Heartbreak

November 28, 2010

One

I lost it

Two

I found it

Three

I gave it away

Four

You threw it

Five

I caught it

Six

I dropped it

Seven

It rolled away

Eight

It fell

Nine

It fell

Ten

It fell

Eleven

It went crash.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

And Winter Too by Hades (also known as Poetry in a Non-Lethal Dose)

November 26, 2010

you girl    you made of ice and glass you bird bone girl     ice and snowflakes and ivory and lace    pale pale mirror glass girl   Girl you little girl so pretty with such fine white hair    you went walking in a white white dress silver shoes and blue black ribbons   you so cold you frosted branch girl walking dancing dancing     snowglobe snow falls    falls on you girl    crescent moon girl eyes so wide so full of wind and snow   no eyes can be so white bright so pale   not star eyes not snow hare spiderweb eyes   who ever heard of eyes made of white stone.

Categories: Poetry.

Tags: , ,

Poetry a Lethal Dosage by Hades

November 25, 2010

POCKET DICTIONARY

obscure words living damply under logs

growing in the dark

with woodlice fungus termites and rot

and many of them die there too-

living and dying in sunless oblivion

wax wane   wane wax    Circles

on circles on circles

animate ambulant words running circles in my head

ambulant is a laid back word despite its

implications   a mellow word in grey

and marmalade   supine even

supine is syrupy and muted    but

almost surreally purple with a metallic sheen

and not at all golden    supine so heavy

almost brobdingnagianly so

brobdingnagian  isn’t comfortable to say

like uttering stumbling line of ants    it stutters

off the tongue   letters coming in twos and

threes

ratatatat a shining drum with shining

sticks oompahoompah

listen to the marching band

wood wood wood wood woad road road

a bumpy road of letters

road woad wood wood woodlice termites

fungus and rot

they grow and they die and they

rot

     rot

           rot
COLORFUL POEM IN MONOCHROME

one tile grey

two tile grey

three tile grey

tiles and tiles and tile grey

grey like sun in the mist

grey like open doors

grey like a surgically clean lab

grey like being first awake

and watching the darkness all around

grey like flowers

grey like refrigerator hums

grey like ice and candle smoke and butter

grey like the tree

and grey like the lichen

grey like the only shoes that are truly loved

grey like lollipops in a shop window

also grey

grey like green and red and blue

grey like ghosts caught on doorknobs

grey like grey faces passing in a

grey grey hall

grey like raw salmon

grey like a paper cut

grey like thunderclaps and a dog hidden

under a couch

grey like wishing

like a truth cut neatly in two

like birthday party balloons

like a contradiction

grey like dust on my tongue

and like hope

grey like the lichen, yes

even grey like the lichen

and four tile grey

a dream of autumn leaves

autumns leaves

and lichen…

a dream of all the colors in grey

 UNEARTHED 

stones

and

bones and

rocks

and

stones

dear little skull

covered up with ivy

i bless it

with leaves

and dirt

and stones

baptism of bones

with stones

and the casting of stones

leads to the bones

though they are read

it is really a baptism of

stones

with bones

 stones

and bones

and dust

and time

bones

unto

stones

unto

dust

unto

bones…

time growing old in the bones

of the hills (whish happen to be stones

themselves)

look at the land

there is a surface that rises and falls

and shifts with the seasons

and below are the

bones

which have come home to the

stones

WORDS NOT SPOKEN 
these little words see too much

these little words are swift to go

these little words dont wear mittens

these little words row on row

sunflower words say hurry hurry

rainflower words say slow and slow

moonflower words are very quiet

moonflower words say yes or no

they little words in red and ivy

she little words say maybe so

he little words munch almond brittle

we little words tend that which grows

these little words so pretty pretty

these little words say yes and no

you little words may mourn my passing

i little words just maybe so

 

