Tag Archives: quiet

oreo (for gabe cruz)

vanilla cat

in cream-tint purrs

afternoon naps

coffee left unstirred

.

fogged haze of blue

and thoughtful gloom

static enamel sounds

and a crybaby june

.

blacktop cat

on staccato dreams

lethargic skylines

and quiet evergreen.

~*~

img_20180920_161832_296829460714.jpg

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The Diary Of Jane; or Three Excerpts

i.) him; or the rest of the infinite lie

Try to find out what makes you tick
As I lie down, sore and sick
Do you like that, do you like that?
There’s a fine line between love and hate
And I don’t mind, just let me say
That I like that, I like that…

revenge is colder than the dark ocean

that you carelessly left me to drown in

fill the chasm with the rest of my blood

and take warmth in my spiteless jealousy

as you want to make me bow down to you

but i’m carried away by your fading current

the horizon bends but never breaks the weight

is there another way to hold on to the sky again?

~*~

ii.) her; or the story no one wanted to tell

Desperate, I will crawl
Waiting for so long
No love, there is no love
Die for anyone
What have I become?

she’s sore and sick from all the fine red lines

her penned diaries have been burned to ashes

and no one tells her how it should be—or why

desperation ascending from her spine and body

“why don’t you die?” the windows were fogged

when she took her own life in that late autumn night

but no one wanted to cry tears for a corpse in a closet

so they buried her the best they could to keep her quiet…

~*~

iii.) them; or the guilt that burned a house

Something’s getting in the way
Something’s just about to break
I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane
As I burn another page, as I look the other way
I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane
So tell me how it should be…

the front porch is swollen with pink lightning bugs

the coffee’s cold, but i stopped drinking it long ago

i don’t want morning light to catch up with my sins

i have things in my head that they cannot ever know

so i write a final letter to dear agony, forget to sign it

but it’s never enough to keep my head from screaming

the gunshots should have disturbed their sleeping sister

but she’s not here anymore. i’m sorry. let’s just get this over

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Occhiata

Rarer still, the crest of tides

The phantom women dance and bide

Where laughter speaks in ocean waves

And cold mindless solitary graves

Midnight shadows fended and staved

.

Quieter still, the fall of tides

The phantom women sleep and hide

Where sorrow cries in ocean waves

And moonlit fields of dreamless naves

Midnight shadows that can’t be saved.

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in[flu]ence

I have the fever all warmed up

For the poor sick little head

They’ll cry as they sleep, though

Still refused to get out of bed

I’ve got the fever all warmed up

For the screaming of the choir

I only caused a quiet grey smoke

But he still sets himself on fire.

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Wedding Hells

A quiet hush descends

From the church halls and it wends

And it wends, and it wends

And it bends beyond the bells

Of the bells with their clamour

And the clangour and their fervour

Like the fervour of the crux

Hid in every sacred pews

But the pews with their kneeling

And their ever-silent praying

It grows louder—oh what terror!

Oh, what draconian, pure horror!

For the altar—yes—the altar

Though as empty as can be

‘Tis not as empty as should be

Can you see? Can you see?

Can you see the weeping plea?

Oh, the ever-crying plea

Falling free, calling me—

Calling out beyond the sea

Calling out so helplessly

Begging me, can you see?

Can you see the melancholy—

Of my forgotten bride-to-be?

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Sleepyheads

Found no solution but to let the pieces fall where they fall
Even with nothing left, I’ve got more than you know
I wanna let you in and we’ll begin
I oversimplify this all the time
Somehow I think that I’m alone
I wake up every day and change my mind…

~*~

Good morning, darling sunshine, how are you today?

I’m a thousand miles where I live, and a million where you are

But it’s a little closer to you, and a little less familiar

I’m up eight floors of daybreak and shaded in viridian colours

Although it’s a quiet haze for me, I’ve never felt better

.

Good morning, yellow lovely, hope you’re having a great day

My blankets may be cold, but my dreams feel rather safe

Of insane trainwrecks and mad doctors and accidental murders

Okay—perhaps it was a little strange, but I must confess

I woke up in metaphysical iridescence, and I’ve never felt the best

.

