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Cry outPoets find your presence in the fire and the storm.
They seek you in majesty.
They look at mountains and see the ridges of your thumbprint.
They cry your praise when you paint the autumn.
They throw open their hearts to the sun.
They marvel as the cold kernel stirs to life.

But you are in the bitter days as well,
the afternoons so dull I could weep.
You are the maker of anthills as well as mountains,
and the stately wake of the single crackled leaf.
You drew the colour from the sunset and breathed grey fog.
You kill some seeds, barren rocks that litter the ground and will never grow.

You are in despair as well as in triumph -- per
CassandraEven in death, Cassandra was lovely.

Her hair cascaded over her ivory shoulders in sable cataracts, pooling in the soft hollow between her breast and throat. She was wearing the white nightgown, the one she knew I loved, and the fall had thrown it up, weightless, in gossamer drifts across her legs. Her bare toes were painted salmon-pink, the same colour as the roses in the crystal vase by the door.

So elegant, my Cassandra. I might have expected that she would sprawl, as one imagines that people do when they have died suddenly, but her body refused to surrender its accustomed grace. One hand curled beside her face; the other lay, palm up, a
Autumn RainsThe Texas autumn, breached,
pours forth cathartic drops,
an ecstasy of tears
to cleanse her dusty eyes of the agonizing fall.

The brow of Texas boils
in cloudy greys and thunder
amid coyote calls electric
down the city-slicker's spine
dropping low.

The breath of Texas chills -
a saw-blade through the heat -
and screams the cloud stampede
across the hills.

The voice of Texas condescends
to whisper in the huisatch
and whistle in the Spanish daggers
sparring with the mockingbird
to sing before she roars.

The mercy of Texas
is no relief -
this wild trickster goddess burns

then drowns.
Chemical Attractions, Part IWe can learn a lot from salt.

The chlorine atom is fundamentally lacking, longing to fill that gaping hole in its valence shell, and those bright bits of energy dancing in amorphous clouds around a sodium atom are just too tempting for the poor chlorine to resist. Chlorine probably knows that it has no claim to those electrons. It might lie awake at night for days or weeks in a fit of conscience, seeking alternatives before sending out tentative feelers and inviting Sodium to join it for coffee... It's a romantic comedy in minature, and I think that we can skip over the montage of dates and dinners and late nights on the couch in front of a
Morning VerseThe morning makes me reckless
with the smell of coffee curling
through my veins in electric
tendrils,
and the pen betwixt my fingertips
shooting feelers through my brain,
and a single dying star
burning in the dawn-green
East.
The morning makes me restless
with the promise of the day
and the breath of open windows
and the smooth relief of
ink;
so in the morning, like a child
celebrating life
I turn my words in dances.
SacrificeYou are gone
 but I remain
 alone and mourning
   impotent.
I would devour the earth
I would drink the seas dry
I would burn the sky
 and boil all human tears to nothing
I would put out the stars
I would spit on the sun
 and salt my wounded eyes
to touch your hand once more.

But I am a servant
 the lowest
 a child of dust
 with no power to touch the sky.
So I will touch my heart instead
 and since you cannot come back to me,
 I will go to you, my hope
 touch my heart and still it,
   and I will come to you.
Mirage Redux  
     It's the Summer Powwow, and I feel like a little kid let loose in a toy store.

     Other women put silverwork, beaded belts and more in booths that circle the empty dance area.
     Under canvas-rigged shade, chairs are saved for Indian elders.

     My chair's in full sun, but I don't care.
     I prepared for that with sunblock. It's hot and though I'm kind-of Cheyenne, it's a very small part. The outside of me is quite fair, though in the winter my hair is dark. I'd be sunburnt in seconds sinc
AbandonedAbandoned in the darkness
Alone and unconcerned
Kiss of deep depression
Your love I must have earned

Lost and slipping deeper
Gripped by stark despair
The world I have abandoned
It never really cared

I have no fear of leaving
I felt abandoned long ago
The child that became unwanted
Did you think I didn't know?

Now everything seems distant
I'm trying so hard to stay
But the melody of Avalon
Calls me to walk it's way...
A poet's prayerPatron of poets, pray bless me with words,
fill me with rhyming and meaning and song.
Hallow my tongue with a taste for fine verse.
Give me a pen never ceasing to write.