KINGDOM
Kingdoms 1

all around me

without boundaries or

division between

trunks and branches and leaves

just wholeness

but each wholeness unique

different in a thousand ways from

any other

I don’t want to see people again

just drinking in the wealth surrounding me

wondering if I will ever be so wise as

trees

falling into patterns

the cracks and swirls of bark

names written in the nets of branches

so far away

emblazoned on the sky

but reachable

now climbing

stickiness on my fingertips

so still now-

so still a robin lands on my head

trees

surrounding me

trees and the smell of pine

Kingdoms 2

silver trees with yellow leaves

teased by breezes

or yellow trees with sliver…?

enough and enough

too many silvers to behold

the silver trees

and silver stars

stars nestled in the grass

stars burst by the hoof of a one

antlered deer

and grey trees with lichen cloaks

there are brown trees with red branches

by the river and

dark trees with white branches

red trees with green branches

white trees with black branches

and golden leaves…

stars and stars and the

silver grasses

strewn with leaves-

yellow, red, green, brown, purple and black silver silver silver black red and green

like stars

stars in silver red

red

silver  black

and blue

WILD GIRL

Be wild

Be wild

and

shy

and

free

Be the wind

Be a fish and a hundred

thousand gallons of

sea

Be a sail and a kite without

tethers

Be breaths

Be a secret and a striped

honey bee and a parachuting dandelion

seed

Be hidden

Be a dozen dancing moons

                                                and a mirror- but not

both at once

Be loudly joyous and

solemn by turns

Be olive trees - 

                            a whole

grove of them

Be an orange hermit

                                      crab

Be a crow

Be a hail of arrows

Be lonely

Be a stone and a

shoe and a gentle

shimmering

                                     Snail

Be wood grain and

the smell of coffee

Be vanilla beans

Be wild: be a  green branch

Above all, be

                         wild

                                   WILD

                                       WILD!!!

Categories: Poetry.

Tags: , ,

Prologue (Ever)

November 22, 2010

AN: A story I started awhile back and have had in WE drafts since before September of this year, I think.  “Ever” is, for now, a place holder title, but it could possibly end up being the title. We’ll see.  And I may end up making the prologue longer . . . we’ll see again :) And for now I’m not sure that this is fantasy fiction – it may just stay fiction. We’ll see about that too (yes, that’s a lot of “we’ll see’s”) :) Well, hope you enjoy! Remember to critique and be brutally honest! =) Over and out, Myth

The only way I have survived these long, lonely years is because of my friend the sycamore tree. It is out in the yard, and I love to climb right up to the top and rest in its branches. I can tell it of all my problems, and it just sways me gently in the breeze as if to soothe me. It never shouts at me, runs away from me, or teases me. It just listens and sways.

You see, I live in an orphanage. I have lived here since a few days after I was born, or so I’m told. My earliest memories are of this place.

The children make fun of me and the orphanage caretakers loathe me. I can’t remember the last kind word I heard.

I have one green eye and one brown eye. I have milk-white skin and hair black as crow feathers. I am emaciated; skin stretched taut over protruding bones.

All in all, I’m no beauty to look at. People are afraid of my oddly colored eyes, calling me “witch” or “devil’s child”. No one has ever shown interest in adopting me, and I doubt that anyone will. They take one look at my eyes and then they look away. Were the orphanage not afraid of getting in trouble for letting devil spawn roam about, it would have thrown me out on the streets long ago.

What can I do about all of this? Nothing. I’m a child and I have strange eyes—I might as well be mute, because I certainly don’t get to use the voice I have.

I wonder who my mother was—the woman that named me and then left me here. Was she afraid to keep me because of my eyes? Was she afraid I really was possessed, some sort of dark evil?

I sigh, wishing I could know why. I wish, I wish, I wish. But wishing won’t help me to know.

My name is Ever, and I am ten years old. I have always been alone and I fear I always shall be.

But I am no devil’s child. I am no witch.

I am just a human being who wants to feel a mother’s gentle touch. Who wants to hear a kind word. Who wants to know . . . she is loved. That she does have purpose and meaning.

