even have fire places. Chimneys were my game.

ALBERT: Did you get chased by a sociopath with an axe today? I don't think so.

They take another shot and continue with their conversa

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Grey

by =SilverInkblot, Jan 12, 2013, 10:07:55 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I like the color grey;
it's not black and it's not white,
but sometimes it's a little blue.

Greyby =SilverInkblot

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

#Glory-Be-Project day 12.

I like this one. I don't know why.

[EDIT] - Apparently I'm not the only one. Thanks to =TwilightPoetess and =LadyofGaerdon for the DLD feature

~Lacewinged-Beauty Feb 10, 2013 Writer

^{Grey is my favourite colour}

=SilverInkblot Feb 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I've come to appreciate it quite a lot as I've gotten older.

~Lacewinged-Beauty Feb 10, 2013 Writer

^{It is beautiful, understated.}

=Sammur-amat Jan 30, 2013 General Artist

I really adore this lil piece of love
Congratulations on the DLD, darling silver

=SilverInkblot Jan 30, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you

=Sammur-amat Feb 1, 2013 General Artist

You're always, always welcome!

=Wordeea Jan 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

oh. that is just lovely ... and true

=SilverInkblot Jan 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you

=DailyLitDeviations Jan 23, 2013

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by =DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here: [link]

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.

=SilverInkblot Jan 23, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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