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Queen UlyssesYou build me up
and break me down
I can't take anymore
My dreams have gone and
Drowned on your mind's shore
What once was love can't be found
What once ignored no more
You build me up
and break me down
I can't take anymore
My sweet love
At cold Neptune's mercy
My worries are to earthy
I'm not worthy, come home.
HesitationWe live under a mountain of snow that slowly accumulates as we drift into sleep.
From this mountain a small signet of light can be seen, if one ventures to the peak, just before the harsh wind seeks to return you to the white blindness. This light, comes from a door, left slightly ajar. A door that lives on the edge of a withered field. The cows have left the grass uneven, yet a path can be seen, giving it's origin to this mysterious door. This cold and harsh environment could never let you reach this destination. So you must sit and wonder until spring comes, and the river returns full of lively fish.
MiS PaLaBRasMis palabras
Son impotantes para mí
Pero, en cualquier lenguaje
Mientras yo miro a la prosa
Infundada. ¿Tienen sentido las palabras?
¿solamente lo tienen a uno,
que está dispuesto a asimilar la importancia
que el autor hubiese querido?
¿Si no tuviese lentes
Serían más importantes las palabras
que no más tengo que forzar para ver?
¿Por la creciente
Desbaratar la deficiencia de mis ojos
Que quiero corregir.
Las palabras pierden su sentido?
¿Que cosa nos hace leer?
Y estar prudente en el análisis de esto?
Ode to the Water BottleWhy are you not wise water bottle?
Filled with the stuff of life and
Hated, must you spend those
Wasteful years among the
Saddened and ruined things
Depressing that it's your parents who hate
the ones who proclaimed you
Now are your enemy
This pure chalice
lay in form
while the others waste into the natural cycles
when they mold into you
will they hate you so?
may the journey of your offspring
be filled with valor
you never stop growing
and only is the way up
sorry, just keep growing maybe one
will realize what he has done
but until then,
I will plant your seeds,
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
SafeI clasped my hand tight shut around my mothers.
I was a possessive oyster wrapped around pearly fingers
bitten white by the freshly whisked air.
We braced ourselves against the frozen metal frames
that, although unmovable by infantile hands,
were not a substantial enough barrier against a tempest.
The sea lashed out its limbs in a fury
and the sky’s face paled grey with worry
at what that grasping anger might achieve.
It rose to greet us, stood on mighty churning haunches
and collapsed heavily around our shoulders
with the dramatic violence of a dancer
crashing down upon a splintered Tibia.
It drenched us, filling mouths and ears with water.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine, comforting,
and as the sea drew back again,
preparing to strike out at us over and over
until its very exhaustion point – and over once more –
As it readied itself to slash our raincoats,
with the force of an evening spiralling into true darkness,
over and over –
for a moment the smell o
Oxtails (Collab w/ TwilightPoetess)Somewhere between oxen and orchid,
where cattails and foxgloves wilt and weep
at the parting of another fleeing day
and stormed cloud-castles mutiny
against the weight of the rocksalt moon;
somewhere between flightless and fading,
where faery circles and dandelion crowns fall--
somewhere, beneath bark mosaiced with age,
you will siphon the remains of my heart--
churned smooth by false hope’s abuse--
into dehydrated dirt that groans for it.
I will clot the crumbling veins of anthills
with the iron debris that was once us,
until I become orchid or foxglove once more.
UntitledPave me into a building and I should feel more important than ever,
Place me into a cloud and I shall feel like god.
Nail me into wood and I shall feel as I am nature.
Build me into your home, and I shall always feel warm.
Construct a monument in my honor and I shall feel vapid
Worship me and I shall feel overestimated.
Carry me and I shall feel helpless.
Tell me and I shall feel sorry.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More