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RNI“Why did you call me?”
“Your mom’s in the hospital.”
“… What happened?”
“It’s her heart. She’s in ICU.”
“Yeah, but what happened, Dad?”
“Honestly, kid, I don’t know.” His father sounded hoarse. “You know she’s been like this for the longest time.”
Ian stayed quiet.
“… I’ll cover your plane tickets, Ian. She wants to see you.”
“What would be a convenient day for you?”
“I’ll buy the ticket, Dad. I’ll be home by Saturday.”
“Okay. Just call me when you figure it out, so I can go to the airport to pick you up.”
“I’ll say hi to your mom for you.”
“Stay safe, Ian.”
“I will. See you soon, Dad.”
Ian Che hung up the phone. The dust motes flew apart in their vortices as he breathed out a sigh into
Luna's ReplyHow my deeds pain me as time stretches long
How could I have hurt them this way?
So rest easy now, my punishment’s mine
The weight of my crimes are my own
But into that stillness you brought me your song
With your voice my company kept
For your tired eyes and sweet lullabies
In exile I pay you my debt
Once did a pony who gleamed like the moon
Look out on her kingdom and sigh
Dejected she cried, “Surely there is no pony
“Who loves me, or finds any love in my night.”
So great was her pain, she rose in rebellion
Against those who cared for her most
She let the Nightmare fall on those she ruled
And threatened to grip them in permanent cold
Lullay, dear Tia, good night sister mine
Rest now in starlight’s embrace
May this cool lullaby reach you in dreams
And ease you your passage of days
May my apologies find you this night
And may my sorrow in kind
Tia, you loved me much more than I knew
Forgive me for being so blind
Soon did her sister do what was demanded
Heaventide On nights when I rarely sleep
I stare out of my window
where wakeful dreams flood my landscape
twisting streets into rivers
Tranquil tides rise against cobblestone beaches
then all is quiet
when the moon leans against the water
starlight glittered lapis
My room submerges
thoughts floating away with my books and poems
I am Svidrigailov
In the water I am sleeping
Stars reflect into the Pacific
portals to remembrance
woven together in night's liquid tapestry
If I swim out I can reach each one
hear the blinked whispers of their lullabies
comforting notes forming gentle waves
rocking me in their cradle of warm hushes
where I close my eyes
Breathing water as I would breathe air
my body is a plaything of my mind
floating off above as I dive below
embraced in the arms of motherly song
touching every star
holding moonsilver in my hand
Dark green tea cascades into china
quickening my breath and heartb
FloodWhat does it take for a glacier to fall?
Simple. When spring comes
piece by piece the ice recedes
cold meltwater flowing away
Dikes and dams can't hold back
The levee breaks,
sending your pent-up reservoir
crashing into once-safe harbors.
The flood splits streets into new rivers,
shreds our measured walls to pieces.
Roofs fall to the primordial chaos of whirling water,
the lives they sheltered devoured.
Panicking, you fling yourself to the only high ground you know
and when I see you again
the water divides
our once connected
Dare I cross treacherous currents
brave fears of being washed away
to bridge a gap growing
Have we told you about our lives as graduate students in Japan? Washing dishes to make ends meet, working day in and day out. After graduation, still hanging onto every word of your boss, in a lab or in an office, fearing your future security. Will I ever retire comfortably? Will I ever have a house to call my own?
The anxiety never stops. Between your tuition, car loans, the mortgage, the garbage bills, the water bills, the electricity our savings dwindle every month by the thousands. We're not young; what will happen when we can't work anymore? Will you be able to make it on your own? Will we make it with what we have? We've no roots in this countryalmost all our networks of friends are in China. Very few people would come to our support if anything ever happens here.
We were never disappointed of you. You, who learned Japanese faster than either of us ever could, and did the same to English. Sometimes we wish we could speak it as well as you, because we know there's s
The FiferWhat cheerful tune rose through your head, Édouard,
as your brush and paint knives marched with military precision
up and down the rough terrain of the canvas-fields?
What hypnotic movement of dancing fingers compelled you
to cadence color with bold marshaling strokes,
setting them en route to picturesque victory?
