[x]

StarsIt is
amazing
how
when our eyes
align
I see you
staring,
star gazing,
beautifully unfocused.
Unseeing,
but crying,
stars
reflected in your eyes
even though
you don't feel
anymore.

Sacrifice Returns the SoulCrying inside,
Begging to know
The secrets that possess you,
The thoughts behind your eyes
The locks to the happenings
Inside your mind.

But not daring to ask,
Out of fear.
Fear that you wouldn't say,
Or worse, that
You would blame
All this heartbreak on me.

Knowing in my heart
That maybe,
Just maybe,
I am to blame
For this bedraggled version
Of the person you used to be.

And those beautiful eyes,
Cocoa- colored eyes,
Stare blankly ahead
Through the cracked windshield
Which is all I can offer,
Because its all I've ever had.

I can feel it,
Slowly, surely seeping away.
The emotion, the feeling
The soul in your body,

WaitingI want to fall asleep
With my head on her shoulder
Cradled in her arms
Covered with story-telling skin
And nothing else.

I want it to be real
When I'm holding her hand
Tracing my fingers over ivory and denim
And the wispy, silver- winged smoke
Of dreamland

And I want what, so far
I cannot have
So I am forever
Waiting for her
Because she is waiting for me.

Wind-Whipped SoulsYour empty blue green eyes,
The locks to your mind,
Look right through me,
They're open; but for some reason, I can't find the strength to look inside.

You close your cold hands around a cup of
Bitter, convenient store coffee.
Sitting in the cloth covered, beat up passenger seat,
Staring through the cracked window, all I've ever known.

How am I supposed to help you here?
I'd wipe the blood from your paperthin skin,
But that's a solution you hate. It never comes to that,
And I wouldn't have the tools to do it anyways.

I'd pry the murder away from your mind, but it's hidden,
Locked away, for another confession.

Drive down the roa

HumansSometimes I wish for the taste of metal
The graceful ringing crunch
Of a blue sheet
Being pushed and pulled out of the civilised world
Only to return to another version of the
Unstructured wild it once came from
The only remnants of its past life:
Blue paint.

Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of reflective glass splintering away
From a shiny silver page
That tells the stories of fleshy robots
Cynical and vain
Looking for aurbrushed photographs
In the simple dirty reflection of mechanical procedures.

Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of small, rusted, shining shapes
Dully glinting in the brightest midday sun
Refle

ImpairedI used to think,
you were an architect;
you demolished my walls,
so I would invite you in.

But maybe you were a wrecking ball;
tearing me down,
and making me small.

I imagined you an engineer;
tinkering with minuscule pieces,
until they formed a mechanism,
that fit perfectly in your hand.

Perhaps you were an open flame--
scorching things,
and never leaving them the same.

I believed you were a doctor;
a cardiologist of some kind--
sewing together broken pieces,
and making me whole.

But maybe you were something,
I was too blind to see;

maybe you were just a disease,
sucking the

Inspiring a Teenage BoyIt was late morning when I got to my friend's place and knocked on her door.  She opened it, smiled, and then let me in.  I looked around and saw that no one else was in the apartment.  I asked her where everyone was at and she replied that her younger and older sisters were out shopping, while her parents were still at work.

"Oh…"

After some idle chitchat, she invited me into her room to listen to some music.  I shook my head and said, "Didn't your mom say you weren't allowed to have boys in your room?"

She laughed and replied, "Don't worry!  She won't be home for at least a couple of

BeliefIs there really
An all powerful superhero
Sitting in the sky,
Controlling your every move,
Thinking your every thought,
Providing your every breath?

Are you certain
That there's an invisible spirit
Hiding out above the atmosphere,
Shaking the ground,
Wringing out the clouds,
Lighting the sun every morning?

Can you show me
This omnipresent, heaven-dweller
Who flies among the celestial beings,
Hiding himself from his creations,
Because they should have faith in him
Or a book?

unlearn the constellationsI may carry my voice
on white-crested wingtips
but I refuse to take the names of birds.
My throat is not a desert
with smoldered star limbs
in place of sand, not a stone
for you to overturn and mark
with gentle cloud prints
or leave in the mud
to be perforated by bright moss.

My song is not made
to be thundered like a body
on the wind, to be bellowed
by the jagged mouths
of some distant, forgotten jungle.
It is made to slide along the edges
of twenty burning suns and rise
like a halo of newfound breath
from the crevice which splits
earth and sea. To break open
like the young, wet-winged dove
born of a glorious mud
which cracks mountains wi

I know someone...I know someone who's new and scared, just waiting for his chance, but with that chance comes insecurity and a smile that just isn't his.

I know someone full of smiles and tears, and when the day ends, that's still all she has, nothing more than smiles and tears.

I know someone who wants to fix the world, but acts as if he'd rather set it ablaze, and when the fire's in his eyes, I know he's really just burning with pain.

I know someone wonderful, kind and true down to her core, but her pretty face goes overlooked, and those eyes fill with the sadness she tries to hide.

I know someone innocent, whose wings are tainted with the blood of a do

CoppersmithI caught a sun gold.

