[x]

dark spaces

Dark Spaces

                We quarreled it away all those
muggy summer nights when the reflections
of train lights blazed in the river.  Hours
after the fact we bit our lips until they were
white under our teeth –
                                 we tried too late to
catch those words up in between our sheets;
we were frantic with it but I think we knew
even then that they were tacked to the sky
with the stars.

It is gone.
                Now I will hold the sheets to your
lips when you try to speak.  I will shut my eyes
to the dark spaces between the stars.  Safely
encased in our closed drapes and covers, I will
lie awake at

songs about slumber

I.

our city is a bed

.

a man tries to straighten the wrinkled
sheet of road – gives up, sits down,
pans the street for change

.

the apartment building thrusts, phallic,
making love to an empty sky. a burst
of pigeons coo shut up shut up

.

a boy tries to fall asleep. his nightlight
is a myth that burns out once a day

.

the girl walks off her roof

.

.

our city is not a mattress

.

mondaymornings are important
to the poem. sometimes it
has to struggle toward Monday
and the house has to be cleaned.
it hardly has time to think of you.
it needs bagels for strength
and caffeine for the tangled mess
of words, strewn about like cheese
doodles locked in battle position
on the floor. the air is stale.

it will unearth suitcases full
of past. read chapters of history
written on cracked luggage tags.
it will want to stop because its
allergies are flaring. the flotsam
and jetsam of the mess is getting
in the way of the poem. it becomes
impatient and contemplates whiskey
and a cigarette mid afternoon.

it will di

Along the Starglass PathShe became a lakeside
chameleon rising
out of water--mouth parted;
breaths of words
plunging down her chin.
Skin crusted
with deep blues
(the water had sunk
cerulean-green tentacles into them
eons ago,)
and when she opened her lips to speak,
the breeze
grew silent.
Because it knew her voice
might never be heard again.

“Why have you come here?”

Hopelessness and watery eyelids.
Shut out by violent
waves of foreboding mists;
swirling against the
crests of waves pulled
by tender moons.

They did not sing to him
like seductive sirens laying
on her shores like pretty,
beac

Dressing “Yesterday," you said, "I went through my closet and paired a tie with each one of my shirts."
You seemed pleased, and Siera smiled a little.
"I've got one whole room just to get dressed in," you added. “Since Danah moved out,” you didn't.
She wanted to hug you, but couldn't - it was a rule, kind of. No hugging, no kissing. Not since she moved out. It was implied.
So you sat with her on the couch, and tempted Berkeley to sit between you. The cat took up a lot of room, but your fingers brushed hers along the long, narrow expanses of tabby-stripe.
"So, hey. Thanks."
"Please don't say

Katuatagoing out with her
was like World War One, except
it was over by Christmas

Far AwaySometimes we grow up like this:
gyroscopic, like sunflowers, our faces turning
towards the sun. And the sun is more than a ball
of burning gas. The sun is warm and bright
and alive. And we are warm and bright and alive.

I am no bloom. Wings do not rely
on the kindness of strangers. But sometimes they will tell you
that people aren’t things you can own.
They will tend to the flowers, they will lean into the garden,
prune dead leaves and reshape
innocent bushes. Their sweat will drip into
your faces, my glittering lilies, my lonely and cynical roses,
and they will tell you how to
come into your own. They will say the wo

Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.

r

Never Give Love a NameNever Give Love a Name

i.

the Chachapoyas did not call
themselves the Chachapoyas

this name an invention
by the Incas the history

of the Chachapoyas recorded
in ruins fragments

of bowls tombs
tucked in mountain cliffs

ii.

breath caught in the throat
erodes the lungs scratches

against the empty caves
left by the ribs the broken

bowl of a shoulder blade
twisted bridge of the neck

that can no longer be crossed
ridges of the spine

a chipped necklace
memories of a kiss embalmed tucked

in the folds of an ear
now there is only this

only this the body

Grazing Dinosaurs. For ShameSee here.  She moves
like something's missing, like in a dream
of things primordial, long-tailed scooted dinosaurs
that skulk around the bushes.  Shame.

To wonder why the next who speaks
repeats the thing you said, recieves
the gentle laugh.  To think
to chit-chat.
Just be content
that no-one speaks and swinging
tails of horseshoe crabs avoid
your legs.

Out there the whales collide with ships, the kraken
dance.  My love whose ears are just like shells,
I hear the ocean pressed against them, knows.
The fairies hate a liar and a thief.

My love whose eyes are alabaster knows.

You've plump

I Dont Dot My I's With Hearts Loving you is like trying to accept the taste of aftershave in your mouth when you accidentally take a swig of it instead of the hidden vodka.

You manage to choke back the tears as it slides down your throat, fingers groping the sink while you debate to dial 911 or take a few more sips. The vine-like liquid has only begun to initiate contact with the part of your brain that says itmightbetoolate. Your eyes stagger to the bottle you had wanted to drain a moment ago--it was empty anyways. Fuck.

