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Literature
Windows At 10 45
Windows at 10:45
the window hangs
like a painting
on the wall -
she sees him -
in a heartbeat
the world is more beautiful
the wall sits
like a stone
on the grass -
he sees her -
the world becomes too big,
emptier all his life
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
O
a row of stars,  an Orion
a Cassiopheia -
all looking at the world,
is it the way your eyes,
is it the way my heart,
is my mind out for you to see
where you are hollow,
i will meet you,
in the bold-blue dark,
i will find you
you will find you,
coming back to me
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 0
Literature
You Dont Have To Say You're Sorry
i don't remember if i had been a good girl or boy,
when i met you, i thought happy, i felt happy,
so i said hello with a diamond in the rough smile,
the kind that hammers the mouth to a painful grin,
before it opens the face to what it's about to see,
there was good pinned like a brooch on you,
i was attracted to what i saw and how what i saw
made me feel, and then this morning, im scared shit
because i dont know if i could give you up,
if i dont give up what used to mean a lot to me,
if you would mean a lot to me in the end,
after i've given up on everything, i haven't
exactly felt empty or lonely in a long time,
i still didn't, when you came, i just felt deeper,
more rooted to the ground, i want to live more,
i've given up on stars and all that romantic crap,
i like the long view, i dont like what's beyond,
if it's only beautiful and lemongrass to the soup
they are cooking me in; but right now i like
the butter and the side-dish i'm going out with
for the big dogs to eat, and i'm not
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 1 0
Literature
Whyles
he, for a boy, wrote about flowers,
wrote about graveyards, not death,
but peace lying wait far from what's near
i knew he didn't need to get that far,
stars reveal nothing than the nearest light,
the spark is all the same, but he needed
the travel, he needed to get far,
or maybe he needed to just disappear,
so i could see him clearly better
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
The Amber Room
it was square or one too many-sided,
its walls were loved by many hands,
its windows were loved by many eyes,
the sky beyond the ceiling was prayed to,
that no star would fall, no angel visit,
sleep was scarce; dreams were too close,
eternity was not a woman too dolled up
for death, for death was not welcome,
my grandmother used to break away
from her story about a boy named Kevin,
and the flowers that were never too lovely,
when my grandfather would come out of his dream
about a girl named Ruth and her hands
that were always cold; they must come
to this place before waking; they came near
deep in their bones, where they shatter free
from the bloody rootlessness of their hearts,
i doubted the existence and the necessity
of this state of mind, until i came to know
some people closer to my heart than blood,
you would tell me i used to break away,
from the system or the routine,
i dream too much, and i just tell you
it's because i live too much out in the world,
out of my skin, and they u
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 1 0
Literature
Pits And Fortresses
you are a stretch of forgotten reason,
beyond the mute, twinkling bend,
the rain completely erased,
there is only an everlasting mirror
no color, no solidity overshadows
the whole whiteness of us
your world no longer sees in frilly pink
and pastels of disastrous faith,
the tarnish of memories, the torn tassels
of desire that was once the other only ghost
only love could dismember from these lonely...
apparitions
 
