Thursday, 28 February 2013

Sonnet 1

I could compare it to an open flame,
Or rather to a still-as-crystal lake,
Perhaps, though, to a beast that can't be tamed,
Or to a slumber nearing its awake,
A flower petal falling to the ground,
A storm that rages through the open sea,
The scent of sights and touching of a sound,
A flood that fills and spills all over me;
And yet, despite comparisons to spare,
I cannot find a way to phrase it right;
A feeling that is common as it's rare,
A feeling that is dark as it is light.
To put such things to words just will not do,
For no such earthly way describes them true.

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Do I

Does a word belong
to its speaker,
or to its listener?

Does ink belong
to its fountain pen,
or to its page?

Does rain belong
to its clouds
or to its puddles?

Does a night belong
to its dusk,
or to its dawn?

Does a river belong
to its spring
or to its oceans?

And what of me?

Do I belong
to my breaths
or to my yawns?
To my thoughts
or to my songs?
To my heart
or to my mind?
To my longings
or to my memories?

do I belong to you?

Monday, 11 February 2013

The Quiet

A/N This poem is sort of supposed to be read... leisurely.

I've talked and read and listened,
And now I'm just going to think,
And watch the gray rode pass by below...

My fingers hold the notebook up,
And beyond them the jean skirt sprawls
With my legs beneath stretched along the backseat.

Across from me the oblong window shows
The trees, some green, some brown, all a mess-
They make me dizzy passing by so quick...

Constent trembles shake my pencil,
But that's ok. Everyone has a little mess in his life.
Should I not be the same?

And the rumble-roar nearly drowns out
The quiet disagreeing murmuring from the front-
My Ma and Daddy are talking.

My feet cross.
The funny toes sticking out at odd angles;
The felt seat weighed down a bit beneath.

Silently I wish the sun would find a cloud,
Or, really, the other way around,
Or maybe we could put the air conditioner to use...

But the sun warms my face and hair,
Calling me to give in and rest,
Calling me to let my eyes droop...

Idly, my mind wanders here and there;
I wonder if I should fight the dream's whispers...,
But the pencil's getting heavier..., so I reluctantly aquiesce....

Sunday, 10 February 2013

All Alone:The Sum of Her fears

In the dark she knelt and prayed

Her time and hour had come.

Only a ray of light appeared

Softly lighting up

One small spot.

In the distance she could hear the nuns

Singing in mournful chant.

Yet she was on her own

All alone.

No one came

Or remembered her.

All her friends

Had gone their own way

Each in the pursuit of happiness.

But she knew that time would come

And no longer wept or tried to hide

From the darkness that had

Been held at bay for so long

And it swept over her like a flood.

Crushed beneath its merciless weight

That ripped into her heart and showed her

What she really was.

Alone and unloved

And unwanted.

So in the end

She died alone.

Saturday, 9 February 2013

Beauty, Part II - The Negev Desert, 9.2.13

There is something beautiful about wind blowing through grass,
Making it seem as if the ground itself is trembling,
The flowers reach and stretch towards the shifting air.

There is something beautiful about a grassy desert,
The way brown and green and spotted yellow merge,
Forming a landscape breathtakingly unique.

There is something beautiful about a sunny winter day,
A break from harsh gray skies and harsh cold winds,
A bright warm sun and clear blue skies instead.

Friday, 8 February 2013


This was written verse by verse by Pyro and I. The ones in red are his.

There is something beautiful about cars in a traffic jam,
Especially at night, when their headlights are on,
They glisten like rows upon rows of yellow stars.

There is something beautiful about rain trickling down a window in a storm,
The endless world outside blurred and softened by just a few drops of water,
And everything is so gigantic and so miniscule because of it.

There is something beautiful about a cloudless sky on a cold night,
The moon casting puddles of soft silver light on the ground,
A breath morphing into shimmering clouds in front of my eyes.

There is something beautiful about streets in the middle of the night,
When they’re so very quiet and you can just about hear the wind,
And the light of the streetlamps makes the whole place glow.

There is something beautiful about inked words on a page,
The way each line forms a letter and every few letters a word,
And the words form sentences that hold worlds within them.

Sunday, 3 February 2013

As We Are and Ever More

The questions I ask myself in the silence...
Things like... Should I remain unheard?
Should I give in to the repentance?
Or the bitterness?

And when voices rise up, I wonder...
What can I say to match something like that?
I spit; I stumble; I blunder.
Most everytime I try.

Then, when it's over, I think...
Well, that didn't work out so well...
At least I'm on the brink
Of being helpful.

And hours go by as I try to forget my mistakes...
Thinking the failurs are best not remembered at all;
Thinking nothing's at stake...
Except my own shame.

Until one blustery thundering day...
My favorite kind to be free and to live,
When I can imagine all is ok,
Even though my heart knows it isn't.

But someone smiles and laughs at my jokes...,
The mess I remember, already forgot;
Fondly recalling the words that I spoke;
Catching my feet when I stumbled

But what? What do you mean?
You like what I said, what I did?
I was silly, didn't it seem?
I wonder to myself...

I don't know; I don't understand...
But nobody seems to notice;
They're shoving me, laughing and grand,
Returning the smiles...

Returning the smiles I've given to them...,
Because I can't help but be happy,
With a glowing heart and happy grin
With my friends.

Beautiful, hearts full of caring,
Friends of all kinds:
Courageous and daring
And quietly strong.

They're my help and my hope
Releasing the binds,
Cutting the ropes...
Of my constraint.

With them, I can be...,
Everything I am, and covered in scars,
I'm still happy and free
Because they love me as me.

And when I spit and stumble and blunder...,
They don't sigh or curse
Or moan or groan or mutter...
Even silently in their minds...

They get it. They forgive,
Forgive in the beat of a heart,
Because they'd rather I live
Then fall with no one to help.

They're my friends. My family,
And I love them as them
Because they first loved me...
Thank you, my lov-el-lee angels,
For setting me free.

Saturday, 2 February 2013

The Little Things

It's the little things.
Your laugh and its rarity,
The way you stifle your yawns,
How you try and flatten a stray lock of hair,
The way your eyes almost close when you smile,
That smile reserved only for when you say 'I love you',
The way your voice is a different type of amazing when you sing,
How you puff up your cheeks when they hurt from smiling too much,
Those rare moments in which I see your eyes despite Skype's shittiness,
                                         I love

Night Creatures

A/N The inspiration came from wise man who said, "Why are we night creatures who stay up till the quiet hours with... the clacking of computer keys?"

On a night like this,
With the mist curling up
And the sky falling down,
The moon glistens bright;
On a night like this,
The Night Owls stir
With round, shining eyes
And a question- "Who-who?"
Clickety-clack go their claws
On the branches
Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack on the branches...
The Night Owls in their reverie
Eyes perceving all
Through the fog...

On a night like this
With the hum of the mechanics,
And an arteficial light
As Clickety-clack goes their fingers
On the keyboard
Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack on the keyboard...,
This is the only company
Of the weary sleep-deprived
Night Owls.