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 Dec 2014
Devon Webb
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
She quenches her thirst with
The tears of the inhabitants
Of sinkholes, claims them,
And gives birth to them anew.
Exhaling the winter wind, the
Scalding embers of December.

No one knows her name,
But you can confide in her.
Share your disarray, she will
Rectify you with her rhetoric.


She's seductive like suicide,
While I am as hung as a noose.
An irresistible demon, a potter
Shaping your every desire, a puppeteer
Manipulating the strings attached to your limbs.
Hailing from the same realm as Shang
Tsung, mortal anguish empowers her.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
An "answering back" poem based on Winter by Sia Janes. http://hellopoetry.com/poem/960549/eternal-voices/
 Dec 2014
memineI
wild blowing up my stem and through my  brittle
veins I flow off from home and let the earth recycle my remains
blow through the neighbors yard into the street a drunk abandon
man or leaf or scorpion or slug blows and following dies
turns first blue colored then in red then white
we all have given
all, once
green.
 Dec 2014
memineI
I verb(ally)

justify
nouns left                       subject right
pronouns adverbs

double

space

adjuncts
to
off centered
rhyme.
 Dec 2014
wordvango
the intent completing my purpose.
A bud on a stem capitulated to a
bee on a wing , challenges flew from me.
Experienced in fertilizing analogy, I  intended, but
obviously wilted under the pressure and blamed it
on the sun or lack of rain or pigs eating my roots away.
When I neutered myself, verbally,
darkness understood and drew me in:
oils were painted imaged in unrealistic views expressionist caricatures.
Experimental images all failed to resurrect
the benefits I had splurged.
I only meant to live.
 Dec 2014
LittleFreeBird
Mud beneath our feet
Stars above our head
Wearing nothing but rain slicked skin
And frosted breath
You
Cannot keep your hands off me
I
Cannot take my eyes off you
We
Are two planets
In rotation
And neither of us
Can defy gravity
 Dec 2014
wordvango
I have drawn portraits
charcoals  of Saints
who stayed in one plane
for 200 hours, not moving a hair.

I built a castle, over a hill,
which one I forget.
I have painted oils,
landscaped with smiley faces,
they might look as if they have boils.

I have written, specious, meaning one thing saying another,
poems and probably will do again.
I have laid with Mona Lisa naked,
her perfect breath breathed
into my head.

I have chased Dragons, had a princess by her long hair,
her breast a white snowy her mouth the pinkest gasp.
I have stood taller and fallen farther.
I would, gladly,
do it all again.
 Dec 2014
r
I like how my lips
fit that hollow
by your collar bone

I could sing an anthem there
or whisper sweet
sweet nothings.
r ~ 12/7/14
 Dec 2014
r
i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field

wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando

she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -

her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s

- lordy, lordy -

she said they bolstered her
fire power


we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.

12/5/14  
:)
\¥/\
  |     • bm
/ \
 Dec 2014
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
 Dec 2014
Sjr1000
The child of the golden light
sitting in the sunshine room
in the dark factories of
madness' tombs,
Your gentle sweet breath
creates a breeze flickering,
as one candle
lights another
in lilac scented jasmine,
Our shadows are cast on the walls.

While in your lap sits a
Clay bowl
with Icarius images etched,
whispering for you to behold,
The cup holds countless opportunities
for inspiration,
Little Tinkerbelles
you hand out freely to those
who lighten up the darkness,
for those lost in the cold
for those lost without a home
for those who swelter in the heat
of their own madness
for far too long,
for those who come alone
who are there to help as best they can.

This rare clay bowl of Tinkerbelles
Who bring magic to the cold nights of our world
the Queen of Hearts
Handed out souls to those
whose souls had been lost
with this light of hope
inspired those who
give at all costs.

The Queen of Hearts
has left the room
down the highway to a distant land
All her bowls of inspiration, courage,
compassion and hope
neatly packed
I watch your U-Haul
sail down 101
I walk back to my dark end
and notice at
my feet
one last clay bowl
of splendor
left behind,
As I pick it up
I know it's a role
I can never live up to or play
in your way.

But one spinning light
a remnant left behind
remained
encouraging me to
try with another
and one more time
perhaps I can pass this gauntlet
on
to another.

Her sweet work
will never be done,
whether here or there
but perhaps if done correctly
with a true heart,
the darkness will be vanished,
everywhere.

Farewell, farewell.
Your sweet breath remains
lights the candles
one by one
Tinkerbelles of magical inspiration
handed out freely
to each and every one
Your enlightened legacy.

For this moment
And in this time
and space
Your bowl
Your inspirations
are
Alive with grace.
For Helene.
 Dec 2014
Amitav Radiance
The vast ocean, so calm
A façade of pristine nothingness
Eyes cannot scan the vastness
It engulfs your vision
The salt waters, abode for many
Known and unknown species
Rich with its own heritage
So many tales have been chronicled
Folklore mystifies it with stories
Sea of troubles and possibilities
The bravest have traversed
Facing the fierce predicaments
Relentlessly testing the valiant
So many continents surrounding it
Minuscule landscapes compared to it
Carries so much history
Forever lost in its vast depths
We are yet to reach its depths
And the world that is thriving under
We have lived with it
And yet to decipher
The ocean and its uncharted territory
This idea struck me while watching a National Geographic documentary on oceans.
 Dec 2014
Amitav Radiance
Once the land that was lush green
Has turned into an arid land
Stripping the vast landscape everyday
Taking the covers off
Leaving bare the heart of serenity
Brooks and rivers running dry
Leaving trails of devastation
Trees ripped off from the roots
A part of land dies everyday
Not a drop of tear to shed
The agony of barrenness
Stares through the cracked soul
Lost days of glory
Now ashamed of its shadow
No one can feel the agony
Only to be left alone, in oblivion
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