Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant poeticUnited States Recent Activity
Deviant for 14 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 26 Deviations 261 Comments 15,258 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Literature
cassandra or maybe julia
fragile angry envy staring at your shut eyes
where diamonds squeezed dark into coal
and we both pretended I wasn't there
I was somewhere
without the dust and crushed larynx
and blood filling up my nostrils
where the ghosts still looked like people
and strangers were still fiction
she would be four now
cassandra or maybe julia
auburn hair and small ears
auburn freckles on her shoulders
and the sidewalk still sizzles like eggs
in the heat past the concrete steps of the apartment
where the august sun draped us both in thick black november
on the insides of our smiles
and the clouds chewed you up slowly with swollen eyes
spit you out with bright blue veins and armor
and I was somewhere else
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 15 6
Literature
in waves
I felt your chest swell and recede
watched the sweat on your navel sway pensively
under the slow-burning ceiling fan
watched your eyes choke on the sun-shaped holes
in the curtains as I promised myself again
not to fall in love so easily
no one stays suicidal for very long
I learned it the hard way in autumn
when my heart swerved hard to meet your pleural effusion
and I drowned in the weight of the ocean
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 14 4
Literature
you exude suicide
you exude suicide--
even the rain hurls itself at you
on the corner of slice and open
and I'd hold you with the rest of the droplets
pooling in the folds of my hands
and I'd bite my tongue to mix our waters together
but you begged to be wrung out
in july of the last summer I saw you
and the stars scraped your shoulders that night
like the sky was a birth defect
and I watched as the moon in a half-empty halo
fell to the side of your body in the morning
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 14 9
Literature
restless life syndrome
you were a carrier pigeon with a ten pound package
on the third floor balcony of our apartment complex
and I watched you perched on the railing with eyes
like new jersey when you said you
had to go
and I told you
the pavement won't remember your name
and I'll wipe that stupid smirk off your floor
with battery acid deluge in my abdomen
and pulse in my eardrums like cavalry
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 21 11
Literature
gods and bacteria
your god left you six miles back
on new bern avenue by the old high school
where feathered fighter pilots sit decommissioned
on roadside crosses like origami
and I'm sorry you came back at all
with piñata car bombs and the souls of afghans
trailing your boots like packing peanuts
you tried to go down with the vessel
blood and muscle and skeleton satchel charges
spilling out of your fleshy palms
but they wrapped your spine in cellophane
after that last bullet tore through your rafters
and you hit the walls and windows like a wet dog on acid
and I dragged you from the gods and bacteria spilling
from your diaphragm
and I'm sorry you came back at all
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 29 11
Literature
the white keys
I watched you play only the white keys
with only your right hand and
just the idea of ghosts burnt holes in your head
and your eyes drifted outside
where the self-proclaimed violence kings in blue and light blue approached
from the west with badges over their hearts
and their march from steel to concrete
couldn't drown out the geiger counter clicking of the gutters
and I tried to read the cliff notes on you but the phone kept ringing and the dogs kept barking
and you kept playing hot cross buns as
the sirens grew vulgar
and you were a gaussian blur with cloudy eyes when they took you handcuffed
through the plutonium and past the investment bankers on their patios
to the shaman with cloudy hair and
veins knocking at his temples
and I just stood there freezer-burned in the kitchen
heard the sirens float back out and away and down the road and across town and
wished they'd dragged the ghosts off with them
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 10 7
Literature
everyone is a sociopath with a vitamin deficiency
my parents never beat me
and look how I turned out: cracked ribs
fractured pelvis
blood in my urine
finally lost my baby teeth
but there's no love without blood and you
do not dream in hourglasses
rusty wind and
ferris wheel cages
to watch the gauze fall untaped
on the kitchen floor and
I am itchingscratchingbleeding time
profusely and it falls off me like sawdust with every
turnaround or
shakemyheadno but
I still stand still with knees dovetailed and
head cocked down
to watch the wood shavings
pile at my shins like suitcases
you always want more
so when I felt the fault lines in your wrists
start to tremble
I took that revolver in your chest
spun the cylinders and heard
the familiar empty click
echo through your ribcage
and now I find you
underground like rainwater
and I tried
this time