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
Far From The White, Sweeping Houses
these wide and tall houses,
you measure with resolute arms,
the stakes of an enclosure,
mountains frozen to stillness
we are open-mouthed, stunned
at the point of wondrous ignorance,
as if your hands could push away,
what dug in our hearts, as heavy
as horses' hooves lame and impatient
but the thunderclouds are miles away,
we wear the smoke and dust, the canvass
is still as dry wind; we are on our way
lost to a crowd of dark vision,
just before the incline of awakening
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 0
Literature
Box
i.
Sundays were short and exact,
tombstones and photographs -
of the family dog,
the candles, the trees,
the ash, Grandmother's hands
as bare as a naked peach,
the clock's hands, brittle,
pours into an hourglass,
sustaining the dead weight of years,
ii.
you brought the scent of old rain,
when you kissed my hair,
you took the rain with you,
the blue trickle of another love,
down the hollow of your neck
drowns the flowers of grief,
unfurling thick in my throat,
for me the squawk of a trampled dream
the white lilies of sleep years ago
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
Birds And Their Shadows
a circle of black slivers,
fusing, dividing between tensile bones,
the flight of shivers intricately defined,
from the mound of your spine,
to as far as your eyes could dictate,
the taloned grace of claws
above the green-frosted lake,
before the arc of mountains,
the bristle of wet leaves in your heart,
a wounded sigh of disbelief flaps your mouth,
the sidelong glance of silence, your stoppered eyes
for a splinter of time, you were free
within the big-picture horizon
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 0
Literature
Grace
from here on out is a vast empty space,
did God feel like this before Adam -
Certainly there was God and in His heart,
the universe, and we made God happy -
we weren't happy all the time,
this was normal - taxes, death, accidents;
subnormal - crimes, the greenhouse effect,
out of the blue heart paralysis,
sometimes we get so close to pain,
if not strong, we come out numb
or we simply hate; we walk away,
we die young with our dreams,
we had to grow before our parents' time,
it's so painful to look at the stars
and feel everything, we'd rather feel nothing,
not for love, for love is forsaken,
not for want of youth, but a sense of peace
against a brittle frame of delirious grief,
that we ask nothing to come from nothing,
that no rainbow should erase the rain,
no drop of rain, if we could exist in a drop,
but a drop that lives forever in God
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
Do Wolves Ever
the men, do they listen?
before the day peels itself,
from their eyes -
is the dark unaware
of its own darkness -
that, and stranger,
it swallows the light,
to add more space
for emptiness to break
silence mutes this sound,
the heart is miles away,
almost out of the skin,
a blood-rush of fear,
sweeping whole forests
into denuded knees,
flatlands under December,
the moon-slaving star
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 4 0
Literature
The Sequel To A Bloom
the movies do not mention,
the moments that break you,
that scatter everything
that came before -
the heart knows
it is not the final note,
but the curved line
to a half-circle
stating its existence,
the proof of emptiness
the ends meeting to a whole,
not perfection, but courage
to fade away with hope,
against all impediments,
the helplessness, a vision
of despair dislocated
the distance that alters
the need for familiar ghosts
haunts in the company
of forgotten strangers,
whose lives, whose faces,
could take so much life,
from places unvisited,
for a long, fruitless time
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 0
Literature
I Still Drown
some things take me back -
to sleep over a century,
to lay down my heart,
a mile away from you,
to lose the hurt
that when i wake,
i'd see a sign of the sky,
from a broken pane,
i would forget the pain,
i'd see blue drowning blue
but i know this -
that nights would wake,
a new distance on my face,
i'd be with you,
in the morning
not knowing where you are,
not knowing who i am,
finding North is not North,
the ocean is gone,
the moon has been buried
but i still drown,
i still drown
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 5 0
Literature
White Chapel Quiet
my heart is neatly quiet
doesn't declare its intention
of putting the night away,
of sending the world out,
as i dress for work,
the children in me leave,
spinning yarns of nebulae,
i see with closed eyes and a primitive heart
i haven't faded to a new moon,
been altered to fit the curve of your heart,
or grafted to a poisoned vine,
so i could choke and weed myself out,
i do not bloom a Belladonna night,
i do not rise a skyscraper,
there is nothing to see
there is nothing to see,
there are no spins. no whirs,
no provocative sounds,
but my mind on autopilot,
shutting down on nostalgia,
cementing memories forever
in fragmentary semblance
to abstract infinity
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
Dispersion
a big leaf
fell on the tip
of my shoulder,
just a leaf,
but i apologize
the root let go
the stone,
at the heart
of the tree,
it fell slowly
out, slipping
into a lake,
where it stayed,
forever
down my heart,
alone,
all the same
and significant
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 2
Literature
Finished Infinitely
i crouched and hid my legs,
under the weight of my chest,
my heart thawed, slid out
the fine fissures of love
and dropped into the sky far
and wide before stealing
my life, before i looked,
with vivid uncertainty,
at my own breath away
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 3

