Monday, February 28, 2011

Veronika Kirsch: Lines

We mold these lines of brittle bone
in shapes of comic relief.
We're going and we know
but we stop nothing.
We follow our lines in stars
and faces and numbers and places
 and watch
through a clouded mirror.
We're going up and falling down
intrigued by the ease of feel.
Thinking deep---------------Numbers

Sunday, February 27, 2011

On The Beach of Lake Erie [Pt.IV] - 9:17pm

Let the lights lead my longing soul
Loosely over cold levers 
To learn that life can't lift me under.
The fluid of our making, files underneath
Faintly audible to my frost fearing ears. 
Flights of fish follow my footsteps
Only by feel in their darkly filled fortress. 
They hunger for my flesh as food
Out of starvation and desperation. 
I shall soothe them as I am just the shell
Of a simple man soundly sure 
Of sacrifice to save. 
I stomp hastily
To shatter the surface 
Of frozen cellophane. 
Suddenly I stop
To an inner voice so sweet
And leave
Free to save another
Some other time.

On The Beach of Lake Erie [Pt.III] - 8:08pm

This is where I die
Out of my grim reality. 
Gothic signs pulsate in the winter breeze
Staring me down as I float
Towards the shore of my doom. 
Protruding boulders
With withered jags 
Call me forward to
This barren field of ice.
The ice understands me.
She cracks underneath me
In a macabre tango
Of morse code kisses.
She shows me her meanderings
Of death and rebirth;
Of pain and falling under pressure. 
Still, I stand. 
I trust her with my life.
She is both 
My savior 
And my 
And she shivers for me 
As we discuss
The joy of dying 
While making love.

Friday, February 25, 2011

The 4am Serenades [Pt.III]

And just let me crash.
Buried with the merry Mary Magdalene. 
Passing in the passion of 1000 average men.
Burning in the habit 
When grabbing for the the rabbit .
Then I think I've had it.
God I know I've had it. 
Held down by my mind, 
My mental is stuck on gravity
I never sleep, 
So I turn all my dreams into reality.
The magic teems through my blood,
I move just like an addict thinks.
Craving for another fix.
Raging for another hit.
It's over
But it's not I'm far gone.
Crafty as the craft gets.
Angels and demons and 
Understanding becomes barred off
If I could grab the devil
I'd ring her by the neck
And hug her tender 
Just to show her that I'm still a wreck.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Seventeen Twenty

Stray bullets were as common as
stray dogs and it was easier
to find a dopeman
than a policeman.
This street was forgotten. Torn apart
by a less than civil war
of steel and velour.
Long Avenue.
Properly named as each walk
to the corner store
felt like the longest of your life.
Roaches scurried
through abandoned homes
and you'd swear you'd heard them.
It could drown out enjoyment
more hastily than a flash flood in a cave.
If you weren't from here
you best watch from the bleachers.
This block always shot first
and denied questions later.
The scent of sulfur drifted lazily
across the Black River
and made a home in your nose
and clouded your judgement.
The streets spelled struggle in broken glass.
Homemade food was your only taste of freedom
from the heavy burden of wishes which
bared their teeth at you with a shit faced grin
as you attempt to leave and fail.
Here, you weren't born of the sun
but rather conjured from the gutter.
The economic canyons and iron core humidity
would easily hold you down
on your chest with your hands
behind your back at one point or another.
Succeed and leave or die young;
this desert island of a hood
will always break you down
like cold trash in a garbage truck.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

I Still Call Her "Real"

Because we met through fate with flame
And burned each other with our names
Sculpting love like molten chance
Falling in a fabled dance;
Because she loved the pen in me
And moved just like the seven seas
But tender as a movie reel
Because of this I called her "Real"

Because her eyes were one and two
They pulled me like a ball and cue
These enticing desert flowers;
Opulent in time, in hours.
Because she made me fall against
The laws which gravity insists
I never had a newton's heel
Because of this I called her "Real"

Because the breath she stained me with
Tamed me like an ancient glyph
Craving to be read again
My love was hers to save and spend.
Because she let me stare to her
with hubble eyes and no deter
And smothered me in sweet reveal.
I still, today, will call her "Real"

An Eagle Doesn't Catch Flies

A whim of weakness strove to show its bone
     as mercy rose under her murky skin.
My love is struggling to be alone
     and prints her tears in shapes of fearful sin.