But I know, deep down, that this can never be. Who could love someone like me?

So I remain Ever, the girl who has never been loved, and the girl who never will be.

And this is my story.

Categories: Fiction, Historical Fiction.

Tags: ,

Empty Desks

November 16, 2010

clean
edges peeling
flat and cold
metal feet like hard suction cups
clamped onto the floor, sucking, sucking,
three desks,
these desks
look like they’re stepping back and waiting
wary
knowing they could be leapt upon
initials carved like tattoos into their wood flesh,
gum jammed in their crevices, in their wrinkles
like the curves of the inside of elbows,
legs.
pen and pencil and nail-polish
scarring their faces, their flat, cold faces,
this they must endure,
frozen, still, no revenge,
never to move a sore limb
away from the bite of pocket knife.
this they must endure,
this they know
and obey.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Pink (a sestina)

November 13, 2010

We are learning to love pink.
We are the fragile sac inside the eggshell,
pale transparent, holding a yellow sunrise
inside our bodies. Becoming women.
As we cease trying to be old
we become more than a child.

I am sometimes a child.
I stare at my naked stomach, curved and pink,
and the wrinkles in my palms like being old.
I feel the cool white shell
ready to crack and burst forth the woman,
and let the sun rise.

Sometimes I have already risen
Not a child, but unafraid of being a child
I am large and beautiful and a woman,
My fingernails clear, my cheeks pink.
The shattered smooth fragments of shell
on the linoleum floor are tiny and old.

I wish I could stay risen. The idea is old
I am brilliant at dreaming of the rise
as I tap weakly at the blank shell
cosy around me, remaining a child,
determined to hate pink,
pink is for children. Make me a woman.

I sit in the kitchen, not a woman,
ticking black hands and blue digital making me old
but not grown up. On the table the tulips are pink
I’m tired of hating them. I rise
walk out onto an unromantic wood porch, a child,
splinters in my shell.

Splinter by splinter peels away my shell,
the only way to become a woman.
As much as I wish for a great crack to erase the child,
it is splinter by splinter until I am old.
We must learn to be patient for the yellow sun to rise
We are learning to love pink.

The eggshell will shatter, leaving me large and bare and pink,
a small old self will cry for safety, but I’ll never be child again.
Splattered in yellow suns, we’ll rise, too alive to be anything but women.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Helloooo

November 12, 2010

*crickets chirp*

Helloooooooooooooooo out there . . . anybody hooooome? Did all the WEers go to Mars? *whispers*

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Tags:

The dance of the Seasons

November 9, 2010

Summer spills her flaming glow,

her sun blessed skin so fair,

And Autumn spins about the trees,

his golden clothes that flare

Spring now skips about the ring,

her morning light a dare

That says to Old Man Winter,

come and be ensnared

Categories: Poetry.

Tags:

Every time the sky goes black

November 9, 2010

Every time the sky goes black,

the evening sword strikes hard,

and grinning mist dances above,

the ground like dreamy ghosts

Every time the sky goes black,

the white doves fly away,

the sun still burning, so far gone,

the nightly owls scream

Every time the sky goes black,

the darkness like a quilt,

I lay my head upon the bed,

and wait for dreams to take

Categories: Poetry.

Tags:

~Even the Strong Are Broken~ Flame

November 1, 2010

 -Even the Strong Are Broken-

Even the strong fail

Even my heart ails

You save those who cry

But for me you just walk by

You think I’m strong

But you’ve got it all wrong

Inside me tears burn

My heart desperately yearns

Please see this hidden fight

Behind the barriers i hide

Pull me out now

Because I don’t know how

Every day I smile

But really all the while

Deep down I’m crumbling to the ground

My soul is broken down

I try to be there for you

But I’m blinded by my own sorrow

I sit here in tears

Cowering behind my fears

Do you not see me?

Heavily in need

For someone to be a friend

Who wont just leave in the end.

~Flame~

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P, Poetry.