Favourites

Literature
ways and means
i make a plea, not terrestrial--
plain and facile, calling to the gods
rescripted into pixels
begging to reverse the pathways
of dreams, reset the compass of a heart
gone clearly wayward.
north is north, still
and i want her
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 8 4
Literature
disciple
i can't moderate, syntax electrical
valium high, bargain whiskey drunk
with the diode and the dow chewing out the fat,
i frost over, forlorn (and five times rejected);
spin inside my lungs for hours
and hours
pretending to write a reader's digest,
a takeout menu
or half a hundred colors of commercial
bullshit
(but)
i am a broken line, still
untraceable meter lingering subconscious,
imagery afloat in swaths of thicket
and faint, fleeting euphoria
and the dawn will take me
nowhere
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 8 5
Literature
epitaph
nobody asked the
question & my lips
are sealed. i have
nothing to utter
but a grin & a nod
stand in the place
of words. i'm doing
better, aren’t i? i
feel stronger already.
the shape of my heart
is a blurry thing,
but it remains. the
presence of happiness
is mist in the palm
of my hand –
thin, but clinging –
:iconwei-en:wei-en
:iconwei-en:wei-en 10 2
Literature
Love
You  go on
ahead
toward the
open water
I will go
another way
be on the
watch
we will meet
again
and make gifts
of all
we have
seen
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 6 4
Literature
the flower backwards
1.
half brown liquor
half severed lily-pad
2.
I write
with my finger
parting the cold water
with a mild cursive
fretting the
surface
unhealing &
blackened
by the rocks
beneath
3.
I write your name,
then the name of your favorite flower.
then your name backwards,
the flower backwards.
4.
the more I write
the more wounded the water becomes
until I am gesturing
meaninglessly in a trance,
the ripples
painting themselves
purple on blue,
black on red,
glass
on water.
5.
I scribble in blind
lazy arcs
as if scraping my finger
into damp earth,
reaching for a stone
or a buried coin,
a stray root
or a botched seed.
I dig into the water's
aching cold
for an emptiness
to whisper calmly into,
to drink
silence from.
6.
I draw a crescent moon
then a shredded ponderosa,
a doorway pulsing with memory
& then a river
bleeding
stars.
7.
I draw
your features
from the water
half petal
half backwards
until the ache
from the cold
reverses want
with need,
reflex
with fate
& I can stop peering
through drenched h
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 7 2
Literature
afternoons
1.
new light
clean as bread comes down
through the windows and the trees,
falling
with the accuracy of the accident,
with the wholesome violence
of rapids over rocks.
all that light
falling on everybody's
necks
hair
hands and feet
I sit and watch the street below
my window and feel the way
the stones on the riverbank
must feel,
painted dark
by the lapping water.
2.
while cool air drifts
into my window
while some music plays
while the carpet is soft
and cold
while my phone
dozes on the desk
while each room
opens to the next
like thought
giving way to feeling
while the chairs
maintain their rituals
beneath the table
while the clock tsks
from the kitchen
while the violin
with its tumor of rosin
lies
awake inside its dark case
while the books purse
their lips
while the light
scars the curtains with shadow
while the unlit candles
yearn
while the hour swings
in the sky
like a colossal
glass bell
while the world outside
unfolds the same as the world
right here
I wake
from another dream
of you
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 7 5
Literature
Written While Leaving
summer grass folded
like faded paper
under the heavy frost
your cat sitting
at the window
watching the winter birds
cold water
brushes
the back of my hand
slowly like
a thought turning
it begins to rain
:iconPelicanDeath:PelicanDeath
:iconpelicandeath:PelicanDeath 18 4
Literature
below board, the intellectual decline
words become a floodblanket
wrapped wet and heavy, solving the mouth
in a mess and tangle of sounds
this is torture, if ever I have known it
living in the wake of moments viewed through an aperture
ripped open in time, sadness pouring over edges
and filling cup and glass half empty
so I drown in one hundred
ten proof vodka and sink like a stone;
remember what it's like to disappear without moving,
how to live inside the bedrock
broken.
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 22 5
Literature
without a body
what did you ever do
that was bad? because
you think now the road
wanted to disappear,
a black glove waving
goodbye.
you were never born
and so, like winter,
always interrupting.
the cold air shaped
like sleeping dogs watching
what they wished to be.
you’re just the dry leaves
of every tired thing
turning inward.
:iconMineralAccident:MineralAccident
:iconmineralaccident:MineralAccident 7 2
Literature
about
i.
i want to tell you
why i always write
about my mother and
not my father.
ii.
i love poetry but
i hate words;
it’s like loving
air but hating
breathing –
(loving breathing
but hating throats)
words are what
ruin poetry. they
mean nothing, and
poetry means everything.
words talk, but
they don’t say
anything.
(words reduce poetry
to nothing.)
iii.
time slips through
my fingers like
breaths through a sieve
because i don’t
grasp onto it.
i have no will –
the thought makes
me suffocate from
exhaustion,
sinks into the black
circles under my
eyes while i lie
in bed.
time passes.
(time is cremated.)
iv.
i always have problems
with the middle
of the night –
it’s because i love
sleeping
love dreams
dreams are what make
me different from
other people.
my dreams for the
future don’t exist, but
my dreams beneath
my consciousness are
vivid and only comprehensible
without logic.
v.
plants always
die in my house. it's
something that we
do together, my
:iconwei-en:wei-en
:iconwei-en:wei-en 102 48
Literature
The Writer
She entered libraries 
the way she would
cemeteries 
            & gazebos,
calm,
     breathless,
            toes on the tips 
     of what she calls
obscure,