Whatever this music was is lost to the ears,
and the young guardsman has now marched past with imperial discipline
alongside the rest of his company, out of hearing range.
The mental orchestra stops, and in its stead
the hubbub of street chitchat falls back into place.
Luckily for you, your sketchbook has managed to trace the score.
You return to your studio with eyes raised high,
ready to set to work.
The commander does not complain when you ask for one of his boys
to pose in front of the canvas with his edgeless, fireless weapon poised,
raised to his lips at the ready.
Even though his instrument is far removed from a musket,
you tremble at its sound rising to meet you
GardeniasWhen the flowers opened,
young Ibrahim was there,
standing at the the florist's counter.
Good day again, young man,
what's caught your fancy today?
These two flowers, what are they called?
Gardenias, son, a sign of love,
secret sweets and good fortune.
The white petals reminded Ibrahim
of her dress shining against her dark skin,
catching the breeze like afternoon curtains.
Two gardenias, two gardenias
for my love in full bloom,
an exchange of joy and promise.
Two gardenias, two gardenias
for my love and me.
When she opened her door,
young Ibrahim walked inside
and set the flowerpots on her windowsill.
They are beautiful, Ibrahim,
those flowers, what are they called?
Gardenias, sweet, a sign of dedication,
symbols of my love and my adulation.
Care for them as you would care for me,
for my heart and your own.
Her smile reminded Ibrahim
of sunny cafes on Saturday,
bustling with laughter and good conversation.
Two gardenias, two gardenias
brighten the whole room,
a bond of intimate affecti
Time, Second DraftPrologue.
Sometimes, we make ourselves forget. Because yesterday belongs to the dead and we must keep living. But we are all puzzles, never complete. Only the most blissfully blessed can consider themselves whole. Holy are the times when we were wholly alive.
We fall apart as we move forward. The pieces of the puzzle do not fit so neatly together in the way they are given to us. The more we try to build with them the more rickety our assemblages become. Sooner or later we'd need to stop and fit them together again before they collapse totally. With this in mind, we all look back to the starting point, home in on the origin, dig up what we've buried before. But the eyeless faces of exhumed skeletons are terrible to look upon. We can't bear to stare into their hollow sockets, so we give up, lie down, and dream. In our dream, in our mind, we unspill the hourglass, start again with all the sand on top. Back to the beginning of it all.
A place where the stream flows past l
Does Not ComputeOpen your arms, love,
and let me crawl back in
drag myself across the floor to your knees
and collapse into the warmth of--
The face of sadness stared at me
with its gaunt, emaciated form,
eyes piercing into my soul
like daggers held in the hands of--
The town lives
like a scene from a sepia-tone photograph
(except with sunny vivacity),
highlighting my reminiscence of--
Courage has an invaluable price
beyond any human ability of estimation
when it is applied to willing sacrifice,
a purposeful display of--
The water is clear and cold
in the stream by the willow trees;
we scooped it with our hands
and took sips that tasted of--
My pen takes refuge in the crooks of Kruchenykh,
painting pictures reverting to Vertov in their cinematography
while committing formalistic treason
with their egregious jumbled energy
showing emptiness in every verbal motion,
herbally moving past every indication of termination.
hyenas make the best lovers.i need to stop looking
for death in every body
my fingers touch.
i have been force fed
old lovers, & slices
of the moons lying dust
i am messy poems;
i am fractured confessions.
i am laughter
my jaws ache
with the taste of
i am still hungry.
give me your sugar;
I will share my breath.
you are still made of starstuff,
& i am no longer caged.
StockholmBut my heart beats for you alone
You are not
You are ever watchful
Hoping for devotion
My wandering heart
Beating for you
My SunlightYou are my sun,
My only light,
As you fade,
The moon is there,
A memory of you,
Of the darkness,
Before your dawn.
You are the breeze,
That kisses my face,
Those tender lips,
That rushing embrace.
You are the grass,
Beneath my feet,
You hide my tears,
You support my weight.
You are the last,
One for me,
There was many before,
But they were never the same.
