[x]

Haiku IIIwhite cherry blossoms
melt on frosted window panes -
harbinger of Spring

minutes and milesit's 5:36 & there's blood
on the backside of my right pocket

my right, that is

i have come to the conclusion that
miles are longer
when you're alone
so i sing in the car to myself &
make strangers think
i am cute & carefree
like the man who
said so in the drive-thru
of wendy's on saturday

my friends leave me holding on
to the very tail of passing minutes
they don't know about the miles i spend
alone

it's 5:43 & maybe i want to sit
in the passenger's seat

Rooftopsdear knuckles,
i love you so.
the day i saw your wrinkles
was the day i stopped being
bored
and the day i realized
there is a beauty in my body
i may not see it in my face
full of freckles and dimples
or my legs, pale and scarred
not even my heart,
beaten and bruised.
no, there is
something special
about the creases
through my fingers
and the marks they make,
so original on their own.

BeliefBelief

She tells him the child is not his.
The old women mutter and cluck
as they slap wet cloth against river stones.
He wraps his arms around his chest as though he fears
he will also sprout with child. "A dove,"
he quietly asks? She points to a blood spot
on her cheek. "He pecked me here." It still hurts
when she touches it. It always hurts.
He loves the child, the cuckold's hatchling. He loves his lying wife.
But he knows she lies. When the old men stumble
into the stable, beards matted, coarse as grain,
he simply mutters, "Drunks," bad wine, betrayal.
One afternoon as he saws cedar planks, sawdust thick as pollen,
an angel catches his

Cookerymy blender does not understand
smoothies
"Accept My Gift of Pineapple
Thou Foul Beast!"
this is a blood sacrifice
and she is sadly unreceptive

I begin the main course
I have cupboards full of words
See-Jane-Runs
quick brown foxes
I have half a mind (no, three-fourths of a mind)
to sauté them
into
the golden eggs
more difficult to crack
than I had thought they would be
(forge? My stove doesn't get
hot enough,
I think)

I will spice the adjectives with
madness
I will verb these nouns
throw in a voodoo doll or
tulips! Two! Lips!
Crack open a maraca
and sell you some rhythm

Oh you will love this
you will devour th

cannibalistic cityit will eat your brain first.
you will wait for your coffee in orderly queues.
you will smile at the fake blonde receptionist at the orthodontist.
you will talk to your neighbor about the serious problem the management has with the cat infestation problem and you will agree to write a bitchy letter if something isn't done soon.

then, it will take your limbs.
your arms and legs will disintegrate into a melange of taxis and buses and metros
and your bike tires will go flat and you won't even notice.
your arms and legs will become so weak that you won't be able to hold yourself up anymore.

it will devour your eyes.
it will suck all the

judgementif you could see the bulletholes,
the brittle bones,

or if you could see me on a saturday,
with a cigarette between my lips,

a handwritten note clenched
in one fist, that contains
only a single word

goodbye

would you still smile
when you saw me on your porch
sunday morning?

fingernailsfingernails have stories. attached
to the phalange. attached to palm.


thumbs mean good things
but the lonely index is like a toddler

          [choose me. point. pick me. point
      it was him. it was her. point. jab. kill]

--

caress with palm [bump. by bump. by crinkle]
    scrape up the excess drippy-drop dead
    constantly dragging over the cheeks.

such high. high cheeks. like a movie star
[sucked out. hollow. no-lunch-for-you dreamer]

she's really a model without the paint thinn

fireworksten thousand stars blaze
in fleeting existence
ash falls to the ground

ways i have been worni. mists
like a vapor.

a wisp about a finger
flexed

missized
missteps

and exhaled
like cosmic debts.
ii. plains
like a drought.

the rush for everpresent
shade

unstable
unmade

the silence
of desperate haste.
iii. seas
like a flood.

a tide without a valid
crest

obtuse
obsessed

the collapse
of a crush immense.
iv. snows
like the first.

a taste of infinity's
breadth

unsure
unsaid

and betrayed
by a depth unmet.
v. universes
like the vast.

