Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

 Some people are mannequins Wearing lipstick Looking for another lip to share it with... Some people are mannequins Forever seeing things Through the glass cages they are shut in... Everyone judges them; Says why they can’t escape. But only they themselves know They are mannequins. Only they themselves know They lack veins And blood And ligaments. Everything has been oozed out... Leaving a pale shell. The lipstick makes the lips themselves, And the eyes have lost all youthful spark... Some people are mannequins Wearing lipstick Looking for another lip to share it with; The another lip which never comes.

  A white flower grows below the rusted pipe Which leaks black water One drop at a time... Falling on the same petal Again and again Until it decides to stay down and not rise... A white flower grows below the rusted pipe And the pipe gets fixed. But the petal stays down Anxious... Waiting for camels in the sea, Putting on armour for dead dragons. The petal stays down Fearing what will never happen. The petal stays down Until all the other petals Touch the ground As well; Not wet... But Crumbling corpses being blown about In the wind... Another flower grows And the pipe starts to leak again.

 A tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. But why? It had many places; So much fertile ground. It had many places, Like the lawn, The dung, The space around potted plants. But it grew through a crack in the concrete. Perhaps, It's foolishness. Perhaps, It's bravery- Well, they're the same thing. Perhaps, It just wants to show that it's possible To break this hard stuff. Perhaps, It wants all the other grass to do the same. Perhaps, The purpose is to penetrate And nothing else. It can be Nothing else. It should be Nothing else. Then, Only the brave and the stupid will follow in its path; That's pretty much everybody.

 The artist Does not care about paint on his hands Until he has finished the picture. The fisherman Does not care about his aching arms Until he has caught his fish. I won't complain about you Until I seize you, Until you're close enough, That your breath arouses the hair behind my neck. But don’t come to me. Don’t let me. Ignore me. Ignore me. I cannot love you. Not until you let me see The canvas of your heart. Not until you let me Catch fish from the pond of your soul. But don’t come to me. Don’t let me, So that I won’t complain About you. Don’t let me, So that you remain the perfect painting, The perfect catch To me.

  We sit on the beach And watch the sun slash the sea With his mighty sword, Leaving a red bubbling ooze... Growing into a cut, A wound, A bubbling mire That swallows the very sword that cut it; A loud darkness... As if something has died And something has been born At the same time. We sit on the beach And watch the sun slash the sea... And we enjoy it And tilt our heads on each other... And whisper things into each other's ears Until there is darkness. Then I realize I was alone the whole time... And the sea was singing.

 I’m a lighthouse Lonely on a hill overlooking the sea; The angry sea with poor musical taste. I'm a lighthouse Guiding everyone Without seeing anyone. There is a light that shines outward And a darkness within That accumulates and makes me lost. It's been so long.. That I wonder that I even have eyes. It's been so long... That I've guided thousands to the shore.. My shore.. And yet I stand alone on a hill overlooking the sea; The angry sea Singing soft during the day And loud at night... Poor music anyway.

 The puppy looks out the car window Flat and droopy eyed, Waiting for its owner... The baby turtle hatches out, Running for the sea. The owner keeps the golf clubs aside, The sea comes in and out. Eyes glow... A bark of glee, The flippers hit the sand... More And more... And then the owner walks away With his hands around a friend. Then the gulls come swooping down And everything ends.... The dog barks And barks And pants rapidly; Much drool on the glass Coming down. The turtle flaps its flippers And flies away To never land.

 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.

 A broken face; The only relic from a Greek statue, Once naked And pouncing with muscles. A broken face with one eye Kept in a museum; The yellow light falling to reveal The crevices on the cheek, The nick-less nose. The yellow light moving, Making us wonder if that apple in the throat Is still alive, Trying to say something; Probably tales of great battles, Fall of Kings, Flowing of blood. Probably the noisy things he saw From his place atop the mountain, Scanning the landscape; A landscape of rocks With blood and voice and life...

I watch the surfer on the beach; How he adjusts to the waves so well, How he conquers them big ones And makes them small ones into calm water. How he knows where the tongue of the sea will touch, And how he escapes it every time. I wish I could do the same. I wish I could do the same Here on land. But the sands engulf me And my feet are the only surf boards I have. The sands engulf me And I run to the sea to wash it off my mouth. But then, The waves catch me And I die Because again, The only surf boards I have Are my own feet.