Fear gets the better of you as your newborn legs manage to ground themselves in front of your cellphone and your fingers dance across the keypad. Yo

Lake WindermereWe are sometime tourists,
forever wanderers
in open topped buses
tie-dyed amongst Mercedes’.
Stringy haired,
smelling of campfire smoke,
our pockets filled with menthol cigarettes,
tin whistles,
and skipping stones.
We find ourselves
basking in the glow of laughter
under the dripdrip
of cave music.
Beers and sticky chocolate bars
fill our tattered canvas bags,
alongside leather flip flops,
discarded for bare footed expeditions
amongst spiders
bloodchilling streams
and daisy chains.

Goldenrod Skiesi dream of us
getting lost,
in the field overgrown with wildflowers.
each a brilliant, shining, golden gleam
that reflected off your eyes,
and made me think of endless skies
and the touch of your lips to mine.

a never ending dream,
the fractured fairytale of us:
that got us lost in each others arms for hours
until all our breath was each others names,
and the wistless wind
carried them for miles and miles.

and the only witness to our
sometimes sins
was the sun and cloudy stars above.
our heads, pillowed on the earthy dampness
the smell of goldenrod in our heads
and the sweetness of honeysuckle on our lips.

i dream of us
ge

February 2009 Haiku-Wrimo1.

winter rain-
an old pot fills
with moonlight

2.

sunrise...
birdsong falling
from the mountain

3.

just in time
for the newborn-
snow flurries!

4.

gang signs
on the old church door...
winter deepens

5.

stillness...
a cloud
of white breath

6.

deep
in the raven's cry-
southern drawl

7.

midnight walk-
between each star
the cosmos

8.

resting awhile
on Issa's death poem-
the fly

9.

morning thaw-
the bulldog's growl
softens

10.

loneliness...
leek soup cold
in the crock pot

11.

crows
becoming
dusk

12.

one cloud
the shade of mango-
winter's end?

13.

begging
in her

candy luminousomnipotent eyes
naked
odd
fluttering

curtains closed motionless
nauseous floor creeks

sobbing petals brush his
stallion slab mysteriously
jumpy, renews childhood

curled on the couch
we lie aware of this cycle

led by queer laughter
belly
dr
op
pi
ng humor

we discuss withdraws
as our legs
tangle
under battered blankets

our blood pleasantly thick

©iampoetry

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 447 bytes more ▶

More from *mixdown

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: February 2, 2009
File Size: 447 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 77
Favourites: 105 [who?]
Views: 3,332 (2 today)
Downloads: 26 (0 today)

[x]

Strawberries By Sunset.

by *mixdown, Feb 2, 2009, 7:14:24 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Admire--
the halcyon of wind carries
industrial merchants
away from golden acres
on which blossoms my treasure
bush-cradled until prosperity.

Listen--
the hush valley whispers
poetry under sheets
necking a residuum evenfall
in which our ghosts remain
kissing strawberries by sunset.

Strawberries By Sunset.by *mixdown

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2009-2013 *mixdown

.

Daily Deviation

Given 2009-02-16

It is difficult to find just one memorable poem in this deviants poetry gallery, but there was just something that drew me to this one. Strawberries By Sunset. by =M-PlayC3ll, has the magic and intrigue that I feel a poem of this caliber should have, so go read and allow the words to stay with you for a while. This lovely poetic offering was also suggested by: VampiricKitsuneKit ( Suggested by !MerelyMarquis and Featured by `LadyLincoln )

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

`leoraigarath Jul 12, 2009 Professional Writer

I don't have much to say but a beautiful and touching poem. Lean on the punctuation and doesn't feel like its missing, solid structure, strong feel - everything a good poem has. Beautiful.

Reply

*mixdown Jul 18, 2009 Photographer

Thank you very much.

Means a lot to me.

Reply

~zenatz19 Feb 20, 2009

Lovely! Full of old world, dreamy glory enhanced by a unique juxtaposition of words and an impactful form; your rich imagery and stunning diction makes for a powerful poem.

Reply

*mixdown Feb 24, 2009 Photographer

That's greatly appreciated.

Reply

~tinyplaidninja Feb 16, 2009 Student Writer

Really beautiful. Congrats on the DD!

Reply

*mixdown Feb 17, 2009 Photographer

Thank you.

Reply

~tinyplaidninja Feb 17, 2009 Student Writer

Reply

~Hot-Sauce-Vixxen Feb 16, 2009

Gorgeous.

Reply

*mixdown Feb 17, 2009 Photographer

Reply

~cassiedj Feb 16, 2009 Hobbyist Photographer

Again, congrats on the DD, Max! I always liked this poem of yours.

Reply