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O.DMaria flat across the back seat half full needle of something rides shotgun
my plateless Dodge shakes through San Fran near dusk, I can see away
the building the white neon the cross of all the miracles we might make it
reach back two fingers to her neck feel a pulse got it
Van Ness a steel snake a stigmata of coke cans pepper gutters the leaving
sky clutches a final urgent burn my ribs a snapping cage for a demon trapped
heart pounding pounding. Maria always in my tilted rear-view eyes rolling back
hold on baby, hold on
back to road banging the wheel radio barks me through the sharp theatre
of shadows that spring constant, sundown whores and homeless breathe
like humans under wheezy billboards blanket beds traffic people everywhere
come on. come on.
reach back two fingers to the neck feel a pulse got it
more cars. shirts say Giants she stirs in the back pukes a green something
to the floor drops her head again I think I scream hang on through spit
and salt and the hard f
both afraid to speak
for what might be said
drift down to my coffee
somewhere a Lark welcomes the sun
while a breeze comes
off the lake
under the raised kitchen window
that finally yielded
to her (grunting)
swollen wood from last nights rain
she had said as the window finally gave to her,
a hollow tone
to the words.
she leans across the table now
tucks a loose ringlet of hair behind her ear
as if she is about to whistle
blows upon her steaming tea
I still love her. I think.
but we are falling into valleys
of our own
it is a constant drop
- watching ourselves
slowly separated by a thing
we never knew existed
until we changed enough for it to show
our valley’s have formed
that now tower ‘round us
till I cannot even scream for her
and be heard
it seems my voice will not carry
across to her valley.
in the bleak breakfast light
the breeze steals the coffee smell
from the air,
and through our sile
considerthat you are the rain
that falls before dawn
and clears the
dark morning air
that you are a thousand
bright milky stars
that punch through
the blanket of night
you are the sharp smell
of hot winter fire
finding the nose
of the old sleepy hunter
you are the wild frenzy
of the cold brown trout
that is caught
by the fishermans net
that you are the hard touch
of the grey sparrows beak
feeding her young
in the nest
you are the mad rumble
of the high waterfall
as it drops to the rocks
at its base
that you are the soft soil
lying deep in the orchard
bringing the sweet apples
that you are the wisdom
that begins in the silver
that the grandfather combs
that you are the dark shade
of silky brown liquid
that lives in the eye
of the deer
that you are the child
that sits at the circus
with the smile of a clown
and the heart of a lion
the early morning
and sourdough bread
at the old wooden table
by the bay
silent ghosts hover
above the water
until the sun
gently found a way
to haunt them
somewhere inside me
hide old visions
but long ago
they stopped coming out
to take shape
like a morning fog, is lost
to the rising sun
silent as the dawn
you turned out to be
not an image
something else, real
yet somehow formless.
I now wonder
if you remember our
early morning coffee
Do ghosts have memories?
Perhaps that is all
that memories are.
Let me carry you to California(1.)
It’s just on two years
just after 4:30am
and you’re calling
and you’re crying
and you say my dad died
and my very first thought
on the bleak and empty porch
in the grey/green light of the Bay
with the promised sun
still caught below the waterline
is that I will see you again.
I’ll come for you in Colorado
and carry you to California
I’ll wipe the salt from your burning eyes
to the childhood memories
of you so young
and vibrant wild
I’ll take the sorrowed sobs
from your tired, worn-out body
and place them into mine
we are bruised and we are broken.
But I promise
I can fix this
and in the early hours aftermath
of your midnight, melancholy dreams
I will look down upon you
and stroke your sun bleached cheeks
and somehow, before the rising sun
we can, the two of us pretend
I gave us both a better chance.
Sarah. Let me carry you to California.
