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Literature Text
Denim
is faded seams on summer skin,
your watered-down eyes beneath streetlamps
as the city-rain slicks our hair.
A rustle in the alley
makes our hearts gallop,
sly grins slipping silently across parched lips.
Starchy on the tongue,
the bleach of doubt on trembling fingertips
makes the air stale: are you here with me, or just here?
Blustery,
breathless nights
could never intrude on the weight
of your palm through my jeans.
is faded seams on summer skin,
your watered-down eyes beneath streetlamps
as the city-rain slicks our hair.
A rustle in the alley
makes our hearts gallop,
sly grins slipping silently across parched lips.
Starchy on the tongue,
the bleach of doubt on trembling fingertips
makes the air stale: are you here with me, or just here?
Blustery,
breathless nights
could never intrude on the weight
of your palm through my jeans.
Literature
My Old School
Crippled by shadows, wait in the dusk for night
Playground ghosts move the swings gently
Trees bow their heads and sigh goodbyes
This is how it is, here, now
Pale moonlight rises to show nothing new
Its been this way for so long, far too long
Pinebranch fingertips drop needles, stars twinkle
The moon turns its attention to the tides
Old bricks, overgrown with weeds, murmur
amongst themselves about children now old
Nightbirds keep reverently quiet and dream
This is how it is, here, now
Literature
Where the Pavement Ends
I often dream
as dreamers do;
of once upon a time.
The age of innocents,
where the pavement ends
and green pipelines
run on for miles.
I never had friends
as I did back then
and love
always found me
in the summertime.
So blissfully ignorant
to dark roads ahead,
I lived my life
as if nothing would ever change.
These were the times,
those golden times
no matter how brief
they may have been.
So I remind myself
of this age innocents
and grow nostalgic
of the way things sometimes begin.
Literature
crumbling,
i have been awake for fifteen minutes.
your mouth in the crook of my neck feels
very much like sunlight, very much like i am
seeing things, schizophrenic and blue, hands shaking
like when i drive your car without looking at your body,
multicoloured and alive, listless in the front seat,
our music playing, breathing in the smell of leaves, of warmth.
your voice in my ear, you finding me in a crowd of people,
this is me remembering how lucky i am, how i am
more fortunate than i'd like to admit, knowing that
bleeding does not really hurt, exactly, because you cannot
comprehend the strength of the mind, a queen in feathers
and dark go
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Featured in Groups
has been writing a series of Color Poems and has extended the invitation to the writers of dA to create their own.I chose denim.
See hers here:
PeriwinklePeriwinkle
is a patch of open sky,
a gingham plaid skirt,
the slate of your eyes.
It chimes tiny bells when you speak
and startles birds into flight and runs
thick like heavy syrup
on cottony pancakes
that taste lighter than air
and leave my mouth dry,
empty,
hungry,
for a flash of pale blue in summer.
SalmonSalmon
like dawn light shining
on pale roses
crept across her face
at the silent laughter
chittering like birds
from a distant room.
The sweet, mellow taste left,
replaced by ashen coals
and cold
creeping along her spine
like paresthesia and silver
fish nipping her ankles
leaving no trace.
ChartreuseChartreuse
is the jade glitter of jealous eyes
glaring green daggers like the scream of chalk.
With a pop of cork
and the glug of absinthe,
the sharp tang of soured envy
lends a bitter aftertaste to savor for long years
before a log fire in an emerald armchair,
haunted.
Line 1 - Your color
Lines 2, 3, 4 - things your color looks like
Lines 5, 6, 7 - things your color sounds like
Lines 8, 9, 10 - things your color tastes like
Lines 11, 12, 13 - things your color feels like
Line 14 - sum it all up.
NaPoWriMo Day 9
***EDIT 11/05/2012--
=SilverInkblot has read this piece for
You can hear it here: Street Rats***
April 9, 2012
© 2012 - 2024 betwixtthepages
Comments17
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A heart that gallops. What a unique twist.