[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.

Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.

I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.

Through the ages
Iron
Bronze
silver, gold and heroic.

I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.

But

no God am I

Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

bookworm“there is no such thing
as reading too much.”
that is what I tell you
when you insist

that there is some danger of
becoming lost in the stuff—
mistaking seriphs for serpents,

swallowing a story so whole
that its hook
sticks in my throat.

“there is no such thing
as reading too much”
I tell you, boldfaced,
surrounded by snakes
with a line through my lip.

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

Here and There, Now and ThenBurnt umber dawn, swaying electric trees
Thousands of souls chant in the summer wind
Journals of the dead are read by schoolchildren
They awake shaking someone else's dreams from their heads

Static electricity on the nape of your neck
In the television, on your phone, in your dinner
The calling of a murder of crows from the trees
You remember the view from the hospital room window

A smorgasbord of life and limb, death and decay
The antiseptic smell has an undercoating of rot and dirt
Talismans won't work any more than prayers and candles
Soldiers still fight lost wars, glory in the faded night

Tall fences are built to keep the worlds separ

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Extinguished, CorrosiveHe sits unsteadily, avoids any head-on gaze, a lanky man made a boy by the chair, legs sprawled out. He would be fair, but late nights and little food have turned him pallid. Tendons on his forearms stand out as he rolls his fingers as if flipping an imaginary pencil between them. He is not calm, not anywhere – his mind, his body. I couldn't guess what's going on behind his eyes. I won't even try. Instead I wait as he shifts, twitches, runs his tongue over chapped lips, and finally leans forward, elbows on his knees, fixes me with a frighteningly clear stare and says, each word clear and painful, like a confession of murder, "I don

Live for TwoEvery day
Since that one
Has been a gift from you
Poor lost crazy boy
I can't do the same
So forgive me
For living while you did not
It seems the Fates had a good laugh
That you, the better, died
I, the contemptible, remained
I am still the boy you knew
Hateful, dirty, shameful
I know what should be done
But you gave me the onus not to

While you lie under dirt and tomb stone
I'll spread my arms
And try and live for two

RegenerationThere's earth-smell
That forces its way through the chemicals and wood chips
Sunlight
That is watery but warm between the buildings
And a young woman
Running down a hospital pathway
Running out and from and to
All at once
Shoes clapping on the concrete
Nothing's going to bind her ever again

I Was, I Am, I Could BeYou wonder why we don't speak
Well, here's the answer
Why I was drawn to you
And why I broke it off

I saw you
And I saw me
Everything I was
I am
I could be
You were

I saw my reflection
I saw my future
You were what I was sure I could be
And you were shattered
Ever since then, I can never let you go
Nor can I face you again

I'm sorry, my dear.

On Your Way DownYou ate too much yesterday
And slept too little
So you pay for it today
Only allowing yourself water
And moving furniture until you crash

Lying in the hallway
You know you knocked over a stack of magazines
On your way down
But there's no point in picking them up
Because you'll be gone soon
Grooves in the arm
A few strips of blood
Some pain, then just lie back
And you won't worry anybody again

You have all the stuff ready
But sleep first
Plenty of time to end it
Tomorrow

Enough to VandalizeFifteen years old and silly on a Thursday afternoon, too enchanted by the thought of you to take notes, I carved you name on a school desk. The varnish was soft with age, heat, and humidity. My pencil tip dug into it easily, and little varnish-curls formed around the lines. Beside a lopsided octagon, under a message for Alexandra, I carved you name in block capitals, and enclosed it with a heart. Trying to hide my handwriting, I hoped everyone would see, would notice that someone loved you enough to vandalize for it. I imagined they would talk about it, wonder who had done it, for I was reclusive, and kept my heart to myself. Over the y

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The Lone Woman of San Nicolas

by ~Jysella, Jan 19, 2010, 8:13:07 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

In 1853, a woman wearing a dress made of cormorant feathers was found on San Nicolas Island.

"Come!  What's that,
the flitter-shadow by the scrub pines,
the motion on the overlook?
There, just above those rock shoals
where the breakers crack.
Yes, it's human by the shape,
native by the gait, and –
Ahoy!  You, on the shore!
Bring her in, boys,
for this island's marked dead.
We'll make our names with this wild man,
be marveled all the way to Sacramento,
have our faces etched in paper
and the Fathers – they'll bless us earnest
when we bring this soul to God.
Watch the rocks, now!  Steady.
Best let down the sail
and row.  And he follows,
clever man, he moves
a dark and fluid mirror to us,
tracking along the shore.
Put in at this sandy inlet,
pull her up the beach, and –
leave the traps, you fool!
This is not otter, not seal.
This hunt is won on kindness.
We'll use a blanket trap,
and light-bait, and tinned meat.
But it may not be needed –
and no, it's not a man, never could be,
for she comes down the rocky slope
bare foot, bare berasted,
her soles must be thick as tar
as her hair, like a long lace shroud
is, and around her hips
dancing around the muscles
just below her knees, feathers
inky and irredescent, clumped
with twine, woven – and how long?
How many wings, backs, bellies?"

No traps to be set.  She's standing on the beach
and all her feathers sing like black water.

She spoke an unknown language.

Before the fog glistened in the sun,
when it was just a gray comfort, gilding
leaves rocks bark hide with itself
the cormorants would come.  From her shelter
she'd watch them, the too-old, the injured,
ravage her scrap-heap, tearing fish-head and
squirrel-bone away, snapping, scrabbling
ungainly out of their element, and always
alone together.  She counted them, named them,
watched them, pleased when they were
re-inducted to the could of darting birds,
graceful again in the water,
mixed and tumbled with every other.
Wading in the shallows, she twitched out her nets
and watched the birds scatter,
wings water feet and sun tumbled shining together.

They named her Juana Maria.

The Lone Woman of San Nicolasby ~Jysella

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Dedicated to =so-normal, in thanks for my lovely literature tag.

This needs another go, sometime later. I feel bad for devoting more time to the imperialist fur trappers than the woman herself, but that's how the first draft came. *shrugs* More work to be done, certainly.

~so-normal Jan 19, 2010

A lot of good stuff here, definitely. The birds, especially. Wonderful.

Thank you. <3

~Jysella Jan 19, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

Next draft, definitely, there will be more birds.

I'm terribly glad you liked it. <3

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The Lone Woman of San Nicolas

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