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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
Literature
As If
it's when it rains,
that i miss her most,
i down water after water
the blues bloom into rivers
that drowns me to the bottom
of her smile, and the sorrow
steals the life as if it were
still mine, as if it were still mine
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
A Shot Of Star-spangled Glimmer
some days, i crawl out
of the house, pleading sanity
on a street that circles
in my head to a scrawl
of a face asking who i am,
but the world doesn't answer
it doesn't know my name,
i am frightened feelings,
since i knew i came out
of mortal womb, the coil
untangled from around my neck
but i still feel the cold
the way i didn't know ice
in your eyes, and the blue
that erased me farther down
the stretch paler than dark,
my feet fails to draw the way,
my hands, the uprooted trees,
and my heart, the glimmer
of steel sinking low with sun
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
New World
dear God, about terror,
that old affliction, love,
that runs naked in the mist,
that tears the flower open,
waits for her open face,
to travel back to afternoon rain
the full head of October
lays on her arm in silence,
just before the rain creates
a picture of the old place,
crows rattle in the trees,
the moon lifts the world,
for us to see, for us to see
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0
Literature
Ash
there is a street in the city,
where you take your lover
by the hand when you feel alone,
where a girl ruins her dress
by the pond, and a boy feels warm,
wearing nothing but her arms
there is a lover, that falls short of rain
before the grass darkens, there is a sky
that stands still for you to see
the world goes on, so the sky
goes on to moon and stars,
not for you, not for me, or anyone,
do the fences mend, the children sing,
that we hold on to them as if they're gone,
and there is nothing to gain,
not wounds, not catharsis, not wisdom,
the day has passed, it gathers dust,
like everything, and everyone turns
to ash without heat, that nothing,
even love, remains
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 2
Literature
6 Am
is it too much to say, the sky, the moon -
that i hold my breath because of you,
i feel its cold color on my skin,
the rain is on its way upon the dry land,
afraid to lose my way in a world of mist
i map the stars, mark the holes they make
with my eyes, where they almost all disappear
with all the world's color
so tell me this,
is it too much if i stay,
in one room and another,
before the window, by the corner,
if i keep all the flowers,
but the leaves and water,
all the quiet lines and sad songs
and your words and promises and whispers,
but you with your last memory and your only breath
hangs
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 0
Literature
Prelude
our bodies unfurl,
each petaled flesh holding
to a secret source of life,
the hand loosens on your cheeks,
and touches there, the echo
of your heart's cornered voice,
your breath exhales a love note,
your eyes, a feathered close,
as you fall and i let you,
the world doesn't sit,
it spins in measured degrees,
and rains on your shoulders,
we're its only celebrants,
we think, but it doesn't matter
that we're wrong, there is
nothing that takes away a kiss,
even life, even death
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 3 2
Literature
Wedding Blues
we come before the bells,
the perfect flower disarray
on the carpet and the glass
and stones of chandeliers
hurt our eyes that see
us, fools for eternity
the red streaks on your porcelain cheeks shatter -
i've never seen such longing
to love someone so brittle
and passing as June in years,
that i'd like to hold
all your bones close,
even if they cut me open
where i hurt the most,
when you look into my eyes,
and hold me gently there
before the bells come for me
:iconhighonwords:highonwords
:iconhighonwords:highonwords 2 0

Favourites

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 6 4
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 17 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 20 3
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 99 46
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 6 0
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 10 2
Literature
ways you are loved
i.
like being held,
but not as
a hand nor
breath;
hands shy away
and breaths exit
the chest.
constant, like
god's palm
or breathing,
continuous
and absolute.
like truth.
ii.
like staying warm,
but not like noon
or flame;
noon wanes
and flickers in the evening
meet death.
constant, like
rotations in space
or stars in the eyes
of humans.
like blessed.
iii.
like kept,
but not contained
nor restrained
nor forced to be one way,
not asked to change nor pressured
to step where the path
is lit.
like your personness is quite
the gift and your smile
lifts up the heavens, and when
you exist we are all of us
content.
like you matter
and your mass
is a perfect fit
for this earth.
like love
is a continent
made for you.
like you deserve.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 56 18
Literature
75. mirror
i am infinity
in six directions
  what do you see
  when you look out
  of my eyes?
darkness –
darkness & light,
like the weight
of a shadow &
crouched in this
corner of eternity,
the door
disappears –
:iconwei-en:wei-en
:iconwei-en:wei-en 22 4
Literature
terra aquea
on the far side of the river
where it curves
the water
pushes farther onto the land
and turns
it to mud
I write your name into it
with my foot
limping in half steps
the way wounded animals move
feeling your name
harden in my throat
I gouge the shape of it
into the squelching earth
over and over
until your facelessness
coats
the riverbank
first with my heel
then with a broken stick
and finally on my knees
I draw each syllable
out
with my fingers,
touching them to my lips
every time
it's
finished.
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost
:iconantonfrost:antonfrost 16 3
Literature
Bedsides New
I slither over
to a spot left
empty in your absence,
see the world with upsides down;
maybe now, shape gone from memory
foam, I can imagine every moment
as if happened to someone else- if it happened
at all.
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 9 7
Literature
diverse thought pursuit
I am so tired, thinking out
maybe you are raspberry rose, strawberry sunset strewn
heat-wrapped in oxygen-rich bathrobe pockets;
heart trapped, terrible fear. Loosely connected string-
that I have seen, that I have seen. Only
in extra-galactic university light fixtures.
Could you believe you could believe
that I am calmly spinning fern, turning waste
fully to the screw, waist full of heavy notions? No,
Calvin, this is not a measure of reprobate
but a statement of intent; not an absolute unit
of one true reality
but maybe, yes, the last leaning to good
I'll ever make. 
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman
:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 8 2

Groups

Activity


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
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
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
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
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

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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:
 
:iconwei-en:
wei-en Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2017
I'm sorry this is late, but thank you for the watch!
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
:iconhighonwords:
highonwords Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2016
you are much welcome :-)
Reply
:iconblackbowfin:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Hey there and thank you for the support!  :)
Reply
:iconhighonwords:
highonwords Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2016
you're welcome, my friend :-)
Reply
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