the promise of intertwined
rest

imbued
impressed

a design
beyond history's test.

aphroditeclambering lips tumble over each other like
little deer stumbling into the headlights, where
blushing cupid's bows snap shut at the slightest
whisper of a touch; as summer's broken blossom
whistles into moss, suicidal and free-falling at a
twist of the wind, dripping through honeyed-hands and
trickling down wrists. words nuzzle breath, the air
staved of acoustics that choreograph faces closer; watching as
quivering eyes thrust new-born hope, where
restless hearts knock beneath a web of ribs,
screaming silently as bodies are poured into the
stitches of aphrodite's venomo(us) fly-trap.

Coffeehouse Bluespeople like to drown in their misery
because it somehow reminds them
that they're alive.

take the lady sitting by the fog-kissed window, for example.
see how delicately her lower lip quivers
as she downs pints of coffee like a drug addiction
when in reality, each sip creates fissures on her tongue
and fills her stomach with caffeinated liquid
she secretly wishes was cyanide.

or watch how the curious boy with suns as eyes
turns to face you and aligns his line of sight with yours;
watch how his juvenile soul becomes
a map of bones so easy for you to read.
suddenly, you realize a gaze could have never held
that much despair
until

If I Were a PoetIf I were a poet I'd spin you a line
An embroidery of words etched in silvery twine
A tapestry woven of rhythm and rhyme
And stitch it all up with each tittle and jot
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.

If I were a poet I'd cook you a stew
A lyrical soup, a most nourishing brew
With couplets for gravy and iamb for my rue
And boil it in a pentameter pot
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.

If I were a poet we'd take to the seas
With paragraph sails and a literate breeze
And sail on our starship to far galaxies
We'd keep captain's logs of the treasures we sought
If I were a poet but a poet I'm not.

If I were a poet I'd write you

Haiku Ika-Unom

the morning mist fades
a golden sun revealed
her eyes kept westward

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

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More from ~fadingreverie

Ribs

Humans have 12 ribs on each side of their ribcage.
I know this because Madame counts ours every week.
Less than 12 and back of the line it is.

Carbs are bad, fats are worse, remember to eat less next time. Someone always cries.

Until today, my record was pristine.
"You have 10 ribs."
Truth is usually uncomfortable. I didn't cry like the others.

At home I went through my father's drawer. I pierced my fingers.
Found it.
It amazes me how sometimes, life just hands you everything you need.

"I see you cut back on the garbage." I've never seen her eat. "Well done".
I'm in the front again.

When they all left, she bent over, adjusti

OddmentDear Mr. Mixed Bag,

There is a small pile of ash
on my coffee table
a remnant
of your (oh so very) thought filled
morning cigarette

A similar pile
resides downstairs
where I rested my head
on your shoulder

When you stared
into the polluted distance
I found myself caught
in realization

Doubt means possibility
while truth
with its nasty, gravelly voice
forever reminds me
that I miss you too much .

Sins One Can Commit OutsideThe gates were open

(followed through
unsuspecting)

I sat on the left side
of a damp wooden bench

(in the beginning
it was only talking)

when an almost painful light
behind a chain link fence

(tried looking the other way)

illuminated
the night I'd rather forget

(found no beauty in hindsight)

The Color of Bad PoetryThe color of bad poetry
is comprised of a messy palette.

Starting with
my red frustration
creative impotence rising
when faced with that daunting white page.

Followed by
an ivory surface marred
with black shapeless words.
Desperate to convey meaning
they coil around my grey consciousness .
They collapse into a single crimson pill
bitter and hard to swallow
tastes of ash
it scalds my throat on its way down .

Finally
a product emerges.
It flaunts and chants mercilessly
its cliche
ordinary
arbitrary self
(Failure!)
as I watched, colored with dark self-loathing.

PauseAt the bus station
we watched the hands
glide in tempo
along the face
while we spun,
counterclockwise,
fingers clasped
still connected.

An odd attempt to pause time.

