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Sassy's Poetry

Discussion in 'The Artist's Corner' started by SassyMelassy, Jan 21, 2011.

  1. #1 SassyMelassy, Jan 21, 2011
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 13, 2015
    I happened across my college poetry portfolio... over five years since I've laid eyes on any of these and I thought I would share.
    I'm awful at titles, so most of them remain unnamed.
    Here's my soul, GC:
    It's morning again, I am
    a poet still,
    rising above the fuzzy waves of catharsis
    the remnants of excess slipping single file
    beneath my skin.
    The sun will not shine here today;
    I will not shine.
    It's morning again, I am
    a lover still
    slipping between body warmed sheets,
    the remnants of excess
    still bathing my thighs.
    The sun shined all night
    --All night-- and now it has set
    behind a cloak of clouds,
    morning's shroud clinging
    like an infant's tight grip...
    The sun will not escape today.
    It's morning again, I am
    a poet still.
    Constructed of self induced disillusionment.
    The sun will not shine today,
    not here.
    An Ode to my Father
    Your feline eyes
    See everything,
    Even in the dark. Even when
    I practice my lies in the rear view mirror
    And meet your laser beam glare with
    Artificial conviction.
    I know you have spies.
    Spies who follow me through life
    Like lucid shadows and
    Watch me trip and tumble
    From backseat to bad motel.
    Your spies send you monthly handwritten reports,
    Embroidered with promiscuity and
    Drug experimentation,
    In the mail.
    Like paparazzi and tabloid journalists,
    They aren't there to protect
    A damsel in distress. They exist
    Only to taint, condemn, and exaggerate:
    Spends her money on: designer lingerie and second-trimester abortions.
    And you believe them because
    You want to.
    You want to believe
    Im just like you.
    Your golden eyes mirror my mistakes with
    Stained-glass accuracy as they
    Drip into your cheek bones.
    Cavernous dimples, flaccid with age,
    Hug your mouth
    When you smile and smile and
    You smile all the time because
    You think you know my secrets but
    You only know I lie.
    There's a band playing in my head.
    Can you hear the fireflies
    as they fly out of my ears
    carrying shimmering melodies
    inside their fluorescent orb
    back packs?
    Can you see the song
    dancing through the sky?
    A rhythm you cant anticipate,
    regulation of improvisation,
    scattered across the night
    like snow flakes
    in e minor
    dusting the air.
    I can feel the music
    echo inside
    my acoustic body.
    Taut parchment
    skin stretches over
    my hollow frame and
    my heart dances
    just to take up space.
    Fog rolled over midnight like a wave
    and I shivered on the street
    beneath the arthritic oak trees
    whose gnarled branches ached
    and groaned with each breath of wind.
    Through a thick layer of water vapor,
    we walked over mirrored asphalt
    that reflected our shadows
    and the haloed sulfuric street lights
    shining through the haze.
    Headlights glowed,
    sparkled, and faded
    -like us-
    like shooting stars.
    Leaves danced on the breeze,
    silhouetted in the lamplight,
    and cast shadows on your face;
    Cryptic graffiti
    I couldn't decode in the dark.
    And I couldn't look you in your eyes
    because I knew, even through
    the opaque air that
    you could read my mind.
    Thirteen beats into
    Billie Holiday‘s “Lover Man,”
    shrouded in candlelight
    and red wine,
    electric heat jumped
    from your fingertips and
    filled me with fever.
    Your eyes unfolded my thoughts
    Like reverse origami.
    You spread me
    over cotton sheets and
    traced your lips throug the labyrinth I had
    folded myself into.
    A Family Poem
    Her short fingers
    Slip over alabaster frets.
    A rough chorus of Neil Young backed by
    Crickets and crackling campfire.
    Her copper hair shines like
    A penny two decades old.
    Lake superior falls like a photo shop back drop:
    Climbing evergreens and birch trees embraced by
    An illuminated sky.
    The Northern lights stream around us,
    A jeweled shower
    Pouring around an invisible umbrella
    Stealing the air from our lungs.
    His legs outstretch from a towering
    Six-foot four frame.
    Arms thick with a quarter century of carpentry,
    Tattooed and sun scarred, cross a barreled chest.
    Gold and green cat-eyes watch from behind
    A veil of mahogany hair that hides a face
    His feet tap the beat as he sings harmony and
    Watches me, his only daughter,
    Dance around the fire like our pagan predecessors;
    Singing along
    Illuminated in an amber bath of firelight.
    "Old man take a look at my life
    I'm a lot like you."
    The flames burn three-feet high
    Sending sparks to join the stars,
    A spill of orange pierces through pinks and blues.
    His olive-green eyes are bordered by
    Lashes that flutter like monarch wings.
    Dimples like dad's
    Beam from his cheeks,
    As he sings along
    In an octave all his own.
    Unshaven words brush past
    Smooth skin
    Like day-old whiskers
    Flushing pale cheeks.
    Honey-colored curtains veil your
    Blood shot eyes
