December's Writer's Thread

[Cliff]

Catalyst Chronicles

the other night i had this serene moment,
one of those moments where i as lost in my thoughts like usual.

i found myself on the subway,
record bag at my feet,
pack strapped snug upon my back,
upon reaching dupont circle i left the train
and proceded towards the south exit on 19th st.

rising from the depths to the waking world
the smell of snow drifted down unto me
i checked my jacket for maxium warmth
and half way up i began to hear them

city type silence broken by bagpipes
louder they became as to the top i got closer to
and i did what seemed natural to me
(and just maybe it might of been natural to you too)
i followed their sound through darkness
until i discovered them and the man that helmed them

in early night's snowfall i stood and listened
smiling, i tipped the man and continued on my journey

[DeAtHmOnGeR bEaR]

Sleepmonger,
deathmonger,
with capsules in my palms each night,
eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles
I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey.
I'm the queen of this condition.
I'm an expert on making the trip
and now they say I'm an addict.
Now they ask why.
WHY!

Don't they know that I promised to die!
I'm keeping in practice.
I'm merely staying in shape.
The pills are a mother, but better,
every color and as good as sour balls.
I'm on a diet from death.

Yes, I admit
it has gotten to be a bit of a habit-
blows eight at a time, socked in the eye,
hauled away by the pink, the orange,
the green and the white goodnights.
I'm becoming something of a chemical
mixture.
that's it!
My supply
of tablets
has got to last for years and years.
I like them more than I like me.
It's a kind of marriage.
It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside
of myself.
Yes
I try
to kill myself in small amounts,
an innocuous occupation.
Actually I'm hung up on it.
But remember I don't make too much noise.
And frankly no one has to lug me out
and I don't stand there in my winding sheet.
I'm a little buttercup in my yellow nightie
eating my eight loaves in a row
and in a certain order as in
the laying on of hands
or the black sacrament.
It's a ceremony
but like any other sport
it's full of rules.
It's like a musical tennis match where
my mouth keeps catching the ball.
Then I lie on; my altar
elevated by the eight chemical kisses.
What a lay me down this is
with two pink, two orange,
two green, two white goodnights.
Fee-fi-fo-fum-
Now I'm borrowed.
Now I'm numb.


By Anne Sexton

[Cliff]

:woot:

[DeAtHmOnGeR bEaR]

Roses are red,
Violets are blue
I posted in the right thread,
Now how about you?

[ravetildawn]

roses are red
violets are blue
good work, lauren
knew i could count on you

[Cliff]

Other than the above I've only written one other piece this month.... can't share it with the board though. :catalyst:

[LuckyShamrock]

Broken glass on the floor
a mother screams in the night
children cry alone
evidence on her face
no one ever knows
she never speaks
a rainy day, too late
and a stone with her name
SILENCE

[LuckyShamrock]

Anticipation like a knife
In your back
The wait is killing
Me softly

Clock seems to stop
On a dime
Hands moving slower
Never changing

We waltz in
Finally the lights
Shine in our faces
Bright and unforgiving

Anticipation again
As we wait
To jump off
The cliff of happiness

The heat is high
Sweat beads
Roll down my back
And stain my forehead

Dancing uncontrollably
Moving in mysterious ways
Eyes shaking to the beat
That is what I came for

The people I meet
Make my life
Come together in pieces
Like a puzzle

Love is felt from
All directions
People hug me
Like they have known me forever

Time to go home
The clock is ruler again
What to do now
Sleep maybe

[teerex]

What a catterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls the butterfly.

[halcyon]

kicking the dirt he does in such fashion
as if it's been done a hundred times before
he wonders how to explain in words
how Decembers and him have never really been
the best of friends in any way, shape or form

across this land over the trees and under the stars
out there abouts this land of that we share together
she is never really knowing the wiser of it all
that the cold nights hurt not as much as realizataions
the holidays are the loneliest days of the year

if the thought was what really counts then he never existed
always forgotten in some trainwreck of never remembered
he now fears that to her look that she casted his way
enslaved he is to it like any addiction or affliction

amid the snow the cold and the late lost nights
it's because of her he remembers the simple warmth
of what it's like to smile

finally December isn't as cold as it's always been

[Ink Blot]

why is there 2 threads on December?







A day at the beach

I look down at the glassy reflection of the ocean
and feel the cool summer breeze in my hair
my body feels weightless in the wave's motion
and my sorrows are lifted and I am left without a care

the golden glow of warmth is felt on my skin
i close my eyes to take it all in
i wouldn't even know where words would even begin
to discribe the happiness i feel within

i hear the calls of gulls overhead
and the spashing of the waves on shore
further and further into the fathom i am lead
wanting to see more and more

a smile is seen on my face
as radiant as the sun on top
for this moment, in this time and place
i wish that world for once, would stop

i can feel the groves of the sand beneith my toes
and see the small fishes swiming so clever
in this place where there are no woes
i wish summer would last forever