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Of ForestsPinecones are the skeletons of foetal trees.
They are the hopes, desires and dreams of a forest
reduced to the brittle, breakable bones under it all.
They are the unburied memories of loss.
BlackI chew on the blubbery meat of my tongue,
But it revulses
So whenever I swallow I gag.

I try not to inhale the acrid hiss of discontent
That seeps out of the corners of my mouth
And runs a river down my chin;
It reminds me of peaches. I cry.

I have digested the venom
The black rotten root of my own plague;
Ingested it. Injected it. How quick I am to accept death to me.

As organs revolve, revolt, regurgitate
I caged butterflies in my abdomen
As if lushness couldn't catch them there.
I knew better.

I ple'd to the sewn-in stars and their makeshift tenants,
For salvation and for suicide.
They offered neither.

So I sit and stew in these bodil
In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nib
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.

I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;

I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.

Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.

I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So
My FavouriteShe is my favourite.
No siren song marks me deeper.
There is nowt but dust between us.

She is the herald of my thoughts,
The anthem of my days
She knows all my knowings well.

She is tense and bitter
when I must wear my Brave Face.
She weeps when I may not.

She pours her secrets, vermillion,
From ink to blotted page
So I may toss them aside, and breathe.

She is my favourite,
She who unmarvels me marvellously.
She who whispers in my tongue.
Rock BottomThey say a rolling stone gathers no moss,
so when I shudder to a halt
The rocks in my feet continue to grind.
I feel the sand in my lungs
and the regretful mist silting in my heart
as the waves come back in
reaching eagerly for my legs, spooling, churning
over me. Rooted in my misery.
I know the rocks in my feet will help me drown.
End of the worldIt's not the red of the dying sun
Or the passion swelling in my tongue,
It's not the shock of black or white.
It's not the growling of the night.

We're not the one's who hold their breath
and pray for life, or pray for death,
We're not the ones who hope for more.
We're not heaving with fashioned furore.

I'm not asking for another year to
Mourn all the things we'll never do.
I love you, I kiss you, I smile and then -
The world may implode, and I'll love you again.
TattooHear me read it

I splashed black ink onto your spine;
unintentional as I frenzied and fawned
to try and catch the elusive thought.

You patiently waited for me to return
out of breath and triumphant with my trophy.
We hung it on wood next to the elk.

In my haste to write of the love of you,
I'd written in you. I'd marked you as mine,
as my words intoxicated your weak heart.

The ink had permeated your flesh, your blood,
until it silted, deep inside you,
a permanent, unedited, tattoo of our love.
Haiku: The Wake Up CallDolls head; smashed in road.
Cotton contents flutters by.
Drunk driver sobered.
a Novella of LoveShe wrote a novel on the back of my left hand,
It washed away when she left me.
Hard.On days like this it is hard to move
It is hard to dress myself.
Blouse a chest plate; dress me in chain mail.
- with the helmet on it is hard to see
it is hard to open my eyes, or lift my chin.
On days like this, it is hard to be human.

It is hard to raise my hands, to button
or to brush my mangy hair.
It is hard to construct the image of a person
out of these destitute materials.
it is hard to pump clotted, crumbling blood.
On days like this, it is hard to be human.
You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,

Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.
The EditorMakeshift by the lake,
I watched you finish my sentence
- Hastily retracting the bitterness
and editing out
     my overstated meaning.

A fly serenaded you,
As you derooted the root,
- Deflowered the bud
and edited out
    every semblance of a meaning.

I allowed it, in the summer haze.
For you to slather me
- In someone elses
typewriter ribbons
     soaked in someone elses feeling.

But when you slept at last
I arose, painted bleach by your tongue
- Shook off your petty rules
and crossing outs
    and ran away, free - and feeling.
JoeyWhen I was younger people called me Joey. I never knew why, it wasn't my name and I hated it. Eventually the name became a fisted ball in my gut until one day it smashed out through my windpipe, cracking my teeth as I screamed that I was not who they thought I was. They thought I'd gone mad, disclaiming my name, the identity they had saddled with me... but I thought that they were the mad ones. For who wants to be an identity decided by someone else. No one calls me Joey now, but if they did I would let them, safe in the knowledge that I know who I am not
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.

He accepted me, gills and all -
  He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
         under the seascrapers of pollution
               that hung over my head.
 Or he said he did.

At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
    my innards trailed across the coral reef
       as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
 I tried to believe.

I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
   Where he had spooned out my intestines
      To tether them to a boulder.
 I tried to breath
OIt permeates everything
It is the cells. It is the cell
in which I am rotting.

The sheen over my eye,
the flesh I rip from the side of my nail,
the teeth I grind it with.

The tears, blood and sweat.
It is below carbon and hydrogen,
embedded in the air I breathe.

It is sleeping under my fingernails,
It is the undeniable, genetic, atomic truth.
Oh, my oxygen permeates everything.