    As the bitter smoke pours from a smirking mouth.
    Hands like sandpaper turn rolling curves to
    Jagged, gleaming, edges.
    Lips like a blow-torch,
    Breathe dragon's breath
    And brand my chest
    Inside and out.
    Teeth scrape trenches
    Deeper than graves between my ribs
    As I start to decay
    And crumble to dust.
    I bury you beneath blankets of snow
    And layers of glowing lava.
    I taint your shell with arsenic
    Before I lock you inside
    A gilded, granite, crypt
    Further away from sunlight
    Than the scarlet depths of hell.
    Not one goddamn fiendish heathen
    Will throw your fragile blood-laced form
    under their dirty soles.
    They would never even see your face
    As it slows, stammers, and stops...
    I hide you behind iron bars
    and bullet proof glass
    and I dip your tomb in asphalt
    but it is no match for you
    my heart.
    It's like sitting in a room
    Painted in mirrors
    It's like lying in the moonlight
    And getting a tan
    It's like narcolepsy
    It's like finding a treasure map
    When you're lost
    It's like swallowing crushed glass
    Pulling your own teeth or
    Breaking your own bones
    It's like slamming a jet into a brick wall
    And living through it
    It's finding out the world is flat
    By falling off.
    It's fuzzy warmth
    Like lying on a beach on the French Riviera
    Listening to the crashing waves.
    The rays of the sun soak
    into your skin
    Like a tranquilizer
    dripping into your veins
    and pulling you away
    Toward the sea.
    You can't resist
    as tiny grains
    of sun saturated sand
    Mold to your feet.
    You float in the breeze
    and gravity doesn't apply;
    You're so damn light.
    It's a lingering grogginess
    That rolls out like the tide
    And pulls you in like a storm.
    You're not strong enough
    To fight the dark waves
    As they embrace you in their watery arms.
    Off of a warm, sandy coast
    Where the water never clouds
    Or cools
    They glide to a melody
    Only they can hear.
    ---Underwater Mozart---
    Dancing to a private symphony;
    A harmony of wind
    And waves.
    Their massive, cratered bodies
    Leap toward the sky.
    With a ballerina's grace.
    They pirouette over their
    Sapphire-studded stage
    In the spotlight of the sun.
    They call it jungle fever
    Like it's some sort of plague;
    As if I am possessed by the
    incoherent incantations of an
    archaic witch doctor
    Lost deep in the steamy jungle;
    Who decorates himself in jewelry made of bones
    And blood-based face paint.
    They whisper their convictions
    Behind translucent hands
    Spitting needles and singing daggers;
    Spreading words of poison while
    They embrace their children as if they need
    Protection from me.
    Her song drips from her lips
    Like a smooth red wine
    And soils the bluesy barroom.
    Sweet and strong like moonshine,
    Her voice bleeds through the smoky pub like
    Rays of sun through the stained glass windows of
    Chartres or Notre Dame.
    If you're not careful
    She'll shroud you in a cloak of smoke,
    Then swallow you like it's your first time.
    Like a bubbling brook
    Moves over stones and
    Smoothes them with each pass,
    My fingers pulse over ivory keys.
    Glistening beneath the pale spotlight
    That soothes me like lavender moonbeams.
    I turn stabbing raindrops into a
    Flowing river's symphony.
    As the climax approaches,
    Caresses turn to assault and
    Frantic fingertips
    Crash through the final refrain
    Like a heavy waterfall
    Plunges from a jagged cliff
    Then melts into a translucent pool
    Of improvisational opus.
    Sugar Coated
    Your melody pierced my chest like
    A warm, smooth blade
    -Anesthetized on contact-
    And wrapped around my heart
    Like warm honey,
    From my fingertips
    to the soles of my feet.
    Like lying under the scorching summer sun
    -it scarred me--
    But felt so damn good
    After a long winter of sleeping
    In a hypothermic bed.
    Your tattered tune, rough
    Like a sizzling, scarlet, coal
    exuded ultraviolet radiation;
    My marbled, ivory glow became a
    Bronzed, decaying remain
    flecked by your harmonic rays.
    Part II
    The windows were clouded
    By a thick layer of
    Late February frost
    That obscured our clashing bodies from
    A hazy, amber, street-lamp, view.
    You threw me down
    On your black-leather backseat altar;
    There you sacrificed me to your demonic deity.
    Atop empty packs of Camels and sweat stained t-shirts,
    You stripped me
    Bit by bit.
    Did you feel my flesh tear
    As you unleashed your razor-fanged beast?
    And let it attack,
    Infiltrating my veins
    -my fucking brains-
    With poison
    As it penetrated a delicate barrier I couldn't speak to reinforce.
    Did your lashing tongue taste
    The blood as it dripped from my pulsing wounds?
    Did you know
    Your body-builder's, tattooed, grasp
    Stained my milky flesh?
    Did you feel my lips tremble
    Beneath your grazing, granite snarl?
    Your smooth fingers
    Melted into Cyanide on my skin as you
    Pressed my face into the
    Cold-hardened seat.
    You left me
    Jagged and torn
    In an overflowing parking lot at twenty-two past midnight.
    You thought you left your demon behind
    But I know who left with you.

