[x]

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yet You're Still RunningYour feet mimicked your heartbeat;
Drumming into the ground, panicked.
They reminded you that Earth was turning too fast.
You'd be thrown into emptiness
if you didn't keep up.

If you cared enough,
you'd see the blisters on my hands,
nail-beds cracked from gripping the dirt
as I tried to slow the world for you.

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

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.

07.07.12Maybe it's the music,
or how I'm sitting cross-legged
with my soul like a bird on my shoulder;
the way my hair sits loose in a messy bun,
face devoid of makeup
and heart full of words too big
for pocket-change emotions.

For reasons I can't understand,
(that's forever never knowing,
or at least not for a while,)
I feel beautiful.

Summer SundaysI tried to remember how to braid.
Summer matured, and so had I,
but by weaving my hair
into childhood patterns,
I was half my age and wiser.

The fan in the window
drew in smells like suitors,
courting my nostalgia.
They were reminders of innocence;
cut lawns and clean laundry,
coupled with the spitting rhythm
of the sprinkler
and the dogs huffing at the cats
hunting for brunch in the lillies.

I will abandon sensibilities
to the water in the garden hose,
and soak myself to the soul
in the last hours of my freedom.

I am no longer a child,
but July can grasp at those straws I threw away
in the hopes that maturity
traded

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.

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.

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.

I am Icarus RedeemedEven when every dream had drowned
and love left me choking on dust
and I felt utterly abandoned by
every aspect of my envisioned life,
something in me set on fire.

Oh, I know heat rises
and I'm lifting off.
God knows where it's taking me,
heaven has yet to shut me out.
Oh, my wings are broken
but at least I'm falling free.
It's the impact,
not my plummeting spirit,
that will throttle the light in me.

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.

Footprints in the SnowThey're meant for melting,
and someday all this ground will hold
is memories of walking together,
and walking away.

We will not forget.
Time will do that for us.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 314 bytes more ▶

More from *callerofcrows

ConsolationI, the eloquent,
where are my words?
Everything they taught me to say,
all the premeditated speeches
planned perfectly in my mind
shatter on the floor like
the glass tears dripping from your chin.
Do I reach out to catch your falling spirit?
or do I let it plummet because
you think that feels better
and help you pick up the pieces later?
I lean into the discomfort
of each sobbing silence
and wait for you to tell me what to do.

Vases and DreamsHave you ever watched your dreams
act like a broken vase?
You know the flowers blooming within that hope
are going to wither if you don't
super-glue the crack shut.
It'll keep on leaking until
all you have are dead things
in the middle of your mind.
I'd like to think that it's that easy,
but glue is hard to find sometimes,
and we all know fixing things
is easier said than done.
It's even worse when the dream is older.
You can't replace that mental heirloom,
passed from state-of-mind to state-of-mind.
You'd do anything to piece
that cherished vessel back together.
Then maybe God wouldn't send you to your room
to think about

Fever DreamMy bedposts sway
to my shivering heart,
and in summer's fading grip
I pull the blankets around
my chattering form.
I'll take whatever
hallucinations I get,
because I hear a hollow echo
of your voice in my head.
While I know that you're
not stroking my hair
by the side of my bed,
I'd rather keep the illusion
than huddle with my misery
under the sheets.

As the Storm LingersMy eyes leaked with the windows.
In the rain that poured,
I saw myself running home to you
through the drowning grass,
my hair plastered in messy waves
against my storm-cold face,
sorrow in my heart pounding
like long forgotten thunder.

If you were swept off
by the wind
I'd be left without anchor.
If your words did not reach my ears,
my compass would be
left spinning;
I would be lost at sea.
You are my north star,
and these clouds cover your face.
I can't find my way back
if I lose you.

But when the storm sweeps East
and makes way for the moon
I remember your kiss
like I would my name,
because we could be two
or two

Eye of the HurricaneClosing my eyes,
it's easy to ignore
the walls of water
that surround my calm.
I feel the breath of the wind
circling my neck,
inspecting my mind,
worry trying to worm its way into
this brain of mine.
I plug my ears to keep its whispers out.
Around the mellow circle
of my harbor safe,
the ocean rages.

If I Were Not AfraidI would fight.
Wearing my heart like armor
I would charge across the desert
to find freedom in the sand,
losing blood for those
unable to defend themselves.
A warrior,
khaki and green,
My boots would leave prints
oppression could not ignore,
my footsteps a voice for the people.
I would die and remain nameless,
asking nothing more
than a handful of ash scattered
in memory of those who did the same.
Like my father and his fathers before,
I would leave my love at the home front.
Stretching my heart across the cruel Atlantic,
I would risk death to save
the liberty we love like a daughter.

If only I was given the courage.

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: January 31, 2012
File Size: 314 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 13
Favourites: 13 [who?]
Views: 73 (0 today)
Downloads: 7 (0 today)

License

Creative Commons License

Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

[x]

Separate

by *callerofcrows, Jan 31, 2012, 6:09:41 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

You 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.

Separateby *callerofcrows

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Just some musings. I wish "musings" was a lit category here.

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

~Inklingirl16 Feb 6, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

LUVLUVLUVLUVULUV.
...I'm going to have to draw this one, too.
Yes.

Reply

*callerofcrows Feb 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

YES!

Reply

*Mrs-Freestar-Bul Feb 6, 2012 Writer

Ow God how beautiful is this one

So gentle and lovely. Absolutely beautiful my dear. I will read it again

Reply

*callerofcrows Feb 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!

Reply

=ArtBeginsHere Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

You are on the Opposite of my clear window.
Please Press your palm against the pane and against mine.
The heat of our fingers will fog up the glass,
and in the mist will clear again to let us finally meet.

Haha, yours is better.

Reply

*callerofcrows Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks! Yours isn't bad, though!

Reply

=ArtBeginsHere Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Haha, well keep on writing!

Reply

=ArtBeginsHere Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Wow..... ._.

Reply

*callerofcrows Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you, for both this and the fave!

I'm so glad you liked it!

Reply

=ArtBeginsHere Jan 31, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Well, I'm a writer myself and I must say, this is true piece of greatness. Needs a few additions and a quick check, but it is darn good my dear.

Reply

Previous
1
2
Next