WickedMorgana, in the cowering darkened city; neon is dead. Theatres all play the same movie, over and over again. No one watches; they’re all in their basements or ancient fallout shelters. Morgana’s heels clack pavement, and the echo goes on forever.Wicked by Bark
Feast on your tins of peanut butter and crackers; Morgana feasts on minds. Minds like yours, soft like veal. Everyone said this night would come, but no one believed it would be now. How could it be, when just yesterday the playgrounds were filled with sunlight and laughter?
Lightning cracks sky and illumes devastation, wretchedness, emptiness. Lions have escaped the zoos, and roam the streets hungry and fierce. The wind howls your name as you sit in the darkness wearing your foil hat. Morgana laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
And the echo goes on forever; like carnival music at a funeral, like a grave robber’s laugh, like handbills flying down an alley for a play that was never produced; like a child lost in the crowds, like t
(30 Poems in 30 Days Cont...)(30 Poems in 30 Days)(30 Poems in 30 Days Cont...) by Schofield-Alan
Mirrors and rivers reveal no depth
only light-sensitive surface colors.
Personality is a cocktail of neuro-chemicals
shaken in various environments,
so who cares? Especially if who I am
can be manipulated by weightless shadow.
That’s not me.
A dog yips a thousand miles away
against semis and slamming doors, weather,
running toilets, and screaming spouses.
My one-year-old son looks up at me
eyes agleam and whispers, “… Pup-og…”
And that’s not me either,
but it’s damned close.
Roots pop through my cuticles,
cold like open nerve endings
extending like dirty tendrils
from tiny blood sleeves.
My fingers flex, skeletal
as my knees snap diagonally
and push through my skin
like branches through black yard bags.
The roots pour into the ground.
I open my jaw to scream.
Wreathes like thorn’d coils spring
from my stomach, plucking tonsils,
EndMy shadow has been fractured too many times, veins of gold bleeding spirits onto the rugged soil.End by tulinuotio
My face has been broken too many times, glittering shards of smiles and crying eyes gouged out by dreams.
The hands of time have forced me through nights that burst into the brightness of the sun wrestling the days.
I have filled too many notebooks with the frantic cursive of my poetry, only to tear up the pages the next day.
Too many mornings I have stitched together with my sheer willpower, praying the sky would not shatter.
There is a map of spiderwebs of abysses on my skin that ache from the mere touch of a feather.
I have walked right into the fire to destroy my need to be loved, until my heart turns to diamonds,
Until every nerve end scintillates light that turns my skin translucent and hides the painful course of time,
Becoming a salamander that cannot count the fractures in its bones, that devours the scrolls of its legends.
My hair is pure fire that turns my scalp into a bedrock f
Ghost Trade (Chords)Verse 1.Ghost Trade (Chords) by Schofield-Alan
There's a cold bed where you used to sleep.
Your towel's still on the floor.
Your shoes are empty on the rug.
And I'd give up my ghost for yours.
Your demons got the best of us.
I left your bottles in the drawer
Hoping you'll come back to me,
PaleI’d be a fool to follow and to fall;Pale by rockgem
Your toxic love bad for both of us--
(or perhaps just for me.)
You had a zombie complexion,
With the ghosts of freckles
Scattered across porcelain cheeks.
Vampire elegance and banshee wild hair,
You moved sinuously with wraith-like steps
And beckoned with a siren voice.
With breaking heart and iron will
I walked away for good.
Food for the worms--
Regret just another coffin nail.
The FixMy raison d'êtreThe Fix by thetaoofchaos
to gather up the lodestones
to seek out the genotype
then one by one
the plenary of a lover’s corpse.
Paired or PareidoliaDo you tastePaired or Pareidolia by Xeperpharos
in the light
Scourgeleaves shuffled alongScourge by jade-pandora
from breezes gone bitter
across a river
with maternal blood
from my thighs that
with the onset
of autumn, and
of our union-
clay soil darkened
with cooking oil
and human waste
in the dying light
of day and a life
the way summer
only to turn away
In the CellarIn the Cellar by ConquerorQuixote
Years in isolation had primed her mind for overindulgence to even the faintest anomaly.
She has chosen her toys carefully.
Shared them only with those to whom she had entrusted.
As the hand of the watchmaker reaches into her basket,
It was hers to whom he had incited.
Left alone there was no due course,
To which she could duly oblige.
She ponders her enclosure;
And leaves her babies lined up straight,
As not to disturb her neighbors.
It ponders where she has hidden it's meal.
She begs it to reconsider it's choice.
Pleading that her baby has only three limbs,
But the watchmaker knows little of the hand that's missing.
