[x]

In Riposte, Jswallow god's sense of humor, and tell me how it feels
to send gravity crawling on all fours- stir the remnants
of this violet collapse; ardent attachment:
muscular dystrophy.

play the accretion of your dilatory heartstrings for our silent mute
who raise a glass in toast to coalesce our beloved earth,
who study hagiography as a means of beautiful suicide
on lingering, listless oceans emptying unto itself.

and maybe your ascension was predetermined, perhaps
drawn in apologetic ink on the eyelids of our graceful blind,
who invented the word ugly to describe the fallacy of lost smiles
painted in shadow on your claustrophobic sighs.

Just My TypeYour body reminds me of Garamond,
    With curves in all the right places.
Like Papyrus or Comic Sans,
    Your smile is the most contagious of cases.

Like that of Didot and Bodoni
    You have a French pedigree with an Italian flair,
As though crafting the fabled Doves
    You always act with care.

In bed you are curious as Gill Sans,
    If I may be so Britishly bold,
Though you remind me more of Cooper Black;
    Always friendly, never cold.

You are my Past, Present and Futura,
    I will forever me true,
And just like Helvetica
    You're perfect; I love you.

Here, Comes My AngelI saw my angel today
And oh, how he could fly!
Wings half-folded in a furious dive,
Arms outstretched across the sky

And his hair,
Windblown and fair.

Beneath him lay a valley of clouds
Encrusted pink with rock,
But he is not afraid of the drop
And his dive does not stop.

Here, comes my angel,
Following the storm.

Of solace sleeping in today was the essence,
waking up the process of becoming singular

.

I want to end it
but I can't stop associating you with these images—
: a season being flung onto the ocean, making a mess of color

.

there's an insect caught in my poetry,
trying to mend its broken wing

.

Your reminder:
the exhaustion's relative & it never comes too late

.

: blinks of cartoon sunrises & twenty-pointed, starry eyelashes

.

m

A gift for you allNow the snow has fallen
For some, but not for all
And though you may be far from home
There's a whisper in the hall

That whisper speaks of many things
But you must listen close to hear
It doesn't matter who you are
Or where you find yourself this year

A special time is upon us now
Whether you're young or old
You're sure to feel the joy and cheer
That comes through all this cold

You may be without family
You may be without snow
But no matter your culture
In a smile the magic will show

So please try to remember
That Christmas is more than just gifts
It's more than just stockings,
Trees, carols and snowdrifts

Christmas doesn'

Fourth of JulyOne late day in
humid July
I watched the diamond stars
and the large, crystal moon
everything cloaked with ebony
smoke.
And the fireworks erupted in the air
in a shattering blast of color and noise
citrus colors and crying toddlers.
Flags were waved in the air
as everyone celebrated the
Fourth of July.
I blocked out the noise with
soundproof covers
as nostalgia
danced through my brain with weaving
motions.

At the age of five,
I'd been a brat.
Screaming and kicking at every pop
of a firework through the air.
Persuasion and some well thought tears
made mommy buy me cotton candy
under a few certain stipulatio

As the Seasons Come and GoThe leaves are falling
The trees are starting to dream
They're going to sleep
Tucked away beneath their bark
Going to rest
Shedding their leaves
And preparing to dream
Throughout the long winter
When the soft and gentle crystal flakes
Touch the trees and fall asleep
Singing songs of winter joy
And quiet winds of icy blues
They end when their time has come
And the warm rays of sunlight shine
Heralding the spring
And the white turns to green
Birds returning to old summer homes
Chirping their song as they busily rebuild
And the squirrels awake and race out of the tree
Searching for nuts
They buried through fall
And when the

whisper me nectarPlease teach me your skill
with words.
Seduce me
with the stanzas
on the tip of your tongue.
Love me
with your literary craft, and
let me squeeze you
like a sweet, sweet fruit
and extract a little
poetic pulp.
Just for one night.

the hot truth of an applea new fruit remembers
back to being a bud
finds evolution
to adult is far beyond
leaving the orchard
ripe is an appearance
how many
still green on one side
when near core
browning has begun
too young
taste the forbidden
eveadamserpentadameve
cyclically doomed repetition
regardless of a good book's
prevention intention
bobbing merrily
in the life-giver
demons dressed as spirits
pluck daily
mouths hot
to impress
heat
and slowly crust
spiced, sliced
and shared in
familial feast
does it seep
the best
of living
is only when it's done

the rainfall kidshe always loved the sting of grapefruit
and the way the winter air kissed her skin,
leaving it pink and raw and sensitive to the touch
like the heart she tried so hard to hide.