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 373 69
Literature
work in progress
I. you are no flame
I am no firefighter:
feet like sunken pavement,
shoulders draped with bags of
flesh,
people
like dominoes
or lumps of coal
milk and cookies by the stove
II. I slept on the floor last night
couldn't sleep through the
storm -- found solace only in
five-minute dreams
bottoming out like the rain
gutterballing down the windows,
lightning wrenching its way
though my eyelids, thunder
echoing in my joints,
crunching with every toss and turn
on the carpet, every house-shaking
wake-up call a reminder
I am not happy
III. self-diagnosis
I used to blink like a martyr,
make up disorders with names I couldn't pronounce,
hide my ideas in my head and grind my teeth
into the concrete
now I only see
the back end of daylight, with
real disorders I still can't pronounce and
keep all my ideas
carefully hidden in the trash
but I can still taste it with my eyes closed
IV. my mother
my mother has always been
a better liar than me
and I can see it, finally,
in the way her teeth
clench
into a
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 19 10
Literature
mantra
done with honest poems,
honest apologies, under-the-breath
insults; just words like horses,
broken legs,
put them down.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 5 5
Literature
helvetica
every day is garbage day somewhere,
and the birds on my street
line the pavement like soldiers
as friday's tank creeps
down the boulevard,
crumbs of newspaper billowing
from its war-torn mouth.
the crows flutter sultry
in the morning sun
toward headlines trailing the street
like roadkill,
cramming bold-print helvetica
into their beaks
as the ink stains the asphalt.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 27 16
Literature
the veteran
I saw a soldier today,
on the corner of 70 and
west olive, standing at attention
with a blank face and a
cardboard sign
under the thick clouds.
locked in place
between the sky and sidewalk, he
clutches the neck of an umbrella
to his chest like a rifle,
a halo of black fabric
billowing over his head, panhandling
the rain as cars splash by
unblinkingly.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 9 9
Literature
of birds and rain
document 1.
may 17th.
"if this is how it starts
how hard is the rest going to be?"
may 18th passes.  so does june 22nd.
in the time between and
after, I am left only with my birds
and the rain
and it rains all the time.
august 7th.  I can no longer hear
the geiger-counter clicking of the gutters
over the echoes of crows and
car horns, though the mud that
devours my shoelaces each morning
tells me the storm still hits while
I'm asleep.
november 24th and even the pigeons
have gone.  buildings boarded up,
graffiti
all over my car.
nothing shiny left for them
to shit on.
january 6th now--
eight months and several
thousand
broken metaphors later,
the words still flutter cold in
my hands, my fingers
pressing snow angels
into the wings nestled in my
palms.  I caught them
staring at me
with the same wrinkled face the moon wears
at six-thirty in the morning, knowing
that the sun
is coming.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 234 55
Literature
642019
"I wrote something
today," I told the
caterpillars on my desk
for the six hundred
forty-two
thousand nine-
teenth
time, clutching words
in my fist like a
loose-leaf cocoon, wings
beating hard at my fingertips like
they want to
fly, so
I peeled the paper
back and watched
a brown moth
twitch and die
in my hands
and
god
damn it, crumpled it up and
tossed it with the rest
of the failed
butterflies.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 19 8
Literature
what happens today
yesterday shrinks, tongue-tied like
a slender girl, polka-dotted and
trembling, head tucked to
her chest, collarbones
like moss-covered branches
swaying in tomorrow's
stormy breath.
he staggers
while spearmint whispers
belie the drunk thunder
bellowing in yesterday's
ear, kicking in bleak rhythm
at the dirt, uprooting her
toes from the soil,
fingering a handful of
dandelion seeds
with a shit-faced
grin.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 3 8
Literature
accordion heart
you've always said
my stories
tug
on your "heartstrings" but
I've always pictured
an accordion in
your chest, the way it
expands and
folds when your words
float haphazardly, the way I
am hypnotized,
a capuchin monkey
in your street performance,
and as I swing, bereft
of rhythm, to the pulse you
bang out in c minor, you
smile regardless
and clutch me
back to your chest.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 13 9
Literature
exhale
the sun
rose
again,
if you could call it that, if
the trouble lines on its face are
still to be believed, if the dust spoken
in the cigarette breaks between clouds still
holds any merit, if hope is still anything
more than just
hope.
I exhaled all day--
a thousand tired moments
pounding into the rain,
but only managed
to fill my lungs with
a thousand more,
tucking them in like
children, blue-eyed and
unnerved, daring god to
take them back.
:iconpoetic:poetic
:iconpoetic:poetic 4 3

