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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

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.

MatterIt is only a matter of time
until the stone lays down with the sheep
and sleeps.
Rested firmly above the holes
where our eyes used to be.

It is only a matter of matter
until epitaph and eulogy diminish to dust
and sleep
becomes the eternal home,
not where our souls used to be.

It is only a matter of fact
that our words will become reductionist, redundant,
and sleepily
the world will forget
where our words used to be.

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.

BuriedUnder the paprika house,
are the bones of my father
and nestled between rib
and reason, is our love.

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

Of Nuisance LeavesHear me read it!

Leaves clutch their ropy fingers around the tree's limbs. The zesty leeches bloom, crack open overnight and slip silently up the nearest oak or maple. They pierce the crunch of bark and penetrate deep into the rubbery veins.

They feed. They pauperize plum and peach until they are heavy and brown; heavy laden with the stolen sap.

When at last they reach their fill the tree can finally shake them off emphatically, desperately, until at last it is clean again. The tree reaches its black bones to the sky in praise and as a new year begins vows never again to be the victim of leaves.

Star-writHear me read it!

It is nebulonic fate that we should dance
together in this burning bald ballroom
as the flames lick up the sepiatic walls
and drip curled paper down upon us.

It is our right to spin each other here
in the torrentous reign of flames and ash
as the chandelier, already hanging,
spits and sparks at us, trying to take us too;

and as everything we ever loved or cherished
in porcelain veneer or hand-crafted sycamore
crumbles to a close, still the thought remains-
that it is our star-writ fate to dance on.

ScarsSee the sharpness of my tongue-nib
As the metallic taste in my mouth draws out
A barking cough, forced out
By the dirty nicotine lining my lungs.

See the blade of stubbornness
That slices across my cheek bone;
An amalgamation of all the times you pushed me.

See the residue in my eyes,
The remnants of all those times you forced me
And I forced myself not to cry;
Those tears condensed into a thick blinding syrup
That colours all things red.

See the crinkle in my nose,
The wrinkles on my heart
As I remember how you didn't love me. (Don't love me).

See the burns on my psalms
And fingerprints singed off
By all the times you called me nothing

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

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.

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.

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

MutantHear me read it

I am a mutant.
   | My skin does not sallow in the sun
   and I do not blush jaundice through my cheeks.
   | I do not have extra fingers, or toes -
   although my spine;
      it boasts an ironic vertebrae,
      it is a long tally of the hearts I have broken
      and when I straighten my spine the bones Pop out of place.

40810If only you were soulless.
If you were mindless, blind,
you and I could make a beautiful disaster.
The press would write of our brief affair;
they'd paint me (the woman in red) as pathetic.
They will not consider how I need your love
or how it pains me so deeply to throw myself at you.
I will not be remembered as a poet warrior.
I'll be the eternal survivor no more.
All who think of me will shake their bowed heads
and tearfully remark;
If only you were soulless.
If you were mindless, blind,
You wouldn't have been such a bloody disaster.

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AcheA chink of gold held her tooth together. If she applied pressure she felt the sharp blades dig into her tender gums. If she probed it with her tongue, curious or absent minded it elicited the same bark of pain but she continued to do it nonetheless, convinced that the right amount of pressure could stop the pain.

The tooth fell out.

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

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.

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United, We Write

by `KathrynODriscoll, Feb 27, 2013, 1:38:20 AM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

Hear me read it

0hgravity, if by some divine fortune you should decide that today is the day you will fail me, then let me soar through the ChemicalSkyline. Grant me a-lovely-anxiety that raises a storm InTheStarryNightSky for me to riseandbe above all else. Let me soar.

How I long to be the frail rider-on-the-storm and not a victim of the RoamingShadow, Rogue-Of-The-Night, that BlackVelvetNightmare of my nights and days. I long for awaytobefree, won't you grant it to me?

I desire to be great, to feel greatness, to be more than one of many Sad-Writers spinning Sacred-Literature into SanguineEpitaph after saturninesweetness. scarletwave of Scarlettletters for cheapexposure cannot express a Rush-Of-Emotions. I long to trap Love and BeautyinthePages I write. Love is not a sentienttree growing stoically in your back garden under hushed-lullabies until shebids you notice her. She is not.

ShePaintsWithBlood, thetaoofchaos. The harbringer of doom. TheCriticofInnocence. Love is a prickled mistress. Be not Beholdentolove, she is a hedgehog, snuffling around the russiansunflowers, seeking out the Things-Not-Seen amongst TheAutumnCrocus thorns, will you find TheWritersDen and expose TheTragicTruth-Of-Me, TheWaywordWriter?

I think you shall, I do not trust you, Love. truly-you-will-do whatever you can to ToxxicAsphyxiate your TwistedChildren. You will let them WriteFromTheHeart, rip Words-From-The-Heart until their hearts are empty oyster shells. You seek to destroy us.

But We-The-Artists, We-Write-To-Escape. We cannot be waylaid by the Utter-Insanity of ValentineHearts.

We will Defy-the-fates. We will collidewiththesirens. It is our exquisiteoath to FightToWrite with inked swords and origami Battledress. Allies-In-Art we seek the UnspecifiedUnknown, the UntamedUnwanted, the DistortedSmile hiding a deviousdarkheart. For DeathIsOnlyDarkness unless our DarkSentences, our EchosOfSouls, live on after us.

So no, Love, you will not defeat me. Whether you break or bend me at your will I will transcend, and use your weapons against you, CrushGoddess "Love" and utilise you; poeticimmortal. You may flyonmywing, Love. For I will fly high above yours.

ForMyMuse can trap love in A-Fistful-Of-Pages. I do not fear love, for love fears me, J-u-d-a-s, who will betray love and trap it in a cage of paper, the-real-vault. The pen is mightier than the heart, my Love. thelifeofwords. I will bury you, with little-bird-bones. My words will echo eternally, long after love is dead. Live-Love-Write.

hopeyouguessedmyname
- namenotrequired, IAmPoetry.
x

United, We Writeby `KathrynODriscoll

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

Summary: Love sucks, lets do poetry instead.

You may have noticed I wrote this using primarily names of people I watch. There is no preference to the people, I just used what inspired me and what worked with the theme. I blatantly stole this idea from puzzledheartbox: and then he didn't even get a mention. What a witch! Sorry!

But

love 2 2

joy 6 6

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~EJwhiskers May 9, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

that is really clever omg

`KathrynODriscoll 3 days ago Student Writer

Thank you

~EJwhiskers 3 days ago Hobbyist Writer

Welcome c:

~ashwazhere-skw-agc Apr 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is really clever! Very well written, flows beautifully!
Very well done!
And thanks for using the name of my group too! Hahaha

`KathrynODriscoll Apr 18, 2013 Student Writer

_{I'm late responding because April hates me, I apologise :[

Thank you! and you are welcome haha}

~LightOverpowers58 Mar 26, 2013 Student Writer

You have a way of crafting words...I wouldn't even be able to wrap my head around the idea, much less to actually write it.

P.S. Have you heard about my contest?

`KathrynODriscoll Mar 26, 2013 Student Writer

okay I'm sorry I couldn't resist

sorry. Thank you :] You are so kind! I'll look at your contest in the morning

~LightOverpowers58 Apr 2, 2013 Student Writer

Thanks, hun.

`KathrynODriscoll Mar 26, 2013 Student Writer

Have you heard about Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?

~LightOverpowers58 Apr 2, 2013 Student Writer

....

(smh)...

(yup)

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United, We Write

United, We Writeby `KathrynODriscoll

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