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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.
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.
Holding a Hostage - Draft One /I daren't close my eyes
The moment I do
You may dissapear.

I clutch at your body
Pressed between you
and the slate flooring we chose together
   You and I.

I stroke your hair and murmur
My tearful confessions
- You've heard them a thousand times before.
Not today.

There are sirens, love
and they come for me
   They come for us.

They seek to part us, my darling
and I cannot let them.

No battering ram or tear gas
Could bruise me more
       than seperation.
Nor make me cry more
       than departure.

I kiss your face
and try not to remember
How you looked when I fell in love with you.
You're not so different angel,
Not
Breaking Them InSpasmodic heart,
Tumbleweeds through my chest,
Bang bang bangs against my ribs;
it demolishes me.

Palms on plastic,
Losing control again, Tell myself I
can can can keep getting through this.
It won't devour me.

Tears from the bridge,
Overexposed my pneumonic heart to
hope hope hoping that I could.
So afraid that I'd fail.

Desperate need;
I refused to settle in ash.
No no no, I wouldn't endure another
year lost in the dark.

I gathered my tail,
brushed off maggot-sodden feathers
So so so frightened to fall
I barked, I bucked - and I flew.
The White ThingsNothing is as far away as a minute ago.
No matter how hard you row against the tide
we can never reach it, never return there.

It's hard to sleep in the light of my regrets
that creeps through curtain and barriers
to rot away and bleach all things white.

It's hard to sleep knowing that no distance
is as far away as sixty small seconds ago.
Immalleable, we rot, and things turn white.
ArtI tapped yellow and rouge onto his high cheekbones.
I wanted to dull their sharpness. Dull his shine.
I swiped royal and tiffany across his forehead,
An impermanent reminder of how precious he was to me.

A fuschia flush down the bridge of his nose
dipped into the corner of his eye - he went cross eyed
and I laughed, dropping pink glitter on his collarbone,
he became serious as I pondered. He wanted to be Art.

The sun rose on his temple, I wanted to give him life.
I wanted every day to be a riotous sensation for him.
I left his eyes as they were so he could look at me,
I guess that, deep inside, I wanted to be Art too.
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
Mother EarthMy body is the earth;
See how under this bruise
A seed of malcontent sleeps.
See what grows out of each pore
As the pain pours over again.
There is rust in my fingerbeds
That poisons the roots
Of all good that hopes to grow here.
I am the convulsing, revolution
of the convoluted Earth...
I am the tectonic blades that clash
and shout when I curl up and hide.
You will feel me when I tremble,
and fear me when I explode
for under the magmanimous skin
There burns a core of hate
That can't be marred by human hand.
ShockwaveFoetal
Trying to fold the pain up
To trap it between the paper cut limbs.
Curled up
Protective
But the shockwaves come
Pulsing from inside
Destroying cells
Radiocactive
Curled up
To trap it between the paper cut limbs.
Trying to fold the pain up.
Foetal.
A love letter to my devotedHear 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.
BuriedUnder the paprika house,
are the bones of my father
and nestled between rib
and reason, is our love.
with a whisperthis is how we rule the world,
       the underclassed
       the uncapitalist
          (uncapitalised)
the forgotten, lobotom-ised,
                       relics
            of a long lost dystopast.

not with a SHOUT,
     we do not argue.
         we do not even unsheath
         our mightier-than-the's.
we whisper in your children's ears
    the memories of what should have been.
                 the life we all crave.

                 the death we all crave.
    WE do not discriminate
              or obstigate
                 our opinions onto others
     pressing the side of the blade
              down onto the fles
ParchmentI speared you with a         black-ink pen.
I tried to balance           the weight
of our weare-worn         shoulders.
Tried to counter         it with beauty
and hopefulness        , with my hopes,
persistence &         with my dark love.
They came to        see it in hundreds,
Droves, of         similarly seeking
hope and         a reason to continue.
Reasons         to love, even when it
hurts.         Reasons to try when the
vast         weight of differences 'tween
us         can't be fixed by adding
a         single strike of strength
        through the middle. Our love
      wasn't strong enough for poetry
     to save. It crum
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.
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
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More from `KathrynODriscoll

The Heatwave - Draft One /The Heatwave

My mind is lost,
In the haze of a mid-noon heat wave,
Whatever cloud of creativity that starts to form,
Disintegrates as the day is dry and hot,
Inside and out.

I struggle for coherancy
and find only sweat and tears,
Choking my words, my fingers, my thoughts,
Such a bitter heat to rob me of my language,
Vile farenheit.

My fingers drum the acidic hot linoeum,
To the beat of my heart,
Testing out new patterns and rhythms to run to,
But in the ice core of my very being...

There's a drought.

