[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

XXXXXEven now,
part of me
(my hands)
want to
pull out
that glass
she lodged
in her neck.

Pull it out
and drop it
into pieces,
or keep it
in the back seat
of my car.

Where it can
lay a while
and stare at me.
Part of me
(my chest)
is not afraid
of demons.

It is far less
dangerous
than girls with
haphazard knives
and other
monsters.

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

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love your lips, not your mouthbutterfly tissues,
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you ragdoll, you shame.

shame your coat, cold night inlife was not the useless clichés you trampled under your sleepy toes:
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through your pair of makeshift wings. it was kneeling by the bucket, and it
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you pasha's son! you mother-b

the story of Humani was raised on a farm by Jealousy, who was thick with child and thick with pasty
green cheeks, always spawning, always giving birth. i stopped flossing as soon
as i could breathe, and every morning i was arrested, accosted and beaten down
by my brothers and sisters, all nameless and faceless with the same burgundy ears
and growling wallets. Fearless paved my way outside while Hungry stole my shower,
but it was Guilt who sat by me while i milked cows and sang quiet songs to the windows,
watching words fall off one by one, and Bravery never shows his face around here anymore.

when i moved out and into a big nostril-flare gray hol

toucan, peacock, parrot, dovethere is a bird wedged between your shoulder blades, coming out
of your throat in a parody of catastrophe: (no, she doesn't cook, no,
she won't clean -- i'm afraid we're just all out of answers, and your
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she reminds you of someone, if you can see her in the dark.

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the tenuous stringsNumber 15: He went down like the tail of a rocket ship, and when he fell there was a sickening gulp from God Himself before his veins ran out of juice. His breathing constricted and fell away like a taut rope. Last words: “Who’s there?” Pansy. Are you pleased, Mother?

-

When I meet Mother at last, I plan to have fistfuls of writing to bring to her. We’ll sit on our cottonball cloud in the sky, and she’ll look over all my careful fingertip scribbles, smile at the right parts, and look up and embrace me with her Heaven-scent and a mother’s care, known only to small children and tightrope walkers.

When she left,

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wooden

by ~livingcomforteagle, Jul 15, 2007, 8:29:45 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

you smell like beach swell and umbrella-blanket set
tissue roll-out carpet, bask in your sides, hip-bone
carbon monoxide, do you never sweat?

cardboard skin, hope you don’t crumple into the ball on
your stained white-plaster chairs, slumped over with
bronzed hair curling off your head like whipped smoke.

hold the whip firm and steady, slip and slide and muddy
mess in your pudding hands, sunglasses rimmed with
self-esteem, vision purified, sun don’t come ‘round here no more.

And oh, I want to be the giggle beside you, the eyebrows
dripped around your eyes, I want to whisper behind a
held-out hand, pamphlet skin, tanned and bruising with stone.

you and your high-class thighs, I want to be
the mirror running around your ankles, the best friend’s
swim trunk nightmare, can you hear me over here?

woodenby ~livingcomforteagle

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

there was this girl by the pool today.

this still needs to be edited and reviewed. I'm going to bed right now because playing horsey sure does wear you out, damn adorable three-year-olds.

word count: 135
(c) LeeAnn - 2007

~~love 0 0~~

~~joy 0 0~~

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~sheiabah Jan 11, 2008

I especially like 'the eyebrows dripped around your eyes' and 'the giggle beside you' very clever work.

~livingcomforteagle Jan 11, 2008

thank you!

if you don't mind me asking, how did you find such an old piece of work?

~sheiabah Jan 11, 2008

I browsed your whole gallery, and the title intrigued me

~livingcomforteagle Jan 11, 2008

thank you

*Garnet-43 Jul 26, 2007

Beautifully crafted image.

Nice work.

~livingcomforteagle Jul 26, 2007

thank you!

~ghbatt Jul 25, 2007

I like this, the variety of images does paint an unconventional, yet clearly comprehendible picture. I think you did a good job at capturing the moment, and I think I figured it out before I read your intro. My only gripe is with the finish, it seemed a bit too passive to me, perhaps continue that imagery into a climax?

Bravo!

-gh

(formerly airmega23)

~livingcomforteagle Jul 25, 2007

thank you! I will take note about the ending. do you think I should cut it out or change it?

~ghbatt Jul 25, 2007

I think changing it to something more concrete would make the piece a bit better.

~livingcomforteagle Jul 25, 2007

all right! thanks. I'll think about it.

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