avarwaen: (ergo)
Softly touch my left hand
It feels likes butter
Melting on plastic
That is panic
That is confusion
Seven dreams I had
Are all coming true
But I wake up and I see
Ceiling, white, blurring
I only wish for everything
And then I may be less sad
There are people
There are countries dying
And I still presume to complain
That my heart is longing
Deeply stroke me
Remove my needs, for a while
And soften my senses
Those that prick so harshly
Every day, each singular day
Tongues slide easily over honey
So beguile me, so comfort me
I cannot live
Otherwise
Touch me

- James Mulligan
avarwaen: (river)
You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.


I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

- Anne Sexton
avarwaen: (garbo)
The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

- Anne Sexton

Hallowe'en

Oct. 31st, 2006 09:22 pm
avarwaen: (cthulhu)
All Hallows Eve — when ghosts do walk the earth:
All Hallows Eve — O light and fireside mirth!
Ah, leave the gay revel and the merry din,
Set the door upon the latch and let the ghosts in.

There comes no dream-lover stepping from the lane,
No pitiful white creature a-beating at the pane:
There is no herb to be gathered nor spell to be said,
And still in the grey graveyard lie the waiting dead.

When the shadows gather, in a room apart,
To the still glow of the firelight, to the dreaming heart,
Far from the loud frolic and the dancers' din,
Friendly out of the gloaming the dear ghosts come —

Come, when the wind wakens like an olden song,
With smiles half-forgotten and voices lost long, —
With a well-beloved footstep lingering at the door,
Hands full of old posies that smell sweet as of yore . . .

All Hallows Eve — when dreams do rule on earth!
All Hallows Eve — O the feasting and the mirth!
Ah, leave the loud laughter and the dance and din,
Set the door upon the latch and let the ghosts in.

Cicely Fox Smith

An October Evening )

Zen

Oct. 18th, 2006 06:41 pm
avarwaen: (kneel)
Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

Taigu Ryokan

Contusion

Sep. 7th, 2006 09:22 pm
avarwaen: (kneel)
Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.

In a pit of a rock
The sea sucks obsessively,
One hollow the whole sea's pivot.

The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.

The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.

Sylvia Plath

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