but she never grew up, not really.
she always belonged to the rain
and never stayed in one place for too long.
she was afraid her stupid heart might dig in,
leave its roots in the people and then
it would rip and tear when she up and left.

and she never accepted the fact that
she did indeed have a heart.
she tried so hard to be hollow and
let the winter rain chill her skin and
soak into her bones so that she, too,
might be just as cold.

so she stopped believing in

Nicolette IIshe'd done it before;
woke up in the morning with
a body in her bed;

handsome, pale,
unshaven.

what was his name?

george?

james? christian?

it was easy, really.
unravelling low-hung stars
to manacles,

playing a child's game;

willing obscenity
and a capricious heart.

she loved him. and him.
and him.

InamoratoHis lips were untried
in translating her breath, touch and
those stumbled syllables
fell onto the earth;

taking root they sprouted
tall,
high
and toward the stars -

branches
of unspoken love
stretching across the misty skyline,

and

between those skeletal arms
the moon breathed in ancient tongue

holding memories of
early lovers and primitive lullabies;

old hearts now fossilized in
stone and dust.

kansasI felt kansas flying by in reflections of green sighs.
At 75 mph under the raw tires, hovels and trailer houses
look smaller than life. They pointed me to manhattan and salina
but the dashed lines of hurried mapmakers and the jerked thumbs at rest stops
didn't honestly expect me to visit.
No one exits at mile 117: there are only chryslers running on pure speed straight through
to honeymoon mexico.

The interstate makes america untouchable and
the two-lane highway people too friendly,
manic roving eyes and tongues cannot conceal that
it's been too long since fresh wind blew over these old chicken-grease
lacquered walls, what a treat

Killing Fields-For Humanity

It's after the fact.
White tail deer-
Winter fields that
stretch an inch more
than tomorrow's pain.

And there's no way to know
just how far that really is.

(Thank you for that)

I've tried to walk across
the hard emptiness.
In the middle, there is a
column. It holds up the sky.
This is where the line is drawn.
I always stop there.  Maybe it's
only a tree but I find  myself
further troubled with every sunset.

Today I found a book filled with pictures and interviews of Cambodian land mine victims.
Men. Women. Children.  People.  Children.
The m

primordial existencei remember the day we vesseled our miscarriage
into the banner of rest.

we struck your fossilized eyes
at the core of our nuclear winter, buried in the brotherhood
of a thousand industrialized, crawling suns-

but these tomorrows only trialed
the inconsistency of young communication, of
replacing weeping angels by grave with

plastic roses. of clocking the reversed stature
and foregone insistence of raising left hands
to dead gods. and when we meter

cursor lights with its waking blinks
compounded by millenniums and eons and times
before the fallout, before the indolent hereafter,

our war of thin metal and curious mistrust
will sure

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Submitted: July 30, 2012
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Very Good Teaby ~Cionie

Digital Art / Typography / Other

This poem is my own response to Arnold Lobel's children's story (and one of my favorites as a kid) Tear-Water Tea. I hope you all enjoy my grown-up recipe for tear-water tea. It is really very good

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Mood: Wow!

~DSteffi Aug 4, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow. Probably one of the most powerful poems I've read on DA. The meaning of this is very deep. Awesome poem.

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~Cionie Aug 6, 2012 Professional Interface Designer

Thank you very much

I'm glad you liked it!

Reply

*0hgravity Jul 31, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

an interesting poem that I quite enjoyed.
The way it is presented really adds to it too

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~TheMoorMaiden Jul 31, 2012 Student Writer

I really like the way this is almost set out like a shopping list or a brief recipe.

It certainly fits its subject matter. I love the phrase 'tear-water tea', it has such a wonderful little rhythm all to itself and, for some reason, it really reminded me of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

Reply

~Cionie Aug 1, 2012 Professional Interface Designer

Thank you

The phrase was taken from the original story (the link is in the artist's comments) and I wanted to make that direct connection.

Reply

~TheMoorMaiden Aug 1, 2012 Student Writer

You're welcome.

Reply

*InkyRose Jul 31, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

I love the structure of this, it has a very practical tone for a very sad subject, it's a clever idea.

Reply

~Cionie Jul 31, 2012 Professional Interface Designer

Thank you

I usually write rhyming poems, but that style just didn't seem to fit with this, so I went for a rhythm of syllables instead. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Reply

~QuixoticApricot Jul 31, 2012 Writer

"Whatever your ailment or disease
For Christ's sake, have a cuppa tea!"-Great Big Sea

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~Cionie Jul 31, 2012 Professional Interface Designer

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