[x]

A ParenthesisYou were (a parenthesis, that paused
the daily, mundane stuff
of life;
a bundled breath
of fresh joy,
and borne in the wonder
of love.

Gasping and grasping,
'til in quiet you laid
still;
and I, my Child,
lie in quiet, still
tears).

And now, that is all you are,
and still so much more.

Apologies to LaoEach day is its own microstep--
since I woke from my mother's womb,
I longed to mimic new words, trammel
the sound until it blossomed

like a newborn, and oh how I birthed
stories--told them how I wanted
the author's sacrosanct title
once I've grown. But growing meant

learning the practice of citizens
and their due contribution: beast-slaying
nature of please, thank you,
an apology: sincere

or not. Then there is time--the first
breath of nine, exhalation
of five, the suffocating mandate
of overtime. You grow used to it:

the cyclical disappearance of parents,
pervasive need of sleep, a home-
cooked meal's gradual transmogrific

earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:

I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.

II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy

preludesi.
blue rose into the city backdrop
like balloons, a million for the
morning sun prelude.

ii.
i've not slept a dream
but i have cried a salty face
and letters spilled like beans
into my moleskine,
almost as virgin as i once was
with few stories between my covers.

iii.
the kettle's belly boils
like my head upon a pillow.

iv.
i am guilty for rarely finishing my tea
even when i use the small mugs;
pour, rinse, repeat.

v.
perhaps today i will play dead.

vi.
perched behind my blinds
it dawns on me that i am surrounded
by walled neighbours, strangers,
they're just preludes to lovers
the way i am always
prelude to the one.

despondenti.

"are you sleepy today?"
"yes."
"but you were sleepy yesterday."
"i know."

ii.

she stirs her pomegranate green-tea until it turns from clear to purple
setting it on her bedside table and climbing back into bed again.
her fingers follow the bluer-than-usual constellation veins on her wrists and down
to the freckle on her forearm and then the scar on the inside of her elbow
crossing the tendon as if it were crux.
and then she remembered that God hasn't been with her lately.

iii.

today is long and sunny but when she steps outside the humidity creaks her bones
and her skin starts to inflame.
she assumes that if getting the mail

the back of your head against my washed pillowcaseI find it
disconcerting
that
you are the King
of my own Head
& that I am
subjugated
by my own
temptation

My bones, your
welcome mats,
cushioned
to your insatiable
satisfaction

--

I find this
discomforting,
your constant
rebirths in my
libido, despite
three years of
silent therapy,
false recovery
& worshipping
the wrong gods

you are the best muse
for struggling artists
everywhere & worst
case of the bubonic plague
since the bubonic plague

--

I find you
disenchanted
in the middle
of any where,
peeling flesh,
lulling sullen
sirensongs at
3AM

I shot a flock
of phoenixes
& ate Adam's
poison apple

the eyepatch and the handcuffs     his hands have promised
     to wipe off every fingerprint
     your last lover left on you

     he has sworn he will
     wear gloves, when he needs to,
     and pay attention to the instructions on the boxes

     "this side up"
     and "fragile"

     and you have sworn
     you will try to let him

     i hear your bodies whispering these things to each ot

Liquid Cityhere, at the bottom - lovers.
there are lovers disassembling
themselveslost in and to the
desperate motion in
of - waves.

- did you think the continents
moved themselves? see them slip,

in an open sleep. less go, come.
come and, and - again. trembling

here, at the bottom - their eyes
are lightless. hollow bodies left
restless,

the sea does not sleep.

loose lips sink shipsan ocean has been thrown wide open over your head,
and remarkably you, too, are sinkable–

every verbal, every vocal, is dogged by the epiphany:
an ocean has been thrown wide open over your head

and all bodies wreck, ships and submarines.
and remarkably you, too, are sinkable.

MonologueSpinal fluid seems to be seeping between the cracks
Of the dark hardwood floors beneath me
As if all the cartilage from my being
Has been used to paste together an arthropod heart
I’ve white washed my pupils and folded them
Into hazy envelopes and sent them off to strangers

WhitmanI am all that grows from me
and all that grows from me is sacred—
              my hair, dirty roots reaching towards sky,
fed by sky, shifted by its undulating currents
              my fingers, spiders, crescents, twigs,
gaunt, blunt, probing, inquisitive...prurient
              my ears, awkward conch shells jammed on as if by mistake,
rigid and ridged, elven,
innocent like unexplored caves for children to bound gaily into
resounding with echoed cheers of courage wanting
as if a dozen more children waited within, fearless guides;
              my nose, obdurate.
The reach of my eyes knows no bounds;
what walls are there to throw my body against?

Sharing Communion Amongst Creation -DFC Day 30I.
The sun stretches her caressing hands.
Balancing on the horizon, it seems.
Last rays of day scatter across the lands.

As through a glacier, the light gleams
Over meadows and memories past,
Dripping off cardinal's wings into azure streams.

Galloping alongside stallions unsurpassed,
Golden beams falling with prancing leaves
And slipping into cracks of canyons vast.

Shadow wraps around illumination like sleeves.
Billows as smoldering incense in sacred art.
The day has left, has hastened like ghosts and thieves.

