[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

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Venom(Enter BANE and KROVIS, hurried and in deep conversation)

BANE: One has yet accused me of ill content.

KROVIS: Well 't would seem you house such cruel a nature to hold ill content.

BANE: Does 't seem so?

KROVIS: Ay, and ill content enough to kill a man.

BANE: (aside) Mine tongue does betray me. Quiet now, when too much speech threatens to betray thee, conceal thy venom for later purpose, sheath thy blade till bidden by the victim's pulse in range. There is only rage for vengeance in a heart troubled with the guilts and grievances of the mind. Jealousy does thee a cruel number of infirmities on your judgments.
-to kill a man? Good friend

Goodnight Alice ::Finale::Panic set in to the point where she didn't care, she rushed and half ran through the labyrinth of cloth and smoke, no walls or doors to be found as if the room was never ending. Her hands ripped and tore at the curtains, turning about in dizzying circles searching for something, anything other than the red, red, red everywhere! She felt her sanity slipping into the dark depths of panic and chaos, her legs trying to buckle beneath her as she darted first one way then the other. No longer bothering with silence she screamed and screamed, calling for help from anyone who'd listen, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper, hitching with sobs and r

Goodnight Alice ::part 3::The shot was so sudden Monica hardly had a chance to flinch, throwing herself against the door and falling forward onto a dark stairwell landing. She felt the tug of the bullet as it ripped through the fabric of her dress, mercifully missing her leg. Scrabbling frantically, she rolled onto her back, kicking hurriedly at the door to shut it, catching a final glimpse of Peter's deranged expression before the door slammed into place.

Everything was happening so quickly now, Monica threw caution to the winds, survival instinct really kicking in. Clawing her way along what felt like cold concrete she managed to find a wall in the darkness, clingi

Goodnight Alice ::part 2::"Oh don't worry about him, dear. We don't need him. We don't need either of them, do we? No. no…all we need is each other, Alice."

Monica shuddered, tearing her gaze from the body to stare at him in terror, her body slow to react and really register what she'd just seen.

"wh-who…who?" she cringed, her own voice sounding awful, scratching and raw like sandpaper scraping together.

The man just watched her with the most frightening eyes she'd ever seen, his gaze the color of aged whiskey, the insanity clear in his expression.

"Who? Wh-what? Don't tell me you don't remember…me…" a muscle ticked under one of his eyes as the

There Once Was a DoctorThis was it
It had to be
The end that had been whispering
Taunting and plotting against him
Fate's final wish to watch him squirm
Watch him waste away at his own hand
He fell to his knees, his weapon unexpected
No noose or gun
The barrel not metal but glass
The deceitful mouth of a bottle
Housing no bullets but poison
To fester in his blood.
The acidic brew that burns
With each mouthful
Searing trails through his body
And bringing tears to his eyes.

He sat there in the snow
The cold biting at exposed skin
That hungered for warmth
Hungered for comfort no longer living
Faded eyes, confused and weary,
They search for faces l

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Lost

by ~JokerSpawn, Jan 10, 2011, 9:41:58 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

You know that feeling when you've lost something? Where you had it one moment, then the next it's gone. The opaque in-between is lost to you even if you strive to retrace your steps, and in the end you still remain. The bloodstained sheets welcome you with an inescapable sense of shame that you don't fully understand. The empty room mocks you with its cold silence, leaving you alone as you ever were before, but missing what you once had. Not quite sure, but willing to guess, you wont be finding it again.

Lostby ~JokerSpawn

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Short something i thought up earlier. i can hardly see my screen at this point so if it's janky, that's my excuse.

i had no idea where to put it, cause it's not really poetry but i dunno what else to really...shove it under...help me...

~Mono1990 Jan 12, 2011

hmmm....

~JokerSpawn Jan 13, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

i take contemplation as a good sign.

~Mono1990 Jan 13, 2011

lol.

~TGfascinated Jan 11, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Hmmm... it's kind of a monologue..

Kind of creepy, but kinda not... there's several ways I can interpret this... I'm haunted by it (which means I like it).

~JokerSpawn Jan 11, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

monologue? *still doesn't know where to put it*

oddly enough i thought it up last night before i went to sleep. not exactly the best thoughts to go to sleep with.
i'm glad you like it! and thank you for the fave my dear friend.

~TGfascinated Jan 11, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

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