 The skies rumble, It rains, And the bulbs over the table sway gently; Knocking on one another, Making my shadow shift like it's a ghost; Like I'm dead Yet alive still... The skies rumble, It rains, And the heart plays light jazz  Where there isn’t any. The rain is loud; Making television static on the window. The rain is loud But quiet, For silence is simply prolonged noise You do not realize is there. The rain is loud But quiet... And my heart plays light jazz again, And my eyes well up In the humble joy the moment brings. But the rain goes away And everything is loud Again.

 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.

 We are two rocks in a stream Separated by a tongue of water That keeps talking and talking. The sun tickles it during the day And it laughs... The moon sings sad lullabies And it weeps... Unable to sleep, Yet feeling reborn in the morning; For every fear has been wept away. We are two rocks in a stream Separated by a tongue of water That keeps talking and talking. And we refuse to speak For the loud water muffles our voices. And we'll weather away in the water separately... Hands never held, Hugs never given... Only seen and adored From afar.

 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.

 The bicycle left near the door On the flower pots; The tallest rose broken and hanging down. Been there for days And a cat sleeps all curled up. Been there for days And no one wants to steal it. The bicycle left near the door On the flower pots; The tallest rose broken and hanging down. The wind blows And the wrapper on the handles shiver. The sun glows And takes out the paint Bit by bit. The bicycle left near the door On the flower pots; The tallest rose broken and hanging down. And one day the rose will fall off Onto those rusty spokes

  The horse looks over the fence It can jump anytime And dreams of running over green hills Where the clouds come down to make love Every morning Until the sun chases them away. The horse looks over the fence It can jump anytime... But never jumps it. Scared, Yet dreaming of watching the windmills closely. Scared, Yet wanting to roll around in the dew And get ugly And uncombed And wet... Scared, But not knowing what it's scared of, Still staying inside the fence, Hoping for the dew And the clouds And the windmills to come in. The horse looks over the fence It can jump anytime... But never jumps it. It is buried there itself after death, And the soul will fear to leave the fences behind For heaven...

 He’s a lionfish in the tiny aquarium, Bumping up against the glass Confused. He’s a lionfish in the tiny aquarium Turning left, Turning right, Spinning around but going nowhere. The cat scratches the glass And the anemones blink at his shame. The cat scratches the glass, Blurring the little view of the world he had... Blinding him, Making him look at himself; Making him look at his own image Misshapen by those silver lines. He is fed regularly, And he eats And grows regularly Until his scales slither on the inward glass Like people crammed into a glass room, Piled up in all possible positions; A hundred blinking eyes And a hundred open mouths Breathing out the little air that remains... Until the tank bursts...

 Everywhere I look, I see devils wearing wings And angels hiding to weep. Everywhere I look I see devils wearing wings. But you know they are devils. Because the wings only flap, And don’t take off. You know they are devils When they smile And giggle too much. You know they are devils When they go to churches And cry for christ, But not for their family. You know they are devils When they do good Only when they know They'll be noticed. You know the are devils When they show off their wings Even when they're walking; Phoney wings that don’t take off.

The shadow of the graveyard cross Stretching, Growing, Waning; A single petal dying, Crumbling, Moving away from the others. There's a candle in my hand Almost flat; About to melt through the palm and escape. There's a candle in my hand That I've to place on that grave; That grave with a headless angel. Was she smiling when she had a head? Was she calm? Can she still guard over the dead? Or is their souls wandering the graveyard, The cracked walls, The tree with a hanging noose Trembling ever so slightly As if someone is hanging down And struggling for the last time in their life...

 We just need to look each other in the eye And everything will happen by itself. The birds will sing, The moss on wet rocks will bring fragrance, And the trees will bend to give us fruit. We just need to look each other in the eye And everything will happen by itself. And even if it doesn’t, It troubles no one. Because I see the ocean in our eyes, And taste old wine in your lips. I smell the petrichor When we embrace And hear the beat of the world in your heart. We just need to look each other in the eye, And all beautiful things will happen.