Shade stands resolute and rampart.
Rapt with the veiled, vanquished moon.
Hidden in devious clouds, the waves devoid o

a ribcage drenched in dust i have your ribcage, you said.
what should i put in it?

i told you i'd always wanted a fire,
the kind that would fill my eyes with starlight
and pump my blood full of passion, but

you're made of wildflowers, you said.
a fire would burn you to ash.

you wanted to fill my chest with
the sound of a train, whistling
far away in the night;
with the sound of rain smacking leaves;
with the sound the wind makes
when it seems like it's trying to speak

and you wanted to throw in the
smell of midnight in august
and the feeling of sand being
sucked out from under your feet
when the ocean inhales,
and the strange little moment of
bitter

for onceCold

blackempty

like the cavern where crimson vellum once resided

Drenched in reticence,
your empty blue eyes do nothing
but freeze the blood in these veins

surrounded by phantoms,
i lie in the dark next to your fading silhouette
between sheets that hold so many memories,
they are empty,

like the chestnut eyes that bore into yours

And as the rain falls harder
as it falls faster

washing down the streets
through deep alleys,
down endless roads,

for

once

just

once

i pray it takes me with

WaitingWe are still waiting for the thunder from the distant stars,
The echo of mortality,
the whispers of a storm, half-remembered,
in sepia-coloured hallways in buildings that smell like books.
Time gets slow in waiting,
ghosts are formed from the wanting,
taking shape in the spaces where sunlight,
or moonlight doesn't touch.
The stars shake from the vibration,
and the ghosts shimmer in anticipation,
but we can't hear your voice in the dead of the night.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 391 bytes more ▶

More from ~nicolemonique

agendai loved you
with no agenda
but you had to pencil me in.

well and goodi'll always remember you
well, your face at night
words just mist in the cold air,
hat low on ears,
eyes like two stars
almost in my reach--
i'll remember you as
comfort, like a blanket,
like a rock to crash
against, like deep
even breathing, sweet
and easy and i'll always
remember you well,
and good,
because i loved you.

i rememberi like to get drunk
alone
because if i'm alone
i can feel self righteous
ly angry at you
even though you
have been gone for years.

i bet you never think
of me,
i bet your life is fine
and you're busy
making someone believe
you're deep and
complicated,
troubled water
tumbling beneath
bridges.

i bet you don't know that
when people remind me
of you i collapse
like a star, inward
and curse
myself for being so weak
for being so small
for the salt on my cheeks
from the way that you spoke.

we were friends for so long
that i can't believe
how it all came out
in the wash,
and how unclean it still feels,
and how i'll ne

alternativei am afraid to look straight
into cameras because the pictures
show that my face is not beautiful,
that my angles are blunted,
that my eyes do not shine
like stars, do not reflect
moonlight like deep still pools,
are not an intoxicating shade
of any color--they are only brown
doors to other parts other
pasts or paths or presents,
and every time i meet those eyes
they look at me from a different
point different choice different
life i made, and they all accuse
they all accuse me
all accuse me of disturbing them,
reminding them of potentials
maybes could haves wasted,
and i just want to see
how i would have been if i
if i

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

#CRLiterature
CR hub for Literature Community!

#Word-Of-Art
Beauty is in the words...

#Profusion-Media

#All-Art-Wanted
Every ART accepted

#XOWrittenART

Details

Submitted: November 25, 2012
File Size: 391 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 29
Favourites: 202 [who?]
Views: 2,523 (1 today)
Downloads: 115 (0 today)

[x]

the trouble is

by ~nicolemonique, Nov 25, 2012, 6:08:27 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i'd like life to be
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.

the trouble isby ~nicolemonique

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i really do like living in the city. but i guess my heart is in the country, and far enough north for snow. who knew?

**THANK YOU for all of your support! the DD was an amazing surprise; i'm humbled and grateful.
and thank you for all the lovely comments, favs and adds-- i can't even find the words to express my appreciation.

Daily Deviation

Given 2013-01-18

the trouble is by ~nicolemonique ( Suggested by `OfOneSoul and Featured by ^Beccalicious )

love 4 4

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*12who Jan 21, 2013 Hobbyist

_{Congrats on your Daily Deviation!}

~ivory-phills Jan 19, 2013 Student General Artist

That was beautiful! I feel like I can relate to it because even though I love the city and you the country, we both miss where we feel we belong.

~Tinyjaws13 Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist

OMG!!!! I love this! it reminds me of all the things during the winter that i love...

~Nullibicity Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is absolutely gorgeous. When I finished reading your poem (and even throughout the read), I felt this peaceful feeling settle over my shoulders. I even found myself taking the time to breathe and relax; your poem reminded me of the tiny joys in life, of the importance for loving and breathing. It may seem trivial to others, but I thank you deeply for this reminder; I needed it.
As for your lovely poem: congrats on the well-deserved DD! Such a piece of beautiful simplicity, dipped in such vivid imagery... well, let's just say I would be shocked had it been passed up.
I hope you continue to write years and years from now: You have such a talent for it (:

~nicolemonique Jan 19, 2013

thank you doesn't seem to quite cover it.

your lovely comment made me cry (but in the good way).

~Nullibicity Jan 21, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I think you expressed yourself perfectly.
I am so happy to have been able to draw such a reaction (I felt my previous comment was not enough, too.)

I wish you the very best, and I really look forward to reading more of your work soon (:

~Adeldee Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Another one... whoopee--

~burntchurro Jan 18, 2013

Lovely.

*rlkirkland Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Ah, to sit thus a spell would be such refreshment!
Congratulations on your DD!

*ambientdream Jan 18, 2013 Professional Digital Artist

this is so me.. <3 love this so much.

More from ~nicolemonique

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

the trouble is

the trouble isby ~nicolemonique

Daily Deviation

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style