[x]

silver-tinged twilight owls

nestle,

hooting

along

with the help of lofty, fresh leaves

so too, do the summer's evening

winds whistle around

the empty park bench passing

through the p

Owl and CrowYour fingertips stuck to my forehead, and popped off when you pulled them back. We were both wearing black that day, mourning our own deaths. (Those little deaths that happen again and again.) Kisses planted grow rainbow flowers at twilight. We were waiting for twilight, that day. I pushed your fingers back into place on your hands, kissing the tips of each one. You cat-purred, I bird-screamed. Twilight rolled in like a fog, smooth and beautiful, the way it does sometimes in autumn. We didn't need anything more.

I Modestly Trudge OnMuck plastered and carcass ridden:
the earth is a burial ground
where humanity went extinct long ago.

And we, the souless wanderers left,
we hope for a new meaning, a new life...
We hope, and we pretend desperately
that hope is enough

to keep us human.

ListeningListening

When the angel speaks, Mary dips a finger
into the wine, holds it out for the angel to taste.
This may be the last thing
of the world .... The angel's tongue
wraps around her finger, a string tied tight.
Mary wants to remember the cracked cup,
the wind fluttering like a trapped moth,
the taste sharp as a pinprick in her mouth.
"Chosen," the angel calls. But Mary is listening
to the scrape of an oxen's hooves
as he drags a cart, wheels crunching leaves,
the last thing .... She already knows.
She sniffs her hands: eucalyptus, pungent, crushed,
a bright thread tying her to this world.
"Innocent," the angel says. "No," Mary answers.

keepsakein old boxes we keep
next to spider web walls and heirloom
root cellars

small pieces of ourselves

watermarked
hoarded like weapons from the
enemies within

the shrapnel of unsettled palavers

waiting
for the right time on the wrong day
or
the right day but the wrong time

to echo sharp olloquies
thought erased with the analgesic
ebbing of time

salvaged from boxes
and back to the surface
displaced

like sickness in gingerale dreams

confined to the marginsapproximate silence has killed
our mystique with dancing out of time
proto-
vertebrates conscribed

to the physics of a ripple

See there's the girlSee there's the girl
The girl who's losing grip
Who is slowly losing everything
her screams of pain and sorrow
Fill her heart.

Do you hear her
Can you see her
Can you
Listen to her
Look at her scars that bleed

She means no harm
She's just dying inside
Help her before she's gone
Don't let her slip

Do you hear her
can you see her
can you listen to her
look at the scars that bleed

There she lays
The girl who cried out
the girl who everyone
Laughed at
The girl who did the permanent
Solution to a temporary problem.

DO you hear her
Can you see her
Can you listen to her screams
Look at her she's six feet under now

catch and releaseproselytizing disparate discoveries
opined by rusty keys
contraindication was a craze
that could rout us through these doldrum days
hegira fed and ostentatious
quicksilver in a haze

and drawn the perfect line, i've never
usurped the universe
inscrutable,
re-usable,

but i can't spit out the hook...

She stands tallShe stands tall and brave
no pain is clear,
but look in her eyes
and you see
the mask of fear and
sadness.
she has a secret
a small one
but it is big
she
fakes
her
smiles
her
laughs
anything
she
tries to
hide
her
pain
with laughter
and falseness

she is slowly slipping
losing her sanity
her grip on that fragile line
she calls her relief.

You see a girl
that smiles every day,
but maybe she has a
secret one like no other
a plain to escape
the hell
she calls earth.

ProphecyProphecy

Above the kneeling angel, a sun dangles,
a ball of yarn. I want to unravel
what they did to me. Mary crosses her arms,
an X of blue cotton. They hung her son
on an X, cedar planks haphazardly nailed together,
no pattern, only
what has already happened.
I want prophecies,
warnings, road signs, a hand that scrawls,
their hands deep inside me,
claw hammers. Under Mary's blue robes,
red cloth drips, the folds gathering
into a puzzle on the floor.
The painter knew the end,
so he shaped the beginning so
there could be no other end,
no, if only I ....could I?

DepressionI visited my psychiatrist today
and in an office with no evident emotion
no obvious soul beyond a Gettys image
in a painfully drab frame
screwed firmly into a pale green wall
that matched the colour
of his uninspired suit
he told me
that people like me
infuriate him,

he said that six months earlier
he had been told that he
only had mere months to live
and that he had been clutching, snatching,
grasping onto every second that he had left.
His light brown skin creased and
cracked as he told me this,
frail grey hair fell onto the lines of his forehead
and I said nothing
aware of my body swallowing itself in shame,

'So to see a person,' he sai

ThawAs you are loaded
into the back
of the ambulance,

you thank God
that something
is happening at last.

gumshoedear Detective:

Nixon had his enemies,
and I have mine,
and for reasons it seems
you count yourself among them
but i'm sure we can find some reasonable terms
in the body of these mandatory matriculations
somewhere in the median,
of this semblance of humanity,
can we not surely coalesce?
like a mortise and tenon and calmly recite
common sense compartmentalized

[the new permutations on the plateau]

so if you'd please reign in your dogs
with their electronic ears and
surveillance eyes
and now longer beware of the darkness;

i'll share with you when and just how
slowly you'll die

yours truly,

the Abyss

The Gorgon's lullaby:The Gorgon's lullaby:

The gorgon sits on the rock on the edge of the world
she see's nothing but the dark sky, nothing there
she was all alone in the world
not one soul to comfort her
not a set of eyes to turn her way
seeing hatred everywhere but she says to herself
its going to be okay because i'm here with my sister's
these heavy hands curl around rocks and tree's
never to see another living soul
for if she does
she'll turn them into stone
where she could only stare but never have any interactions
the Gorgon's lullaby is the only thing that keeps her calm
as her wings stretch out behind her
she lets out a soft hiss
nothing else is h

Ding dongDing dong

A burning we will see tonight.
Ding dong the witch is dead,
pussy in the deep dark well.
Harvest a green witch.
Weak is the knife held by the child.
But the Greenman will sew up the chasm
which you planted,
which I plaited
Into a belly of winter wheat.
Do you have to tear?
I have no liking for pain
despite the scars,
despite the seams.
There can be no knowledge without the knife
but did you have to tear?

