[x]

leavingleaving is a can that you
kick around in the street
because it's been a long day
& it makes you feel better.

some days you kick it
harder, longer than others,
& some days there just
aren't enough cans or streets.

but the thing about leaving
is that when the
street lights come on,
you always end up going home.

overflowi tried to show you
all the broken bones
in the cupboard

all the cobwebs
underneath the staircase

all the schisms
and chasms
and chinks in my
a(r)mour

but
your finger touched my lips
in a curious sort of way
and you said
shh, darling,
don't say a word

none of that matters
anymore

so i tried
to shut away the
ghosts
but now they're out
and about
and coming for me

and i can't escape them
with my heart so chipped
and faded.

outgrowing gillssea-cradled urchin
child has a salty heart yearnin'
for a glimpse of mother moon
tiny spiked wunderkind
punk, studded belt
you know life's answers well
shuffling through the seaweed-less halls
missing the ocean swell
tidal waves foaming at the mouth
everyone is laughing now
at the boy born on a boat one sunny afternoon
cause mama loved the sea like lovers love the sheets
landlocked kid is homesick and
sea sure, he's searching for the sea shore
life's a blur for Davy Jones at his locker
capsized by sea-legs on solid ground, he finds his seizures
and he hates his earth mother
he hates her
for falling for the ocean and
how he's rocked by the moon
how he's mesmerized by her glow
her pull on his sea-conceived cells
no
he hates her too
for the puking in the stalls
for the ridicule

Primevaland I don't smoke, but all my poems talk
of cigarettes and ashes because my father smoked
for forty years and now he can't breathe

and I can't breathe.

the chill from the rain seeps through the glass panes
and feels swollen in the loneliness of a crowded train;
the air is pregnant with an umbilical thread
connecting us to something intangible,
something necessary to our being

yet we don't exist at all.

smoke and vapor crawling out our mouths;
we talk because the silence is sometimes frightening,
and because we're searching the dust visible only
in the places where light bends for words that won't disappear

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

i miss the girl i almost wasi miss the girl i almost was

she sits lightly on the edge of the bed
at 4am and brushes my hair back from my
face with a touch like spiders' footsteps

her breath is like ice and
her wishes are weightless

she wraps a strand of promises around
her fingers and kisses me goodbye again
with lips like polished crystal

she waits for me at crossroads

she is always cold

blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
since
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.

no, she refused to set a bar
because
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.

see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
jumps enough
every time bits of her old

Coffeehouse Bluespeople like to drown in their misery
because it somehow reminds them
that they're alive.

take the lady sitting by the fog-kissed window, for example.
see how delicately her lower lip quivers
as she downs pints of coffee like a drug addiction
when in reality, each sip creates fissures on her tongue
and fills her stomach with caffeinated liquid
she secretly wishes was cyanide.

or watch how the curious boy with suns as eyes
turns to face you and aligns his line of sight with yours;
watch how his juvenile soul becomes
a map of bones so easy for you to read.
suddenly, you realize a gaze could have never held
that much despair
until

astronomerswhen we're together
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.

we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
into speech.

do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?

that night,
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;

stars forming,
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.

i imagined
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers – creator and destroyer
of worlds,
so close to your lips.

pigeonhello, pigeon,
he says with a smile
like somehow, he already knows
she's been sad for a while.

and she just looks at him,
with her brokenhearted bambi eyes
and she hopes that he understands
because nobody understands,
not really.

pigeon, he says,
I know.
and he does.

he knows that deep in her heart,
she just isn't happy.
not today, not yesterday,
and maybe not even tomorrow.

he knows that she wants to be happy,
wants to know what it's like
to be filled with sunshine

(and he thinks maybe that's why
she loves sunflowers so very much.
because she thinks they exude sunlight,
and maybe, just maybe,
if she were bright yellow

scar-crossed(my fingers are colder than the solemn blue
buried in her eyes. so much dead beauty,

like an ocean without waves).

she is fading and i cling to her,
and in this tiny little moment
between breaths

we barely even exist.

sunshine streamingwaking up begins with
i. counting the freckles
   along your shoulders
   like an astronomer maps
   constellations; then get
   distracted and
ii. make love between the
   sheets and perhaps
   roll off the bed and land
   on the cold floor laughing
   with sparkling teeth,
iii. brush them in the
    bathroom sink and
    exchange small smirks in
    the mirror because your
    tousled bedhead is just so
    goddamn
iv. gorgeous, you whisper as you
    close the clasp of my
    diamond necklace and touch
    my bare, unfreckled shoulders.
    the heat of your eyes may
    just undo the zipper of my
    new red
v. dress pooling on the floor, we
    just can't contain ourselves.
    don't make me late for work.

