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Scarecrow Green W. Body ImageSCARECROW
the trees are still green.
ive got a boy in each ear screaming in a strained falsetto, "find god, then fuck, rub war paint over your collar and choke those dreams of adolescent fancy!"
maybe not in that order.
i feel that those might be reasonable demands.
if not, ill stay a virgin forever and stop posting my barely lucid projections on cross walk buttons so the world can join me in confusion.
ive decided to marry myself to this moment, a rubber band ring on my finger and everything.
i cant tell if theyre asking for a fire or a union.
all i can hear is sex and murder, a whisper of masturbation.
the feral cry signifies a busted climax so maybe these boys are in love and the songs merely rut against each other.
its a valid enough theory.
a part of me hopes that they become beautiful monsters when the lights go out.
for them my heart goes.
today ive decided not to believe in love.
its a silly little thing, not suitable for children my age
"just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
im jotting this down overlooking stairs to the concrete people playing evergreen games until the grass hits and feet sink against the movement.
my fear is the position to topple into bodily harm, she told me because my statements were laced, hardly contrary to the truth. and my knees are buckling, body sways forward and panic spray paints my senses 'til they're all bright yellow. i fall backwards on my ass, knees pressed tight to my chest so i can breathe normal again.
luckily no ones noticed that its happened for the third time tonight.
it might be a bit cliche to proclaim myself toeing the edges of our small existence 63 percent of the time.
eyes closed and learning how to meditate, recite the best poem ever written to the better half of my memory that sits in the dark until special moments when i wish to remember how to make decisions based on my mistakes.
this is different.
im listening to someone else's favorite song, strike to my ski
Sunglassesi look down and my hands are clasped, the light washing over them in broken stretches, intervals like broken clockwork. fingers interlocked atop the plaid fabric draped down and around my hips.
for the past hour or so ive been writing in my head.
about boys and girls.
those who i have, haven't, should've and desperately want to kiss. im 16, so honestly, theres nothing else for me to write about.
i wanted to start this with a sentence in my mental draft that would state, more or less, 'i tell him i love him but im not sure by what definition i hold it, perhaps whichever he feels it to be.'
something like that.
its about a boy who ive kissed despite knowing just how much i should not have. because my decision making skills are just about as flawed as my parents' are.
i guess i wouldve gotten all poetic about it too. about the songs hes sang to me and how hes just a stepping stone that i paused at, knowing it was merely 'til i truly get what i want (sniff, i say, 'what i had'), but no mat
Blackbirdthe sound of breathing over labored guitar chords.
he says 'rooftop', i think E minor, maybe binary code.
its just that simple.
with an arpeggio inhale and the positioning of awkward fingertips.
now hes humming something i cant discern and the song is supposed to be about lonliness, he says, a thin mouth tilted up in the corner.
'lovely melancholy' i say to myself.
but i hear moonlight and silver glinting off earlobes, hollowed in the dark.
dont believe theyre lonely, more but reaching out from the edges.
scribbles in the corner of papers with outstretched arms, to use figurative language.
a tendency to ask what i am writing, always thinking it be about himself (8th grade memories floating like notebook paper, i remember, small smile and bright eyes.)
right now the sound is repetition, shifting soft and to a feeling--green grass like comforters and arena seating.
and i can hear what this is asking for, a mirror imaged and a sideways glance through crowds.
to break his concentration, th
Counter Topi need to make that night seem more poetic when i write it down.
inject some sorry romanticism into those few moments.
felt like i had no face and even with the lilt of eyebrows, creases in the corners of my forced smile, the expression wouldnt have mattered anyway.
they dont explain it to you in those middle school classes.
the overwhelming sense of power found in sometimes hazel eyes, bright in dimly-lit rooms.
yet crippled in knowing how these things tend to mean nothing.
how my knees give out and quiver.
how in the minutes before, my lips mirrored the action, trying not to weep for the need of piteous decisions.
and voices are obsolete.
but breathing means everything.
i might actually call that my own, unless imagination runs wild and my skin goes blank for an open canvas---close your eyes and see anyone else you want to hold.
theres nothing at all beautiful to see when i let myself be picked apart for the sake of wanting someone i cant have, even when hes looping his perfect finge
Criss-Cross Designthe light has then adjusted
some twenty times since
weve been staring
with hair caught behind cold ears
and the irises expanding
for there is no way
to go blind in these rooms
with white-washed vision
blotting out dark figures
as they might rise slowly
in some distance
but you might switch these lines
to different angles
looking out windows
see the dull drone
of brown eyes
against brick walls
im writing your movement
as i stare at this pen
conjuring some demon
kill you dead
with the unrelenting desire
of this swirling madness
out the tip and over the page
so i could draw the distance
of just where you migh
be looking and write
those lines back to my eyes
and my mouth
because they are both open, staring
as you look anywhere but for me
Adenei've got a safety pin fastened through a collar and a name i dont know fit under the swollen rasp of my dry tongue.
