Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

  Writing for me Is the fog that clothes lonely branches, Birdsong during sunrise, Michelangelo’s ‘The Creation of Adam' Where the fingers finally touch… Writing for me Is an hourglass Where one can see the sand flow down Indefinite, Without being turned… Writing for me Are green veins on a black skeleton, Pulsating with blood, Not knowing That it is staying alive For itself alone… That it is staying alive For being stepped on by a man Running away from another man, And blacken to death Slowly… From that squashed point, Towards all ends, Slowly… Like a Houdini Expected to come out any moment, Dying in the box Without air…

  I sit on the park bench alone, And feel my heart quiver… The birds twitter, The newspaper flutters, Trying to lift off in vain. I sit on the park bench alone, And feel something etch my heart As the crumbled paper is pushed by the wind Towards the bin, Rasping as it moves along… I sit on the park bench alone, And search myself for substance. I discover That I have nothing. All the smiles, The tears, The sunshine and subtle touch… All the grey clouds, And bright orange rhythms That constituted my heartbeats Are no longer there. There is no flower, No dew, No music, No madness… Because I have nothing And all I had Was yours…

  Years ago on this day I was born into this world; Like a feather freed From the wing of a songbird; No more able to hear the song, But able to fall free through the air of life; Spinning, Dancing, Getting stuck in branches… Being free yet again from those branches, And I keep falling Through the air of life, Loving its blue warmth, Surviving its orange coolness; Confusing… But interesting none the less. I keep falling Through the air of life, Seeing the ground And realizing I won’t hit it Anytime soon…

  Life feels like being lost in a circus tent Decorated with lights, Constantly spinning. Life feels like being lost in a circus tent Where a stampede has broken loose, And the people running over each other; Many with blood from their mouths, Limping a few steps Then falling… The elephant looses his balance on the ball, The caged dove escapes, The swinging couple fall Into nobody’s arms… Life feels like being lost in a circus tent Now growing quieter And quieter As chaos goes out. But there is just a loud silence, For when the chaos goes out, So does life…

  I see him; A beast with his head in the clouds And hands in the dirt; Scouring the lakes with his might palms, Catching schools of fish; All wide eyed and panting much… I see him; Thighs like mountains, Toes like shorelines; Dirty and irregular with moss… So mighty, Yet some of the fish: The ones which panic the most Escape. So mighty, Yet some live to tell other fish, Yet unable to tell other fish Because all words spoken in water  Are the same… All words spoken in water Are bubbles…

  There’s a thud in my chest And I lie down; Bulged eyes, Panting. There’s a thud in my chest And my ribs creak like a wooden floor, Stretching and dislocating Until it comes out: A dove Trapped within for so long, Staring at the heart pump And the lungs go in and out… In and out. A dove Trapped within for so long, Existing in a red monotonous maze… Finally out, Finally free… Wanting to reveal itself to me, Because I’d never believed in it. Wanting to reveal itself to me, But cannot. Blood pours out my chest… The wide hole it made in me Through which the heart is seen Beating, Beating, Beating… And done.

  I walk into a spider web And regret it.. I walk into a spider web And try to get it off. But it sticks on Somewhere on my lips; Sinisterly, Jumping around as I try to pluck it out. I kissed a baby with those lips And it cried, I kissed a girl with them And she never kissed me back. Those lips stay on, Covering each word that comes out With a web of meanings; Complex and needing time to reveal themselves... I used to have a glossy lip Which healed wounds with kisses And made many eyes glitter With beautiful words. I used to have a glossy lip Which got tangled on this web And never came out…

  A fly stuck in a purple neon light, A camera on the shelf With the straps hanging down, A candle; Small and melting into itself As if squished in by a giant… Still burning. There is a beautiful sadness in this world. This is the sadness That makes us smile through tears. This is the sadness we long for, This is the sadness of the religious man Crying at Christ’s feet, This is the sadness we all want; Something truly beautiful… Like a yellow light through purple curtains… Something truly beautiful, Yet somber, Yet tragic… What we want Is a fly stuck in a purple neon light, A camera on the shelf With the straps hanging down, A candle; Small and melting into itself As if squished in by a giant… Still burning.

  You say it And the wire of lights crippling my soul Light up. You say it And my body doesn’t own itself, And my heart doesn’t beat alone anymore. Everything is alive And everything has meaning... The raindrop hits the puddle And jumps up as a heart; The flamingos kiss to make a heart too... And heart shaped leaves fall all around, And the wind strums bare branches for music; Music that doesn’t throw us into the sky, But makes the toe hit a beat, And the heart skip one...

  A little hand holds a finger, A black dove flies, The saxophonist jazzes out his soul on the bridge, Leaning back... A swagger in his legs. The saxophonist jazzes out his soul on the bridge, Leaning forward At the couple, The blushing girl, The little baby pointing a finger And kicking his feet in joy. The sun melts like chocolate And the city gets drunk to sleep In the sweetness. The sun melts like chocolate And the saxophonist is still on the bridge; Turned into a silhouette, Yet staying alive Like an eye wet with joy. The sun melts Like chocolate And the water under the bridge sleeps...