...signaling a beginning.It is much too cold for May....signaling a beginning. by Sammur-amat
He hates the cold now, you see.
He thought he'd always dislike heat
as he had since
six at school.
Fond of hugs and of sun,
being teased as
is one key to curing
some sorts of incongruities.
It was much too cold that day as well.
Calendar and watch and
all set out.
Wind serenely flouncing,
roads skimpily iced.
Mrs. and son and their Tahoe by
electric barbwire were mutilated-
As he sat there
He wrapped a robe around his
scouting his bedside for his glasses.
rummaging through the porch bushes
for the newspaper.
May 02, 2012
"The four year anniversary
of the taboo tragedy..."
"The culmination of
1 year and 8 months and 13 days
in mental asylum...
"...younger sister and
aunt of victims... piercing the tires"
decay in a
Dandelion Winethe dandelion has made its appealDandelion Wine by Sammur-amat
to wine and whimsy,
but it's plucked-- regardless of nostalgia.
[i am that lion's ragged blooms, and you are the strong winds that blow my meek seeds away, and he-- he is the brawny child pulling me like another weed passe. and there have been other gardeners with hands mortared in black veins by fertile soil, savaging between tame dalmatian tulips and mums the color of fat tabbies embellished by aureate mornings; there have always been these potted plants prettily set as if all of creation planned them so.]
and its roots remain tucked
In the good earth,
flirting with raindrops and shelved reverie.
[i am the pariah's cure-- tisane caught in the red dragon's talons and resting in the part of feathers bright on a charm of finches as their form shadows their flight overhead. i can be opium, and you and him are but another pair of flared-nostriled, flushed fools. the crescent moon lives in my eyes to cause yours mist. i am the apparition-- damned, as a sou
PersephoneI fed herPersephone by xthe-eleanorx
and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.
With cracks in my heart
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.
When Growing Up Becomes Growing OldShe thinks it hits at 35. She watches her husband blow out the candles on his birthday cake, the smoke tendrils hovering in the air before they are swallowed up by the fan in the window of their new home.When Growing Up Becomes Growing Old by xthe-eleanorx
By 35 you have settled down and started your family, and if you haven't, it's the year your mother begins to tell you that it's "now or never" and that if you chose the latter, you're going to regret it.
Their friends all sing an off-key version of Happy Birthday, holding long-stemmed glasses of red wine, except for Marie, since she's six months pregnant. She cuts her husband's cake into sizable pieces only to have three of the women decline as they are "watching their weight."
She looks down at the cake on her plate and thinks of the blank application for a gym membership on top of the refrigerator as her friends swap workout stories. She nods her head, gasping every so often and finishes it off with a lot of sympathetic grunting. The men have begun swapping work stories n
Untitled 04Oh lately it's so quiet that the birds chirp at midnight and the subtle chime of your mind touching mine hallucinates wildly in my empty brain cavity, but nothing is the same. You have a life, and a love, and a passion; I have no reason to take your future away because of the past. Although you can never escape memories, my disappearance happens with a few clicks and a "have a nice life".Untitled 04 by CianTheBard
I don't dwell often, but I like to think we're still happy with each other in an alternate universe, where one of us dies young or major catastrophes separate us, or maybe we just had one date that went better or certain nights never existed, because then my regrets would only be shadowed by blatant insecurity as opposed to circumstantial ruination.
In short, I miss you and the light you bring, the daylight that has so enlightened me that I really don't want to let you go. Instead, old demons knock at my door, smiling politely in their crisp black suits and asking me to allow them in for a drink or tw
Ghost Fingerssongs drift slowlyGhost Fingers by xthe-eleanorx
from rooms filled with peeling wallpaper
sometimes i feel you wrapped around my heart
touching places you could never reach before
we have a story
worthy of a best-selling paperback
the kind of story
that's only sad when it belongs to you
i try to intertwine my fingers with yours
but it's not really the same
unless you're there too
I'm Just Waiting for the RainHe keeps his umbrella close, but never opened. Storm clouds roll in and out of his life, but they never stop to even wet the ground.I'm Just Waiting for the Rain by xthe-eleanorx
He wakes up every morning at 6:15, stays in bed for another five minutes, and takes a shower that lasts eight and a half minutes. He eats two slices of buttered toast and a small tumbler of orange juice. He dresses himself in a blue button-down with a striped tie and shines his shoes so that he can see his face. If it's cold out, he wears his black trench coat and if it isn't, he just wears his sport coat. He carries his briefcase every day, along with his umbrella. He can't forget his umbrella. The train leaves at 7:00 and he is at the station by 6:55. He hasn't missed a day of work in eight years.
His career isn't exactly what he hoped it would have been. If he were to think back on it, he would realize that it isn't even close. Thankfully, he never does.
At 7:45 he goes for his morning coffee runblack with two sugars. Provided the line isn't too
Untitled 03Double-takes toward a life once satiated in its need for affectionUntitled 03 by CianTheBard
Reveal nothing to the naked eye of the observer;
Reminiscent as he might be of yon days of sunflowers and birds
Where distant Sun-star-light warms a tiny dead rock in some point
Of that Universe he pledged his life on to her
Yet, that Universe is not a compliant beast
Ravenously hungry for heart-stars and newborn nebulae
It makes one wonder, "Do the stars shine out of compassion, or
Are they here to lay us to waste?"
Man builds things, and then we die.
Yet, in our lifetimes we see more destruction than rebirth.
Possibly proving that hearts are neither created nor destroyed
Just transferred to a one more in need.
Send in the ClownsThey had been walking for weeks. They could easily pick their destination at night, or rather avoid a destination from the bluish glow low on the horizon that signalled a radioactive crater where a city once lived.Send in the Clowns by FirstSarge
They were hungry, very hungry. The two men were perched atop a barren ridge overlooking a small town in a valley below. One of the men glassed the town through the Leopold scope mounted atop his H&K 91.
"Bill, what do you see," Ronald Jenkins asked in a whisper.
"Nothing, the town's abandoned. I don't see anything moving, no cars, no people What the hell?" Bill Gaines dropped the rifle and retrieved his binos for a better look.
"What is it? What do you see?"
"The circus is in town."
They made their way down the ridge. After a hike that left them both exhausted and famished, they stood before a red and white striped circus tent that had been erected in what was presumably the town square.
"Creepy, ain't it," opined Ron, "where's the sound of people, children laughing, a