Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

 I want to forget her, But the memory stays Like a red bird in the snow, Pecking the ground to find a worm, To make it breathe. I want to forget her, But the air on the shore tastes salty, The flowers of the spring  smell, The old branch falls, The car engine that hums long enough Explodes. I want to forget her, But I can’t. So I close the bottle so tight That nothing leaks. I close the bottle so tight With the lid having a hole. From there it leaks blood, As my heart hangs upside down at the walls of my soul. And my soul gets wetter and wetter, Growing heavy like a drenched sweater That's still light enough to float.

 Rain comes and goes, And little drops move across the wire like little cable cars. They bump into each other, Grow big, And fall like a heavy bunch of fruit, Splashing juice everywhere. Rain comes and goes, And the tomatoes become redder On being courted lavishly by the drops; Cold and colourless. Rain comes and goes, And adds glistening beads to the spider's Web. The rain comes and goes And little drops move across the wire like little cable cars. They bump into each other, Grow big, And fall like a heavy bunch of fruit, Splashing juice everywhere.

 I wear dad's shirt And enjoy how it drags on the floor. I wear dad's shirt And wear his hat And act all tough in the mirror. But I can be dad only for so long. I can be dad only till grandma gets her basket And calls me for apple picking time. Then I dash out before her; The shirt floating behind me like a detective’s cloak. I dash out And jump into puddles And catch some apples in dad's hat. I don't like being dad. But I like wearing him on the outside.

 I go to the piano  And find a red flower on the score sheet. I go to the piano And there's tea with light steam And a cake with a spoon thrust in. I remove it Like Arthur taking out his sword from the rock. I remove it And the cake's no more there. I put the spoon back. There's wind and shaking flowers, There’s the sun and rustling wheat. I'm alive, And I attack the keys  Wildly. The score sheet stares and I stare back Wildly. And the fingers take off Like kites without strings, At the mercy of this wind of notes that hits me. I finish the piece And feel alive. I finish the piece And feel like a warrior walking uphill With not just muscles to show, But the blood, The angry eyes, And the hair that sticks to the forehead. I’m alive...

 The peaks lie quiet Like the spine of a sleeping dinosaur. The peaks lie quiet Yet sometimes they shake And stones roll down As the tummy Climbs and falls, Climbs and falls As the creature snores deeply. The peaks lie quiet Like the spine of a sleeping dinosaur That could rise at any time And climb out of the hole it sleeps in, Allowing the winds it once blocked To trumpet freely.

 We're jellyfish stinging each other And pretending it's okay. All of us are stung But only some of us die. Some of us tear our stingers on the rocks And leave it there; Moving Like a mad ghost Listening to the inaudible song the sea sings. Some of us tear our stingers on the rocks And leave it there So we won't hurt another friend who bumps against us. The shark comes and adds us to its saliva. There's nothing we can do. Some of us tear our stingers on the rocks And get torn apart.

 I'm a hat with binoculars Pretending to see the valley from the rock it's places on. I'm a hat with binoculars Hoping to be picked up by some adventurer Who'll come this way. But the person who left me here Is a rare soul. The person who left me here Is the only person who'll come here again. I can’t see. But the wind blows and the sky cracks, And I know the sky will burst into rain. I can’t see. But I know when something slithers by, Brushing it's scales against me As if it'll eat me whole. But even if no one comes, Even if I can’t see, Even if the rain damages me, I know I’ll be alright. It's one of the advantages Of not being alive.

 There's a cry; A snow flake on the wing of a blue butterfly. More of them descend And embrace the rotting tree fallen across the running water, Cooled by the moonlight Dancing to its own inaudible song. There's a cry; A snow flake on the wing of a blue butterfly. More of them descend. The log moves And they detach and attach themselves’ Like the log has gained a breathing chest once again. The log Once more alive, Rolling down Rolling down. The log once more alive, Falling down the waterfall As the winged vampires fly off and are never seen Again.

