Second.

Apr. 18th, 2006 08:41 am
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The second hand spinning round
Points to sixtythreemillioneonethreethousandeighthundredfiftytwo

A second hand in mine
The carousel goes round again
No outstretched fingers, no straining arms
Just brass rings rainlike
Into overflowing pockets

Poems turned to kisses like sparks to fireworks
Light the touch-paper and never stand back
What's a finger or two between friends?
Just touch the paper lightly
Burn me your words and I'll do the same
Written, not even whispered,
Echoes of midnight lazy promises
Written not, even whispered

A second year so soon gone and still never soon enough those seconds
Between eyes that wake open and eyes that see yours

(and now we return and begin again)
icebluenothing: (Default)
Oh, sing with me of strutting pigs
In their fashions bright and bold
Of little sprigs that always twig
in tiny trees of gold

We'll sing of how the daffows dill,
all out standing in their fields,
We'll tell how pumpkins often will,
in autumn, keep their orange peeled

Let's dance a dance of everglades,
with mossy branches drooping
Into the picnics that we made,
of sandwiching and souping

We'll dance until we both fall down
and then fall up again
We'll dance right through this whole damn town
And not fall out, love, we'll fall in

We'll dance for all the lonely tables
With their awkward four left feet,
We'll dance for mice and pens and clouds, and then if we're still able
We shall dance and sing and scream like kings at everyone we meet

We'll dizzy 'til we spin,
and hoarse until we're yell
We'll kid and kid like we were little laughs again
Oh, the nevers that we'll secret tell

For thing's have gone all teacup,
And the day moves treacle-slow,
And our heads are stuffed with gears and springs
Of things we used to know

Like how many miles does the Eiffel Tower grow,
and how many ones make seven,
Or if poison mushrooms are good to eat
And do good kittens go to heaven

No more for growing old is us!
We'll ever younger get
But we've each been taught too much good sense
And we've so much to forget -- !
icebluenothing: (Default)
Time at last for October kisses
Light fingertips down my back like unseen drops of morning fog
And brightsharp breezes that draw her near

Time for hot chocolate and cider spices
Mornings late in bed with blankets pulled up tight and close as skin
and endless ghost-story-late nights
Watch kept by candles guttering like jack-o-lantern eyes

Hand-in-hand on walked-down streets
like children out for trick-or-treat
Sun slants down low and lazy through burning turning leaves
Tumble down to spread out at our feet like hair spilled over pillows

The world turning carousel-fast under our feet
and I can feel the shape of a year in its arc
Hidden from cold in shelter and dark with
Every touch of her candy-apple lips

Wish.

May. 25th, 2004 06:01 pm
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I am easily led by your bright star
To razor-edge horizon, distant and never known before
Lost where you found me in glittereyed distraction
From everything I once thought real
Wishes made on every night's first single shining light
And every last fountain-tossed coin
Where I left my doubts behind to drown
A single wish that sounds like your name
On the beat of a thousand handfold wings
And the whisper of dandelion seeds blown away
A million ways to ask the world the question
Only your lips could answer
And now with every heart-long step that leads me on
The rainbow's end will justify the means

Scars.

May. 15th, 2004 02:36 pm
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I want scars from you
My skin made a written word that no one can speak
Its meaning only read in your eyes
I want scars from you,
Not just from each kind touch of your cruel hand
But from every look, every glance
I can feel your eyes sharp on my skin
And each word, each hot breath at my neck
So the marks should rise up just the same
Secret poems and sacred names
I want to be your love letter to the world,
Many-folded, never sent and pocket-kept
But ever-meant and dedicated still
To each grain of beach sand, each fallen flower,
Every last blood-gold sunset
icebluenothing: (Default)
Champagne glasses left untouched in the sink
Fading stain still as pink as kisses
There are chemical traces of you left in my system
Do you mind, I wonder, that I use you like a drug?
Moments with you I can hold crystalline in my hand
Like little bright pills just for emergencies
And I swallow the sound of your voice whole
Drowning out for a while my own on its fever-static feedback loop
Serotonin lullabies in my heart's chambers that echo and echo
Hours and days and still you remain
A sudden shock or certain pain and everything comes clear again
In mirror-sharp afterimage flashback
The curve of your smile
Or the way your eyes look when you say
My name

Plath.

Oct. 21st, 2003 12:12 am
icebluenothing: (Default)
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"












That's Mad Girl's Love Song, by Sylvia Plath.