Trembling old in my cupped palm, quiet copper,
as my rage on our queen, for so crippling me.

And how too did I rail –
against you, Cyprian beloved?

Understand: I grow too old
for bows and arrows, Eros.

curious company'this town is too small,'
she claimed.
'too small for things
to actually change.'

a lit cigarette dangled from her lips
but we ignored the smoke;
the light coming from the tip
will burn longer than anything she knew.

such a nonchalant complaint
dismissed with a blink;
she flicked the embers out onto the street.

there's the sidewalk for a chair,
but the runt of a tree for a roof
fails to cover the disappoint
she always found herself wading through.

a siren in the distance
coming to save her?
no, not this time.

a rescue slowly passed by,
hoping for her acknowledgement
but she knowingly misses the chance;
the words of her

AnswersWatching from the windowsill
Eyes fill with tears
Staring at the blank horizon
You don't have to do this dear

Take a hand from the cold winter moon
There is still peace
Everyone is watching you
Don't forget to breathe

Stars twinkle in the sky
No shade on the passerby
They don't pay attention
No one really listens

Watching from far away
Mind begins to go blank
You don't need to feel this way
This isn't meant to separate

Watching from the windowsill
Eyes fill with tears
Staring at the blank horizon
You don't have to do this dear…

The StarsI hate the stars.

They make me feel small again,
a baby in a world of grown-ups,
all using complicated words
that I haven't learned yet.

The stars represent everything.
Everything that I'm not,
and the single thing that I am:
young,

                tiny,

Oh Dear.He is an Oscar Wilde inspired man-poet
Whose subjects are as real as glass.

He is a silly chorus boy
Spending far too much time in the music room.

He is a reader,
A dreamer
Who hums to himself while his eyes float across the page.

He is real-
But I don't even know his name.

And I am already infatuated.

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Feathersmy words were tiny wooden airplanes
speeding through the universe
as fast as dust.

they strung themselves up on
wires made of fear, attatched
to Venus by the thorns
of the thistle that killed me so long ago.

they searched for a landing place in
Her mind, but got sidetracked
when Her lips spoke the word
Love.

Viewpoints.We create ourselves
And we are merely
The products of
Our Imagination

Labeled by
The Imagination
Of others

We are
Who we perceive ourselves to be
Who others
Perceive us to be
So who am I?

Bullshit LiteraturePeople don't write poetry anymore.
No one lets the moon's silver soul slip,
from the end of a fountain pen,
into the only Earthly existence it will ever hold.

Alas, even I am writing this
with a keyboard.

DiseaseSometimes I inhale too many different emotions and they stack up inside my rib cage, tearing at my lungs and weighing me down like bricks. I want to scream to get them out but the wider I open my mouth, the further into my body they sink, determined to intertwine themselves with the fibers of my body. I want to move, flail, dance to get them out but it's like sewing them into my stomach and I'm so overcome that I can't speak or move or think and all I can do is sit and wait and feel these emotions until they sink away into my feet. They're beginning to pile up now, and some days it's hard to walk because they're so heavy, filling m

I Gave My Heart To JulyI gave my heart to July,
In the hopes that he would tug on my heartstrings
And extract my wildest dreams
With his delicate twine fingers
From my mind.

I gave my heart to July,
During the end of this disquieting June
So hopefully he would be able
To smother the fluttering in my ribcage.

I gave my heart to July,
And poured my soul out to him
Laying its indigo ether
On a simple porcelain plate
For him to feed into the dusk.

I gave my heart to July,
And he knew I was his,
Even though we danced seperately,
I in his brother June,
He in the depths of the cosmos,
Waiting breathlessly for his reunion with mother Earth.

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Submitted: August 4, 2011
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Wholeheartedly.

by ~pari-a, Aug 4, 2011, 6:44:01 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

After the yelling,
The broken glass and
Bent dreams that were
Thrown away in the black
Glad garbage bag
Hung over the knob of the cleaning cabinet.
The floor was dirty.

Covered in sticky, spilled beer and
Half empty soda cans.
Paper plates and coffee filters and
Ashes and cigarette butts and
Sorrow.

Littered with expectations and hopes
That spilled out of every orifice
Of the human who lost them.
Crushed by the weight of knowledge lost
When the blood came.

And when it came,
The soul escaped
Along with the hopes, dreams and
Expectations for the new beginning
That caused the end.

It shone and glittered
Casting light on the dank,
Claustrophobic nightmare that she ran to,
Because running away
Was too painful without a destination.

Wholeheartedly.by ~pari-a

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

///

Is the ending to abrupt?

Is the listing effective or just annoying?

Word choice? Do any words sound awkward to you?

Overall opinion?

also, [link]

love 1 1

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~waffle26 Nov 30, 2011

This is a great poem. I love the imagery and the vibrant descriptions.

!MonsterSalsa Sep 27, 2011 Photographer

1, I don't think the ending is to abrupt
2, Definatley effective!
3, Nope! Couldn't be better
4, I loooove it. It's got great flow and imagery.