 The blind dove A white blind dove Sat on a tree He had no morning or light For nothing he could see. The doves having sight To spring and autumn see Laughed aloud And all around their feathers flee. One day the forest roared And the trees all burning down came To light the grass and dry leaves In quick, spreading flame. The ones who saw the light Unrolled their wings in pride And the blind with his toned ears Followed along behind. The rising ash turned their wings black And they their splendour lacked. They pricked and scratched their feathers all Until they had no feathers at all. It seems too wise to have sight. Later they saw no day, no light. For from the clouds they fell into the flame For a mistake so stupid and lame. The blind dove still flew ahead Before the twigs and trees could turn red. When he couldn't feel the heat, He thanked the lord For carrying him in his hand Away from the burning gallore. He called his friends aloud But no voice in his ear arrived Because all o

 Many butterflies have sat on the same branch. The same ink has made literate many papers. But you are not like other butterflies, You are not like other words. You can’t fly, You can’t be read. Yet you're marvellous. One doesn’t need to see the laces to confirm it's a shoe, One doesn’t need to see it break to realize it's glass. There are many butterflies, Many words weird and wonderful. But you're different. This butterfly can’t be caught in nets, This word can’t be written down Or spoken Or shown. It can only be felt In the heart as an irregular pulse, In the throat like a strangling slab of rock, In the soul as poetry Before it becomes word.

 I see darkness and then a blur; Green and glittering here and there. Is it grass or a hospital curtain, Is it my garden coat Or is it the gates of heaven opening. Maybe it's hell And the green is the Nazis breathing toxic gas They used on the Jews. Look at the soldiers now; Scarecrows, Unable to move out of the way when the shit comes down. They killed thousands And now wish to die themself. But you only die once. Then you keep living in death or in life Depending on where you're send to. Become a Patron!

 I'd like a house on a lake bed With glowing pebbles and black fish licking my feet. I’d like a house on a lake bed Hugged warmly by cold mountains that seldom climb. And those who climb can stop by my place for tea And a cigarette or two. I’d like a house on a lake bed That freezes over in the winter And gives me a hard time fishing. Become a Patron!

The camera hangs on the dry branch of a tall tree And the cameraman doesn’t know how it got there. He can’t climb, And no one comes to him. So he tells the birds, And they don’t understand. He tells the birds But most don’t even listen. What's all this grunt compared to their beautiful songs? He tells the birds enough And they understand it's the best he could sing. So the vultures circle him and encourage him to sing even more. But they still don’t listen. One day he fell To lick the sand for water. One day he fell And a dove placed an olive leaf in his mouth With a single dew. One day he fell dead And the camera fell too. Become a Patron!

 She has tattooed a flower upside down under one eye; A falling rose wrapped in white silk, With two doves scooping down to grab it. But they never get it. And the rose will still have it's petals, It's silk, Its youthfulness. The rose will keep falling Through this valley between tears and talk, Always closer to the tears. And the doves keep falling along, Wasting their time. Well, Do they have a choice? Become a Patron!

 A leaf so dry That it has become transparent. A leaf so dry That one can look through it and see the wall on the other side. The leaf has lost all colour, all brightness. The other dead leaves keep their souls. But not this one. It has become what it lies on, It has become it's environment. All that holds it a bit back Is the veins that make up it's body. All that holds it a bit back Is a body That like all bodies, Shall perish. A leaf so dry That it has become transparent. A leaf so dry That one can look through it and see the wall on the other side. The leaf has lost all colour, all brightness. The other dead leaves keep their souls. But not this one. Become a Patron!

 The moon rises from the lake Like a whale who's lost a balloon. The moon rises from the lake Like a rocket Leaving  a glistening trail on the dancing water, Sparkling like wine under a blurry yellow light Interrupted by a rickety table. The moon rises and the wolves howl As if they're the scientists who made this happen. The tail goes away But its fire stays to give the lonely water a romantic hand  At the ball of the night. The tail goes away But the fire stays until a brighter fire comes. Become a Patron!

 The river becomes red with the sky, And green with the trees; Partially dressed by the autumn leaves And smelling like them when they rot. The river becomes Because the river doesn’t know itself. The river becomes To find out what it is. The fish, the rocks and the bubbles around them all try to tell the river. But it doesn’t listen. It just stays there And prevents the brother and sister hills from touching each other. It just stays there To breed fish for the bears to catch. It just stays there, And whatever stays will become what it stays on. The river becomes the earth And the brother and sister hills embrace After a long time. Become a Patron!

