Bloodstar

Mexican sand is benevolent
To a soul that
Don’t sleep
In life that’s bloated
With fast pace and
Poor lighting plays
Tag along with
Muted skin
And addiction
But there is no room for imperfection
No benediction today -
A relationship heavy
With advice is
Hard to follow -
It don’t need no one
But everyone sometimes -
And anyone will do
At the right time…
And some others are good
Alone -
That’s how some people are -
Not good
And not bad -
Not failures but
Experts at
Tending the garden
Of their own insulation.

Tags: Poetry, heyitsleslie by heyitsleslie
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She plucks at the buttons of her shirt
and leans against the doorway,
staring at the incandescence
pouring down onto the desk
and rug below.

The door closes shut as she treads
and stands before that circle of light
to stare down at the carpet,
worn from years of prostration
and she whispers

‘now I lay me down to sleep,’
She slips to her knees,
bows her head.

‘I pray thee Lord my soul to keep’
Then looks to the light
her face aglow

‘and if I should die be fore I wake’
She turns out the light,
slips into bed.

‘I pray thee Lord my soul to take.’
Then closes her eyes
and cries herself to sleep.

Tags: Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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He steps inside and closes the door.
“We can help you,”
She looks at the knife held by her fingers.
he grabs her arms but her gaze still lingers,
“and set you free of the prison you made.”

He holds her hands to the side.
“If you do this,”
As she struggle with serpentine twists
to push the blade into her wrists,
“you’ll never have a chance to try again.”

Then she locks her eyes to his.
“I was so naive.”
With a thrust, she drives her point home,
watching his eyes widen and fade to gloam,
“To wait for you to give back to me.”

A push and he stumbles
“I might be going down in flames,”
the wet splatter of maroon covers the tile.
She looks down at the metal, covered in bile,
“But you’ll burn with me.”

She steps back, and slips outside.
“Never save someone,”
The door shuts with a pneumatic whisper.
Her body shakes with a convulsive shiver,
“Who would rather stay damned.”

She walks under the streetlight.
“Because if God is my father,”
and shoves the knife into her arm,
holds them outstretched to display the harm,
“Then now I’m an orphan.”

Tags: Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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As I stood by
the waves crashed against the dock
the memories of youth slipped with the ticking of the clock

As I stood by
the rain cleansed from every surface dust
yet I thought only of future rust

As I stood by
a child yearned for a sign of love
perhaps God will bring forth a heavenly dove

As I stood by
a life was taken that I might be free
all I thought was if the power would go out from the knocked down tree

As I stood by
someone wished their dream could be a reality
and I wondered if they really were that much in need

As I stood by
I figured someone else would help the youth
I thought someone else would do the praying
would be sharing of their resources to others
I didn’t think what I did could make a difference

As I stood by
I began to wake and realize the truth
that no difference is made in merely standing
that even alone I’m given my druthers
to be the hand, the ear, the rock, the difference

Tags: Poetry, achievinglife by achievinglife
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The water breaks
on the rocks and sand.
and he waits at the edge.

A roar and churn
unseen and covered thicker than
the icing on the
chocolate cake that he
had made the night before.

Darkness hides the sights
But the sound rushes by
on a wind that cuts
from the grit and salt -
leaving his face wet with
spray or tears.

He sits in the darkness
and listens
as the ocean talks to his grief.
No need to respond.

Beyond the rocky shores
in the distance across the bay
the sweep of the lighthouse
catches the first fall of snow
drifting down to kiss the
grass and sand.

He’d stay that way forever
if he could.
A perfect last moment
to say good bye.

A frozen effigy looking
outward
towards the ocean.
Cold and barren
just as he felt
inside where his heart
used to beat.

The door opens
a gentle murmur of his name
and he stands
wet faced but smiling
and takes her little hand
to walk
back inside.

Tags: Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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The words won’t stop circling in her head,
it’s become one long recursive cant
pulling her heart
further along
and ever closer to the point
where sadness becomes madness;
and all paths end.

Arms wrapped around herself
in a mindless console from the pain,
she stumbles,
and pushes one foot
beyond another.

The emptiness is
the only thing driving her now
and she slips and stumbles
down into the verdent tangles
clutching at the damp vines
and stops;

even as her heart continues
it’s fall to the floor -
(to be dashed upon the moss,
and rocks of too many untold hurts)
- she knows that she could join it there,
if only she had the courage
to just let go.

Tags: Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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On the front porch she sits
Silent and still.
And the day grows long
under the shadows
of a single question unanswered,
“tell me the most beautiful moment of your life”

Across the way, the church bells call out
but she stays, immobile and held fast
by her unfathomable heaviness of being.
She watches his friends and family gather
and her hands clasp tighter together
her heart as empty as her eyes dry.

She looks to the bleeding sun
her eyes colored taciturn red
And she is waiting…
for something within her
to give permission to respond –
but not yet.

She tries to write it,
hoping that pen would give way to an ending
to give the answer that eluded her before.
’soon’ she whispers aloud.

