[x]

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

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.

A Cold RenewalMake me pure,
like today's unmarked snow.
Windows are glowing with warmth,
soft amber lighting that casts itself in
stained glass fragments across these
glittering wastes.
I want release to color me
in that same way,
relief washing me out and
re-painting me in golden tones
that only letting go could understand.
And so,
I unclench my tired hands and
trade bitter sighs for peace.

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.

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.

SleeplessBack pressed against the wall,
I stare into three o'clock nothings.
Left with watered-down thoughts,
exhausted, mumbled musings,
I have little more to do than
mutter myself down from
whatever fight I'm losing against myself
as the stars grow all the dimmer.
What about sleepless exhaustion
destroys the barrier between
stream of consciousness and the
structured mind?

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.

Half-Past a Different Kind of BrokenTrauma looks like my kitchen clock.
The hours,
minutes,
they are dead
and the second hand stutters,
heartbroken.
I imagine every inconsequential twitch
is a plea for the freedom
it will never see again.
When its futile heart finally gives out,
I won't try to fix the timepiece
because after all its wasted sufferings,
allowing again such a disjointed tic
would be a deeper level of cruelty.

AdriftRun 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.

Nevermind the WinterTrack the robins through the cloud-cover,
and tell me where they're going.
Would you follow them?
Spring rests in their talons,
and I reach for it.
I rise like the crocus,
glowing like an afternoon
of laying in the daffodils.
Find my footprints in the April mud,
because I am hope
and I follow the robin.

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.

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.

UnbridledLet's dance, you and I.
Hello rambling psyche,
ambling soul,
grab my hands and
lead me in a jitterbug waltz
across my floor.

You've got two right feet
to match my lefts,
and our laughter hits
with the downbeat of the toms.
We sing flats and sharps,
perfect at being imperfect.

My hair's a mess and
you're not really there,
but I've got enough spirit
to be my own partner,
and anyone watching from the window
would understand.

Names and ShapesI have broad shoulders,
for a woman.
They call my body
"apple shaped" in that
my hips are narrow.
I don't keep time like an hourglass,
I am not sweet like a pear.

But I still hold the allure
of the forbidden fruit I am named for,
and my shoulders are wide
to bear the weight placed upon them.

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.

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TriggeredI am tripping on the tails of spirits
I thought I exorcised with
the slam of the therapist's door.
Parts of them still linger
in the darker hallways of my mind.
Today, my heart aches like
a bone that didn't set after it was broken,
and it's telling me the weather will
get worse before it gets better.

The LibraryThe two-toned leather binding
of a long-beloved novel
complimented the lonely
slant of sun that filtered
through the swirling dust
of another afternoon.

This labyrinth was built on book-spines,
directed by dog-eared tomes
whose pages whispered
its secrets in the stillness.

Drop the twine you thought
would lead you out,
because losing yourself here
is as painless as sleeping,
and like dreaming you
explore worlds without
ever leaving the comfort of
the armchair you claimed as
your kingdom.

Sink with me through
the crackle of covers opened,
the sighs of plots uncovered,
the snap of novels shut.

Living ForeverI want nothing more
than immortality;
that when my bones dry out
and my voice blends with the earth
I am still remembered somewhere because
I'm afraid of death.
If you whisper my name to the
thankless wind then I
haven't really died,
I've just gone somewhere
beyond the brush of your fingers or the
soft scent of your skin.
I swear that I am scared
of leaving your mind,
that if I journey past this life
before you, you'll
forget me in time.
Words are more permanent
than this body ever was.
Hold me in each syllable of my name.

For MayTimes are tough,
but you've got a rugged soul.
Like a weather-beaten soldier,
it struggles over war-turned fields,
tripping over broken roads
and asking God why
it was thrown into this chaotic mess.
I can see you staring down the ceiling
and flinching at the gunfire
echoing where your spirit dwells.
And you fight like
finding happiness is your last battle,
where you're pitched into cannon-fire
on the front lines.
War can't last forever.
Take heart, because
tomorrow will bring hope
and pull you out of your trenches.

The NightmareThe sun was setting in the west
how slow it slithered over
when it sent the shadows running
over beds of frosted clover,
as we closed our eyes to daylight,
turned our backs against sky,
knowing when we re-awakened
we would have to say goodbye
to the dreams that prattled gently
through our minds as we were sleeping;
they were visions of our future,
(And once dead, they're not worth keeping.)

They died sometime after midnight--
and I did try to revive them,
but their hearts were still as twilight,
so I knew that we had lost them.
We can only blame each other
for the loss of all we know,
I the mother, you the father,
they our

Waiting for SnowThe world is holding its breath,
the atmosphere tense as
the silence before blows exchanged.
There is the rumor of ice
in the frozen earth,
the long-dead leaves trembling,
eyes skyward.
All is hushed,
as if the coming storm
is a rumor true only when spoken.

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God

by *callerofcrows, Jan 17, 2012, 7:37:00 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

God 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.

Godby *callerofcrows

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Because God has felt like a mother to me lately. <3

*BeyondJen Jan 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I dig this, a lot.
It reminds me of my grandma though. Must be the knitting and floral-print.

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*callerofcrows Jan 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks! It does have a grandmotherly feel to it, doesn't it? I think part of that is because the nature of God is ancient. But it can also be the knitting and floral print.

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*BeyondJen Jan 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I tend to side with the knitting and floral print argument, lol, but you can't argue that God is ancient.

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~RadiationAlpha Jan 20, 2012 Professional Writer

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*callerofcrows Jan 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!!

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~HippieHebe Jan 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I like the thought of God in female form. Mmmm... I can feel the warm sun and almost feel the gentle hands. Very nice

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*callerofcrows Jan 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much!

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~randomphilosopher Jan 20, 2012 Writer

I don't mean to mass-favorite, but these last three are really beautiful.

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*callerofcrows Jan 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!

Mass faving doesn't bother me, it means that someone appreciates the work that I've done, and happen to be looking at several pieces over any given amount of time!

Thanks for the faves!

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~randomphilosopher Jan 23, 2012 Writer

You're very welcome

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