 Lightbulb stepped over, With filament still in place. The glass creates no light. But it does create blood if you step on it barefoot. The glass creates no light. Even though the glass itself has colour. Lightbulb stepped on, Filament still in place. But it's nothing Without it's fragile friend. It's nothing alone Even though it is made of metal And can make light on it’s own. Lightbulb stepped over, With filament still in place. The glass creates no light. But it does create blood if you step on it barefoot. Become a Patron!

 Cloud to cloud badminton, The peeing mountain, The clapping trees And laughing birds. Storm, water, noise And more noise. Chaos For the worrier And variety For the explorer. Disturbance For the structured And freedom for the free. Cloud to cloud badminton, The peeing mountain, The clapping trees And laughing birds. There isn’t music or noise. There's only sound. Become a Patron!

 Leaves fly down to hide the wounded earth, And eagles fly up to scan the earth for themselves To wound it even more By scooping down on it And taking away its parts. Leaves fly down to hide the wounded earth. But the wind wants to see that wounded body And feel that intact soul. The wind wants more And he strips the earth off her foliage. And he laughs at a body once supple and bright. Now A sack of bones Creating sounds as it moves Like dead sticks Still dying... Become a Patron!

 A glass of cold cocktail With a slice of orange on the brim, The sun melting frost from conifers, The sausage in the pan; Sizzling, Soft, Being turned over. Camping in the chill of the morning, Singing songs around the fire; A troop of dancing caveman, Joy, The tough have become tender children. It gives me hope That the child is still alive in all of us. A glass of cold cocktail With a slice of orange on the brim. Become a Patron!

 In bed With a running nose and cloth on the forehead. The nose drips And I can’t reach the box of tissues. There is much annoyance. But there's also much pleasure in being sick. You know That everything will happen Even if you don’t take a step. You know You can’t start that thing you've been dreading. You know You can lie around Playing games. They won’t force you much to read a book. In bed With a running nose and cloth on the forehead. The nose drips And I can’t reach the box of tissues. There is much annoyance. But there's also much pleasure in being sick. Become a Patron!

 I look at the fire and see wolves howl And mothers protect their children from them. I look at the fire and see the smart young lad rubbing stones together. I look at the fire And find it drowsy in the cold, Crying like there's a glass bottle in there. The fire closes it's eyes Slowly And I still see nothing in it. The cold And cold alone Has killed it. I look at the fire and see wolves howl And mothers protect their children from them. I look at the fire and see the smart young lad rubbing stones together. But it's cold, And the damp fibre refuses to glow again. Become a Patron!

 The ship comes closer and closer And touches the sand with its long nose. No one will know it's gone through worse than the looks show; Riding the wave of Hokusai Within Shakespeare's tempest. Then, On calmer seas, Standing through Chopin's winter wind, All thanks to that iron lady: The sails; Their maid with the flaxen hair. Lost at sea, Lost at sea, Catching one large fish with Van Gogh's ear as bait. And all through this sea of monsters it came out, A bit cracked and whipped. And they called it great Because it had become modern art. Become a Patron!

 I live alone And yet I feel a tingle now and then, As if the tiger watches through the bush outside. I live alone And yet I hear voices coming from The pipelines, The breathing curtains, The bug kissing the bulb That gets pushed away every time. I live alone And hear and see and smell what they don’t. Sometimes The loneliness eats you up And you won’t realise that the voices you hear I the crunching of that mighty jaw That chews you Slowly And slowly, Until you're eaten fully. And no one will know. Become a Patron!

 I see a shadow come from the dark room, Imposing itself on the only light there is. I see a shadow come from the dark room, Screaming, Afraid of being one with the darkness that keeps growing and growing. I hear the scream. But I too am a shadow myself, Unable to grab onto the real world. I too am a shadow myself, Stuck in a room, Afraid of the darkness. They say the blind can't help the blind; So the dying can’t help the dying. And no one can help each other out of the darkness, Out of the rooms. Everyone has built their walls, And everyone has chosen to stay within them for long enough; So long, That they've become a part of it Whether they wanted to or not.

 The hot air balloon rises and the basket sways. And I watch it With my toes in the golden water, Making the gold red hot where it touched my feet. The hot air balloon rises and the basket sways, And things having no one to hold them Fall off And often break. Now it has risen above the trees; A blob cut out of the sky Glowing like iron on the anvil That will soon become armour and lose it's colour. The hot air balloon rises, Has risen, Rose, Paddled away. Become a Patron!

