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HazeI spend my days in a haze
of nicotine, caffeine and codeine
so I can function; there's no option
with a kid who needs me upright
compos mentis, sweetness and light.
It keeps away the headaches
burning skin and aches and pains
so he can hug me and I'll feel him
without wincing and pushing him
away because my skin is burning.
And I've been tossing and turning
all night, aware that my plight
is that of hundreds, even thousands;
it helps to know I'm not alone
that others' skin, muscle and bone
betrays them, they're also in a haze
that keeps us sane, contains
the bane of our existences
sustains us, maintains
our ability to function for our loved ones
hoping we can outrun our bodies
and fretful minds, the lines
get blurred sometimes
and that haze keeps our gaze
from glazing over when we're loving
from a chair or bed that's crushing
our self-worth, confidence in our
ability to truly see the world
through our children's eyes
and we're surprised when those kids
accept us like it's normal
1.37amI wrap myself around you
hand resting on the sweet curve of your belly
absent-mindedly stroking soft hairs
as you breathe the heavy breath of sleep.
This is our time,
though you don't know it
time when I breathe in the back of your neck
all sweat and fabric softener and soap.
This is when I protect you.
When you murmur fear I comfort you
When you shift I accommodate.
The rhythm of your breathing comforts me
so I deliberate, breathing in time with you
my chest rising and falling against your back.
My knees fit perfectly into the smalls of yours
to say we are a two-piece puzzle would be a cliché
but a true one.
SongI sing his name softly as I sleep,
hearing echoes of him while I dream,
my thoughts in slumber like a tumbling stream,
his syllables bring calmness to the deep.
I sing his name quietly in my days,
a constant sountrack to my own existence;
knowing however far or near the distance
he's lighting my life with the brightest rays.
I sing him, dreaming, waking, in-between.
I sing him while I daydream, my sweet dove
who fills my life so fully with his love
that keeps my heart alive, and pure, and clean.
If life's a journey through the mists of time,
may his ever fall step-by-step with mine.
abysssalt-mouthed, eyes pouring
but he's sure he's not crying
he's sure there was nothing
but the sound of his singing.
he makes his heart sing
he brings things to fruition
in his soul-deep cavernous
the closeness is hazardous
to the health of their minds
but they persist, coexist
with each other, they've kissed
a hundred thousand times
and it's never enough for him,
or for him. he writes poems
like hymns for him. his back teeth
ache from need, from the greed
he feels when he sees his skin.
his fingertips shout obscene
sweet nothings to his ready cheek.
he falls further into an abyss
filled with kisses and bliss.
Billy BluebottleBilly Bluebottle was my friend. I didn't even know what a bluebottle was but it was Billy Bluebottle's name and only his name conjured up from some recess in my mind. He was never just Billy, always Billy Bluebottle, exclaimed in one breath to parents who worried.
Billy Bluebottle was a grown-up who played with me ceaselessly, always had time for me, never went away to sea or had to rush to make the tea. Billy Bluebottle talked to me. Billy Bluebottle comforted me and accompanied me.
Since, I have been asked if he told me frightening things. Billy Bluebottle was not frightening; he told me things, though. He told me now would be a good time to wash the felt-tipped pen from my fingers, or that maybe I ought to read for my homework.
I never saw Billy Bluebottle, not really, I was aware that he was there, that he cared. He was there for me when my mind wouldn't stop rushing, he would reach into my brain and s-l-o-w it all down to muted noise that was easier to bear.
Billy Bluebottle made
when you touch methere -
there, where you placed your hand
on my hip, crossed with silvering lines
bone jutting from soft padding
there, I feel your touch when I sleep
when I wake, and think of your breath
on my shoulder, I feel you there.
here, where you place your fingers
on my mouth, part-open, dried and cracked
tongue moistening at your scent
here, I taste your fingertips
knowing they have touched me here, and here
and here - knowing they will again.
where you touch me tingles and burns
like you are made of power, made of fire
like you fill me with boundless energy
where you touch me will always blaze
where you go I will always follow.
where you are, I will always be.
OceanWaters which whip violently above
are currents strong, yet gentle.
Sinking, like falling in love
slowly, almost irrevocably
then - pushing this now-compliant body up
with strength previously unknown
to dry world once again, noisy, abuzz.
Underneath is peace
leaving behind a world of chaos
for silence and muscular ease.
Joints that creak are oiled
by the flowing waters' grease
the mind that creaks is soothed
by the noiselessness of the seas.
CrashThe sea crashes on the shore, violent
and wild, I am a child of the water
fluid and transient
it froths like spittle on an angry mouth
it shouts its waves and currents
washing over me, washing through me.
The sea ebbs and flows, it knows
nothing can stay the same
it frightens me in its power
as it screams, I scream, drowned out
by its majesty
screaming with me, screaming through me.
The sea rises and falls, fast, slow,
rhythmically yet unpredictably.
Green-blue like my own eyes
vast, almost infinite
it moves through moods like my own soul,
moving with me, moving through me.
