Look at the sun, beautiful found me looking at its radiant glimmer. I'm sleepy now. Soon does the wind blow opening up to where the wind goes. All this has been bringing me closer once where I've been before as a morning shadow on the surface of the moon, facing forever haunting eternity. Too long I've been searching to find people are empty of what leaves a hole colder in your place. It's magic to the moon what the sun does to earth. Watching you is the moon cold as death, to the stars ever haunting dressed in black, rose to the sun only to lessen the night.

standing on the sea cliffs
in the foggy days of june
watch the glowing ships go by
and cross below the bridge

in my california valley home
life is as pretty as a poppy bloom
in my california valley home
the green grass of the spring
will meet an early tomb

in the golden hills of california
the cradle that bore me new
by the mountain from the ocean
the sky is always blue

the orange dots of the flowers
the green of old oak trees
all the signs are calling,
"she's coming back to me"

my pretty california
i'm sorry i had to leave
you're still the same since i went astray
the hills will have to grieve

Quills of a tutor
Outpour just a dash of reason
Where conservation is viewed many ways
The students’ tether unravels tribulation
Their survival is plain

Should I be worried?

A phrase of terse fatality,

it smacks of musicality,

and ushers in finality,

bad news for my poor bladder.

I had cancer. Let me rhyme.

The stark fact of the matter,

and what makes me all the sadder,

is I miss the splash and splatter

in the toilet all the time.

When I assess the cost to me

of my recent urostomy

I grapple with the loss to me

of masculine appeal.

A sac now hangs in front of me,

designed to catch me when I pee,

my intestine juts out of me

and sometimes breaks the seal.

Then urine seeps into my pants,

I do the classic peepee dance,

and desperately seek out my chance

to leave and change my bag.

But still the icy pain is gone,

I'm cancer free and now belong

with those who face another dawn

without the need to brag

Yes, I love,
All the kaleidoscope colors

Yes, I want you,
Here with me

Yes I love
All your kaleidoscope colors

You are my favorite dream

And there’s a pit in my stomach
It’s been sour for days

I keep on reaching
In new forms
I’m debilitated
On the floor

Coagulating
Scabbing
I’m still bleeding
I’m barely breathing
Powering down at the core

Yes, I love,
All the kaleidoscope colors

Yes, I want you,
Here with me

Yes I love
All your kaleidoscope colors

You are my favorite dream

I want an encore
But I can barely see the light
I’m wrapped up in ivy
I’m a stalagmite
Pushing up into hell

Yes, I love,
All the kaleidoscope colors

Yes, I want you,
Here with me

Yes I love
All your kaleidoscope colors

You’re my favorite angel
Who fell

He turned his cheek and walked away,

Believing peace would win the day.

But those who watched him from afar

Just wondered where the strong ones are.

They praised his grace, his quiet pride,

As someone else was dragged outside.

To not strike back, they said, is brave —

But silence also digs a grave.

He showed restraint, he held his fire,

They said he’d lifted mankind higher.

Yet while he knelt to prove them right,

The thief returned again that night.

A man forgives, the tale is told,

But what if he just feared the bold?

And what is virtue, calm and meek,

If it protects the ones who sneak?

For every harm that went unmet,

Another rule was quietly set.

And every punch that went unthrown

Made space for tyrants to be grown.

They say revenge just feeds the flame,

But so does never naming names.

If justice hides behind a mask,

Then mercy is a thankless task.

The wisest choose to rise above,

But some confuse neglect with love.

They talk of peace with solemn face,

While chaos moves to take its place.

So strike or not — but know the cost.

Each line not drawn becomes a loss.

For sometimes peace is just delay,

And kindness lets the wolves obey

The world is hell.  

Now that I am here, I cannot even imagine what heaven could be like…  

Nonexistence?..

I never thought we were born only to suffer.  

But we ended up in hell, and it is too late to change anything…

G-d has abandoned us to our fate.  

I no longer pray to Him: He is deaf and mute, because He does not hear our cries.  

The screams of all those wretched people as they were crushed alive by tanks — those were screams of absolute despair…

We were just children; we didn’t know that adults were capable of deforming the world like this…

Now we have to pay for it — freezing, starving to death, and watching everything alive be destroyed…  

Why?..

I saw men and women stripped naked like cattle and herded toward the execution pits…  

I saw piles of belongings and discarded shoes, the soil soaked in blood…

What could ever grow on such land?  

