Oh, Glory

Note to self: clean pie from air vents.

The First.

smile strangely

I’ll write you a song; the measures will be too
long and the notes will probably clash in the worst places—
diminished and augmented, a musical
identity crisis—but
you’ll love it all the same because you’re so sweet in your judgment.
But it’ll be simple, too, without fragrant verbs and nouns because
you were always so simple when you smiled, and there’s
no sense in trying to better you when you’re so beautiful,
so bright.

And I’ll write about our great adventures,
about the time we sat and told stories from our
Facebook pictures, and made fun of my goofy smile.

The music will suddenly become so soft and resolute, and
I’ll sing about how sweet your nose was when I missed your lips
because I don’t write in beautiful words and I smile so strangely,
so differently.

The Second.

identity crisis

I yearn
to be more honest among the ashes,
to find a deeper truth in the broken glass.
And yet it's the boundless fury,
the ominous droll so much like the gasp
of a heavy bass, the languish of
ten thousand empty skulls;

they all have stories, they all
have truths.

But the truth behind these eyes is broken,
lacerated and left to breathe apart
at its core. It says it can't
love outside, or love inside. It can't gasp
at pain or revel in any victory.

It's unbridled nothingness--
the dirge of an identity.

This is the best I've seen of you. I look forward to the rest of the month.

The Third.

karma blaze

Karma says she's a dancer, that
she learned the tango from the devil himself;
the weave of her footsteps across the floor sets
fire to the oak like funeral pyres.
And Karma has eyes like a viper, slits
in the soul like
candlelight flickering in the dining room;
the fire is consciousness and the breeze,
the breeze is her wickedness.

I would sell my soul, too, if i could just
step-back-side-side out of these burning
constraints:
____pain
________and
____________passivity.

And like the charred
whiskers of a
dandelion in a forest fire,
all of it can blow away,
melt like decaying
wax on the ballroom floor.

MISTER Loomypants. Good (insert time of day here) to you. I'm going to talk a bit on your lovely third poem, as you know. Sorry it too me so long since our morning conversation. >.<

Karma says she's a dancer, that
she learned the tango from the devil himself;
the weave of her footsteps across the floor sets
fire to the oak like funeral pyres.

I love this-- you said that the first phrase is one of the things that inspired this piece, and it's a fabulous phrase. However, I like what comes after it even more. I think that the third line presents a little bit of wordiness, especially in "across the floor". You could probably remove the phrase altogether, though if you like it, keep it in and you can simply reword it.
I wasn't entirely sure about funeral pyres at first, but I think it's the type of imagery that is gorgeous when you really think about it, while at first glance it may seem lazy or something. So.. great job. c:
Nitpick: colon rather than semi-colon?

And Karma has eyes like a viper, slits
in the soul like
candlelight flickering in the dining room;
the fire is consciousness and the breeze,
the breeze is her wickedness.

Love the imagery in here-- however, I'm having trouble with the difference in the tones and emotions that they reflect. I generally take imagery involving snakes to be very cold and metallic feeling and candlelight as very warm light-- the two tones kind of clash, especially when you're using one to describe another.

Nitpick: Towards the beginning you say "in the soul" which sounds really neutral-- I think that if you were to say "her" soul, it would feel much more personal.

I would sell my soul, too, if i could just
step-back-side-side out of these burning
constraints:
____pain
________and
____________passivity.

I wasn't as crazy about this stanza; I didn't really get the "step-back-side-side" thing, and it felt a bit too stretched out to me. Also, I know that the "pain and passivity" thing is something that helped you start this poem, but compared to the rest of it, it's quite, well... passive. It's too weak, even with the emphasis in structure. Otherwise, great job. I really like the first line especially.

And like the charred
whiskers of a
dandelion in a forest fire,
all of it can blow away,
melt like decaying
wax on the ballroom floor.

So, this is beautiful; however, it feels too disconnected. Specify. Be sure that we can relate this directly to one thing and visualize this imagery involved in that thing. Right now, this feels a bit long-winded-- maybe you can resolve that with an "and" before melt rather than a comma, but some rewording may be in order instead.


