[x]

GaspThere was no
life in
danger, but
she pressed her
lips to his

and breathed
into him
all the
same.

CloudyThere is something worse
than writer's block;
it's when the words come in
through the heat,
through the loneliness,
or the sheets with
writhing contentment.
It's when the words are right
in your head
for paper or someone else,
and all I can mutter is that
my head hurts-
and I need to go to sleep.

InsectThat man
at the
corner

does not
watch the
light-

instead,
he smashes
a bug

who had
somewhere
to go.

Ignore AdviceWrite ten bad poems.

Write one hundred
bad poems.

Write profoundly.

Write and drink.

Keep a notebook with you,
write in public
and make sure that others
know that you are, in fact,
writing.

Write a love poem,
then throw it away
because all the good ones
have already been read.

Ignore advice,
write about the decision
instead of the feeling.

Write one sentence
-make indents,
say to yourself that
this is it, THIS is IT.

Then delete,
and tell yourself that again.

PeakShirtless in bed,
on a lonely
saturday night.

An impatient man
writes impatient
poetry.

A Full LifeA man, who has
never tried to harm
another man,
lies awake
and wonders.

AwayThe
white
plastic
bag

collapsed
on the
curb

circles
up
through the
air

and is
snatched by
a man

who
fails
to
fly.

ImpatientIf you talk to anyone who waits at red lights or cares about fashion or owns a gun, they'll know a thing or two
about all of us; all of humanity. We are all flowers, we are all little universes, we are all the underdog future.
And maybe this is completely true, and maybe some girl pierced her ear in the 8th grade bathroom, and maybe you
have sand in your shoes from that visit to the beach last week. What does it matter, is this an absolute?
We are all pieces of God, we are all forgetting about Heaven, we are all waiting politely for death to break in
through the bathroom window. You can ask the stains on the sidewalk, the birds who refus

Eye ContactHold these thoughts
closely.

You are a
frienzed,
sex-depraved madman.

You are waiting
for the flowers
to murder you.

You are drugged up
on mental chemicals.

You are lonely.

You are every dark secret
and
every act of kindness.

You are nothing
(important).

But do not believe for a second
that you are a ghost,
drunk on freedom.

The woman with the stroller
sees you.

The man rubbing his glasses
with his mouth half open
sees you.

The child
and the white-knuckled toy
see you,
and watch as if
the whole world were new
and a man who could pass through
walls and skin
was something special
and worth attention.

AgingWhen I walk on the curbs
of downtown, I can turn my head
and see my reflection
in the glass.
In the windows that stand guard
against the smoke
and the rain
and the winds.
I can see myself,
flickering between panes
as I move down the streets.
I can see myself,
wrinkling
wisening
waiting to grow old
and learning how to remember.

OhFingers in front of
your eyes,
laced in light.

The arid, shifting
desert of your palms.

Sand in the beachgrass,
dancing.

Listen to the shell:
it will teach
what is alive.

Tell your children it was the ocean.

The whole world
can hear you breathe.

Are you innocent yet?

Fishnet stockings
and long, dark hair.

That empty
moment.

May she never hear the name
that you whisper through the dark.

Ghost StoryWhat is this
on the next horizon
holding strong against the wind,
it is a figment,
it is an oil stain,
it is something
less than a blur
and more than a photograph.

CourageA young woman
wakes up
in the morning
with the light
from her blinds
making stripes
on her skin.

She throws
the heavy covers
off herself
and leaves them
on the floor,
before scrambling
to fix her mistake.

She closes
her eyes.

UndercurrentPeople hang lightbulbs,
made from wire
and amber bottles,
out their windows
and beneath flowerpots.

You can almost see
the animals
swimming just below
the streets.

We are watching
for shipwrecks.

We are watching
for tattoos
on the heart and lungs;
for ink that drifts
through your veins.

We are watching
young men build rafts
from fliers
and telephone poles.

Waiting for a
blue-gray wave
of asphalt
to carry them
out to sea.

Oh! There Goes My HeartTap, tap go my feet
To the rhythm of this beat.

Step-step, up and down,
Twirling, leaping; where's my gown?

Clap-clap, side to side,
Let's go; I'm ready to glide.

Front, back goes the dance
I'm lost in Fairytale's trance.

Oh! There goes my heart;
The dance caused it to depart.

Well, masked prince, take care,
My heart is yours, sweet and fair.

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AntidoteYellowed wallpaper flowers bloom and peel
in the steamy interior shade.

The kettle sings a monotone falsetto.

The clouds are made of moths
flying towards the sun.

I can feel your hands asking me
yawning questions
in the way they cradle your porcelain glass.

I could find an answer if you want to know why
but for now,
please
just look at all this light.

Sepia LightHe could be the lead of a silent movie
in all its sepia glory. There is
dust on the film; and light-
that shines hazily through the smoke and jazz
of the old world.

She smiles while beauty marks pepper the screen
and nobody notices. Not even him.

