matthewschiavello:

'Maryborough reflections #03 & #20'

(17/03/14)

Sleep Studies

the-art-of-misdirection:

Laid out on the chair—like bedspread
flapped out perfectly, each cusp kissing
the edges of the mattress, stretched & posed for
dissection, strangled with nooses from shadows—
"Count to 10," the sodium pentothal remarked,
& chloroform dreams melted reality into a somber dream again,
dipped into the maw of furniture, breaching the fabric of presence:
I’m no longer human, the chant quaked…
Watch me drift away in this tired wind we call
Life. 
Swallowed in cushion, he laid there in his coma,
carried away in autumn wind in his still life, while
the wife etched him as a leaf caught in a river’s current,
leading off the end of the universe. Numbing with numbers
of angles, humming hymns of angels, only a mathematician found
something peculiar in the obtuse incline: who else
but Cocteau would say, ”Life is a horizontal
fall?” Elsewhere, across the world, a young woman sleeps on
the bench at the bus stop, draping her form over
its length, the book in her hand—Alice in Wonderland
slipping into the parabola of the seat, swooped
into the crescent moon reflected by a manhole closing.
Eternal landscape of sleep, each peace a piece.

-RY

stop gloating ;)

i’m tired of romantic poetry 
of reading all the beautiful shit 
and wishing it were written for me

aren’t you?

foul-ball:

Just another beginning
You,
a true poet
are wildly aware
a new autumn is upon us
and what you fear most
and perhaps what the world needs least
is another poet
with another poem
about another fallen leaf
from a another sad, old tree
signifying death 
and sprinkling seeds of sadness
across a land with no room left for sadness.
 
For how can one not find 
immense beauty and eternal hope
in the shedding of one’s leaves,
one’s skin,
one’s life,
and bravely looking into the forbidden eyes of the unknown
and surrendering the last certain day,
minute,
moment, 
and breath
for the promise of renewal through rebirth.
You,
a true poet
know autumn is not the end,
but just another beginning.

foul-ball:

Just another beginning

You,

a true poet

are wildly aware

a new autumn is upon us

and what you fear most

and perhaps what the world needs least

is another poet

with another poem

about another fallen leaf

from a another sad, old tree

signifying death

and sprinkling seeds of sadness

across a land with no room left for sadness.

 

For how can one not find

immense beauty and eternal hope

in the shedding of one’s leaves,

one’s skin,

one’s life,

and bravely looking into the forbidden eyes of the unknown

and surrendering the last certain day,

minute,

moment,

and breath

for the promise of renewal through rebirth.

You,

a true poet

know autumn is not the end,

but just another beginning.

40ozphilosopher:

1.
beats of a war drum
decaying in the distance
-autumn falling fast

2.
weary eyes shut to
the silent autumnal night
-a victim of time

3.
-Invisible chains
stars Glittering softly
above a quiet street

4.
-these terrors made flesh
lies and secrets walk among
us in empty rooms

5.
empty eyes glaring
under the pale moonlit sky
-unbroken silence

6.
-Our little secrets
traces of the night before
tangled in your hair

7.
weeds grow steadily
though the cracked and crumbling
pavement of the roadside
the passing days slowly grind
us down to a bitter pulp

8.
-at winters mercy
the dying call of the last
crickets of summer

9.
Shards and fragments of
my subtle thoughts collecting
-a single teardrop

10.
Patiently Waiting
for the nothingness to pass
-Yet life goes on…

11.
-barbarians at the gate
our thoughts looming like shadows
in the moonlit streets

12.
-Just radio waves
The echoes of heated words
burning in my throat

13.
the early morning
streets eclipsed in her stillness
-blank space between words

14.
Haunted eyes evermore
holding to their blank gaze
-The nights endless black

—Matthew Ambrose

Behind Your Stare

sebargan2313:

On a tar black night
The moon drifts
Behind the clouds
And the darkness
Lurks.
Dripping Like black ink
On an angry sea.
And I hide
Behind your stare
Praying
That you won’t see me
Before the
Distant sounds
Of morning
Comes.

solar time only works in the solar system, we’re from deep space

i taste the goodbye
in everything good 
i’ll meet for a weekend 
but on the last day,  
the fire will go out of my eyes,  
i will calmly begin shutting down 
because grief is a process 
best begun early,
so violent 
in my palpitating heart 

is this wise? 

fear of loss is powerful 
it clamps hands over mouths 
and sucks in breath 
when so much needs saying 

however 
it will keep 
as the breathing slows 
because what exists 
has timers set for revelation 
not destruction 

revealing occult knowledge 
in time… 

we are patterns, dormant 
to be awakened 
when?

love, soul kin, connections 
are hard for me to break 
even when i want to 
so i will always 
love you 

any time 

Poem: The Possum/ Caught You While Playing Dead

djelevatedpoet:

(Written from a Woman’s Point of View. Trying something different. Enjoy!)

For only a moment…
Intuition kicked in
My heart is still and numb
Body in state of paralysis
Can feel the coldness from your side of bed
The room felt tense
Walls embrace my tactful movement in secrecy
Watching him roll over to go to sleep
Eyes are now open…
Perphrifeal vision in full effect
Deception of intelligence
Downplaying the urgency of the lie
Searching for truth
Code punched in
Text messages surface
Another woman picture is revealed
I was not the only one after all
Shame on you
I will sleep in pain for this night
Only to wake up
With vengeance and live another day
With the morning light upon my face and a smile only to be curled
The capabilities of catching prey are endless

lovaboxa:

but sometimes
I want to slip a word
slip my tongue
into your ear
whisper something
for you and you alone
a lightbulb *ting*
to make you think
to make you smile
to make you remember
but I generic the words
make it seem my verse
is anyones’s dream
lest we disrupt
the order…

meyouanddoom:

These empty spaces, interlaced with moments of a distant clarity. 

I want one

meyouanddoom:

These empty spaces, interlaced with moments of a distant clarity. 

I want one

alwaysthegriieve:

Everything
means something
when you are cast
silence

you are
a child again
in endless pages
of marigolds
and watercolor
sunsets—

bare feet
against the innocence
of grass spines

you are old
and withering
in soft, wrinkled
skin
and hands that need
tending from
the cold
and needle and point

you are an infant
with eyes occupied
in time
and new things

and everything
means something

when you have
nothing.

alwaysthegriieve:

hush now,
close your eyes
give me your hands—

the ocean
will fall on your 
lap

This is your heart.
It is big enough 
for the both of us.

I want to stay it the dark, it’s cozy

On the politics of people:
I don’t do it,
Period

I see a lot reblogging this much
And I share nothing.
It takes two to gossip,
It only takes one to ass-ume

I do know we are all quite insane
Our lenses are all broken
We’ve all been hurt
I don’t Know why

Richoting bullets
I’d rather believe
Than by design

Third Day

Awakened under sensual spell of night,
What mind seals behind ribs by day,
Body tells once caution sleeps
Cloaked two days as I doused
But safe on ground, I dive again
I have no choice but obey my flesh

- mermaidsbite / Christiane Lopez
Thanks to those who were there these past two days.
Lots of personal loss lately, lots of poetry. So it is.

On Fire

Earth crafts cowards of her gods
Kindness falling short of conviction
To fight your way back from a hell
Will earn shame and “bless your heart”

They say “I’ll pray for you”
When you catch on fire,
Ask, “Should I call someone?”
While holding a bucket of water

I’ve never cared about scars
And I’m far from any hero
But I’ll tackle and roll your blazing body,
With no regard for what the neighbors think

Few return favor in time
But we don’t save each other
We pay it forward with a water bucket
Pray for more than prayer when we’re on fire