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MeltI prayed for rain because
once you told me
that it was your favorite thing.
The sound of it,
the way it smelled on the concrete cracked,
how it felt on your skin
if you were to step outside and
let it soak into your tired shirt.

I told you that I liked the snow,
and for me it was because
nothing was more symbolic
for how cold I am when compared to you,
how rain fights with itself when it
races down the window,
but snow is distant, aloof,
floating easy.

And if I shared that thought with you,
I know you'd tell me that
I'm just the clear sky, a blessing,
because you love me in ways
that I want to love you...
but can't.

So

Honorary Sun SpotI'm going to tie a string
around the new dawn
and make the sun my balloon.
I won't let go as it keeps rising,
I just need warmth and this seems
like the best way to find it,
the day taking me with it
round the world.
Take a picture of your rooftop,
and I'll wave as I go by.

EasyWas there ever a girl so strange?
Smoky hearted, grabbed at the waist
by the next passing breeze.
She keeps one foot stuck in
the wrong side of her conscience,
the other grounded in nothing.
She replaces men like lipstick, she
wears her promiscuity like
last night's perfume.

HeavyWhen you let me go
by the side of the road,
please remember the string
that you tied to my soul.
I'm the balloon you inflated
just to let go;
the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.

Why'd you have to cut this
delicate cord,
the thin wire trailing
from my heartbeat to yours?
Remember the science of
the desolate sky,
because the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.

Strung OutConsider me hanging on the line,
a dress without a body waiting for the sun,
vibrant when she's not heavy, waterlogged.
As a child, I enjoyed making orange smiles,
while wondering why we didn't have
a clothesline stretching from tree to tree
like I'd seen on the television.
I admired the way skirts became birds,
picked up by the wind they adored,
while sheets grabbed the wind like a sail,
and the clouds were always made of cotton,
and the denim sat like lead.

Now every time I put myself out to dry,
the sky gets heavy and breaks on me.
I am halfway towards being ready,
and then the rain rips me down again.
Maybe that's why

I AmI am the dreamer at the window,
and my face is in the daylight stars,
untraceable, unreachable, invisible,
but unquestionably there.

I am the last castle in the sandbox,
left with the shovel pointing outwards,
towards the third rock from the sunset.

I am the wake of the steamboat running,
churning up the river like
a landlocked hurricane.

If you try to be the force that breaks me now,
the swingset push after I said "stop,"
then watch yourself close when I jump off,
because even the devil will hear me
when I land with both feet.

It's Not So Bad When The Ceiling Stares BackIt's almost five and
when the sun takes her
olympic strides towards
the westernmost curve in the horizon,
I find myself lonely.
But I know my shadow will hold my hand
as long as it doesn't get dark again.
So I brighten my room with an electric click,
shut the shades to keep out the night,
and search for myself to the tune of
nobody sitting next to me when
I harmonize with an empty bed.
I can almost feel our mutual heartbreak
when I stare into the ceiling cracks.

AcheIt comes and goes
like an unwelcome houseguest,
leaving me with messes I don't need,
and it never shuts the door
to keep the cold out.
I tried shutting off the lights
and closing the blinds,
twisting the key in the padlock
and boarding the windows,
but as long as light can
seep through the cracks,
this shadow will follow
and dig its fingers into my shoulders.
I bruise easily, it knows,
and it revels in watching
me shift in discomfort
while it grips me.
Like a ghost,
it won't let go.

Papercuts and RecollectionsI had forgotten your love letters
until they cut my finger when I
grazed the bottom of my drawer.
Folded crisp and neat,
some of the ink had smudged like
the crimson filling the whorls of my thumb.

I could hear your voice clearly,
saturated in the scrawling script.
You promised me forever,
now forever's gone.

Lost in that rush of reanimated feeling,
I could almost remember
the way your cheek felt resting
warm against my hair,
how you smelled like home.

The traces of you lingered like
the last hours of yesterday
before turning to the smell of dust
and the feel of paper too dry
to write on again.

GodGod is in her rocking chair,
wood creaking as she hums back and forth.
I want to climb onto her sun-warmed lap,
breathe in the smell of air dried dresses,
May breezes caught in her floral-print skirt.
Her hands are gentle as they stroke my hair,
her knitting going still when I rest my head
on her knees where her yarn was.
She holds me as I cry.