but never for long. 
Aisles and hallways and steps
and the scent of near-to-be-falling rain
send her to a cascade of a maze
of quills and pens and nibs
wrought into thoughts and dreams
            and heartbreak. 

She isn’t the keeper of secrets 
on the white lines 
of overly-opened
spines,
nor is she the coffee-table book
you open 
when you’re bored. 
She is a soul,
a ghost among the pages,
both the pen and the words
and the last stuttered poetry
you spoke. 
:iconDSteffi:DSteffi
:icondsteffi:DSteffi 22 2
Literature
flower
I drop some coins
into your hand
and let my loose fingers
graze outward
from the center
of your palm,
a flower of touch
opening
and staying
open
as the moment
passes.
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 8 4
Literature
in pale version
no imagery, only
marbled eyes and low-set sunrise
frozen at impossible angle,
streaming through the filter
I can't hear the humming;
I can't hear them scratching at my throat
like tomorrow won't exist (not with any trace
of me)
I do know the rest of this--
the world will spin without regard
for any absence
and you
will live forever
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 10 2
Literature
spring may come
she is twirling
    words in vapor, salt on the road
 to living in color
tiny gears pull against an anchor
      bringing rust, bringing wispy reds
and greengold weeds, growing into empty
spaces that her fingers fondly find
   
     but the heart is monochrome
   
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 6 0
Literature
blind walk
the storm walked down streets
but only tore up people – lifted
from their lives for turning heads,
they found themselves possessed.
the wind was everything, tilting
all the worlds it touched – faded
memories of what came before
(eyelash hung) are blinked away.
:iconSycsta:Sycsta
:iconsycsta:Sycsta 8 0
Literature
Hibernation
sometimes a whole month will go by
then for a while it’ll be every single day
before another long stretch
we near and then pull apart
on our own orbits
as if the moon opening and closing its eye
watched only us
but on each return
it’s like no time has passed
you come in from the snow
the smell of white light and coldness
on you
and it’s like waking
when I didn’t realize
I had drifted
off.
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 12 5

Groups

Activity


Windows at 10:45


the window hangs
like a painting
on the wall -

she sees him -
in a heartbeat
the world is more beautiful

the wall sits
like a stone
on the grass -

he sees her -
the world becomes too big,
emptier all his life
a row of stars,  an Orion
a Cassiopheia -