the name like peril, little girls in sunday dresses, celestial in the songs they sing.
as if i knew that definition.
maybe stringing descriptions along branches and stuck with metal points, rusting red through the sides.
spelling out letters with stick tips in teh dirt and memorizing lines on her knees, with her hands upon the ground.
with hair threaded through like loops about her fingertips, passed through pink tinged lips and breathin in her air through filters, left there speechless.
reflecting the sun and leaving their sketches on tree trunks.
the countours gold, eyes closed and blind to the moment.
spit at her feet and found mud squished through toes, causing dissension among the ranks.
and she speaks quietly to the pins in her shoulders that whatever youre seeing, its not happening.
i say Adene, you draw a picture and the lines overlap.
running like water.
We Can See Thisive found out that these lives are like movies and the voices set are scripted pieces of beauty.
my gaze, taciturn, green grass in graveyards.
lifting his chin with the tips of my fingers.
as if holding the pose, fighting breath under water.
and walking away, found an exit through hanging branches of willows wilting in the heat of some lost summer.
the glances then fashioned are disguised 'round my fingers in trying to remember why i could not look away as he tread over flowers, skipping over their stories held in the words chipped into cold stone.
unless laying on the park bench and closing my eyes, finding letters encrypted in the stones thrown at my feet.
if set to the chorus of the soundtracks so celluloid, you could find our names up in the lights of grocery store tabloids.
because we are stars.
pretending out way through the moment of fake love, shielding faces from sunlight in late afternoons.
Hair Clip in Those Bedroomsdarling
i can hear the quirk in your voice
so i know its not okay
and im not gonna tell you i approve
but hes gone on an ego trip
and it extends beyond the hours of jet lag
that pulls you into his arms
from whence he might throw you upon the ground
to hear his drunken hero stories
the fatigue breathes alcohol into his thoughts
and theres that girl that we know
the one that i love more than the world
who whispers two names into everyones ear
and plays off the repercussions as her innocence
so lets all nod and call this okay
i remember the summer
when we smiled
as they played out the night in the comfort of bedrooms
it was okay wasnt it
the dialogue of deception
and hes lining your ears with it
its not the soar of piano concertos
and sonnets spoken with the bow of stringed instruments
if he looks you in the eyes with sunflowers in your vision
know to stare away
because is it not preconceived in the hours that he travels back in time
back to you
to whisper that hes not sure of what you ar
Soul MatesBetween dream and moon tides,
The light weaves a new day.
A first glimmer lights the darkness,
Where even still a shadow lay.
For ages swings a song
From star guardians into the world
And first diamonds glitter,
Where luminosity falls on the water.
The young morning is still hesitating,
Promising us hardly the return.
Still the night wraps up the life
And silently breathes the great sea.
Then … finally, the golden time calls.
Water marries to the light.
And shining our heart sways
Where sunshine breaks through waves.
The wind carries my soul
On its wings away from here
To green valleys, ocean lights,
To blue lakes, to you.
You are the life, you are the dream.
You are my soul and my light.
And when the day draws to a close again,
I will not forget you.
God My Constant CompanionPain is constant
Sickness is normal
Joy and happiness a burden
Ordeal of becoming old
Life became a misery
Through the pain and suffering I became closer to God
My thirst for His knowledge grows
My thoughts revolve around God and me
I fear not because God is with me
Only God, my constant companion, understands my plight
Only God comforts me with love,
knowledge and understanding
Only God, through Jesus’ blood sacrifice,
can free my soul and give me eternal peace
I praise God for all the blessings He has given me
Thank You GOD for the love You have given me
by E. W. Rantala/RocksRose - December 7, 2013
AlgizHer hair looked dark and tangled like tree branches as she stood at the moonlit clearing.
The creatures in the ground sang poems carved in runes in the bark of the evergreen pines.
The trees on the hills were adorned with Orion and her face was obscured by a veil of shadows.
She felt the bedrock crackle as it embraced the fire within the planet traveling in space.
Saplings quivered in the gale while the clear greys and evening blues melted together.
Shooting stars like sinking ships of light drew evanescent lines over the treetops.
An elk with the Pleiades in its eyes came from the woods as it heard her whisper.
It crossed frosty sedges with the shining streams of prayers hanging from its horns.
It wandered the cold earth and found buried sadness with every step of its hooves.
