..if they could just love again..

winds of fury

if this house shook as much as i do,
 it'd fall over

inside this house is what makes me shake
it's awfully drafty,
and full of angry wind
   from the  l i p s  inside

i have a dragon on my door
and when you knock, he roars

in the eyes of a disbeliever

i think i'm allergic to you
    really, you need to stay away
every time you're near
i pick up some weird nervous habit
                                                     usually itching
my throat closes up
                     sometimes i can't even speak
my eyes water
                  because they don't close
     (no, i'm not staring)

but really, you need to keep far from me
         it's starting to really take a toll on my health

time to catch up

 time is fleeting
    that's an understatement
i'd like to grab a grandfather clock by the collar
  and demand that he slow down


stop his ticking
 because he certainly isn't getting any younger
and i've got assignments to do


lots of them

stars

i like stars
bright stars
super stars
gold stars
i like stars
shooting stars
sea stars
dark stars
i like stars
and i like you
you leave me
starry eyed

writing contest ; true

when i sit and think about writing,
i think about how nice it would be
if i could write like the other poets
because i know

      there will be lots of submissions

that exercise an ample employment of diction

And those of which are perfectly punctuated.

and induce a kaleidoscope of vivacious pigments, that ignite
a wildfire of imagery

but

            that’s all really not my thing

so i’ll sit and just think about it

butter

feel free
to spread yourself
across the sea
your voice and
hello to foreign trees

heart

he was a pyromaniac
 everything
    he set everything on fire

his world up in flames
 then he flicked his lighter
                       
now my heart has
                                              third degree burns





*****************

he was a pyromaniac;

 everything

    he set everything on fire;

his world up in flames.

 then he flicked his lighter

                        

now my heart has

                                              third degree burns

hey guess what. a man's place is in the kitchen.

kitcHEn

a world of fetish

she's got rainbows on her knees
  and the full moon in her pocket
her voice is fairy bells
and her actions opportunities

i'm not vain, just ecrivain

i love you just the way




i am

HAIKU KUKA

ghostly sailing ships
 like to get tangled in your
blackly ringlets

your face

I hope that if you ever get mauled by bears,
they stay away from 

          your charm
your teeth 

            (because you brush them so

fervently)
your           wrinkled nose
laughing eyes
       freckled cheeks
dimpled grin
            because i think you’re
cute

doe you know?

you my deer,
i am fawndest of.

COM TRUISE - SUNDRIPED

Little Girl - Robert Francis

fairytales

STOP, GO SLOW =

LIFE MOVES FASTER THAN YOU KNOW.

GOT TO HOLD ON,
DON’T LET GO.

SPOOLS OF GOLD AND HIDDEN NAMES,
no bigger than a thumb and ginger bread games.

pack your basket with wolf teeth,
slip from midnight to your treasures
beneath the sea. 

metaphor poem 2.0

hungry is the unquenched desire to attain beauty.
society's beauty.

people are no longer hungry for food ; they're hungry for how good skinny girls look in a bikini. hungry for the feeling of feeling tiny beneath a sweatshirt. hungry for feeling safe without sucking in while wearing a tank top. hungry for bony collar and shoulder bones. hungry for that light-as-a-feather feeling when being picked up. hungry for skinny legs, thigh gaps, and a flat stomach.

hungry for the taste of satisfaction. hungry for the taste of catharsis. hungry for acceptance in a delusional society.

hungry will forever remain unquenched to those who cannot attain.

this is the hunger that starves the living, and feeds the graves.

Hungry is

hungry is the low grumble,
the churning inside,
the muffled roar of desire

hungry is the echo of a toddler,
ringing through the halls
screaming,
bursting lungs

hungry is something loud
something consuming,
driven by the desire to consume

[definitely going to fix this, just found it in my drafts -- metaphor poem.
eeeegh]

bend and snap!

               In order to obtain the perfection of the bend and snap combination, one must satisfy the tantalizing desires of those that are onlookers (main objective being FedEx carrier men). Firstly, it is best to be blonde. Bleach and striking resemblence to Barbie if possible -- if you are unfortunately mud-haired, then you'll just have to follow these steps with utmost caution and application to yourself. After combing one's tresses to utter perfection, strut your stuff down the street to the nearest nail bar. To strut, is to let your hips sachay from side to side and cross your ankles as you stroll (one would assume you're sporting heels) alright, now you've arrived. Open that door with vigor and let every girlfran' in the house know you are now here. French gel nails are going to be your preference, but this is only to pass the time until the clock strikes hunk; and your dream man enters the salon, khaki shorts ablazin'. While waiting, feel free to toss your hair over your shoulders from time to time, just to assert authortiy and female domination through intimidating the others because your hair glistens like the moonlight reflecting from Juliet's eyes. Alright. The time has come, the prey has now entered the mint coloured beauty parlour, doe-eyed and uncertain; ready for your attack. Oh no! Is that a pen of great significant value you've dropped and is now rolling across the marble floor? Of course, you're going to get up and scurry after it. Now, these steps are to be carefully followed. Reach the destination of the pen, and make sure that the apple of your eye is aware of your movements. Once observation is secured, commence. (Remember, there is a 98% chance of being successful in catching the man's attention, and an 80% chance if used properly for a returned dinner invitation). Extend one leg father than the other, keeping is straight (usually your dominant leg is the extended). The other leg may be bent lightly at the knee, remember, the objective of this is to draw attention to the lower backside, so feel free to place your hand on your lower back, just on the waistline on your jeans. Now, reach across with the opposite hand to your dominant leg, sliding your palm down your jeans and grasp delicately. Alright, now this has the bend under control. Now, move on to the deal sealer. All of your weight is to be transfered from your angle as of right now, to upwards. And make it perky, if this action is carried out in a slothlike manner, the goals attempted to be achieved will fall through, and that 80% chance mentioned earlier will drop to a miserable sixty. Quickly, draw your arms in (to the point where your wrist should be supporting the girls to a perkier position) and extend your torso. (Preferebly, 'lunge your chest'). This movement will allow both your chest to be exploited, and your hair to sway in an attractive manner.
Now, the only way to understand if you have successfully followed these steps, is to try it.

Enjoy your dinner.

The Ominous Crag

[I know Ms. Pederson was asking about this, so I thought just for additional security I'd put my descriptive place paragraph here.]

         


       Refugees seek salvation and shelter within mountains of strong rock and stone, shielding themselves from the harsh elements that drive them to hide. I however, seek sanctuary beneath a different type of crag. A mountainous region that rolls with goose feathers and bends to my very will, covering me from all outside forces. The easily manipulated, green stained duvet has comforted me for many years (see what I did there?) through times where it was no more than an oversized tissue, stained with mucus amongst the painted flowers and reeds; other times decorated with tears of dramatic emotional toil to add to the flow of the woven river.  Headrests of length have always been stacked for my liking, changeable with the covers though the white beneath has always remained diligent, only visible when I forget to put my sheets and covers in the dryer. My bed is a salvation that beckons to me only in times of inconvenience, and cocoons me in it’s venomous embrace only in the morning; other than that, it is cast aside, taunting me from against the wall, mocking it’s neglected state, knowing that time and time again, I will always come crawling back. And when I do; it is there and ready for me with an open mattress, softening the blows as an exhausted body drops heavily against it. My bed is my favourite place, for it is a stronghold against all elements. 

ZZzzzz

i have the feeling that a lot of people spend their time sleeping because nothing goes wrong like when they're awake. 

perpetia sole

I like shoes. I'm superficial, whatever. That's the point where my life changes. The way it carves the ankle, the little toe cleavage at the end (since I can't find any cleavage anywhere else, I'll rely on my feet) the height. Everybody knows that a little heel goes a long way. One outfit could completely alter to the point of one hundred percent by purchasing one new sole. The sole is an assertion of the soul. Everybody can see your shoes and remark oh how stunningly fabulous they are, and therefore are in a sense, an outward expression of that which many surpress. they're reliable too -- certain articles of clothing may point of a fact on the human frame that brings major displeasure to the wearer, and critisism from the chorus of observers. However, shoes are hardly such a hi-lighter to features, instead, are the perfect accent and balance. The worse a shoe can scold is leg length, and particular styles are not suitable for those of little height (aka. moi).
Personally, a purchase can be the turning point of optimism. Recently, while squandering about on a rainy day, I stepped out to buy a new pair of espadrilles which immediately ignited my passion and desire for Spring to come a lot sooner than in a month. (And we, as British Columbians are well aware that March is not the particular ignition of warmer weather, more like rain instead of threatening snow and slush). Scenarios began unfolding as to where and how these shoes would be worn, where they would skip, where they would trudge -- all beneath the warm glow of the sun.
So hurry up spring, I'm getting weary of boots and ponyhaired flats.
It's time to bring the cute on.

écrivanity

écrivain is writer in french. so, the blog's name is écrivanity. (spin on the vanity)