Her lips are cold as if they crave the heat
     of ours colliding long inside the dark.
Her eyelids shake with fear of my own feet
     now moving back intending to depart.

She's forced to find a lover less than I
     forgetting all that ever came of us.
Accepting this, she searches through the sky
     to find the closest to what never was.

But once you glance into her regal eyes,
     you know this eagle never catches flies.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Turn Me On, Dead Man

Turn Me On, Dead Man

I remember when I used to watch the world and spell it out.
I loved every second of it and without a second doubt,
I poured my heart
into a copper flask
to quench my quill
and quote this future's past.

You changed everything

Feel the air blush with gentle thrill
 Your anxious scent is all I smell
This night doesn't end, there is no rush
because I long for you with a tragic touch.

I know you know I'm wanting you.

I remember when I used to wake and kiss my love adieu
and leave a note inside her hand; a perfect line or two
I spilled my heart
onto paper slips.
You stole it all
and turned me into this!

The night you took my sweet Joanna.

Feel the air rush with mental thrill
 Your anxious scent is all I smell
This night doesn't end, until we touch
because I long to see you with a tragic blush.

I know you know I'm hunting you.

A blade is unsheathed spurting moonlight like a familiar cut
as a new born madman follows his dreams spouting crazed banter with every step.
His prey had never met a man this dark before, not even in a mirror.
The killer falls to the ground like the Babylonian sky 
and the writer bludgeons him to silence to bring the scene home.
Bound to the same chair Joanna was murdered on, 
the killer wakes  to déjà vu 
and a madman's lust.

You turned me on, dead man!

I remember when I used to watch my world and draw her through
a note I left inside her hand; a perfect line or two.
I poured my heart.
I spilled it all.
To quench my quill,
you stole it all.

Feel my hatred crunch your ribs and will.
Your fearful scent is my new thrill.
This night won't end for one of us.
You broke my heart, so yours I'll crush!

You changed everything
The night you took my sweet Joanna.
You turned me on, dead man!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

A Death and a Half

His love falls from him 
as gentle as the silent blood 
from her throat trickles to the floor.
He's lost her. 
He begs Joanna to stay
and desperately beckons her hand but his 
tear drenched fingers fail to pull her back.
She's gone. 
He clings to her for hours 
like a drop of honey to the floor. 
His blood soaked hands have finally lost their grip 
on reality.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

My Alluring Leaves of Change

My Alluring Leaves of Change

This tree
stretches in desperation
as if he's crossing the canyon
to rescue his young.

This tree
reaches with open arms,
as if he's a carnal malefactor,
to tangle in his lover.

This tree
remains ever still in the wind,
as if he's one of The Guard's Regiment,
to protect his queen.

I am this tree
ignoring his limitations,
as if they never even existed,
to be something more.

*poem written for and image taken from DoR's A Picture's Worth Challenge for February 2011 at The Poet Sanctuary

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Veronika Kirsch: The Touch of a Shivering Smile

I wonder if 
she's feeling what I do
falling in circles to the bottom.
I'm stumbling
watching her eyes move
like golden glowing leaves in the autumn.

I look at her tender and whisper

Shake me, give me a reason to fear.
I'm here and I'm never going anywhere.
Kiss me, show me just what you're made of.
Burn me to the bone, don't take me home.

I've never wanted something so strong before.
I'm half addict and I'm half connoisseur
for this.

I'm gliding my fingers
from the side of her neck to her chin.
enticing her urges
Sliding the verge to now instead of then.

Listening to her whimper

Touch me, baby I am not afraid
dont waste a second on contemplation
Give me, everything that you're made of
burn me to the soul, dont leave me alone

I've never wanted someone so bad before
I'm half addict and I'm half connoisseur
for her.

I feel her breath
under my shadow
gentle as it can, it gives me the chills
I'm crumbling 
as I help her unravel.
This is going where it can and where she will.

I look at her tender and whisper.
Listening to her whimper.
And she smiles while she shivers.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

A Romance in Tetrameter: Pt. I - Longing

Her secret grin of velvet crush
is more than just a shallow cure.
It turns a man into a lush
forever idolizing her.

She'll never love until she shows
her strengths of heart and hazy plans.
I wish that I could prove her so
she'd fall for me to hold in hand.

Majestic, warm; surreal in taste,
this woman made my organs merge.
But would she ever see my face?
Oh, if she ever had the urge.