~Armahda Aug 17, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

The fourth verse is my favourite absolutely! Now to your questions:
1/No the ending isn't abrupt: "Because running away
Was too painful without a destination" makes perfect sense to me!
2/effective
3/ great contrast of ideas EX. cleaning cabinet - dirty floor
4/ Great poem - keep it up!

=RoyalBlackheart Aug 12, 2011 Writer

I'm not sure pointing out that the garbage bag is a 'Glad' brand is entirely necessary. I had to re-read that line a couple of times before it dawned on me exactly what was going on. That could be preference though, so I wouldn't focus on it to much.
The last line for the first stanza end so abruptly it takes away from the flow a bit. You may wish to break this off into another stanza.
Your second and third stanza I completely adore. It's simple, but it says a lot and I can picture the scene quite clearly. (:
For the forth stanza I would try a different word than 'expectations' again. Just a piece of advice; unless a poem is meant to have a repetition of words I don't suggest repeating the same word.
I feel you close the poem off effectively, and in fact quite strongly.

You have good word voice. (: Of the two poems that I critiqued for you, this one is defiantly my favorite. Nice work!

~pari-a Aug 12, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

The Glad garbage bag bit was actually a pun, because of the fact that it's such a miserable environment... and the garbage bag is Glad...

~WaKip Aug 10, 2011 Writer

I don't believe so, I had a good idea what was going on and the ending at that time felt right, if you kept going on I probably would have felt that it was a few lines to much, with this it feels fine.

It felt weird and a little bit annoying to read it that way, because when you separate it feels the same as tossing a period there and we all know that kind of reading feels weird. I don't know what you could do to fix it to be honest, it would run on a bit if you put the sentences together.

I enjoyed the word choices

I liked this poem but it could use improvement 3.5/5

!silverfleckedlullaby Aug 10, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I particularly like the first stanza and its second last line

The imagery is particularly poignant there. However, I feel like the last line doesn't belong to that stanza and would be better off as a part of the second as suggested by ~sto67. I also think that the word 'dirty' isn't adequate enough to effectively create imagery, even though it's expanded upon in the second stanza. I'd suggest replacing it with another adjective, or re-structuring that line and replacing 'dirty' with another word, e.g. 'The _____ floor:,' in which case you could also string two nouns together with a hyphen to make your own adjective, like 'drain-gray' (totally random, first thing that popped up in my mind, but you get the idea).

The second stanza, which I presume you're referring to when you say 'listing,' is actually very effective because of the listing. It creates that sense of fatigue you're clearly aiming for. I know this is an emotional piece, and where the strongest of emotions are concerned words aren't always adequate, so although I feel the word 'sorrow' is a cliche, I can't really think of another word that would be more powerful.

I got a little confused by these two lines: "Crushed by the weight of knowledge lost/ When the blood came." That isn't a negative, though, I just want to know what you meant them to mean, and you might consider making it a clearer, sharper image, but it's not too necessary.

For the third and fourth stanzas, I would recommend playing around with words to create more complex imagery that sufficiently represents words like 'expectations,' 'hopes' and 'dreams' in order to eliminate them--this would make the poem more original and less tangential to cliche. The first two stanzas have just the right amount of banality in their imagery to give the sense of an everyday unpleasant event and avoid seeming cliche, and I think the third and fourth could be reworked to give the same effect.

I actually really like the last two lines, and think they make the ending just abrupt enough to be striking, and not too abrupt.

Overall, I think this piece conveys a great deal of the emotion behind it, which is extremely difficult to do, and takes a lot of talent. The imagery is fairly effective, and though more of it would be nice, it does portray the scene pretty well. Great work!

*MattVoscinar Aug 21, 2011 Student Writer

I think I'm going to address your questions one by one:

-First, I feel as if this piece flowed wonderfully. There were never any moments were awkward wording caused me to stop reading, nor did poor structure.
-While there are quite a few obscure words in the piece, I feel that it is the reader's job to take part in the reading and finding out something they may not understand. It only benefits them.
-The imagery throughout your piece is great in the fact that it gives both the literal image and the implicit imagery of the author performing acts that could be described using the vocabulary you chose to use.
-To be honest, if this piece spanned another weeks time, I wouldn't mind. The conciseness of your individual parts makes the poem seem shorter than it actually is.
-The emotional impact for me was pretty drastic, due to the imagery it created.

I'd also like to comment on the fact that your alliteration was used very subtly through the piece and it gave the flow a bit more smoothness. Wonderful job.

*MattVoscinar Aug 21, 2011 Student Writer

Ouch, I'm quite sorry. This was supposed to go somewhere else.

~pari-a Aug 10, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

Thanks for the feedback!

In the first stanza, I selected the word "dirty" because of it's plainness in order to correspond with the simplicity of the sentence "The floor was dirty." I was going for a clash of the complex emotion with a simple thought.

As for the two lines you were confused by, basically what it means is that the floor (which is the continuing subject in the second and third stanzas) was crushed by the fact that knowledge was wasted when the blood came (when the girl was killed.) I thought about reversing it, but that wouldn't make sense because the lead-in to the next stanza is more crucial.

In the fourth stanza, the cliche is in place purposefully, because of the thoughts the girl had when choosing this new path.

Also, thanks for the favorite

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