Good morning (or perhaps evening), how do you do?

I’ve gone to places and labyrinthine mazes and incoherent disputes

But the best is where I was, where I don’t think too much

Where I’m content with overly-caffeinated nights and later-day chats

And I still constantly think of home—not the place I’ve been

But inside the illusion of infinity thereafter, where I’m contented again.

~*~

Why did I let it go? Why did I leave myself?
No explanation as to why I’m here and not somewhere else
It’s reaping what I sow, I think I need some help
I wanna let you in, and we’ll begin..

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western trees

The silhouettes, they play the part
Their east coast digs are works of art
But the sickness sleeps inside our bones
With solipsistic overtones…

~*~

oh, how quiet the songs

of the western trees impede

amid soft tantrum of the breeze

and falling taffeta leaves

dislimn the topaz rays that glaze

when the sun adores its haze

and transforms honeysuckle brie

drops that reach your eyes so sweet

as pastel flora invites neon grass

and twines of hurtful weeds that pass

for an interlude on clement grudges

and a chance to altogether flourish

the kismet that kisses skins and knees

bruised blackcurrants and peonies oblique

tasting just like lemonade lunette

as the campanile rings out for sunset

oh how lulling, these summer songs

of the western trees’ symphonies

amid hums and chirps of solstice cicadas

and falling hearts resting at ease.

~*~

From the burbs’ to the streets now, it’s a revival
The spirit is found in the idealistically idle
The age of excess, I just love it…

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aesthetic

I see meaning where you don’t, where you don’t
I see waves of pastel orange and yellow paintings fire
I see futures that you won’t, that you won’t
I see futures where our nights are lost to condensation…

~*~

i see a future

in your smile

and a dimple

with a bruise

eyes that light

a jar of fireflies

and could fill up

an ocean trench

that button nose

twitching quaint

and slightly red

from bad pollen

ears perk, listen

for symphonies

and hear out the

sourest of notes

lips and tongue

in soft half moon

which you never

wane to a full one

as eyebrows that

raise in quick wit

miss the eyelash

that grants a wish

with zinnia tresses

in springtime wind

you use it to hide the

blush in your cheeks

i see grey and colour

blacks and whites in

that simple mind that

wanders far too much

it’s too bad you don’t see

the same way i do, and you

only see time ticking seconds

away from your quiet beauty.

~*~

Running through the cold air
Searching for a meaning
Passed out on the concrete
Dizzy from the spinning
Wake up to the feeling
That everybody’s leaving…

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Shades of Blue

If I do what I came to do
I’ll break through in shades of blue
In red and gold, the lights
Will flash and strobe
And I will finally know
This is my home…

~*~

the taciturn rain,

sometimes quiescent drizzle,

sometimes clarion storm

reminds me of turquoise memories

.

of electric glitter nail polish

shaded onto fingernails

pointing in the wrong direction

and chipping at the edges

.

of hair that looks like clouds

but coloured blueberry-slushie sky

and is iridescently sweet

like a gloom boy’s laughter

.

of sulky mp3 players

singing sempiternal distractions with

symphonies of dizzy dreamers

and skyward soul collisions

.

of apathetic faded scarves

wrapped around breeze-bitten necks

subtly referencing a beloved one

of the same jaded violin notes

.

of self-made backpack straps

a final flicker of glimpsing hope

before cosmic turns infinitely invisible

and footsteps cease giving chase

.

of cerulean paint peeling off bus seats

revealing a dull sheathe of grey slate

of wailing sirens intertwined with alarming red

of the ocean navy pen composing this poem

.

of the sky and the sea, melting horizon’s clarity

stark in mindless scratches adhering to scarred skin

the taciturn rain, so quiet, that cobalt eyes never noticed

coldness ceased falling, as blue memories caught up with me.

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TORTURED

Thespian fascination dares to overtake me

Oppressing every facile notion in quiet synergy

Red is the shade to which my dreams fade

Tortured is the tint to whence desire is unmade

Undercover lover, eyes may forget why love

Repents in fragile oneirism, it’s all you ever have

Eternally bartering in an abundance of stitches

Delaying the pain reverent when your heart hitches.

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