deviant art

Deviant Login
Buy ArtBuy T-Shirts & Gear Buy adCast Buy Premium Membership
Shop		  Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
[x]
isthmus1.

forgotten mixture.  partial photograph.

i probably should have been above you, not sunk into mud puddles
too deep for you children,

tucked into drawers where the dreams go to mope.

2.

your toy.  my choice of poisons.

look, and lock your teeth here.  have me over this loss of faith,
this bottle of jollies.

the teeth marks are scary and starting to bleed.

3.

an impasse.  molasses.

your heaven is on this road because my head is on the ground.
scrounge for oxygen with me,

or finally let drown the only one you could never peg down.
Singing to the WetlandsI'm the girl with bayou eyes,
twigs, mud and death snaking into my curls.
I pause to breathe and s-h-o-c-k,
shock sets in:

Day One.
Earthen clasps latch on my arms,
pulling me back down;
the meandering waters clutch
at my bell-shaped elbows.

Day Six.
My smile is climatic;
the sun always seems to shine,
burning the layers of leaves
but I can't even put up a fight
to remember it's grace.

Day Seventeen.
I'm surrounded by an animalistic embrace--
mismatched light from alligator stares
and throaty frog musings.

Day Twenty-eight.
I forget what color
the back of my eyelids were.
Winter HaikuWrimo 2009---------- 01 ----------

Snowbanks
attempt to hide
protruding garbage.

---------- 02 ----------

Layered
bodies brace,
engaging the elements.

---------- 03 ----------

Blinding white--
I see it in my dreams
and every waking hour.

---------- 04 ----------

Bundled robots
walk turn wave
with frozen smiles.

---------- 05 ----------

Passive city workers
plow streets,
cover sidewalks.

---------- 06 ----------

In my country
people envy
styrofoam snow.

---------- 07 ----------

Chilled bare feet
fidget eagerly at the door:
Daddy's home.

---------- 08 ----------

Snow on ice
a camouflage ignored
behind the wheel.

----
Wishbonei.
You taught me that every river has a ribcage
filled with crayfish and cast-off pebbles
and a whisper where the heart should be.
If you look the currents in the eye
you will find a wishbone jutting from the gaps and
gasping for air, a stray limb or
misguided root that has forgotten
how to grow toward the sun. Grab both ends
and pull
until the fault line stretches all the way
to the ocean. You will hear it splinter,
the marrow dripping out like hot wax or
some frozen nectar
bled from unsuspecting sky.

This is where the evening
splits in two: one half scribbled hastily
on the back of a shedding rainstorm and the other
devour
Madonnaher face a saffron blush-
a Madonna at dusk
stands at a barred window,
a cracked adobe cameo
of myrtle and palm fronds

I pause, spellbound
amidst slow-rising dust
from my barefoot trek
through a quiet village
to contemplate the new moon

when the Andalusia sky
is lavender and violet,
the village youths
in procession;
a lamentation with lanterns

passing before their Madonna
bathed in the scent
of orange and mint,
ants creeping
through her gypsy hair

her brow
a raven's wingspread
The sky deepens-
female peacocks
blend with the soil

a distant row of cypress
marking where the road lies-
from the belfry, storks emerge
The Post*
The blue mail-satchel bumps and sways, brings them in,
rigid with the weight of promise;

envelopes, dessert-colored, a delicacy,
the brittle folds filled with scent,
a creme transfer over time, to me.

I open each with the reverence
of seashells and oceanic loves.

I cut apart the shore that separates us
with a letter-opener, the sound of water.

You have arrived
before your body.

I settle into my pulse
and the resounding ambiance of my privacy
while your words touch my lips.
*

