NeeYee

Ghosts

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 11:14:05 -0500

and
this silence
should have a name.
but,
the consistency of its taste
and
the constancy of its smell
makes it harder
for the mind to tame.

the gibbous moon
stood in full view
on the funeral night
as a reminder of
things we lost and never thought-
is the moon full or half?

and this silence
should have a name.
the silence on funeral nights-
the percussion of the rain
against the rusty roof;

the consonance of it all.

in the presence of death,

a stitch in time
will save none.

Her love letters- like black roses blooming in winter- Silence waiting to be turned to ashes.

Tue, 05 Feb 2013 01:45:00 -0600

Her love letters-

like black roses

blooming in winter-

Silence

waiting to be

turned to ashes.

Gone.

Thu, 03 Jan 2013 20:39:51 -0600

that night,
like it was in dreams-
warm August air;
bodies, hot and drenched.
souls entwined.
lying in electric fields-
the faint murmur
of tulips that seemed to
hold their breath,
crushed by the innocence
of playful toes.

i once learnt that nothing
lasts forever,

but that night i thought
otherwise-
seeing God’s woolen eyes
in dying lit candles
disguised as stars.
it was so beautiful
i wanted to touch it.

i once learnt that everything
beautiful was in a way broken.

my adolescent limbs pacing
through the darkness
to strike the chord,
rearrange the broken cadence
light years ahead of us-
only,
by the time i reached
the summit of the horizon,

it was, gone.

the wax melting off the
moon’s back-
the sullen downpour of rain,
every summer after.

Coldest Winter

Wed, 26 Dec 2012 15:39:39 -0600

with each passing sunset
where skies are colored
blood-orange,
with the white flurry of snow-
metallic, crisp and bright
peeling the rind that once
held all together-

and the tangerine colored headlights
slicing through the quiet
of the fog-
the long sigh of January’s rain;
ice crystals kissing
my sole,my soul-
a freezing silhouette,

i can only hope that spring’s
warm hands,
find me in peace
and not as ashes crawling from
the fire-
the thud of a naked moon
falling to pieces.

To speak to the dead And discover that Yesterday is in the Empty bottle of gin (Long drunk) And the...

Wed, 19 Dec 2012 18:36:18 -0600

To speak to the dead
And discover that
Yesterday is in the
Empty bottle of gin
(Long drunk)
And the future we
Continually pant in dreams for
Has been there all along-

The tale of another,
Struggling to see with eyes,
Under the lithe moonlight
Resembling the edge of
Drunken transparent glasses.

somehow, the most unforgettable poets are those who have perhaps never put pen to paper, but...

Wed, 19 Dec 2012 13:48:31 -0600

somehow,
the most unforgettable
poets are those
who have perhaps
never put pen to paper,

but whose
voice we’ve learnt to savor.

Devil in a new Dress

Thu, 29 Nov 2012 11:59:12 -0600

the clock’s paused,
like it never often does,
between this black and
white anemic walls,
where fairy tales pressed
between books says
love often leads us.

he undresses her-
a young maiden in
her snowy gown,
kissing her clavicles-
perfect like the second
hand of winter’s quartz
clock-

degree-less in temperature-
the dusk of her nightmares.
the sigh in her hips as he
traces the outline-
the hollow reflection of him,
prince cHarming, yesterday.

the weak sun staggers
through window blinds-
her sweaty tongue cursing
the roof-
the taste of dreams that
we never see.

here she goes again,
in a slow waltz with the dark,
supple kisses to the nape-
catching her breath,
retracing his steps
….

More Beautiful than Silence

Sun, 25 Nov 2012 15:20:50 -0600

equivalent echo’s of our
talking breaths-
laden with sour consonants,
nouns with cigarette holes
in them trapped in our mouths
that make our palates sore and
mistifies window panes,
are just a reminder that

on crisp winter mornings,
like this one,
all we have to do is listen.
listen and perhaps,
smile with chapped lips
whenever we bite our tongues
from our thoughts tripping
on pale red floors

cos’ what is more beautiful
than silence, is sharing that
moment with someone-
breathing in, the now.

