[x]

I'mlosingmytouchtouchmeso I caved in
and you

you reemerged

resplendent in rubble

the always
perfect stranger
playing bait
but it's the silence
you're still
hooked on

last night
I dreamt a parasite
dissolved in salt water

today
I splayed myself on concrete
concerned 'bout explanations

these are the same shakes
these are the same shakes
you should be ashamed
snakes

I'm tired of shed skin
in lover's clothing

SocksYou can't always win a nobel prize
or vicarious eyes

drive-by glances
momentary chances

while thinking of ways to rhyme
biohazard
with a 2 syllable word;

I spew lizard,
despite how absurd,

and whether or not
that strikes you in awe
or raises a brow,
or opens your jaw,

regardless of whatever you're thinking right now,
this has no relevance... to anything. At all.

Sometimes you write
about humanity's flaws,
write to grant laughter,
or analyze God,

but then when you write,
you imagine your bed!
so maybe you'd rather be writing
about... socks, instead.

It shouldn't take long
since i'm very much familiar
and quite frankly,

If I Were A LineIf I were a line
I think I’d be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
I’d sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a line.

If I were a spot
I’d be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
I’d have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a spot.

If I were a colour
I’d be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
I’d lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
m

van buren stthe reflections in the glass monolith
are the thoughts of Escher
some new cubist language
for architects and day trippers
"Acid City"
with fractal steel zebras
rows of ellipsis yawn sideways two stories
the sun is going down and soon
we will not retrieve this picture of happens to be
painted slick across the sky

placing you in picturesI dream such small dreams
skin to skin upon waking
please say you'll come home

whisperyour voice shivers through
me like breezes shaking
time-worn boughs

(and I cannot
resist that
ancient call)

slide your whispers
along skin, let them
sink deep as bone

breathe my name,
a fervent, sighing
psalm

and I will lift my
face to your sun and
unfurl my limbs

singing like new leaves
dancing in the
warm winds
of spring

Rita Hayworth is 90 nowThe old man sat shoeless
On the side of Grayton Cross
The dust on his face and hands made
Him black
And white alongside the stripes
Of orange
In the tired sky.

It was April, and still too early to
Put away the animals
I slid down
By him and accepted
His yellow cigarettes.
Somewhere buried in the paper of his pockets
Lay stale pictures of the dead

"Remember Ms. Farrell?" he spit out
A little too quickly, landing
Dried pieces of his lips
Onto my bare feet
"Older than me
but pretty as a statue
remember that?"

I could picture
This woman, frozen
In one place
Sitting easily within a smile
Like my mothers'.

affection driveIf I recycled
the love littered at your feet
hearts would starve no more.

I don't have any rules so....from here on out
all poems are made
for dancing

from there on in
I only write
for:

pretty girls
who can't read

smiling boys
who like boys
who don't like boys
(and are okay with that)

each perfect little princess
parading foreign continents
with words that drip like honey
scripting feeling
unashamed

active youth
ages unborn
through
thought deceased

those with time to kill
(they always make the best of me)

the ever faithful stranger
all arms
as large
as life

that itch
under skin

and the skeletons in my throat

a cotton candy eulogy

We buried him in the shadow of the old Ferris wheel;
Sunshine Johnson, the tin-horn man. One arm wrapped around
the big sleep and both feet slipping. He'd found his little
piece of eternity.

"Consider this a send off" I said
and he smiled around a mouthful of dirt.

The day will come when we're all a lesson learned
and Johnson knew it. He put paid to pretense and
gave nonsense no nevermind.

These days, the buildings stand tall in salute. A city
upsprung in respect with all intents made purposes.

These days, the frost clings permanent and the sidewalk
lingers just a little too long. We placed our angels
in the pavement, subtra

existentialist pick ups...where have I been all my life?

Lobotomy for BeginnersIt wasn’t the windowless room,
the edges of the walls mixing with harsh light
while waiting for the doctor’s knock.
Or the sweat-leather straps and buckles braided into her hair.

It wasn’t the operating utensils on the steel tray,
the scalpel that looked more like a butter knife
and the drill plugged in, lying on the floor.
Or even the way the doctor complimented her posture,
as if a stiff chin was more valuable than a working brain.

