Another Cup of Hormones, Please

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Actually Mutually

I see my soul in you
Like a Leiden jar of words
Precious few, that dance like gold
On a pedastal

I feel my flow in you
Like fingers of satin
Combined like macrame
Delightful

Actually mutually
Agreeing
Souls in combined religion
Free admission
Perfect permission

I feel my hand in you
Touching your heart
And the graceful electricity
Still flows

I see my soul in you
Permanent marker
Smudges of artful
Perfection

Actually mutually
Agreeing
Souls in combined religion
Free admission
Perfect permission

The liquor comfort
Of this syncronized pulse
Delightful

--March 6, 2007

Posted by Florence at 11:43 PM | Permalink | Comments

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Far Bridge Dream

Steam
Lifts lemon drops
Drifting demon
Developing whispers
Clean goal
Wild path
Dirty stepping stones

Dream
Wayfaring whispers
Calming shudders
Culminating kisses
Fair play
Unbiased action
Ruthlessly in love

Impasse
Passive glimpse
Of impassive impossibilities
A far bridge dream
That rises and falls
Blinks and fades
Loves and hates
--January 2005

Posted by Florence at 11:38 PM | Permalink | Comments

Monday, June 26, 2006

For A.B.S

there's an inordinate sense of
premature withdrawal
where you say no
before you have to
so that it remains
your decision.

there's a grey polish on your
fingertips
to hide the blood
thats drawn from
ingrown nails

there's a shadow
like drops of water
on a window pane
that are bumped apart
up and down
and find themselves
collecting
and gaining speed

there's a hazy opportunity
sitting at the bottom of
the bottle

there's everything up ahead
that you miss
because you want to go straight so bad
that you don't dare hope for it

there's a word
on black and white
and the empty contrast
is not the beginning
or the end
but all the colors
in between

there's an inch
traversed on the white face
of an unsympathetic
beating
clock
and an inch
on the corner
of a napkin

and all these things
unlike matter and molecules
are broken
and lost to you forever

there's a sweet smelling
crisp bundle
of carbon copies.

Posted by Florence at 5:27 AM | Permalink | Comments

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Poem About Love

To write a poem of love, at best
Would be to leave it unexpressed.

--School assignment "Poem About Love", 2002.

Posted by Florence at 11:53 PM | Permalink | Comments

Ode to Nero

life as a bouy
incessantly i
hate everything i allow
you gave my ennui
wings to fly
i cannot escape it now

wanton secretion
of deadbeat marvel
to swallow the midday sun
you serve the depletion
of society, larvel
and newly beleaguered good fun

as i, in fits grow crueler
destroying all the ants
that make up the popular punity
a lonely single ruler
will have the world he wants
his epic world in unity

my heart, with sand, grows orphic
it cannot dim my art
pondering can weigh my unheard glory
my world in metamorphic
colors trim my heart
my duty is to make my critics sorry

--July 9, 2003

Posted by Florence at 11:41 PM | Permalink | Comments

The Valleying High

Dawning, flooring molecules
As space remorses rain
The splattering moistening pain

Morning spreads like footmen
Across the valleying high
Between the earth and sky

I painted streams of rainbows
Creation, wounded, speaks
In innovative streaks

The wallowing and hidden
Ascended from that lair
Inhaling bitter air

They swallowed every image
Surrounding what I saw
The ill safe-guarded jaw

I stood, within my paintbrush
It took my eyes to see
And told this scene to me

Entranced, my heart dipped slowly
As men returned with men
And struck, one man to ten

As danger cut my voice low
And fury donned my head
My hand, astounded lead

I cried without intention
I called, my voice regained
The ceiling broke...and then it rained

This statuesque euphoria
Entranced me to my wake
As Morpheus' voices spake

Covered in my bedsheets
My mind, awake, at war
In the valleying high of yore

--September 3, 2004

Posted by Florence at 11:40 PM | Permalink | Comments

For The Animal

And now, though years can separate
The sky from blue and black
Gladly, I remorse this state
This blatant lack

If life began as small as dust
And grew like petals pour
I watched it mold from gold to rust
I watched it sour

If life began, where I began
Upon a smaller space
From shape to shape within a man
From race to race

I drew out all the ledges
And folded halves inside
I cornered all the edges
So you could hide

I floundered in that boat
Like insence in a can
You trickled down my throat
And then you ran

Godspeed, save you
Draw you out of me
I cannot break the bottle
Throttle me

And now, though ghosts awaken
By borrowing my voice
The road, as not yet taken
Was not my choice.

The hand I left outdoors
The heart I left inside
Apathy adores
My liquor pride

And last, I sought to write
When time can seperate
The morning from the night
When it is late

I curved you with my spurns
I shaped them with my tongue
A wiser man learns
When he is young.

