[x]

Ghost ArmorComing back soon... to be published within the HOAX #22 issue of antiTHESIS, a Melbourne University publication. x

immolatethe first step
to sadness is to
have.

[3]

poseidon
punctuates the bruised
shorelines with broken hearts and
shattered abelone
shell fragments.
sometimes the
shore creeps up, kisses
my feet. sometimes he rips through
the distance between
us, taking
what's his.

[5]

the air here
vibrates to a fire,
sparrow's heart humming in c
major. it does scare
me sometimes,
how i might love you
more than ibuprofen, or
the way the light might
oscillate
through an ether storm.

the person i am now is
not compatible
with who i
was before you. but
how do i scrape myself out
from under my own
fingernails?

[7]

we caught the
moon

Clair de LuneSometimes I imagine
That when Debussy penned this movement,
He hesitated with the title.
"Clair de Lune"…moonlight.
Perhaps he didn't have the courage
To add an "E" to the end of her name,
Immortalizing her in music.
The gentle chords pouring
From his piano describing
The peace with which she slept.
"Claire of the Moon."
She was the embodiment of dreams.
Indeed, with her hair spread out
In messy ringlets across the pillow,
The pale, spring-time glow
Of the moon hanging heavy
In the April sky
Gently casting its cool light
Through the half-open window,
Onto her faintly blushing cheek.
She looked ethereal,
Like a

the love affairlife slides under the door and
I think about you not knowing how to love
and touching a person's sleeping eyelids

to change a dream, to lie here with you
under a silent oak tree, the sunlight

has begun to breathe and I am digging you a grave
for your past and your future, I am

holding you here, the trunk of my car open to let the sweet
sound of a song rise into the
air, it is rushing by

too swiftly

and I have premonitions or
I just got lucky or everything
means something

nothing vanishes without a trace

I hold despair in the palm of my hand and cannot dance
without spilling it onto the floor, it
seeps into the carpet

but you

for exit 165.in the outstretched wingspan of
tuesday night you'll find them:
the foothills slumbering jagged under
sixteen inches of loose sand and
the city hushed and glowing, lines
of porchlights strung together in suburban rows like
beads on a chain

your house was cavernous hollow like a lung
the colors were dim and
jaundiced, a quiet rush of tepid water
bent the silence while thirty years of
smoking hung ownerless
in the air like the cling of a dead moths to a wall

you tell me of a dream that's vague like
clouds in the sky like
clouds in the sink with
your body limp and damp like
hot tea bags and
your face like spilled milk
a

renga tree- hangoverjust before dawn
the hunchbacked moon
limps home

Spilled Milk 2.0The milk in the backseat
is getting warm, condensation
pearling on the plastic jug
and dripping onto the bread.
His glass doll eyes do not see
this now, slumped against the
steering wheel, windshield
scattered across his lap like
candy from a pinata. His face
is stretched in a caricature of
surprise, saying, But I was
only going for milk.

She is impatient, pacing their
living room in her high heels,
smoothing her dress with her
trembling hands, casting acidic
looks at the green numbers on
the stove that insist on marching
onwards though he should have
been back fifteen minutes ago.
He only went for milk, down the
stree

with uswith us

electric moments manifest as
grass in wind sways wild yet
and birds that scatter spread
across the water group in
flight.

planks knock rhythm feet can
dance to, passing over sprawl
ing marsh, and deep the heart
of salty secrets lingers after
dark.

in the blind we pepper whispers,
eyes exchanging wonder, wishes,
and among the stars and lazy
shores share what we always
carry

with us, soft, like muted breaths
whose warmth on necks precede
a kiss, or echoes fading slowly
letting night know it should
always

miss us.

Swing BandPlay your trumpets louder, boys -
Let's hear that trombone sound.
You're gettin' paid to make some noise;
The dames are crowdin' 'round.

The chaps have finished sippin' gin
And now it's time to dance.
They want a tune to dip and spin
And kick up some romance.

A young thing needs a break at night
From white barrage balloons,
From broadcasts, blackout drapes, cordite,
Junkers across the moon.

The music's really pickin' up.
The piano's lost a string.
There's no one in a smoky club
But loves a chance to swing.

