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meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:29 pm
 
2007

a jumble
It seems deemed
I'm not to seehear you soon

our song's played out
over
played

my fingers yearn to create more than
tappity types on the keyboard

of late they've become weakened,
bandaid-ed
and sore

from misuse.

No pianos, no faces to carve
or pull close

eyesight fade
i don't want this anymore.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:29 pm
2007

A crisp lisp sleeks between fallen leaves.
Arrayed in a muted orange lamppost glare,
Parked vehicles appear tense,
Braked upon every thought written in the dark my hand inflicts;
A pen scratching,
In search of a chance combination of squiggles.
A wonder if fears,
Once confronted with the forever of parchment,
Will dissipate. What sense,
Then, of the written word;
Perhaps they shall be revisited.

Upon doing so,
What name shall be assigned to this queer feeling,
Burrowing steadily in one's chest,
Despite the thump of harsh beats
And what deeds these eyes have seen?
Hope.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:28 pm
2007


His eyes cringing at the corners,
A table tilting at the peppermint steam -
HERBAL DIETARY SUPPLEMENT.

In a quiet unstable weave of old soaked weeds,
Settling his mink-soft fur around
Adverts and photoshopped faces alike; bat ears un

Understanding Oscar Wilde's morality plays and I,
Envying the wit, not only -
Velveted waists held by hard, gloved palms
And willing fingers,

What has our liberation become?
Cheap ware and broken Hearts.
Existed always our fights, wars, politics,
Marriagely battles.

Yet how trite my own life seems.
Greengold eyes blink somehow knowingly.

You are not alone,
They say.
I am here to inspect your papers,
To lovingly get in the way.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:28 pm
 
2007

Dates so Uncertain of late

Edna St. Vincent Millay, immersed in love fair and poetry delight,
passed what some may deem
The Golden Years - was she in flight,
is Youth a folly of frightened souls?
The book slid slowly from her solemn careful fingers -
come the faint beams of sun through a streaked windowpane,
did her breath linger,
did she welcome the days no more?
Shall another's work be so quaintly revered,
should they maintain the art?
Red silks, light laugher
and flowers still wilt.
Is the past so hard a load?
I bear my own thoughts but to what end...
Only my thoughts aware.
 
aggravated
Mood aggravated
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:27 pm
 
2007

Notes between the breaths and minute movements
of fingertips;
This and these blips of moments
Lodge firmly fleetingly
Frankly
unlike Music
but as heartbeats.
Angel angel of the land of angels
I'm not wanting to die
I'm unwanting of common misery
Bogged and slushed, slooped under
I've no choice
apparently.

You are what you make of yourself, not what the world sees.
truth?
 
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:27 pm
 
2007

ABOUT MUSIC AND BONO:

Muse
ic

reigns like fire in the vibrations
of the wind

it's not chins or sighs or blue green eyes

Nor words
even

the rhythm
the soulspeak
the unity

we crowd in to experience the release
we
we are the receptors
the common

Music is a god,
we just praise.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:26 pm
 
2007

The moon she hangs on a wire
Seeing only the sparkle and shine
Mine eyes choose to devour
Or the chords my heart secretly danced to
The night the world tilted

Into the sun;
the moon shot sideways silkily
so soft
its wisps unnoticed
as you leaned your spangly smile slyly
in in in
for a kiss.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:26 pm
 
2007

V in the foam of my coffee
V for vanilla
or very lonely

With a friend beaming over her chai tea
just a chessboard away,
Peeking into unknown lives,
shoved quickly into bitty drawers-
hurts loves bitter moments
There's a silly or two.

I don't hear you, my friend
I don't see your clear laughing sky eyes
As you giggle over boyfriend antics
and pleasures.

I'm with the boy in Ghana and Brazil;
We're hiking slowly past peasants
with their sun-almond-ed eyes and perked ears.

Mr. Ghana you returned to proclaim your life as spontaneous
yet you fear you'll not taste this cake again
here at the chessboard.

Dear friend, oh dear friend of mine,
I do hear you.
I add a thought to small notebook paper
and blush and shake my head quickly at your exclamation
of genius.

That is not I.
I wrote of whom I love.
And stop,
I won't.
My Love finds fireflies endearing,
and I the Moon
the stars and the night-darkened heavens.

I only explain what spews out through my fingers
from my scrambled brain.
It doesn't bring my Love to me
Except in my star-sparkled heart.

No brilliance or genius, here, just a smattering of thoughts.
A quick jumble of spontaneity
and words.
Like any other.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:25 pm
 
2007

Nighttime, when glancing at my wrists
Staring that glance makes
And I can feel it;
I can see the crimson flowing forth -

This is when I miss you most.

Not knowing whether or not
I'll taste your smile again
perhaps
Is this the worst of it?

Dawntime, when gazing out the window
Staring those gazes make
A flash of black streaks by
as my cat
longs to be fed.

No more can I stop the tears
than I can the moon's rotation.
 
 
 
meggytron
26 October 2010 @ 07:25 pm
 
2007

gramma

In my nightdreams we live in my childhood house
my mother says you're gay
you live in a hidden section,
glorious and gawdy to your heart's content.

In my daily life I've put a wall between those sections
but my dreams won't let you go.