There's a deathly hush in me,
That no warmth can distill or disrupt,
The gaping hole that all light flees from - left by you,
Underdose - Draft One /Underdose

christen my lips
and let them learn
revived with a kiss

you gave it all
on a sacrafice
with promises made
not thought of twice
you let go
heart on the line
shopped and prayed

love unspoken is still love
hearts unbroken

You leave me simper soft in the starlit sand
Awashed and freshly new
You leave me samba skinned holding my hand
And whisper away the blues

You brush your blushing finger tips
Across my tainted palms
You

star cold september
blood spilt by ghosts
scissor psychosis
just don't let me down
blind with twenty twenty

an unfortunate under dose
coughing up razor blades
the handle i had on life broke
Unpoetic Love - Draft One /Unpoetic Love

My love is not poetic.
It is not beautiful.
Or Serene.
Or Calm.

It is not empty words
Nor, broken promises
Or unmeant rhymes

My love is desperate

As thick as hatred, as dark
And passionate

My love is enriching
Inspiring
Tormenting
Graceless and flawed

My love?

Is every inch that I am
Every inch that I am not
and Every inch outside of those

My love is not outside shaking trees
It does not span the world

My love.. Is in me.
Raging like the lost madness of King Lear

It is in me. Spinning.
Spinni...
Ng.... Spinn...

Ing...

My love is not poetic, It cannot speak
Or write good poetry or explain itself

It is
Wallflowers - Draft One /Wallflowers

You say people just can't be trusted,
I'll tell you thats just not true.
Did you forget my love already?
Well, I didn't forget about you.

Girl, you can cry and I'll still hold on.
Whenever you need me, I can be strong.
You can be weak and call out for me,
Fairweather friends, we never could be.

Forget me not.
Would you so easily?
Forget me not.
Just please, for me,
Forget me not.

You can be brave I've seen you do it,
But I feel that you're really scared.
I know the sun won't dry your tears,
Just 'cause I showed I cared.

But girl, you can break an' I'll still come.
Running to you, when you need someone,
When all
I Remember - Draft One /I remember

I remember throwing stones,
At an eyeless blameless sea,
Smiling at the sunset,
Just the world and me.
Halloween in her Heart - Draft One /Halloween In Her Heart

A spinister weaved,
It's spinningster web,
A soft dusty pattern,
Resembled glass from the bed.

A sinister spider,
Carressed it's rope,
And tangled it in corners,
To steal all of my hope.

A silent little knitter,
Knits all night,
And barely watches,
The fatalfulness of fight.

A soft night glow,
Warms the unkind,
Penetrates and circulates,
The innocent's broken mind.

A slinky, sneaky, insect,
Starts shadowing itself,
And slips it's lengthy lines,
From the ceiling to the shelf.

A spinning, silent, spider.
Who sinisterly creeps.
I daren't open my eyes,
I pretend that I must sleep.

A solitary solider

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The Editor

:iconkathrynodriscoll:

Makeshift 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.
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
----------------------------------

Kathryn O'Driscoll © 2012

Revised copyright 2012, not original date of creation. All rights reserved. All the materials contained in my deviantART gallery may NOT be used, reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted, borrowed, duplicated, printed, downloaded, or uploaded in any way without my express written permission, however feel free to contact me should you desire to use my work - as I love to share.

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This poem was written for all those who write unusually. Free verse, a new form, an old unused form. Those who experiment, who lament, who descent into madness... for those who smile as people advise them how to become technically correct, because they know that one day they'll be chasing us

Write yourself. Be honest about who that is, and then write it. If you are honest and express who you are, someone else will relate to it.. no matter how its written.


Oh and I alluded to an e.e. cummings poem;

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) </i>
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:icondarkorse:
~darkorse Feb 6, 2013
Good stuff!
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Feb 8, 2013  Student Writer
Hey thank you!
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
*BeyondJen Jan 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Oh gosh, I adore this, both for the meaning and your diction. :heart:
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 14, 2013  Student Writer
Blush! Thank you so much Jen! :D I'm doubly glad I watched you now! :giggle:
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
*BeyondJen Jan 14, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:heart::hug:
Reply
:iconstory-of-a-mind:
~Story-of-a-Mind Jan 6, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
True, true, sometimes the feelings we need to pour into the awaiting form of a poem are just to strong for boundaries like grammar and punctuation.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 8, 2013  Student Writer
Nods! Chase me, watch me as I blaze! :D
Reply
:iconzevais:
~Zevais Jan 5, 2013  Hobbyist
Splash in the water,
I threw the stone
-slow expanding ripples
giving life
...to this blank slate

something flew too close
it shot from underneath...
-Grabbed by the fangs
giving death
...to this blank slate

The breeze picked up.
Felt it on my face
-Numbed me
staring out
...with my blank sensation

Am I ever awake?
Is there color in my skin.
-Looked into the reflection
...the blank stare.
The ripples the only thing making me look there.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Jan 9, 2013  Student Writer
I never know how to respond to your Twistings, but I love them so!
Reply
:iconzevais:
~Zevais Jan 9, 2013  Hobbyist
You don't have to say much. I fine with people acknowledging they have seen it. They are my weird mental things anyhow.
Reply
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