--November 24, 2004

Posted by Florence at 11:39 PM | Permalink | Comments

For Aika

I wonder
If I were to look inside my head
What I could find
It would be full, I'm sure
Of people,
And people knocking outside to get in
And people knocking inside to get out.
It would be full of hungry strangers.
If I were to look inside my heart
I think it would be a void
Like a lost place
Of no land-value
Undesired...
Undesirable.
And an empty wind screams
With your laughter
Where the sun beams
With your glittering grin
And where steam rises from the sand.
It is not so empty
Because you are everywhere.
On me,
In me,
Weighing me down
And lifting me up
And I cannot move.
You blot me out of the space.
And if I could leave this place, I would.
You tend it better than I ever could.
Somehow, full of you,
It feels right.
--January 28, 2003

Posted by Florence at 11:32 PM | Permalink | Comments

Random postulations

A woman,
Bent over herself
Creased in the middle
And folded neatly.
Like a package
Overdue.
--January 28, 2003

Posted by Florence at 11:22 PM | Permalink | Comments

Idle

it's idle in here.
the sounds and smells
outnumber the sights
there is little left to forget

there is nothing to fear
no thought compells
some sleepless nights
motion paralyzed in awe

i was living, before
and now am dead to thought
so how I remember
Is a mystery.

Naught to restore
to restore to naught
i've smothered the last ember
That threatened me

so many words
that speak of hate
who needs those sounds
that speak of love?

i see, i heard,
hallucinate,
and little grounds
i gain, slowly.

the ground looks bigger
when you're closer

when you haven't written poetry in a long time
It doesn't come as easily
Like fragments of glass have lodged themselves
In your brain
For no reason at all.
And it disrupts your rhyming verse.
And makes you feel quite eccentric.
Then you clear your throat
And go on.

i knew i had a happy end
i went into this with one in mind
i know i find the light sometime
i never remain hopeless.

i wish i had more mind to spend
alas, those useless words i pined
and wasted. if you know how hard it was to rhyme...
i hang three feet down, and ropeless.
--October 19, 2004

Posted by Florence at 10:54 PM | Permalink | Comments

Straws

I am alone in this world
Because I guard my coffee
I esteem it higher than the companionship
Of empty human conversation.
I sit, surrounded by walls
That cannot be penetrated
By the strongest of straws.
--October 10, 2003

Posted by Florence at 10:52 PM | Permalink | Comments

The Faces Of A Man

The faces of a man
Who has been to scour the world
To treat its trodden soil
To erect statues of his glory
So people can see his victorious gleam
Reflected in his placid gaze.

The man who has seen
Every enchanted April
And weathered loneliness
And endured popularity
Has seen much.
And his eyes can reflect it.

His face tells the story
Knowledge tarnishes his youth
And paints his face a dismal pale
And that is his sacrifice.
These are the faces of that man.
Sad, broken, and confused.
--July 6, 2002

Posted by Florence at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments

Poetic Justice

Do you feign emotions you don't know?
Do you pretend you've been where you can't go?
Your words are listless and empty.
They insult me.

Write about your ignorant look
As I dip my pen into this abused book
And from you, and with this
I demand poetic justice.
--February 5, 2002

Posted by Florence at 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments

Art

Pasty colors, and florescant ones
Is it revolting...or revoluting?
I can't quite tell.
Confusing shapes.
Stoic, boring lines.
And lines that overtake their limits
Then are not lines at all.
Trying to be something else
Like the artist.
Painfully shocking hues,
A squirmy, displeased feeling,
And a pity for the scarred canvas.
--January 2nd, 2002

Posted by Florence at 10:40 PM | Permalink | Comments

Unencumbered Reality

How does it feel
To live in an alternate reality
Where everything forgets
Itself, before you have a chance
To live?
Stony hearts
Dropped from a height
Still break.
But don't you worry...
You'll never be high enough for that.

Numbers can fend for themselves.
I stand with the x, the y, and the z
Like a stout Theorem,
Ruler in hand
And create rules for my own
Mathematical reality.

Words can decipher themselves
I stand with the comma, the apostrophe, and the period
Like a suicidal poet,
Bleeding to death
Because of the confusion of this
Literary reality.

Science can treat its own patients
For of its own property, its own ailments become
Like festering blisters
And canker sores
Because of scientific illusions and
Scientific reality.

History can unfold its own chart
For it moves, and leaves the dead behind
Without a second thought for the history that they dissolve as they absorb the earth
Like a black hole
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as dictates
Historical reality.

Mountains and streams defy one another
Cutting into eachother like daggars of all hatred
That the dead carried with them into the earth
Selfish with their vengeance...
And I traverse their graves upon this
Geographical reality

Everything fades into the sky
An inky blackdrop rolls back, eyeballs twirl like whirlwinds
In a ghostly sky, as the hosts pale and die
Like man and beast
Merging into an
Illusional reality.
--July 4, 2005

Posted by Florence at 10:30 PM | Permalink | Comments

Childish Laughter

Misconstrued pieces of laughter
Minimalized joys
Disparagred memories
Discouraged empathy
Illustrious misgivings
Illuminating mistakes
Marred bedsheets
Married bedwetters
Damned minutes
Deep millions of them
Dangerous sarcasm
Diminished humor
Opinionated people
Old prayers
Old people.
Grown men
Georges women
What happened yesterday
That made you so tall?
How did I miss
Those little years?

Childish laughter
Mistaken for you.
--October 15, 2004

Posted by Florence at 10:18 PM | Permalink | Comments

Going once

Like a practice run on this ice
Going once, going twice
And you're gone with the melting
Of all first and last things.
--February 22, 2006

Posted by Florence at 10:13 PM | Permalink | Comments

Thursday, June 15, 2006

What "they" do to me

I was something
And perhaps they were right.
There was that strip
Of lolly sweet time
When I knew they were right
And didn't care.

Time rolled up
And packed itself away
And those mountains that
Were always there
To climb, someday
Are gone.

The "they"
Used to be so ultra
And good at telling me
That it was all forgotten
And forgiven.
It wasn't harmful to anyone but myself.
And even I got a good bite
Out of both light and dark.
I like to think
That so many years of balancing
Made me better
At balancing.

Trying something knew, I said...
It wasn't pressure
It wasn't "outside influence"
Just me and Mister Personal Preference.
I was unchangeable
Or so I wished they would think
But they thought what they pleased.

I packed up matter and solitude
And made myself a home
Inside a dormant mind.
I pulled out all the stops
And swapped the red wire
With the blue.

Still, when they tell me
To erase the past
They keep the carbon copy.
They tell me
To learn from my mistakes
And they hold me back because of them.
They tell me
To break free from the past
And they bind me with the same lie.

Unintentional, a fickle deception
A non-issue injury
That bleeds slowly
When "they" are not around.
--August 2005

Posted by Florence at 6:54 PM | Permalink | Comments

Anime Mystery

Her skirt,
A placid curtain
Close the doors on memories
Torture, but don't kill,
The secrets

Anime lips
Form a crescent remark
On taste.
Mingle perspiration and
Lipgloss

Her phone
A material mindset
More fingers for her hand
Delete
Less to recall
Less to remorse

Textured folds
Hair that rides the sunlight
A wary backdrop for your face
A vacant expression
Silent eyes
Home alone
Where the doorbell doesn't ring.

Anxious fingers
Stroke satire skin
Seventeen years old
And aging
So I am as filthy on the outside
As on the in.

We watch her,
Faded description
As cliche
As the sun and moon
We have answers
And wings

Guarded spirit
Nature rests on frail shoulders
Fantasies flicker
Behind rusted hinges
And the doorbell doesn't ring.
--April 2005

Posted by Florence at 6:53 PM | Permalink | Comments

Winter

Soak up the warmth
Red, smooth and silky,
Spread the white blanket
For our bodies.

Wet snow, tantalizing crush
Steaming glaziers
Airs waft higher and higher
Biting the snow
With little fingers of heat.

Mingling warmth
Gentle frigidity against
Tepid skin.

Sweat sizzles into ice
And marks evaporating flavors
Upon a melting surface
That glints, reflecting
The sweltering image
Of heat, pressed against ice

Bodies pressed against glass
Falling through the snow
The smells of winter
And a sauna outdoors.

We preserve it between
Clasped fingers
And force it deeper
Into each other

So as not to freeze in cold
So as not to melt in heat.
--August 2005

Posted by Florence at 6:53 PM | Permalink | Comments

In Essence

White paint
Courses through
Arid veins.
Sacruscant
Metal blue
Drops of rain
Become me
Through and through
Saturated
With you.

In essense
You are
In short
You are
In all
You are
In full
You are
In other words
You are
In so saying
You are

Loose winds,
Faineant
Pilgrim place.
Wet minds
A pageant
In outer space
Ginger phloem
You are
The shortest poem
Ever written
--June 2005

Posted by Florence at 6:52 PM | Permalink | Comments

Reality Plays

The tears of breath
That course through eyes
Of shattered apocalypse
Stained with the words
That passed from your lips
To mine, as I realize
The closure of death

Reality plays
In waves
Like the sunrise
That dies with the day
And lives in the night.

I decline;
Second thoughts entertain
The sleepless
Haunt the husband-less
And evade the dead.
--September 2005

Posted by Florence at 6:51 PM | Permalink | Comments

Star

You are the star
That gravity inclines me toward
I revolve around
I worship
I find my way by
You.

Posted by Florence at 2:25 AM | Permalink | Comments

The Games We Played

Black and white resolve
One foot in your heart and another
In fishnet stockings.

Purple cords wound around
Us, and pulled us together
And then I electrocuted us
Just once.

She astounded you,
I expressed your astonishment
And painted in acroamatic whispers
Everything dishonest
That you believed...
Some of it mine, and some of it
Hers.

My hand gripping
Your hand gripping
Mine.
Like grabbing onto
Each other's souls.
Telling each other, "Go,
And I'll rip your heart out."

Separated by clay
Permeating distance
Restrained by ourselves.

We were very much the same
Once upon a time
Until desire drove us apart
Method carried us
From front to back
And founded us in the epilogue.

We were too acute
To have been taken in by this.
We were too clever
To have not forseen this.

I had no reason to make you feel
Completely and totally
In need of me.
It wasn't uncertainty.
You never had enough (all) of me,
That's all.
--April, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:23 AM | Permalink | Comments

Everything

You aren't hilarious
But I'm laughing
You aren't charming
But I'm grinning
You aren't amiable
But I'm patient
You aren't perfect
But I love you--
And thereby, I love everything that you do.
--January 22, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:22 AM | Permalink | Comments

God I Hate Poetry

Poetry exacerbates
The small things
The tiny imperfections
The blemishes up and down a parchment
Smudge
Smudge
Smudge
Work it in, get me good
My heart will arrest
And then maybe my fingers will write
Free from the meddling of this
Logical,
Soggy brain.
--September 30, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:18 AM | Permalink | Comments

Fate

I reject your fingers
The keys are rigid
Chords of stalagmite
Fair, but frigid

Tables turn
The ball is spinning
Roll and learn
The dice is winning.
--September 12, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:16 AM | Permalink | Comments

Scribbling in my notebook #3

Burning
Beneath a chariot of fire
Who am I,
To deserve what I aspire?
Unready
Meeting, we part,
Dying, we live,
Unyeilded
To be forgiven
And to forgive
To suffer is to learn

But why have I grown so cold?

Unworthy
Of the basest human gifts.
Amen.
--Date unknown

Posted by Florence at 2:15 AM | Permalink | Comments

Scribbling in my notebook #2

Beating against the shore
Somebody trying to reach me
Across from where I stand
Little fingers wash up onto sand
And sink back into the ocean
A hungry, delicious motion
Gripping sand in an angry clasp
And calling out in a gurgled rasp.
--January 29, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:14 AM | Permalink | Comments

UNTITLED #1

Strange, this peace
That tumultuousness inspires
Strange, this special place
That fear desires
Strange, this ardent blaze
That burns like fire
Strange, this empty feeling
That minds require.
--January 25, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:13 AM | Permalink | Comments

Passionate Fury

Passion
Like anger
Like fury
Pounding against time
Resonating against space
Screaming against air
Moving beyond sound
Breaking beyond life

Standing in the twilight
Holding onto stones
You and I, and the night
So close, and yet alone
The air is cold, unsighted
Like hidden rays of frost
But passion once ignited
Is never lost.

Holding you, holding me
A moment beyond reality
The wind regards us angrily
Dashing at the hungry sea.

But I cannot be cold
Enveloped by you
I cannot be cold
Tucked into you
I cannot be cold
Surrounded.

Love warms me,
Not love I thought I had
But love I finally found.
Not love that promise
But love that waited for me.
--January 25, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:11 AM | Permalink | Comments

Scribbling in my notebook #1

Firelight burns
The table turns
Against a scattered sky
I lie inside
The night
I breathe
Falling into a sea
Pouring into an eye
Firelight meets
A darkened memory
That never learns
And repeats.
Fire flickers
Figment dies
The fragile years
For subtle lies
That never learn
And repeat...

Posted by Florence at 2:09 AM | Permalink | Comments

I AM

I AM
A home inside golden
Sheets
A castle inside timeless
Mountains
A heart inside tender
Hands
--September 27, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:08 AM | Permalink | Comments

Memories

Acknowledging his gaze
His eyes stand like fire
In snow
In a motionless haze
Blinding, the desire
To grow
His eyes remind, amaze
Reaching ever higher
To know

Don't remind him, savor
The moments that you have
To feel
Feed him better flavors
Let him make you laugh
He will
Let him make you braver
You bid on her behalf
Yes, still.
--January 15, 2005

Posted by Florence at 2:07 AM | Permalink | Comments

Finding the Universe In the Step That Shattered the Jar

Returning from a place I don't remember
To a place I'd forgotten.
Winding down a single star
Galaxies away from a single star
And the world that rests on the dotted line.

Sometimes splendid in broken light
The specks of splendorous emptiness
Encircling a single star
Galaxies away from a single star
I rest beside the things I've abandoned.

Chortling words of uncharacteristic meaning
And I skewer the pit of my own lukewarm heart
Enveloping a single star
Galaxies away from a single star
I don't want to use the stairs.

(It's exciting to reach the bottom
When you've spiraled through the air
And your feet drop to the floor
Like your heart from your lungs.)

Shoving pieces of fractured languages
Into a plain old envelope
Polishing a single star
Galaxies away from a single star
And broken purple poison in a jar.

(Returning from a place I'd forgotten
To a place I don't remember
With just an outstretched hand between the two.)
--Date unknown

Posted by Florence at 2:04 AM | Permalink | Comments

I Went the Way You Should Not Go

I went the way you should not go
And found it frought with golden streamers
A world foretold by cybil dreamers.

I went the way you should not go
Uncovered colors neath my skin
The children fed on subtle sin.

I went the way you should not go
Observing all through eyes of grey
The souls forsaken by the way.

I went the way you should not go
And found behind the garish gates
A thousand gifts, a million fates.

I went the way you should not go
Poison trickled in the mud
Torments trained me of my blood.

I went the way you should not go
To chart the roads that you should take
I couldn't bear to see you break.

I went the way you should not go
The faery-rings reflect my face
I lost myself among that place.

I went the way you should not go
New tears arise with every morning
It's too late now to send my warning.
--September 12, 2004

Posted by Florence at 2:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

The Boy

The boy, alone, stands by the door
With beads of sweat upon his brow
Gazing across the open moor
To better homes beyond the grass and leaves.
He wonders neither where nor how
But he believes.

The boy, alone, stands by the door
With hopes that, shattered, dim the skies
His padded feet that grace the floor
Long to wade in gentle brooks and streams.
Drops of sea bespeck his eyes
That tell his dreams.

The boy, alone, stands by the door
He rashly steps into the snow
Then turns upon his step once more.
He knows that years may come and make him old
But his dreams must wait, he couldn't go
When it is cold.
--August 3, 2004

Posted by Florence at 1:59 AM | Permalink | Comments

What Time Forgets

Quicker than the dead blade fell
And swifter than the axe that laid
Upon the block of villian's death
That smote the dead of he who strayed
From yon and on to sin bereft
Whose only stories never tell
Of what they took and what they left
Whose legacies grow dim and fade.

Quicker than the hope that sped
The maid and princess on her way
To see their love and prince upon
His high, beautiful, seized fair prey
The fair pale face that was his prize
The dreams he loses in his bed
The lies he fathoms in her eyes
The souns he struck to dead that lay

Wilder than the beast that smote
And struck the dead ten thousand men
Who held of dreaming ways that passed
And, phantoms, whipped the night just when
The saddest beauty came anon
Who, she, with death in every quote
Rode astride and high upon
The centaur, raven, sphinx and wren.

Gnashed the teeth of death's cold soul
Like wind that knows no end nor start,
Carrying spirits in his mouth
And ripping hopeful lives apart
Whipped in whirlwinds loud and wide
That, breathing, swallowed legacies whole
Not how you lived but how you died
And bearing many a human heart.
--August 5, 2004

Posted by Florence at 1:54 AM | Permalink | Comments

Somewhere

There always was a place
A faraway hut with a thatched roof
Adobe walls of mud
Packed like soggy sheepskins.
Unadorned walls
That screamed like literal truths--subtle statements.
Then the floor that groaned,
Erected in antediluvian days.
The rusty relics of timeworn importance
That, strewn in hallow places
Across the cavernous floor
Displayed themselves nobly
Like robes of kingly linen and herds of prize cattle.
With more innocent pride than I.
I always marvelled at this irony.
Then, this place always made me remember...
Made me see...helped me understand.
I dont know where it is,
Or where I am, in line with its location,
But I know that it sits closer to the light
Than I could ever be, outside its antiquated doors
Of sun-charred oak.
My home of unembellished truths.
Somewhere upon the strand
Of time.
--July 19, 2004

Posted by Florence at 1:51 AM | Permalink | Comments

Self Pity

Flavoured sadness
With a bitter-sweet taste
Occupies my senses and arouses my sadness.
I'm so full of pitiful past-times
Strips of disjointed excuses
That maim my thanks.
Crud with no purpose;
Grot without a reason;
Pursuing meaningless bits that don't exist.

Pretending to grope for a light switch
That I know is there...
But secretly not wanting it.
Seductive, luring problems
Excuses for my state
I have an obsession
And I hate
It.
But I have too many good excuses I can't waste.

Don't pity me.
I pity myself enough for the both of us.
--October 17, 2001

Posted by Florence at 1:49 AM | Permalink | Comments

The Tree

With orange leaves that drifted
And float the mirroring stream
The sun still radiantly blesses
Honoring the toll she's taken

A spirit, arms uplifted
Amidst the wind's howling scream
That blows away her crowns and dresses
You can feel her soul awaken.
--February 19, 2000

Posted by Florence at 1:48 AM | Permalink | Comments

The Captain Of My Heart

I put my heart to sea one day
And watched her sails, unfurled, away
Trusting God, her guardian's, way
I set her free.

My heart was never run aground
Though storming waves tossed round and round
Returned to shore, still safe and sound
Returned to me.

I trust the greater Master's will
Who, empty spaces can refill
You never know this peace, until
You trust and see.
--Sept 27, 2000

Posted by Florence at 1:46 AM | Permalink | Comments

Rainbow

(Haiku)

Eclipsing phantom
Streamed across the broadway sky
The doorway to home.

Translucent colors
The dome encasing Heaven
Beamed in striped strokes.

Phantasmal--a wisp
Because soon its color fades.
The canvas remains.
--February 2nd, 1999

Posted by Florence at 1:44 AM | Permalink | Comments

The Child

Painted against the sunset
Toes the mass
Of tangled ivy threads
And dewy grass
The sillouette of a child
Far away
Frolicking in twilight
Bound in day.
--June 18, 2004

Posted by Florence at 1:43 AM | Permalink | Comments

Face

-I-

My eyes, fixed
Motionlessly on
The strem
O entity of earth
Life and long
Water.

I cannot be
Distracted by the
Ripples that pass
Before my gaze,
Trying to deter my
Wan eyes
From their purpose.
A face...
In the mirroring
Water.

My guilty look
Painted against the
Busy canvas.
Tarnishing nature's
Beauty. It was
Intentional,
I confess,
I hate feeling alone
In my low place.
Now there are two of us.
Hello.

-II-

An insolent friend
You make
Condescending face
That you are.
You taunt me
And my acquesiant
Misbehaviour.

Every placid stare
From your eyes to
Mine...
Reflects your
Expectations...
And your prospect
Of me.
If you think so
Little of me, don't
Come to meet me
Here. I hold you
To nothing.

-III-

I begin to dread
You, and your face.
You tell my secrets
Succintly
Spilling them in
Flagrant whispers
Across nature's
Garish face.

There is something
Also,
That I resent.

You command me
To face your
Eyes.
I wonder, what lies
Do you contain
In those
Swirling
Ethereal pools
Of such green?

I wonder, if you
Were not unlike
Me, in the way of
The things that I seek
So wearisomely
To conceal?

You are damned,
Image of my
Mangled looks;
You make me
To remember the truth
For fear of becoming
Like you,
Face.

--February 8, 2004

Posted by Florence at 1:38 AM | Permalink | Comments

Mountain, strong and rooted fast

Mountain, strong and rooted fast,
Long after me steadfastly last.
Though storms pass o'er and winters beat
Upon your crags with snow and sleet,
O! Promise me, through wind and hail
Proud, undaunted, you'll prevail.

And though we all grow old and die
While, in our graves, peacefully lie
The mountain looms steadfast and true
To face what troubles may ensue.
Come hail, come storms, O come what may!
Come try and taunt day after day
Determined to withstand the weather,
Our mountain sticks and stays forever.

Here we stand, against all odds
We make this mountain that is God's.
--1999

Posted by Florence at 1:36 AM | Permalink | Comments

Maiden, Maiden

Maiden, maiden, rest in peace
Who wiped abroad the sprinkling stars
And painted Jupiter and Mars
Can move all hell at his release
Suspending earth within a line
Gently folding
Shards of time
And tucking us within the crease
Can grant you, maiden, sweet surcease
Maiden, maiden, rest in peace

Maiden, maiden, gentle be
Who charts the wind and carves its way
Who molecules and men obey
Can pour his breath all over me
Merging swirling, ambient hues
Could paint the thoughts
The scholars muse
And, blending in a cup of tea
The universe within the sea
Maiden, maiden, gentle be

Maiden, maiden, cry no more
Whose skies erupt and overflow
Pulsating eyes to shine below
And pierce the silent, ocean floor
Who blows your dresses, blows away
The tears you lost
In words you pray
The future yet is gone before
The pages, lost forevermore
Maiden, maiden, cry no more.
--September 9, 2004

Posted by Florence at 1:25 AM | Permalink | Comments

I am Sick

Oh what a cybil theurgist am I. I have prophesied my own death.
Here I lie, clothed in a light, floral patterned garment,
My nose, burning with fire, and aching with restraint
Glowing red in the dim haze of my tired mind
My eyes view the screen, through emaciated slits
And I am sick. Yes. This is the way it must be.
--January 8, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:23 AM | Permalink | Comments

Credo

Life, like roads stretch out
Unnumbered, unsighted, unknown
Without a dismal doubt
The way we've learned and grown
Don't pretend to be waiting
Pretend to give a damn
Living life like sirens
Living on the lam
If you've got to drive forever
May as well get ahead
May as well be a driver
Or you may as well be dead.
--January 30, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:18 AM | Permalink | Comments

School Essay

Why I like to observe people.

I like to observe people because, although the average earthling does not realize it, they are nothing more that constitutional lab-rats. This, to further my end of self-righteous proof to myself that I am a superior being, because not only have I taken notice of this pax voice, I have done absolutely nothing about it except to observe…and point and laugh upon occasion.
I have not, in truth, observed very much that would be able to constitute an entire informative paper on the subject of human productivity or machinery, but I have observed enough to make me deem myself an enlightened soul. This has been partly due to the fact that I am very capable of expressing myself and my inane assumptions, as you are currently witness of, and so I have been able to appear as though I’ve formed quite a consensus on the matter, when, in fact, I have not.
This is very difficult to understand.
The observation of human beings is not something I would advise an average mortal to begin a ministry in. It is certainly not a widely understood practice, such as a minstrelsy or martyrdom, and I would not suggest to anyone to give up very much in pursuit of it, but it is a very tasteful work.
I was first turned onto this strange observation by something of an absurd happening that caught my keen and ever peering eye. As I was meandering along the street, when I used to be a very resolute man, strolling for no particular reason with the intent of what I was doing, I encountered a strange circumstance. If it hadn’t been observed by me, it might well have gone unnoticed, as such a thing portends to happen quite often. If I should tell you this, at first you will nod and not understand exactly what I mean to explain by explaining this. But if you are of any brains at all, eventually you will come to comprehend just a bit, I trust.
This woman, to whom I owe the propulsion of my life’s work, began by listening very lazily to another woman, who, for the better part of my standing there, had irritated me quite beyond belief. If it wasn’t for that I wasn’t so keenly interested in the woman’s overbearing arrogance, I would not have stayed to listen. It was, in fact, the cavaliering woman who pricked my first fancy, until the second woman spoke her piece.
In short, the first woman, with many motions of her thick-set hands and scuffling of her heavy feet that grew out of the ground like deep-rooted pillars, began to tell the other how to live her life. Although many people aren’t privy to this, almost any compulsive speech to another person about anything that is not the first subject’s general business, or in any way attached beyond the third party, is somewhat of a bossy speech telling another what to do, when it really is a mouse talking to an elephant. Fortunately for many of these supercilious beings, those on the receiving end of such beratement are rarely ever attuned to this secret either.
As this woman began and continued for minutes in a hurried flare of motion to describe the woman’s predicament and sort it out, as if it were the very thing that her friend had desired in venting her frustrations in the first place, I listened and grew very unsettled. It was, in this, that I began to pretend that I was waiting for my bus to arrive; or at least, I took on this sort of impatient posture, though I doubt that my stance was very deceiving, as there was no bus stop nearby.
And then, the second woman, having been lost miles into the woman’s conversation, began to swirl her eyes and shrug with what was an attempt at a high-class nonchalance, but really came off as somewhat of a shudder, replied, “You’re right. But I don’t care.”
That, and the corresponding shiver, gave me quite a shock. What a fright! To think that you and I are surrounded by people who don’t care?
This epiphany gave me quite a deal of unnervance. I felt like a driver maneuvering through busy streets…having just discovered the undeniable presence of drunk, reckless drivers. I hugged myself protectively.
With this beginning, I launched into my own private investigation. What makes people care? Should people care? What could you do if you cared anyway?
I haven’t reached any end to speak of, in my investigation. But when I do, you’ll know.If you are an unsuspecting pathologist who happened to read this…and you’ve reached this point and have no idea what I’m talking about, you’re with me here (on planet earth, in case you were wondering), and you’re totally cool. We’re cool. What I’ve just been rambling on about has actually made quite a great deal of sense, but no self/spirituality-enhancing sense. So don’t lose much sleep over it. It hit me like a bolt of lightning…and the sparks are just touching the ground now. So it’s wearing off, it’s wearing off.
--February 2, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:17 AM | Permalink | Comments

3:00 AM

The door is that way
And it opens both ways
I know it's kind of musty in here
But I'm holding the door open for you...
So if you stand there you'll get must
Even if you don't come in.
Get in or beat it.

Congratulations on your find
I know it isn't all it's made out to be
And I don't blame you for wondering
If it was all worth it, or not
But here it is...no point in lying about it.
I wish you had been able to tell from the beginning
That I was making it all up...just so you would look.
--March 28, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:08 AM | Permalink | Comments

Fall Hard

I don't know what to say
Say what is real
I don't know how to say it
Say what you feel
I don't know why I'd say it
You need release
I don't know what I need
An honest peace.
I don't know how you know this
I understand
I'm tired of opposition
Stop trying to stand
The thought of you torments me
Just let me through
An agonizing silence
It's hurting you

Your honesty frightens me
The agonizing silence that follows
Something so pure, so perfect
I'm afraid of ransacking the moment
With my unpure thoughts
Why does living scare me?
Why does reality haunt me?
I've betrayed my reality
Truth is embittered against me
I hide it like sin
And I trade something so real
So vibrant, so alive
For plastic, for dishonesty
For paint.
You make me face things.
Why do you scare me with your honesty?
Why are you so damnedly truthful?
Don't you see me breaking?
Don't you feel me tremble?
Can't you see, that once I'm gone
There'll be nothing left to embrace?

I can't hold onto crumbling
I can't hold onto lies
The only truth I've noticed
Is fear that fills your eyes
I understand the weakness
I crave your trust
I don't want you to crumble
Beneath my lust
You die and truth breaks loose
You make way for the new
You perish with your plastic
And relinquish you.
I told you when you listened
Your youth is marred
Those who fly the highest
Fall hard.
--January 26, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:02 AM | Permalink | Comments

Processing

Life is fair and God is good.
I'm realizing that life, though less extreme and perhaps less exciting, is the way it was meant to be, when one is able to disregard all nonsensical thought and think and be logical.
Things are usually just as simple as they seem. Things are usually simpler if you know when to stop thinking about them.
I've found that thinking leads to fretting and fretting about things that you really aren't fretting about in actuality, but that you're fretting about because you don't have much else to do. Thought is so exhilirating. It's such a wonderful thing. It can also be taken too far.
This is my latest challenge: Not to let my thoughts take over my life. To harness them and know when to tuck them into my pocket or sew them onto my sleeve.
It's freaking hard.
--February 12th, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:01 AM | Permalink | Comments

With myself

My mind's racing right now
I'm afraid I'm...going crazy
It happens in the middle of the night
Now and then
Mmm
Thank you for signing out
I'm glad no one is on the other end
I don't think it'd be so clever for anybody to listen to me ramble right now
I hold it all in because...i don't want to be a bad influence
i'm...a bad sample...already
the way i act, without words...just messed up and pent up inside
it would be too much of a waste to express everything i have a longing to express
but i have time to burn right now
it's the middle of the night...almost 2:00 in the morning, actually...
and i'm just too tired to haul myself up the stairs
i've been strange lately, forgive me
i've got some things to sort out...between me and me
and between me and a few other people
who i've let become too much of a part of me
who i'm holding on to too much...
who i have to say goodbye to
and i...just need to go do it before it becomes even harder to say
you know how it is
not so much...the pain of being rejected
but worse...I guess
wanting something so badly, and having a huge prospect of having it
having someone...want you back
knowing that...everything is perfect
except for the fact that you just CAN'T...have...eachother
that...you weren't made to have
them
and they weren't made to have you
and...it's like a cruel joke
pluck me up and relocate me onto an island where at least i won't defile my love's memories by...loving new people and making new friends.
Don't set me somewhere where I'll just...forget about them
I don't want to forget
That's the hardest part about changing
You don't want to forget...some things
some things are so perfect...but they have to be forsaken
all in the name of trust...and faith...and letting go
there's no closure to be had
closure is a wicked laugh in the face of a dead irony
closure is like the last breath before drowning
closure hits me and i hit him back and he always wins...
and i hate predictibility
yeah go ahead and prod me
prod me because i'm the living dead
i'm cattle
fry me and soak me in oil and place me in a neatly misconstrued macdonald hamburger
see if i care
it's more closing in on me than closer
things are getting smaller
things are getting simpler
i didn't want them to be simple
i was happy when i was complicated
life presented choices
there were...a million sides to a coin
and now someone tosses me a fabulous quarter
for a homeless man's last drink before he dies of starvation
and i turn it over in my hand and i realize...
two sides
and both sides are ugly...
On the one hand is an ugly man and on the other hand is a bunch of words
a bunch of words that mean nothing to me
that's what closure is all about
words that mean nothing to me
god grant me closure
give me that breath
give me that coin
so i can throw it all into the river and make a freaking statement
give me something i won't forget
don't make me turn my back...
you can't want me to walk away
it's enough that i've promised you already
i've made a thousand promises and you know
despite what i say or what i do or what i want
you can make it happen anyway
so just...take what i've given you and make it easy
make it painless, make it quick
for god's sake
don't give me a last meal
defile me and then leave me in the dust...
just give me...
just give me...
closure
and give it quick
so i can die with...something.
Thank you for signing out.
I guess I didn't realize how much I needed this chat with myself.
--March 6, 2005

Posted by Florence at 1:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

Adolescent

For all of my vain running to and fro
Trying to bring myself up
Trying to mother myself
Trying to boast of my own adultness
I find that I am a blatant display
Of stress...faliure...and far less than perfection.
How can one have been so blind?

I water myself...
And I die.

I am puerile. Immature. Adolescent.
I am nothing that I want to be.

This is my honest-to-god heart:
I am talented...but useless.
I am intelligent...but foolish.
I am friendly...but selfish.
I am young and offended.
I have a future...but no life.

I want to be a vessel.
I realize that therein does my only value lie.
My undeserved "second chance."
But at the same time, despite all my boasted logic...
I am unable to give myself up.
It's for my good. I need lightning.
I'm waiting for the breaking.
--May 14, 2005

Posted by Florence at 12:56 AM | Permalink | Comments

Go

Go before an ounce of good destroys
The fleeting misbelief I hold with you
Go before my senses charge a ploy
That reiterates how little I have to give you
Go before my mind conducts nostalgia
Memories that only now begin
Go and fleet slowly, entreat Nevaeh
The enigmatic truth deserves to win
Go before my logic makes you hateful
My senses lock, my tears are quarantined.
Go before my passion makes you grateful
That we ended before you learned what I had dreamed
Go so that my learning doesn't hurt you
My selfish needing pain to misconstrue

Go before you simplify for excuses
Don't add your own remorses to the strain
Go before you see without the ruses
How I needed you to aggravate the pain
You can never deign to tell me that you knew
That my mind craved this the most out of us two.
--April 6, 2005

Posted by Florence at 12:54 AM | Permalink | Comments

Harbinger

Scan the skies, the seas peruse
Harbinger of dreadful news
Report me thither what you see
Tomorrow what's in store for me
Scan my heart, observe my mind
To tease the deaf and tempt the blind
Scattering a coded prayer
Remind me, then, of what is there.
--March 16, 2005

Posted by Florence at 12:51 AM | Permalink | Comments