Young LoveI was so young
when I first heard
the beats of my heart
pulse lightly upon my ribcage
My toothpick bones,
to the powerful palpitations
And I was still young
when I heard again
the throbs of my heart
pound forcefully upon my ribcage
My metal bar bones,
to the butterfly-wing beats
So you better hurry, boy
as my ribs are becoming
thick as steel
and you’ll soon need a metal cutter
to reach my heart
(And I don’t want to become damaged in the process of being loved).
how to love a girl who can't love herself.get lost under the sun, then
fight the break of dawn.
i am nothing in the dark,
so show me
walk with me,
to the secret place
where i met you
(those turquoise city dreams)
when the sun goes down,
when the moon shines,
(girl of the ocean, let's go
somewhere only we know.)
please, i beg you.
winter me gently, because the earth laughs in flowers, and
red red roses, they're so beautifully
from the back of my throat, i promisethe world is made of talking trees and cloudy water,
and the way you look at me
i'm no artist but i think i've painted your voice at the base of my neck
it's not something you can come back from
and tomorrow won't be a victory any more than it will be a loss
they don't make maps for a place like thisI'm stuck somewhere
between great rollings hills
and a sweet-calm sea,
but the air doesn't smell
of salt or dandelions.
Only this heavy
cloying breeze that sticks
in my throat and fills
my lungs with the sharp tang
of musk and pine
reminds me that I'm
not far from home. And
in the distance there
is a rolling clamor;
a whistle crying long and low.
But there are no signs,
Though I've wandered days
through this strange
traipsing across smooth plains
and sharp plateaus, I've
never crossed the
same path twice...
One thought rings true in
this foreign land:
dear, don't be alarmed
I only lose my bearings so thoroughly,
only become so
What Shall He Be?Oh what shall he be - the one to steal my heart?
Many a man is there in this vast world,
But what sort should I desire?
My sisters have oft said to see him in my thoughts.
To know him there and appease my dreams.
I am slow to act, for what reality could compare to a woman's dream?
But, alas, I do believe
That even I find myself dreaming of him now and again.
And so you ask, what sort of man is he?
Well listen close, for here I shall tell of what sort he would be:
He should be tall and graceful, elegant and fair;
With sweet golden locks of his curly hair.
And have blue eyes that sparkle in the light
Of the sun, bright, as does his smile shine.
His tender words and gentle touch
Would so sooth my heart and troubled mind.
His strong arms would hold me fast in the darkest nights
And chase away my fears 'til dawn.
His sweet lips would kiss me tenderly, lovingly just so.
He would have a heart of pure gold, and be loyal and good.
And looking into his eyes, he would see my soul
And I, giving my
to hell with goodwill (que sera sera)his tale-weaving tongue
tastes of crisp linen
drenched in bergamot
locked in by lips
of brown sugar that bubble
a blueberry melody
on his siren songs
drunken on an unearthly state
i drown my earl grey eyes
refusing to abandon the atrocity
that is his bedspread
his vesuvius temper
keep me on the verge of tears
on the ledge of limitations
i know all too well
i can never repel his touch
his gaze glazes over my beehive body
and i break open
raw and wild
sucking on the saccharine serendipity
of seeing this scene
in some long lost dream
his lambent limbs
though scathingly swollen
spread far and wide
such is my
i am peeled
past my quivering
he polishes and pencils
past my profanities
his life oeuvre is
to have me obliterated
come what may
the desolation of this delusion
will one day leave me
to inferno with goodw
My memories of my dearest youYou chased me all the way through the harbour port and caught me by my auburn pigtails. You told me they burned like the sun kissing the horizon goodbye as we sat on the deck catching our breath. My eyes tracked down the silhouette of your chest where your sheer garment rippled to translucency. I liked how your spine slouched into comfort and how the your silhouette shone in ethereal hue. And when my chapped lips rubbed into yours, somehow it bloomed to our own perfect splatters of colours.
I hope you still remember how our fingers entwined beneath the old palm trees. How the wind caressed my hair and you ruffled it as we kissed.
And how our cackling laughter blended to perfect cacophony at the old porch swing. I'll always notice your smile that lights my world like the crescent moon shines the earth.
I still remember our playful memories when we mischiefs ran around the thrift shop and you provoked me with our silly pictures in silly clothes.
Or our charming memories where you promise
I won't forgetI will always remember
you quietly waiting in the corridors
and opening doors for me to pass through
you drifting in and out of office spaces
and as we walked with matching paces
your smile would quietly etch itself into my memories
of what we were when we were not together.
I will always remember the feelings I wanted to forget
as I walked the limits of darkness every night,
my loneliness like a silhouette
that knew no respite
from the resounding cries
of the kookaburras in the trees
weeping for the heart that wanted to be free
to be with the you
who could not be with me.
I will always remember the voice inside my head
uttering a love that could not be said
across the oceans and the miles
that stretched like a chasm before us
but it was never a distance we did not surmount--
each night a transgression of space and time,
a compression of our imaginations and our minds.
I will never forget these slivers of a past
that used to haunt us with the pain of our non-existence
in a reality we'd
Sweet Nothingsthat sweet nothing (everything) something
that you whispered in my apprehensive ear
which made the hairs on my neck stand straight
one by one like tiny soldiers you called into rank.
that sweet something (nothing) everything
trickled past my eardrum, where the soldiers
beat a rhythm with my heartbeat, oozed stickily
into my mouth and the sickly, saccharine taste
was cloying on my tongue, involuntarily
my mouth rebelled, and spat those syrupy words
away, rejecting every last drop.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More