  2. Wow that was genius:eek:

    I like how down-to-earth the language is. Reminds me of simpler times
  3. "Taut parchment
    skin stretches over
    my hollow frame and
    my heart dances
    just to take up space."

    you are gifted! i love it :)
  4. Beautiful poetry. :)
  5. haha you wrote these a while back, so itll be like we know what was going through your mind back then.

    theyre great btw :metal:
  6. Sorry I'm insanely baked and tired and only got through reading about 4, but what I've read was really interesting, I'm gonna subscribe and come back. You've got great command of lyrical phrasing and words. Really nice stuff.:)
  7. Bumpin case anybody cares.
  8. You should really start writing again. Some of the best stuff I've ever read.
  9. Some of these are actually really good. And I don't like anything.
  10. :laughing:
    Well thanks...I think.
  11. Sassy... By everything I've seen in my years, fewer than most they may be, that truly had my heart. Held between the words, your empty spaces places to lay my soul. Imagery abounding around and between, the thoughts inspired within... me.

    Absolutely beautiful, you say if anyone cares. I write this for you, in case you wanted to hear my head. You had a gift, have a gift, sharpened in daylight and tempered by night. The heart pouring over, filling in the literary delight.

    Wonderful poetry... Brings forth the burning in my soul.
  12. These are great! My humanities class is focusing on poetry right now and you have given me some great ideas and motivation.
  13. You poured your heart & soul out, and it was beautiful. Please share some more of your poetry in the poetry thread, or here if you do so please.

