[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

clicheTo those who hold bird bones
on the edge of their limbs,
there are dissipated lungs
filled with skies
longing for pillars of fire
rather than bottled souls
kept in the brink of captivity
too big for sparrows.

To those with the cancer
of building and rebuilding
their minute sentences
into salt-shaken metaphors,
sometimes a whisper
trying to be a rhapsody
will never be the same as
a declaration,
an aubade on it's own.

To those who empty
their ash trays
like cremated dust onto
salivating pores and
two cents of syllables weeping
by your windowsill,
there's sand in your mouth.
sand so red that oxygen
will mistake it for blood
so your words wi

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Careful StrangerSo what of roses
To the old woman walking down the hall
Holding a single shadowed bloom?
She thinks "unique"
And diverts her eyes.
Roses have their stillness.
Like she who has her grimness,
.
And all things have their wilting.
Old
and new and
Old
again.

So what of roses?
The stranger of careful
Obscurity. The old roses
With sad hands and open blue eyes.
Don't the young men fancy?
The once smooth sky.

LVI IIIThe black black bird,
sat on the tree.
letting men live merrily.

It's time to pick the gallows clean.

A stone then struck him in the head.
why this was done he does not know,
having many friends and none.
The black black crow fell from the tree
(let another matchstick blow)
He may have fallen farther down
but from the Earth the flowers grow,
and from his rot the seedlings flow.
So let all young stone throwers see
the black black bird is now the tree
and on his boughs sit more Black Wings
letting men live merrily.

It's time to pick the gallows clean.

nO htaeD dna gniyDNothing
No
thing
Not hing.

I hide behind your eyes,
like flower petals crying in the rain.

like lonely
kittens
listening
for Food.

I listen too, like them,
and you are exhailing music
like the last night in November.

And if i were the ground
for you to lie on i
could be warm for you
and my eyes,the flower petals, would cry for you.

And come to you, like death and steal a kiss.
because eyes can steal,
even when the hands
and mouth
are pushed away

UnSonnett of the UniVerseI had a dream about a paper cup
It was the universe i saw inside
and when i closed my eyes it was destroyed.

I caught a mouthful of the wind
and when i let it go,
weighted down with words,
it sank.

I let a butterfly.
and together we were free
inside the catchers net.

The Dream catcher,
Dream jailor,
The snatcher of all hope.
Wrapped in weeds and raindrops.
Destroyer of Universes.

I had a dream of a paper cup
and dreamed the universe inside
and that univerese was myself
and yourself.
and that universe
i killed.

TodayToday I died some.
Buttoned my blue collar a little tighter,
My face a little more sour purple.
Stalin would have been proud.
Today I buckled my boots and clicked my heels some.
Raised a hand and saluted death some.
Today I watched the news and got duped into
Buying eight rolls of duct-tape.
I counted my nickels at the Abercrombie counter,
Buying that shirt I could get fucked in.
Today I painted pictures in Muslim blood
And on one side of the wall they cheered.
I puked up my soul
Then, and shrieked At its spare ness.
I drank some
Until my head exploded. Until
I was shrieking Merry Christmas
To all, and to all…
And to all

To: The WolfWhen the health of summer had failed
and leaves were sucked dry
and curled inward, falling like
wrinkled flames of red and sunlight yellow,
when you shouted my name through the chill air
and the sparrows exploded into flight, they carried
my name with them as abandoned as the dead leaved of
Autumn, and scurried away from you like rabbits from
the wolf.

Then

Thirteen years later, i wrote this poem
to tell you I was dead.
To tell you that i have grown now into a dolphin
and i go where the wolf cannot follow and i cry for the wolf
and i hear him howling for me from the shore, but i never was
satisfied by the how or the why o

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Planting a Daisy in the ground

by ~Khrishna, Apr 14, 2005, 8:02:04 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Under the coma of this sky I am fraught with clouds
Beneath the needlework of this ground
I am exhausted by the stitch of groaning roots
Between the echo of every footfall I compose passion
With notes that crawl like black ants across the skin.

Not the weed that sneaks like a finger through the black dust
Not the pedals closed like a fist around their colors in the dark
Not the cold in my cracked dirt caked hands

Could stop me from digging this hole
So something around here can be beautiful.
Anonymously pinned under 2 a.m. stars.
The gray dirt rolling off my knees.

Planting a Daisy in the groundby ~Khrishna

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Nothing.

Everything.

~~love 0 0~~

~~joy 0 0~~

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~sdayton Sep 6, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

seven years later and this still just slays me.

~icantwrite May 31, 2009

Amazing!! Inspirational!!! Time to grab a pen and paper and sit outside. Thanks for the inspiration.

~Khrishna Aug 30, 2009

i'm sorry this is terrifyingly late

but thank you
so much
for your kind words.

i hope you did grab a pen and run outside,
most of the time that's the only way to come back with something.

~icantwrite Sep 1, 2009

I've done just that on many occasion recently

~Khrishna Sep 8, 2009

that is good.

~andintodecember May 9, 2008

I know I've already commented on this, but I thought I'd just say that this has become my favourite poem of all time.

To put it lightly.

~Khrishna May 12, 2008

to put it lightly i thought i'd just say
that this sort of thing really brightens my day
so

have a teddy.

yeah

~andintodecember Jan 29, 2008

This is the kind of poem you could WORSHIP.
The line 'Not the weed that sneaks like a finger through the black dust' just did it for me.
I have to add you to my watch list now.

~Khrishna Jan 30, 2008

haha. that kind of reaction makes me smile.

i think i must go lay down.

~andintodecember Jan 31, 2008

Yay

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Planting a Daisy in the ground

Planting a Daisy in the groundby ~Khrishna

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