There is a woman stroking the theater piano lovingly to hide
the voices floating through the air as silent as ash.

He waits with impious attention for old-fashioned lines
to cross over the stage and whisper something,
something new to him.

But anything that could waltz off their tongues
is caught and held by the cigarette filter projector.
Left to crackle, as the piano moans under the w

UrchinThe locals called him
"urchin" and the tourists
didn't call him anything,
or even worse.

***

The orphan master said that
he was about 14, but it
had been over a year since
he ran away;
you would too.

***

You can make good money
at a beachside town by
collecting shells. So every day
at low tide, the urchin would
scavenge through the pools;
looking for something,
anything.

***

It was early summer and
all the foreigners (who knew nothing
of the ragged boy with spiky
black hair that stalked the
beaches) were aging
complacently in the sun.

***

The urchin spotted a few
sand dollars a ways
away. As he went up
to take the

Living The Dream

We were both born, we met
each other and it was
pleasant; more than pleasant.
We fell in love, got married, stayed together,
started a family and it was
lovely; more than lovely.
We went back to school,
moved around, got old,
retired, and eventually died
in our sleep.

But for such a deadpan remembrance
of our lives, there was
so much
love love love,
there was
so much, and I...

And I always
wake up, and you are not there.

B-Movie

It's like:

You always said it was so cute
that I was interested in
playing geeky board games and
we would be the good guy together,
saving people.

In one movie, Santa saved the world
from alien invaders. I remember the
werewolf soap opera I got you
hooked on. The zombie
disaster flicks were always
the best though; so many dumb sex
scenes to laugh at, as the camera
shook like some bad porno.

Then static:
as our film clipped somewhere
in the middle.

Don't you remember?

It's like:

The memory of you and me on the sofa, and
I forget what I'm watching, as
Godzilla stomps the Asian shit out of
half of Tokyo and giant cockroache

Citrus

I am lying on
a park bench:
watch the world
revolve.

At the corner stands
a hispanic man
selling citrus; his
wrinkled skin
ripens in the sun.

A young woman walks
by me with clothes
that grip her tightly like
my hands and fingers. She
moves on towards the fruit cart
without so much as a
pause near my bench.

She takes a bite out of-
something.

Her vibrant green eyes and
strawberry blonde hair stare
right into me as juice
drips from her mouth;
her lips pursed from the sweetness
of it. Then,
she turns and walks
away into the afternoon.

And I am left here,
biting my lip and
alone with my thoughts
as the world
revolves

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Submitted: August 7, 2012
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Are You Missing

by *FallingAsleepTonight, Aug 7, 2012, 10:07:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

"Are you missing
anything?",
she sighed

-as she watched
the snow-ghosts
at night
with her hands
on the frozen
glass, leaving
fog prints
that pressed
and reached.

-as he sat quietly,
breathing in
that summer
rain.

Are You Missingby *FallingAsleepTonight

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

A bit experimental, comments and criticisms always welcome

Critique by ~Sunrayelle Feb 16, 2013, 11:11:28 PM

I love the feeling this poem evokes. I like the imagery, and how it's sort of open-ended what's being missed, a person, or an object, or a memory, or what, or if it was resolved. I like how you kept it consistent in the first lines- "-As she watched" and "-As he sat", continuing to finish the sentence from someone else's point of view.
I do remember feeling surprised and disappointed when it ended there after "summer rain", because the secodn verse was so much longer and detailed. The last verse, "as he sat quietly, breathing in that summer rain" doesn't necessarily need embellishing, but I think that either another sentece should be added to it with more description, or a verse should be added after it to keep up the rhythm that the longer verse started.
A poem should flow, and when it's done it shouldn't leave the reader lacking, either in message, or imagery, or in flow.

As for what's already written, it's beautiful!

What do you think?

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~Sunrayelle Feb 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I didn't mind the switch from the cold to summer, but I wish either that the last verse were longer, or there were another verse after it. It seems like it just stops abruptly when the flow/rhythm isn't finished.

*FallingAsleepTonight Feb 17, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Yeah I've been getting that, I'm going to edit this one. Thanks!

~KittySib Sep 21, 2012

It's pretty!

~AzraNoxx Sep 21, 2012 Student Writer

I like the imagery of the second verse...but the sudden switch to summer in the last verse is just confusing. Maybe there could be more to this one? Maybe I just don't get it.

*FallingAsleepTonight Sep 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It was supposed to be sudden, but not jolting, I'll look back at it

~AzraNoxx Sep 21, 2012 Student Writer

That's nice. ...to be honest it came way out of nowhere and disrupted things. It threw me well out of the poem which had very pretty imagery until then.
I hope that helps? I'm always sorry when things go out of shape.

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

A clever dichotomy between the characters, expressed in such a short piece! Excellent work!

*FallingAsleepTonight Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you

~FRizzymusicals Aug 31, 2012 Student Writer

I like the way you wrote this piece. I liked the description of watch the lady was watching. Good work.

*FallingAsleepTonight Aug 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

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