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Literature Text
Orange segments
peeled and unwinding,
they leave a subtle aroma
of acid that curls in the
throat and coats in
soothing memories
As each piece
is separated, a
new era is born;
one is sweet,
one is sour,
one is salty,
and one is indescribable.
The whole divides
into hemispheres;
one grows old and
fades with time while
the other comes to
fruition and ripens
steadily.
The sweetest fragment
gives way to utter bliss;
whilst the sour counterpart
is that acrid aftertaste
when all that is gold
does not stay.
Salty comes to mind that
never-ending melancholy
whence the crystal drops
freeze-dry and become part
of the bruised psyche.
The indescribable taste
is justly so;
mysterious and unknown
to all who come into
contact with it.
It speaks of the fate
that does not have
a design, yet.
As times dictates,
each segment has
a purpose whilst the
others wait patiently
by spoiling or surviving
this chill to become part
of something else entirely.
Regardless of the effect
they have upon our tongues;
each savoury piece is one
we yearn to try whether it
scalds us or warms us up
from the inside.
So, let's hear it for the
two-thousand and ninth
segment, and let's hope
its sweetness will surpass
the sour.
peeled and unwinding,
they leave a subtle aroma
of acid that curls in the
throat and coats in
soothing memories
As each piece
is separated, a
new era is born;
one is sweet,
one is sour,
one is salty,
and one is indescribable.
The whole divides
into hemispheres;
one grows old and
fades with time while
the other comes to
fruition and ripens
steadily.
The sweetest fragment
gives way to utter bliss;
whilst the sour counterpart
is that acrid aftertaste
when all that is gold
does not stay.
Salty comes to mind that
never-ending melancholy
whence the crystal drops
freeze-dry and become part
of the bruised psyche.
The indescribable taste
is justly so;
mysterious and unknown
to all who come into
contact with it.
It speaks of the fate
that does not have
a design, yet.
As times dictates,
each segment has
a purpose whilst the
others wait patiently
by spoiling or surviving
this chill to become part
of something else entirely.
Regardless of the effect
they have upon our tongues;
each savoury piece is one
we yearn to try whether it
scalds us or warms us up
from the inside.
So, let's hear it for the
two-thousand and ninth
segment, and let's hope
its sweetness will surpass
the sour.
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
Metro poems
I. "Art Museum"
modern persian miniature on white leaflets;
a maze for lab ants.
II. "Kaiser in Paris"
a deadbeat in front de Franche-Comté;
patents for toilet paper.
III. "in Dingle"
the earliest casualties drowned at night,
driftwood in wilted, Irish fields.
IV. "The Mistake"
August 27 2012, an elephant awoke;
in Tampa, Florida.
~MK
Literature
Your Mind's Eye
Your Mind's Eye
Picture forever.
What does it look like?
Is it a horizon, stretched across the earth?
Is it a pool of deepest black?
Is it the sky on a clear night, pierced by stars?
Is it empty?
Is it nice?
Picture your last breath.
How does it feel?
Does it come out like a freight train, rushed and then gone?
Does it whisper like a moth, almost missed?
Does it slowly creep its way from your lungs, each inch hard-won?
Is it alone?
Is it welcome?
Picture your imagination.
What does it look like?
Splashes of color, bright and vibrant?
Silent symphonies of brown and gray?
Stifled dreams, never quite realized?
Is it cared for
Suggested Collections
New year's in the Motherland, back in the day it was common to eat tangerines/mandarins/oranges. Their smell so crisp and sweet echoing what was to come of the new year. New Year is the only hol we could actually celebrate legally during the Cold War...
But think about it, shouldn't oranges/citrus fruits symbolize new beginnings?
Photo courtesy of Dennis Poeschel's 'Citrus Cooler'.
But think about it, shouldn't oranges/citrus fruits symbolize new beginnings?
Photo courtesy of Dennis Poeschel's 'Citrus Cooler'.
© 2009 - 2024 silverwingsoffire
Comments8
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Nicely layed out for the reader
Each segment to represent ...
Each segment to represent ...