(Source: lilac-storm)

Attic Dwellers

Set this scene and knotted 
heard a sound
like a mouse scratching
nibble, dribble, feet
so fast across the attic
and up spread unrested feathers
of pigeons nesting
in pineapple-upside-down
bowler hats, all brocaded
and dusty, wide and
filled to the crusted brim
with straw broom bristles
and yellowed paper flowers. 

5 Lines - Mix-and-Match Poetry

Write down the first five lines of poetry that come to mind.  If you can’t remember authors, titles, whatever - it’s just an exercise in art, boys and girls…don’t stress. Then smash the five lines together and see what wonderful word music it makes. Finally, tag five (or so) other people and tell them to do the same :) I tag:  

1.  ”Til human voices wake us and we drown” (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot)

2.  ”So sweet and so cold” (This is Just to Say - William Carlos Williams)

3.  ”Cast out, dejected and tearful, in a nut-sheltered wood all alone” (An old Irish poem that I can’t remember the name of)

4.  ” Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu, à votre guise. Mais enivrez-vous." (Enivrez-vous! - Charles Baudelaire also known as “Be Drunk!”)

5.  ”My love is like a red, red rose” (Robert Burns - that might be the title too)

Depraved Heart

Tin soldiers with
white-washed faces
watched and waited while
a blood orange sunrise
spilled on the oil fields
and ran straight across an
Arctic ice sheet
screaming mayhem and
cold, cold murder.

(Source: miss-catastrofes-naturales, via miniature--oasis)

"My heart swings back and forth between the need for routine and the urge to run."

(note to self)

(Source: c0ntemplations, via meandthefran)

French Onion Soup

At midnight, all the bells in the deep
brown seaweed start peeling 
away layers like an onion
soup with too much cheese and
no one smiles in the camera with any truth
on your lips, I read your secrets like Braille
(by feel) and your demons hang back
on the monkey bars, flex the iron grip
or steal the flaxseed from the bread
crumbs always need more flavor.

The Seven Year Itch

Oh smash it down—
smash that reflection
with a shatter and clamor
red ribbons rent and tattered.
A flag flickers in the wind
on a tall, white mast
rising over a sea of glass 
at the front of the carrion fleet—
she ran from bad luck
on fair weather feet. 


Big Fish (Tim Burton, 2003)


Big Fish (Tim Burton, 2003)

(Source: permutatio, via vagabondlanguage)

There’s nothing natural about it

Rejects on the corner
making merry has never tasted
so cold, anachronistic 
my mother said leave love out of it
and we did, jumped the transatlantic
wire with wooden shoes and 
inside-out umbrellas, nettles
boiled down make a soup
as good as seaweed, stringy—
but we can’t afford to be picky.