So she throws her baby toward the sky;
Knows not where it will land,
Knows only when it will diverge from its upward trajectory.
Ostentatious renderings leave her babies upset and in the dark.
The rest lie concealed beneath her cape.
Write Your Namestep up, sonWrite Your Name by BlackBowfin
to the chakra board
write your name
you're someone else
and the problems
the front of the class
eat the frog
the fetal pig
within you screams
pin me down to
wax, i curl
like the skin
that god meant
for someone else
you're someone else
and the problems
Ray Reigstad, Windless, and Man Vs. NatureStill 30 Poems in 30 Days!...Ray Reigstad, Windless, and Man Vs. Nature by Schofield-Alan
There’s a guy in Minnesota
Who makes wine out of worms,
So can life make me an artist?
There’s a guy in Minnesota
Who makes wine out of worms
First killing them with boiling water.
“Man Vs. Nature (Kind of)”
Kids play in a parking lot
across from where I work.
Toddlers chase and grapple
I pray they don’t get hurt.
I hope they don’t get flattened
by maniac automobiles.
Then one kid throws a big ass rock
and shatters my fucking windshield.
Not even the top leaf
of the highest twig
on the scrawniest branch
of the tallest, skinniest tree
will move for me today
or for anything.
Like a mountain
Like a planet
Like a sun, that top leaf
holds steady as the chaos spins
around it and around the tree
and around the forest
and around me
and around the actual sun
and suddenly… I turn.
Away from the top leaf
Away from the tallest, skinniest tree.
I turn toward the outside
HatchI thirst for air un-breathedHatch by Schofield-Alan
in cold flavors.
For brightness unparalleled
and longer spaces
in which to unravel.
Umbilical memories dissolve
in the murk of my incubation.
And through fissures
From one dark swamp
to the next
Drowning Dreamingwe turn over and the sunDrowning Dreaming by BlackBowfin
weeps its lovely lava
holes in eyelids
futile and temporary
bagged into these
we are time's vacuum
and i sleep
and i wake
a traveled soul
knives of light
slip between each rib
and i die more
each waking moment
as the morning light
Chipping HammerSimplified and crystallized,Chipping Hammer by Xeperpharos
Capsized through Cap's eyes;
To part is not singular
as a sea requires two
to recognize, to see
two sea(s), to cease
as caesar or disease.
Epitaxial taxidermy of
empty epidermal humanity -
Epitome of contemporary conformity in YOUR city.
Death as separation; death: a disconnect.
The discontent subjects of lucid dreams erect
their temples, samples of solid infatuation.
Physically reflected, manifesting disharmonious distortions,
manifest: mana feast;
Physical: phi sickle;
Reaping repetition, re-living desolation,
desperation of memory re-playing, present-tense
as characters in dreams
you've met once,
yet known for ages.
We rehearse our future stages of change
as the best fictions offer character growth
Like crystal layers grown one over another,
epitaxy overlaying ego on a blank slate;
growing one crystal layer over a substrate,
one crystal ball to fool them all;
MagicianOne day, a magician conjured flames from his sleeve and accidentally burned his silk shirt, then lamented his burns while glitter was scattered from a hatch above the stage. No matter how often he washed his hair, there was always glitter near the roots, like divine dandruff bestowed upon the pot-bellied wizard by a god that loves drama as much as he does.Magician by tulinuotio
"Lighting firecrackers is exciting as long as you are still young enough to be afraid that they blow up in your face." That is what the magician had written in a note left to his kid, with enough money to buy a happy New Year. The boy did not shed tears on a faded family portrait where everyone wore fake smiles; he had already burned it last year for two minutes of bitter entertainment, while his father was lighting three rockets at a time in an attempt to keep his mother from crying.
Earlier that morning, the sticky sweet smell of candy floss had mingled with the pungent smell of liquor on the magician's purple jacket, but he put it
The Big PictureI have been a puzzle piece;The Big Picture by RiseandbeStronger
and I have been a puzzle missing pieces.
But never in my life
have I been arrogant (or full) enough
to call myself whole.
A Bloodied StuporAffix me the cross for I have sinned.A Bloodied Stupor by ConquerorQuixote
These altruist edicts have got me pinned!
I cannot perceive who is real and who's lying;
Betwixt these closed doors, is there someone in hiding?
The verdict upheld; but is someone still sliding?
Deftly thin from within; and without confiding!?
I cannot abstain from this clout it's deriding!
This pain; this fear; this subsistent subsiding..
They cheer, they jeer, it's just all too inviting,
In which gear will they steer? It's just all too beguiling.
What's remote to denote: what is there in tiding?