FallingShe quit music in the middle of a middle C
at The Warfield
and left the cello to drop to the stage floor
with a crack and a confused murmur from the crowd
Later that night, in front of the mirror
she counted the moles on her body
and noticed ones on her left breast
that were new
and she pulled her hair into bunches of various styles
and stretched her skin around her eyes to smooth it
and hated everything she saw
she lost weight and took up smoking to lose more
and in skittish nights of insomnia, she took to pinching herself
to match the pain in her body to the things that were angry inside her
and then matched it further and stronger still, with clean blade nicks
behind her bony knee
She walked Golden Gate park
and tried to find beauty in the eucalyptus
where the sight of the late summer runners with white earphones
and teeth from toothpaste commercials
made her feel false and tight and turgid
She pulled photos albums from her cupboard
and wrote angry verbs against the
The reason I won't be comingbecause I waited outside of
when it rained atop
a sea of black umbrellas
for hour after hour
and I watched with dripping skin
as the deluge hit the gutters
and drowned the littered pavements
on that day
and all that drizzly air
had the smell
of wishless pennies
and I thought about you always
I thought about you only
in that frozen autumn grey
and as the Piccadilly clock
ticked its forever time away
I fell from love and lightness
never wanting you to stay
but still I waited for you
yet another hopeless hour
as the end-of-wednesday workers
gathered 'round the sterile banks
waiting for their midweek pittance pay
I watched as they lined at
all the busy counters
of cheap Korean florists,
taking all those rainbow bouquets
home as gifts for Valentines day
and still I waited for you
outside Piccadilly Station, in the rain.
and you never came.
DadI turned out like my spot-skinned father
and I would twist and turn the dry tall-grass threads
that I found on the prairie into braids of hair
like he taught me,
and I would feed the horses blocks of salt
before they took flight in the bleak twilight of the plains.
I lived in a world of dry winds and cul-de-sacs
and reached the thinking end of things
before I knew I had no-where to go,
and I first fell in love with a girl
who’s handle is lost to that wind
but her brown eyes are sketched to my soul for eternity.
When I left home he stood on the old porch
while the wind chimes sprung chords
across the flat land like a funeral bell
as my mother walked me to the car,
and as I drove across the cattle grid for that final time
he was already inside the house and gone to me
as a shape and as an image.
He died of a stroke 6 months later
and she told me in her soft sweet voice
how much he had loved me and his pride of me
but it was always in her voice
and I had to use my imagination
The Winter Hunti. Ice
In the first evening glow
the hard crush of our tired boots
against the roads black-ice
gives off tiny echoes, reverbing as
we move with reverence
in slow steps
the distant hunting cabin,
the chimney smoke
its low white wisps
call us home.
Dragging the limp
towards the smokehouse
the dogs are scouting ahead
their pink tongues panting misty breaths
into the fading light
and above us
a spray of Winters
first milky stars light us,
the smell of venison
hits our throats,
wets our mouths.
A deep-still night of cool air
we sit staring and smoking
by the cabins glowing hearth
dark hot tea is blown cool
and sugared with old metal spoons
as the scent of cooked meat
cling to our worn shirts,
all dry and beat, half-bearded and
ready for sleep,
the moon arrives
late and full
throwing a dull grey light
through the cabins icy windows.
What if GodWhat if God…
…cares about what you care about?
…was proud of your every achievement?
…actually wanted to thank you?
…is excited for you?
…believes in you?
...keeps His end of the deal even when you don’t?
…sympathizes with you?
…is on your side every time, whether you’re right or wrong?
…encourages your crazy goals that others say are stupid?
…is your biggest fan?
…is still rooting for you?
…won’t forget you, even long after you die?
…understands you better than your own parents?
…loves you more than your own partner does?
…loves you more than you love yourself?
What if God was everything we are looking for in other people, and ten times that?
Would we approach Him then?
Prayer to Wodenwisdom, guile and ecstasy
these things I pray You give to me
poet’s share – sweet Mead from Heaven
another drink of inspiration
Runes are cut from ancient trees
sigils, signs now come with ease
flowing blood and gushing soul
we move along in Frija’s web
the God will teach
as the Goddess shapes us
a union born of polarity
blessed hearthfire’s duality
Wōden, Wotan; Father God
I seek craft and witching words
teach me gifts of sweet seduction
and so catharsis of noble Will
Lord of Gallows, wandering bard
countless dead and so reborn
bring me now to wit’s sweet end
and teach me how to walk again
ending, ending, never-ending
it has no start to take away
born in Aegis, shaped by Aeons
given wit by Odin’s brethren
oh my soul, my life, my mind
I pledge them all to wisdom’s God
to seek and eke, to strive and conquer
and so to rise above the mindful now
I will seek the Overman
the promise of sweet Wisdom throned
a life beyond the bold horizon
Connecting StarsThere are arbitrary lines between the stars
In triangles and rectangles
But everything’s circular
Cyclical, rotating, transforming into
and out of shape.
