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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.

HAIKUWRIMOCOMPLETE 2013

February 28th, 2013

Dire desperation
A feeble whimper for help;
roar of these raw times.

February 27th, 2013

Gluttonous ash cloud
sucks the moon's blood
and swallows the night.

February 26th, 2013

Bark! An explosion!
Angry bodies escape the
network of lung cells.

February 25th, 2013

Silently cloning,
multiplying, honing in,
determined to kill.

February 24th, 2013

Tea and sympathy
readily available
for my dear sister.

February 23rd, 2013

I will hold my breath
as the north wind does the same
waiting for your love.

February 22nd, 2013

He hovers behind;
Hamletian apparition.
Always following.

February 21st, 2013

A lo

Get upHear me read it

She sat on the edge of her bed staring at the floor. Within her scope of vision there were many things she could look at. Many things to think about and process. There was a slate blouse that had wilted at the bottom of her bed, or her pale foot placed beside it. The foot looked unnatural there, with no pressure to grip it to the ground it looked unbelonging, like a cast aside prop. Yet she did not look, or think, or notice.

She just stared, blindly, for an hour, her thoughts were obnoxious and churned the paltry paste of self-disgust in her heart muscle, but they were relatively quiet as she repeated over and over in the fo

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

Haiku: The Wake Up CallDolls head; smashed in road.
Cotton contents flutters by.
Drunk driver sobered.

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.

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.

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

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.

Haiku: GoneThe moonbreath exhales,
Skypaint blurs the horizon,
Stars go out. You're gone.

A chance secondI lie awake, staring at the cornices.
3AM: my fingers worry at the corners of my sheet.
My anxiety worries at the corners of my rib.
I bite and tug and huff out my misery
As the silence keeps me awake.
I lay with pressure of your absence
Pressing down over my nose and mouth.
A soft asphixiation of the heart, of the sanity.
It is a hot grey night in London.

You are awake, startled by the sunlight.
7AM: you can't lift your weighty skull from the sheet.
The day sirens, but you stay, settled,
Under the weight of your shroud, your loss,
Only the silence keeps you awake.
Unknowingly, for the first time in weeks
We are unintentionally in sync;
Laid

4 word poemPole |
Dancer. |
| Tuition
| Fees.

a Novella of LoveShe wrote a novel on the back of my left hand,
It washed away when she left me.

AfterIt follows me.
My silver skeined ghost.

An almost imperceptible thread;
only visible when you shine light
directly upon it.
It follows me.

It rides the underground.
It hides under bridges,
Under trains.
It is woven into the spools of tar
that form the roads between.

Inevitably if I walk too fast
it reminds me -
Like the tug of stitches in your cheek
that reminds you; you have lost your wisdom.
It reminds me.

It trips me in doorways,
when my mind is elsewhere.
If I look away from it -
- it slips round my neck.
Another knot to throw over the beams
it mauls me without a fair chance.

I tried to sever it. I can't.

RecedingI'm found in the dirt under your nails, in the grass stains ground into
the knees of your jeans from when you fell to them, hoping not to
hurt me when you buried me below the six feet of your soul, below the
soles of the prints you left, the trail of our future covered up by a smooth
path made from dragging my corpse backwards, erasing affections
etched into our arteries as if you could reverse the flow of blood.

Memories don't die along with broken hearts and used up body parts.

But some things deserve to die and my lungs were never meant to be
exposed to your exhales. The CPR you gave was meant to save yourself,
inflate the delic

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More from `KathrynODriscoll

Riverside - 300 Word Prompt - Draft OneI fled from that place, that place of apple tinted sunlight and the streamers trailing from the willow branches. I didn't want to smell your cologne again. I didn't want to taste strawberries, or climb trees, or hear the low gossip of the watching bee's, who got flustered when we kissed. I ran from it.

I ran down to the river, where the light never quite reaches after midday, and in the thin film between evening and night I disappeared. I heard you calling for me as I wriggled down into the grass bed and conversed with the worms. They offered me tea, and I, their mighty overlord, offered them mercy; for a while.

I slept in the shadows and t

Twitterpated - Draft OneHe is talking to himself in a white room,
Rambling through a jumbled skyscape
Dutifully ignoring the mirrors that follow him.

The woman paces to and fro, and she's muttering.
She wails and storms and crashes into the sea;
Tumbling into a portrait of the young artist.

Another He, similarly, skims past on ice,
Fluidly mobile he slides right past the point.
Fumbling, the original He finds his stride

"It is not so much a means of communication -"
He equivocates "as a means for talking."
Carriage return. "Which does us no merit
Unless there is method for listening as well".

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Haiku: Vile Heart

by `KathrynODriscoll, Jan 14, 2013, 10:27:01 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Haiku & Eastern

_{My vile heart beats on,
Unaware that you are dead.
How can it not know?}

98

12 13 1

Haiku: Vile Heartby `KathrynODriscoll

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*intricately-ordinary challenged me to write a haiku with the prompt "vile". This was the result.

Join the craziness! Haiku Challenge

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Submitted on: January 14
File Size: 208 bytes

Views: 98
Favourites: 12 (who?)
Comments: 13
Downloads: 1

~Kyndsie Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Ooooh! Excellent use of such an undervalued adjective: Vile.

Reply

`KathrynODriscoll Jan 16, 2013 Student Writer

Nods, was an excellent prompt!

Reply

~Zevais Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist

My good soul fades now,
I am aware you're alive.
But my knows not.

Reply

`KathrynODriscoll Jan 16, 2013 Student Writer

Hmmm

Reply

~Zevais Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist

disreguard last comment... stupid typo...

My good soul fades now,
I am aware you're alive.
But my soul knows not.

Reply

*PuzzledHeartBox Jan 14, 2013

Very nice work

Reply

`KathrynODriscoll Jan 16, 2013 Student Writer

Thank you Monsieur Box!

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*PuzzledHeartBox Jan 16, 2013

You're welcome!

Reply

~KuraiTenshiV Jan 14, 2013 Hobbyist

yeah i get that...

Reply

`KathrynODriscoll Jan 16, 2013 Student Writer

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