[x]

HaikuWrimo 20081.
Gray drops cover her eyes,
gently blurring
the proud delphiniums.

2.
Incarnadine leaves fall, brush
sanguineous trunks,
coloring gray sidewalks.

3.
Peach daiquiri walls
melting under
lazy mandarin sun.

4.
Four leaves,
fall down on your hair
blend in naïve ginger.

5.
Floating isles of white spots
rest by beige shores;
my numbing Dead Sea.

6.
Mahogany chairs stand
pressing against
bloody cherry wood table.

7.
Waves crash on her skin
white foam lingers,
tightly clenching my heart.

8.
Musk scented shirt and razor
on my toilet floor -
all that was left.

9.
Uncarressed blouse
helplessly hangs;

The MonarchA black bird stepped into my tent today
its thin spall legs were as grim as Decay.
To its sight swirled the words in my mind to an eddy
filled with fear was my soul of its crude curiosity:
Its punctured ghast' eyes pried studiously
and perplexed it was staring, with such a dexterity,
as if power possessed, tremendous and unearthlingly;
Ruling it stood, at the gates of my tent, so impudently.

Inquestingly it tilted its gray crown to the right
then it twig-breaking spasmed back again to my sight.
Conversing it was, with not much of a word; an attempt
to commune with the servile lot. An acknowledgement
of fr

Two Shy EyesTwo shy eyes hide behind the blanket
in a manner that makes you think
of how small everything really is.

As if entranced they follow your every move
begging you to know, to feel, to look back
and blink at how small everything is.

A rhythmical swift motion, rapid movement,
sweeping dance; enchanting your puerile heart
and learning your every move

to a one-two-three beat, a sweet melody
of two shy blinking eyes, curious
of how small everything really is.

Blue Ceramic BowlBlue ceramic bowl
rests on our table
where the oak-salver
used to sit, piling
dust for ever.

Blue ceramic bowl
made of our lustful
sins, decorated by our
tears and smiles
of so many hours.

Blue ceramic bowl
is where we hide
the miscarried child
already named
our son, Oriel.

Blue ceramic bowl
filled with shame
and the trivial carving
of your name.

EverythingSoft rustle of dead leaves
follows bristling breeze;
stillness frees necessities
in a melting blushing-sun.

Sweet bells slightly tinge
Colombian, freshly brewed,
set aside on an oak-made taboret.

Sweat, as real as love,
gently cool by giving-in.

Nothing, as it seems.

Citrus-BloomI’ve got this caprice
for inebriant
scent of citrus-bloom.

Inundate my lungs,
flush my cheeks with oaf-
-ishness and fain, for

I have a caprice,
childish and alive,
to breath-in with you.

One Day NewsMrs. Shahar calls this a classroom but we all know it well enough to be a bomb shelter. Thirty small naïve eyes stare at a beautiful journalist on the old television, long brown hair and expensive suit. She reports that a terrorist blew himself up in Beit Lid junction, just a five minute drive from our school. It happened at the big bus station, gray and dirty for so many years, so close it’s amazing we didn’t hear the blast. Although it’s frightening I’m not afraid at all, just glad that there won’t be any more classes today.

The camera focuses on her make-up, curly black eye lashes and powdered cheeks. "Four p

how to avoid people1.
fall off the edge of the earth.
do a somersault, a 180-360-740,
and finish with a perfect swan dive
straight into
the sun.

2.
buy a mustache.
swish it around and wiggle your nose
it will dance a ballet on your lip
or perhaps a tango
and they will never see past
the tutus.

3.
perch in a tree
(preferably tall).
with air conditioning and built in butt warmers
and WiFi.
weave a wig of pine needles
and french braid it and clip it back
with golden brown leaves and look in your mirror made of sap.
(it smells of syrup and makes you think of home.)

4.
put your face in a pocket.
fashion a cane of fragile bird bones
and tapta

SnowLife has ended and things are restarting

The snow fell for the first time today
I watched the small cold feathers fall
Drifting like spirits beaconing life.

9 months ago it was the beginning
A new year, new love, you kissed me
underneath a shaded pine tree.

I could feel the change echoing
As 2008 became 2009.
And you told me
“I love you”

9 months ago
I kissed you
like you would live forever.

And you lay patiently
staring back at me
telling me
forever is
too long

-

I have a ring for you now,
encircling my tiny finger
I twirl it the way you liked
strumming my heart
like an artist does guitar.

9 months ago I

That HumAs I look at her, with her beautiful honey hair
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low ‘lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.

Snows of Novemberlike the snows of November,
(lightly, timid in askance)
you will return to me

in due time;
without fail—you will return
(erstwhile)
to me

and my hesitant heart
(retreating, retreating, retreating)
will be a far-off beacon at dusk
to your false ardor, a poetry of obdurate conceit
—whose interval seems unceasing;

All darkness and brooding winds
You twine and spin in savage dance
(quickening, hastening some new spell)

But failing, failing … failing

while this distance increases (curing
past injuries);
the suffering amid our pleading eyes (yours
of forgiveness, mine for freedom)

Still WaterYears ago, they say
Two lovers, hands joined, jumped
From the rocks above the pool
Sealing a marriage that could never be
Falling, the water drank them down
Swallowed their thoughts, their dreams
Their joined hands, joined hearts, joined hopes
And the little life, curled tight
In her smooth, barely-swollen belly
Father, mother, child, all caught and cradled
In the cold, deep dark.

