Shades of SummerThe shades of summer,fade in the night,where there’s little light.
SnowflakesSleeping as the snowflakes fall,burning in the night.I can feel a silent breeze,holding my body tight.
Moon Lit SkyYou never know,when a star will show,in the moon lit sky,above us.
I want to GrazeI want to feel,the wind through my hair,and the sun on my feet.I want to burn brown,and graze like a gazelle.I want to get in touch with the moon.Soon.
Pill or Will?How does the good Lord stay so still?Is it a pill?Or is it will?
Reaching for StarsI am infinite in my attempts,to reach for the morning stars,no matter how far they are.
Making a DifferenceTending to her newest need,she seeks a tiny seed,to take care of.Finding peace in making a difference.
Energy InbalanceA drop of energy,causes a quake,sending a shake,through the night.
Cosmic MarriageThe sun closed its eyes,and the stars kissed.The moon married,as the universe tilted.Wind whispered,across the milky way.
lady macbeth remembers her motheri was her kindling, my teethset the spark. all i do rememberis the trembling.they say that once born, once raised to sucklefrom my mother's flaccid breast,i chewed so violently at the bit of lifethat i brought blood.they say that i would not be pulled away at first,squalling like a small animal mangled,pink petal lips demanding gore.my mother's touch was gentle henceforth,her fingers ghosted with flourtwirling themselves in my hair.she held me as a dove. an egg.she supposed love could cure me,serve a balm to the black devil wartson my soul. here, a spot of sunshine.here, the grains of sugar held out to meon her fingertip. she called me angeland found the shrunken bodies of the flowersuprooted. she called me preciousand found the mice, fetal and unblinking,underneath my pillow.her love might have worked,had i not seen, each time she turned,each time her eyes first found me in a room,the trembling.the glassy fear that she then tucked away inside herlike crusty
ma merei think my mother thinks i'm blind,that i see only my own faultsand forget the fractures in her composure,the fissures in her failing heartthat keep her awake at night.i fear she thinks i do not see the strength in her scars.i think my mother thinks i'm deaf,that i cannot hear her silent sadness;it has always echoedin the halls of this family home.maybe she thinks i do not hear the wisdom in her words.i think my mother thinks i'm numb,that i do not feelthe eternal love in every touch;i know with absolute certaintythat no onewill ever love melike my mother does.every hug is a blessing that brings me home.but maybe, my mother has it twisted.i'd do anything for her to see the beauty in being faulted,to know she hears me when i say 'i love you',and be assured she feels my heart when i hug her back.
LiarStriking designStunning, the messageOutrageous to the knowingUniquely colouredSuperb, the techniqueHilarious to the informedWisely composedSkilfully arrangedMaster of his ArtLiar.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll dowhen the first fistfulof dirt hits the bottom.Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.Or maybe I’ll prayfor a zombie apocalypse,so we can dine on eachother’s brains one more time.
TealTealwaters worry the pristinesand, washing blank paperinto a bevy of tidepools.The hush of the surge whispersits song into conch shells;the tinge of brine mingleswith coconut milk and driedseaweed clumping the beach.Hermit crabs dot the strandlike constellations, waitingfor soothsayers to read meaninginto their trails before the waveswash them away like comets.
Dark ValentineDeep in the stillness,I wander but a ghost thru mists of shadow & sanguine ..And the trees bathe in the mystique of Night’s serenadeCovet thee my love immortal,for we are hunters of a dream untamed;poetry bleeding into the abyss ...Candle whispers drink a sky of wine, unto where I sojourn —in the caress of your lips, and ache of darkest Moon— Arthur Crow © 2013
BabiesBabies are born,like butterflies;nurtured by nuance,and destined to dream.