White petals furl and wither on oil-spill dark asphalt. It is Florida, after all and the closest we get to snow is that early spring froth that bubbles, white and creamy, after a storm. petals knocked free from Dogwoods and ornamental pears, our closest thing to snow Is somewhere between life and death; blooms torn down from their home with an in-like-a-lion storm. Beautiful before browning and becoming the earth again those suds disappear as rapid as they spring forth
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
guys, it rhymes. It's a terrible rhyme scheme, but it rhymes.
Lucky Cats
China, glazed China-made china cat gaze- paw raised
Jaded green, cream, lavender dream all three grin back at me
wish for luck, kiss for luck rub their little paws for luck china cats look vacant, get stuck
staring up at you nothing else to do not what they're used to it all started anew from their point of view and now its true- they wish no luck onto you
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
5/30 It's like a door closed, but glowing and back-lit, whispers and beckons with a sensuous sort of stirring emotion. The tiles call out, there's nothing, but my feet still patter onwards to some secret which pulsates electric and fierce as I stride into the conception of darkness itself.
There's so much more potential in a closed door than one wide open.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
Azaleas blaze forth, suddenly in realization of the majestic import they hold. I don't remember signs of anything in between- no clutched buds fretful of tomorrow just nothing followed by the tumultuous everything reminiscent of the knowledge that one day I'll see something beautiful in a mirror after so many thousands of empty reflections.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
Astronomy Stuccoed walls with loud interjections- orange and green, heady as the laughing bubble of latin music. To struggle against the mocking promises flushed red crescent moons weeping glowing, always tearing outwards to join the onslaught. They rise with the pull of nails passing over skin and never set.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
Ineffable His fingers wrap about my wrist, tips my hand until it spills across the table to him, diaphenous skin chalked up blue with veins, darkening against his inexorable fingers. Slow, almost tenderly sliding away to uncover the paper my hand perched upon. His fingers rest right at the juncture, above the thrumming of my being and I hope that he can't hear how my body hums and buzzes for a continuation of that nearness, hope he can't feel the song that bubbles further and higher before escaping between my lips aloft a sigh. Then the touch is gone all too quick yet not quite soon enough.
Last edited by rhiasofia on Thu Apr 10, 2014 9:22 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
Rhia! All of these poems, I can pluck out a line or two and just melt it in it. Here are just a few of my thoughts:
Paired - Loving the pair-of-lines form, I especially like how normally when we see pairs of lines we think couplets, but I like the choice you made here in indenting it because it sort of strikes me like: This is different from a couplet. Seriously, it's difficult to get me drooling on choice of frame XD
Steeled - Awww. That last line <3 So warm and cute despite the "coldness" that steel sort of evokes.
White petals - beautiful imagery here, and voice!
Closed Door- pooh I love this one, its got an interesting premise behind it:more potential in a closed door than one wide open, and I love how you leave it open ended and allow the reader to think upon the meaning of it.
Thanks so much Audy! It's great to hear your encouragement.
Ohmygosh, you're the first one to say anything about the fact that it's called Paired and is in lines of two! That makes me so happy, I actually thought about the structure and didn't get any reaction until now. Yay!
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
Show me I'm more than just an enigma; show me some sweet chaous to the ticking of me, roll the gears, play me out of context with your own mysteries. Show me what to love about bombardment of skin to skin without chagrin. Map out holistic motions across my skin's atlas, so I might remember how you move and contrive the same reel to spin onwards, flicker crepuscular memories over quiet movie screens when you're gone. Show me once more, beckon before I forget, or worse still, linger only at the penumbra of your being shadow-cast, alone to watch you darken, be forgotten. Remind me, once more.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
--No matter how hard I try to convince myself, the world -hasn't stopped turning - --It refuses -------to give up its message; look- the Chickadees play, they know ------that they are your favorite. -------It's just for you that -----------------------------they swirl -----------------------------------------into -----------your self-imposed ----------------------silence, ---------------diffusing their -----childish laughter like honey into vinegar; they sweeten the bitterness - look- -a dandelion bobs -as the wind turns about but ----------it doesn't want to fluff its feathers out yet it waits for you, nodding --and calling, -------make a wish just -------wish it all away
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
you gave me up first, but perhaps I accepted it too soon. Red-rimmed eyes replay memories of us before single-handedly turning this tub into a brackish body of water which you just sailed right out of.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds ~E. E. Cummings
