feature

so yes, i forgot tuesday's coming up and didn't prepare a theme or anything...
JUST HAVE LITERATURE OKAY


    OlympusI stand dressed in blood and velvet
Dripping wet, my hair a mess
Trespassing on the last haven of the gods
None of them show their faces to me
Are they angry or are they laughing
Or did I just ask too much of them too soon
I open my mouth and out pours a flood
Of saltwater and fire and sand
I break apart and reform
In a milliion new pieces
Look at me are you impressed yet?
I'm the new mother of monsters
I've been a shapeshifter so long
That I've forgotten my true form
Look at the mess I've made of myself
In one hand I clutch tightly to a sun
That scorches my fingers black
In the other hand I cling to a staff
That was once meant to heal all hurts
My fingers have become pens have become poems
Look at these eyes look at them
There is still a beauty there but it has changed
They are made of wildfires now
A beauty only safely seen from a distance
( Someone help me before I lose myself. I have given up what weighs me down and now I'm drifting apart. )    october 1hangnail moon silence
milky indigo sky skin
glass ice air emptiness
catching
this is catching
this is fading

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other people are not medicinea hazy , opaque sky
reads fairy tales
to me ,
a heart once innocent
sees broad brush strokes –
faded apathy and dull pyrite
feathers ;
your wings dream of
golden glory .
lovers from the old days —
glittering skin and
jewels between the teeth
but coals turned to diamonds
aren't as precious as they seem .
hair dyed to the texture of straw ,
bleached dead and cleverly
coated with the unloveliest
nightmares .
trust breaks him ,
he sees her desire and
can't bear to look in her eyes .
chained by his
fear , she
misunderstands
and leaves him .
doe-eyed ,
the fairy accepts his gift
with slightly parted lips ,
the bass of the earth pounding
in her heart .
the sky is hollow , static –
the world oppressed by an unknown
tyrant .
delirious , the custody of
my heart wavered , intoxicated
by your poison .
in the end , this relationship wasn't crescendos
and passionate ecstasy –
dully , not feeling anything  because i refuse to be weaker ,
[ you'll never see my true colors     Fast Life and Slow Smiles "He's got GYPSY stamped across him,
Never stays in one place long."
She said it with a downward turn of owl-eyes and a wrinkled mouth.
But,
I've been in battle,
All that's left is my double-mind
 and a
Fetish for tornado warning rain.     The SelkieTeeth filed,
nails cut.
Painted,
plucked,
exfoliated.
Tamed and
domesticated.
Made obedient.
She stands and listens
to the waves
to the chack chack chack
of pebbles
as the water pulls back.
It drowns out
the chack chack chack
of his words.
"Patience, patience",
she whispers.
people don't listen (you've just too much to say)we fell asleep
    in hotel rooms filled with
    stars, the leaky faucet in the
    kitchenette dripping galaxies
into oblivion.
   they might have
   faded by the morning, but
they were beautiful while they
lasted, drifting in
and out of f o c u s with the
       ebbing
of a neon-light
    tide -
it reminded me that beauty
fades with age
no matter how bright
you may shine .
     (black holes are so cliche, but they're some kind of
      nothing made from something and that's beautiful
                                            enough for me)

oh, and new writer
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please welcome faultling to the community!
(who was also just featured by the amazing scheherazades )
there are only three pieces in her gallery so far, but all of them show great talent.
her use of linebreaks is brilliant.

Aaaaaand, because the PoeticLetters Project is going so super well, here's a special feature with letters!

  dear girl with the pretty leavesdear giving girl, you've
worn yourself down
like a lucky pencil
but you’re still writing
fragile, delicate things,
aren’t you?
(just like your hands)
“books have to be heavy, because
the whole world’s inside them”-
your eyes have to be beautiful,
because all that love is inside you.
and pretty things are meant
to be seen from far away, or
so i’ve been told
but i think we’re both some sort
of troublemakers
you with your wordplays
(lions are awfully dandy, aren’t they?)
me with my ways of never getting
to the point
and yes, we can both
paint words on the sky
but honestly i would rather paint
beautiful things on your skin, where
you deserve them
and you’re the second girl i have
ever had the privilege of trying
to do justice with my words
it’s not working all too well, but
it’s not what i’m saying
it’s what i’m trying to say
that i hope leaves leaf-shaped
scratches on that glass heart
of yours.
because you               a place to landmy darling sparrow,
you are a dragon, a darting firefly
coped up in too tight a cage.
fire burns your tongue,
your fingertips,
never quite ready to lay down
drop down, drop out of the running
for first, third, thrice
snapshots- five second exposure
and already too long gone,
but not quite done, not quite empty
not when there's still a mark
to create, a point to make,
an arrow to wait on,
one more target down,
another to push over the edge,
but only just barely
one step, two steps
don't forget to smile,
one step more, a battle
resting between hips, highs
and improvise, just once
upon a time, there was a mountain
tied to a vanilla latte
and impossible to move
this way, that way,
one way or another,
wings are growing and
you'll be up and away
one more adventure,
this time not on a page.
To spring and tea in graveyard hatsDear Lacefinger,
There is a term for our meeting:
Déjà vu.  
It is the meeting of old friends in a world that was previously empty without their minds dancing poetry over the oceans of time and space.
My dear, Lace, you didn't tell me that you were graced by fairy-light and wings.  
I thought you were a wraith collecting spider nooses and all this time, we might've been friends!
I see, that you've already been speaking to the bastard crow--he's all accusation in dark-angel's clothing.
My wish for his concert was purely to better enjoy my fine glass of wine, the cheese was a touch of fate.
Believe that, if you will...
I digress,
Did you ever fall in love with the forest?
I, myself, never miss a chance to forget the way the wind plays across my lips when it's feeling sorry for being unfaithful.
Have you been tracing your poems along the ocean's stanza?
Seems as if you might have built a castle, next to mine,
except, I was the speck of sand at the foot of the moat,
won       pens like knitting needles and life's loose endsFor Siren
a cackling - ahem , crackling -
fire glows , warming the room .
i see faces in it , covens of angels
[ not innocent as they seem ]
and your breath a rhapsody .
i see you through the cracked-by-memories
windowpane , fragments dancing
through the heavy rain .
trees whisper at your approach ,
the earth sighs against your legs ,
eager for another song .
the door slides open ,
granting you entrance .
someone pulls out a seat , a
rusty-brown leather armchair .
a piano sits at the corner of the room , and
the cat occupying it mews and paws
the crisp air floating in behind you .
on it are music notes –
piano , legato ,
allegretto
etcetera .
you sweep into the room , dressed
as elegantly as your flashing eyes and
otherworldly smiles would suggest .
you begin to play ,
and the world
gasps and grins as
you tickle the delighted
ears of everyone around you .
the song is slow , carrying payphone
memories and faux - coated clouds ,
too sleepy to bring snow .
the song h
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