Heavy Love IIjust
lay down
my dear

lay
lay
down

just lay down,
put soft hands
on the space
where legs
meet hips

pulling
closer
hips
on
hips
on hips

pulling closer

sigh,

pulling closer,

sigh —

that
heavy
love ...

she breathed out happy endings
she pressed herself between the pages of her favorite storybook
until her veins began to bleed ink. with her head in the clouds,
she wasn't sure of where she was and didn't much care as long as
it wasn't here.

youi dug him out of my ribcage &
drowned in bleach and flames
to rid myself of
the dreaded devil's hat
that seeped from my pores

this wasn't about him.

this was about erasing the blemishes
he left
and making my own

but you said my new freckles
spelled out your name with
connect-the-dots
across my shoulders

and i began to question
how you would sound
gasping
around such a shoulder

but oh-
i have only ever been the gasping
not the gasped

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Heavy Sighs Spoken SoftlyThey say I need to speak more, I need a better outlet,
I've been digging through the thoughts so long my fingers became calloused.
Lost the feeling in my palms so I reached towards the sky
Hoping stars would burn the fingerprints left there those lonely nights.
I couldn't reach. It was a strange sensation,
When the lines in my hands became constellations.
My skin's not think or rough, I'm not strong enough
To confront the night but the moonshine helps me sober up.
I've traveled down the same road, kicking yellow bricks home,
Walking empty handed, pockets full of false hope.
Stared at myself, he stared back at me
Crossed his legs an

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Submitted: July 22, 2012
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Wordsmiths

by *MattVoscinar, Jul 22, 2012, 4:22:29 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

How long did you think
we could pound our vocabulary with hammers
before it fell flat?

Wordsmithsby *MattVoscinar

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

A poem about poetry inspired by a night of reading poems that sounded exactly the same.

You can find the DLD here: [link]

Critique by *glossolalias Jul 23, 2012, 10:43:32 PM

I'm certain that just about everyone has had complaints about the originality of writing, as well as the death writing faces when it stops being genuine and is formulated purely to impress. These are not new ideas, but I find it fascinating when they are presented in this concise yet poetic format: your vision for this was absolutely astounding and the impact is breathless.

Where most of the issue lies with this poem is the technique; I love your word choice, and I like the idea of single image, but the cadence just feels off, and honestly, I am going to suggest the omission of "with hammers." Don't get me wrong, it's powerful, but the poem would be more powerful without it, because the pounding isn't something physical: it's ethereal and raw and that's what's so beautiful about it. While I do understand the use of metaphor, I don't think it was entirely successful here, and it certainly isn't necessary. If you take out hammers, it leaves the reader to fill in their own blank, and that makes it more personal, more profound than it already is.

Otherwise, I must say, I really enjoy this. Masterful and precise, it really left me thinking, and what more could you ask of a poem?

What do you think?

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Critique by *shehrozeameen Jul 22, 2012, 8:39:14 PM

This particular masterpiece speaks out about more than just the poetic disarray of the litrary society and world in general - it is the embodiment of how the detritus of our communities are becoming the essence controlling what we read and what we are made to comprehend. In essence, this poetic three line composition speaks about the lack of ideas spoken out in the process of writing about (ironically enough) ideas themselves.

It would, nevertheless, justify why the same idea is now (horrifically) perched out in a drone frame composition that will only lead to further detriment making their way towards achieving these purposes.

What do you think?

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6 out of 6 deviants thought this was fair.

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*littlemoonboots Mar 20, 2013

beautiful, dear

so simple but i can relate

=SilverInkblot Dec 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Hi there! Just a note to let you know I've featured this piece in my 2012 showcase of literature: [link]

*MattVoscinar Jan 3, 2013 Student Writer

Thank you, Silver. Being featured by you feels wonderful!

=SilverInkblot Jan 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

~DoveThunder Nov 6, 2012

Congratulations on the DLD!

*MattVoscinar Nov 6, 2012 Student Writer

Thank you!

~DoveThunder Nov 7, 2012

You're welcome!

~Ria-J Nov 5, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

The title is amazing and the poem itself says so much in a few words. Love it.

*MattVoscinar Nov 5, 2012 Student Writer

Thank you so much!

*glossolalias Nov 4, 2012

congratulations on the DLD and Pick of the Day!

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Wordsmithsby *MattVoscinar

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