[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Riddle My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

What am I?

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

Seaside HolidayI am content
to stay
a caterpillar

Who says
you have
to change?

What's so great
about being
a butterfly?

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  and
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Pain that's not pain reaching into me
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Where will you go, now you've no home?
Let the rain wash away your last days~

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***

As she finished her story, her voice lower and softer with sleepiness, she leaned back into me and wrapped my warm arms around her, clasping my hands with her's, drawing me about her like a cloak against the cool night. Smiling at the thought and at her motion, I relaxed and let her lie against me, her small frame snuggling against me cozily. I let the silence settl

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Faith

by *DogmaticKerr, Jan 16, 2013, 9:54:49 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Some times, I think I feel you
r e a c h ing out
for me
in the stillness and the
night

but then I remember
you're gone
and where you've gone
there is
nothing
to reach for

not even me

Or so, that's what they tell me
every day
when they find me alone
clutching at the pieces
the echoes
of everything that was
you
I miss you
and I am trying so hard to
wait
to be with you again

and just when I think I cannot
take
another moment of this
i n f i n i t y without
you
I
think
I
feel
you
r e a c h ing
again

for me

and I smile

Faithby *DogmaticKerr

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

JANUARY 16, 2013 - In keeping with the #Glory-Be-Project

I usually have the most time to write late at night or in mid-day but it is always in the twilight hours in my mind

I have a deep and unrelenting love for the darkling hours of our world, when it's not quite dark and night quite light... but completely and utterly beautiful. It is also so quiet which lends itself beautifully for my introspective and self-exploratory nature.

It helps me to feel.

There is a poem that I love called "Ascension" that was on my mind when I began to write this.

love 2 2

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~golddog25 Feb 17, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

So many memories....Your poetry has such impact....

*DogmaticKerr Feb 18, 2013

I am happy to touch upon something as personal and precious as your memories, miss though I hope that you have not experienced too much longing! Ladies should not be kept waiting!

~golddog25 Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Nah just family issues..... And so many tragedies :c I just wish all the loved ones I've lost would still be here with me, I just don't wanna have to die to see them again, but that's the only way.

Thanks for sharing anyway~

*DogmaticKerr Feb 18, 2013

You'll always have memories

~golddog25 Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Being only fourteen I'd say I've been through more than most people my age that I've met, considering what my family has gone through. But it's helped us become stronger and closer and that's at least a good memory. ^^ I know everybody goes through things, and I'm not self-pitying myself, but I think you would understand what I mean if I actually told you. I don't normlly tell people this but I think I can trust you c:

*DogmaticKerr Feb 18, 2013

Fourteen?

Oh my gosh, you are so young and so cute! Sorry, on to the serious stuff!

It certainly can and does happen, age is a good measure of how *much* experience someone has, not necessarily what *kind* of experiences have been had! Seeing as how I went through some very rough things myself, as far back as I can properly remember, I have no problem believing that you've been through hard things yourself and are a better person for it ^.^

Well, that is quite flattering miss! I would like to assure you that you can! And you are welcome to send any notes if there is anything you'd like to discuss or divulge privately, I don't mind in the slightest.

~golddog25 Feb 18, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Psh yeah I guess XD

Yeah, I've met very nice people who have been through very rough things. Then there were not-so-nice people who had the 'perfect' life. Experience can really change a person and help develop them into what they're meant to be. It's really your outlook on things, and how you react to it. There re people who have been through a lot and were just grumps about it. If you let it affect you badly, then nobody will wanna be around you and you'll have a dull life. It's just your attitude that matters. ^^

I can typically tell if I can trust someone or not, better in person of course. XD But if I talk to you enough, I can be positive on trust level.

Sorry I'm taking so long to reply, my cat keeps laying on the keyboard. And my dog hurt herself cuz she's so darn big she thinks she can fit under the desk XD

*DogmaticKerr Feb 18, 2013

Indeed! It's funny how life experience can direct people in their personality and how, oddly enough, people with easier lives can easily end up not being the best of people. It takes all sorts, though.

I'm glad that you are open to being trusting miss, it is a good way to be. And no worries, I'm enjoying what I can of my day before work and you have been a lovely plus to the day!

(1 Reply)

~InvaderVim Jan 17, 2013

I love how you wrote the piece. The words themselves aren't what makes this poem so incredible; it's how you managed to put intricate emphasis on certain words in a way that embodies the poem as whole as well as individual words. It definitely makes someone feel like they understand. Visual emphasis is what I'll call it, I suppose.

*DogmaticKerr Jan 17, 2013

You're a sweetheart

And thank you! I was hoping for precisely that - it's something I always think about doing but, for some reason, never got around to doing for most of my work... which is odd because a huge part of what drives my poetry is my imagination and the imagery that goes along with it - striving to represent that imagery and emotion through formatted, structured text is the best I can do to represent this.

I'm glad that my intentions came across and I absolutely love that you feel you understand

Visual emphasis is a perfect descriptor.

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