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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
March 29, 2006
Things for J. to Hold by =manchaliaina is one of those few poems that are so perfect they rob me of the ability to create a snappy write-up. Honestly, I'm speechless - all I can suggest is that you stop reading me and start reading her!
I second all that!
I second all that!
Featured by imperfect
Suggested by zebrazebrazebra
Literature Text
boys who get lost
on the way to being
little messiahs;
girls, who sit quiet inside
large rooms without ever
being too small;
songs from under
apology and regret, to where
starlight and super nova
begin everything;
the rope God used
to tie us together;
water that eddies
into the falls and out
of the falls, without ever thinking
it was lost to the cascades;
the ground under your feet
when it beeps up to you
I think we're in love;
your hat, when the wind blows hard;
poems, and those who write them.
Literature
March, 2004
Soon enough, it got hard for me
to ignore the pebbles of broken
glass buried in the seats
of her attempted-suicide car, or
the night you cut open your legs
only to find them filled
to the brim with nothing
but cold blood and fresh ice.
I could smile but I was stuck in your war-
time car crash, fighting to breathe
over the exhaust, the sky dark and thick
with the unspoken, and she, your mother,
was confined to forced peace,
rounded corners, no butter knives
or shoelaces, hidden scars, white light and white, white walls.
Literature
Your Poem
On the twentieth day of July 69,
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of t
Literature
Shiver
An earthquake rolls across her skin
as green curtains reserve a space
for construction -
he looks at splattered bed sheets
and cradles a small shiver.
He inhales, holds the breath. Hands
calloused by supermarket boxes grip
the railing. Cord of blood and sweat
fused into life is taken into other,
more precise palms.
A hand on his shoulder whirls
him around - birth is burdened
into his arms. Black curls smell sweet.
He feels her hand envelope his as he
leans forward to kiss the wailing temple
turned an angry shade of red. She's
whisked away - to wash and dry.
A statue of bones -
becomes a colossal collapse.
Suggested Collections
a birthday poem for j.
© 2006 - 2024 manchaliaina
Comments68
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i always wish someone would write a poem for me.