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Believe the best in People.A week after what happened at the mall, I was sitting with Ashlee. She wasn't feeling well. Withdraws from the heroine. But I would sit with her. She was wearing my jacket.

"Hey, look!" Some girls whispered to each other. I shook my head and pulled into my arms.

"Spencer..." Ashlee was so upset because of those people.

"You so naive! She does drugs, you shouldn't hang out with her!"

I stand. Stand to my full 5'10.5" "You know what? Shut up. Just because does or did do drugs. That doesn't mean they are terrible person. And I'm not naive. I choose to believe the best in people. Unless they prove me wrong." I take a long drawn out breat

Anger makes our mouth.Leo was sitting his old beat up mustang. He was waiting for Ashlee, it was Friday afternoon. They had a meeting to go to. Leo looks up to see someone tapping on his window.

"Get in." He told the person.

The door opens and a girl with black and blue hair gets in.

"Hey...Leo."

"Tylar, are you cutting class?"

"You can't cut if you're suspended."

"What? How did you...?"

Tylar sighs and leans back in her seat. "I punched miss perfect. She...she just was saying stuff. I snapped back but it only got worse."

"Anger makes our mouths move faster than our minds. Rage is often isn't processed before you're throwing it back."

"True." She looks up

It just slipped.I walked along side my best friend. Laughing at bad jokes we were making up. Looking at the clock in hall.

"Hey, I gotta run. Catch you later." I grin at her.

With a sigh and see ya later, I'm off. I haven't told her where I am going. I race down the halls of Salem High school, leaving early from school every Friday was a plus.

Nodding to the ladies in the office, I go outside and see my ride. Getting in on the passenger side. The driver looks at me. "What took so long?"

"I was talking to my friend."

"Have you...?"

"No. Not yet."

"Okay." He smiles lightly. His brown hair has been cut since yesterday.

"Nice hair cut." I reach my finger

I'm possible."This is so stupid! Don't you think?" His best friend groaned. She hung on to his arm as he guided through the halls of J.Y High school.

"Oh, sure a total drag." He told her, even though he doesn't care. He always agrees with her when he didn't feel like talking. Tugging on his arm, she follows his gaze to a boy sitting across the hall, on a bench.

"Oh, now I know why you aren't listening." She winks.

He turns beat red and shakes his head. "Shut up." he mutters. "Not like anything would ever happen. It's impossible."

Shaking her head, the brunette pulls him done to whisper. "Nothing is impossible. The word itself 'I'm possible'."

Everything you don't.Tylar hit her fist into that girl's face, with out a second thought. She's shaking because she's so angry. The girl looks at her wide-eyed.

"I'm sick and tired of the same old shit! Leave me alone!" She shouted as she stormed though the crowd.

Roxas, her long time boyfriend, makes his way after her. One of his ex's grabs his arm. She looks at him. "What do you see in her?"

With a gentle smile, "Everything you don't."

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Beauty inside and out.

by ~Zika-Senji, Jan 28, 2011, 5:27:08 PM
Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

I know this girl who is beautiful.

She smiles at everyone and listens when it's not her problem.
She doesn't care what people say about her.
She tells day after day how she still prays for her mother.

No. She's not the prettiest girl in the world.
No. She doesn't perfect blonde hair.
No. She never lies about how she really feels.

I know this boy who is beautiful.

That boy goes home just to take care of a little sister.
That boy cooks dinner for the family 'cause no one else has the time.
That boy keeps up with his school work daily.

Yeah, he's got some acne and wears glasses.
Yeah, he's not the "coolest" kid around.
Yeah, he's got his flaws, but who are you to judge him?

I know that beauty is inside and out.
If everybody else knows, then why don't they care?

Why do they call people fat?
Why do they call people _ugly?
Why does it matter someone's race is?
Why does it matter someone's _sexuality is?

Who are they to judge us?
To Judge me?
Him?
That girl?
Your neighbor?
Your best friend?
Your lover?
Your family?
You?

Just don't ever forget:
Beauty is _inside and out.

Beauty inside and out.by ~Zika-Senji

Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

©2011-2013 ~Zika-Senji

You are beautiful~

~UniqueAngel5 Feb 11, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

This made my day.

Reply

~Zika-Senji Feb 12, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I'm glad!

Thank you for the favorite!

Reply

~NeonMoonLight2 Jan 28, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

This is so sweet i <3 it! c:

Reply

~Zika-Senji Jan 29, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much! C:

Reply

~psychochick10158 Jan 28, 2011

this is absolutely beautiful

Reply

~Zika-Senji Jan 28, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!

Reply

~TearMeApartIDontCare Jan 28, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I love you Zika.

Reply

~Zika-Senji Jan 28, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I love you too.

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