[x]

spellboundshe cracked his heart open
like a melon
on the summer sidewalk,
sifted the seeds from the pulp
and laid them on
the sun-warmed cement
like an oracle reading entrails.
until the black-cloaked crows
came, eyes glossy as the buttons
on her stolen shirt
--it's his shirt, but
it looks better on her,
even with her knees to the
gritty pavement, dark hair
a wild storm cloud in
the dancing light--
she paid the cackling crows
in silver from her slender fingers
--for their only currency
is that which shines, and
her heart was dim by then--
and fate was drawn
in the shadowed fluttering of
their dark feathers.
she wrapped th

the orange treei.
you liked to recount stories of my childhood
of days spent under apple trees
in the fall-coloured forest
of orange popsicles
melting in the summer sun
and the juices dripping down my chin
into your wife’s garden

once, i asked you why
and you said that you thought they were our happiest times together

i told you i didn’t remember them

iii.
people said you read me too many bedtime stories
of electric hands
and pens with no ink
of crowns made of keys
in emerald glades
and little girls
who never fall in love

you used to ask why i wrote them down
i always said that i could keep my crown of keys and remain yours

Pine LeafI am a proud daughter of the
A'aninin, but when my years
as a child were all but spent,
I was taken by the Crow.

The Crow adopted me, and
in time I grew to see their
blood as my blood. Their
home is my home, their
ways are my ways, and
their enemies are my
enemies.

I became a warrior, a
mighty two-spirit. I kept
many horses, and I hunted
with the men of my tribe.
Together with my brothers,
I fought the Blackfoot. I
was bold enough to perform
feats in battle, and I am
wise enough now to know
that killing one hundred
men by my own hand will
not prove me brave.

I am wise enough now to
see the brotherhood of the

The Lily CoatThe Lily Coat
by Shannon Hilson

Your regard is the white
Of my lily coat,
The white of Helen's marble vase,
The soft of Luna's palest truth.

Your regard is the creeper
That binds my feet in roses,
That ties me close to Mother's heart,
That keeps me sane in Father's glass.

Your regard is the hour
Of tea time in the pagoda,
The hour only we have lived.
The hour not of human birth.

Cool and safe in the pale of sleep,
Calm and wise under Brahma's gaze,
I ponder the moon in my lily coat
And bask in your regard.

tongue toowagons have them-

unhitched,
sets them wagging.

hillside backwards-

coasting,
leaves them dragging.

flaming, licking
at the driest wood.

language, spoken
clearly if we could.

oh, deepest kissing

sorely missing.

llp - oct'09 - dA

grandpaHe wrapped arms around me like
fuzzy sheets;
mantles of assurance and
safety. He withdrew clouds,
from his pockets, set them
free
above my head as I laid in
what the doctor thought
to be my... deathbed.

He would offer a smile
as deep as his green eyes,
prairies bearing emotions
swaying like grass;

emerald pools swaying
to the current of insecurity
as deep as his faith.

My life could’ve last as long as a cicada,
leaving behind my skin like scars on my
mother’s womb; wounds that would never
heal and instead grow in m

ApologiaApologia

It may be I’m not
much for frail mushroom
caps rushed to life
by the damp shade of
an Ohio vale,

or the scent of fresh
cut lilies wilting in a study
made splendid by open
books and notes to self,

but I know
as well as anyone
what darkness rain will lend
the bark of trees
in a storm,

and the scent of wildfires
drifting though June
aglide a carpet of salted air.

You Know Who You AreYou Know Who You Are (Are You Who You Know?)

1. The Thread of Terms

Your lungs taken in breadth
rising through the cloak
you deal a feline tread,
a 145 degree twist of the head
short of falling off the ledge.

You
like every breath
fogging a mirror to write on
the horizon to pull you back
in line with atmospheres.

2. The Demolition Crew

Little made so undue

but do you know when questions fail
to provide shelter from the wind
tunneling down the look in your eyes,
where the old halls are warped to blame,

the demolitions team
is here to help you fall apart?

3. A Flutter of Wind

Love is a bug on a scavenger bird

winter's childfeathered grey and frail
as smoke; this girl
       (she's only seventeen)
spoke in perfect fourths
and whispered thoughts
of winter's burden and
an autumn's fall

a delicate crystal snowflake
child; this girl
       (she looks so young)
smiled with bruises in her eyes and
promises on her tongue but
all who chanced a look
saw grief
and carried on

what a shame that
such a girl
       (she'll never grow old)
who dreamed of catching the
fallen in her pocket and
nursing them back
to the sky
was bound to the earth

Children's dreamsThe newspaper was filled with bad reports as every day. Car accident here, mugging there, robbery around the corner. General economics putting people on the street. I dropped the damn paper, and went back to my sandwiches with cheese. It wasn't the best for a Sunday dinner, but at these times, it would have to do. I was glad to have food on the table, and my little girl, playing with her crayons on the small table, didn't mind either. She loved sandwiches, so every weekend she smiled in anticipation when she woke up. All morning she'd walk around with that smile and giggle when I set up the table. Often I'd turn around, and start chasing her.