I.
We stand in our reamed maze of consent--
faces, throats thrumming
on parallel shoulders;

a doorway, at dusk;
a barefoot dance sung over by bird
She's a PoetDon't fall in love with a poet --
She'll speak only in riddles and metaphors
And expect you to comprehend
Or maybe even reply in verse of your own.
When you ask her what
Her favorite flavor of ice cream is,
She'll say wheatgrass,
And to favorite color,
She'll proclaim strawberry.
If she loves you back, she might
Say your skin is her sky,
And your eyes, her sun.
She will not be satisfied if you call her beautiful --
She strives for radiance and enlightenment.
She will prefer rich violets to red roses,
Bleeding cherries to chocolate,
And running barefoot through tulips
Instead of candlelight dinners.
And if you spite her?
Sh
the funeral, milkweed.the paper flowers of his lips
              (desiccant and peeling)
wither on my gravestone temples

his vines crinkle, make fists in my mouth
dead leaves with cartilage made of spiderwebs
reclining
             (kneeling)
into themselves, folding their varicose calves

and to feel her
             (sighing)
thorax, the wasp
or the mosquito, his delicate hymns
and drenched in rust
              (and ashes),
the monarch mourns
StargrazingOn nights like these
we like to call ourselves stargrazers,
deep sky tourists.

We head up to the headland,
where heaven grafts itself to earth,
stitching the breeze between
our cheekbones, our fingertips.
Below, the sea stretches out
with an endless hush. You tell me
we'll sit in the rift
of the tide's smile to keep in touch
with the muchness of being
and believing. But seeing

beyond that pale of blacklight
is another matter. You have a map,
so you take the back of my hand
and paint a picture in mime
and synaesthesiac rhyme:

     Our sky is like cats' eyes
     kaleidoscopin
.:R e a l e y e s:.dreams take life after dark,
or so i've h    e    a    r    d.
it was, of course, a night lark
who told me, such a little bird.

life takes on what it will,
or so i've seen,
behind my windowsill
is a world still g       r        e        e        n.

old books breathe sometimes,
if you keep them close,
and if you caress their rhymes
and s    t     r 
Never Seen a Real Night SkyDo you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you and I aren't quite where we're supposed to be? Maybe there's more to us than drunken nights and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Maybe there's more to life than silly stringing and too-late nights and falling head-first into the darkness of your more-than-mischief. I let you drag me along, just to feel the rough skin of your palm against mine.

You've always been too lazy. Looking for the easy way out, the easy way in, is not really all that becoming of you. But the cologne you wear is intoxicating, and your hands in my hair always send shivers of fear up my spine. Love? Fear? It's all the same, rea
The SearchI have hounded mythology, legend, fable,
for words to do justice
to the depths of your eyes –

Malachite.  Emerald.
Peridot.  Jade.

I am not surprised,
that though I have hunted,
my throat is still parched
of appropriate words.

Cedar.  Hemlock.  
Aloe vera.  Pine.  

The paint-shade on maps, of oceans, of tree-tops,
the spectrum of sea-breeze, the north wind, star-shards –

Lime.  Avocado.  Apples.  Grapes.
Pears.  Olives.  Parsley.  Sage.

They are too mundane, too common, too dull,
yet,
they acknowle
Little one. I'm here.Little one. You can stop shivering now.
Little one. You can stop crying now.
Little one. Believe in me. I can be your faith.
I can be your hope. I can be your miracle.

Little one. You can start smiling now.
Little one. You can start laughing now.
Little one. Believe in me. I can be your protection.
I can be your guiding light. I can be your strength.
I can be your miracle.

Little one. You can wake up happy now.
Little one. You can be full now.
Little one. Believe in me. I can be your guardian
I can be your friend. I can be your smile.
I can be your miracle.

Little one. Please wait for me.
Little one. It won't be long.
Little
Cloud number threeShe dances
to the deafening sound
of diamonds
in the sky.
Of all the oddities
she had in mind,
she chose to make me real.
skipwe're a tangent disorder.
there are stars upon stairs,
collecting dust,
cookbooks for disaster.

we're playing catch-up in the dark--
flowers blossoming--popcorn popping
under my skin,
under your fingers,
ringing in my ears
(the bass of our song,
in my throat).

play it in reverse;
the message is clearer.

(in my throat,
the bass of our song)
ringing in my ears,
under your fingers,
under my skin
popcorn popping--flowers blossoming
we're playing catch-up in the dark--

cookbooks for disaster,
collecting dust,
there are stars upon stairs.
we're a tangent disorder
broken.

(there's the skip.)
Browse More Like This
more ▶

More from ~Elmara

Featured in Groups:

:iconwriters-workshop: #Writers-Workshop
Where writers workshop writing! :iconhighqualityart: #HighQualityArt

Details

December 26, 2009
1.7 KB
Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 65
Favourites: 42 [who?]


