[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

clicheTo those who hold bird bones
on the edge of their limbs,
there are dissipated lungs
filled with skies
longing for pillars of fire
rather than bottled souls
kept in the brink of captivity
too big for sparrows.

To those with the cancer
of building and rebuilding
their minute sentences
into salt-shaken metaphors,
sometimes a whisper
trying to be a rhapsody
will never be the same as
a declaration,
an aubade on it's own.

To those who empty
their ash trays
like cremated dust onto
salivating pores and
two cents of syllables weeping
by your windowsill,
there's sand in your mouth.
sand so red that oxygen
will mistake it for blood
so your words wi

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More from ~mcivercork

Obsession - LPS Comp

obsession:
the quiet man
sails wooden boats
in the pond
where we walk

roughened sandpaper hands
and woodgrained forehead
quietly contented

your dancing soulful eyes
and playful aire
passion cemented

I breathed
a breath of obsession
in your direction

my sails full
I drifted gently away

The Irony The Poetry

the ball was amazing
if only I\'d know,
when it struck midnight
I\'d be dancing alone

clutching the fragments
of a letter from you,
your perfect copperplate
and a hint of perfume

breathing deeply
irony, the poetry
you always used to
write for me

and here
we end up with a poem,
of me at your wedding

dancing alone...

the cello and the girl

the cello
resonates for no reason
in particular
but
choosing to play

it evokes

memories of
bloodied schoolyard noses
and no particular evenings

you practice alone
lapsing behind
the beat but still beautiful

and still
I cannot hear
the cello from the girl

Detachment

\'Goodbye\' didn\'t mean
detachment from you
an envelope, a polaroid

\'the time you made me laugh so hard i spewed\'

black marker, scrawled in your
perfect scrawl

[you are perfect after all]

And now my sentiments
must cross the sea

It meant so much, you chucked on me

Falling for Gretchen

Falling for Gretchen
wasn\'t an easy task.
An autumn morning,
the water colder,
the soap scum
ringing the sink.
Water splashing across a face
rehearsing a part.
Dreaming came naturally,
enough to start
colouring reality
a duller shade of grey.
Resolutions and declarations
signed in triplicate and
nailed to the church door.
She torn them down,
plucking the nails from
his chest.
With raised eyebrow
daring him to rebel,
to stand and chase.
She cycled down the lane,
hair flowing careless behind.
An autumn morning,
a heart warmer,
dry leaves crunched underfoot.
Falling for Gretchen
wasn\'t an easy task.

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Reflections upon turning 20

by ~mcivercork, Feb 7, 2003, 10:40:08 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

For 20 years I dreamed
dream upon dream. Til all seemed
forget-me-knots in packing strings,
lakeside walks and Summer flings.
I sighed [and cried]. Crossed fingers
that Autumn leaves would linger
and stave being crushed
by mitted children rushed
to play in snow.

But now I know.
That dreams are just like
spiderwebs.
Hanging in the garden of
the mind.
A breath of wind,
the dream is gone,
and emptiness is left
behind.

But solid stand the castles,
built sturdy by their masters.
With silent devotion,
stone upon stone,
till one day, love\'s throne
shelters within its walls;
smiles and laugher warm its halls.

While the dreamer sits out
cold and blind,
content in the castles
of his mind.

Reflections upon turning 20by ~mcivercork

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I am turning 20 tomorrow. This is a hard age for me. I see it as more of a milestone than 21 or even 50. I am leaving my teenhood behind.
This is a time to reflect for me. If you are familiar with my poetic works, or even my songs. They are usually angsty love songs. About love, or me wanting to be in love, or me being in love and wishing I wasn't, or me wanting someone to love me. You get the picture. I have spent a large portion of my life thinking and fretting and dreaming about love. I dont really know why this is. I know I watched too much Dawson's Creek, that is for sure. But I guess I was more in love with the idea of being in love. I now realise that I am in no postion to be loved by someone (romantically) or give romantic love. Love to me is something that must be worked on and cherished, it is not something which should be gained through a love poem. Or even pined about, it looks like hard work to me.
I think I am going to struggle to write love poetry from now on. I have realised alot.
This poem is mainly about me, being a dreamer, and love being a castle that take ages to build, but eventually stands solid and proud for all to see.
I have not even started building my castle, but I hope one day I will dwell in a grand tower!
Anyway thanks to all my friends and supporters on and off DevArt. It means alot to me.
I hope you like this poem. Thank you for sitting through my lecture!

Love Cork!

~AshrafG Aug 25, 2004 Student

Nice piece friend! Well written, good use of language, great imagery!

And just to let you know from someone who turned 40 this year, the body aches, the body breaks, but the mind and soul remains in tact and whole. You are what you let yourself dream to be. Dont give up on your dreams because others tell you that have reached a marker in time. I sigh when I hear people have given up on hope or on faith, but when you give up on your dreams... that just makes me mad! Keep your dreams alive. A raging fire that can engulf a world starts life as an ember... Your job.. keep those embers burning!

Love your stuff!

~spiffyman Apr 28, 2003

There seems to be a slight inconsistency between the description and the actual poem... and maybe even the poem and itself...
You say you have realized how you want to build real castles... but at the end of the poem you say that you are content with the castles in your mind...

You might have intended this paradox... I believe a dreamer is never content with merely dreaming. And it seems that the transition you went through... and the struggle you experienced during it... was that you are no longer content with just dreaming. blah... maybe I am just assuming too much.

I can relate to your struggle with dreaming... here is one of my poems that you might relate to: [link]

~seatofdreams Mar 20, 2003

This is so beautiful and so insightful. The majic and dispare of revelation captued so swiftly. I cannot say how it made me feel properly.

~alexandra Feb 9, 2003

contrary to popular belief, i dont think it is possible to stop being a dreamer. dreams come whether they are wanted or not. we cling to these whisps as though they are lifelines, but really, they are hope. without the dreams of love, of life, of anything, how would we look to the future?

lakeside walks and Summer flings.
I sighed [and cried]. Crossed fingers
that Autumn leaves would linger
and stave being crushed

dont you ever think that although these were some of your happiest times that there will be something happier to come? it astounds me to think of the potential for love, the capacity for joy and laughter that humans have. while there are undoubtedly going to be more forlorn moments, more tears, there will also be more smiles, and for me, that is something dream about.

i suppose i have strayed from the topic of your poem, which just adds to the point that truly amazing work inspires, which this did.

happy birthday

~tmciver Feb 9, 2003

I am trully disturbed by this poem. It removes foundations that I don't want removed, it moves the world of one realm and places it far away. But I suppose it does leave some hope, the Glory of the castle does leave hope, but where for the beauty of the web? it's dew soaked morning glisten? Is the web not natures most amazing structure? And what is the few hundred years of the castle next to the one perfect night of the web. I am disturbed by this poem.

This Poem effects me.

~slippy Feb 8, 2003

this is wonderful. excellen flow, wonderful rhythm. i like very much!

~-bigred- Feb 8, 2003 Writer

nice on mate. This is a very powerful and kinda sad poem. Dont be dejected about love mate, you have one solid foundation of being one fantastic person upon which to build your castle.
Meanwhile... dont stop being a dreamer... being a dreamer is a gift from God and I think that it is something that i admire in you, your ability to step outside and contemplate life from a perspective that very few people view it from.

~yum64 Feb 8, 2003

happy birthday! this is some of the best rhyming i've ever seen. you're very lucky to have that talent!

~rainey Feb 8, 2003 Writer

i always thought turning 20 was a good thing. it's just a number anyway. you work nicely with rhyme, most people don't.

~three-oh-three Feb 8, 2003

Oh man! That thing just hit me powerfully... It's amazing how God can use people to speak to each other in ways like this, even when they don't realize it! So relevant to me atm too...

Wonderfully written... +fav!

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