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ForwordI have not become stronger
in the broken places.

Bones ache of age
                   of misuse
                   of disuse
and each cracking joint
is an audible reminder
of missteps
of misjudgments
of paths walked too long
and of steps
that should have been,
but were never taken.

Bent fingers jut
from palms of sandpaper,
calloused and crinkled,
they cannot grip
with that same eager desperation
of a child seeking comfort.

Black becomes gray
at the gates
of troubled temples and
dreams,
once saliently sweet,
decay on the tongue
like the sound
of necessary words produced,
but never employed.

I have not become stronger in the broken places
Holiday Tableau IITwilight flits across
the day, warning way-
ward children it is
time to scurry home.
The sun dips, modest,
as the stars twirl in

apprehension of
the moon's arrival.
Chimneys softly sigh
as families gather
by the fireside,
where flames dance across

fresh-adorned twinkle
lights and in bright eyes.
There is a silence
in the sugary-
cinnamon air that
calms long-labored nerves

and lifts worlds off the
tops of shoulders; Homes
exude warmth, other-
wise unaccounted.
This, the holiday
glow, romanticized

and yet untarnished.
Pour another glass
of eggnog and sing
another song of
yule tide cheer - I wont
be disenchanted.
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?
     i. summergirl,
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
surefooted smile.
     ii. you have grown
so fast.
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
perched treetop,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
     iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams 
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
summergirl, th
and I still keep running into parked carsMama,
your baby girl's swimming
in dead of the night
hair, scarred knees,
overgrown weeds, and
countless pairs
of shoes-
with those
orange and yellow wheels
that hug my toes
and heels

I'm running into
parked cars
trying to get
my kite to fly
and hiding under
dashboards
listening to you
fight

I'm rummaging through
boxes of secrets
that Daddy tried
to hide-
solving puzzles with pieces
I'll never uncover
in these thoughts
of you
Hollow Memory of a Distant ShoreYou are like a long passed season.
As delicate as the footprints of sparrows in freshly fallen snow.
Intricate, yet so easily disturbed when care is not taken.
Somehow, you have managed to persist after all these years.
Residing in the same quiet place you carved into the woods so long ago..
Only a short ride from the sea.

When you cross my mind, you carry with you the scent of that shoreline.
Harsh and thick, yet somehow placating.  
Though the weather was perpetually gray, misty, and cold.
Much like your heart had become..
Just before we painfully, and slowly, parted ways.

I recall with deep longing your fascination with foxes
(c)loves and (c)loversi am no artist's muse,
    i am no ship's harbor

         i am no hero's weaker heel,
              i am no good earth's flower

i have never been your lover
nor have i ever kissed you,
- not even once

    though i dream of you (c)love-scented,
    with lips shaped like a lucky (c)lover's-
    kissing you and to be kissed by you
    over and
    over

i can never profess,
not even confess

  note:
    even to myself

i stay standing, (b)raving the cold nights,
pretty much batty and bootless

         yet again,

       the absence of you weighs metric tons on my
     ringing ear,
   shivering nape, and
 repressed should
sleepless- On Growing UpSome days drip slowly
Over the edges of the earth,
Leaving us like an itch in tired eyes
As you blink away what you have
In exchange for water and
Privileged lethargy.

On these days,
There's nothing you can do.
Everything has an echo, and everything
Rolls off you as waves.
Death seems quiet, until it's news
Strikes like a church bell
Knocked accidentally and off the hour.

Setting aside the simile
And the gore of the thing, death is quiet, I think.
A complete retreat into ourselves until we're so deep
We're out of ourselves and back
In the bellies of stars.

And it's indeed been a long day
When we resign ourselves to our fear
7 November 2012
If you should capture
the whole of my last breath,
I will dwell in you
with contentment,

for a portion of a moment.

If you should share
the whole of your next breath,
I will dwell with you
in them, contented still,

for a portion of a moment.

If all should release
the whole of our breaths,
We will dwell everywhere
with all, more content

for all our forevers.
MouseMouse is in the wall.
He listens for your breathing.
Mouse is in the wall.
Whiskers on the outside of your inside,
he feels for signs of loss.
Homes in empty spaces,
halls between our thoughts.

Mouse is in the wall.
He listens for the cracks,
the notches and the secrets.
A tiny nose vibrates,
an eager tail explores.
Mouse is in the wall.
He writes his unseen stories,
surrounding you like dust.