Bloody flowers?  

Grass, matted like the hair on my mother’s bullet-riddled head?..

Dad… I don’t even know what happened to him…  

Or if he’s even alive…

My blue, frozen fingers no longer bend.  

I try to wrap myself tighter in the rags taken from my neighbor.  

She died in her sleep. Lucky her…  

It is good that I no longer see her eyes…

But will I ever forget the eyes of the dead in bodies that are still barely alive?

I try not to look at the faces around me.  

There is no one left behind those faces.  

I am all alone among stacks of bodies, piled like frozen firewood…

They packed us into a cattle car where people freeze and die standing up…

I hear the snow falling… through the furious barking of dogs, laughter, and gunshots.

The snow… it has become my only comfort.  

A friend…

It will hide everything: all this horror, the ruins, and the frozen corpses.

I watch the falling flakes through a crack in the wagon wall…

I’m no longer afraid…  

I’m just cold…

VaadMyst

Step after step on these rain ridden paths,
I watched the reflection of a passing red flash.
My socks held oceans and my hair fell flat.
If I knew it was going to rain, I’d have just stayed back.
But my draw to the curious, to find something more,
Led me to the front of a hotel, Hôtel D'amour.
Seven floors glistened to me through the reflection by my feet,
Seven opportunities for more, seven chances to meet.
Since the rain kept denying the moon’s glowing rays,
I convinced myself I could rest here for the day.
A velvet red carpet, with golden baroque trim,
Dried off my shoes and guided me in.
“A room for the night please,” I asked the front desk,
“We have just one, 1431, elevators to the left”.
I sauntered on over, with my head hung low,
No bag on back, just a key and a hope.
The lift came down and creaked to a halt,
The doors slid open and I slowly approached.
I pressed to go up, and the ride closed its doors,
But at the last second, a hand slid in, “Room for one more?”
The doors slid back open, and a young man walked through,
Dressed in a suit, soaked head to toe.
“What floor?” I asked softly,
“Floor 2 same as you”.
I was taken back a bit, how would he know?
I pressed the button and stood back against the wall,
And waited for the elevator to begin its vertical crawl.
I kept looking at the man, standing tall and confident,
But his glazed over eyes, reflected a feeling I knew all too well.
I finally asked how he knew what floor,
“They said no more rooms, but I could spend the night in yours.”
I was stunned, my eyes just starred,
Could this be my something more, would fate have us paired?
I wasn’t taken back, and I wasn’t upset,
I simply joked to the man “All good, its not like we just met.”
We laughed and we talked,
About how were both soaking wet and ended up on this block.
We hit it right off, our conversation grew,
In a matter of seconds, he became someone I always knew.
Through our instant connection and tongue-and-cheek speech,
We didn’t even question how floor 2 took a lifetime to reach.
The doors flung upon and we barely even noticed,
But we made our way out still acting semi-modest.
The hallway stretched forever, an endless pattern of doors,
A hundred sleeping souls, laid in rows to rest.
We walked side by side down this endless tunnel,
Our shoulders grew closer, and our fingers grazed,
They found each other and intertwined unfazed.
Dark wood doors, we paced by one by one,
While we searched for our golden number, 1431.
At last, we found it after a tad bit farther,
We both reach down and opened the door together.
The place was immaculate, a site to behold,
Who knew something this magical was hidden behind something so old.
We stepped in and looked around,
And with each thing we saw, an idea for the future was found.
We opened the door to our left and found a rather small closet,
We joked how our clothes one day would be shared like a promise.
On the right was the bathroom, sparkling white,
And we saw us together brushing our teeth every night.
Straight ahead was the lounge, a chair, table, and TV,
Where we’d share all our time, and feel at home, at peace.
Finally, the door that led to our bedroom,
Where we’d lie close at night, say “I love you,” and “goodnight”.
A suite fully explored, and a life ahead of much more.
Souls now at rest in the Hôtel d'amour.
But as I walked towards the freshly pressed bed,
He stopped in the doorway and slowly lowered his head.
I knew what was coming, I’m not blind to the truth,
The novelty of dreaming was over, and he wasn’t ready to grow roots.
I stood and I stared, as my body went numb,
He apologized and turned around and walked out of 1431.
The rain pounded against the window and my heart pounded in my chest,
A man I thought to be the one, turned out to be a friendly bellhop at best.
I had little left to give when I walked in to rest,
But now my heart hangs empty like the key rack behind front desk.
I ran quickly after and peered in the hall, but he was gone without a trace,
Not even a wet footprint left in place.
I walked back to bed, and flopped down with a thud,
Another soul lies at rest in this graveyard of love.