Patron of poets, the earth bore you up,
that all who listened could hear when you spoke.
Grant ears to hear me, though my lines are frail,
maybe a heart to be touched by my hymn.

                                        Amen.
The captiveYour heart it took me captive
And you didn't have to try
Somehow you touched my soul
Now without you I would die

Your heart it took me captive
You made my heart your own
I tried but couldn't walk away
And now our love has grown

Your heart it took me captive
Knew our love was meant to be
Your hand it reached out to me
Touched my eyes that I might see

Your heart it took me captive
Then your love it set me free
Gave me wings to fly to heaven
Showed me what our love can be

Your heart it took me captive
Then your love you gave to me
All you are, to me you've given
In my hand you've placed the key

Your heart it took me captive
Autumn LeavesDry autumn leaves are the carpet beneath my hooves.

Moss under a young sapling provides me with what few amount of rain drops have survived these parched last few weeks.

Stars are beginning to shine in the dim light. By this time of year there should be storm clouds filling the sky from dusk 'til dawn. But this year has been strangely quiet of thunder and scarce of rain.

I scratch my long antlers against a strong oak tree and tingle with the pleasure. The forrest has it's small comforts.

Squirrels dart up an Oak, chasing each other ever higher. They dare each other with their leaps from trunk to trunk and catch themselves on the thinest o
When We Were SpecialI remember days
When the world was new
And the stars lived their lives in beautiful formation
When we knelt to kiss the buttercups
And rubbed dandelion juice across our pale, paper-thin eyelids
To stain them the color of sunshine
Days when we knew our places
In the shimmering galaxy that burned with life and love
I remember warm skin:
Not the kind that ached to be slashed and then shed
So that we could finally escape
The slender, sticky spider web ropes

In those days we ran through headstones
Our small feet painted with mud and toenail polish
Stomping over the dead
And disturbing the sleep that they worked so hard for

Without
You Give Me A Reason
You give me a reason to keep on living.
Even though the world whispers that I'm nothing.
You give me a reason to smile.
You say things that stay in my heart a little while.

You give me a reason to laugh.
When I feel like crying.
You give me a reason to kiss you.
When you say I love you.

You give me a reason to be me.
Even though some can't see it.
You give me a reason to believe.
When you see the bigger picture.

You give me a reason to try.
Even though the odds are against me.
Your love gives me a reason.
For that I will keep believing.
Make My MusicYou
Yanked roughly
At this thing in my chest
I call a Heart

You
Damage
But all the while
Your soft touch
Helped me make music

You
Know just how to
Pluck each vein
Like a violin
And help the chambers
Of my heart keep rhythm
Like a percussion instrument

There is beauty in the
Way you
Hurt me

In the way you
Keep me captive

In the way you slowly break me
Push me down
Until I am scattered points of light
To be swept into The Night Sky
To the Ghosts of Glen CoeSleep, you brave, you innocent,
you warriors and women strong.
Dread William's days are now all spent,
and memory is long.

On the glen, the snow lies deep,
as once it lay those years ago,
the night it witnessed traitors creep
on sleeping Invercoe.

Great MacIain ope'd his doors
to Campbells shiv'ring in the night.
He had grown tired of English wars
and looked not for a fight.

Sleep, you brave, you innocent,
you warriors and women strong.
Dread William's days are now all spent,
and memory is long.

Screams of children drowned the storm
when Campbell blades came slicing down
on bloody tartan, rent and torn,
all for a foreign cr
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AnswerphoneBeep.

Hey, Len, it's Mara. I won five gallons of pinot grigio at bunco the other night, and I thought maybe you'd like to meet up for grading and booze. I'll read my third period's short stories to you. Anyway, call me back when you get in.

Beep.

Mara again. Just wanted to say, don't forget to pack your knitting stuff. It's a long bus ride.

Beep.

Mister Hugo, it's Bill Leakey, Connie's dad. Connie won't be able to make it to tutoring at all next week. She's got recitals with the string band. We do want to reschedule, though. Give me a call back.

Beep.

Sorry, Len. Last one, I swear. Please please call me before you leave. It's about tha
Chemical Attractions, Pt IIWe can learn a lot from hydrochloric acid.