 I've become A tree stripped by the snow, A violin with a single string, An expensive camera capturing in black and white. I've become A spiral staircase, A songbird with a cold, The blue whale whose song no one hears. I'm cold. And my jacket hangs on a high branch of that naked tree. I'm cold and I've become A tree stripped by the snow, A violin with a single string, An expensive camera capturing in black and white. Become a Patron!

 The stream gargles through pebbles, Fish, And rocks with much moss. And someone placed these stones One above the other On it's shore. Normally, the stream doesn’t mind. But sometimes, It can’t help but be naughty And bump into the bottom most stone in a friendly way. The stones hear the jokes And giggle with the stream. But they don’t fall, They don't lose their elegance. Instead, They die corroding Softly With time. Become a Patron!

 A cup of cherries, Light peeking through red curtains, Sparrows sitting on naked branches Singing and singing away Like the lost sailor at sea Alone with his bottle of merlot Which becomes his pill, pillow and partner. A cup of cherries, Light peeking through red curtains; The morning says it has a lot to show me About life. Let's go out and see. Become a Patron!

 I looked down the well And saw the stars fallen in it, Trapped; Swaying with the silver water, Blurring into ominous lines Yet coming together again from the chaos As if it never happened. I looked down the well And heard frogs sing for this defeated light, Fallen yet still there in the sky. The song is ugly. The song sounds like nothing you can song for this royal family To put their little prince to sleep. But the frogs keep singing, The sun rises, And the prince sleeps in the blanket of the clouds. Become a Patron!

 One cloud spits into the mouth of another, The sky rumbles, The railway tracks blink Red and nothing, Red and nothing Under the traffic light. The world repeats; Waves crash down And snow falls down. Eagles scan the skies for borrows And the gull hits the water with hope. The world repeats. The desert expands, And I drink my coffee cold everyday. The desert expands, And petals fall everyday. One cloud spits into the mouth of another, The sky rumbles, The railway tracks blink Red and nothing, Red and nothing Under the traffic light. Become a Patron!

 A golden ribbon ties the flowers into a bouquet, And tries to make them all the same. The sunflower may lose a petal And the rose may break a stem. There is more harm than good. A golden ribbon ties the flowers into a bouquet, And tries to make them all the same. The sea kisses the sand, The smell of popsicles, The wind sings for the sleeping sea. And the flowers float on it Still tied by the golden ribbon, Shaking gently with the bubbling waves Until the knot comes loose And the flowers go their separate ways in the vast ocean. Become a Patron!

 I used to wear my father's shirt That dragged and dragged on the floor. I used to wear my father's shirt And claim I’m a big boy. My sister used to make a moustache with her hair And act like my father, Commanding me to bring cold water from the fridge. We loved to grow up, Take control of ourselves, Go to work. Oh how things have changed! Now I wish I was that little boy, And my sister wishes to not be so independent. The grass is always greener on the other side Because all one sees on ones shore are dead brown leaves. We forgot to look under them to see the grass. Look at us now. Become a Patron!

 We cut strawberries in half even though they have no seeds, We cut the cake even if it's small enough. The water's blank, But looks like liquid gold in a yellow restaurant. The music is not noticed Until the musician stops playing. We cut strawberries in half even though they have no seeds, We cut the cake even if it's small enough. The old woman brings a long bread every Saturday. And I add the strawberries And eat the cake with it. It makes me feel like my life’s a perfectly knit jumper For a short time, Although it's not. Light lies, Life lies, And we don’t really know what we're doing. At least, we can continue doing the same shit Everyday. Become a Patron!

 I paint my face and keep telling people it's a new tattoo I got. I paint my face and repaint it everyday. Those wings should stay alive And those eyes should always gleam; The flowers will bloom And the snow will bury them alive before they go dry. The wind will calm, And the wind will bring in killer waves. But the eagle shouldn’t die; Not even slowly. I paint my face and keep telling people it's a new tattoo I got. I paint my face and repaint it everyday. This eagle shouldn’t die. Because the confidence it gives Is what keeps me going. I'm tired of being myself. It keeps me away from being something stronger than myself. Become a Patron!

