*The Necklace*Venetian glass heartRainbow colour locked withinMemento of love.:iconcocoheartplz:2014 Delice19417th April2014
*Waterfall*Waterfall musicRainbow light, luminous sprayCascade, crescendo.2014 Delice194111th April2014
*West Wind*Aromatic ZephyrusSwept across lavender fieldFragrant lace sachet.2014 Delice19415th April2014
*Life Transcended*Immortal poetEndowed with eternal voiceLife lived on the page.2013 Delice19414th November2013
*Lonely Walk*Desolate shoreEmpty windswept beachGrey ocean surge.2014 Delice19418th February2014
*Wings*Eternally fixedSoft coloured wingsLovely butterflySilver safety chainIt flies no more.2014 Delice194117th July2014
*Aspirations*Delice aspiringTo live on immortal pageWe all have our dreams2013 Delice19415th November2013
*Transformed*Seismic shift, indifference became impassioned love.Delice19415.11.14
*Corsage*Dried flowerDehydrated dreamtimeNostalgiaGardenia corsageGentle fragrance lingers.2014 Delice194117th February2014"All rights reserved"
Pianissimobluejay midflight, sunrise, birdsighs sound like a songsilhouette soaring, wings aflame with firstlightheat of timefriction, star strikes across skygolden wingspan, turned in for shadeperchhigh noon between the leaves, cool birchreenergize the glide, waftairswirl smooths the feathersthen abreast in duskhomeward, backlitdescensiondarknessrest
Bibliophilia --C.To all the books I haven't read:I have become your bookshelfof dusted titles and busted spineswith arms that are full of fantasyand romance and a head fullof memoirs I haven't written,their lexicon curling my tonguearound five dollar word-playsjust behind the sheaf of my teeth.With definitions straight to the pointand description airy and lofteda dictionary defenestrates pagesthat whirl into the night, petalpapers gliding like elegantprose in a blank journal.There is no table of contentsto map your way; follow the veinsink leaves in the margins of my palmsbecause the books I've read tell meif they give you ruled paper,write the other way;you are someone else's collage,all the worn sad evidence of humanity,stirred and sorted by a poetbecause good books,like bad people,don't give up all their secrets at once.
LitanyLitanyI would like to tattooa poem on my skin, or perhapsonly a few choice lines, the importantones that I'll never forget.But one line, one poem, would neversuffice; there are so manymore words than that, so manythat have engraved themselveson my heart. I would spend every dayscrawling new words, new poems, newepigrams and witticisms onto my skin, addingto a history of loves and losses -a current of words that startsat my hands and continues up my arms,coiling lazily around my neck then droppingto tenderly spiral around my heart.It would never stop with one.[and that's the reasoni refuse to let you write your nameon my hand-you are already alwayswith me]
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happyTo leave their home for her newest installation pieceShe cried sometimes for no reason other thanShe felt like having a good cryHer house was covered in her students’ drawingsShe said the best art was produced from innocenceShe went mad once, and painted canvas after canvasIn furious strokes of blackThe soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew oldPeople shook their heads when they saw herAnd whispered “poor dear” under their breathBut she was never poorHer love for everything and everyone never diedIt was swept in all directions like a summer breezeMaking people smile without knowing whyBut the river rocks know
windmillyour arms, open sailsgathering wind energyjust to keep me warm.
*Magnolia*Magnolia bloom Ephemeral enchantressFloral beauty queen.2014 Delice194118th April2014
Aurora Borealisstars streak the canvasof goddesses witheclectic brilliance
In Her EmbraceThe room is dim, but soft is candlelight.So soon outmatched by her inner radiance.For the glow in her soul exiles the shadowsAnd brightens the opaque path of night.She is truly the light on the darker side of me,The ghosts and demons of my nightmaresLay vanquished by her smileIn her embrace, I surrender.Her whispering breath speaks of serenityAnd in her eyes, I can see eternity.There is a sense of belonging in her embrace,And those three oft-repeated words are abridged in one kiss.The faintest feeling is felt at first sightOnly to fade in a heartbeatBut the feeling can come back, and before you realise itYou cannot go back...and never want to.
Monarch MorningsMistress Monarch spreadsRorschach-splattered wingsover white-capped mountains,a new dawn seen throughthin antennae masksand yellow-trimmed lace.
our heartsyour heartis a tiny wild grey-brown birdand my love is a pair of cupped hands.my heartis a tinny flitting silver fishand your love is a pool, dark and deep.the moral is,some things are worth holding still for.