I am connected to the cycles
I am circular in my essence
Transforming in cycles
The stars cannot be observed without me,
I am stars and the lines in between.
Holy TrinityThe solidness of beginning
An eternity of summers
A sweet delicious immortality
A sparkling rivulet entering a meadow brook
Life giving rushing river to oceans of jumping fish and cresting giants
Flashing wet in the sun
Sunlight warm on us all
The molecules of time drifting apart
Gently seeing through those things that were solid
Spaces big enough to walk through
Ending in mist, asking: Why?
An Embrace in the DarkAn Embrace in the Dark
Your reasoning is true, you logic right
My flaw is forgiven by ethereal light
Make our scarlet sins bleed anew
Make them crystal as morning dew
And though I sin, I still understand
That all I want is to be part of your plan
Blood so crimson, akin to twilit sky
At last I am free, on angel’s wings I fly
here one minute...this seems now
to be what's true:
do not dread death
toward end of life
because there is
no There anywhere
you'll not Be dead
you'll just be gone
an absent one
no longer here
the mortal throng
to Be no more
where you've not bought
nor caught the fear
from those who claim
to know one thing...
or too much other
you surely see
you cannot mourn
your selfish self
nor must you run
behind your loved one
to your lord
just let them go
and whisper "Yes"
prepare to miss
as you should
the one whom has now
come up missing
there'll be a day
when you'll be gone
though you won't know
so - mute the souls
who go before
[more truly need]
but likely sense
there's no beyond...
beyond death's door
one shall not see
one shall not hear
nor feel the calm
nor wonder "Why?"
at all... anymore
llp - dA - aug2014
ReconstructionRibcage turns to lead and thick and iron,
a bastardised alloy
that grips your lungs like a vice
and patterns welts on to your heart
if it starts to flutter.
Skull turns to flint and gasoline and matchstick,
a raging fire against your brain,
that makes you sweat electricity
and blow smoke from between your teeth,
and your eyes roll back to watch the light show.
Stomach turns to cement and grit and earth,
churning and setting,
half-formed rock scraping your insides
and carrying you with the slow
rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall.
Body tightens and shudders and curls in on itself,
literally breaking your heart,
setting fire to your insides,
churning your stomach just for the rush.
Crescendo blazes in tumultuous turmoil,
rhythm crawling inside of you,
volume increasing, increasing, increasing,
you drop with a scream
and all is quiet and nothing hurts.
EnlightenmentWaking from your dreams
You see life as a gleam of light
Not knowing which way it will reflect
from the mirrors of reality
You struggle with your faith
Your soul has been torn
As you get up, disbelieving in fate and trudging on
You feel a guiding force that mends your soul
and takes you to a world of bliss
Where dreams are anything but dreams
Walking along a dirt path with a bag on my back
Everything I need is on my back
Days and days of preparing; just a simple hike
All of a sudden, a mountain blocking my path
The road goes up; all the way up
The only way to make it over is to climb
Shouldn't be too hard but it won't be easy
The road gets more narrow, the climb gets dangerous
Easy steps to make the climb are now impossible
The rocks are getting slippery, and the rocks are falling apart
Higher and higher I go, the danger increases
One wrong step, I tumble off the side of the mountain
Rolling down the side of the mountain
Hitting my heads on the rocks and breaking my bones
I don't know if I can climb this, I don't know if I ever will
It feels endless and having to climb from the bottom again; I will never reach the top
O Lord, please give me the strength to overcome this mountain
Give me the strength to even see the horizon
O Lord, You reign in the highest and did the impossible for me
There is nothing You can't do
O Lord, h
Cosmic MuseWarm air snowed with floating pollen,
Colpate and sulcate,
First scents of pine and wild grass.
The flotsam and jetsam of spring.
In a tattered notebook she sketches,
Perfect Kookaburra on redgum,
Upon cedar easel, with flaking legs
Nesting Lyrebirds in dark wood.
At twilight she shows me, through chaos,
Andromeda and Indus and later,
Cupping my ears with soft hands,
She guides me to Lyra and marks me Aquarius.
Naked by Firelight she moves,
Soft mounds and aching curves.
A fleshy flicker through flame.
Calling me into her, my cosmic muse.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More