The money breaks.
The high-rise falls.
The ground thunders.
The skies fault.
Mouse does not flinch.
This is meaningless to him.

Mouse is in the wall.
If you listen, you can see,
if you focus, you can hear.
The blank spaces crawl
Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:

(Dreams)

When the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound is she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.

Her Caño Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Though her eyes
tell of time waiting,
when the wind was lonesome and
slaughtering butterflies in its chill.

They turned, almost at once
Eyes gray, yet dancing with the frenzied
glory of cosmos.
Striking out at her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
She understood, "Your laurel leaves speak of death
but I still need you."

And he wept, "Your garland
speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."

(
mansuetude and sentiment.parietal flowers of your (mouth, eyes, ears)
plication and pleating of the house plants lives

revel in it: swim in it.
litter your hands with it.

house plants, house cats, house shadows on the grass,
all so orthogonal and plain.

oh
your
grasp
and
tales so phatic, maybe penitent but never dull.
maybe.
maybe your
parasitism should be pushed to perdition
maybe the limbs of the house plants will
pave your terrene and turning gaze.

oh dear
votre sentiment est tardive et vil et pâle.
Love Poem for a Man Who Doesn't Get PoetryI buy milk as if it is the
most important
thing I have ever done; come home and
lay the bag on the floor
at your feet.

The meaning is lost
on you, a man

who is a snap of clean linen;
no, you prefer strait-line
talk, full-throttle motion.

Not wavering semaphore.

I feel silly with my quiet twist of metaphor,
Darling, Buttercup, My Angry Little Arsonist,
saying your name is the breath between
the waves, your heart
the hungry mouth of the bay.

There is a curve between the me and the you
We waited too long, hoping the pause
would not last forever, but just in case,
we hold hands in the dark.

I had forgotten how to give
Noise...It begins as a static noise
swimming in the womb-
curled into a parasite,
developing limbs
and volume.

And soon,
it is a fetal snarl
equipped with body,
clumsy swells,
and stub fingertips
clenching at thoughts.

I try to will it away-
remove the foreboding growth
in the uterus brain,
but the sounds are tethered
fondly to the umbilical.

The size doubles,
and my head swoons,
lulling under the weight
of dissociated whispers.

The water breaks-
my mangled mind peels apart
forcibly pushing blood drenched
child of harsh notes
from skull.

Malignant newborn murmurs,
cradled in the ears
ruptures the thin line
of sani
PersephoneI fed her
pomegranate kisses

and she cried
at every frozen sunrise
for 180 days.

With cracks in my heart
and souls
caught in my hair
I counted 180 more.
-we own nothing-
The sun rises; we become slaves.
Browse More Like This
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More from `KathrynODriscoll

From Darlek to Darling - Draft One /From Darlek To Darling

You are the third shade of black
A platinum black that lingers in the light
You are the eighth deadly sin
You're wrong and you're right

You're the subtle differences
Between the shades of grey
You're the only Constantine
Through every dreary day

You're the fluttering of wings
As they rustle and unfold
You're an inspiration
Of courage that's not told

You're the strength of coffee
You're the brightest star
You may be hurting now
But it's just part of who you are

Part of who you are now
And who you will become
A flicker in the heart of fate
And fortune will succumb ht
Ms. Misery - Draft One /Ms. Misery

The tears come again silences stealing
Through the darkness my lips sealed
Emotionless let the salty solution slip over
Then I roll my eyes up impossible to stare at
The ceiling I cant show any emotion
Misery
Hatred induces me to a coma my body
Functions not existing just functioning
Dont kiss me now the salt will penetrate
Your skin and burn into your skull as all
My tears do, You so hate to see them
As much as you hate knowing they are
Always falling, tripping over themselves
To run down towards my heart where
The pain is drawing them in, I tremble
And touch my cheek for the tears
Should be there but I keep them
My Mother and I - Draft One /My Mother And I

"Would you PLEASE remove that glass from your room?"
What glass? I don't see a glass... There is no spoon.
"The one that has milk seperating in it right now."
"Go away I'm growing cheese."
My Nick - Draft One /My Nick

He was My Nick from day one
When he cited me 'his princess'
And from that moment onwards
  I was -

He was My Nick, my protector
Holding my hand tightly
As I was tossed around campus
By a wind of discontent
He thought I needed to be saved
  I was -

He was My Nick - dorks and all
Direct from the Bible, (Cosmopolitan)
He was Big N, Little ick,
He was ridiculous in his perfection
  And I was…

        Not enough.

