[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.

Shared HappinessI like it better when you're happy.
The world feels like a safe place -
A good place to be.

Stay happy, even in the face
of great adversity
I know these last few years have been...

Well, difficult, to say the least.
But as long as your heart shines
I can hear it...

That devilish smile on your lips
the one no amount of miles
or hardships can erase

Remember, I'm always watching
With the eyes of my heart
I see you clearly

And, as long as you are happy
No matter where this life leads me
Then I am happy too.

bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.

Browse More Like This

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More from ~SuzelH

Faux-semblantGâcher la rime,
Et puis cacher son crime
Sous un prétexte de liberté.

SceptiqueSceptique est un enfant pas tout à fait comme les autres.
Depuis sa naissance, du moins depuis aussi longtemps qu'il se souvienne, Sceptique a des doutes.
Par exemple, c'est pas qu'il croit pas au père Noël, mais il reconnait bien son père sous le déguisement de gros monsieur barbu qu'il voit tous les ans le 25 décembre.
Bien sûr Sceptique se dit que c'est pas pour autant que le père Noël n'existe pas, juste il est pas là dans sa maison, mais il fait semblant d'y croire à fond pour ne pas faire de peine à ses parents, c'est que c'est fragile des parents.
Et puis les histoires du soir... Sceptique les a toujours adorées, la douce voix de sa mère-la fée ou les mimiques trop drôles de son père en racontant les contes, qui le font rire ou qui lui font un peu peur... Pas parce qu'il y croit, non, juste parce que son père prend la grosse voix. Mais Sceptique sait

Comme une idee d'ete...Comme une idée d'été,
Evanescente et légèrement iodée,
Des corps chauds allongés alanguis,
Et le sable doucereux sur la peau.
Comme un rêve de vacances
Et d'esprit libéré des torpeurs,
Sans faux état d'urgence
Ni vaines violences d'humeurs.
J'ai rêvé d'un soleil
Qui dansait sur mon dos,
Allégeant les attentes,
Et Soignant les bobos.
Des couleurs si vives
Que mes yeux couleraient
Quelques larmes salées
Du bonheur d'oublier
Cette sombre scène
Du défilé des tristes
Dont je suis la reine,
Dont je suis la peine,
Avant d'abdiquer,
Avant d'abdiquer.

La menace"Ça ne sera pas sans conséquence, mademoiselle H."
Philippe Bauman avait prononcé cette phrase d'une voix sombre et menaçante, la mâchoire crispée et les poings serrés, tremblants, posés sur son vaste bureau de verre, tout en me lançant un regard sinistre empli des pires promesses.
Face à cette silhouette d'athlète vieillissant au charisme encore puissant, je n'en menais pas vraiment large, mais je me rappelai soudain que dès le début de cette histoire, j'avais décidé d'aller jusqu'au bout, quoi qu'il arrive, sans me laisser impressionner, vu l'importance de l'enjeu et mon implication personnelle.
Et puis j'avais pris mes précautions, et il le savait. A la moindre menace, à la plus petite tentative d'intimidation envers ma modeste personne (simple formule pas vraiment conforme à la réalité, mais on verra ça par l

L'homme et la roseC'est comme une empreinte profonde incrustée dans l'air, un chemin balisé qu'il suit à la trace.
Cette odeur capiteuse l'avait cueilli ce matin, au réveil, à l'improviste, provoquant immédiatement chez lui une nausée violente autant que la surprise la plus totale.
Il s'était levé, hébété, aveuglé par le soleil violent qui inondait déjà la pièce, et s'était rendu d'un pas hésitant jusqu'au lavabo pour s'asperger le visage à grands coups d'eau glacée, histoire de s’éclaircir au plus vite les idées. Et dans l'air, partout, envahissante, cette odeur, ce parfum, puissant, comme surgi d'un rêve ancien ou d'un passé révolu.
Ça n'était pourtant tout simplement pas possible. Est-ce que ses abus de la veille lui avaient vrillé le cerveau au poi

CapitanJ'habite dans une épave au milieu d'un désert,
Un vieux bateau rongé par le sable brûlant,
Entouré par les squales, fantômes réminiscents,
J'aiguise toujours mon sabre, porte chapeau fièrement,
Tel le preux capitaine que je ne suis plus vraiment.
Je guette les embruns, les marées impossibles,
Les pirates assoiffés de mon sang déssèché,
Prêt à me battre encore pour un destin perdu,
Contre la mutinerie d'une vie dissolue,
Dans le vague espoir qu'une voile m'emporte au loin.
Mais je n'ai plus que les os, pauvre marin nu,
Et vis l'enfer sans eau dans une soif terrible
De tempête et d'orage, de pluie, de grain, d'ondée,
Puni par les dieux de mon orgueil au long cours,
Dans un mirage sans houle pour toute l'éternité.

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Submitted: January 9
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Respire

by ~SuzelH, Jan 9, 2013, 3:07:43 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Respire.

Ma peau,

Le parfum de mes émotions,

Peut-être même l'odeur de mon âme.

Aspire cette délicatesse

Et transforme-la en une force subtile,

Qui te fera moins fragile,

Sans doute plus habile.

Inspire.

A fond,

Avant de te jeter dans le vide.

Pas pour tomber,

Mais pour voler.

Expire.

Toute ta pollution,

Tes inhibitions,

Le pire et même le bon.

Recrache le mal,

La pourriture viscérale,

Tout ce qui nuit,

Qui râle.

Et puis recommence.

Encore.

Encore.

Encore.

Voilà.

Tu respires.

Alors vis maintenant.

Respireby ~SuzelH

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

©2013 ~SuzelH

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~Rorisu Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Très beau, ça me parle beaucoup.

Reply

~SuzelH Jan 17, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Merci

Reply

*The-Mirrorball-Man Jan 10, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Haha, pas si facile!

Bravo, c'est très réussi.

Reply

~SuzelH Jan 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Non, pas toujours facile! Merci beaucoup!

Reply

*PascalPrevost Jan 9, 2013

Joli souffle de vie

Reply

~SuzelH Jan 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Reply

~menotmyselfori Jan 9, 2013

Parfait
Complètement parfait
Belle et descriptif et touchant

Reply

~SuzelH Jan 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Reply

~menotmyselfori Jan 12, 2013

Reply

~ranchan86 Jan 9, 2013

Magnifique ! La disposition et les phrases courtes font leurs effets.
J'adore

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