It is the cell.
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More from `KathrynODriscoll

16.01.2012 - Draft One /A smudged mistake across my eyes,
Leaves the morning blurry and wretched -
I stretch, twist, roll and curl again,
Alphabetising my body beneath the sheets
In an ongoing war of the poses
To sleep, perchance to dream.
Your Failings, Volume 1 - Draft One /I am the next act, waiting in the wings,
I am the birds and the broken things,
I am unravelling before your eyes,
I am the secrets that you despise,
I am the night when you crawl asleep,
I am the promises you fail to keep -
I am a captured lark whom never sings
I am the fallen, waiting for my wings.
Dinner Date - Draft One /Flat champagne and mustard,
Smeared across her palette.
Dressing for dinner,
her favourite concern.
Flux - Draft One /There is always a beginning, and this is mine,
I share it with you so you can break it with your kind words
and your unkind hearts.

Hush, as my ears bleed crimson, come let us taste.
It's time for a fairytale for silver haired princes - Time to forget.
Forget yourselves and hush, hush my children, Hush.

I stretched so hard my fingers splintered into stones,
The ruby fell amongst the cinders and still the feathers fall.
Wrenched from my limbs, the agony escapes.
A party favour of vertabrae tumble from my flesh

Violently cracking into place. New structures assemble.
I am evolutionary, I am yesterday's promise of a nightmare.
Unkind
Milk and Cookies - Draft One /Those paper hands will show me, trembling,
With every footnote of a song we hear,
Through milky eyes and hearts distending,
Swollen, bruised, with Christmas cheer.

I can see that starlight dancing,
Dancing 'cross the ceiling, dim,
While others listen for reindeer's prancing,
Behind the cloud of latin hymns.

I'll take your hand and bury deep,
Deep in the place where memories live,
I know your anxious to go to sleep,
and feel again, love, and be with;

Those who to this day evade us,
Your wife, my sister and all others who,
With their scratchy throats would bade us,
to have a Happy Christmas too -
Willow, 17.11.11 - Draft One /Raven sat down for her morning absolutions and tried to disassociate herself from the action. She gazed bleary eyed at the room around her. The slight fold in the wallpaper where it had started to escape from the wall and Nathan had tried to fix it with the kids crazy glue.

She stared, unseeingly, at rows of bottles and tubes. Lotions and potions, her mumma used to call them, but Raven's mind was elsewhere. She was, for the most part, complete content in her life as a mother and a house wife. She got to sleep in late 3 days a week when Nathan took the kids to school, she had time, precious time.

When the kids had first been born the craving

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A love letter to my devoted

:iconkathrynodriscoll:

Hear me read it!

A touch without invasion.
  That ever elusive exhale of love in the skies.

The quiet stateliness
of fingers searching palms
  He held my hand.

A kiss without allusion.
  The constant thrum of light specks chasing sun rise.

The tenderest smile
of knowing, to be known.
  She held my heart.

The patient sun without intrusion
  Lit the world aflame through devotion in their eyes.
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
This isn't actually a romantic letter, for me at least, per se... It was written as a thank you and to express my love for two people on deviantART who support me and who believe in me so deeply... I am starting to come round to their opinion of my work... it only took them like... 5 years. :giggle:

:iconladylincoln: :icondreamsinstatic: :rose:
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:iconrazorfrost:
~razorfrost Apr 11, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Wow,It is quite short yet your few words have great passion...
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Apr 14, 2013  Student Writer
:blush: Thank you so much
Reply
:iconrazorfrost:
Mood: Joy ~razorfrost Apr 16, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Pleasure'a all mine [link]
Reply
:iconofonesoul:
`OfOneSoul Dec 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
... well - at least it's not the last poem you'll ever read! :iconscaredplz:

Since we survived the end of the world, I thought I'd comment on another one of your Hear me read it! pieces. :huggle:

This certainly shows your love for those that have been devoted to you... in fact, it proves your own devotion to them. I'm not sure I've met =dreamsinstatic, but I know for a fact that `LadyLincoln is a lovely woman.

You've paid them both great homage with this piece... & you have a very lovely speaking voice. :iconrubcheeksplz:

:heart: *OfOneSoul
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 29, 2012  Student Writer
Giggles, yay! And yes they are incredible. Watch DIS. He has amazing features of lit and other art, and he is such a thoughtful commenter and critiquer on top of being an awesome guy.
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:iconofonesoul:
`OfOneSoul Dec 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
... totally all over that. :iconfuckyeahplz:
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:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 29, 2012  Student Writer
Giggles!
Reply
:iconpen-and-mouse:
~Pen-and-mouse Dec 27, 2012
This is so lovely! :heart: In fact I had a kind of similar idea somewhere in my head.. to write a piece dedicated to the amazing people who support me constantly here on dA.. great job! :love:
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:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 27, 2012  Student Writer
Do it :] Its very rewarding! :D
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:iconpen-and-mouse:
~Pen-and-mouse Dec 28, 2012
I'll wait for the inspiration to come and reach me..:giggle:
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