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Winter 2012 Haiku Set12-6
cats in the hall
shifting to find
the last afternoon light

12-7
all day the old cat
follows a spot of sun
down the hall

12-8
all my raked leaves
now a pile
at the back door

12-10
cold wind
street empty
a faceless penny

12-12
a cat's balance-
if you stop petting me,
I'll fall

12/21
rusted clouds
seventy miles per hour
towards the coming dawn

Yet Another Christmas CarolIt was Christmas, celebrated all around Earth - and in Heaven, of course. As for elsewhere...

If you believe for a single second that the devils don't celebrate Christmas, you are, well, right, actually. They keep very quiet about it. Not even a mouse would dare speak about it to the Almighty Fiend, Lucifer. The sole exception to this unspoken rule had happened a few years back on the occasion of a Satanically spiked MTV "Merry Christmas" video which had seemed like a good idea for a few hours. Until it became obvious that it had been a pointless endeavor – those who watched MTV regularly had been mostly unaffected, those who didn't had

The pig carcass filled most of the stainless tub where the delivery men had laid it. Freshly slaughtered, but not butchered, it had taken four of them to lift it there. None of them spoke to Rinnovi, only pausing for him to sign for the animal before they left.

On the way to the door, one of the men pointed at the stickers affixed to virtually every item in the house; black typewritten names and addresses on white shipping labels. The leader of the group nudged him and shook his head 'no', before hurrying him out the door.

Rinnovi poured a scotch, and turned on the kitchen vid display, his own visage peering back at him with a smile. He fro

WhitmanI am all that grows from me
and all that grows from me is sacred—
              my hair, dirty roots reaching towards sky,
fed by sky, shifted by its undulating currents
              my fingers, spiders, crescents, twigs,
gaunt, blunt, probing, inquisitive...prurient
              my ears, awkward conch shells jammed on as if by mistake,
rigid and ridged, elven,
innocent like unexplored caves for children to bound gaily into
resounding with echoed cheers of courage wanting
as if a dozen more children waited within, fearless guides;
              my nose, obdurate.
The reach of my eyes knows no bounds;
what walls are there to throw my body against?

the eyepatch and the handcuffs     his hands have promised
     to wipe off every fingerprint
     your last lover left on you

     he has sworn he will
     wear gloves, when he needs to,
     and pay attention to the instructions on the boxes

     "this side up"
     and "fragile"

     and you have sworn
     you will try to let him

     i hear your bodies whispering these things to each ot

The Cat on the PorchYou asked me why I do not believe in ghosts,
celestial at four in the morning.
It becomes the common hour,
not a biting static shock in the eye veins like I anticipated
but dangerously vogue and precious
like a real diamond ring or sapphires on your breast.
No wood pecking or oil teasing or misshapen duck bills bleating
just clay, but lighter, lightest
and bright
seductive and crestfallen.

They bled Peter and Pangloss over a river.
I was wearing white for the funeral
humming 'home', the matronly letters
soothe me
clotheshorses and moonlight,
Mayan jewellery in my cabinet
the mother tongue kissing my molars better

But then there

mia culpa, mia miasmaI'm still counting chromosomes and odd numbers
still playing hopscotch over the symmetry
of your shoulder blades, your whispers
skipping 'cross the seventy percent water
the one forty proof rum, still running
running sheep
until we can sleep,
we,
that thing they called relationship
something common, like counting
rocks at the bottom of a wishing well.
I am slipping through, sliding into
a seamless cervix, and she's serving
throat lozenges in the mean time,
mean time and mean country
serving time in this union, this marriage,
they served cough and coffee
held the Capricorn, held up the register
held the infant to the sag

The SculptorBefore he would have harvested a tree,
hacked off its limbs,
skinned it,
torn it from the earth,
shaved one by one its cells - its outer core,
until it was what he believed it was,

no more a tree.

Wiser, he walks deep in to the wood,
underneath a forest giant he stops,
looks up in to the leafy branches, sighs,
climbs and sheds his tears upon its boughs.

relearning i. stardust scatters with the
direction of my pupils –
maybe secretly i am an
astrology teacher, waiting
for a sign to wink
happily at me.

ii. excuse the rambling
nature of forgotten question
marks, but tell me:
would you like to be the
object of handwritten clichés
would you like to whisper
secrets in my palm
and would you
like to be the possibility

iii. air brushes against my
skin like the torn petals
of a flower still standing.
[ hold your head up high, honey,
and tell tomorrow to wait just
a while,

iv. so you can figure out
the difference between
patience and having all the

A Name You Can Trust Indignant? Disgruntled? Need an attorney who won't back down (no matter how many mafia hit men are on your trail)? Need to sue the smirk off that jerk who dared to diagnose you with anger issues? Tired of “justice” getting in the way of the benefits that you deserve? If you want passionate, aggressive, and ruthlessly persistent legal representation, it’s time you called Winier Trust, an attorney who will stop at nothing (nothing!) to insure you win your case.

Winier Trust is more than just an attorney; he's your personal advocate. Trust works beside you not only as a legal representative, but as a close and c

Continental DriftI suppose you call this time fall.
It’s always autumn to me. Your alien mind
likes to speak in a distorted tongue.
And when we see the spinning leaves
drifting down an eggshell sky
I catch oak, and your hands are empty.
There half the houses stand empty,
you say as you watch rain fall.
There the world is bigger than the sky,
with room for my restless mind.
I know you pine for maple leaves,
for bittersweet syrup on your tongue.
The words are waiting to leave your tongue.
This land is small and your heart is empty.
That’s why everyone ups and leaves.
This place is paradise after the fall,
There you can be naked. No one would mind,
no one would see you bare yourself to the sky.
Through the window is my perfect sky,
the places that come easy to my tongue,
If we left maybe no one would mind
but me, I say. But if your land is empty
who would catch me in your wondrous fall?
If your land is perfect, wha

EurydiceHis voice enveloped me, and I became
Myself again--I heard it in the song:
A mordent on a note he held too long;
A stutter in his voice. I heard my name
In these and felt a happiness the same
As when I saw him first. Oh, I had longed
To hear him sing again, but this last song--
It was so beautiful. And it remains
The best of human works, though none shall hear
Its sorrowed notes; the lyre's meand'ring tune
Through vast arpeggios and Death's expanse
Except the dead. It will not disappear
'Till all the world's destroyed, and hell's exhumed--
Such music must be worth a backwards glance.

Automatici.
"So where are you from?" The boy leans toward me, questions swimming in his eyes. I smile.

"Oh, I'm from Boston."

"No, I mean, where are you from?" My smile falters as I realize where this is going. It's an all-too familiar conversation, one I've been having since I was old enough to reply.

"Do you mean where was I born?"

"Yeah."

"I was born in China."

"Do you speak Chinese?"

"No."

"Does your family speak Chinese?"

"No."

He looks befuddled. I sigh.

"I'm adopted."

"Oh!" I see the light bulb over his head go off in a shower of sparks. "Do you know who your real parents are? Like, your real parents?" My temper flares. I stifle th

Whale Songs of the PacificListen, the girls swallowed by whales are the ones that grow up lucky.

Listen, no one will warn you about the little boys with the magpie eyes and the fists swinging splinters of glass. No one will warn you that their smiles are sweeter than their words are sweeter than their souls are sweeter than their intentions. No one will warn you of the sheer weight of the world.

Listen, sometimes girls are fragile. Sometimes girls are frothy. Sometimes girls let boys nuzzle "I love you"s into their necks and sometimes girls drink the wine of believing them.

Listen, sometimes the boys really are sweet, and little girls' tart puckered mouths can't ta

Boylan BooksI first see Neal across the open sparkle mall floor, paused in serious contemplation thought speaking solely to self, whispers not for ears or voices only thoughts, shining thoughts, open thoughts thinking marvelous wonders of books and dust and corporate-but-not bookstores. His hair is green not really but blue and green pirate green, red bandanna is he a pirate? asks the little girl with pigtails and chocolate snot embarrassed mother shoo be nice that's rude tugging hand with look of so sorry, she's five, not smart enough yet, please forgive and Neal with open half-grin smiling not really there but almost, not speaking but almost, not acce

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Envy:Obituaries.
Scanning elderly faces.
Reads, "passed peacefully".

St. Patrick's resolution.There’s a reason why the sting of alcohol
cuts deeper than the initial burn.
Why the clink of glasses resembles
the smash of ceramic on a kitchen floor.

When everyone on New Year’s
touched glasses of champagne and traded resolutions,
you found yours in the bottom of a bottle of vodka.
By the time St. Patrick’s Day arrives,
we’ve all forgotten how we’re supposed to be better people.
We don green hats and cheap strings of beads
and try to convince ourselves we're lucky one day a year.

Someone pours shots at the party
and another raises a glass.
To luck, they say as they fade
like the clover-green of you

Displacement.In the past four years,
it seems I've forgotten how
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Bokeh.

by ~projectilewordvomit, Dec 2, 2012, 9:41:31 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

These days, Black Friday really lasts a week

but I haven't bothered to write out a list--

You cannot find the things I want in a store.

The sound of a rejected embrace

is the same as the shatter of a broken bulb

or a house burning down on Christmas morning.

There is a name for the way

strings of holiday lights blur out of focus

when you watch someone you love walk away.

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Bokeh.by ~projectilewordvomit

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Poetry is so much easier to write when it's not assigned for our course. -_-

edit: Wow, thanks for the DD! I'm so surprised/happy that I can't think of what else to type.

Merry Christmas!

edit: featured: [link]
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[link]
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Submitted on: December 2, 2012
Submitted with: Sta.sh Writer

Views: 2,171
Favourites: 129 (who?)
Comments: 42

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-12-25

Bokeh. by ~projectilewordvomit ( Suggested by *0hgravity and Featured by ^NicSwaner )

=minninnewah Apr 24, 2013 Student Writer

_{This piece has been featured here: [link]}

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`jade-pandora Apr 22, 2013

Hello! This wonderful piece of yours has been featured here: [link]

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~projectilewordvomit Apr 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

c: <3 <3 Thanks so much!

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`jade-pandora Apr 22, 2013

You're very welcome! ^.^

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=minninnewah Mar 17, 2013 Student Writer

This blew me away. Such perfect imagery. I wasn't surprised when I saw the DD!

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~projectilewordvomit Mar 17, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Haha, I sure was, though!

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~Meggie272 Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I love the last stanza.

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~projectilewordvomit Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you <3

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`jade-pandora Dec 29, 2012

Congratulations! This poem represents the holidays just as strongly as the usual things we all usually think about when Christmastime is near.

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~projectilewordvomit Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

<3 Thank you so much for reading.

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