FacelessI have photographed this trail,
from its matchbox beginning
to the church it burned down
and when faced with the unholy trinity
in the center of my chest...
Past,
Present,
Future,
I am overwhelmed.

I want to leave tear stains on his shirt
but when I look to his face for comfort,
it has changed.
I am disillusioned...
for years love had a visage,
and now it's blank
or ever-shifting.

My father once told me
the heart's a bandit.
He never mentioned
it wore different masks.

SeparateYou are on the opposite side
of this window.
Press your palm against the pane,
against mine.
The heat of our fingers will
fog the glass,
and in this mist we create,
we will finally meet.

AwakenedPaint me silver,
to contrast the dawn,
and open my eyes to the twilight.

In this moment, I am the hills.
I am the mountain with his
white-brimmed hat cocked just so.
I am the breathy mist on the lake.

With the sun framing
my westward-pointing shadow,
the morning is my vestment,
and new warmth makes my crown.

I shiver with the bristling pines,
shaking off last night's frost,
creaking as we stretch into the wind.

Blink and You'll Miss ItThe wind reminds me of
the empty space to my left,
which I swear you filled
only minutes ago.
But if I rested my hand
where you were sitting,
it would be just as cold as
the realization that you're gone.

RedYou carry a two-toned reputation,
reminding me of cherry popsicle summers,
when I stained my lips in mimicry
of the same lipstick shade I'd wear
when bending towards a mirror
in the hopes of leaving my mark on the cheek
of some man whose name I might not remember.

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A Good Night's Sleep and the Morning AirI need to shut my eyes
and open them to another day,
when the sun is coming up the hill
like a paperboy,
and all the fields I see
are green for me,
wet with last night's rain.
I ache for the touch of the morning breeze,
the way my hair twists,
tawny ribbons in the wind.
I would tug tomorrow towards me if I could,
because as much as I love the moon,
I yearn for the dawn and the dark side of the sun.
My heart is warming with the ground and
the crocuses are coming up.

The TimekeeperI am the hour-counter,
collecting time like water caught
on the bottom of a glass.
The wasted minutes you exchanged
for blue-sky dreaming,
the seconds on the porch with
your song-bird smile,
they're all here:
sand-grain moments
stuck to the sides of my hourglass.

Blink and You'll Miss ItThe wind reminds me of
the empty space to my left,
which I swear you filled
only minutes ago.
But if I rested my hand
where you were sitting,
it would be just as cold as
the realization that you're gone.

The Last SunsetMy broken shadow stumbled on
and left me dragging like the sun.
The twisted branches snagged the sky...
how skeletal, their fingers stretching.
The earth I knew choked on the last
of yesterday's dried and cracking dreams,
now I am stumbling through the dust
chasing my spirit through withered leaves.

All I Ask (Beseeching the Crows)I want to sing to the crows
that they might stop their
raucous shouting to
cock their heads and listen.
Up in the branches,
where the wind twists her hair,
my voice carries soft and
is lost in their black-feathered throats.
Were they silent,
perhaps God would hear
the heavy note hanging
in my soul-twisting calls.

A Slower Way to DrownCry me an ocean crashing,
its sultry blues rolling.
I am tumbling through the deep,
and I've forgotten I can't breathe.
Salt in my lungs, rattling.
I am buried up to my neck,
my head facing the tides that
come whispering in.

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Adrift

by *callerofcrows, Mar 13, 2012, 11:37:29 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Run headlong into the wind with me.
We are only ships on this endless blue,
without anchor, north star, or compass spinning.
Find me as I lose myself with you.

Adriftby *callerofcrows

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

<3 Just a short one. <3

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~McGuire613 Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Yeah, I love this one. I also love that it is only one little metaphor. Sometimes you use multiple metaphors in one poem, and it can be slightly hard to follow.

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*callerofcrows Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Haha, I do love my metaphors. Maybe a little too much.

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~McGuire613 Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

nah, it's good for poets to love metaphors. just something to be aware of

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*callerofcrows Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Roger that!

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~McGuire613 Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Bahaha! You are adorable!

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*callerofcrows Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

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~scribblingnooly Apr 9, 2012 Professional

Just started to look at your work via Mrs-Freestar-Bul. Really like your work. I chose to comment on this one because I love the amount of meaning contained in four lines. Really powerful.

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*callerofcrows Apr 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!!!

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~Inklingirl16 Mar 28, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Aw, I like this one a lot

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*callerofcrows Mar 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Haha, thanks!

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