Veronika Kirsch: Just a Title

Love is just a word.
A ring is just metal.
A flower is just
an arrangement of petals.

Your eyes, inside, they sing
and personify these things.
But I've realized all my dreams
are merely silent screams.

Love is just a sound.
A ring is just to fall in.
A flower is just
a collection of pollen.

Your voice it carries through
to prove these lines untrue
and keep me by your side
costing me my life.

I refuse to fall in love
for us or them or you.
For love is just a title
when I know the things you'll do.

To Die At Twenty-Three

I follow nightmares
Because I don't have any dreams
I'll be alright here
assuming life is what it seems.

I'm so sick of talking
About who I should be----
It floods my mind constantly

And deaths not just a favor
It's much more than a savior
It's my chivalry----
To die at twenty three

I won't leave this town without you
Never would never could without you
Clinging to all the moments that I've missed
Hanging on by a wish

I shatter lights here
Because without them I can't see
I'm just alright here
assuming life is memory.

I'm so sick of waiting
Around for you to see----
It drains me dry constantly.

And death's not just progression
it's much more than obsession.
It's my destiny----
To die at twenty three.

I won't live this life without you
Never could never would without you
Clinging to all the moments that we've shared
hanging on by a hair.

I rip my throat out
because without it I can't breathe.
I'm not alright now
assuming life's longevity

I'm so sick of living
it's just not cut for me----
I choose my exit, death is up to me

and death's not just an object
it's much more than an option.
It's a guarantee----
I'll die at twenty three...

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Veronika Kirsch: Crossing the Bridge

I’ll bury your face, in the back of my closet
So you can suffocate underneath old boxes
And faded memories and everything you gave to me
I’m not the same you see, you’ve created this change in me

And all the while still, your wild thrills have stifled will.

I loved you like my own true blood
A heart I couldn’t live without
But you could never get enough
So now I’m on a whole new route.

I’ll bury your face in the back of my open mind.
So you can suffocate, underneath your old lines
Of rage and jealousy and everything you gave to me.
I’m not the same you see I’ve lost all of my sanity.

I promise I will cross that bridge
And you will never hear from me
I swear I’ll put and end to this
And bury you in history.

Vive Celeriter, Morere Iuvenis Pt. I

I want to die
like Poe
deliriously dancing in the streets.
On Sunday
October 7,

I want to die
like God
on the cover of TIME.
On Friday
April 8th

I want to die
like Jim, Jimi & Janis
in the 27 club, VIP.
On Sunday
July 23rd

Veronika Kirsch: Silver Shaded Blues

Allow me to take a minute of your time
just to show you where we’ll go. You and I,
will sway, like whirling of winds over tides
over time.
Breaking and shaking we turn into dust.
Lovely as love be, we turn to this lust.
Lonely, consoling our own faded hearts.
Something has touched me as I break apart!
Your jasmine eyes
are just another past in disguise
bleeding me and leaving me dry.
I don’t even think I can try- this reprise.
Allow me to take some years off your life
just to show you how it feels. You and I
will fall, like the Babylonian sky,
over time.
Lying there crying you pray with your thoughts.
Blushing and crushing the prey that you’ve caught.
Crawling and falling, inside you are torn.
Defeated, just eat it; we won’t be reborn!
Your jagged eyes
are fading in the past of my life
and finally I’m feeling alive.

I don’t ever think I will try- to retry- again.

Zero 2nds Left

I’ve been in love twice but I’ve never been in hate before.
I feel I’m on my way there and she opened the door.
Everyday we’re fighting like lions in a cage,
crying with the rage of every tyrant of our age.
Every look from her is an observation
and every word goes beyond a conversation.
It’s like she keeps sending me all these invitations
to blow up and excuse her to find a new replacement.
But I refuse to let it come to that
'cause once I'm gone, I promise I'm not coming back.
So you better say your goodbyes, love.
I gave you ten 2nds, now your time is up.
I’d never wish either of us to be alone
But at this point I just despise coming home.
And even though, I really miss your glowing face
I wake up feeling better just knowing you’re replaced.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Veronika Kirsch: Melody of a Hopeless Romantic

is as pretty as a comet.
falling through 
all for you to see.

Her touch
can make the loudest unresponsive.
Calling you,
all for you and me.