22.Nov.09 tankaVishnu half painted
drips pigment to the basin
color hits water -
with this 'Om' a universe
of swirling blue is born

mussedeveryone ends up in the gallery
and all the people's portraits smile prim
but come no closer, close their eyes
closet themselves something criminal
waiting for a kiss
to unspell their dark room sorcery
one. last. time.

before the clock strikes one
are mice, before twelve, they've thrice
run away into the shells of these walls
dreaming little dreams of escape
and surrender; to think that one day they'll
take the cheese without springing a trap
that night.

Silent sleepers and a Bacchante
feeding dreams, awake, alike and frenzied,
slow, pouring alcoholic content from
their freely flowing smoke room memories
and maudlin memorize

Building Abroken wine bottles aside, my
Asylum was built empty.

And late at night,

it

longs— to swing

the hinges for your

Access

After DickinsonThere is a Queen all clad in silk
Whose cloak is purest white –
She lives atop a tower of green
And outshines Moon by night –

Her crown is of the purest gold,
And golden is her spire –
And when the lowly leave this earth
She visits at the bier –

She mourns without opaque remorse –
But rather, lays her head
Below the corpse's whitewashed face
And shares his final bed –

And when her consort rises up
And leaves her on her own,
She gives up all her worldly grace
And fades into his bone –

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 574 bytes more ▶

More from ~Saphirre

I'm the lip prints on your coffee cup
(Ruby Red No. 5),
and the space between yours as you
sip down this morning's news
while the 8AM traffic rushes
between your ears.

The lady behind the counter
read the road map on my hands today,
and where palm met fingertips
she found no trace of you.

And for once, that was ok.

Because I'm taking heed in traffic lights, whose
eyes all blink "YIELD";
and every telephone wire
from my heart to yours is
busy.

Life Will Never Be The Same

Glass houses full of acid rain
wash wounded hearts down rusty drains
and life will never be the same,
no, life will never be the same.

Scalded hands and soapy eyes
slippery walls and plaster skies
make up a world I've come to dread
where I wash the daydreams from my head.

Scrubbing freckles, Screaming dirt,
Relief subdues the ache and hurt
While palest cheeks you once had kissed
are pardoned frowns in the heated mist.

Then cold embraces, warmth subsides,
Fog showcases what it once could hide
A blur, a vision, a face unseen
And over again I feel unclean.

So I'll jump into that acid rain
because my life has spiraled down the dr

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: August 8, 2008
File Size: 574 bytes

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 18
Favourites: 11 [who?]
Views: 284 (0 today)
Downloads: 1 (0 today)

[x]

Fresh Oranges

by ~Saphirre, Aug 8, 2008, 7:44:54 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I tell you not to think too much about it,
it’s not the color of your lips
or the ivory of your teeth
but the meaning of your smile
and the way you hold your body
like ripe oranges.

I tell you that we all see in pictures
but nobody will see
the stomach butterflies
or last year’s polaroids.
Nobody will see
your tan lines and fault lines and
summer mistakes.
Nobody will see
(but I’ll know.)

Fresh Orangesby ~Saphirre

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2008-2013 ~Saphirre

.

~Freakomaniacadisical Apr 3, 2010

Great Work!

Here, check
Blackened Return [link]
Estranged [link]
Isolated Emotions? [link]
Indeterminate Her [link]

Reply

!golden-girl16 Feb 10, 2010

btw. i would fave this, but dA has failed me. so just imagine i faved it ^^

Reply

!golden-girl16 Feb 10, 2010

i looove the imagery you use! it's so unique, and creates such romance and wistfulness.
like ripe oranges
tan lines and fault lines
last year's polaroids.
this poem reminds me of me..
wonderful job

Reply

~Saphirre Feb 10, 2010 Professional Photographer

hehe thank you

Reply

~kittylivers Feb 2, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

Mmm, I love this poem. Its kind of funny how we can segment our lives like this. Our adventures during summer may never reach the attention of our school friends.
Of course, sometimes the world is connected in ways we can't foresee and everyone knows everything anyway.

My favorite line by far:
"Nobody will see/
your tan lines and fault lines and/
summer mistakes."
Reminds me of all my summers spent at the beach.

Reply

~Saphirre Feb 2, 2010 Professional Photographer

Thank you very much

I agree with that, it seems that with my crowd everyone knows everything you did or said even if they weren't there.

Reply

*leyghan Feb 1, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

Beautiful. Really like this.

Reply

~Saphirre Feb 1, 2010 Professional Photographer

Thank you

Reply

*AlecBell Feb 1, 2010

A lovely lyric.

Most deserving of a DLD!

Reply

~Saphirre Feb 1, 2010 Professional Photographer

Thank you very much!

Reply

Previous
1
2
Next