A slit in her throat or her clit that's imbibing:
This game, this life, this grit thats dividing,
A man torn in half by his wit that's not siding;
With one, the other, the lye is not lighting;
This fire, this burn, this ember, this striving.
To be what is me, now who's free was she fighting?
The glee or the spree of a wrong that's not righting?
I'm daft, I'm deraile
Departed PrincessSanguine tears from her now empty shellDeparted Princess by Benjamin-Biddix
She lays in the dark pool within earths limbo
The palace runs red
Courtyard turns black
Throne becomes lifeless
The Departed Princess
FearThere is this feeling I cannot shakeFear by tophtheblindbandit
Something follows me slithering like a snake
I fear there is something that is creepy
Hiding under my bed when I feel sleepy
I hear the howling of vicious hounds
The beasts malicious and escaping from pounds
I hear maniacal laugh of a clown
I see the undead crawl and frown
There are things stalking me in the dark
Children have been abducted by creatures hiding in the park
There are things unknown hiding just out of sight
These are the thoughts that fill me with fright
Just Icethe long nightJust Ice by BlackBowfin
into the blue
is a concept
a threat level
and light is
the eye-mind switch
it rolls the predju-
against the bricks
the snake's eyes
and your soul
unmadeclean, now, of your diaries;unmade by thetaoofchaos
sun cut, singed through the brume
pure and guiltless as a virus, white
without a needle eye or task to
lay into your inner brides, the bent
to disturb your wealth of fruit skins
or run my pathos through the calculus
and see my dimples rise as underlings
to terrorize your pond face, scold its careful
glass with frost or lunge into your acquiescence,
the satin cinch for your panoplies,
to make pillows for my wreck.
what am i when i’ve no effigy for doubt,
no biorhythms to sicken with childish bellows from my song?
there is no dormant eggshell to gather up this loss
and nothing left from which to birth;
if i cannot be of something else,
then nothing will become me.
Heaven In A Sad WayThere's a girl in the parkHeaven In A Sad Way by Schofield-Alan
Across the street from our house.
She's been there for days
Teaching an orphan bird
There's a man in a call center
Where I used to work
Stealing food from the fridge
He's run out of things to feed
There's a cashier in the store
Down the road from our place.
When she was just five
Her sister was electrocuted
And in another world
Broken birds and skinny dogs
Play in the snow with curious girls
And if you don't believe that
There's a world somewhere
In which you do.
PeacewalkerRecessive inspiration. Cracking. Convex glass.Peacewalker by Xeperpharos
Salt from that which no man is.
Stepping without stones - gentle ripples - generations.
Blurred horizon's fluid faults.
A song of circles glimmering
In bloody viking voice,
Revitalized in vulnerability.
The deafening sound of letting go
An Ex-SOLDIER (yeah... in my head)
Cherishes what's been lost.
Placid omens in what is golden.
Visions through the shattered crystal...
Fading timelines of outdated star-maps.
Accepting the paradox of Nineteen Eighty Four
"War is peace" (yeah... in my head)
Cannibalistic Cygnus Ouroboros
Digesting clippings in salted footprints...
catharsis.i.catharsis. by 91816119
The devil watched me dreaming,
kissed my wrists
and painted my lips with blood.
I bartered for my place in heaven,
but I was buried too deep
to be heard.
He pushed me
out to sea and I
valiantly tried to drown.
ScanvengersLike a murder of crowsScanvengers by SilverWynd
in vulture black,
scavengers of the soul,
eaters of the most tender
of the heart,
they flock merciless,
a cackle laugh,
it always ends with
road kill, death
for a calling card,
usually slow moving
agony to be savored,
they are the ones who forget
the pain and bitter tears,
after the feast,
once they picked it all bone clean
and they have reaped
others can pay the price,
of life and dignity
so cruel the collateral damagea village like one from Christmas filmsso cruel the collateral damage by alapip
meets tragedy, triggered by demons unknown.
tears in his eyes, the Governor says,
"your children will not be coming home".
lungs compress to a critical mass;
grief disperses the fallout far.
parents, stumbling, come to know,
where children were, now angels are.
we cannot suppose how others feel,
but as i age these empathies hurt,
sifting with time, settling in,
shared sorrows smother my hesitant heart.
the trolls toll this again today;
how 'craven' bespeaks of the NRA.
llp - dA - dec2012
Dear Little LightsDear Little Lights,Dear Little Lights by pullingcandy
You never knew me. You didn't know that I existed on the same planet as you, you were too small to understand the scope of the Earth. You lived in your secluded and sheltered circle of friends and family, as children do, merry and healthy, bright and focused. Not one of you had even an inkling that there was such a great, wide world, ready to be explored, and now, you never will. Tragically, unlawfully, disturbingly, you have each one of you been removed from the painting, inked out and painted over before you achieved any of your hopes and dreams. You will not be able to close your eyes and wait patiently for the day you grow up, the day you will marry, the day you in turn will hold a tiny, squirming body waiting for a name, so their light may shine.
