~martyrofdreams
Calvin
Newest
RoutineI want to break the monotonous tyranny that holds me. Let me struggle, slip, fall; and maybe then I can grow wings, Just like before.Routine
by ~martyrofdreams
Fire and his StoriesA long, long time ago, long before the people of this time came the first story. This was a time when the mountains were still people, when celestial beings were still on the earth, trees walked on two legs, and what we know as the animals of today began taking their human forms. Fire gave us the first story, much in the same way he gave his light-for the Sun hadn’t taken his place in the Sky, life-in the warmth of his breath, and darkness, because night came when Fire slept. It was one morning as Fire was waking up that he thought of the story, from the traces of the dream lingering still (whoever told you that fires don’t drFire and his Stories
by ~martyrofdreams
Back HomeThe man stood in front of the door and wiped the remaining snow off his shoulders, steadying himself before tapping the door-knocker. He gazed out onto the lawn while waiting, the snow was still littered on the ground, and no response had yet come. He knocked again and waited, the clouds looked like they couldn’t hold up much longer. Still nothing. One last time. “I heard you the first time” the voice told the man, “I’m afraid the master is out once again and your knocking will do no such good.” “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen one of your type, perhaps too long” said the maBack Home
by ~martyrofdreams
DirtThe grass and dirt feel so heavy above my grave; The flowers you leave, along with our children and the grandchildren I'll never met. (Dear, you were always forgetful about my allergies to lilacs.) The willow tree above always blooms cherries when you visit; The occasional pedal brushes my fingers.Dirt
Will you visit again soon?
by ~martyrofdreams
Random Favourites
little oneBeautiful child, look at the way you see. Look at the way you follow ripples across the surface of broken water. Look at the way your thick limbs and pale hairs brush around my neck. Look at the way your eyes mirror me in pools of black and brown. Look at the way you blink away your dust; the way those very lashes wind about your heavy head. Our hearts beat with the same blood. I see my patterns some day becoming your own.little one
I remember the way your breast would move as you dreamt of colors and shapes and trains and trucks and books with fat cardboard pages. Your sleeping breath was damp as it left your sore nostrils. Your hands wer
by ~TheGlome
The Indian driverAll cities look the same as you fly above them by night. From the aisle seat, Patrick catches a glimpse of orange light dots, parallel red and white strokes, and sighs in recognition. It’s his first visit to Bangalore but as the plane lands he focuses on its movements rather than trying to peer through the darkness outside. With the slight jolt which marks the final stop of the aircraft, he quickly gets off his seat, grabbing his jacket and picking his laptop from the overhead bin, and hurries down the aisle. The closest he’ll get to the door before the other passengers stand in the corridor, the fastest will he be out.The Indian driver
by ~Remedies
I Have Always Loved WinterI Have Always Loved WinterI Have Always Loved Winter
I have always loved winter With its caressing touch of icy-bright fingers That stroke past my flesh with a tingle that lingers A crystalline splinter I have always loved winter
She was constantly cold Her skin was of porcelain, her hands were of snow And timidly soft into my hands they’d go But her lips were more bold She was constantly cold
Like embers her kisses That latched onto mine like a coal hotly dropping Down fast onto ice sheets without sign of stopping And sputters and hisses Like embers her
by *orphicfiddler
ContemplationsContemplationsContemplations
Moonlight Quite alone in the dark night With the faint sound of whishing That emanates softly, so softly And curls with a swishing Of tails from the Vast rows of trees
But I— Quite alone in the dark night— Stand and stare at the white light Of the flickering lamps (Glowing softly, so softly) Leaving bright blossom stamps ‘Gainst the wallpaper dark
And I— Quite alone in the dark night— Wander close to a dim bridge With its webwork of beams Every filament glistens (S
by *orphicfiddler
Finally 1,000
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: My Home in the Clouds
- Interests: Writing
- Favourite movie: Dancer in the Dark, Amelie
- Favourite band or musician: The Decemberists, Bjork/The Sugarcubes, The Clash, The Cure, Joy Division
- Favourite genre of music: Indie Pop, New Wave, Electronica, Punk
- Favourite artist: yoshitoshi ABe
- Favourite poet or writer: Neil Gaiman, Isabel Allende
- Favourite photographer: Anton Corbjin
- Favourite style of art: Impressonism and Pop Art
- Operating System: Windows
- MP3 player of choice: mine, duh.
- Favourite game: Dance Dance Revolution
- Personal Quote: "All I can do is be me, whoever that is."
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The spell this magic flute can cast
More than gold is worth
It calms the soul and brings at last
Happiness on Earth
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Brain tingles ftw
I was browsing thru various literary profiles and came across your poem "Sacrifice" and then I read the "Beach" and before I knew it I had read all of your poems! I really enjoy them. I hope you get published, because I would totally buy a poetry book with your work in it.
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The spell this magic flute can cast
More than gold is worth
It calms the soul and brings at last
Happiness on Earth
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a-poem-a-day
my artwork
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I Go to Seek a Great Perhaps.
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Steve: Jane, could you stop doing this? Could you stop just wandering through my front door? Because this is not, I repeat NOT, an American sitcom!
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Why do we fall?
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Me cool.
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