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interfaceLike an oil eye resting on the sea of memory,
waits for its turn to sink as bubbles and for a time
be lost:

There weren't any real changes                              I thought to herself
Wasn't why I got up to go                              grab a time out
I had to walk the boots                              away from here-and-held holy memories
With the way my legs worked                              mechanically
I wasn't surprised by their behavior                              bothering us
The wind walked up the path                              as an elephant pissed on the wall
And gazed upon the trees                              fond
Notes on nightCupped hands could hold
a moth's night,
a moon waning somewhere between
middle and index.

In fear,
the dust,
the cuddling craters,
the end,
would become the flight.
the process.whiskey-tongued,
we are the delusions of an errant mind;

the mad machine, they called him, back in the days when the sun was worshipped
for his beautiful smile,
and all the virgins worth the flesh of their hymens flocked to die -

glorious against the resinous afterburn of dawn.

cocaine limbered,
we are the sought-after flashbacks of a mad-mans mind;

'the terrible undertaker,' they used to say, back in the days when the moon
was the bosom upon which our tear-streaked faces fell,

'will come with the star-break to take us away.'

delusions, illusion-less, force-fed karma suited for the everyday joe.
when the final coming beckons,
je ne sais quoiagainst my chest you make a soft semi-colon as my hips
     press into yours and you yield like damp paper

and against my chest the pulse of us
     a filament-hum in a sixty-watt bulb

and my chin against your neck, an impromptu bookstop

and your cheek runs against
     my stubble and it is an embossed leather cover

and our noses meet

beads of sweat on my brow roll against yours and we are
     a printing press

until our dilated eyes meet like magnifying glasses
     and our lips touch like the curves of an
AcidI stopped writing when I turned 20
degrees Celsius, and the acid
evaporated from my veins.

No more stormy seas or dreams that
I can feel the erythrocytes crashing
against my eyelids and fists—now

My heartbeat is like the hollow
canals of Venice drowning in air,
drains overflowing into drains,

Like abandoned gardens hanging
between bricked up dreams, built
six stories higher than I would ever need.
The Nereid, ThetisShe rose from the water to taunt me, to haunt me.
More beautiful than I had remembered.
The prickly, sickly smell of the low tide
pricked my pride and I was castaway
and back
to stack all my memories like coins
wagered in a strange game of time lost.

The cost incalculable.

So here I am, again, the green felt sand
like a belt around the girth of waters
where play the daughters of man
brushing the crushing waves
that echo into themselves
words whispered in times forgotten.
But I hear when I draw near as I dare.

I am home. I am home.

The bright horizon draws down the curtain
to invite the stars to dance
and stare at me, my hair
ugly consumptionmonday my little girl asked, "what would happen if someone ate
the sun and
how many calories does it have?"

and i wish i could see myself objectively, wish
my skin wasn't worn from
fitful starvation.

have you ever seen your
hands as i do, strange bloated things

in search of bones?

and i wish i could remember when beauty
was a mouth red as pomegranate seeds eyes
like sickle moons. back when it was

more than numbers. ninety-five, eighty-eight.

get down to eighty-five and you will be
beautiful. be

thin and sexless as wet march.

tuesday pa told me: "acceptance ain't something you
can buy at a convenience store."

and i am all ma
Where Only I am PresentI tread along the stained concrete
Of urban sprawls whose dwellers sleep
In pied quilts or a lover's fold;
Minds filled with easy, pleasant dreams.

Within the hour, young and old
Will rise for what the day might hold;
Some with vigor, and others less,
Against the winter's ice and cold.

The maples bow to winds' duress,
Adorned in frost, their Sunday best;
Though as for snow upon the ground,
Such sparsity does ill impress.

I cleave my path without a sound,
As if to shore the magic wound
Throughout the city's empty sweep
Where only I am present bound.
Newspapering and Postcards1.

Yellowed autumns crinkled under thumb
as I picked away at language long lost
depicting us on a boat run.

I was stuck in an infinite regression-
memories twisted and turned and
denoted turbulence of last excursions.

The authorship is creased,
writing spirals into
regressive loops.

2.

I have come back from the end of the world,
accompanied by the sounds
of a soft murmur and the ever-pressed newspaper clippings
of an expeditions trek into an October breeze.

It was of a black winter morning I returned to the sights
of London north, the besmeared and hazed brickwork
embracing the steam coddled galley of our
sea-ferry.

Off
Orangesmorning lifts to the smell
of oranges

he enters her eyes, a
stranger waving away
              her dreams, which are thick and rough-skinned as the
              carpet beneath her soles

                                          she is getting up,
                                          clinging to the up
                                          because down

is a quiet fruit that she'd
rather not peel
alone
A Coward's HeartWere confidence placed in boundless joy
and night airs sweetly scented…
dancing to a rhythm band
reveling  in senses,
then gentle,
hopeful heart's desire
would ease my
looming
dread.

For sparrow I had kenned her,
dreaming tender love;
yet she a raptor
    - nothing taming;
bearing talons,
passions
matched in kind.

A coward's heart I grimly bear -
from peace estranged;
this blighted soul
sore lacking.

For giddy love
    - within my grasp,
it's sensual clamor bending;
now felled by fear,
then ravaged there,
and cast adrift
at last.
memories, making glorious mudhis memories are making a glorious mud

i.

it is a lumberjack's wife whose veins are budding twigs,
arms feeble as every dried branch to soak a shining star.

it is her who bares such troubled wrists for oven mitts,
so ardently delivers her hoggish assembly some hulking bird
whose body cavity is crammed tight to the sphincter
with a spiced bread. instinctively, she goes for the knife.
there is some raucous applause as she serrates

its oiled, peppered and flightless skin and on
into its succulent chest meat as every spectator
dreams of flying. her blade burrows farther in
and under enough to dredge up a pinkish marrow,

where
Sweet Tunes - FFM 2010The only way to appease the creature was to play music at it – the older music the better. Whenever the music stopped, it'd stop its melodic swaying, freeze, and then let out the most terrifying and deadly cry. Eardrums bursting, glass shattering, electronics exploding, eyeballs melting – that kind of cry.