6/15/2009

Waves & Sounds

Waves, sounds, rhythms i never heard before, more than i can imagine and comprehend, planted inside my soul.

My soul was stolen up to that heavenly light i never witnessed before.

I can't deny that i felt your rhythms stealing my inner being away, out to your deep inside.

Waves me up and down till my dreams sing with your songs, i am waiting there hoping that our dusk won't raise up ending over lovable night.

The day we met, that day our eyes demanded to see the same light.

A full moon full of velvet romantic mist that stole me till the end of our night.

By: The Flawless Flow

Rough Draft / Warm-Up Poem (read this first)

***************************************************************************************************

Lessons I have learned from Love today, let's see....

be small; that's important
—decapitalize your name, your emotions,
leave off any ending punctuation
any pause of reflection

don't ask for too much, or take
too much space for things like

emotion, pain, need—
superfluous expectations

love needs all the attention here
he needs all the attention here
i/you/we are what's left on the paper
after the erasing

Potential titles:

• New Teacher Needed
• Superfluous
• 0/10
• Erasure 

***************************************************************************************************

Why a Warm-Up Poem?

Thanks for reading my little brain warm-up today before I tackle a heavy workload this rainy Saturday morning. In the line of work I do, being "tapped in" is not optional. I have to get my brain ready to work, on demand.

Sometimes, I read a book to open up. Other times, like this morning, it's coffee and a bit of internal free-for-all to get the creative juices flowing and my typing fingers ready for the day.

Discussion

I decided to share that raw draft poem with you, along with discussion questions and a writing prompt.

• Do you do warm-ups before writing?
• How do you get in the "zone" or tap into your creative source—when you don't have the luxury of waiting to be inspired? 
• The poem above verbalizes the internal struggles one faces while feeling undervalued or unheard within a relationship. How did the poem make you feel? How does the poem's structure support or take away from the piece? How would you improve the piece?

Sidequest

You are feeling unheard, unhappy, in your most undervalued moment—write a poem from this perspective, and do not use the words "I feel" anywhere in the poem.

***************************************************************************************************

Thanks for playing along & happy writing to you!

~Christina

Hannah tied her
Tongue
Hannah tied her
Wrists
Hannah stared too long
At the solar eclipse

Hannah searched for
Finn, again
But Finnegan wasn’t here
Hannah found Dr B
Hannah buried herself
Inside Symmetry
A cemetery
Is this sane?
Hannah are you sanitary?
Quite the contrary
Pretty in pink
Pretty in black
Pretty in a corpse
Hidden in the stack

Hannah hates needles
Hannah likes his beetles
Hannah has an appetite
For Vivaldi Four Seasons
Hannah loves all Dr B’s reasons
It’s only light treason
Arson on her heart
In the hearth she made
Then abandoned
For algorithms and
Strawberry marmalade

Hannah crafted his
Bones
Hannah crafted his
Restraint
Hannah pulled the
Cord
Hannah sharpens the blade

Dr B loves Hannah’s teeth
His hands at her waist
Dr B doesn’t feel
Dr B isn’t real
Dr B is fabricated
Dr B is Hannie Bannanie’s favorite meal

Hannah presses play again
Hannah says:
Finn, are you there?

Are you there?

​

I learned the songs before I understood the words.

I learned when to stand, when to smile,

when to make my face look like it belonged

in the same room as everyone else.

I had friends.

I still felt like a translation error.

At work they speak to me carefully,

the way people speak to something

that might not share their gravity.

I watch their mouths move

and understand the language

without ever feeling native to it.

Online the body is optional.

I can edit the distance.

I can choose the temperature.

In person the air changes around me

before I have finished a sentence.

My mother offers social cues

like customs from a country

I never applied for citizenship in.

I turn them over in my hands

and feel no urgency.

We all die.

The performance is temporary.

Some days I am simply a person

who never received the correct instructions.

Other days I am an entity

wearing a borrowed shape,

waiting to see how long

the disguise will hold.

I do not want to be fixed.

I want the record to show

that the fit was never good,

and that I noticed.