 I hold an umbrella in the sun And enjoy the rain that comes from it. I hold an umbrella in the sun, And I am safe from it. But it comes at a cost. I see the rain always; The dark clouds, The entire world in black and white. I see A child laugh happily at a leaping dandelion And yet feel sad On not seeing the colour. I see a girl smile And draw a heart for me on the coffee at Starbucks. I smile back. But I'm still under the umbrella. And she looks sad Even when she's smiling. And I can’t see the redness on her blushing cheeks. Why did I choose this? Become a Patron!

 My heart stays inside a hollow fence And thinks the world only exists as far as it sees. My heart stays inside a hollow fence Which now has a wider hole in it. This is the chance, This is the revelation I was waiting for. Now my heart can run and see the world. Now my heart can run and know how much it can throb. My heart stays inside a hollow fence And thinks the world only exists as far as it sees. My heart stays inside a hollow fence Which now has a wider hole. And my heart tries to escape. But no. Something holds it back, Something fixes it in place. The heart looks back And sees the veins that keep it captive. The heart stays. Because tear out those tubes, And it will die. Become a Patron!

 Old sofa, The head of a moose on the wall, And a grandfather's clock That ticks and ticks away. Everything has a voice when you're lonely. And when that voice is not there, The silence sings in his demonic voice To your right ear And then your left ear As you sleep. Old sofa, The head of a moose on the wall, And a grandfather's clock That ticks and ticks away. Everything has a voice when you're lonely. The alarm, An unfamiliar smell, A sizzle in the frying pan; Everything makes you shiver when you're lonely, Reminding you how cold you are. Become a Patron!

 The bottle sits on the sill And throws it's transparent shadow That leans and leans away from my feet Slowly. The bottle sits on the sill Watching the children play, Not knowing that a single baseball coming through Can break it  The bottle sits on the sill And makes the shadow of the curtains transparent as well, Like egg whites on the floor. The bottle sits on the sill Until I break it by accident. The children really aren’t a threat at all. Become a Patron!

 I pour coffee into my cup And watch as the bubbles rush to hug each other In the middle. I pour coffee into my cup With the childishness of petting a dog. For when you're alone, Everything is fur, Everything licks your feet And everything matters. When you're alone, Looking at broken cups cause you pain. When you're alone, The blinking neon, And the neon blinking to die has something to say. And watch as the bubbles rush to hug each other In the middle. I pour coffee into my cup With the childishness of petting a dog. I laugh And I cry At the fate I brought to myself. I love it And I loathe it at the same time. So I can’t embrace it, But neither can I let it go. Become a Patron!

 A white plate with a ribboned card, The marble floor that looks back at me, A quiet chill, A candle with a lonely light That adds gold to wine. I see the waiter look at me Like he has guns for eyes. I wait, As if someone will sit beside me And talk their heart out, And hear the pulse of mine Which I try so hard to pump everyday To keep me alive. A white plate with a ribboned card, The marble floor that looks back at me, A quiet chill, A candle with a lonely light That adds gold to wine. I can have all that And still have no life. My veins have become plastic tubes And my eyes have become camera shutters. I can have everything And still have no life. I can have everything And still be alone. Alone. Become a Patron!

 I'm a shell; A dead clam upturned. Yet I do not break if they step on me, I do not hurt them either. I lie in the sand, And when they step on me, I sink into it Deeper And deeper Until they won't even see me To collect me in a bucket For their collection. I don’t have the shape of those snail shells, Or the glistening of the blue pearl. I don’t have the music of dead trees, Or smell of the sea Once I’m taken away from it. I'm a shell; A dead clam upturned. Yet I do not break if they step on me. Become a Patron!

 A single boat and a single man Out at sea at dawn When sea and sky merge And cannot be divided Unless travelled on with the man. But he lets no one on board. A single boat and a single man Out at sea at dawn, Becoming a cut out, A hole, A space In this sleepy, Yet fluttering curtain. A single boat and a single man Out at sea at dawn When sea and sky merge And cannot be divided Unless travelled on with the man. Become a Patron!

 I sit in a room Strangled by pipes; Veins without life, Still typing away with two fingers. I sit in a room With my pillow sometimes, And tickle him, Talk to him, Cry on him for I have no one. The nights pass, The bed sheets smell, The dead fish rises through it's own murk, The flower dies. And yet I stay in my room All cooped up; Wanting joy, But not wanting the pain in seeking it. Wanting to talk, Yet not comfortable being questioned. They say I'm fragile. That I’m not Because they've already broken me. Now, my sharp remains Shall cut you. Become a Patron!