[x]

Waiting for a coach
and four
that never came,
she realized
a ball gown
won't bloom
out of sackloth;
glass slippers
are not dependable
and mice
are best left
to their own devices.
Midnight was never a friend,
and under that suit
he is the same as any other
man.

IcarusSun girl,

the whispering stars
& feathered clouds dance
for you tonight.

Do not let anyone
clip your wings;

you were made for the skies.

Definition of a Writerwrit•er

noun /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone

Red DressDon’t put on your red dress
for he doesn’t know the meaning
he doesn’t want the commitment
he doesn’t care for the color.

The red dress you love to wear
that’s stained from wine and beer
but still carries so much meaning
for who could find a second red dress

Don’t go out on your red dress
for the man who wants nothing more
to screw around and doesn’t understand
the meaning behind a simple red dress.

A red dress for when you dance.
A red dress for when you cry.
A red dress for when you need it.
A red dress for when you care too much.

Don’t put on your red dress for him darling
he doesn&rsqu

moonshines in georgiaman on the moon:

giddy with lumps of north georgia seas
greased on the crease of my lips
gravity drips from couch-cavities
when tides belch from below --

burst on the water's edge,
earth's bourbon sailors retch in moonshined ripples
trickled blue murder on their crinkled crimes;
raking water wrinkles like a wayward drunk
stuck on sunken bootleggin' dreams.

it's been a long, long time
since I've drowned your hemisphere
for fishing like a moonraker,
swishing my bait-lines like tobacco's
squished in your shallow gums
before you dare to down my air
breathing in this sincere georgia night.

Broken Birds and Stark PhrasesWe slip and slide and fall
down curves and carrow places.
We cursive at the wall
in our undefinéd spaces.

Disjointed limbs extend
to strumpet our arrival,
to warn who are not friends
we will kill to survive all.

Hung upside-down haunters
hug branches in the Forrest.
Merry nightmare monsters,
Cheery snarling chorus,

Arachnic children know;
you can run but you can't hide
from this disparic truth,
darkness waits for you inside.

Although you seek the sun,
as all creaky spinsters might,
the night can't be out done
and it has you in its sight.

L.E.S.B.I.A.N.Living on the
Edge of life
Saving myself
Being who
I truly am
As it is all i can be
Never forget that

For every boy I ever kissedi.

you took my hand 'neath the magnolia
at a christmas dinner party I held.
your mouth was cold. so were my affections.

ii.

you were the first man to listen to me.
i let you listen to my heartbeat; but
when the day fell away, you bruised me deep.

iii.

you were my safe harbour, and i your storm
turning your misery to naught but air
but i squirmed away from your tongue, repulsed.

iv.

you were my cradle, when i couldn't sleep
you would hold me close and pray for something,
anything, to keep me safe. (it was you).

v.

eleven months spent sleeping with my phone,
i still couldn't believe when you kissed me
even after midnight struck us agai

Missing piecesMissing pieces

There are wounds
that never heal; silences
so loud they thunder - I stopped
breathing years ago, that night
the ice took my chest. Since then
I walk in pieces, howling
around my heart.

-SophieCT, 2012, 2013

field notesi read some poetry
just for the sound--for the words lilting up and down
and the thick, honeysepia
polaroids unmisting in my head.
those are the poems i never understand
and the only conclusion i can draw is:
there is apparently
some supernova poetic awakening that comes
with the loss of virginity
and basically i need to get laid.

Blame The ParentsI won't be able to keep a relationship in the future because I'm scared
I'm scared it'll turn out like theirs

I'm a pacifist because I hate watching it
I hate watching them fight

I have PTSD because of their fights
Their fights almost broke up this family

I self harm because they are pushing me over the edge
I was already close to jumping, but they gave me an extra push

I'm always in my room because that's how I run away
I guess that's called "Like father, like daughter"

I only eat one meal a day because he constantly puts me down
Even though he's joking, I can tell he means every bit of what he says

I can't trust anyone because they do

The PoetFor the work of a Poet to be truly appreciated
he must write it with his own blood and tears for ink
his soul the sharpened quill to nail the words
like so many specimen of unwilling insects upon the paper.

And once he has bled out
becoming the cause of his own demise
the reader is left behind to digest his soul
so plainly trapped within a cage of words
his requiem written as a love song to his Muse.

MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sun
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings

Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee

van houten must be godi. you know how in embroidered cloth,
from the bottom under the design,
all you see are knots? her honey-like,
crying
voice lulls me to sleep,
that's what we see of God's plan.
just the knots. when in reality,
it's the design on top;
beautiful and flawless that He
has in store for us.
bullshit.
i learnt that word
when i was three
but every time i said it,
my face hurt and mom's hand fell.
God will put you
in hell.
do you want that?
i knew better than to say it again.
ii. you're an estimated
fallacy, the perfect
misconception.
you don't need to exist
for people to believe.
they make you real with
dancing tongues behind
a crowd
of murmuring lips of
god's will.
iii. of the rain,
i sang songs, whispering
prayers only you
could hear.
if you truly are
what they say for you to be,
then there are no secrets
between you and me.
mother still sings
the same songs
in the rain, hoping
you'll hear her the way
i thought you would.
but she doesn't know you died long ago
with chiv

thieves of nocturne skiesPaper lanterns are midnight requiems
That tell me to look beyond the
light and have &

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Herdeiros da revolucaoDesalmados, escravos do prazer,
Pragas infectando a saúde planetária,
Olhares gélidos de apatia e dor,
Morto-vivos que lutam entre si.