Not the whole dangerously-corrosive part, of course, though I admit that a lot of people probably find us two a bit hard to stomach. A dynamic duo we are not.

What I mean is that dance they do - shy glances across a crowded room (beaker?) as Hydrogen and Chlorine each quietly regret their incompleteness, feeling that hole where another electron ought to be, but never willing to resort to online dating... They were probably lab partners in high school, and then a couple of years later found themselves across the table from one another in that sophomore Shakespeare class, then side-by-side in Differe
Chemical Attractions, Part IWe can learn a lot from salt.

The chlorine atom is fundamentally lacking, longing to fill that gaping hole in its valence shell, and those bright bits of energy dancing in amorphous clouds around a sodium atom are just too tempting for the poor chlorine to resist. Chlorine probably knows that it has no claim to those electrons. It might lie awake at night for days or weeks in a fit of conscience, seeking alternatives before sending out tentative feelers and inviting Sodium to join it for coffee... It's a romantic comedy in minature, and I think that we can skip over the montage of dates and dinners and late nights on the couch in front of a
The Mirror LiesThe walk from the garage to the front door always scared Andie, despite the can of mace in the bottom of her handbag. It was not attack she feared, but being seen, and mace could not make the eyes across the street go away.

The handbag went on the floor as soon as the door was locked, its contents spilling across the cheerful, flowered rug: lipstick, compact, wallet, pens, tin of mints, neatly folded petrol receipts. The lavender jacket with the creamy grosgrain trim flew across the tiny sitting room and draped itself over the back of the desk chair. The matching lavender skirt had hit the floor before she even reached the kitchen. It crumpl

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November 5, 2011
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Synesthesia

:iconquiestinliteris:

I fell in love with a pianist's hands.

They danced across my skin in minuets, his fingers tripping cadenzas up and down my spine. He brushed sonatas through my hair and across my shoulders, pianissimo. I trembled beneath his trills. The primal, earnest rage of Bach swelled in hot crescendos along my throat, beneath my ribs, guided by his hands --- Mozart, coolly logical, raised goosebumps down my arms --- Chopin soothed the fire and finally calmed my hammering heart.

I fell in love with a pianist's hands, listening from the back of the coffee shop while my lungs fought for breath, making wishes until he was gone.
:iconquiestinliteris:
Not exactly fiction, but edited for privacy and decorum.
I wish I'd had the nerve to talk to him, but wouldn't have been any sane way to start that conversation.
Synesthesia bites, sometimes.
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:iconstaarshade:
~staarshade Apr 12, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
oh, gorgeous. I understand your feelings, I fell in love with a man because of the colors of his voice. if you don't mind me asking, what are the, ah, "symptoms" of your synesthesia?
Reply
:iconquiestinliteris:
=QuiEstInLiteris Apr 16, 2013  Professional Writer
<3 Thank you!
It's auditory-tactile. I feel sounds. Oddly, though, it seems to be lessening recently. :< It's like losing a sense. I don't like it.
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:iconstaarshade:
~staarshade Apr 24, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
yeah, I couldn't imagine living without my colors... It would make the world a darker place... Will you check out some of my poems? They are a bit like yours. =)
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:iconaitheos:
=Aitheos Nov 8, 2012  Student Traditional Artist
so beautiful :D
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:iconw-o-a-nderer:
~w-o-a-nderer Oct 7, 2012
Nice
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:iconquiestinliteris:
=QuiEstInLiteris Oct 9, 2012  Professional Writer
^^ Thank you!
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:icongnewi:
=Gnewi Sep 6, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Wow! This was the first work of yours that caught my eye. Your first line is definitely a hook! Especially, since my brother is a concert pianist, composer, etc. (Who is still single, in case you are wondering! :D)
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:iconvictimofyfd:
~VictimofYFD Aug 27, 2012  Student Writer
So much in so little words. This is absolutely beautiful :)

But I have one question: when you hear sounds, do you actually feel the fleeting touches externally? Or do you feel it internally, like in 'a mind's eye' kind of sense?
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:iconakky3210:
~akky3210 Jul 29, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Really, really nice, made all the better by the fact that you actually have synesthesia. The poetry of this piece is absolutely exquisite. Faved!
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:iconquiestinliteris:
=QuiEstInLiteris Aug 1, 2012  Professional Writer
<3 Thank you!
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