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The Winter Grass1
The winter grass
continually more grey than green
cries out against my calloused feet and palms.
The distant singing of those who pray to gods
still echoes in my ears.
I recall, it's the same stunned feeling
as the moment after the heavy blow
to the unsuspecting soft part of the gut.
They are chanting hollow words,
pressing them with desperation
into the air
like scraps of paper into wailing walls.
I press my own small prayers
into the heaviness
is this place a home
or a cage?
There are no walls
if I wish to escape
doesn't that mean
HairWalking behind her on the stairs, they could see the bald patches, the shiny pale skin stretched tight over the skull. She wasn't wearing a hat yet, or a scarf, or a wig, but she must have known. Putting down her comb, she must have fingered the lost hair, must have held it and stared at it for a long time, sitting alone in her room on the edge of her bed. She must have swept the bathroom floor as a barber sweeps his shop, a ritual ended as the tangles slid from the dustbin to the wastebasket. She perhaps threw a few papers in on top. Sometimes other people came in her room. They would see.
Now she walked bareheaded up the stairs. They all stared, and later denied to one another that they'd stared.
The next day her desk was empty. She arrived near noon, just in time for lunch, and told her friends she'd slept in—broken alarm clock. And now that she was here, she needed to study. No time for lunch, but it was okay, she wasn't that hungry anyway. She slipped into the library and didn't c
Portrait in October, East CoastHe has a sea-washed voice
and when he sings he keeps his hands in his pockets
where the map of the East Coast is,
soft as cotton and double folded:
plateaus and lakes
and islands too small to name
make watercolors across his skin.
He's the kind who walks alone on grey sand beaches
where the logs with sprawling roots
loom like monuments
He has breath like barest autumn snow,
hands like steaming coffee,
eyes like a Polaroid of the mountaintop,
of winter birds and grass
and the ache of the absent forest.
He speaks the language
of broken seashells
and of the bicycle on its side
in the unmowed field
He tried love once
and now prefers guitar
and long drives along the highways at dusk.
Over his turtleneck he has a coat with four buttons
and in October the wind
to the marrows.
Transtromer in SeptemberI tuck my worn copy of Tranströmer's The Deleted World under my arm
and head out, lungs embracing
the air still swirling with a rain so fine and light it could be first snow.
My shoes squelch on the path across the sodden sedge field
and my dark hair curls and flutters in soft pockets of breeze.
It is the time of rowanberries, and
in with the withered grass, there's liriope and velvety henbit,
bur clover and Indian strawberry blooming yellow,
and, where the damp earth is rich in the shade
of the distant dripping hollies, spineless chamberbitter
stretching willowy yearling arms dewed a deep, dusty purple.
The sky promises neither sun nor storm;
the light is shadowless, colored like the stone-green walls of the sea.
The stream is choked with tumbled granite and pinkweed
yet sings to the sky.
Here in the piedmont comes the faint perfume of the fog,
a kiss from a Swedish sea, almost
a presence from another world.
GeeseWhen the frost was still hard on the ground
on the bitter-fallen skeletons of the leaves,
we woke to the cry of passing geese.
I started to stand, but
with one flash of your hand you stopped me.
In silence we watched them pass
through the mammoth shadows of the pines.
They traveled with nothing to hold them up but air
and their own small strength.
There was religion in the motion of their wings,
faith in their movement across the sky,
a prayer nurtured among
the cluster of their bodies.
They're not anything grand, I thought then,
not like these trees or even like this mist.
They're just birds.
But, too, they have wings, and even though
they knew they'd be okay if they stayed,
even though they knew it'd be a hard journey,
they found a way to fly, and now
they're leaving for places I'll never go.
Perhaps in that way they're grander than us all,
than anything else I've ever known.
I curl my body, a flower growing
backwards into a bud again;
I relax my grip
and drift in the night womb
where I am insulated in the muted dark of
where strange, smiling apparitions
with turquoise eyes and shimmering hair
touch my cheek, trace the path
of tears I thought were invisible
and leave smooth skin in the place of scars.
I lose all sense of myself;
I am endless, my soul expanding and breathing and
seeking the edges of all I thought I knew.
The morning screeches at my senses—
sharp and restless—
with one yank of the blinds, with
the bland, insistent alarm clock
red and pounding against
the delicate membrane of the ear, with
winter hands creeping over my skin
(tightening around my fragile paper wrists,
pulling my soul back into my body
with no thought for slow acclimation).
The rasping voice rakes its nails
down my thoughts,
births me into this world again:
a reality of pushing, pulling, tugging,
I am returned to this small self,
The Mourner's SongMy hands miss yours—
I'm still overwhelmed
by the phantom touch.