It's hard to hear the sirens wail -
The saxophone is grand -
For death is sorry, weak and pale
But life's a big swing b

dancing on a tightrope

I am dancing on a tightrope,
springing toes eloping with
the gentle slope, the soft incline.
My hands are warm, entwined with air
that faintly shines (still echoing

with your delight). My fingers smile.

And as you sing, your sunset words
now send me undeterred to meet
the height of birds. And step for step,
no fear and no regrets have I:
my safety net--it is the sky.

BlewI could never dream of English
rains that lashed the slabs of Cornish
paves, as a wild clawed cat paws
waves into boats onto rocks
unto death. Hear the slosh

slosh slosh of Mousehole harbour's
bathtub slop; see the gulls flying
backwards, the rainbows as warning
flags, the white horses blowing
up the cliff and over the heath,
taste the wind-nipped salt
drying on your lips. Once I felt

the lightning buzz before
it cleaved a nearby birch in two,
once saw the eye of Men-an-Tol
winking in the storm, and fish
jumping for their very lives
straight into the mouths of birds.

The sea is everywhere. It bites
at our ankles, gnaws at t

i said, "it's alright, i stillTo know completely in yourself
that you have love inside of
you like a clamorous reservoir-

and to know the pressure of
inner space reluctant to
explode like light from
1941-

to know the only neck
your fingers will ever
articulate with is
that of a
bottle;

I will reside inside of your
boyishness like an ever
darkening sea ready to
coagulate like the
blood that stirs
within my guilt.

the living is easya tin man, white sheep rolled in dust
wears a grin, swisher sweets clinging
to his lip. he swirls seagrams 7 in a cracked
lowball, painting the side of my grandmother's
house with one eye closed & the other
laughing. he cannot speak the language

so i stare at him instead, his penny
loafers, his peeling skin, his snowy hair.
so i stare at his photograph on
the fireplace, wondering how anyone
who loved my great grandmother so well
could have died before i was born.

a narrativea crow,
perched on my shoulder,
on my shoulder,
and soon his crowing,
oh,
his gorgeous crowing
was understood
he turned his head from my ear
so he could point his beak towards a man
catching his gold-haired daughter in his arms,
and turned back to my ear,
to crow,
to speak:

that man, that man over there, over there, over there,
oh,
his is as filled with dissapointment
oh,
as the sea with water,
oh,
look how he drowns;

looking at the gold-haired girl,
a bundle of giggles,
a bundle of giggles,
oh,
in her father's arms,
oh,
I brushed the crow
off my shoulder,
off my shoulder,
and watched him go,
and

Our Meaning and PurposeI

All of death is death. Life,
too, is like death.
The way it erupts over you
laughing and spinning.

II

I was confused
so I asked God: What should I do?

Move your body and have emotions. The birds were dancing.

Could you be more specific?

But now God was busy arguing with Moses.

III

All of life is life. Death,
too, is like life.
The way it erupts over you
laughing and spinning.

IV

Tomorrow is the sound
of a question falling
on a bed of questions.

Today I hold out
your name, God,
in the public square.

Yesterday reason, the slayer
of song, wended its way
into our will.

V

All of light is linking. Dreams,
too, would se

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 665 bytes more ▶

More from ~irvon

Eyes become Earslisten or not, go
-- -  -   -    -     -     -    -   -  - --- -  -   -    -     -     -    -   -  - --- -  -
insane to unravel dots,
-- -  -   -    -    -   -  - --- -  -   -    -    -   -  - --- -  -   -    -    -   -  - ---
intervals,
-- -  -   -   -  - --- -  -   -   -  - --- -  -   -   -  - --- -  -   -   -  - --- -  -   -
nodes and lines,
-- -  -  - --- -  -  - --- -  -  - --- -  -  - --- -  -  - --- -  -  - --- -  -  - ---
waving a voice,
-- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---
eagerly singing
------------------------------------------------------------------

TransparencyHe poured wine
From glass to glass.

Bottle,

Glass,
Glass,
Glass,
Glass,
Glass.

Then he poured some more
Into the first of the five glasses.

Bottle,

Glass.

Two of them were now filled,
Or rather half-full.

He poured their contents
Together

On the wooden table,
That breathed deeply.

Glass, Glass,

Table.

The glasses became indistinct again.

