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sanctity of a skeleton.











i.


there was void
cluttered in the clogs
of clouds
and musky
             
skies  words  and  noise -

he was born amid

black heavens
and raw colors

sipped in mortality
at the age of six
while dad tapped
on his skull
and said adieu
to his childish smiles.



ii.


jane was perhaps
the only dolly
who played with santiago’s
grim wrinkles
and held on to the pendulum
as long as he wanted    grunted    grieved 
                                  and
                                  grumbled


and like the flakes of stars
falling nowhere

jane’s hair tickled
the desert
of his skin.


iii.

jane grew up
quickly


and beyond lust;
twisted
misted thighs
    she started calculating


like newton’s apple
a thunder
of hunger
stroke her on her forehead.


santiago was fourteen
and she was thirteen and a half years too mature
than any boyish tongue to tangle
her far-out fantasies.

iv.




he found courage
cupped in the starless sky

he turned sixteen
and six feet above the ground
where heroes laid;


he smoked weed
and hung from the rootless
husbandry


the blues
of his soul
the river in his iris

melted with the candles
he burned.


jane jane jane
better gone than dead


he sang to his cat.



v.


he met rosalind
on a sidetrack
and nowhere
seemed a little lighter  simpler  and  happier
than what jane had taught him


he pressed his heart
and promised


one last breath, one last try


and like the seasons
and their names,
music made sense to him



he lost his soul
to the right song.


vi.


winter winter not so bright

he tossed a coin
and mocked his sore throat
which licked
the freezing breaths
of hell


loneliness
kissed his helpless lips
as rosalind took
uneasy sighs


they all kept
cycling in turn –


he lied he lied he lied about love

another song simmered
in the fogged up world.


vii.

santiago
faced
traced
the canopy tree
under which he used to hide
all his marbles


he thought
yearned
to see his buried treasures;

he looked for the innocence
that was perhaps never his;

he found it
in his son’s dimples.

viii.

his son was one day old
and orphaned with a father
he would never know

more responsible than orphaned
for the red in his mother’s eyes.


-

there was another story
of a boy who would never have a boyhood.

Author notes



Title must be 4 words long only. [done]
Title must contain one Alliteration. [done]


It includes:
Two Similes. --- like the flakes of stars; like newton’s apple.
Three Internal Rhymes.--- wanted-grunted; twisted- misted; faced-traced.
Four Alliterations - not including title.----- grunted grieved ; tongue to tangle; starless sky; music made.
All these must be noted in Authors Notes. [woohoo all done. ahem… I have more of each, for that matter ;] ]

Sections:
i – [46w]
ii – [43w]
iii – [47w]
iv – [57w]
v – [55w]
vi –[56w]
vii - [40w]
viii -[40w]


I will not re-open if it closes.
Credit Artist if you use image with poem - click image for thus.


picture inspired:
http://www.deviantart.com/print/78617/

A contest entry

    : , Your review:

    Comment Suggestion: What is your your first impression? • Line numbers
    : no Cost: 0 free left 0 points, You have (?) (Line numbers)

Comments

1 - 13 of 13

  • valor
    June 11

    Edit | Reply
    *bookmarked, because this totally and utterly deserves it.

    i loved every single last section and stanza and line. wow. WOW. this is one of those pieces that i wish so bad that i wrote but know i never could create such brilliance. because this is damn brilliant.


  • Never Fall in Love
    June 5

    Edit | Reply
    *looks at comments below*
    I think you've gone mental!

    I can almost say I envy you. But just almost


    • dehydrated
      June 5

      Edit | Reply
      mental? me? NO WAY!



      and envy? me... you can do better, dude. there isn't anything special about this piece.



  • apples fell gold member
    June 4

    Edit | Reply

    You deserve more comments on this, but most people simply can not read large pieces. Sad really. Anyways, bless my fucking soul I fell in love with almost every verse and each transition and just it is so alive and vibrant. Your internal rhymes, your one word lines, each verb, each noun, it is all used to convey poetry at its most heightened sense.

    One nit-pick and it is hardly that but I'm going to do it anyways.
    " santiago was fourteen
    and she was thirteen and a half years too mature
    than any boyish tongue to tangle
    her far-out fantasies. "
    - I'm getting hung up a little on the transitioning
    of image to image. Just seems rather long-winded and you might consider doing away with one of those "and's" and seeing if you couldn't make it flow a little better.

    That's all.

    Fine poesy here. Damn fine.

    ;


  • hiraeth
    June 3

    Edit | Reply
    This is extremely intriguing and well-written. I have no criticism for you, not at this hour.


  • red violence up
    June 3
    Edit | Reply
    this was epic.

    your my favourite.


  • evil tempest
    June 2

    Edit | Reply
    hey... i have been your stuff. well i think you ain't that bad! hellow i am iqra and i am adding you as my favorite that doesn't mean this piece was uber sweet!
1 - 13 of 13