  14. I wish I could say I had anything new to share with you all...
    But being a single parent has pretty much stripped me of any creativity and/or the time to focus and create.
    I've been holding steady in this perpetual state of writer's block for the last 6 years (since I graduated from college.)
    I'd like to return to my craft some day, it just doesn't fit too well into my life right now.
  15. All good things perpetuate themselves if need be. I truly hope you return one day. Some point in the future (or the non-linear past) you will find your words and the hope inscribed upon them will propel you forward.
  16. Alright... a minimal update.

    I fell asleep in my clothes hoping you'd call
    My last waking thought was of somewhere else
    Where the trees hug the sky in an ever-open embrace
    I only imagined the taste of the air
    Felt it crisp and cool in my lungs
    the taste of Earth and water on my tongue, then
    consciousness slipped away

    Too quick, too close, too tangled

    I never needed a Knight
    The armour - it never shines- has been mine to wear like
    Joan of Arc
    I wield the skin of a warrior by day
    (a fool's smile)
    and lay my heart out by night
    (a fool's tears)
    on the pillow next to mine.
    It beats there, unrestrained, building strength
    while whispering words of consolation.

    A little free-write.

    This room has no windows. There is snow falling. Inability to see it doesn’t make it less true. I’ve seen it hundreds of times before, in the amber street lights. I can feel it through the walls. I am a only slightly blinded.

    I stumbled across my muse while pacing the halls inside of my head; He is locked up between passion, faith, and self esteem. I haven’t found a key yet, but I’ll call this a start. Maybe I’ll chisel it from the gypsum crystals that case the cavern where my heart used to be. There is no rhythm, just the hollow echo of what should have been. I feel nothing now, but I’ve felt hundreds of times before (more than it’s cracked up to be, if you ask me).

    Fervor is fleeting and easily dismissed. Distraction drips from the door panes and seeps through the seams. How do I avoid preoccupation?

    The filmstrip behind my eyes is constantly reeling. When I hum I can hear it in the background, especially the happy songs, buzzing away like a playing-card clothes-pinned to the chassis of a bicycle. I don’t often hum and I imagine the King of Spades is not so happy either. At least black and white will do one of us justice.

    Abstractions are the breezeway to cliché but I’ve always been told it’s not what you say, it’s how you play the game.

    I’ve never been a gambler.

    I cannot master grace nor discretion. I waver without direction - guided only by whim and whimsy - it’s no wonder my train has been wrecked. (Hence the windowless walls.)

    If it weren’t for my brainstem, I may forget to breathe. Even Mother Nature gets side-tracked from time to time. (After all, Father Time is perched atop the Maypole.)

    For whom do I orchestrate, now?

    There is a harmonica playing in the attic, and a blues guitar. The cool discordance rains down like water from the fountain of youth, dripping from a chalice in the clouds.

    I am somewhere else. ***In a golden field where it smells of sunshine and lemongrass. I will braid my hair, paint it with pollen and fairy dust. This is where the magic is. There is no smoke, no mirrors.

    I feel the honeyed warmth spread across the wasteland that was my sun deprived skin. (It is brown and freckled now.) There are no riddles here, no words out loud, just soul shine.

    I dance across the strings of an acoustic guitar. Koa inlaid with alabaster that cries. We are accompanied by a flute carved from the bone of a cave bear. It is gilded in Rhenium, encrusted with opal and tanzanite. There is still a pulse streaming through this wind-bone and Ursa Major is waiting in the night to reclaim her single earthly remain.


    The walls are not water tight. When it rains it floods. When I cry, it flows and the floor beneath my feet turns to quicksand. I am left in the dark, knee-deep in the mire. I cannot cry out for help. If I open my mouth too wide, I will be swallowed and disappear.

    Do not try and save me, there is no damsel in distress. This is between me and God and I offer no forgiveness. Why can’t you?Make the sun shine - inside.


    As the crow flies, it’s seventeen miles between here and Heaven. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard of someone who has. The old man on the mountain whispered on the wind and she told the winter birds, just around the bend, but there is no bridge to tomorrow.

  17. I freaking loooove 'rejection' dude.
  18. Glad you checked me out.
    Thank you!
  19. Heh... ;) :smoke:

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