Perhaps it's morbid of me, or at the very least a little trite and obvious of me; but I'm fascinated by the artistic output of the suicidal. I want to know, to feel, whatever it was they couldn't bear to carry around in their hearts. Maybe to try to carry it for them. I don't know.

Anyway, I bring this up because it is time again (now that it's after midnight) for Tunes for Tuesday, and I want you to hear how a band called Fisher have set this poem to beautiful, haunting music.

www.fishertheband.com/MadGirlMp3/Mad_Girl_FISHER.mp3

and ever so

Aug. 5th, 2003 03:42 am
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You wrap your love tight unseen in christmastree bows
and leave it for the world to find like a path of breadcrumbs to your door
gifts without nametags hung like garlands
ribbons streaming from boughs in whirlwind profusion
fluttering and muttering their secrets
only one day a week

I often wake some velvet mornings
and taste already your name on my lips
thinking of glitterdark eyes and privatejoke smiles
I trace the letters without a sound
and wonder if you hear me just the same

If I reach for some bright gift
will I disturb the paths of origami wings?
my own heart is fierce and I know frightens sometimes
but if I shake eversocarefully one tiny box
and ask it if it's mine
then I might not break its spunglass heart
if I am careful (and ever so)

Caesar.

Jul. 25th, 2002 03:32 pm
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Hipsters, flipsters, and finger-poppin' daddies,
Knock me your lobes,
I came to lay Ceasar out,
Not to hip you to him.
The bad jazz that a cat blows,
Wails long after he's cut out.
The groovey is often stashed with their frames,
So don't put Caesar down.
The swinging Brutus hath laid a story on you
That Caesar was hungry for power.
If it were so, it was a sad drag,
And sadly hath the Caesar cat answered it.
Here with a pass from Brutus and the other brass,
For Brutus is a worthy stud,
Yea, so are they all worthy studs,
Though their stallions never sleep.
I came to wail at Ceasar's wake.
He was my buddy, and he leveled with me.
Yet Brutus digs that he has eyes for power,
And Brutus is a solid cat.
It is true he hath returned with many freaks in chains
And brought them home to Rome.
Yea, the looty was booty
And hip the trays we weld(?)
Dost thou dig that this was Caesar's groove
For the putsch?
When the cats with the empty kicks hath copped out,
Yea, Caesar hath copped out, too,
And cried up a storm.
To be a world grabber a stiffer riff must be blown.
Without bread a stud can't even rule an anthill.
Yet Brutus was swinging for the moon.
And, yea, Brutus is a worthy stud.
And all you cats were gassed on the Lupercal
When he came on like a king freak.
Three times I lay the kingly wig on him,
And thrice did he put it down.
Was this the move of a greedy hipster?
Yet, Brutus said he dug the lick,
And, yes, a hipper cat has never blown.
Some claim that Brutus' story was a gag.
But I dug the story was solid.
I came here to blow.
Now, stay cool while I blow.
You all dug him once
Because you were hipped that he was solid
How can you now come on so square
Now that he's tapped out of this world.
City Hall is flipped
And swung to a drunken zoo
And all of you cats are goofed to wig city.
Dig me hard.
My ticker is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And, yea, I must stay cool til it flippeth back to me.

-- Lord Buckley

Lyrics.

Dec. 13th, 2001 03:52 pm
icebluenothing: (Default)
You don't think I make much sense
When I speak of consequence
You just marvel at my eloquence
And then you walk away

Just a word in my defense
Though things between us have grown tense
Just think about the relevence
Of what I have to say

I've been fighting your demons
For such a long time
I think I forgot they're not mine
And you might think that after all this time
That I would find a way
To give them back to you
To tell you that I'm through
But what it all just comes down to
Is that I won't let them go

If there's nothing left to say
Maybe we said it yesterday
I can't rewind, I can't press play
Can't hear the words you said before
You went walking out my door

So many demons left to slay
But they won't come out to play
Without you here, alone I stand
this useless sword still in my hand
And I don't think you understand

I've been fighting your demons
For such a long time
And I think you forgot they're not mine
And I would think that after all this time
That you might set me free
Just take them back from me
And tell me you can see
That what it all just comes down to
Is that I won't let them go
Just like I can't let you go
Though I didn't think you'd know
I can't let you go
































. . . Hmmmm. Maybe [livejournal.com profile] deuce_4_life is right -- it's really not that hard to write a pop song.

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