Hand Measure by Micah Dorn
There is the grief in my left palm, a pulp of heavy lamentations;
The ‘Ohs’, the groans, the sighs that sigh away a pithy thought.
Webbed crows etched in the skin of my fist, my curled hand,
Knuckles bearing up against the contours, cuneiform edges grazing
in red, wet contusions into the right palm. The thumb is retracted,
Stroking the hope which lies there to sleep, to wake in warmth.
The heat rises with so much levity, It is hope’s warm pulse
Against which grief slackens like stones in pockets.
These are the objective correlatives in my struggle for balance.
Thinking is the fulcrum they pivot between. Always infinite motion,
Always tension as I reconcile myself with the fact that I am possible.
3:23 pm • 17 May 2013 • 9 notes
Waves of us By Kristina V Griffiths
Electricty upon my finger tips,
Everytime dark clouds -
Take over the skylight,
Colossal claps of thunder
Roll out like tumble weeds,
Let move forward,
And walk upon the sodden sands.
Red hot anguish pierces the surface,
Of the calm ocean waves,
Passionate as sin,
Faster than the wind,
Looking into your eyes,
Trying to make sense
Time after time,
Tonight at times like these-
I should be over the butterflies that take flight,
In plain sight of a waveless shore.
I’m falling in, I’m falling down,
Into this pacific romance
Dark maraulding waves crash forth,
Causing us to plunder deeper into the coral reefs,
Sparks fly between us
For we caught the lightening of loves form.
1:21 pm • 16 May 2013 • 8 notes
When he decides to write… by Shafaq Noor
Sharpened pencils. A whole box. Same length. Yellow.
Old desk. Cedar. Aged with thoughts. Through the years.
Many meanderings. Late nights. Long hours.
Scratching ears. Furrowed brow.
Stale coffee. Out of filters. Time ticks by.
Clocks, a background hum.
Pages crumpled. Outlined. Underlined
Words flow. Fall. Rise. Slow.
Revealing.Wonderstruck. With little luck.
Frantic scribbling. Pipe smoking.
Darkened letters. Weightless. Watchful
Restless hunting. And then triumph.
But just a passing one.
Crack of dawn. Realization drawn.
It was right there the whole time.
Lingering in between the lines.
Never tire. Never be content.
Madness you say? Magic-
in my eye.
‘Don’t be such a fool’ he said
It will come to you he said.
Curious. ‘He’s delerious’, they say.
I believe him.
8:12 pm • 15 May 2013 • 9 notes
Death in the Afternoon by Abhimanyu Kumar Singh
Summer came suddenly this year.
Like a bird of prey
Or young death.
The air breeds lust.
Sunlight bounces off the streets
Like a wet tennis ball.
Evil walks quietly
Blowing smoke rings
Through the luminous haze
Of the still-born day.
Heat rises slowly
Like the chronic anxiety
Of the eternally hopeful.
11:55 am • 15 May 2013 • 19 notes