Shes walking down the path,
her steps heavy and slow
the lightning strobes in the distance bring forth
her memories of the flashing emergency lights
and her heart frozen and numb.

She places the blank note at the top of his bed
next to the plastic flowers and footprints
by those who came to say goodbye.
but not her,
not until -
now.

Her lips brush the stone
and she lays beside him,
the damp earth answering the chill within her
as she closes her eyes and whispers,
“When I sleep beside you.”

Tags: Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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On the Flow

Several hours peace and calm

forget the pain; regain my mind.

Laying on the warm soft bed

Til you decide to come inside.

Leather whips and chains that bind

won’t make me quake; won’t make me cry,

it’s when you speak in tones of hate

it’s then my insides start to shake.

Pull the trigger like a gun.

The feeling grows and starts to run

through my veins so thick and black

no stopping now, no going back.

I despise what I become

when you start to have your fun.

Love and hate soon intertwine

Then I tell you all

I’m fine

Tags: Angelynna, Poetry by Angelynna
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Closing these crimson eyes,
I feel their accusing fingers
pointed at me,
Pain engulfs my heart,
eyes wide with tears,
clutching the spot where
my heart is suppose to be.
This emptiness I feel,
my lungs burn with surrender
as I give into the accusations
and Lies,
feeling the fighting fire within
me slowly fade away with each passing day.
My hands limp at my side,
my head bowed in submission,
my ankles bound in chains,
Crimson eyes now dull and lifeless
as my spirit is broken and I am
reformed into a mindless doormat.
my opinion never matter,
my rights never counted,
my heart and love were worthless,
I was useless for anything except lust.
I cared and you yelled
I cried you called me weak
I ran and you hunted me down,
I am safe in my cage,
leaving only this shell to remind
others it was useless to do anything,
as i gave myself into the darkness.

Tags: Poetry, Writing, vicious by Vicious
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The Last Song

They never said it’d be easy
to see what she’d done.
but you went anyway
and sat beside her bed -
by the tubes that pinned
her to this world,
until relatives could arrive.

Her head tilted down as if
listening to the piano she once played
until her fingers ached,
wrists burned, and back strained.

The poor thing meant nothing
to no one but her.
Broken, battered, and out of tune,
but oh how she stayed there
day after day working each key
until she teased the music back
from the ivory.

You sat with her when she
played the last song,
just as you sit with her
as her song ends.

“Why did you end it like that?” you asked.
And she smiled. “Sometimes,
the best way for a song to end -
is unfinished.”

Tags: National Poetry Month, Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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I can hear the river murmur its dreams
into the sun and the shadows as tomorrows
twilight slips in behind to steal the voices
back into the softest babble.

Even the rain drums out the code
across the vedant green that echos
the secrets I once kept close
as a child but became forgotten
when I became a man.

But when the river reaches the ocean
and touches the mighty roar,
I sit on the rocks and think
on the memories that I once treasured -
now buried in the sand.

And when the tears touch the skin
to trace the etchings on a face once bare,
The fog comes in to hide the last
echos of what had remained.

Tags: National Poetry Month, Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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The voices whisper their rambling
babbling ideas through the air.
The words twist and spiral with
contrails that show their direction,
their intent to impact the brain
and penetrate deeper into the matter
then explode a silent concussion of
light and shock as the meaning becomes
clearer and clearer like a wave of compressed
air running out from the center of detonation.
And as vision is obscured from the afterimages
like the dazzling flash of the sun just after
the accidental glance sears the retinas and
the blinks and tears bring a new sensation:

Comprehension.

Tags: National Poetry Month, Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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“Die,” She said
and she struck
her hand
like a matchstick
across his face.

“In the end,
we all die,”
and he laughed
as the outrage
flashed in her eyes.

“A time comes
when your debts
will be paid.”
She slipped out –
he went to bed.

Fire raced through
and consumed
his bed (and him)
and she whispered,
“Die in a fire.”

Tags: National Poetry Month, Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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“Why? I don’t understand,”
I said. But she suppressed
my protests with a
light brush from her lips
and then she confessed.

“Some hurts never can heal,”
and she smiled through her tears.
“We tried, but the wound
stays, mending only
by the pass of years.”

So she held my hands,
told me to squeeze them tight.
I dropped to my knees
and looked into her face
(shadowed in the light).

There was one last kiss,
“We’ve done enough today.”
Without another
word, she let go my
hands and walked away.

Tags: National Poetry Month, Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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Unfilled

That hole,
it can’t be filled
even though
you pour (one after another)
alcohol down
into you
to fill
That hole.

The pit
that never goes away
even though
your lovers (one after another)
pour themselves down
into you
unable to fill
the pit.

Your grave
that never will go away
even though
your friends (one after another)
drop flowers
onto you
unable to fill
your grave.

(losing a week of writing due to real life and exhaustion… these next few poems should be … interesting)

Tags: National Poetry Month, Poetry, bloodstar by bloodstar
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