[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

Riddle My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

What am I?

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

Seaside HolidayI am content
to stay
a caterpillar

Who says
you have
to change?

What's so great
about being
a butterfly?

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More from ~UltimateOutlaw

Left With A LullabyeI Might Have Left You With A Lullabye (full title)

You played in minor chords and somber notes
Tripping couplets of the soul that she broke
Off your wickedly forked viper-child tongue

You stained white sheets with lies when our bodies
Laid thusly entwined amid the wreckage
Of another love you failed to mention

Who’s heart was the harp that you strummed each night.
A pity it wasn’t me who snapped those strings
A shame, her chorus still slipped off your lips

While naked I lay beside you.

PapercutsThere are a thousand single mothers all over
America and there are “happily married” men
who sleep alone on the couch every night
and there are popular girls who drink until
they pass out and bookworm nerds who think
they will grow old never having kissed a boy.

Which begs the question:

If there are a thousand different ways that you can choose
to carve a life from gold or ice or sandstone, or mold it
out of mud or plaster or polymer clay or cut it out of
construction paper or sheet metal or precious gems

Why do we always pick the one that gives us

Papercuts?

Decisions I Can Live WithI am making decisions I can live with
Because, thing is,

Life goes on—

Whether we want it to or not

Life is short—

But sometimes not short enough.

So I am making decisions I can live with
Even if you think I’m a fool.

Because, thing is,

It's better to be young and foolish
Than to be a name on a tombstone.

On An Unrelated Note--On an unrelated note—

The river is still like glass but clouds are rolling
in and the distant hulk of some ugly industrial
barge has blotted out silhouettes of the sailboats
I was watching drift lazily back to dock at ritzy
yacht clubs up and down the Hudson Shores
from North Jersey to Westchester to Manhattan.

On an unrelated note—

The train is just now stutter-screeching into
Station Seven in Peekskill and through my
office window I hear the grinding of its
wheels metal on metal and electric discharge
as it struggles to a stop and I’m sure the mass
exodus of disgruntled commuters, who glance
nervously up

CellophaneAnd the blue balloon, now deflated in the tree
Is a cellophane I would use to wrap my heart

To give to you, as a gift, on a Sunday in June
That is not your birthday.

Spices In LifeHe was married to a Spanish girl who kicked the air-conditioner out of their apartment window when he came home late last night…

                (she smells like coconut and verbena with
                 a splash of lime and her mother never taught
                 her how to cook so she just pours chili

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[x]

The Dragon and the Asp

by ~UltimateOutlaw, Nov 10, 2010, 5:03:06 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

It has been made quite evident, what your
        intentions are.

You would tie me to your stake.
You would leave me here to burn.

        I see them rather plainly
        every time  you cock your head to the left
        like that and smile—

   off-kilter like, you know?
                              sort of
Left of center.

You are

         A little shy of carcinogenic.
         A little less than copacetic.
         A little arrhythmic arrhythmia

that makes my heart beat faster. All
         out of sync.

         You make  me worry a bit,
         about the future.

         About my reproductive organs.

I also worry for you. Might be you've bitten
off more than you can chew, love.

         I respect our differences.

         Mine is a slow venom. A warm and
         not unpleasant death.

         Yes. Your
         roar is deafening.
         Alright. Your
         teeth are sharp.

But fire,

love,

fire I can handle.

The Dragon and the Aspby ~UltimateOutlaw

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2010-2013 ~UltimateOutlaw

I'm in a mood.

~~love 0 0~~

~~joy 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

`thetaoofchaos Jan 31, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

i like the raging elemental energy in this one.

Reply

~chadwood Nov 15, 2010 Writer

Love the back and forth style and the ending - great ending.

Reply

~UltimateOutlaw Nov 15, 2010

Thank you. It was kind of an impulse write, but I'm glad you enjoyed it

Reply

*alapip Nov 11, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

another,
in a long line
of others,
tending,
or attaining,
excellence,
mindbending -
mainlining
defiance.

your venue.

continue.

pip

Reply

~UltimateOutlaw Nov 11, 2010

It was actually more like blowing off steam than attempting a real work of quality lol. Glad you enjoyed it though

Reply

!NewsBulletin Nov 11, 2010

(Can I just used the same comment again..?

)
I really love how you've structured this

Reply

~UltimateOutlaw Nov 11, 2010

I only seem to use that kind of wacked out structure when I'm pissed off. It is odd lol.

Reply

!NewsBulletin Nov 11, 2010

*use, aggh.

Reply

Mood: Amazed

~Everyberry Nov 11, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

...Is all I can say.

"But fire,
love,
fire I can handle."

THAT.

Reply

*rlkirkland Nov 10, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

I see... hmmm. Aptly titled.

Reply

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