| There are some things I can't seem to get away with. |
If I Was A Man
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John - XIINo one ever says your happiness is palpable. They say that tumor, it's palpable, it's malignant and it's gone onJohn - XII
too long; they say that his heart ache is palpable, can't you feel it smacking itself against his ribs like a hungry kids teeth smacking
juice stained lips? They say an orange is palpable, in a sick way, the way they skin grapes for human eyes on Halloween. The way
they roll through strained fingers in a bowl; the weather man says, the air today, it's so hot heavy, touch it, it's palpable.
Nobody ever says: when you w
by *vespera
Sean - 11i. The only poems I have about you are about me,Sean - 11
about my lonely palms, my detached hip, my dejected lips, and the ice in the marrow which cracks off tiny burgs jolting me, Titanic, with little butterfly memories. Forest green bench seats. Hipbones. Stubborn fires. Telescopes without lenses. Pebbles on window panes. Silences. Ex boyfriends and bestfriends and your girlfriend, I knew almost as much about as you when I took you to me.
ii. There's a pretty girl with mousey hair; I bet if she loved you &n
by *vespera
John - XIFor your wife, with her lacquer eyes and yellow-yarn hair, I pay my dues, I wave my cigarette smoke, make merriment, make salud, sacraments, with my buds I make her bouquets, I throw them down, and never catch.John - XI
I did not catch it. I did not catch you. I am a maid, &
by *vespera
Sean - 10someday we won't be so elemental we'll be tepid like gray hair or a burned-out house, all foundation and bare bones.Sean - 10
Someday we'll find that your hands won't be maps that I won't be
by *vespera
I've My Bottle DearI have my bottle Dear, and my bottle doesn’t mean a thing in its brown-glass reason, I can’t see your eyes so what good is it, what good am I? I cry out like a gull, I’m losing myself to the wind, a ride I’m tired of alone, alone I look into the bottom of my bottle and I don’t mean a thing.I've My Bottle Dear
The Oaks outside, well they’re not Californian, and they hang open to the sky as if to catch glimpses of the sun in and out of clouds, threading, this is summer here in God’s Country, this is summer here, feeling like a spring to me, I miss the burn, I mis
by *vespera
John - VIIII never gave you an anniversary; instead, I took our days and shook them like a good martini, ignoring that alcohol was never your thing, and told you to drink, drink up baby and take me down like liver-poison; I told you, the hang-over’s worth it.John - VIII
It’s true: I’m no addiction, I’m not so self important as to think that your ring meant forever, forever regardless, but I was reckless, a dare devil, I kept adding cars and buses and hearts to jump over. You were sick of being ran over. You were sick of choking on my exhaust. I never could help &
by *vespera
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by `queenhrosie
I had to come back to critique this poem since it's been on my mind since reading it days ago. A good poem does that: it hits you...
by ~inmyroom
Honestly, I'm not too sure about the first stanza, it's a bit plain for your usual style and I have come to expect more from ...
The winter weekend trip...
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Holmen, Wisconsin (USA)
- Interests: People, Poetry, Music, Traveling
- Favourite movie: A Love Song for Bobby Long, About Adam
- Favourite band or musician: Nickelback, Shakira
- Favourite genre of music: Rock/Alternative (Likes: Country, Emo, Ska, Punk, some Hip-Hop)
- Favourite poet or writer: Dorothy Parker, Sylvia Plath, d.a. levy, Ovid, Jeanette Winterson
- Operating System: Vista
- MP3 player of choice: Winamp
- Personal Quote: We prepare youth for love at an impressionable age.
- Tools of the Trade: a self-centered looking glass
- AIM: VisperasAzules
Do I expect too much? 
IrritateddeviantID
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- Nov 8, 2009 @ 3:46 pm*alapip
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--
“ Part of me is afraid to get close to people because I'm afraid that they're going to leave.”
-Marilyn Manson
--
I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
--
“ Part of me is afraid to get close to people because I'm afraid that they're going to leave.”
-Marilyn Manson
--
In hell there's a big hotel
Where the bar just closed
And the windows never open
No phone so you can't call home
And the TV works but the clicker is broken
___Billy Joel, Blonde Over Blue
--
I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
--
My blog
--
I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
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