So. You already know I love this. Just some thoughts above. Great work, Mr. Lumpy.

The Fourth.

roulette

I dream that those words would ripple out
in waves,
so soft and gentle as if they were made of fresh snow.
I think I would do nothing but smile the moment you
tell me that you care enough to be simple,
and I'd wonder if you'd be willing to give it all up:
hand over the keys to everything just
for a game of chance.

I dream that we'd buy apples,
together in a bizarre. And maybe we've found a place
in India or among the oil where we will end up.
And I imagine that they taste so brilliant and ripe,
and yet I will hate them because I play
a game of comparisons with you:
your lips to an apple, your voice to the seaward breeze.

Everything, everything is so nice until
you scratch our record, decay the sound into a
hum. And I wonder if you realize what you're chancing
between your lips when you kiss him, the dreams
you're risking beneath his belt loops.
It's all exciting, I know--more than an apple and a smile,
but to the selfish undeserving me,

his lips are the moment when your sheets
catch you after you've fallen from your dreams;
his kiss is the sweat behind a nightmare.

Stop making me so jealous with your godly writing skill whatnots.
Not fair. :c

The Fifth.

camisado

I was floating--dreaming of sailing among galactic clouds. The
aubergine gleam of beginnings brought tears like salt water
from my pores. And I stretched out my hands, an orphan pining
for a mother's kiss, and tugged down the hem of the sky.
And like Isaiah, my lips began to burn from hot coals:
embers of nebulous fire licked beneath my belly.
I shirked against the blaze and breathed in the gasp
of space; tiny slits of light slipped through like blood
from a razor wound. And when I opened my eyes,
grasped the cool of our bedsheets, I found the stain
of your lips where skin should be--
a hundred supernovas sunken against my body.

Lovely.
More on this later.

Lumi and Sadbox both use supernova(e) in their last poems. Inspiration or working together?

Spoiler

Dad's in the ER. I don't care about this piece, but it happened. Day six and all that.

The Sixth.

this is how we fall apart

We cry: I want to feel you move, hear your
breath move the folds of your throat. I dream
of you passing, vanishing from touch as a
cadaver drawn from a forgotten tomb,
dusty and decaying.

We cry for angels, for the kiss of seraphs like
falling rain on worn skin. And I cry out that I miss you,
that I regard your final day as a wicked milestone,
a trap set by stronger forces. We cry with our eyes closed,
graphite to paper as mourning breathes art into life; this is
beautiful breaking, the pains of the psalmist.

We cry out like wolves in the taiga, yearning for the essence
beyond ourselves, for the departed brother we've
long forgotten. We cry like rivers from a glacier, suddenly
free from our physical captivity, free to follow into the dark.
This is the breaking of strongholds, the release of bondage
to the heavy-laden.

This is a cry of departure yet to come, a preemptive
catharsis for what lies beyond the bend.

I'm so sorry. Hope things work out.

Spoiler

This is the breaking of strongholds, the release of bondage
to the heavy-laden.

This is simple & therefore gorgeous. All the props in the world to you that you manage to pull off beautiful poetry like this when you're distracted. True writer? I think so.

<3

Catharsis? Really?
I was just telling chat how I've been trying to write a poem based around that word for four days now, and failing miserably.
-_-

The Seventh.

Spoiler

Two things:

1. It's a rough-and-not-completed-or-refined song because I'm busy.
2. Yes, Nightshade, I'll give you chords.

brighter
in 6/8

vi
glory, glory
oh, how i miss your smiling face
but sleep softly, soundly
i'll wake you when the sun returns
tomorrow

c
so hang on until tomorrow
the night won't last too long
but stay with me
i'll keep you safe inside

vii
you shine brighter, brighter
more stunning than the diamond sky
like waters, living waters
you must move on and not look back
tomorrow

c
but wait until tomorrow
the night won't last too long
and if you stay with me
i'll keep you safe inside

b
until tomorrow when you leave
you'll steal the sun from me
but i'll wait until the day breaks
to see you shining brighter,
shining brighter than me