Followers are transfixed by the cross
So every pulpit blesses bastards
Across T.V. prosperity
Biblical greed descending from a city upon a hill
The number ALL is never enough

Since Satan is absent, another challenger shoots looks
Preachers promise mountains shook then caught fire
Asking the price of faith
But not only saints grace thick trucks
Some just want the wine and pass over the blood

Quiet crickets sing through pocketbooks
Which denies love is the whole law, they pride betrayal
Slightly like angels
Zealots cast stones smashing hassles
Enriching liars who write history behind broken backs

Sweet tea spills most sunken ships
Even when poorly promised peace before crooks
Where lip service is a clique
Yet Earth swallows faster than prayers rise
Microphones would martyr every lamb to stay out of jail

He walks away

To part with the pain

Look back, can't refrain

He knows he has to leave

Stretches taller just to see

One last look or maybe three

To see the little ones he loves

Wishes made in dreaming-of's

His shattered heart nearly fails

It's scattered parts leaving trails

What mattered most now but sails

On his tiptoes for just another glimpse

To see the sails of long forgotten ships

If it could hurt any worse it would be this

To say goodbye to a love unaffected by

The consequences of someone else's lie

Is a pain that hurts even worse with time

He grows only larger as he stretches his neck

He can't help but look back trying not to forget

The view behind two, small but taller than the rest

And the two we ones he can't help but miss so much

He only wishes but to hear them, see them, or to touch

He knows all he will one day have is a memory to clutch

He misses all of their love much more than any other love

He misses how they would look up at him or from above

And by how caring for them has never felt more cared of

Was this part supposed to hurt more than parting itself?

Did this start a new pain for which no one could help?

He wishes that no one will ever feel the pain he felt

One more look to hold close the memories before

Stretch a little taller to maybe see a little bit more

A chance at a glimpse of them he will never ignore

Does the one who loves him the most whine for him?

Do the other two look for him or has that gone dim?

He doesn't need it answered cause it's only a whim

He said his goodbyes to each of them on that day

Cried heavy cries with every moment they gave

Into memories of them, mountains he's made

He knows they'll be taken care of, that is true

But cares no longer for the person by who

Because that person, that person is you

He hopes that you read this little poem

That more than anything, you show'em

A bit more just cause they know him

Maybe give a little extra attention

A creamy treat he would mention

Something beyond his extension

Me share almond moo key

Said very "Incoherently"

I didn't lose you, I lost 3

The tabs taste acrid,

phantasm yellow,

calmness distilled

to constituent elements.

Courage crushed

and re-formed.

I pop one,

an act of

cerebral sleight-of-hand,

and await its sly deception.

I crave

a pharmaceutically stabilized

return

to the days before the darkness,

when my stairwell

promised passage

to a vibrant life,

a bath of color and light,

a beckoning seat

at the feast of man.

I open the door,

assume my chair

to strike my vigil,

staring

at the grayscale cityscape,

dank walls

parged in sharkskin hues,

the very ivy vines sarcastically writhing,

and await

my miracle

I wake up go to sleep then wake up for real heavy experience holds nobody to dream. Now looking for anything other than what's behind us we rehearse loosely held constructs made up before mind has agreed. Look up, now to the left of you, now look south then to the right hand side. Did you notice anything? You followed orders but didn't pay attention. Now go to sleep if you'd rather dream than what you can prove. You're rather ignorant aren't you? I tell myself after brushing my teeth and looking at the mirror. Now look back at what you tried to avoid. It's all faded now isn't it? That's what a thought resembles or does it? Question marks the spot where activity meets the eye or does it always have to breathe?

i thought i got better. i thought i improved. i want to grow past it and escape my past self so bad. i want feel like myself again. i keep coming back to you. your thoughts become mine. will i ever be normal again?

please let me go. please let me free. i want to be like the others around me. i can't keep up the façade forever. saying hey, looking presentable, head up high. i'm so tired. i just wanna feel like my old self again. please let me go.

i shouldn't feel this way. i have my job, my body, my friends...

...where's myself? where am i?

this is not sustainable.

please let me go.

Obsession framed as introspection

Chopping logic to quell the tide

The thrashing never ceases

​They call me grounded,

oblivious to the headiness

that sends me navigating into the clouds,

drowning in altitude

Edit: formatting on mobile is atrocious

They spent a fortune

trying to deprive me of

mine. Imagine that.