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Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

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More from ~matrix7

Exhaustion

Sitting at my desk with
pen and paper in hand.
A stack of poems sit by
the corner. Each one
finished. Each a piece of me.

Dip the pen of my soul into
my heart's blood and begin to write
one last time before sleep.
Exhausted....stumbling.....
blind......deaf.....
words pour out from me
like from some Pandora's box.
I am unable to stop them,
unable to slow them....
Faster, faster I write but
it is not fast enough.

There! One more finished
but three more have painted
themselves on the canvas of my mind
and refuse to be silent.
Screaming to be expressed,
demanding to be portrayed
agonizing voices I must give life.
Mor

Transparent Dreams

A sea of faces surrounds me
stretching to some unseen horizon
in every direction imaginable.
Each gazing, taunting
staring at me (or through me).
I feel very transparent.

Secrets lay flayed open
by an unseen assassin's knife.
Goals on display behind cases
of glass forged from crystal tears.
Dreams paraded around for all
to see. No secrecy, no privacy.
Put myself between the crowds
and my transparent soul.
Begging, pleading to leave me be
but nobody hears my pleas
(or they don't care).

After poking and prodding all my
most secret ponderings
the crowd has had their fun and move on
laughing until there is no air left.

Falling Sickness

Paths lay arranged before
like shattered shards of
some cosmic mirror.
Each reflecting a broken future
that is not now, will not be,
but might have been once.
Just as sharp as broken glass
a crimson trickle starts where
I pricked my hand on my future/past/present.

Bleeding turns to healing
healing turns to indifference
indifference turns to forgetting.
Always remembering the good things,
but never the solutions nor the snares.
So I fall.

Again, and again and again.
Same stupid mistakes over and over
tempting, enticing,
devouring, then mocking.
I know the danger.
I know the fear.
I know that twisted face.
Why don't I

What Friends are For

Lend a shoulder for your tears,
hold your hand when things get tight.
Help to calm your raging fears
guard your back while in a fight.

Listen when you need an ear
Helping you in looking forward
warning you when trouble's near.
Isn't that What Friends are For?

Seasons of the Soul

Summer, Autumn, Winter Spring
Seasons of the inner soul.
Each one has a gift to bring,
each one has a seperate goal.

Summer with it's burning heat.
Like eyes of fire, full of rage.
Burning flesh and scorching meat
Flames that never will assuage.

Autumn with the falling leaves
vibrant colors fill the air.
Happy, glad and so carefree.
Without a thought, without a care.

Winter with it's snow and clouds
cold and with an icy heart.
Wearing anger like a shroud
Careless of who you rip apart.

Spring with its rainy mood
new life everywhere you go.
To think, to wonder, and to brood
upon the Seasons of the Soul.

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Fella Has Got A Fat Rear

by ~matrix7, Dec 17, 2001, 7:38:27 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

"Fella Has Got a Fat Rear"
To the tune of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

You know Jarkoff and Sixwings
And Brazen and Spyed
Matteo, Jark
Chris and DJ-Designs.
But do you recall
The biggest rectum of aaaaalllllll?

Fella has got a fat rear
prob'ly cause he's made of balls
and if you've ever saw it
You couldn't help but make cat calls.
(Weet Woo!)
All of the other admins
deleted all his "w00t! First post!"s
They never let poor Fella
Come to any reindeer roasts.

Then one soggy Christmas Eve
Jark Claus came to say.
Fella though you're rectum's huge
Come on down ya big round stooge.
Now all of Devart's happy
cause their chubby pal is fine.
And Fella the big rumped mascot
wears humongous KICK ME SIIIIIIIIIIIIGNS!!

Wes Smith
::[Matrix7]::
December 17, 2001

Fella Has Got A Fat Rearby ~matrix7

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Back for more eh? Here is the latest in an ongoing series of Christmas Parodies. This time to the tune of "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer". To the fans of these time honored Christmas songs that are sung around large plastic trees with steaming mugs of pseudo-cholate byproducts I have but one phrase for you. *TROUT SMACK!* Thanks you. :p (Razz)