[x]

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

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.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

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Hearts aren't LifeHere I am, living life
Accomplishing its feats,
Yet if in fact it's my heart you've stolen
Then why does it still beat?

Living a Dream P29The MITES locator powered up and started processing the energy imprint. Entis looked at them, "This is going to take a while."

"How long?" the Doctor asked.

"Three days, at least."

Amy looked at the Doctor, "Can we grab lunch? I'm starving."

He nodded, "We'll go grab some chips. Fenn, I think we'll take a quick jump forward in the TARDIS, if you don't mind."

Fenn looked at him, "You're not going to stay?"

The Doctor shrugged, "What for? I've got other things to do. Saving the universe, rescuing civilizations-"

"-grabbing lunch, okay, I get it."

The Doctor and Amy started walking back to the TARDIS, when Fenn remembered something, "Doc

Living a Dream P28"So you're the Doctor?" Entis asked.

He nodded, "I am the Doctor."

"Oh, good for you, Doctor."

The Doctor glared at him, "What?"

Entis looked away, "Oh, nothing."

They were walking with Entis through his maze of a workshop, marvelling at the amazing amount of... stuff that he had hoarded, while the Doctor was spending his time by being indignant at Fenn's high-jacking of the TARDIS.

"What is all this stuff?" Amy asked.

"Scraps of technology from crashed ships, seized contraband, illegal weaponry from the black markets on Kelba-8... though don't tell the Proclamation about the last one," he added, glancing sideways at the Doctor.

"You

Living a Dream P27The Doctor woke up and checked his clock. In TARDIS relative time, it was 3 am. He groaned, wondering why in the name of Clom he had woken up at this ungodly hour.
Then he heard the TARDIS rotors going.

He jumped up, pulled a dressing gown over his pyjamas and scooted down various corridors and fell into the console room.

Fenn laughed as she fiddled with the console and Amy helped the Doctor up from the floor.

"In a hurry, Doctor?"

He stood up, "What are you doing?"

"Well, I was bored and I couldn't sleep because of my leg. So I figured that I would go do something while you were catching your beauty sleep."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Vi

Old SoldierIt's an old phrase, you know.
You might have heard of it.
Who guards the guards?
It's a good question.
Not new, but good.
Even the Romans had it.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodez?
The Romans left a legacy.
Everyone knows that.
The ancient soldiers.
I'm a soldier.
I protect the people
Usually from themselves.
But what if I need protecting?
Who is here to guard me?
Where is my legacy?
Did I fight for nothing?
All of the things I've seen
The scars I've carried
An old soldier fighting on.
Help me, please.

Protect me from myself.

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The Doctor

by ~Aredell, Aug 27, 2010, 8:36:28 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Now to test the heart of a man so true... a man of suffering he is, yet enduring through great pain for the sake of others.
A man of mystery, to whom no mystery is unsolved, no secret withheld.
The meaning of life is no riddle to him, and in his pursuit of his answer to the eternal questions he has lost everything he holds dear, yet gained the honour and respect of the universe.
No man is greater than he, yet every man is quicker to admit it than he.
So humble... the day he would surrender to his demons is a terrible day for all.
He has lost everything, but he has also gained everything.
No other soul knows the raw and undeniable truth in the universe as well as him, as he shall deliberate.
This place is so small to him, yet of utmost importance.
He does not disregard the small things in life, nor the large, but sees them both for what they are: beautiful in both their simplicity and complexity.
To him life holds its place as the highest possession, an object and idea of utmost importance; a value that must be preserved.
Now is the time to test his soul, that impossible man... now is the time to touch his hearts.
Now is the time to pierce the Doctor.

The Doctorby ~Aredell

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

A poem about the Doctor (from Doctor Who). It's almost a tribute piece for David Tennant when he left. He played the Tenth Doctor brilliantly! Anyhow, I was so sad that he was leaving that I wrote this piece.

~lilarcher Dec 30, 2010 Hobbyist General Artist

Very powerful. Describes him perfectly.

~Aredell Dec 30, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

Thankyou!

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