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Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore  
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of
The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.
Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home
SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

       all of the things
Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.
We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite  
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this
the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a
Dry Spell   I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
  fleeting,
        evaporating
              through the cracks of
      my fingers and high

             above my head.
  I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
    words,
         silences,
              or actions
   could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
     all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
              or stretched
                       so far
           that it dissolves into non-being.
 I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo
with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.
You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare
Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.
SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.
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More from ~Ramuel

Cacophany
What do you want when you read any poem?
Should it sound like those in an ancient tome;
And have flowing patterns of chiming rhymes,
With a constant meter and length of lines?
Would you like lovely lies of love lit eyes
And finds of floral features in her guise?

Or should I stop and break into cacophony?
Add harsh, stiff, piercing terminology,
Talk of darkness, death, your soul being rent;
Heartbreak causing shame and hatred and blame.
And I'll break from my patterns - confuse your expectations
Of this poem by ending in
The wrong places and putting rhymes inside the lines, but not at the ends.

But maybe you'd like that, and I'd
The Moon and The Earth
If the moon falls down from heaven;
crashes through the earth to Hell,
and the sky turns dark in anguish,
with its lover's light withheld,
and time stops to see the descent;
looks down and looses it's resolve,
and the Sun tries until its spent,
but cannot mend what has been lost;
I will still have all I need;
I will have love and strength from you.

If I wake to find all the world against me,
hatred thrown at me in all their words;
if an army takes me for their enemy,
and I am left dead on the black shores;
if I am accused a criminal,
and imprisoned forever more,
I will be able to survive it all,
I will find asylum always in
Down from the Mountain
I just came down from the mountain to find you.
I've been cooped up in my mind for a bit too long.
I wanted just to come down and see your face;
Come down from the mountain and sing you this song.
It would clear up my clouded mind to feel your heart.
It would soften my calloused hands to touch your skin.
If I came down from the mountain to hear your voice,
I would regain my soul and sing again.

In my mind I can walk along the shore;
I can see the seagulls interrupt the sunset;
I'd be with you and walk for hours and hours,
The ocean the backdrop for our presence.

But on the mountain I cant walk along the shore,
And on the mount
The Ever-Gracious Author
You don't know my pain, so I tell it. You don't know the reasons, so you read further. You don't know the results, so you read the end. Even now you don't know the whole story; you haven't lived it.

You try to relate what you read to your own life, but your life isn't mine. Your pain isn't my pain, you may relate to my pain, but you cannot share in it. My experiences aren't yours, you see parallels, but you haven't experienced my experiences. You don't fucking know how my life is.

I don't write for you, I write for myself. I want to get something off my chest; not entertain you. If you get entertainment from reading this, that's a bonus- fo
Revenge
You've done this terrible thing to me, and you did it in front of them all.
You showed who I really was and she, she was there and saw.
Now, the world hates me, there isn't one who would hear my plea.
And its because of you, you terrible fiend, that my power will never come to be.
My image is ruined, my relations are tarnished, and that girl,
She saw and she, she was the key to it all.

Run you bastard!
Run through the street!
Run on and let them all see!
You, being chased by me.
But you're afoot,
And I,
On steed -
And  now I've cornered you,
And now it is I who will not hear your plea.

You took off my mask and let them all s
Roadside
…
He glances up to the clock on a shelf under the basement window. 12:32 it blinks back. It is surrounded by dirty clothes and various pieces of K'nex sets and spent batteries and other small things that once had some use, but now have none. The clock is lit only by the gray light seeping through the small window above it.  
"I guess its time to get up…" he murmurs before rolling off his messy twin bed pushed in the corner of the concrete room. He finds the pair of pants he's been wearing for the past 5 months every day without washing, and puts them on, along with a shirt he finds on the floor.
Upstairs, though there is much more dayli

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October 29, 2003
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Grief: Draft 2

:iconramuel:

If you have ever wished to see my face
(And you, a man of centuries old, incase
You had forgotten, never had this wish),
All you would ever need to do is miss
Someone who strikes you close in to your heart,
A person from whom you can’t be apart;
Then first you will see my uncovered eyes,
A sight disturbing that surely you’ll despise;
Next slowly comes unfurled my wicked grin,
And drain the blood will quickly from your limbs;
Upon your knees, your face against the ground,
You cry and beg for me to go away,
But I am your sorrow; I am your pain,
And I cannot let you be once again.

Though now you are beaten, lying in dirt,
Your pain not forgotten, and still I lurk,
You think you can maybe continue on,
But you can’t recover; I am not gone -
You believe you’re wise, but what do you know;
You’ve not been a fraction the life I own,
And now that you’ve seen it, though just a taste,
Certainly, you don’t wish to see my face.
:iconramuel:
This is my second draft of this poem. The original can be found here:
[link]
I am trying to make the poem better than it was before - to make it really good. If you have any comments or suggestions, please say them. They can be specific or general.
Thanks
-Ramuel
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:iconfat-lionell:
~fat-lionell Jun 14, 2004
Pain.
Reply
:iconmelraven:
~melraven Jan 14, 2004
omg. that just hit me right in the heart. i can really relate to it.
it really makes you feel what its saying, if that makes anysense.
Reply
:iconpanther-nora:
~Panther-Nora Nov 26, 2003
wow, I'm feeling lines 4-6 right now.
Reply
:iconzarimi:
~zarimi Nov 19, 2003
Hi
oh man, i dont know how you do it, but you always seem to sum up exactly what im feeling. I love this poem, i really do. Im really moved. ohh dumb. But yea im gettting all misty, i really like this poem ty.
Reply
:iconramuel:
~Ramuel Nov 21, 2003
Hey, thanks.
You joined DA, eh? Good call.
Foxes are tangible... I'm researching them for a Fish and Wildlife Management class paper. Sorry, but it's true.
Anyway... Thanks, and are you going to be submitting anything?
-Ramuel
Reply
:iconzarimi:
~zarimi Nov 27, 2003
heh, yea well to me foxes will always be intangible, but i guess..... maybe itll spread.. anyway, yea ill submit stuff, haha but i dont know how itll rate on these top notch places.
Reply
:iconbleedingmytears:
~bleedingmytears Nov 8, 2003
:hug:
Reply
:iconramuel:
~Ramuel Nov 9, 2003
Thanks :)
:hug:
-Ramuel
( :explosion: )
Reply
:iconitsmejesse:
!itsmejesse Nov 3, 2003
I love it, except for this line:

And drain the blood will quickly from your limbs;

It doesn't quite make grammatical sense, I think.

But anyway, very nice poem. And good for you for trying to make it better; that's the mark of a dedicated poet.

Beat that old man!

-Jesse out
Reply
:iconramuel:
~Ramuel Nov 3, 2003
Dude did you look at the old version of that line?
what would you suggest to keep the rhyme and the pentameter?
I'd like to even keep it iambic, if possible.
Thanks for the comment, man, its exactly what I'm looking for
-Ramuel
Reply
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