Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Rejectscorner’

Love Me Syndrome

Another tempestuous night in Town Park, melancholy

Wild Thoughts, seeks harbor from the fell dampness.

Across an old Maple, restroom facilities, in a stall,

His Swiss Knife carves, help!- a grounded cardinal,

Over faded, besought scratches, then his number.

 

The windows behold an ashen canvas, dashing away

A lustrous moon, sour lampposts, the path back & ahead,

But in buckets of rain, runs a scarlet damsel his way.

Wild Thoughts escapes on some path, Love Me Syndrome

Skips past roley- poley earthworms stuck in puddles.

 

The gales deepen in fury. By the Maple, a scarlet,

Melancholy soul runs to the restroom, closes the stall.

She sees unspeakable markings, one freshly concerning.

A knife on the basin, she dials the splintered number,

My name is Lonesome Dove, I’ve waited a long time for you.

 

A calm develops, drenched footsteps echo anticipations.

The beautiful ones, raised to know what comes & goes,

But not what stays- saturated under fluorescent sight,

They sparkle. Lonesome Dove eases five minutes in.

Your real name isn’t Wild Thoughts. Care to know mine?

 

From outside, a whip of lightning licks the Maple,

Crackling, thickly green branches smoke up, catch fire.

They ponder a tragic moment. Is it you? He knows, It’s

Me. Tragedy. She flies, red tail vanishing in the rain.

 

That night, a tornado brewed, ravaging Town Park.

Love Me Syndrome claimed one, but not the other.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Zephyr

Our lives are zephyrs
In hot Summers of love,
Not just to exist,
But each with this unique, determined purpose.
All the while,
We combat, kiss, kill, care.
We are savages, hostiles, heroes, the hope, servants, Kings & Queens,
We are peace and we are war.

But at first,
We are whatever,
Satisfied in any direction,
Coerced by gusts and birds,
To formulate our own purpose,
Where we grow into our ambitions,
And eventually, restless-

Mind, body, soul
From within,
With a trinity of agreed certainty,
Will leap to the tip of the tongue,
Like a gold finch’s first flight into the serene,
To Drizzle fantastic colors beyond rainbows over
The torpid hues of a day in the life,
Over others lost in the dark,
Or withheld by excess of light,
Or stuck in the grey,
Ones who haven’t tasted a breath of fresh air in ages,
And for that, they have gone mad.

Read Full Post »

Dreamy Realism

Quiet cities scare citizens,
Scratches upon metal grated ramps,
Into the hollow subway lit by
Flickit flourescents.
Hidden under the hyacinth,
We would sip chamomile tea and chatter about
The branches of life spreading from the tree of existence.

Read Full Post »

By Fate
Roundly hollowed out by fate,
Between the dangling tresses of trees,
A pure light beams down,
Revealing floating dust specs
In still air,
And your attention.
To you, it means more than you know.
So you snap a photograph to study later.

My feet meander and compress the fuzzy grass of a park,
As my thoughts run ahead like children.
Ahead-
A slender tree with long, parted hair pulls me from a directionless path
To sit on its naked root for a while.
I lean back on its trunk and look up.
Warming my nose, a pure light beams down
Between the dangling tresses of the tree.
And all feels right. To me, it means more than I understand.

So I snap a photograph to study later.

Read Full Post »

Not Everyone Could Understand

Would you like to know what makes a man break down
Until his brittle bones lock like steel?
Where instinct salivates between two, dry flaps,
And there is no going back?

Starvation is a disciplinary, the drive that forces a tiger
To sink teeth into fur & flesh. *Glass Eyes*
Many black nights, and close shades to it, under moons,
The inner peace ruptures-

Starvation awakens an internal drive in me,
But its pain is a grey fierce,
A right against wrong fierce.
To stand on my own legs can be the most difficult task.

An empty fueled mind spitting through a grinder,
And poured into a cup of coffee that I slurp to replace the hunger,
But the pain intensifies, blocking thought.
I cry to seek an answer.

Once upon a time, I hadn’t the money to eat for three days.
On that third night, a man came to my door
And gave me a loaf of bread he had baked, himself.

Why it happened, I will never know,
But why it happened is how I mastered starvation,
My disciplinary.

But sometimes, master or apprentice, caught in the moment of hunger,
Anyone has the ability to lose that, kind, cultured smile,
And transform into the tiger.

Read Full Post »

Falling Asleep To the Sound of Rain

The Unconscious lies
In a bed of feathers…
There is no ink,
No blood that can trace back
A stamp of a feeling, just a whim that finally comes
Or just passes.
There is no fear, when this occurs,
Fear is a human’s curse,
Though, an instinctual tool to its survival.

The bed of feathers simply s.t..r…e….t….c…h..e.s
Into a tossing sea,
Where varied shades of yellow
Beaks coast along like shark fins,
Waiting for the glint of
Emerald dragonflies hovering
Just within reach.
The Unconscious floats on.

There is no hope, or woe,
Only close or apart.
A warm, blinking, orange glow,
Like a fly during caution on the glass
Of a traffic light.
There is a rhythm.
A pattern understood,
But to the unconscious,
It’s hypnotic, however, it’s…
At a level just beyond reach.

…………Clouds of ink On the left                                                                            …………………On the right, clouds of blood
……..Glide from the horizon and………
(((((((((((((((((Combine)))))))))))))))))))))
Above The Unconscious.
The sea of feathers buckles under
The stamp of a feeling
The red mixed rain brings,
And the dreamer regains conscious
To the sound of thunder.

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: