my song

6 01 2009

my lady, my lovely
I write you a song
and it comes so easy
keyboard in my hand
fingers moving rhythmically
no need to look down or at the screen
my heart is emptying
and you are filling it
can you hear this
hear the words floating out of me,
finding their own wings
butterflies
making the room spin
careful of the clichés
colour
oh my lovely
how you inspire greatness
and i wonder if you know it
and i type
fingers moving
this subtle song
without a chorus
can you feel this
eyes closed i dance with you
swaying to the flow
you in a dress
white
and me in a suit
black
like a chessboard in a truce
my heart adds a beat
your cheek is so close to mine
i feel your warmth
how happy can this song be
so happy
that is cant be real
so happy
that i know its a dream
so happy
happiness like this
never exists, for me.

frankie





sister

17 10 2008

sister…
can i cry here, now, infront of you?
will it make my growth less?
will it take away from the strength i got yesterday.
im trying so hard to be a big girl,
but sometimes little girl moments
crawl in.

sister
im drunk again
does it make my tears less important?
does it make my scars less jaggered?
will you actually believe me
if i say i tried,
and i will try harder?

sister
there are things here
things that consume me
things that rip me off track
things that dont give a damn
of where im wishing to go.

sister
this is breaking my heart!
does saying that
make me the weakling once again?
well, I am the last born
maybe only the rain knows im not
as solid as you.

sister
do you see my make-up runing?
does it look cool? all gothic and *&^$#@?
sorry i dissapointed you again
with my flash display of emmotion.
i sometimes forget
that it’s just not done in polite company.

sister…
are you really my sister?
or did they just tell us that you are?

mortal





Your edge

12 09 2008

Your edge scares me;

when sharpened with anger,

how do things get so muddled,

we slice ourselves into the confusion.

The puppy needs food, water and shelter

a few jabs too,

what is the smile of its tail-

worth to you?

Your edge excites me;

when serrated with laughter.

spectator of your eyes, tell me your story?

You watch mine too, and say; sad.

They too have their own story.

I say; look, I am the moon

You say no, you see the sun.

I point to the stars, they light only in dark

See, there is no day without night.

It weakens me – the sound of my name,

a Van Gogh on your lips

there sits an echo – in my ear

and placed against me, the cool edge sharpened and serrated

profusely, I begin to bleed.

Goldwhispers





The Light Between Us

1 09 2008

The Light Between Us
The Light between us
Touched, brushed
Turn around to look

And you have not even entered the room

The spark
Is held in my soul
And I feel your aura
Embrace

You are a trail of mist
Leave your dew

Embrace me
Touch me
Before I expire in the sweet longing

Rivergoddess





tears for queers

25 05 2008

we cry for those who died of aids
try not to underpay our maids
lust after closeted movie stars
are seen in trendy friendly bars
but if it might harm our careers
we’ll gaily deny that we are queers

we’d like to see the streets drug-free
we’d like to buy better quality e
we think tolerance is what the world lacks
we gossip about everyone behind their backs
we join pride marches once a year
and daily deny that we are queer

Ned





dark of heartness

16 05 2008

dark of heartness
orange-soft
subtle subdued,
the glow-worm light-bulb
hovers above liquid night –
magic chemicals of painted light…

captured by secret-code
a non-paper promise,
rocking raving agitating
a latent imagining… a portrait of you.

the image darkens
slowly slowly – icily
your eyes
the miniscus of a moonlit ocean,
your feverish fingertips the fishes
from
the depths of a mid-tone
grey-zone.

haunting hunting every hue,
you are a flying saucer,
a birthing, a blur of city seagulls, a
light lunar-scape
escapee…

elusive, everywhere-nowhere
in this darkroom of my
heart, you linger lying;
your hair copper-wire-enmeshed
highlighting
inspiring –

not a shadow-negative of
dis-illusion-ment…

til i focus, and reach for the cold-green
of the flourescent.

~sabre