The uprooted human followed invisible tracks and sought answers in the soil.
Down on her knees on the frozen ground, her breath turned into clouds of vapor.
The Moon and the trees studied her in the embrace of th
The Angel who can't flyShe doesn't know how to live
without the constant fight to keep her head over water
The struggle is her Safeheaven
An Eden which
her fragile feet.
She can't touch without scarring
Still she yearns for a place to belong
an Utopia for angels
But her wings are to heavy to fly
when she spreads them she can
Wings Of ChangeProgress marched upon them,
New weapons and new skills,
And so a boy, terrified, ran
To keep away their ills.
To a far off city,
He slowly found his way,
When lanterns like stars guided him
Unto a brand new day.
On the night he met her,
He told her of the change,
For he felt he was drowning
And she’d keep things the same.
She said she would not help him,
For to obstruct all progress was
To never learn to fly.
But drowning he still was,
In changes uncontrolled,
Until some fins and gills he grew
And swam into the gold.
BetterPraises and prayers go out to You
Everything is Yours and has been Yours
From the heavens where Your throne stands on to the Earth below
You reign all, and yet You are better than all
You are better than all
Better than Your devoted servants to the animals of the world
Better than the Earth You made to the dust You used to bring life
Better than everything that You have made; the ultimate better
The only perfect and You will always exceed beyond our expectations
You exceed in the heavens beyond, and yet You can recreate from the ashes of hopelessness
You can move the mountains and make rivers flow
You can slip open the skies, and yet love with a loving heart
You are better than all
Better than the smartest men in the world with Your perfect wisdom
You know how to softly break us and yet still love
You know everything from the smallest creature to the depths of the human heart
You are better than all
You have all authority and sit on a throne of righteousness
You loved the sinners and b
A Dying old WomanHer skeletal remains left imprinted on the bed
bodily fluids of plasmatic yellow sugar cane
had stained through the sheets and into the frame
the vast wealth of her knowledge had been lost with age
the visage of shaking muscle tissue over bones wrapped in too much skin
was the only image imprinted on the land lord who came
he came and he knocked
and his nose hairs burned with the stench of what had remained
nothing left but empty veins
wire hair and bones saturated in dark decaying flesh
under the hot sun of a long summer day
her fingernails looked like wood chips burrowing from under the skin
her sunken yellow eyes glazed over life and sin
and anguish held from so deep inside...
it all seemed very innocent
until the grandchildren no longer came
until the siblings squabbed amongst themselves
as to who was responsible with what had remained
now there is nothing left to say
nothing left for the casket to lay open for all to see
because after the math what was left was a pile of old bones
MultiverseClinging desperately to reality the unknowable knows the gravity of what we do not see or perceive in this infinite sea of possibilities. Still grasping firm to discern as it yearns to learn to return to a time or place before being concerned with how to be reborn into a world it knows and is confirmed in and known in in turn. Entangled between fabrics of temporal mathematics and dogmatic moral fanatics in choral their horrible quarrel systematic in nature to cater their material god trapped static by a celestial equator in the erratic pre-protohistory of the arterial abroad of existence if not a mystery much greater, a fraud.
I think therefore I am yet am crammed into detention theres no mention of my creation and no attention to my nook between dimensions. You took a look in your history book but couldn't find the one between those binds about the mind of a man that god shook from his grand plan. To be or not to be is beyond me to understand, I am the meta-absentee the sages pretend
FreefallingI took the final step, away from Heaven
Leaped off the edge, close to the pearly gates
Salvation isn't for me, but I will know freedom
As I plunge feet first into the fire
No one can save me, I've made my choice
Breathless, I gaze at the beauty below me
For the first time I can feel some sort of happiness
No more pain, no regrets, a feeling of belonging
Knowing it will end only makes me savour it more
The sensation of total 'aloneness', without a need to share
Detached from everything, while feeling one with the world
Total enlightenment, light above and fire below
I close my eyes, ready to face my destiny
Trapped inside the flames for all eternity,
But I don't care, I will endure the hardships
Nothing can hurt me, because I ceased to exist
There's Words To Sellyounger
behind a wall
and staring to the sky
the blue of
a believed heaven
i am forgiven
if i pray
sought in the most
ill beg the figure
hiding behind white
and running through
that this life
i never lost faith
just wondered where
itd always been
when crying for
the music went
nobody had answered
but ill never question it
of false comfort
the skies sleep alone
because this night
is just like every other night
ill curse my pillow
say a name in vain
and wait for tomorrow
never wanting something
the little girl
inside the shed
but a walking book of lies
my eyes are staring
but they no longer hold
i rely on the living
to steal my breath
just like lily did
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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