In dreams my feet still feel
the stones and leaps
and snow-muddied plunges
of the paths we used to walk
on the summer mountains with
their thousands of leaves singing of the sun.
My mind still resonates with
the tragic nostalgic waltzes of Beirut.
My hair still sparks red in the sun.
But your gaze is gone from me;
I am no longer aflame.
After a Painting by Edward HopperFour trees stolen from a Tuscan landscape
curl their tips in the salt wind
as I reach them at the far end of the arched marble bridge.
My red skirt laps at my legs;
my hair is a whirlwind of sooty snow
until I pull on my green cotton cap.
I keep walking. From here, I can see the café
by the water's edge. Our table is still there
in the shade of the awning. On Friday afternoons
you were always there first, leaning your elbows
on the table, condensation beading on your beer bottle
with the brown glass neck. The sun was cruel.
Your wore this soft green cap like a crown.
You glanced over your shoulder every few minutes
until you saw me approach in my beach clothes,
in my sandals and this thin red skirt
the sun sees through.
As I walked down the riverbank
through broad hoops of shade,
you rolled your shirt sleeves up, knowing
that now we would eat sandwiches, and that
shredded lettuce and sauce would drip
onto our plates with every bite.
To cross the long empty stretch of stone today
Forest SeaI step down into the shallows,
the plumes of gentle mud stirring to caress
the bold-bared skin of my ankles.
With the slowness of one who knows
there is all the time in the world for the taking,
I feel my way in deeper, and the water
comes alive at my touch.
I glimpse a thousand faces
wavering in the shards of moonlight,
glaring and fading and shifting.
Curled leaves, those last traces of autumn,
are borne away, like stark, storm-tossed ships,
from my questing fingers.
At last I stop, my toes sinking
into silken slippers of soft weeds.
The last hesitant ripples
rouge my cheeks with kisses,
and my heartbeat throbs, brought alive
under skin turned translucent in the moonlight.
Wherever I look I see stars and a shimmering moon;
even when I close my eyes, they are there,
beacons glowing beyond sight.
The winter air digs its merciless claws
into my tender lungs,
and I spread my arms wide and breathe in,
deeply, deeply, embracing that which brings me alive.
And then the forest sea has all of
If an angel hears meIf there is an angel near me, I pray to remember me, and I know it will, at see my love for you.
Although I also know... that between me and her, the sky only have dark clouds...
I will pray, I will seek, I swear, I will find it, even if I had to look in a million stars.
In this dark life, absurd without you ... I feel you've become the center and the end of my universe...
If love have any limit, I would cross it for her, and in the vast emptiness of my nights, I feel you, and I will love you ... like I could love you for the first time, when a kiss was a whole lifetime...
Feeling like I lost all my mind... for you.
I understand that your kisses must never be mine, I realize that I will never see my reflection in your eyes. But despite that ... my heart ... instead of love you less, loves you even more.
The two is just one single soul: The scent of her hair, the murmur of her silence...
Her smile like a sweet tale... the sweet honey I tasted on your lips.
I thought you and thought you
12.5%see to it that i drink
away this mad, hopeful
all these ghosts
are quiet now; clouds
Blinded TrustWhen it comes to love
I feel like I'm walking around with a blindfold
My hands are chained to the hope
Of true love sweeping me off my feet...
Red marks on my face from frustration
Tears falling because I seem to never find the right man~
In my right hand is my heart
Chained up and protected
Brave yet afraid of hurt feelings
Waiting for someone to unlock it
No love bugs are allowed~
says my mind...
My heart "Don't close up. Open me..~"
I'm not sure where I'm being led to
But I'm trusting..... very hard, but I -need- to
God is the chooser of my Destiny
My love, are you there?
I feel someone near....
Or is it just my hopeless imagination?~
A finger is upon my lips
Will he hold the key to unlock me
From these chains of false securities....~
mummified.You were never more beautiful
than the moment before you died,
plucked from a vine,
like a flower in bloom.
You can't be beautiful
till you're older,
till you've lived
through battle scars
and car crash hearts.
You can't be lovely
till you died
just a little
You were never more perfect
than the moment you died,
pressed between dictionary pages
Words, words, the wonderful
words float around you
that remind you why you cry.
(and you were mummified)
These Bones (I'm in Suicide With You)we're lost without words
in the ache of the brightness.
these bones are old
we are lost--
i'm lost without you.
(but i haven't a clue what you do with me.)
these bones aren't gold,
so what's worthwhile
about them to you?
we are carbon
blood, blood, flowing blood
that clots in cuts
and runs rivers in veins
and stains, how it stains,
carpet and floor and hands
i'd be more
than all the good
i do for you.
i'd be lost without you
but you don't need me
and i'm in suicide with you
for too many reasons
and too many times.
but my only question--
is my love
even if i lie?