I opened afortune cookietoday and itsaid“Stop leavingeverything tochance”

Wed, 21 Nov 2012 00:06:00 -0600

I opened a
fortune cookie
today and it
said
“Stop leaving
everything to
chance”

Act III(You)

Tue, 13 Nov 2012 09:32:24 -0600

sea green eyes,
glossy hair
honeyed skin?-
i try to picture the girl
he always writes about-

is she a poet-
or has he wrapped perfect
sentences around just
a closed back rounded vowel?
a lie forever hidden in his tongue?

is she a painter-
impressionist paintings
of her in a single line
or could it be concise
expressions of imaginations?

the moon goes to sleep,
on the bed of sea
his view is stitched
into dark and gray tones-
last view of emerald lights

the soft sound of his crying
lonely heartbeat against
scarlet bedroom walls-
moments when he stretches
his arms into bloodless shadows

a reminder that perhaps
until he smells the scent
of ink at sunrise,
sees her through onion skin
he could be alone

after all.

Act II

Sun, 11 Nov 2012 23:46:25 -0600

how silent, is silence?

is it measured in
the innocent
wilting of roses
in the graveyard-
fuchsia stars turning
into brown stains

or is it in the buzz
of metallic ribcages
shutting off as the eyes
close for the last time-
air scratching midnight’s arm,
breaths becoming
an untamed echo

or is it rather the moment
of contemplation-
when a man holds
a pen in one hand,
a gun in the other
not knowing which
would take his life first?

is silence, how silent?

Memento Mori

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 21:14:00 -0600

another metaphor to wrap
bleeding hearts around fine veins-

the cold bullet wounds on
white bathroom floors-
roses are red…, he whispered
to her with eyes closed

all the sand in
his hourglass
spills over as moonlight
recedes and soon
aging night skies stitched with
wrinkles are suddenly
weighted on her coffee cups.

dawn awakens
and they pretend,
he was Vonnegut-

bury him with a pen-
is death beautiful after all?
write it in prose-
the final chime of winter bells

(refrain)

…and so it goes

Heavy

Thu, 06 Sep 2012 17:05:42 -0500

sometimes,
it’s the loose hanging
thread of goodbye tears
on my eyelashes
i crave,

the undigested words
you never said still
heavy in my gut
i thirst for,

the warm beige sheets
tethering my spine
to your existence,
i pine for,

the weight of your
heartbeat against
my chest-
aching my breath,
that i live for.

because,
this pain reminds me-
some one once lived
beneath these ribcages,
and though it hurts,
and through the heaviness
of my soul-
we are still alive,

somewhere.

Relapse

Sat, 01 Sep 2012 10:53:00 -0500

i woke up at dusk,
as the tangerine sun fell
asleep beneath the cracked
skin of my pen
with the weight of paper planes
stranded on my eyelids

and i felt the pain,
of hard vowels dying
in the faint drumbeat
of broken bones and torn flesh-
the taste of my breath,

that sounded like the cry,
of the dusty moon
in pewter colored skies
on most winter nights
for a touch of the ocean’s lips

and i slept-
wondering if my words,
tucked into ice sheets of
midnight tears will ever see
the light of day.

Wounded Wings.

Thu, 23 Aug 2012 03:14:42 -0500

I have heard the
heart beat of a butterfly-
Like the faint cry,
of a caterpillar.

Leap of Faith

Wed, 22 Aug 2012 04:28:37 -0500

Some nights in my life
When the lights go out-

And i’m passing on the bridge
between hello’s and goodbyes.
Underneath starry-less skies
Where the cold hands of death
bulging with black veins,
wraps my snowy breath inside of his fist.

