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Showing posts from November, 2013

November 30th.

Falling Collapsing Disappearing Overlapping Everything is ending and I can't believe I took no notice to the tremors my earth so willingly bore;
Running Racing Turning Facing Everything is changing and I can't believe it took so long and so much away from me.

November 29th.

I think  it's important to remember oneself  in times such as these when the rage of companies proceeds and commercialism crushes our dreams.
I think it's crucial to recall the days of old when stories were told  by fire, not an iPad, safe from the frosty cold.

November 28th.

Colored like the leaves eyes golden like the harvest moon and the strangest tilt of the head as it turns towards the rising sun; fabled to be something wise, well much wiser than I, and all the perfect nighttime songs in the brawny blackened skies.

November 27th.

People say nothing happens here but I think if you look really closely  into the eye of the storm, just past the glare of sunlight on wet pavement, you'll see something else hidden under all this small town grime and you'll smile when you realize we're not so bad after all.

"Free Range" XD (November 26th.)

Hey little buddy but did you know you got a lot of freedom there and you got a lot to show
You're looking pretty cute there not all cooped up in your coop, free to do and roam as you please in your giddy gobbling group
Enjoy it while it lasts the day's almost here pull yourself together birdies freedom is followed by fear



November 25th.

I suppose it wasn't all that bad; After all It was a time of exquisite faith and luxuries not many could obtain and fate was on our side and we saw double rainbows wherever we went, lighting up a jet black sky that was kept hidden like a firefly in a painted jar, a secret figment among our many dreams.

November 24th.

We had the best times, moments so good I had to cry remembering how grand it felt to hug a cloud to scuba dive into that thing called happiness and recall that storyteller on the rooftops; like a dream of the past, but it was real oh how it was real.

November 23rd.

I know it may be silly, the little things I do  I shake and quake and lose my wake in your pale and narrow view
And I suppose I should have known all along what was right Inside my heart I pondered life and debated fight or flight;
But soon something came to me and whispered in my ear: "Excuse me, my dear, but you really don't belong here."
I know I don't belong, Here is not where I should be and yet I linger on with the hopes you'll come to save me.

November 22nd

You're cooped up in your own little world of kaleidoscopes and ideograms, a ten inch eclipse just above your nose the last place you'd think to look But it's always there Just out of reach And though you'll never see it directly, some day it will catch the light just right as your casket is lowered into the ground.

November 21st.

upon her skin light as a cloud drops of water lie clinging to the surface of wax paper and dreams and things that never were and everything in between; above her head gravity takes control pressing hard against the cavern of a crow's cracking cranium with nothing to stop it; and it hurts and it fills, the soft drip-drop of rain the only thing left to maintain her sanity.

November 20th.

The world is an orb And for good reason too Allowing it to absorb, its form large and blue;
There isn't much lack in its perfect physique, Constantly on track in an endless mystique.
The world is a sphere Always revolving true While its inhabitants revere, it regenerates anew;
It takes some time And lots of needed space Many a hurried rhyme Saved by one perfect face
And in all the despair, Whatever it comes to be It continues its circle Through the hope of destiny.

November 19th.

There is nothing like it: the soft, nurturing touch The caress of thumb against cheek, wiping away the tears of many years ahead and behind; The flutter of eyelash to skin, fresh and soft like the silk bonnet and the fluffed downy sheets;
Everything important in the world curled up cozily, and life's most precious belongings cuddled up in a cloud.

November 18th.

I changed my mind I take it all back I don't want to be a bother Or maybe I didn't I can't quite remember; But if it upsets you, then leave If it pleases you, you can stay I won't mind as long as you find something has finally gone your way.

November 17th.

What's missing? Is it light? Is it dark? Something to ignite the spark, to start the fission Is it perhaps, the good? The bad? The things which we cannot see The moon The sun Flames hovering above the sea?

November 16th.

There is a moment whenAll that we wished for came true And we laughed  And we sang And it was perfection; If only for a few measly minutes We got our chance at fame Our chance at glee and excite From the deepest of blacks To the brightest of whites; And yes It was a mere fifteen minutes: The half-way point In between one and two Where everything falls upon us Like heavy rain washing away our woes.

November 15th.

"What is the meaning of life?" You ask, as if it is so simple, as if the answer will be given to you on a platter wrapped in red ribbon.
The answer, however, is so blindingly inconvenient that you can hardly process what any of it means;
You spend so long searching it devours you and takes everything you held with it.
Someday you'll come back to the chaos you recall and sniff indignantly at it and the thoughts it made you think and what it felt like to feel

and perhaps you'll ask yourself:
"What is the meaning of me?"

November 14th.

Push the borders
but take your time
you don't need to worry;
All your woes will soon disperse
leaving you on your own
in a land of mystery
romance
and dreams the size of canyons
and things you have not yet seen,
but take your time
do not worry;
Don't forget yourself.

November 13th.

They think they are exempt from thought
As if that makes any sense to this earth;
Like the things in this world that cannot be bought
Are nothing more than the street lights they stride beneath;
And they continue to boast about how perfect perfection seems
And they continue to wonder why they feel so alone;
For all the gold in the world that constantly teems,
And for the sins they will never atone.
In this world they were brought up 
And it is here where they reside
In this place they've come to be corrupt
Where faiths break and hopes collide;
Where angels cry out in disbelief,
Where shame engulfs them as they delve
Towards the demons that writhe in a cluttered wreath
And scream in frustration: "Go! Save yourselves!"

November 12th.