After that, it would disappear, only to reappear at the most inconvenient place imaginable, ready to explode again. If those around it valued their spleens, they would start digging for their MP3-players right away. The more musical amongst us might start  a serenade, or some kind of ad-libbed drumming session on whatever's nearb
winter has swallowed the worldwinter has swallowed the world today,
his blistering fury biting at faces

and speckling tree trunks and window
panes. he disguises all things, provides

a pure slate of marble dust that blankets
every surface. when he finally settles down,

all things settle with him. the pine forest
has become a herd of mammoths, weary branches

quietly sweeping the ground below.
Doorway Hourapril 15th, 5.01 a.m.
The rain doesn't fit in my ears any more. I lie in bed, picking at a corner of the old tinderbox, and I think, yeah, you'd be proud, Dad. You'd be so damned proud of me right now.

I can still hear – get it off, I whimpered – bzzzzzz, and the screams – get it off –

april 15th, 12:03 a.m.
Rachel thinks the sound of a knock is an emotional-slash-scientific catalyst. Once you've heard it, you can't block it out. Even if you don't open the door, you'll always wonder who's on the other side. Maybe she wonders how many times ignoring it would send you mad with curiosity.

I think it's common sense. On a
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More from ~Mjulinir

Who Needs A Title       The eyes were blue. Looking up into them, I had the sudden urge to step back, retreat, turn and run back to the safety of the front porch and let the screen door slam behind me. Instead, I smiled politely, mentally quashing my sudden irrationality.

       "She's not here right now," I repeated. "She's looking for work downtown."

       The man did not reply, his gaze shifting from my face to the house behind me. The blue eyes narrowed fractionally, as if by concentrating he could see straight through the cheap clapboard into the kitchen.

       I shuffled my feet uncomfortably; strangers, as a rule, made me nervous. "I don't know wh
SeasideBleached bones of fish
roll with the tide,
tumble trails across sand
disappearing:

Salt catches at them,
leaving streaks of foam
to twist away, swirling
around pink ankles
and retreating into grey.
Red Meat        I was hungry….
       Yeah, I mean really REALLY hungry. We’re talkin’ so hungry I was half dead, lying in the middle of the path. I actually thought that the little kid was an angel comin’ to take me to the other side, at first… But only at first…soon as I got a whiff of the kid I figured, angel or no, she smelled pretty tasty. And I never was all that religious anyway.
       Now don’t get me wrong, I was never the kinda wolf who would prey on a defenseless little kid. After all, I take pride in my work and what’s the fun in killing something that can’t even fight back? But when you&

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My Winter

:iconmjulinir:

Cardinals will
                drip
from the branches like
berries
and the sky will turn to smoke.
The ground crunches under your feet and it’s
Almost as if you could
         sail away
across the ice.
Brandished behind screens of glass
are fists of ivory
They are covered in scratches and
         bloom
from the dark like magnolia blossoms.
:iconmjulinir:
Oh, wow! I should really check my DA more often...A Daily Deviation! I never, ever, saw that coming! Thanks, everyone, for all of the kind comments, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to check my account. Also, thank you to :iconoleem: for suggesting the poem for a DD!

Thank you so much to :iconoleem: for featuring this poem! :heart:
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Daily Deviation

Given 2010-12-13
My Winter by ~Mjulinir brings winter to life with brilliant imagery and elegant verse. ( Suggested by ~Oleem and Featured by `nycterent )
:iconmordial33:
~Mordial33 Nov 22, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Wow. That was amazing. You put yourself out on a limb and wrote of beauty as if in a dream. (Check out some of my poems. I am new.)
Reply
:iconmjulinir:
~Mjulinir Feb 10, 2012
Thank you! I will check them out when I get the chance!
Reply
:iconichors:
~Ichors Jan 18, 2011
Very pretty, the imagery in crisp. I see what you've done with the enjambement, almost using it as punctuation. None the less, I feel some punctuation would complement the piece quite well, the poem seems a little rushed without it. I feel the imagery gets a little rushed, it needs more time to be digested.
Congratulations on the DD, and well written. :beer:
Reply
:iconmjulinir:
~Mjulinir Jun 1, 2011
Thanks, very much! I'm really a novice when it comes to poetry, so the feedback is definitely appreciated! I can see what you mean about the poem needing something to slow it down a little.
Reply
:iconsarah-the-writer:
~Sarah-the-writer Jan 6, 2011
Beautiful! Love the flow of this piece, and the imagery. Great work!
Reply
:iconmjulinir:
~Mjulinir Jun 1, 2011
Thank you very much!
Reply
:iconlinxinpei:
~linxinpei Dec 14, 2010  Student Writer
Lovely poem -- oddly enough, this is the first time the structure of the poem caught my eye, instead of the imagery.
Reply
:iconmjulinir:
~Mjulinir Jun 1, 2011
Thank you! I've always liked playing around with form and line breaks. It makes writing a lot more fun for me :D
Reply
:icondimerization:
!dimerization Dec 13, 2010
Love the last two lines.
Reply
:iconmjulinir:
~Mjulinir Feb 10, 2012
Thanks!
Reply
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