With you its right,
With you its love,
And if tonight,
I come above.
I'll see your glory,
From the moon,
From the memory,
Of this afternoon.
Puppet String SymphonyHere come the snares,
wrenching at my heart;
like my tongue can’t find the words to say.
I've been resurrecting your skeletons,
just to place broken flesh over it and watch it all decay…
…scratching at freshly picked scars and rose petals,
while digging up old habits and hatchets;
just so I can whistle a tune so tragic.
Here comes the wind,
stomping at my lungs;
like my emotions are gasping to be released.
I've been coughing up your cover-ups,
just to place my index finger over it and watch it all cease…
…living in this darkness, sulfur-tipped match tossed in the breeze,
while thinking it’s just not worth the candle;
just so I can hum a song you can’t handle.
Here come the keys,
playing at my mind;
like all eighty-eight demons and angels serving one star.
I've been worshipping my self-inflicted headache,
two times twelve and that’s how many bars…
…I've got to show you the color I feel.
When the puppet string symphony beg
I PromiseIt is a painful thought
To know he kissed you,
To know he stole your innocence.
He felt the warmth and comfort of your love,
But manipulated it to lust
And turned that perfect smile I now see,
Into a lifeless vessel
That gave into his
Carefully painted words
He had you
Before I ever knew you,
I'm sorry I wasn't there,
I'm sorry I could not save you.
But look up at me now, love,
Look up at me with those astonishing, crystal eyes
And know that I will love you
Until this heart of mine has given out.
I am your present
And your future;
I will love you for more than your body,
I will love your wild personality,
I will love your motherly instincts,
I will love your acceptance,
I will love your understanding,
I will love your "frustrations",
I will love your timidness,
I will love your stubbornness,
I will love your laughter,
I will love your tears,
I will love your scars,
I will love your flaws,
But most of all;
I will love you.
About ArtA sweet poem,
All but a
For the true art called
HowlHe’s a dancer in the dark
With unearthly rhythm
She’s the moon he left to sleep
In a sky without her stars
Like a poem led by lust
In a world of not to happen
Like a symphony of phoenix flights
On a December night
Singing for the ones they laid to rest
On their holy ground
Without an Earth
He’s the wolf
Howling with regrets
In a world of his own madness
She’s the moon
Without a sky to hold her high
In the night
Like the odds are not in favor
Like the sun that conquers
And the moon on someone else's sky
Like the legends we used to fear
Children by the fire’s flames
We used to be believers
In a world without its hope
Dream, boy, dream of wonder
In a world without sparkle
Like stormy days
In a September goodbye story
Of sleepless nights and awaken dreamers
Stars that pierce the sky
Are just children of regrets
Of a love that never happened
But always echoed in the night
Unrequited LoveJust think of me.
Text me good morning and good night.
Text me at lunch just to let me know you're alright.
Wish me a good nap around five or six.
And if you're every bored just give me a call.
I'll make you a fangirl no matter what.
Even if you never admit it I'll let you off.
Meet up with me every now and then.
Never end a conversation with just goodnight or goodbye.
Ask questions and explore life with me.
Support me but don't try to fix me.
Even though I'll try to fix you.
But first I need this dream to come true...
The GlowThe Glow
Dictated by Puabi
What brings a glow of fire
To a single woman's eyes?
What curves her red lips
Into a joyful smile?
The promise, the delivery,
The receipt of love.
When she was waiting
Such a long while,
And it comes to her heart
In her surprise.
Imagine, when it comes
To a woman like me,
The brightness of the glow
In her eyes.
Blue RoseBlue Rose of Illium,
entwine me with your thorns,
for the scars you leave on my skin
give more honor than battle-wounds.
Let my hands carry you
from the shadows of steel towers
into the hot sunshine,
so your petals may grow deep in color,
your leaves and stems more supple,
your roots firmly gripping the earth
where love plants you.
Blue Rose of Illium,
may I die with your name on my lips,
and fall close to where you stand
so my blood may enrich your soil,
and my bones wall you
against any who would uproot you
without knowing your true worth.
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More