And it wasn’t the taste of copper that filled her mouth
before she closed her eyes, not wanting to see
him squint at the black dot sketched
in the center of her forehead
before p

The Laughter of Ducks

fisherman and son
catching nothing but minnows
and the laughter of ducks

Wild Flower Crimes When I crush the head of a clover bloom, the scent carries me to that far off field where my weed battered knees cut trails by the blackberry bush. Where the old man let us feast on his jam flavored crop of wild fruit, and told us tales of when his hair was crowned with dandelion fluff. Where the overhead hum of power lines cursing the heat of summer was the only thread we used to find our way back home. Where the king of the day was crowned based upon who found the biggest possum skull, or smashed the tallest crawdad hole; swearing he fought off its occupant, who was the size of Bobby’s dog. Back then, the trash of ditches

not yet earnedDoesn't seem like it should be over

So the sun peeped out in a flicker
the green landscape changes color

I wade through pictures
pictures

the timeless cast of memory netting them in

smells
tongues
irises

There is a record keeper in my brain
he is brilliant but quite lazy
no real sense for organization
he understands
I just need to dip in for a handful

new vistas of thought arrive

stay grey
stay grey

i chant a prayer
bring smoke offerings
I have lost my raven fan
not yet earned, i believe
but they still speak
when i am lost

this much i have found out
only this much

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More from ~almalobana

Unlit WindowsWalking round the house
and through the shadows of a dream -
or, perhaps, not a dream,
awake (or, at least, not asleep),
with dream-hands tapping on the window,
dry bones against rain-spattered glass,
my dream-hands at the window,
shut outside and walking round
and around a house that isn't mine.

But the shadows walk with me too -
oh, won't you tell me I'm not dreaming? -
caught between sleep and waking,
a spider-web of thoughts that resound
through the silent emptiness of the night.

Moonlight reflects off of windows
that should be lit from the inside.
I would be let in, but now
the moonlight locks me out, and meets me
at

Thoughts of YouThoughts of you:
a smile leaks
from the back of my mind
to my lips that don't kiss
the way they used to,
my lips which have forgotten
the taste of everything
that isn't you.

Autumn Follows SummerI always thought the leaves
would never fall,
that summer would last forever,
and I'd stay long enough
to see you smile.

I always thought the stars
would kiss me to sleep each night,
that the sun would wait an extra hour,
and you'd sleep by my side
in the moonlight.

I never thought the raindrops
would prove such poor confidantes;
they dried faster than my tears
and I couldn't tell them all the
secrets that I'd kept from you.

I never thought the snowflakes
would melt into my sorrows;
they blanketed the grounds quickly
and I couldn't find the path to
help me escape the past I'd lead with you.

I never thought the leaves
woul

Storm in a Tea-cupHe handed me a storm
in a tea-cup, his grey-black
eyes smiling at me like nights
without stars. The cup said
"Drink me", so I did.

It tasted like coffee mixed
with agony instead of milk;
he smiled with his teeth
but not his eyes, and left
me with a storm in my
veins, a night without stars.

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The Past

by ~almalobana, Jul 4, 2008, 11:54:13 AM
Literature / Poetry / Philosophical / Haiku & Eastern

The past is behind
But I still feel the ripples
Disrupting my flow.

The Pastby ~almalobana

Literature / Poetry / Philosophical / Haiku & Eastern

©2008-2013 ~almalobana

Yes, another haiku.

Written 2nd July.

For

's contest

(expect a lot of haiku from me over the next little while. I'm not doing haikuwrimo but I just... can't stop writing haiku!)

Daily Deviation

Given 2008-07-10

In The Past by *almalobana, the images and words are felt so strongly. It is indeed a charming addition to our wonderful Haiku month. ( Featured by `LadyLincoln )

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~Jukih Apr 1, 2012

I really like it, it's very soft

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Mood: Content

~Alura-the-Sage Dec 9, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Ah, the beauty of haiku! This is a prime example.

Reply

~misslorsta Jul 19, 2011

Beautifully said.

Reply

~almalobana Jul 24, 2011 Writer

Thank you.

Reply

!Vysryder000 Feb 20, 2011

thats really good! it seems we have something in common

HAIKUS FTW!!!!!

Reply

!godatesomesatan Jul 24, 2008

!! I did not know you got a DD. Of course, if anyone's fault, it's mine. All the same. Congratulations

Reply

~almalobana Jul 25, 2008 Writer

Thank you

it was exciting.

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!godatesomesatan Jul 25, 2008

I remember you told me you secretly always hoped for it. That's pretty awesome.

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~almalobana Jul 25, 2008 Writer

Yeah I know, thanks

Though, y'know, just to be picky... I wish it had been on a piece I liked/was proud of, rather than a haiku. I mean haiku are fun, I just prefer my other work.

But then I'm just picky, aren't I?

Hang on, no... that just means I've got high standards. Or is that the line for when it comes to dating? I can never remember...

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!godatesomesatan Jul 25, 2008

LOL. I wouldn't want my Haiku to be a DD. No, no.. I am not proud of it... only one. I think it's in my scraps section too, but whatever.

I don't know, like.. Haiku is its own genre, if you ask me. Which implicitly means [according to me] that it isn't representative of your gallery. Which is contradictory? Kind of. I understand, really. But then, I'm sure people would not be happy to know you're ungrateful. lol.

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