He was My Nick when the world fell down
And he was all left standing
As the rubble and remains crushed me
He nursed me back to the insanity that
  I was.

He was My Nick, snappy happy
On his knees w
Nick - Draft One /Nick

I'm in a scissor psychosis
In this star cold september
And the blood spilt by ghosts
I won't even remember

Child of friday thirteenth
Relief'd onto the world
Below the bloodshot clouds
A choker life uncurls

And I thought I was lost
I'm blind with twenty twenty
But if God made you
He must love me plenty

But in my happiest saddism
Alive and all dead
I'm suspicious and can you
Make my black rose red

I'm dying to find myself
Or someone else who will
I'm drowning in pleasantries
Peasantries that kill

If soulmates are really
Two halves of the same
You're good, I'm bad
I'm crazy, you're sane

I'm trembling at every word
Nobody's Hero - Draft One /She sits alone with his old guitar
Fumbling with old, reused rhymes
She knows it won't get her very far
Words can't form a love song this time

He's asleep in a bed they don't share
(And dreaming of another love instead)
She knows she should but she just doesn't care
"If you want me - I'm yours" she said.

Musical memories - haunt their lives
He can't love her - even if he wants to (oh - he wants to)
That's what he tells her
 Anyway
But when she's not there
She's all that he can think of
And when she is there he is happy
 Just the same.

He sits alone, envisions her in his mind
Long years before this girl came to stay
Picking

Featured in Groups:

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December 8, 2012
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Unfold, Part II

:iconkathrynodriscoll:

Hear me read it

My bones are creaking.
I hear them gossiping while I sleep,
and they talk of me.
They call me maddened.

They say that the blackness,
the ravenous cave, has devoured me.
They talk of me,
as if I am not here. Am I?

This was my safe space,
I, cacooned
In the warmth of my own breath
Now it cages me.

My fingernails grow so long
That they pierce through the paper
and my eyes go wide to see
fragmented light once more.
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
The amazing ~Alice-A asked me to write poetry to accompany her fashion show tonight, the show was called Unfold and was about escaping self made prisons. Both Alice and I experienced long periods of time when we felt safer in our homes, and frightened of the outside world. Recently we have both began to unfold and step out into the world, sometimes painfully, sometimes fearfully, but eventually, we hope, successfully.

The six parts of this poem show the transition from cocoon to flight.
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:iconrlkirkland:
*rlkirkland Dec 19, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Engaging,
Congratulations on your DLD :party:
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:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 19, 2012  Student Writer
grins, thank you so much!! Such an honour :D
Reply
:iconthedorsai:
*TheDorsai Dec 19, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
This is absolutely evocative. I totally read it as a man, locked in a cave, trying to keep a journal of his last days, but finally losing his sanity as his body deteriorates.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 19, 2012  Student Writer
smiles, thank you so much for your thoughts. This poem was written to go along side a avante-garde fashion collection based on the movement from cocoon to butterfly, but only using those as metaphors. The artist and I both had spent many years in social isolation so we worked really well together and the resulting poetry and the set and the clothes were all very personal and emotional things that I am really proud to have been a part of.
Reply
:iconthedorsai:
*TheDorsai Dec 19, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Oh I read the series. But this one stood out to me as almost a different style. As such, I could totally see it standing alone even without the rest.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 20, 2012  Student Writer
Nods, this is the stage I most relate to
Reply
:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Dec 18, 2012
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by =DailyLitDeviations and has been selected as our "Pick of the Day". It is featured in a news article here: [link] and on our main page.

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 19, 2012  Student Writer
Gosh! Thank you so much!!
Reply
:iconthetaoofchaos:
`thetaoofchaos Dec 16, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
the first strophe is excellent in setting mood and tenor, and the transition into the second was also very satisfying. i think "fragmented light" could be improved upon in the last line, but overall, very good.
Reply
:iconkathrynodriscoll:
`KathrynODriscoll Dec 18, 2012  Student Writer
Thanks, I'll think that over :D :rose: I really appreciate you taking the time to give such a thoughtful comment :}
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