Views: 2,212 (0 today)
Downloads: 43 (0 today)

License

Creative Commons License
Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
[x]

~Elmara has limited the viewing of this artwork
to members of the deviantART community only.

You can log in or become a member for FREE!

:iconelmara:
Finally.. DONE! On the last day of the workshop too. ^^;

To paraphrase Douglas Adams; I love deadlines, I like to wave at them as they pass me by. :bucktooth:

So this poem was originally written for `leoraigarath.

After reading Letter to the First Poet on Mars by ~TheHungerArtist I was pretty awe-struck and couldn't resist the chance to re-morph my previous attempt into something more solid for `lovetodeviate 's workshop on 'You' being currently hosted by #Writers-Workshop (Thanks, Adititi, for the encouragement!)

:bulletgreen: Daily Lit Deviation
:bulletgreen: Writers-Workshop conclusion
:bulletgreen: Polished Poetry Competition hosted by `Amberlouie

:bulletblue: Shortlisted for the Matthew Rocca Poetry Award for Verandah's V25.
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
love 15 15 joy 1 1 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconphylosofical:
~phylosofical Jul 10, 2010  Hobbyist Photographer
Agree with 'lovetodeviate's critique, although I would like to add that the use of the word [drag] in place of the word smear... introduces a more clearly defined visual to the line as Chopin favoured crisp clear short notes to long ones. I'm Just saying, but OMG what a wonderful peice! and could you explain why the maestro is throwing fits in space amongst satellite pianos?- Are they in competition with him or are they in discord with the harmony which the maestro seeks to conduct?
Reply
:iconelmara:
~Elmara Sep 25, 2010  Student Writer
Thanks very much for the wonderful comment! I'm so sorry for the abominabbly late reply ^^;

'Drag' is correct, technically, but I wanted to introduce a more visual element to the image of a crisp, clear note (characteristic of Chopin, like you said) being 'smeared' and fuzzy, hence, that particular word choice.

Not really, I just think he's having trouble re-mastering his piano-playing technique in zero-G and is therefore having a hissy fit :D

Thanks, again!

:heart:
Reply
:icontornstitches:
~TornStitches Feb 20, 2010
wow- this is a shockingly beautiful & well-versed piece. the space/extraterrestrial themes coupled w/ those of the Classical composers & musical terms really make for an interesting & absorbing read.
Reply
:iconelmara:
Mood: Love ~Elmara Mar 2, 2010  Student Writer
thanks very much! i'm really thankful for your appreciation :heart:
Reply
:iconkneelingglory:
!KneelingGlory Feb 1, 2010
Mmmm, it was just as delicious the fifth time around. Tell me, are you planning to publish a book of your poetry?
Reply
:iconelmara:
Mood: Love ~Elmara Feb 2, 2010  Student Writer
thanks, KG :blush:

ummm.. no? I have no idea how to go about the process or even if i should bother since no one in Pakistan would be interested in reading anything with my name on it :XD:
Reply
:iconkneelingglory:
!KneelingGlory Feb 2, 2010
Ah, but that's the wonderful thing about the internet! You can market your work to anyone you want. Stick it on Amazon.com and see what happens lol.

As for publishing, I dunno about the copyright rules in Pakistan, but over here all you need to do is slap the book together and mail a copy to the library of congress asking for a ISBN number and they'll stick it in their records here so no one else can claim your work.
Reply
:iconelmara:
~Elmara Feb 10, 2010  Student Writer
man, that sounds so awesome :excited:
have you self-published? how's the feedback like for that?
Reply
:iconkneelingglory:
!KneelingGlory Feb 10, 2010
I'm in the process of self-publishing, so I don't know yet :P It is a good idea to get at least one person who has been in the literary world for a while to review your work so you have some kind of praise to attach to it. I'm working on that part now. ^_^
Reply
:iconelmara:
~Elmara Mar 14, 2010  Student Writer
i'll nag you for pointers as soon as your book comes out :P i don't really know anyone on dA who could take out the time to review any pieces i figure would be good enough to make a collection out of. Plus most people in Pakistan would rather trash your stuff while its still in its infancy so to speak rather than encourage you :shrug: it's a pretty small literary world here, even smaller when you consider the english language market here. so, yeah, i dunno. wish me luck? :D
Reply
Add a Comment:
 
Preview   Add Comment
©2013 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy