[x]

To Us- Synesthesiai.

every sound
excites a burst
of color; an
exploding
firework,
dancing and
twirling.

ii.

your voice
tastes of mangoes;
sticky
and sweet,
caressing my senses.
your flavor is
personal.

iii.

the letters
all become a
different personality.
"T" is crabby
and "I" worries.
"J" is strong
and mighty.

iv.

closer and
farther away;
each number becomes
its own plane
and point
in space;
perfect details.

v.

all the numbers
form lines
becoming an army
of curvy rows,
swirling round
and round.
a perfect pattern.

vi.

letters take
on colors,
each and every one
a different hue,
a different shade,
forming rainbo

the eyepatch and the handcuffs     his hands have promised
     to wipe off every fingerprint
     your last lover left on you

     he has sworn he will
     wear gloves, when he needs to,
     and pay attention to the instructions on the boxes

     "this side up"
     and "fragile"

     and you have sworn
     you will try to let him

     i hear your bodies whispering these things to each ot

RigaIt wasn't quite spring
when you first slipped
into Pils bar;
lithe and fluid,
Mucha muse.
I had to have you.

Chocolate eyes, rum-kissed lips,
milky skin: 607 special.
Gloved fingers
pleasingly revealed to hide
no ring. In the gaping blue
VIP maw I yearned, plotted.

It wasn't quite summer
when I first threaded
my fingers
through your gilded tresses;
gazing into eyes
nervous and champagne heavy.

We spoke the language of lovers
most nights after that -
the syncopated rhythm
of your art nouveau curves
my playground.
We painted the town red.

It wasn't quite autumn
when you first arrived late
in that maroon dress; animated

ManifestAh, me leg,
I shall miss ye,
Latest of the lost.
Aye, ye be Davy
Jones' lass now,
Me pretty, me foot.

Gone
Fer a chain shot
While I were topgallant.
With me left hand
Now,
And me parrot Jim,
And much o'
The lee side o' me face.

I list a bit now,
An' I've lost me sea leg,
So I'm thinkin' now's time
To leave the Pirate
Round an' head for Barbary Coast
With me coffers t' find the
pretty lass I knew when I was
But a wee thing.
If she'll still take me,
Perhaps I won't even miss the sea.

I Have No Names for all My Teacup BabesI feel always like I am starting over.

As a magpie I gather trinkets under my pillow,
bay leaves and bags of herbs to bring the next lover to me,
to call the next dream-face forward—a picture
painted in the tea leaves.

But truth be told the start-again
is never clean, is never gentle,
and the sweat of all that labour
is a fire on my skin, telling me
I will never resist its wind-cry.

The moon comes when I call, to help me;
midwife, she is, and she carries into being my new selves
like the babes they are, teaches them to
fill long footsteps like hers.

Truth be told, I tire of the destiny
I was given once—I am a teacup

When your hands can mimic birdsWhen your hands can mimic birds,
you lose the need for sound.
A flight of words that bear no chirp
are none the less profound.

They don't perch on a pitch.
They don't possess the need .
They fly until you've seen their song,
then silently recede.

No one could find more freedom than
the freedom granted flight.
No one can see more beauty than in
words passed left to right.

A Matter of Time

A Matter of Time

You think Sandy's got vengeance in its eyes?
You see vengeance everywhere don’t you?
In the fast, wet winds churning around your Queens apartment
In the lightning flashes on Ocean Parkway where we walked once like a
Couple of refugees.

The waves will be taller than you, they’re saying
But I imagine you sitting on a grey dock somewhere
Oblivious of official warnings
Your dark wavy hair sticking to your forehead of scattered lies
And losses,
Your hard, careless body framed in endless brine.
I might not be allowed to love you anymore
But the rules of capturing, consuming and catenating happen to be
As fluid as t

Newspaper SuitI am a charlatan
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
the pushpins
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
of death.

Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to the
lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.

In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of

The art and technology of lifeEach day we awaken without a second thought. We complain of oversleeping, of under sleeping, of not sleeping right and contemplate getting just a few more minutes of rest. We go throughout our day, routines, seeing to our needs, responsibilities and wants. We think we are so aware, but are we really?

So seldom do we think of that works beneath the skin. From flesh to marrow, our body functions in ways unseen to us. Ways often forgotten until something goes wrong. As we eat our breakfast, such a simple action, the complexities of our body begin to go to work. Saliva flowing to break down our food, the muscles needed to swallow, how our esopha

Souls and SparklesTo write something that is meaningful to someone else, you must first write something that is meaningful to yourself.

There are a thousand rooms in each person's mind, and each mind is a maze because it has been tangled. The hallways are criss-crossing and clumping, like long hair in the wind. Society has made it so.

We all have impure thoughts. Things that would make us "bad", unequal, or imperfect. Thoughts that make us different in gloriously unusual ways. We are born into the world unashamed, but then we are taught the unspoken words. Words that are rules. Words like normal, like good and bad, ugly and pretty. We are taught that if we d

Harvest MoonYou remind me of the harvest moon
tugging the shore from beneath my feet, of
rowing out to sea in winter with empty nets
till spring, of catching every breath
in crystals on the same forgotten docks,

Where gravity knots my tendons into rope,
my teeth into chalk and ash, and my eyes
into searchlights scanning the horizon
for the first ship that leads to you.

AirYou do not have to be empty.
Go, now, to the high places, the thin spires
of mountains and skyscrapers
the roof of your house, tipped with snow,
and fill yourself up with the air.
Drink it in, taste it, roll it around
on your tongue, feel it settle
in the caverns of your lungs. Feel the dust
and the ice crystals and the scraps of newspaper
brush your lips, and fill yourself with them, too.
Fill yourself up with the moonlight, the frost,
the dusky rose of the rising sun,
the night, the morning, the calls of birds,
the sillhouettes of telephone poles,
the shadows of people and clouds and alley cats
that dance across the pave

The ElementsI.
Wine as red as stained glass
is lifted up & tilted back

Empty cups
touch wood like thunder
having given up grace

II.
Blue veins
thread across wrists & palms
spent vessels returning to the heart

Fingertips suffused with pulse
lift to lightning's loveliness

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More from ~Taralitha

OrYou told me I don't look like me
as we paged through comic books;
You flip slick gloss like photo albums
looking to me to see where I was hiding:

      What did you expect, two years gone?
    Or
      should they pass in a flash, haze of gunsmoke,
      running after some new computer glory?
    Or
      should they slide away like memories, plumes of fog
      washing away the ache from the longest empty swansong?
    Or
&

Lady HalleyI am - they say - a comet:
consuming myself nightly,
fueling every hot happy moan,
my feet being eaten in Heaven;

crying out beyond the jet lag,
burning brighter each second I die,
sparkling, raining down a thousand times,
birthing diamonds in my demise.

Elegy for Chester

This tiny bundle of nerves and fur
this little piece of gnashing teeth
suddenly silent, slack and slow
the screaming hiccups, the pained exhalations -
my terrible vision come to color -
you cry, and my tears anoint you,
pave your way to some other forest.

The life of you, the force that compels
your doe-eyed smiles, your operatic wheeks
is petering out, the coils unwinding
and you can barely hold your head.
You body of bones. I cradle you close
the last time I will ever hold you
roaring this unrighteousness,
this cosmic misdeed
that the blood is purpling in your veins
and there will never be enough time.

You are so empty,

AprilThis vulgar, vainglorious city,
all the shit and piss and vomit that pervades
winding its binders around my windows
rising up like heatstroke from the busted gutters

and here I lie, dreaming, scheming, half fevered
half awake, listening to the cars and the alcoholics
screaming, careening down Halsted to a young death
rolling over to feel my wasted body, the muscles
that never come to attention. Oh, shame, hideous
jumble of flesh and fluid, this hateful shell
I call my home. No matter.

Stitch read my tarot, teasing out the wo/man
weeping inside of me. Bind your breasts, he said,
don't cut them out. Androgyny is your gift to give.

TeethUpside down icebergs, stalactite manufactured,
crooked jagged mountain range, mapping out my mouth-
no movie-star smile, no sculpted pearly white.

Teeth to tear the meat from bones, teeth to
rip the flesh from vegetable, growling at canines,
snarling for my meal - as if I were animal,
what these teeth portray - all the ridicule,
the nights wishing I could rip them out.

Cursing cheapstake parents
who cared more for beer than braces.
In my world there is nothing like laughter
that does not come with shame.

I order a fake grin.
Plastic and lopsided, filling up my lips
until I slur. I wince as the glue guts my gums,
struggle agains

ApologieAnd so it was that God crafted us
with bodies smaller than our souls
gave us words our tongues cannot express
cursed with languages infinitely constricting
a tiny world for our emotions to use.

So quiet! - let my fingers sing the reverent song
kiss you with hymns meant never to be written
bind ourselves together, all these late nights breathing
and living one another - let that be the apology.

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the bride

by ~Taralitha, May 18, 2012, 11:25:39 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

body of mountain, cream and concrete
peeling paint - you are rosacea
defined, crackle skin I run my fingers under
and crush between my teeth. taste of
salt and soil, of burdening years
that rub water in your joints. precious
blessed bridge beauty, breathing heat
and sweating rain, you darling
that shakes, and shakes, and remains.

when I am ash and shadow, wax
for the candlemaker, you'll stand still
silent, soft strain-taker, train-carer,
and hold my love poems
in your cold stones.

the brideby ~Taralitha

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~Taralitha

my wife

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-09-01

the bride by ~Taralitha A great, compact love poem. ( Featured by ^Beccalicious )

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Karinta Sep 5, 2012 Student General Artist

Incredible imagery you conjure!

Reply

=DrippingWords Sep 1, 2012 Student Writer

This is very pretty

Reply

~ManishaChan Sep 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Reply

Mood: Love

~Katie3here Sep 1, 2012 Student Artist

*faved* >w<

Reply

Mood: Amazed

*Bellawho1 Sep 1, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

Wow this is very deep. I really like your poem.

Reply

~Nickystar101 Sep 1, 2012

Isn't this your third or fourth dd? ^^ It just shows how amazing your art is!

Reply

~Taralitha Sep 1, 2012

This is my third DD

Reply

~Nickystar101 Sep 1, 2012

AMAZING!

Reply

Mood: Peaceful

~cowboy-otaku Sep 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

oh nice
-must re read now

i actually came here thinking the picture was it
did u take that photo?

peace ^_^

Reply

~Taralitha Sep 1, 2012

Yes I did.

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