And she wont speak a word
but her lips can shake the city down
to every cellar, but I can never tell her

I would die a mile in your eyes
Just to be alone with you 
one last time
I know you won't regret it.
I know you won't forget it. 

is as pretty as a raindrop
running down
her cheek to touch her chest.

Her voice
is as pretty as her heartbeat
pounding out
her silk porcelain breasts.

And she won't look at me
but her eyes can melt the city down
to every gutter. Will she ever know I want her?

The 4am Serenades Pt. II

As those shadows in shrouds 
stood there watching me dreaming out loud. 
Screaming out foul obliterations 
to my past considerations. 
These virulent invigorations 
of my imagination 
were forged of opulence and patience. 
And so I kissed them.

Turning Points Pt. II

I've gotta become the best in me.
Before all of my old habits start infesting me
Put the time in and really just invest in me
and know my life is sweeter than everything I am blessed to see.

I've got a bottle but nobody sittin next to me
I'm all alone can somebody come and rescue me
I can tell this isn't what you all expect to see
But my life ain't all beaches and ecstacy.

One time I lost all of the self respect in me
but found it later on the ground underneath my feet.
These are my turning points, no more inspecting me
I'm living minute to minute, no more regrets in me.

Turning Points Pt.I

Since 2001, mid November
All my days just seem to blend together.
I feel like I've already lived forever.
I barely sleep and I never remember.

All the little things
The joy that beauty brings
when there's a gap between
my soul and being
I don't know who I want to be and need

Since 2006, early April
all my days turned unbearably hateful.
Out of spite I made a few mistakes so,
I couldn't sleep even if I were able.

Without some unity
the pain of mutiny
when there's a war between
myself and me
I will never be who I want and need.

Since 2008, middle of August,
I figured out how I could get past all this.
I wrote a million lines, killed my conscience,
slept and woke up feeling flawless.

Now all the little things,
the joy of unity,
when there's no space between
my soul and me
I will only be who I want and who I need.

Indecisive Decisions on the Deceased

I haunt the loving dreamers
Their hearts are mine to keep.
Slaying loves
with swaying doves
in soaring shades that bleed.

I haunt the tossing dreamers,
Their dreams are mine to keep
I flip and twirl 
their dimlit worlds
so they may never sleep.

I haunt the crying dreamers,
Their tears are mine to keep.
I thicken strife 
with sickened life
chasing down their cheeks.

I haunt the lying dreamers
Their words are mine to keep.
Construing truths
in holy booths
the lord may only see.

I am a lifeless dreamer
I only play for keeps.
I've slayed and sold,
in graves of gold,
yet never slept in peace.

Lucy's not the Sky nor Diamonds

The world is flat, a couple miles wide
and every tree is clawing out their eyes.
Cameras fly between the sky and I
splitting karma with a staff, simplistic and wise.

Breathing with lungs of cellophane
my angusih turns to brittle flames
dying off the tongue of her fiddle frame
buried in the roots of my dismal veins.

Yet here I am, winging through the wastes
of violin lions and Gemini tastes.
My nine iron legs are rusting pink
and swinging away but then I sink.
This land of landings lingers like thread
on a camel's hump in the winter's head.

But I balance myself trimming the wires
biting and scratching; clawing desires.
The Fires. Oh the fires! 
They spit off the spires swooning me higher
bouncing off mirrors and angels who tire.
They tire of us; seeing bliss in our eyes.
Its peace on earth in a liquid disguise.

But back on the ground I swing and I sway.
I scream and I say "I dream!" and "I pray!"
The mockingbirds mock with all due respect
fluttering around they sing and they play.

So off to the waters of erie I flee
grinning, head spinning for swimming in peace.
The water is warm and red as my lover.
Flipping and floating we own one another.
But sharing her with the sand and the beach,
the fish at my feet,
its not fit for me.
We never can be but she doesn't see.
So I told her to lick rocks and let me out.
I'll find someone else to cry about.

So angels hate hippies and birds are just mean
and water is fine but slutty as steam.
So where is my love I've yet to redeem?
Moths never liked me, 
they think I'm a monster
and moss never tried me 
because of the water. 
I loved. I think. I wish.

Perhaps my expectations exceed my own worth.
Maybe my love is the ground and all of her girth.
Maybe a speck, 
of dirt 
on a windshield
that I have to catch and kiss in a church.

Now biting my lip I creep and I slip
down to a pile of hearts where I sit.
I'll take what I get from journies and trips
blinded by the knife with tonight at its tip.