Now, hanging over the railing
by the edge of the rocks
Father, mother, and a child of four or five
Who drops stones from one small hand
Listening for the echoes of the splashes.
A pause, at the end of a long summer walk,
To rest weary feet, before t

voyeurismmidnight-
i drew up writhing girls
all lit on fire
just where it
burns good
with acid washed
eyes
i wonder why i'm
so obsessed
with self inflicted
disease of the mind

Missing Socklost companions
abandoned brethren
left to wander the world
empty and footless, shoeless
soulless
leaving their intrigued and frazzled owners to wonder
where do they converge after dark?
do they travel through the house in a pack
challenging the cockroaches to fight if they dare
are they the reason that cats yowl in the dead of night
or dogs howl, mice chitter, birds screech
where do they retreat to when the morning light threatens to betray their whereabouts?
do they smuggle themselves away into dusty corners
or wedge themselves into bookcases, closets, bathroom cupboards
but perhaps the biggest question is
do they all find their way home?

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 960 bytes more ▶

More from `leoraigarath

Blue-Cherries PieBlue-cherries pie
topped with eggey meringue
splashed with zest of sugar-dust
melts to the slightest tongue's touch.

Sweet MomentsSweet moments, like this, remind me of whys.
Tiny bubble-bursts of confidence, laughter of joy,
as if things were meant to be just like this
for all eternity (or at least for one night).

Few words traded, few glances followed,
soft explorations against a bottle of rum;
a handmade carpet feels stable and wobbly
with each turn, each exchange of curious eyes.

The chime of an hour brings embarrassment,
silent blushings to the fall of curly stripes
pastel colored as the smiles, the touches,
the Armenian design of the plate on the wall.

Slow humming melodynes through ocean waves
of curtains so excited, ecstatic in their dance.
Some mo

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: July 4, 2008
File Size: 960 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 21
Favourites: 11 [who?]
Views: 470 (0 today)
Downloads: 7 (0 today)

[x]

Freedom

by `leoraigarath, Jul 4, 2008, 1:16:07 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Pour me a glass, David. Slightly stirred, squeeze a lime.
Rest it on the stool and sit down,
imagine there’s no such thing as Time.
Ease up, let it go. There’s nothing, I said
nothing we can do. For it’s true,
you know it too, last night they killed him
today we’re through.

I close my eyes, son, imagine that…
There were days my lids were softer, yet
today I see no need for sleep, and there they are -
as soft as silk. She’s there, son, yes,
I see her now. All these years we struggled, how
fast things move once you realize
there‘s no need to analyze…

Relax, dear boy, here – take this glass.
You’re old enough, forget the past!
In few seconds we will breathe at last;
in time we’ll meet again, at rest.

Freedomby `leoraigarath

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I have very harsh conflict within me regarding the name on the first line. I'm not used to putting names into my poems. I only started naming my characters for the past few years, even in my prose. It's a hard thing for me - naming. Because now, after it's been named, the things that the character goes through are not applied to some mysterious He/She, but to a person with a name, that I put there. Another reason I struggled with the name is because of the biblical meaning of the name David.

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

=RosaryOfSighsx Jan 20, 2009

"There were days my lids were softer, yet
today I see no need for sleep, and there they are -
as soft as silk."
just...speechless.
those lines are incredibly beautiful.
you're an amazing writer.

I'm really speechless!
would you mind if I quoted your poetry in my signature?

`leoraigarath Jan 23, 2009 Professional Writer

No, I wouldn't, as long as you add that it's my words you can go ahead

Thank you for this lovely comment

=RosaryOfSighsx Jan 23, 2009

thank you!

and my pleasure

~x-x-sakura-x-x Dec 19, 2008

_{I get the same thing - I hate putting names into poems, despise it even. But having a name there makes it seem like teh reader knows more of what's going on. Because we're on a name to name basis ;D
Agaian beautifully written. I can't believe I never found you before~ You're great.}

`leoraigarath Dec 19, 2008 Professional Writer

Yeah, the name thing... I can't believe I used a name in a poem and liked it. I agree with you - it's fitting.

Thanks for the kind words

*Moonbeams Sep 9, 2008

I think the name makes all the difference in this poem, giving it a personal feeling that wouldn't be there otherwise. As I read, it is as if I am hearing a conversation overhead, or narrated by a boy's father that explains everything in its short dialogue. I love this, very bittersweet, but soothing to read.

`leoraigarath Sep 11, 2008 Professional Writer

I agree, the name makes a whole difference. Here I also struggled with the name (I got a real problem giving characters names. It makes it personal, as if I breathe that character after I name it)...

Once again, thank you very much for the comment

~Elmara Jul 12, 2008 Student Writer

wonderful imagery! i loved the second stanza; melancholy and subdued but haunting nonetheless.

`scarletwave Jul 5, 2008 Professional General Artist

brilliant.

`leoraigarath Jul 5, 2008 Professional Writer

Thanks

More from `leoraigarath

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Freedom

Freedomby `leoraigarath

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style