Vintage.

descriptionwithoutlabels:

Daguerreotype girls are all children, 
dressed in white bows atop silky black hair,  
more often than not clutching to 
 a doll.

I was born at a county hospital, 
and I never had the good grace to know what
forceps feel like on an infant head,  
but I creak yet.

If I was a woman in sepia I would
clutch to a baby girl and slice my arm
with keen silver-tongued letter openers, 
jab out my tired eyes with knitting needles

rather than my breathtaking rapier, 
slim to deliver liquids wailing in my skin, 
push the doctor out from under me, 
I’d be a caretaker yet.

Daguerreotype women are stern-mouthed beauties, 
but I would be hidden away high or burned 
alive for a mad woman’s witchcraft,
and I more than likely wouldn’t live to see the disappointing photograph. 

Incredibly gripping ending to a lovely poem. Bravo! 

withoriginalenergy:

There are too many maybes
scattered in between the grass
as the flowers, blue and gold,
shed their petals fast.
Winter comes in an onslaught
a storm of ice blue chill
and twirling flakes of
satin white gathering onto
barren tree branches
and my long black lashes. 
Empty promises fester in the frosty
soil decaying with the hope we have
for a new and beautiful spring
full of love and joy.
My fingers tingle
and my heart forgets to beat.
Winter chills out my blood
and the world turns without me. 

Notes: I like the structure here and word play; rhyming that works. Also very relatable. 

justanother-nothing-x:

Your eyes are the window to your soul.
With just one look, the stories unfold. 
Stories too painful to be verbally told. 
A smile on your face, but that smile’s growing old. 
A never ending chain that tears you apart. 
Happy externally, damaged at heart. 
When you begin to feel better you’re back at the start
on the same vicious cycle you reluctantly depart.

Grace of Artax

virulent-tuber:

What sinking sadness overtook you, brave
prey to passage, the fell swamp, the sopping
madness, the quickening despair, your god-
flame mural licking delayed oblivion, 
ten thousand hopeless miles to a vision
botching the end’s beginning? 

What of the emerald bane, the dire wolf,
stalker of bankrupt heroes, mourning
at your viscid tomb, left to trod muck
heavy-hearted, his faithful tears pinging
the heaving bog’s unyielding malevolence
with tooth-attuned reverb?

What of rock-biter; lonely, empty-handed,
casting his lot to the nether, the ivory bastion;
paradigm of dream, unsung empress,
lost to void, buoying empty space,
what of safe passage for last hopes,  
what of the impending nothing?

And, what did you seek in that sterile peace,
balked, as gasped lungs collapsed, fissures
leaped clean, brooks of crystal milk, pearl
apples and mares’ nuzzle, lilacs climbing
silver mountains, bare-breasted sphinxes,
a magisterial canter, lord of bison?

But what of
the something
undone about
the nothing
encompassing
everything,
was death
your something,
whose grace 
delivered you 
from the night-
mare of 
nothingness,
of rebirth,
a dream
vaguely trot,
do you feel
redeemed? 

Nocturnal Latency III

LK’s Notes: Layers of meaning and unique word vocabulary. I really like this. 

virulent-tuber:

no wake at all; falling deep
beyond the six o clock mountains’

somber footing, splitting 
half-lives with atom precision,

lagging heavy, spinning 
tales of grey curtains, mist 

thick as dead people: the ones 
littering themselves about, innocuously 

milling, meddling affairs with 
enthusiastic lethargy. tripping

heart of vengeance; night watchman,
occlude this nocturnal latency.

please.

never mind. just never mind.
I suppose there are better things

than sleep. a hallucination 
is not entirely out of question.

listen as the shades revive a hymn
audible only by discerning ear,

brave kenmoore, along untold dead
billions rapping at brimstone gate,

pleading the gulf for madness,
a shard of ice, a tincture - in one

tormented eye. heed their gnashing,
rise, strip pacifier and drown

the muse. every percolating drop.  
collage shock. mutinous clues:

crudely cropped rodents and freud,
kazoos splayed like madness 

probing sheetrock and guilt inasmuch, 
deplorable roads to the same, dent 

plunging perfunctory, a bevy; colorful,
substantive, close enough to cavort 

amorously if they happen to animate,
given proper mood and lighting 

adjustments. sustenance scattered 
beyond waking, an ephemeral brink, 

a break for frenzy, before an unflinching gaze
at the bleeding eye of dawn

crashing through the torque of night
into absolving sunlight.

Happens every time

cobwebconstellations:

First line,

Scary start,

I’m winging it,

As always,

The protagonist,

Doesn’t even have a name,

Yet.

First line, done,

Ok,

Second line,

Fine,

Let’s put a comma in,

And continue,

Line, line, line,

Let’s go,

Read over,

It’s not a first paragraph,

It’s a poem,

And I didn’t even notice,

I’d been writing a poem,

Instead of a novel.

Trysten’s note: This simply made me smile. I recommend reading it aloud.

Natalie.

S’s Note: I really love this. How lovely.

humilination:

Natalie walks through the mind like silk curtains,
Holding a smouldering kindle of cancer,
Smiling eyes on this girl are unheard of.
Natalie could be an excellent dancer,
If only her legs would move just a tad quicker,
If only her life was a little more fair,
She’d stop getting lonelier, sadder and sicker,
And wear flowers and lace in her hair.

side note: I saw this and thought ‘YES!’ because it captures love so effortlessly. The overwhelming collection of emotions that you feel can never quite be portrayed enough to the other person. 

therealvagabondking:

i want to
melt you
down

inject you
straight
into my
heart

because
i’m not sure
my mind
understands
love 

but my heart
does 

my love played hide-and-seek while my heart lay alone in the lost & found

Side note: I can’t believe that this doesn’t have more notes. 

therealvagabondking:

it never 
dawned on
me then
but
i get chills
thinking
about it now

hide-and-seek
is a deadly game
we used to play
as kids

i mean
for almost
twenty years
my heart lay
lonely at the
lost and found

not hiding,
but not sought after

an involuntary
player
in a fucked up
game

where
they claim
the sea is filled
with fish
but they never
tell you
their all dead

luckily she’d lost
something
and came looking
i’m not sure she
came for me,
but apparently
she found what was
missing