Strange PhenomenaHundreds of sheep hung suspended in the air.
He was only slightly surprised,
Even though schooled in General Relativity,
One of its teachings that sheep do not tend to fly,
Unless they be small sheep, and quantum physics apply.

He also happened to be a Zen-Buddhist monk,
Known to know a certain great amount of kōans.
At this particular moment he was straying from his road,
By studying the heritage of his former masters,
So that he might one day be rescued from disaster.

Why did those sheep fly?
Why wasn't he surprised?

He must have seen it all,
Yet he never saw them fall.

Musings and ObservationsIt was one of those days

When there's something awfully right
About vegetation confined
Between two tracks of tarmac,

And my shade was a black-and-white
Advertisement for Giorgio Armani,

When the paper was actually just paper.

The train was a long tunnel,
Parallel to life itself, but quite outside it.

When I got out, I was held hostage
By a discarded and distorted can.

A flamboyant figure with a drinking horn
And a purple robe was smoking dope.

So I sort of noticed, as I was drifting away.

It was one of those days

When I could simply sum up my entire life,
Then anticlimactically say:

"I'm tired."

Lively RhythmStep

Step

Step

Step

Step

Step

Step

Step

Step

Step
Step
Step
Step
Step

Step

Step

Step
Step
Step

Step
Step
Step

Step

Step

Step

Step

You
You
Step
Step
Step
Step
Step

You
You
Step

You
You

Civilized FugaCars were passing by behind the green.
Distant glissandos succeeded
The others, crescendo, decrescendo.
I paid no heed.

The vibratos of the city
Were silenced in my mind,
Translated into chords.
I wrote this poem.

It became the counterpoint
To the mind's endless arpeggios,
Feebly composed.
I tried to listen.

Whilst the world is contaminated
With sound and carbon dioxide,
I add letter, words, sentences.

My pen itself has polluted
Through various processes.
I simply use it.

And so the cars keep passing by
Behind the last shades of green,
As obviously as the trees
That are being killed.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#DD-Catalogue
The Home of Daily Deviations

#Spill-Your-Soul
Let it all out...

Details

Submitted: August 12, 2011
File Size: 665 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 65
Favourites: 222 [who?]
Views: 3,684 (0 today)
Downloads: 204 (0 today)

[x]

Toast

by ~irvon, Aug 12, 2011, 3:47:22 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Urban & Spoken Word

Straight up, my friend:
that's the only way to drink a poem.

I raise my glass,
I know the drink, I know the game.

I don't want
your fancy blends,
mingled scents
a wine that doesn't know how to touch my mouth!

I raise my glass
and when I drink I understand.

My poison knows its purpose
and if you offer me your cup,
yours had better know it, too,
'cause I don't want to die confused,
amused, abused?

I choose
another death:

straight up, my friend,
straight up.

Toastby ~irvon

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Urban & Spoken Word

A short spoken word poem that I wrote on 30 June 2011. You could say that I was inspired by Mark Maslow.

Daily Deviation

Given 2011-08-31

Toast by ~irvon is a wonderful example of how a good opening line (with good advice) entices you into the rest of a simplstic yet strong piece of spoken word. ( Featured by ^Beccalicious )

love 2 2

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

neutral 1 1

~YeOldeIvoryTower Sep 20, 2012

One of the best poems I've read in a long time.

~oviedomedina Oct 21, 2011

Cheers!

~irvon Oct 22, 2011

Cheers! And thanks.

~oviedomedina Oct 22, 2011

No problem!

~gypsyfoxdancer Oct 15, 2011

Very good poem..."straight up.".

~irvon Oct 17, 2011

Indeed. Thank you so much!

~PonyboyCurtisIsMINE Aug 31, 2011

Whoa! Thats REAL good! Im Ceral! Its soooo good! It was like....Amazing! and im not THAT into poerty, but this, this is REAL good, great stuff

~irvon Sep 1, 2011

Thank you so much!

~PonyboyCurtisIsMINE Sep 1, 2011

'Welcome!

`tmpst24myst Aug 31, 2011 Student Writer

This reminds of something I would find as reading material in, "Hotel California." (A song, if you don't get the reference. By the Eagle) Epic.
And excellent poem, by the way. It took me back to my own hotel California, so to speak.
Dae

More from ~irvon

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Toast

Toastby ~irvon

Daily Deviation

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style