You were taken before you were able to create lives for yourselves. And while you'll never get the chance to meet me, never be able to allow me the pleasure of holding your hands, or listening to your favorite bedtime
sunlightBefore the sun could rise, we returned from the Eastsunlight by goose-fat
And brought back golden gongs for our golden frescoes.
We were too alive to sleep, too enormous to tame,
And shook with the poverty that came suddenly with winter,
Calling and yawning, like stray cats out on the street;
When the sun came at last, and gorged itself on the fabric
Of skin, hair, and speech, we ran back, back, back
From our dreams of God, and the last flight left
Before we could even catch it; out on the road,
The world gave us tricks, offering leaves, blossoms, and other
Things as green as our blunders, while we called
For golden hands on our throats, a golden
Smell in the air, and the crackle of
Sunlight to consume our waning fires, amen.
A Heeling HeirTo’ve sweet o’ercome the bitter, and warmth the cold,A Heeling Heir by Lady-Rosaline
I would bear the bitter cold gladly,
For the hurt we trade, a return tenfold
In happiness to share we shall receive.
My mirth and merriment are yours to nourish;
Like children on their mothers, their lives depend,
Who without maternal love are doomed to perish—
Their broken lives too shattered to mend.
There’s much for which I wish to thank you,
But I 've far too much to be gracious for.
And the confines of these lines allow only two,
But two my heart and soul do outpour.
Forgiving me without want of recompense;
For giving me the strength to move my pen.
Mea CulpaMea CulpaMea Culpa by Klei-Brandybear
- the fault is mine.
You're here again, my beloved. Staring down at the letters etched mechanically into white stone. Does the mere sight of my name wound you so? Were these letters what caused your face to twist into such anguish? The thought alone is a poisoned blade to my heart.
I'd go for you, I said. I told you I'd fight for you. That I'd fought to protect you. But maybe I was blinded like all the rest. Maybe... Maybe, even though you took the time and effort to caution me so, even though you risked facing wrath to warn me so... Maybe, I was blinded like all the rest.
I believed, you know? Believed in the glorified words they sprouted, believed that we were infallible. We were regaled with tales of victory and spoils, and of bringing peace while wielding the title of heroes. I believed in those words, and I believed in our cause. So I went. And I brought you with me.
We were gallant warriors, you and I. Though, we couldn't have been more different in our bat
Grape HyacinthsYears ago, in late winter,
you tried to make your sad mommy happy
by clipping off the purple heads
of the grape hyacinths
that grew near the bottom of the stairs
to our front door
the only spots of color
in the bleak landscape
that comprised both my heart
and the frigid world.
I still see you, as if frozen:
your turned-up, hopeful face;
the green and white sweater that you wore.
You wanted to put summer in a box for me.
Hollow and angry, I turned away.
I sobbed in my bedroom,
my back hard against the wooden door.
I cried for your dashed dreams,
the fact that I could not be the mother you needed,
and for the cut-short life of the pretty blossoms.
So watch me.
When my time comes, I'll die
just as crocuses force their way through the frozen earth.
I always was contrary.
Forgive me, then, for what I was not;
take a trowel in hand and plant grape hyacinths for me.
And when they bloom, don't hesitate:
clip their tops off.
Put summer in a box.
Somehow, I have to return it to you.
LuckyMicah brought The Dog home a month ago, leading it by a jumprope he'd tied around its ragged collar. He knelt beside it, begging to keep it, promising he'd take care of it, holding onto Nehemiah's pant leg when he stepped closer to inspect the mongrel for fleas. "Miah, look, he needs me."
It was an ugly terrier with bulging eyes and missing teeth, a bloated belly and thick scars around its eyes. Nehemiah suspected it was blind, and he knew it had worms. The Dog puked on the carpet, and they were writhing in its bile. Nehemiah gathered paper towels and bleach from the kitchen while Micah pet The Dog. "We can't keep it," he told Micah, counting the dying parasites, wondering if vomit was supposed to be yellow. "Dad isn't going to let you keep it."
He was wrong. Dad came home and fell in love, stumbling to greet The Dog, kissing its face and rubbing its ears. He was drunk and said it looked like Macy, a fluffy mutt Nehemiah kept before Mom left and took her with.
The Dog looked not
|More Journal Entries|