all looking at the world,

is it the way your eyes,
is it the way my heart,

is my mind out for you to see

where you are hollow,
i will meet you,

in the bold-blue dark,
i will find you

you will find you,
coming back to me
i don't remember if i had been a good girl or boy,
when i met you, i thought happy, i felt happy,
so i said hello with a diamond in the rough smile,
the kind that hammers the mouth to a painful grin,
before it opens the face to what it's about to see,
there was good pinned like a brooch on you,
i was attracted to what i saw and how what i saw
made me feel, and then this morning, im scared shit
because i dont know if i could give you up,
if i dont give up what used to mean a lot to me,
if you would mean a lot to me in the end,
after i've given up on everything, i haven't
exactly felt empty or lonely in a long time,
i still didn't, when you came, i just felt deeper,
more rooted to the ground, i want to live more,
i've given up on stars and all that romantic crap,
i like the long view, i dont like what's beyond,
if it's only beautiful and lemongrass to the soup
they are cooking me in; but right now i like
the butter and the side-dish i'm going out with
for the big dogs to eat, and i'm not blinking
or running away from what i can see and feel...
he, for a boy, wrote about flowers,
wrote about graveyards, not death,
but peace lying wait far from what's near

i knew he didn't need to get that far,
stars reveal nothing than the nearest light,
the spark is all the same, but he needed

the travel, he needed to get far,
or maybe he needed to just disappear,
so i could see him clearly better
it was square or one too many-sided,
its walls were loved by many hands,
its windows were loved by many eyes,
the sky beyond the ceiling was prayed to,
that no star would fall, no angel visit,
sleep was scarce; dreams were too close,
eternity was not a woman too dolled up
for death, for death was not welcome,
my grandmother used to break away
from her story about a boy named Kevin,
and the flowers that were never too lovely,
when my grandfather would come out of his dream
about a girl named Ruth and her hands
that were always cold; they must come
to this place before waking; they came near
deep in their bones, where they shatter free
from the bloody rootlessness of their hearts,
i doubted the existence and the necessity
of this state of mind, until i came to know
some people closer to my heart than blood,
you would tell me i used to break away,
from the system or the routine,
i dream too much, and i just tell you
it's because i live too much out in the world,
out of my skin, and they used to hold me,
they used to hold me................

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highonwords's Profile Picture
highonwords
stephanie
Philippines
i live in Naga City, a small city in the Bicol Region in the Philippines. i love books, food, movies, music, and any kind of art.

A Great Life

i can't say
i've lived long enough
to have something to say
before i die the next moment,

if God asks me what i did to make a difference,
i wouldn't have the answer

i don't think,
i've loved anybody enough
without thinking enough,
and saying enough is enough is enough

i don't think,
i have truly loved,
because i tell myself,
i can't give what i don't have,
when i don't have enough for myself,

i haven't been exactly honest
with myself, can't say i've lied a lot,
but i always took what i thought was best for me,
i wasn't a prayerful person, i believed in working hard
and not giving up

can't say what's best for everybody,
can't say if what i'm saying are the right words,
can't say if there's such a thing as wrong or right,
when all i'm doing is trying to make sense of my life
and thinking where it's going

i apologize for my mistakes,
sorry for what i was, and i was bad,
i hurt a lot of people,
maybe i tried to love,
i guess this is who i am now,

can't say i didn't try,
here's to a great life!

Friends

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconcristinewakesuphappy:
cristinewakesuphappy Featured By Owner May 17, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
 
thank you for the watch.
:iconflyingheartsplz:
Reply
:iconhighonwords:
highonwords Featured By Owner May 18, 2017
much love to you :-)
Reply
:iconwei-en:
wei-en Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2017
I'm sorry this is late, but thank you for the watch!
Reply
:iconhighonwords:
highonwords Featured By Owner May 2, 2017
you're welcome my dear
Reply
:icontheevilovelords:
TheEvilOvelords Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist

Thanks for joining our group! :D
May we be graced by your presence for a long time :meow:

Sakurai Amy
Founder of The Writer Gang

Reply
:iconhighonwords:
highonwords Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2016
thank you so much :-)
Reply
:icontheevilovelords:
TheEvilOvelords Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
You're very welcome :)
Reply
:iconblackbowfin:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Hey there, Stephanie.  Thank you for faving.  :)
Reply
:iconhighonwords:
highonwords Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2016
you are welcome, my friend :-)
Reply
:iconbleedingprophecies:
BleedingProphecies Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2016  Student Writer
Thank you for the favorite! :) 
Reply
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