Random Favourites

Literature
Ramadan Don't Stop
to them
the bombs drop like rain
a sequence so frequent it calls for refrain
the bombs drop like pain
felt in the heart of your mother who buries her brother
and in the bottom of her arteries
her baby siblings' blood recollects
and she collects memories she will never regret
swimming in the river and singing in the street
they both had led life straight and never strayed
from the will and testament of God
but — that didn't stop the bombs
and that's no fault of His
cause these revolutions won't stop
like turning gears in a clock
one will turn the other
but all the noises made doesn't mean that they suffered
because they were building
a new future made from different histories
big-city societies and empty caliphates
this was in their hands and they chose to create
so what do we say when we see the bodies
we hail their courage and wonder if we will ever see
to put our lives before our sisters
and tear tyrants asunder
when the waters rise and the dictator wonders
we can look up to our
:icontclebron:tclebron
:icontclebron:tclebron 1 1
Literature
guerilla heart.
Cold war in my throat,
he's all apology and weak knees
I'm out of apathy
and he was always sleeping
while I lie wide awake
afraid of the next step
running out of toes and fingers
to count the mistakes
we were young and terrible
and terribly over our heads
we believed we were in love
but could never mean what we said
sometimes you've got to sink
to finally come back up
then your realize your heart
needs to capsize before
or you'll never grow up,
never really change
& the last words before
I went down
was his name.
:iconmisaoseta:misaoseta
:iconmisaoseta:misaoseta 5 5
Literature
slope-intercept form
i
am
going
downhill.
:iconlacesoutvic:lacesoutvic
:iconlacesoutvic:lacesoutvic 2 1
Literature
truant heart.
"Do you miss me?" Small birds dot the telephone wires
like bruises, his hands are The Hard Way and the afternoon
sky trembled in my veins. Sometimes we'd drive to LAX like we
were going far away, we'd watch the woman wrap around a man
like vines, we'd watch a small man with his bottle of wine, and we'd
see families bundled in coats and racing home, and seeing that was
enough. We felt less alone. We'd sit in airport cafes and talk about the
old times, when we were smaller and had a lot less on our minds. When you
wanted to a King, dreamt of ruling the world- when all I could think of was love,
not money or pearls. Sometimes we sat there in silence, coffee hot against our
throats, we never worried, the cafe never closed. We hung there suspended in
whys a lot like the planes suspended in the skies. We'd drive into the morning
sun, we'd shout things into the dispersing night, things like, "I am free!" or "I'm
never going to die!" But when we needed each other, we were never really around,
:iconmisaoseta:misaoseta
:iconmisaoseta:misaoseta 6 9
Literature
Untitled - Writer's Block
I am
         a telescope
         flooding focused moonlight in
         to mirrored labyrinths—
                   casting light upon no thing;
         the pristine laser with a sore lack
         of hard drives
         or etched glass;
         a furious da Vinci drowning in canvas
         and even blood for paint denied;
         a mezzosoprano forgotten her notes;
         a tragic musician with soured chords;
    
:iconAlimari:Alimari
:iconalimari:Alimari 18 22
Literature
grave
.
pearl in a corpse
of sky: a mourning widow
the sallow moon
.
:iconjonzoiplu:jonzoiplu
:iconjonzoiplu:jonzoiplu 26 59
Literature
Two dreamers on a barge
i.
encrusted with salt
and hair stiff with
the sea, we searched
for endless horizons
but failed to find even ourselves.
night chanced upon us pressed
against opposite ends of the
deck, obstinately shivering
as if the damp was enough
of a substitute.
ii.
the sunset glows blue
up north, breaking into
a million pieces like snowflakes,
and if your silhouette spells
anything, it is that lines are not
forever, nor light, which soaks
into the edges of the earth.
we are sitting balanced against
stone oars in see-saw motion,
eyes clutching like shoulders against
arms, and hands folded against
our backs, balled into fists.
iii.
brittle bones join
the slow creak of the sea.
the wind is an augmented fourth
against you, and the way you
pull up your collar makes me think
you’re trying not to listen.
something spans
the space between us -
stretched and tendrilled
like egg-white or elastic,
and I daren’t move.
iv.
our barge has frozen into the
sea, but we are drifting,
and I only imagine tha
:iconposhlost:poshlost
:iconposhlost:poshlost 20 6
Literature
for your sake
you will always be wonderful
whether you sleep, or spend
dreamless nights twisting
into frenzied question marks
whether you awake, awash
with tears and fear
and wonder, for long moments
where and why you are
(i hope, for your sake
that from now on, your nights
are contained, safely
between parentheses)
i hope, for your sake
that from now on, your nights
are iambic, in rhyme
and definitively
endstopped.
:iconwonderfulrachel:wonderfulrachel
:iconwonderfulrachel:wonderfulrachel 21 27
Literature
Bionic
There's a part of my heart shaped like a headphone jack,
like an IV port wired up to the running rhythm repeating
pushing oxygen through my veins keeping time with my heart beating
like bass lines
because sometimes,
these terrors crawl into my ears and echo for hours on end
like a broken record left to send out harsh words
over and over and over,
replaying in my head like all of my childhood monsters
selling me phrases to stick in my mind, like:
you're weak, you're a freak, and I hate you
I'll show you, I'll fix you, I'll break you-