Forever and Always.You were happy now.
The road wasn't always easy, but you managed to continue on down it. It always seemed bleak and dreary until he showed up.
At first you thought it was some cruel joke like usual…
He was different in every way possible. There were always smiles and warmth radiating from him.
He never judged you because of your appearance. He was better than that.
Pointing out all the good in you that everyone else seemed to pass by as they only criticized you on what they thought was bad.
He did all of this and so much more. Helping you find your way when all seemed dark to you. Showing you that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and being there tightening the hold on your hand as you both traveled down the dark road.
It was beautiful and so was your life now.
You thought you'd never be here, right now with him.
That's what he told you that day when he asked you.
PianissimoStreaks of black
Among chapters of white.
Your flowing hands
Playing our saccharine love song.
Like the calm wind
In summer season.
Like the shining sun,
You warm my frozen heart.
Like the serene sea
In the pale moonlight,
You soothe my spirit
And smother the hellfire of my nights.
Black rivers flowing down,
Along the white mountainside.
Your smile and your hands
Writing down our saccharine love song.
...alegria eterna......alegría eterna...
...te pienso, te siento, te espero,
en los remanentes de nuestro universo,
escuchando el harpa de los recuerdos,
de los nuestros, de los pequeños momentos...
...los besos, el cielo, la timidez,
las miradas, las caricias, la estupidez,
los tropiezos, el tiempo, la felicidad,
las lágrimas, las despedidas, la eternidad...
...los años pasan, el caliente no llega,
mi sonrisa se apaga, la luna se aleja,
mi cabello se opaca, mi vida se acorta,
pero mi sentimiento permanece, persevera...
¿Cuándo será el día, la mañana, que te vea,
que tu sonrisa no sea de mi reminiscencia,
que la brillantez del sol refleje tu dulce esencia,
cuando podrá mi corazón ver la alegría eterna?
-Solem Nocte Infinitus-
TnM-Vampiros VS Lobos Cap.4Cap.4 Amigos?
En el parque
Cuando llegaron Xadezz y Frejazz se miraron y se enamoraron
Thomas: hola Marie
Marie: hola Tommy son ellos tus amigos
Thomas: si ellos son Dezz *saluda con la mano* y Fred *saluda con la mano*
Marie: hola es un gusto conocelos ellos son Jazz *saluda con la mano* y Xavier *saluda con la mano*
Xavier: es un gusto conocerlos yo soy Xavier Flynn y mi amiga Jasmine Raí pero le gusta que la llame Jazz
Jazz: un gusto y lo sentimos por lo modales es por genes vampiros
Dezz: no se preocupe mi nombre es Dezz y mi amigo Fred es un gusto conocerlos
Thomas: bueno como ya no conocemos quiere jugar a verdad o reto
Todos (menos Thomas) : esta bien!!!
Después de horas de juega verdad o reto
Thomas: emm Fred verdad o reto
Thomas: es verdad que duerme con tu pijama de peluches
Fred: si ¬¬
Todos (excepto Fred): jajajaja
Xavier recibió un mensaje
Marie: tu mamá
Jazz: y que pasa
Xavier dice que esta organizado su boda
Ambiguous GreyMy heart snaps the first time, as frail as a fish bone,
under the weight, not of your words, but of your silence,
your long silence stretching
in innocent pretense over the days.
I go on, perfectly well,
without the quiet song of a pulse to guide me.
I simply retreat into myself.
And I try a pretense of my own: I play music,
the songs I used to live for,
and I try to remember the subtle risings and fallings of feeling
the notes are supposed to stir in me;
I learn that feelings are impossible to force;
I learn that it's better not to lie to oneself;
there's no crime in becoming better friends with silence.
I sit for long hours by a window in the afternoon,
forcing myself into the sun-bright pages of a book,
even on the days when the heroine's true love
presses his mouth boldly to hers for the first time
and no emotions sweep me away, and all I see
are their hesitant kisses reduced to merciless strings of letters,
and I plod along to the next sentence and the next,
and my eyes do not lin
The Key That Changed The World
Deeply regret to advise you Titanic sank this morning, the fifteenth, after a collision with an iceberg resulting in serious loss of life. Further particulars later.
At 2:20 AM Atlantic Standard Time on the morning of April 15, 1912, the largest and most luxurious man-made object that had ever been moved, the Royal Mail Steamer (RMS) Titanic, disappeared beneath the calm waters of the North Atlantic about 370 miles or 600 kilometers south-southeast of the coast of Newfoundland, leaving behind her the majority of 2,208 living, breathing human beings-- people with families, dreams, hopes, ambitions, and plans-- struggling to stay afloat in the frigid ocean water. Among them were the world's richest and most famous and influential individuals, who
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