A masmorra é transparente,
Mas não conseguem ver além,
Tédio prolongado e prolixo,
Sequer suas próprias leis lhe interessam.

Que fizeram seus pais?
Realizaram um presente cintilante!
Porém colheram frutos podres,
Quimeras sem brio e vida.

Na última revoada do caos tormentoso,
Aterrissaram os quatro cavalheiros,
Amaldiçoaram seus escrotos,
Agora ejaculam cinzas flamejantes.

Vida apos a falsa mortePor atirar meteoros ao sol
fui punido com sua ausência,
Ao te desposar no último adeus
forjei minha própria morte.

Seus frágeis e hábeis pés rosados
que levitam sobre o véu,
Danças elípticas que exalam anis,
na névoa de meus pensamentos .

Minhas transferências ao seu ser
são viagens inconstantes,
E persisto recostado na solidão,
salve minha vida outra vez.

A fúria dos cosmos persiste
refugiando minha mente,
Estenda seus braços e seu seio,
sou a eterna brisa nos seus cabelos.

Suicidas de maos dadasBanhando em areias negras e
sequenciando dúvidas.
Sob o céu há a guarda do destino
e um vazio existencial.

Vivendo em tédio moral
visões esmaecidas em lamentos,
O santuário é desprezado por infâmias,
tão desérticos são os clamores.

O arco divinal se estende pelo céu
transformando-se em ponte,
O último chamado aos refugiados da dor.
Seus corações petrificam em suas mãos.

E o desejo de sonhar infinitamente
desfalece, luta e perde.
Não há mais a linha extrema,
ecoa a morte coletiva de espectros.

As musas do inicio dos temposSão três corpos e uma alma
conduzidos pelo barqueiro fantasma.
Três formas de musas: a bela, a gentil e a amante.
Não se encontram e nem se conhecem.

Cortesãs da rua sem destino
Vivem em diferentes dimensões,
Inquietas por natureza
Seus sonhos são vácuos de emoções.

Vitimadas na vida e na morte,
Sobreexploradas de amor,
Badala o triste sino enferrujado,
Colhidas pelo pó sobreviverão
em lampejos de gestos solitários.

Par de estrelas verdesAlma amazona personalizada na musa
dança perseguindo meus olhos,
Seus sutis movimentos crescem,
É sua milenar arte de guerra.

Consumindo sonhos roubados,
Abandono toda uma realidade,
Reencarno sucessivamente
No espelho destes olhos verdes.

Não há liberdade suficiente
para se alcançar nesta dimensão,
É apenas uma vida pendurada
em uma frágil linha de algodão.

Intermitentes respingos marinhos,
Carregando poeira cósmica
e fragmentos estelares,
eis o segredo das nebulosas abissais!

Meros MentaisPelos cinco acessos aporta-se o mundo,
Os caminhos profusos do pensamento
Fluem em direções abandonadas,
Fruto da casualidade existencial.

Há também o sexto sentido,
Do qual pouco se pode esperar,
Reflexos vagos das demais rotas
Perduram como espasmos repetitivos.

Divagações sobre a existência,
Em meio a tanta fatalidade,
Tramitam em nossas decisões,
A conformação final é um emaranhado.

Ao sabor de truques afortunados,
Experimente a fantasia de estar só,
Suas reflexões são apenas um limbo,
Escrito entre linhas rabiscadas.

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Poesia em Lingua Portuguesa

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[x]

Na natureza fisica

by ~Faria-R, May 21, 2012, 5:20:25 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Tenho tantas feridas abortadas,
em um coração fraco e lento,
Os olhos castanho-rubros esmaecem
enquanto mordisco o orvalho.

Sem dor ou qualquer angústia,
Tanta ânsia em lágrimas roubadas,
Hibridizam-se lírios com absintos,
E as nuvens atiram pedras de gelo.

Aportarei todas minhas canções
em seu travesseiro cinzento,
Suspiros melódicos que buscam seus sonhos.
O intenso vento outonal sopra vazio.

Colori doces harmonias, que o luar ofuscou,
O metal que escorre pelas rochas explode,
Magnetiza e imanta seu macio epitélio,
Mas não sou atraído a tempo...

Na natureza fisicaby ~Faria-R

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

21/05/2012

~MadChronicler May 21, 2012 Student Writer

Muito belo!

As imagens passadas me cativaram em muito.

Parabéns pelo belo poema, Faria.

~Faria-R May 22, 2012

Agradeço pelo comentário e pelo Fav.

~B-jester May 21, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Esse leve ar de Augusto dos Anjos ficou ótimo =]

Muito bom o poema. Posso sugeri-lo para o grupo #brasil? sou moderador lá.

~Faria-R May 21, 2012

Agradeço pelo comentário e me alegro que tenha gostado. De fato tenho influência bem clara do Augusto e do Alvares de Azevedo.

Seria uma honra tê-lo no grupo Brasil

Um abraço

~B-jester May 21, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Fiz a submissão.

Imagine, foi um bom poema, parabéns.

~Faria-R May 22, 2012

Valeu!

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Na natureza fisica

Na natureza fisicaby ~Faria-R

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