but my music
holds me close like a cradle
like warm blankets wrapping me up and radiating safety
it pulls power from the strongest muscles around my lungs
and breathes out whatever it is
that I'm trying so hard to explain to myself
when I was a child
this was a tool for survival
a weapon wielded expertly over the years
becoming the epitome of all of my unrivaled angers, confusions, and fears
evaporating all of my tears before they had the chance to m
:iconRenegade-Boy:Renegade-Boy
:iconrenegade-boy:Renegade-Boy 16 10
Literature
All thought is an extension of
perfection as a human
need not take more
than a loving inspection
of a birds exposed limb
for here we have
function, form
steely elegance
with a lingering sense
of envy
:iconTheSleep:TheSleep
:iconthesleep:TheSleep 2 4
Literature
Irrational Numbers
I wait for the moments when 1+1=1, the glorious inequalities preserved forever in the formaldehyde of my mind. While she sleeps, I peel them, layer by layer, until the duvet is covered in dust. Pulsating moments quiver, but once ripped apart, they reveal nothing more than shrivelled seconds, naked and twitching before my eyes. One by one, they stop twitching until they crumble away into nothing. I brush the dust off the covers, and a stray hair off her sleeping face. She has not stirred.
She pretends to understand my obsession with numbers, but when she’s asleep, she can’t hide. I prop open her eyelids with my fingers and worry at the apprehension I find. I tell my wife I love her twenty times a day – but the beauty of the constancy of twenty in relation to the constancy of our love fails to touch her. She replies to questions with answers; I, with more questions. There are times I doubt our compatibility, but our common factors take precedence over our irrational coupli
:iconwonderfulrachel:wonderfulrachel
:iconwonderfulrachel:wonderfulrachel 21 27
No Cause for Alarm by oshisama No Cause for Alarm :iconoshisama:oshisama 9 13
Literature
Dave's Poem
it was summer and i watched
my friend fly in five-second
intervals, blonde hair having
delayed reactions. i wore a
shirt with a groucho marx
quote, bought before i
had any breasts to push
it forward into the world. her
chipped, polished nails
gripped the pogo stick
handle and i was wondering if
she could ever go higher than anyone
standing, staring from the
pavement, when her brother
crept out from the front
door.
he was born first, but
he’s the youngest of
the four siblings, never quite
forming complete sentences, showing
displeasure without words
his mouth was hanging
open now, perpetually confused, he saw
me looking at his sister, noticed
the words on my shirt. he placed
stunted fingers on the first
word- by then, i had grown-
still. his lips moved as he
flatly intoned the beginning “outside of”
and then she notices, pulls him
away from my chest, because he
is not the age time says he is, and
words anywhere are friends of his, wanting
to be touched by a
helpless hand-
:iconcynicalxpoet:cynicalxpoet
:iconcynicalxpoet:cynicalxpoet 1 20
Literature
Swish-Cthunk
Today I went down to the Bureau of Words to trade in my autumn onomatopoeia. Usually I put it off until at least the end of November, but this year the squelch-thud of my boots in the mounds of soggy leaves brought me up sharp. I went home, gathered my dry snaps, crackles and swooshes, as well as the cheerful spthooshk of a water balloon left over from August and headed down to the department. The rain hurried down to meet my umbrella, an excellent winter sound for which I had no words. But that would soon change.
The stooped man at the front desk greeted me with a finger to his lips. "We're running the barnyard tests, so we've got to be very quiet. Get me?"
I nodded. Fortunately, the entire antechamber of the Bureau is soundproofed, so my rubber soled boots made no sound on the white carpeted floor despite leaving a great deal of mud.
"What do you have in mind for me today? I'm here for the seasonal trade-in deal."
"Well, we've got snow falling on cedars, rain dripping into a puddle o
:iconSqueak-the-Freak:Squeak-the-Freak
:iconsqueak-the-freak:Squeak-the-Freak 227 165

Activity


deviantID

poetic
United States

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconx-stie:
x-stie Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2016
i always delete and then create new accounts on here and i always come back to watch yours

i hope you take this as a compliment
Reply
:icon91816119:
91816119 Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2014   Writer
Happy birthday, dear! I hope you have a wonderful day. :hug:

:party:
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
YouInventedMe Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2014   Writer
Happy Birthday! :cake:
Reply
:iconfarand:
Farand Featured By Owner May 2, 2014
same.
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2013   General Artist
happy birthday! :)
Reply
Add a Comment: