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where i dance alonei. I mistook a shy boy for a thunderous one in the days when I lived inside his lungs.

ii. I wanted your hands in the early morning, or in 8 o' clock light. (Does it matter? I just wanted you.) Hands like paper cranes, hands like wind chimes. Then we could've been like lovers in a parody: "I love you, I love you—no, I don't. But you are beautiful." And while I was not your lover, neither was I your queen. Either way, you wouldn't hold my heart.

iii. Our fingers would've taken flight and then the rest of us, too. Then you would've known of the ballroom in my chest, the migrations inside my body, of the tiny secret nothings that make the

That Magic RecipeWish I could make bank on hindsight,
so many things I would change,
but we can never go back.

It's that age old cliché.

I guess everyone reaches a point in their lives;
trying to figure out what went wrong, right,
or otherwise indifferent -that magic recipe.

Trying to figure out,
was it a left turn or a right?
Do I turn around or go forward?

They say when you're down
there's nowhere to go but up.

Hope is a funny thing sometimes,
especially when it comes to maintaining it.

I know this much –Life's a trip.

The RunawayMy muse left a note
in the frost on my window,
saying:
"Call me when your ink runs out."

I imagined her vaulting from the sill
into the freshly falling snow
cocking her hat just so
as she stepped into the East
before it iced over.

She leaves no prints for me to follow,
no re-imagined trail for me to trod,
and I could spend years
tumbling after her shadow,
only to find her
gone.

We All Have To PayGot chased by angry bees once
While running from cops just outside of Mobile
I suppose that's a hell of a way to start out
But it sounded pretty good to me

I had done something stupid as usual
And found myself in a green field behind a large stump
Nervous and scared
I had a habit of tapping my foot
I still do to this day

Only the bees inside that stump
Didn't like it so much
And they let me know

Now I can't tell you how long those bees gave chase
But it seemed like a ran forever

Before I knew it
I was hopping a Grey Hound out of Montgomery Alabama
On my way back to Texas
Only to get picked up for loitering
In downtown Hou

Save it for your PriestForget the fall
It's the landing that hurts
I should've started fresh at thirty
Put aside childhood love
And just lived a little
I guess I'm stubborn that way

Only now it seems
I can't run fast enough or far enough away
Distance is key
But some people don't want to be left

If she loved me
She'd let me go
How's that for a cliché'

Instead I have to push and pull
Tear myself away

I know what you're going to say
Save it for your priest
But I don't talk to God
And I don't read the horoscope either
I never trusted mine anyway

I write instead
And not unlike yourselves

I've learned a lot along the way
Lessons old and new do

That RealizationTrying to disarm me with song lyrics doesn't work anymore, but even you're picking more appropriately now. No more one and only I would die for you type stuff. Now it's fire and gasoline and when the light hits your eyes I'll be gone, then you sob and I feel as though I'm coming apart.

It's hard to watch someone you care for suffer. It's even harder to let go of a dream that once was. You say I don't care, but the truth is got here first; that realization set in and I saw the end coming.

We may slide on the way out, but out is still out. I'm just trying to cushion your fall, but I know I'm falling too and nobody is going to be there to catc

AcquittalWon't you leave me? I will love you
more than if you stay, transfixed

to the point of reference, our bodies
melding a sad, soft sublime, the back

spine of a little universe blown out
like a crafter's hot glass, the growing

moment, the wonder, the expansion
before a chill.

The Nature of ThingsHere, with my hands in the dirt.
I never imagined myself
as much of a gardener.

Then again,
I never imagined I'd be much of a cook either,

let alone a poet.

knuckles so broken,
I can barely hold a pencil.
Every time I take a breath,
I feel the ribs that have not yet healed.

Though they should've,
long ago.

So I guess I've changed.
So much so
there are times when I don't recognize myself
in the mirror.

I think,
who is this person standing before me?
Where did he come from?
When did he get here?

But I have no answers.

I guess this is the nature of things.
Though part of me longs to reach out.

To tell the `me that

Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owen
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.

she pirouetted
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
proved rough.

this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before
its death.

Willfully LostIn these whispering moments,
I take your heart in mine
and hold it fast.

You make me forget
things like flower names
and cloud shapes,
where I came from
or why I'm going,
as my thoughts are filled with..
you.

Every crack in the sidewalk
carries your name,
and the grass rustles soft your wishes
to tangle your fingers in my hair.

My breathing drops
like the autumn wind,
would that I could,
I would throw myself into it,
will myself towards your southwestern
heartbeat,
your dusty mesas abutting
my mountains green.

WelcomeI'm ready for a romance to ravage my heart and tear apart my
dusty limbs, I'm waiting for someone to take my breath and
never give it back; I'm prepared to sell all I was for a trip
somewhere new - beyond the paper mistakes I sailed away
down the river long ago. (even rocks and leaden thoughts
won't let the truth sink.)

I left my being somewhere under a waning summer sun
when the trees hummed melodies of moving on;
my soul still stays there, porous and pining and
lost. Dying stars don't lead home.

I suppose
it's more than just losing
your words, it's losing
you

too.

I am someone who mourns Sunday morning for another lost
w

Casualties of WarLike your duffle bag strings,
we were burdened and taut.
In the hangar full
of camouflaged men,
we all blended;
another family thinking about
how if this were World War Two,
we’d be hanging you a blue star
and praying that
the alchemy of war
didn't turn it gold.
We wondered if the photograph of us,
soon to be framed on the mantle,
would be our final documentation
that you existed,
and “single mother” would become
permanent status for our matriarch,
eyes tight as she hugged us four
to her chest as if to ward away
thoughts of widowhood.

They don’t tell you about
the deaths on the home front,
how the father comes ho

TwentyTwenty is an ice-storm,
I am coated.
Solid and stuck,
I was.

Twenty is finding
my boots are too heavy,
struggling and strained,
I was.

Twenty's forgetting
to light my own candle,
dreamless and dark,
I was.

And twenty remembers
all former transgressions,
bitter and broken
I was.

Eighteen was first love
and Nineteen had lost it,
before the next year sang in.
Twenty was somber,
stumbling sober,
until the October began.

Twenty reflects
upon all of her follies;
Learning and stumbling,
I am.

And Twenty is healing,
acknowledged the broken.
Discovering strength,
I am.

Twenty is loved,
though she sometimes forgets it
Remembering swiftly,
I am

Home is Where the Guns Go OffWe dwell in places no one prefers to live: rundown apartment complexes; dangerous housing projects; poorly zoned business districts with warehouses cutting through residential landscapes, most of which sit vacant from the boom that never happened.

A dozen quarter mile barrios, a single community divided amongst its self; each sector being fiercely guarded by angry, misguided youth. They protect something,worth truly nothing, for reasons hardly above reproach, where the average response time is an hour-twenty and the speed limit is eighty-five.

This is the land of concrete and graffiti; broken knuckles and bloody lips; the place where gun fi

What A Boring RideThe door slams shut
to the sound of clashing metal.
And the pull of a chain,
as gears turn
to seal the way.

Time passes slowly
with no sky over head.
Inside, night and day
are the same.

What a boring ride,
yet I bide my time.
Patience
is a virtue
of age.

Still I hate that smell
like a hospital,
only worse.
The tank grows cold
as the bodies fade.

The slippers they give
won't stay on my feet
and this jump suit rides
in places
it shouldn't be.
So I tie it off
at the waist
and tell the rest
to fuck off.

All I want
is a pod and a cot
about the time detox
walks in.

Now I laugh
at drunks stumbling abo

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Knock KnockPolice at doorstep with downcast eyes

SomaliaIf she could feed him her flesh
she would,
but the flies have
gotten to her first.
Sunken sockets
Brittle spine
too parched,
too starved,
much too tired to even try.
But she still does,
because he is
still here.

Hush.
She'd rather stay silent as
her guts become
self-cannibals.
Meanwhile,
her largest organ
raisins under the
scorching sun.

She's wandered,
much longer than what was
permissible.
And now,
she would give up her legs,
if only she
could lactate.

how in love i amyou made me a song
and named it september
and i fell in love with you all over again

when you do sing to me
i die in aching bliss
a sponge tasting water after so much drought
i swell up greedily taking all i can get from you
till i simply can't anymore
i simply can't

your voice and your guitar
shut my world off
all i am its what you are to me
and these mere moments are
priceless

this is our love song
even before i knew
the thought of you
at unholy hours in lamplight aglow
fingers trembling and grazed
guitar at hand
tuning and turning and twisting
molding your adoration into form
trying ever so hard in order to make

It is sheMany people call her deluded, childish, and a deviant to boot.
I don't blame them though and how can I?

After all, it is she who must always have either massive butterfly or flower pins atop her dark, curly, head of hair. This is because without them she says, she can't think the way she's meant to, and she'd rather not think at all if she can't feel free to think her way. She can't deny her disposition and her wide-eyed and beauteous manner.

It is she who would only ever carry her books in untreated, hand-stitched, hemp or straw bags around campus. This is because the aroma of the earthy hemp and straw, when blended with the smell of the

As I inaudibly crumbleThe first thing that I can assure you of is the fortitude of my soul: I am a pact so strong that even the hurricane which caused my house to tear apart couldn't budge me. So strong, that even the earthquake that cracked the face of my school building couldn't chip me. So strong, that no amount of tidal waves could crash and break into my walls, my being. I am a pact made of several precious trinkets, letters and colors bound fervently. My frame has become a watchtower and my spirit, its sentry; I fulfill set duty. I am a pact so strong that I crave for certain commotion over what it is that I am, I wear and bare my vanity. I am a thrill seeke

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Happy New Year, love

by =Sammur-amat, Dec 30, 2012, 2:02:49 AM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

Suddenly, the nights seem to end so much quicker and the days just keep dragging onto forever. Futility overcomes me as I continue being spread too thin and snap. I am caught in these moments where I finally forget all the rules, all that need not- cannot be spoken, and capsize under the bludgeoning weight of your smoldering stare. Don't you dare; my body is drenched in crude kerosene holding a matchbox in one hand and a single stick in the other, waiting on your signal to strike. 12 seconds are all I need to grab you by the shoulders, push you against a wall, unbuckle your calm and composure, wrinkle away your wry smile, place my hand upon your heart and press my lips unto your ear and whisper, "Happy New Year". Love is the only thing we lust for in all our ravenous rendezvous, our always close calls with death; we drown ourselves in all that we will never be. I want to kiss you like a song, like I'm a siren who'll soak up all of you till you're long gone. In my fondest memories you will always look so lividly leonine, lifting me up above the floor, against the core of gravity, against the smell of petrichor. We will surely sink and sear into infinite obsidian with this wanton, barren, passion and so, why not enjoy swimming in the shallow, cerulean, sea of pretty little lies that come prior? What say you, love?

Happy New Year, loveby =Sammur-amat

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

Prose poetry

Happy New Year, dearest dA family!

Also written for *callerofcrows contest with details found HERE: [link]

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS, ALWAYS LOVED!!
PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Critique:
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~TheMoorMaiden Jan 7, 2013 Student Writer

Such a pretty little piece.

I love: In my fondest memories you will always look so lividly leonine.

It's lovely.

=Sammur-amat Jan 11, 2013 General Artist

Thank you so very kindly, darling friend! You are lovely!

~TheMoorMaiden Jan 11, 2013 Student Writer

You're very welcome.

=Sammur-amat Jan 13, 2013 General Artist

<3 <3 <3

*ARTBYTERESA Jan 2, 2013

Happy New Year!

=Sammur-amat Jan 3, 2013 General Artist

Happy New Year to you, too, darling!

~shehrozeameen Dec 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I like this work... but its too steamy for me to read in full...

And after reading I need to grab you by the shoulders, push you against a wall, unbuckle your calm and composure, wrinkle away your wry smile, place my hand upon your heart and press my lips unto your ear and whisper, "Happy New Year" I was... well... woah...

That's a very... very... line...

whoever is with you, is very lucky... Happy new year

=Sammur-amat Dec 31, 2012 General Artist

Thank you muchly, dear friend!

Haha, is it now? I thought I managed to keep it tame, too

Awwh, that's so sweet of you to say.

I'm pretty much single though I truly think that it's a good season for me to be so it's all good

Happy new year to your and your loved ones, too!

~shehrozeameen Dec 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Your welcome

*blushing* it isn't... lol

You're single... really... a lovely person like yourself... lucky you

Hey, read the journal I put up, you won't be disappointed

=Sammur-amat Jan 2, 2013 General Artist

Done and done, lovely creature! Thanks again!

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Happy New Year, love

Happy New Year, loveby =Sammur-amat

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