I laughed,  expecting my world to grow and expand around me and everything I loved
I grinned from ear to ear as if nothing was wrong, because at the time everything felt perfect
I stopped when I returned home that night, my face splotched with makeup and my hair a fluffy mess
I frowned as I realized what had happened, what I had missed, what dark depressing corners I had avoided for so long
I cried, feeling the world collapse against me, and I floated half-heartedly back to my bed, where
I stayed for what seemed to be the longest time.

November 11th.

There are some people in this world with their heads stuck in the ground; like ostriches they sit, dumbfounded, creatures of the earth, constantly digging for precariously precious metals.
And then there's us:
The people in this world with their heads up in the clouds; we sway back and forth like giraffes with our elongated necks high and proud because we're so very sure of our dreams, the small intangible things that are ever so endearing to our round drooping eyes.

November 10th.

What is this? This syrupy song, engulfing me in something fresh, something new  yet rather ancient to the unknown past;
A saccharine symphony, dancing across the pages of a nectarous novel, spectacular in all its oblivion;
Brings back memories I've never even seen, moments I do not know of and stories that can never be retold but will always be dressed in gold.
What is this? This sugary shape, this sweetened spell enticing me to a world of daydreams I have not yet foreseen.

November 9th.

The other me:A loud creature, Perpetually placed out of her own time In a streak of moonlight  Among specs of ash in the glare; Eyes burning silver Instead of gold, Replaced by the fear she's been living in for much too long.
The other me: Mature, stable Ready for everything and anything the world throws at her, Happy when she fails because she knows it means she's trying.
The other me: A wise girl, With the fate of her own world Tucked safely in her arms Wrapped up like a baby, and she knows every wrinkle and crevice, every stroke of blush upon the skin; paint on a perfect canvas, a seamless shape of winter white glistening in the summer sun.

November 8th.

I go with the flow  of lines and grooves carved into the earth I pass by often though you don't always see me I have a talent of being invisible, unknown to the world yet so very essential.
I bare no life
yet I create it all the time
from nothing
it appears,
and I cradle it in my swaying arms.

I am the barer of energy,
the keeper of mystery and myth and truth. I am the solevent of souls
and substances of the like
that linger in the depths;
I am the blood and bone of the earth, the life and death of everything.

November 7th.

I walk through a barren cave yet it's well-lit  so brightly it burns
I do not like it here much anymore not like I used to  when the walls were laced with promise;
But blame lingers in the corners of the walls and regret devours the windowpanes, and the dust clouds under the tables and the dirt and grime encrusted upon everything,
like it was never new never anything special just a simple place a simple grave dug by those who walk there every day mulched by an unknown specimen whose name is a mystery to the world.

November 6th.

Some of their faces light up when they see me It's exciting, I know But I must remember it is not entirely me they react to, but the knowledge that comes with me: a package, perfectly presented and well-contained, ever flowing but never seeping.
Sometimes I think it is so very worth it To see things that can never be unseen To see children, among many reveling in the glory of knowing, dreaming in the essence of growing;
And I feel like my plan is whole, forever leveling out the auspicious wonders of my youth and projecting them into generations of daydreamers, class clowns and the like.

November 5th.

I'm laughing (I'm crying) I'm having a good time (Can I leave yet?) Everything is perfect (This is ridiculous) I wouldn't change a thing (Oh, but I would)
I feel so alive (My body is a shell) Turn up the music (Just turn it off) I could run like this forever (I think I'll just sleep...)
I'm excited for the future (I hate thinking about it) It's so close I can taste it (It's bitter) I can see the light on the horizon (It's blinding) I love it (I hate it)
When can I go (back?)

November 4th.

Cool to the touch
Your skin burns like flame Hide yourself from the world when you want nothing more than to be alone. Empty yourself of woes Secrete all of your secrets your hidden dreams your words of wisdom your songs of sorrow your pain and your worry and your most glorious revelations;
Full of lies Mostly pale, Transluscent to the untrained eyes, And mostly lullabies of an illustrious past and a deluded present of muddled murmurs and bad dreams of starry nights and egg yolk mornings of liquescent limbs tangled in linen sheets, and of what comes after: a little something sweet.

November 3rd.

It smelled like dust the last time I was there
And nothing made sense; Boxes upon boxes
Of nothing at all And the sense that it would all be over Soon
But I didn't want it to be I didn't want it to end
Pale voices shook the clouds of dust away And I was too fragile to realize then that I was as peculiar and frail as the china dolls on the shelves, as the worn down photos hung upon the walls, so small; but I suppose we all are sometimes...

November 2nd.

Far too many days  Have been labeled as tragedies Which supposedly makes us stronger But I feel As though the world has been ripped apart Torn to shreds, We are weak, And some cannot even see The danger that is creeping upon us The anger that lurks around us; I wish there was something I could do Something other than being furious For who is angry enough To fall back into the shadows All alone with no one to help them back out?

November 1st.

Today, my English teacher shared with me a challenge he was partaking in from someone else's blog. (Credit goes to this fellow: http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs//poetic-asides)

The challenge is simple: write a poem a day, every day in November.

My response: Challenge accepted.

So, without further ado, here is my first poem for the first day of November~



There is nothing more mighty than your smile, The warmth in your eyes Liquid gold Kerosene Your laugh a spark to ignite the flame Your touch so gentle and serene. If I appear ungrateful, It is because I am shy; But if you appear before me, I will look into your eyes And catch you up on lost time: Something we've had a lot of, And show you the deepest dreams The darkest desires And the pain that fills the cracks; Someday we'll get it all back.