[x]

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

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

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

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?

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

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.

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

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

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.

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Romany dark forestRomany wandering through forest shadow and light. I hear the wolves howl outside up on a hill. Will they dare to enter among the trees where blades can slay and draw images with blood as the ancient violins and spirits play the ancient games full of meaning and empty of significance. Sliding... sliding.... the shadows and the fey lights intertwine with restless neverending glides quickly slowly soothingly shockingly... among the trees.

There. There a face aside the bark and behind the leaves. Oh. I see now. It is me. And it is you, my love. Come. Let us sing in the shadows and light forever.

Sundial without fearIn the garden of the great baroque chateau is a sundial made of travertine and bronze. The great dial spreads as wide as the arms of a large man. While the sun shines, the long shadow of the gnomon swings silently through the graded arc, ruling the lives of men with every crossing of the precisely incised lines.

But when the sun at last sinks to sleep, time stops.
The shadow rules man no more.

When the sun shall come again, no one can tell, but while it is gone, the moment lasts forever and anything is possible.

Lancelot Price

Black suit.Black suit. Secret murder. Something in the past a convoluted path to now and beyond justice and mercy flavoured with licorice and cinnamon and not a lot of sugar. White tie and violins playing a song of six-penny roses older than the church, older than the gravestones, older than the time before the henges but wearing a top hat and carrying a scepter still like Macbeth and his lady doing the old soft shoe on Duncan's grave while William builds ships for a long vacation in southern England. Picnic hampers once used in St. Tropez will come in handy. We'll use tapestries for saddle blankets on great black chargers loaded with food and champagne

we walked in windwe walked in wind, free like waves in the grass of the plains as far as we could see.

hand in hand, skin to skin, skin to sky, saying no words, and none to say words against us.

two in one soul, one wind, one world.

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singularity

by *LancelotPrice, Apr 10, 2012, 6:40:18 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

It was a country with no exit sign.
Nobody wanted one.

I ask you a question>
What sort of place is that?
And another>
Where can I find it?

singularityby *LancelotPrice

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *LancelotPrice

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*TheDarkenedBride Apr 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I'm seriously thinking about establishing my own kingdom within a nutshell or in the eye of a needle (I know it may be a bit windy there but the view should compensate) you'll be welcome whenever you'd like to come

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*LancelotPrice Apr 20, 2012

Thanks.

um, wouldn't that make it a duality?

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*TheDarkenedBride Apr 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

welcome

hmm, yes, from one point of view it surely would
on the other hand there's no uniqueness without contrast

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~EmmaSloane Apr 14, 2012 Writer

Yes, brilliant!

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*LancelotPrice Apr 14, 2012

Thank you, Emma, for the comment And the faves.

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~EmmaSloane Apr 14, 2012 Writer

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=Bark Apr 13, 2012 Writer

Amen.

Reply

*LancelotPrice Apr 13, 2012

I'm still looking for the place, Ron, and it's looking more and more like I'm already in it.

Reply

*alapip Apr 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

not on this planet, in this century...

Reply

*LancelotPrice Apr 10, 2012

Well, I must say that I'm disappointed by the answer. I'm reasonably sure that the century will last longer than I do, and that I can't afford to go extraterrestial.

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