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Literature Text
Write me a poem, I am too
tired to write my own. I have
no words for beaten women and men
in jail, I have a love of love poems
- drumming the ground, flying
the oceans, sailing - in my mind
I have a love of sailing.
Write me a poem, I am too sad
to beat the drums you'd hear
inside oceans, those drums were
for love and this isn't love -
Write me some quiet. Four days
and not one silence came my way.
There's just the noise of sticks
on ground and sticks on bones
and I was wishing for rain
and song when the rain came - and that
was all I wanted.
The rain comes. It washes
nothing away from the streets, it sings nothing.
It smells of home. Write me a poem
that smells of home, remember
home to us with all its sounds
of sticks and stones and bones and bones.
tired to write my own. I have
no words for beaten women and men
in jail, I have a love of love poems
- drumming the ground, flying
the oceans, sailing - in my mind
I have a love of sailing.
Write me a poem, I am too sad
to beat the drums you'd hear
inside oceans, those drums were
for love and this isn't love -
Write me some quiet. Four days
and not one silence came my way.
There's just the noise of sticks
on ground and sticks on bones
and I was wishing for rain
and song when the rain came - and that
was all I wanted.
The rain comes. It washes
nothing away from the streets, it sings nothing.
It smells of home. Write me a poem
that smells of home, remember
home to us with all its sounds
of sticks and stones and bones and bones.
Literature
on not knowing.
this road was ten miles long.
i traveled barefoot.
Literature
She was Beautiful
We have a daughter
called poetry
quiet with little fuss
looking up
& molding us as god.
Her small verbs
span indifferent cities,
aloof mountain ranges,
& the hours of
blank faced clocks
between sunrises.
She knows there are
worse things than dark
the black waters of the mind
are scarier.
We have created her
from love,
pressed & dried bouquets
& willow sticks
things only we
could make a life from.
One day we'll wake up
as different people
but the magic
of a shared procreation
will keep us tied
wanting to see each other's
newly patchworked faces.
We have a daughter
called poetry
Literature
a tongue of tea leaves
she has spoken with a tongue of tea leaves
the autumn pied piper
across discarded beer bottles
plays to the phantoms
of summer
the wind, her dusky eyes
a twinge to her rouged lips
rouge, and ragged
her nail polish sparkles
little asteroids glitter
like Orion's belt
she has three places, out of time
three droplets of crystal
the crystalline
she, with her tongue of fortunes
the divine, prediction, prey and predator
she's counting courtship flowers
the tolling bells
among absinthe and aromatic rings
the nettle and bee stings
so that between chances
Suggested Collections
let's go stealers
© 2007 - 2024 manchaliaina
Comments7
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You have a wonderful poetic voice, intuitively directed yet purposeful. I can tell you are going somewhere, but you aren't in too much of a hurry to pay attention to the sights and smells along the way.
These words especially spoke to me:
Write me some quiet. Four days
and not one silence came my way.
There's just the noise of sticks
on ground and sticks on bones
and I was wishing for rain
and song when the rain came - and that
was all I wanted.
The rain comes. It washes
nothing away from the streets, it sings nothing.
These words especially spoke to me:
Write me some quiet. Four days
and not one silence came my way.
There's just the noise of sticks
on ground and sticks on bones
and I was wishing for rain
and song when the rain came - and that
was all I wanted.
The rain comes. It washes
nothing away from the streets, it sings nothing.