If only for a fraction
we were weightless-
the explosive feeling one gets
just before
falling.

TransitioningWhen the time came
I found childhood's end

She was right there
under my bed
amidst labeled boxes
illegible cursive in green crayon.

Right there,
with her oh-so-frail wings
covered in a film of dust
fractured,
like a mirror
hanging stained and cracked
revealing the truth in metaphors.
We are really rotten,
the smoke in our eyes is smoke from our cigarettes.

I note her skin,
papery and ashen
dry leaves in an old forest
stretched over
her toothpick thin bones
dry from my unfortunate neglect.
She weighs nothing now,
her form almost crumbling as
she rests in my hand.

I place the remains in a shallow grave
in the ce

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Marigolds

by ~fadingreverie, Oct 30, 2012, 6:26:18 AM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I.

She braved the marigold patch
once a week
a decision all claimed was wise

You're lost
this will set things straight
he will be your guide

II.

There was a narrow path
less marigolds grew there
the apartment awaited
at the end of the path
its owner grew to be a friend

Over lemonade
they discussed possibilities
new beginnings
how lovely
how wonderful
it is to trust each other
as friends (except deeper)
as equals (except closer)
against the backdrop
of such a chaotic world

III.

Some weeks later
blinded by the harsh sun
she dared not look down
a hand skimmed her thigh

On her way home
the marigolds burned her eyes
like fire
as an odd feeling swept over
worm-like
it crawled through

It's just the sun in my eyes
just the fog in my head
that made time stop
and voices disappear

IV.

Marigolds again.

She picked one
mindlessly ripping
each petal

Familiar doors opened
his blond hair created a halo
lit just so
smiling
I'm so glad you came

The worms slithered further
fingers crossed
silent prayers were uttered

V.

Her weight felt heavy
solidly pressed down
on the couch
the sunflower pattern
branded her exposed skin

The worm smiled
rearing its ugly head
the halo winked
so self-assured
A hand picked marigold petals from her hair

VI.

She braved the marigold patch
once a week
a decision all claimed was wise

Marigoldsby ~fadingreverie

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

My second entry for Word-Smiths [link] Colors Contest [link]

Third DLD on December 31st , 2012:
[link]

~jikivigoig Jan 1, 2013

This is so well done, and terribly sad. The writing is beautiful. I love the metaphors you used; they're so original. I caught the meaning on the first read, but it's subtle, and I think this makes it more emotional when you realise what the poem is about. Congrats on the DLD, you definitely deserved it. (:

~fadingreverie Jan 1, 2013 Writer

Thank you so much for the awesome feedback and the

, really made my day.

I'm glad you caught the meaning, some people didn't really like/get the subtlety in this one...

~Meggie272 Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is very intriguing and very well done. The story it tells is sad and disturbing, but you avoided melodrama and used sunny golden marigolds as a motif, which makes the tale of abuse seem more... real, less dramatised, and more hard-hitting because of this.

~fadingreverie Jan 1, 2013 Writer

Thanks!It's great to know that this could read as something real...I was afraid this topic might not come out so well on paper.
Anyway thank you for the wonderful feedback and the

~ExistenceWeSummonYou Dec 31, 2012

Congratulations on the well deserved DLD! Silverinkblot was right about this being subtle, I didn't catch what was going on until a second reading, but I think that subtly makes it all the more emotionally evocative. A very good, very well-structured poem.

~fadingreverie Dec 31, 2012 Writer

Thanks for stopping by and giving feedback

I'm glad you liked this poem.

=DailyLitDeviations Dec 30, 2012

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DLD (Daily Literature Deviations) in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article.

Keep writing and keep creating.

=SilverInkblot Dec 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Hi there! Just a note to let you know I've featured this piece in my 2012 showcase of literature: [link]

~fadingreverie Dec 29, 2012 Writer

I see you also added it to your collection for "Suggested DLD"

Thanks again

=SilverInkblot Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I did indeed

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Marigolds

Marigoldsby ~fadingreverie

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