Love Letter to ChopinNo matter the number of strings I pull,the number of keys I crash and speakersI blow and records I scratch,I can’t quite chase the sound of the pianoas it echoed through the hallto my ear pressed to the door.Nocturne No. 20 will always be yours.It will always be your untied shoelacesand white-collar shirt between four stained wallswhere the violinists and cellists tuned their instrumentsto the key of increasing hysteriaand pre-concert jitters.It will be your fingers practicing your piecewhile the rickety bench croaked its own songand your laugh at the way your feet tingledin your shoes. It will be our calming breathswaiting in the hallway for our name to be called.It will be the way I tried not to breatheintoo deeply as we huddled,our eyes catching fragments of the cellists and violiniststhrough the crack in the door.It will be the colour of the walls where I hidand the taste of the water that washed away my tearswhen I couldn’t take it,could
Recipe for a WriterLead eyeliner smears;a collection of carbon;tears hung on a line.
Marlboro WishesI watch pebbles send ripples dancingacross the half-congealed sludgeof a gas puddle left behindby a nondescript driverin a badly painted pickuppicking cigarette butts out of the ashtraysin this abandoned parking lot.You study me with steady eyesover horn-rimmed glassesand lips lined a working-girl red;in a fit of inspiration,I let the puddle settleand tell youI've been skipping wishesacross the aurora borealishoping for a break.Before you drive away,taillights red beneath a red light,you strike a match across the dashand hold it to your Marlboro Red.Take a drag, working girl,and leave it still-smoking for me.
how i learned to love myselfit starts slowlyand perhaps it will even start with a lie;perhaps tomorrow,while making toast,you'll hum to yourself(and eventually give in)then full out sing,'i love my lips!',(with gusto because you mean it!)then giggleas the imageof a singing cucumberpops into your head;and perhaps the next day,while attempting to pull on your pants,you'll say to the purring cat tangled around your ankles,'why yes,i do have perfect shins for rubbing against!';maybe the next day,while brushing your teeth,you'll maintain eye contact with the mirror(no matter how difficult!)and you'll think,'today, i love my eyebrows.they are looking well-behaved this morning.';and maybe every day,you'll find one small thing to love about yourself(no matter how miniscule,no matter difficult!)until one day,you wake up and discover:it's not difficult;perhaps one day,you'll wake up with'i love me!' in your heartas well as on your lips.
HarrisonI.I shrug into Harry's shirtunderneath my autumn scarf--cologne on the cuffs bringingcolor as I close my eyes,the brown of his hair,bleeding-heart lips,laughter, pine green.Fingers on marbled buttonssmooth as the creamhe puts in his chai.II.I think of him like rain on a Sunday,cozy drizzle,a slow breath uttered in calm,eyes shut to listen,he is peace,comfort,stability in grayer moments.III.He is the space in my empty bedandI ache for him the wayI crave prayer andthe feel of a rosary.
a jar of not-quite-nothingA jar to catch fireflies.A simple enough concept: wait for the twilight hours stay alert for twinkling yellow then, give chase.The problem was my aim(or rather, my lack thereof.Plus, I didn't really like bugsanyways).I never caught any. And yet,the jar overflows with childish peals of laughter cricket chirps summer air, ever-blowing kicked-up dirt wisps of evening cloud and the light from the stars.If I look at that jar fromjust the right angle,I can still see it alight with angel glow:the bright, twinkling yellowof firefly light.
love and landmarksyou broke down today,sketching your fears onyellowed folds of a blank canvascharcoal smudges and blood stainsmasked by peeling brush strokes.but what scared me the mostthe colors of your fears and dreamsnaked and permanent,before my eyes in watercolor,etching out your heart.and I wasn't sureI wanted your confession.I poured vodka againstthe grain and the pastelsbled into the city streets.I went home and mappedthe letters of my love withink and paper dotted withsalted tears and hollow breath.and if i had let you lean on methe same way I've leaned on you,a million times, maybe, more,i would have realizedour fears were the same.I'm building a wall,burying lost hopes and dreamsand youinside the bricks and groutjust like china.
if every second was a perfect soundI realised yesterdaythat there is no time in life for half-measures –when I love people I want to love them loudly enough that they know it.I want to tie my heart to the sleeves of every passer-byso that they understand how much I want them around.I want to write love on scrap paper and tuck it into the crevices in walls like a birthday wishand never let misanthropy grow where it shouldn’t be.The sun burns itself just to send light out for thousands of milesand keep us alive.I want to try.
*Graffiti*Graffiti scrawled wallKaleidoscope colourGratuitous art.2014 Delice19413rd April 2014