Wishing i could fall from the clouds,
Plunging my face into the blue of sea
With my existence, hinged on a kiss.
Taking two deep breaths-
Moving, moving into opaque corners
My shadow peeling with the dark.

When suddenly, i sight
Orange fire on the horizon-
Moving towards it, Moving,
Knowing i could be walking into hell
or perhaps walking into the sunrise-
My existence resigned to the lips of fate.

Fix

Thu, 16 Aug 2012 13:46:00 -0500

Autumn licks
The smile from our old bones
Soon decaying in
The bruised silence
Of yellowed kissing leaves
Falling to the ground,
On stained fingertips
And with broken wings
Under ashen clouds.

Fractured moon is in sight,
Resting on the path laid by stars,
Noiseless darkness filling,
The hollow of our eyes.
Winter drapes our wounded hearts
In it’s ivory dress-
Soon cold, Shrinking in size.
Breaths falling further apart

But with
Tangerine tears falling into purple sea
Have we created a love masterpiece-
See, hope resonates in dark rooms
Shrouded with the fear of tomorrow
Tied with worn out strings.
Our dying pulse strikes the violin chords-
And sometimes,
Even burnt out stars glow.
Our souls embalmed in the green
That spring has sprung

White Shadows

Fri, 10 Aug 2012 15:14:17 -0500

Something happened when I wasn’t looking —
My reflection turned on me.

Oh, the horror.
Mirror, mirror —
You show me not
Who am I?

I see a shell —
A ghoul.

What is this?

I sleep with my eyes open-
Silent stares digested in the metal black
night of day dreams-
Shattering the wall of my guts,
with thoughts of who, i once was.

Stars disguised-
in the eyes of the ghoul
in four-cornered silver skies-
lit by the dusty-cracked moon-
reflected in the white of my eyes.

Oh, the horror.
The sound of quiet, broken yesterdays-
through which the mirror speaks.
Mimicking the death of me!

What is this?

What is this?
__________________________________________
Collab Between RoggysCanvas and FrostyInk

Ashes to Ashley

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 15:44:00 -0500

Absorbed in the scent of white dawn light-
Winter crawls into thin space of night;
falling asleep in her heart- no longer bleeding.
My bones etched with memories-shivering my spine
Whilst i’m caught in reminiscent kisses,
scotch on the rocks with a twist of lime
biting my bottom lips-
hallucinating, like i’m on acid trips.
My wounded words filled with an ink pen-
Her cold flesh burnt in the heat of noonday:
strewn with crumpled notes, my cries routed in
sore vocal cords whilst i pray.
The dying red rosy embers of the fireplace-
plucked from the garden of eden,
cremated between my hollow eye sockets
lighted up by two shadows obliterates my faith.
Her smile molten in the furnace
in which our eternity looks bleak.
Exhaling cigarette smokes in circles by the fireplace
hoping the misty air whirls her into the chimney, with me.
Watching her once graced sunset fall into the ashtray

Tonight,
I saw the footsteps of the rain
wandering down the doorway-
Her pink-eyed reflection-
locked in my pulled trigger’s breath.

(Glance in the mirror on my bathroom door
I saw her dance in the summer rain downpour)

Dust

Sat, 04 Aug 2012 14:14:00 -0500

Catch a glimpse of the cobalt sea
before it goes to sleep-
Marvel at the bleeding spectrum
refracted on it’s smiling face-
It’s jaw drooping as rainbows fall
over and over, and he bends
to fix our dreams back in place.
Young but weary hands
channelling tunnels for our ashen
words- afloat to find a way to
the future we always prayed,
and promises made.

The meadow was dewed all winter-
draped in the sweat from it’s white bones.
Whilst we sat on black thin ice
picturing turquoise skies across latitudes.
Until the weight of our tears broke it-
kisses wrapped in candies found it’s way
to our lips and our ignorance smiled
as dust settled on it’s heart.
The last breath that fell from it’s eyes
brightening the night.