Up and Over

We people, how we strive and search
to understand, to have and hold
things that seem so far from reach.

To understand the way the moon sings
or how the cool breeze can
cling

To sit an watch the contrasts so bold
as a ladybird on fresh grass
or the point where the white of snow
and black of night meet
without a single seam.

To embrace life
and love
and wonderment

But oh, to be over the moon and back again
what's more to do it five times.
Never will you see a smile so pure
nor a heart so full
as one that has been over the moon
and back again
five times.

A Blackened Whisper

What but whisper quiet
Came the snake from out it's den.
Though the frost nipped at his scales,
For the shaking in his den came too much.
He looked to the sky with his black glass eyes
Where the moon hung, heavy and full,
Like a bowl of farmer's cream in the rain
It's pale coloring so full of ripples and life
The warmed white light, smoothing edges and turning delicate
All life and earth that lie beneith.
When black and deadly bodies turn to sun-warmed silk
What once moved fuild like water,
between all rocks, dirt and green
Now lay quiet, no motion but the flick of a tounge.
Like the black ribbon of some form of bedazzled maiden,
Enraptured and Entrapped,
By things too dark and moonlit for us common folk to understand
Wet eyes now you see, to better see,
A world and sky, too far and vast for any tiny creature
Poor little snake, who turned around,
What but whisper quiet
Turn from the moon to greet cold ground
Returned home where nothing turns black to white.

Twelve Million Stories

It's under the early sunsets and lite up nights of winter
Upon old hardwood that creaks under the weight of bodies,
But holds remarkabley,
Stubborn and regal with twelve million stories to tell.
It's in the winter that Frost keeps his promise,
That scars speak beautiful and telling volumes and lines become poetic
These things so sweet and damaged

4:03 AM

The taste of old tea stains the back of your tounge
as you look at the clock and realize how long it's been
since these old walls talked

But dearest,
wipe that sleep from your eyes
because there is some much left here to be done.

Pretty/Frantic

It was the day when Summer turned to Fall
She stood in the doorway
and looked so strangely beautiful in her fallen apart state
And spoke her pretty frantic words like no one had before…

Love's a Freefall

Eyes squeezed shut, fingers crossed.

Now, baby let's jump.

Jungle Gym

So let's relive our respective childhoods

drawing skulls and crossbones and 'X' to mark the spot in the sand

and hanging backwards off the swing

till our hair sweeps the ground.

We'll climb atop the jungle gym and talk about love

cause darling, that sun isn't setting any faster.

My Little Sweet

Lay your heart and locket on the chopping block my dear.

my sweet.

my damsel in distress.

I'll keep it safe. I swear to you.

Swear on my moon,

my star,

and my axe.

You needn't fear me.

Hush child, stay silent.

So still.

There is nothing to fear here but my wolves.

Pretty fearless wolves,

with bluer eyes than you've ever seen.

And teeth much sharper too.

So wear your sunday best,

that pretty pink dress, you know.

And your darling buckle shoes.

And run with me in the feilds meant for summer fallow.

Just be sure not to step on my pumpkin patch.

My little one

My darling

My sweet.

Hot and Modest

Too hot to stand it any more and far too modest to take off our clothes....

Underwood

Underwood Underworld
Trapped under a mahogany desk top...

Honeybush Tea

I live in a land of tall tales and vastly amusing half truths

Where you spend your days sipping honeybush tea,

and running through the tall grass

looking for tiny frogs to be our friends and possible princes.

But for now I spend my nights watching movies alone

and humming irish ballads

because I need someone to hold my hand

and watch for snakes

while we run through the tall grass....

Old and Gray

Our clothes may be soaking...

...dripping wet

and we've got burs and...

...twigs and....

....leaves in our hair

But oh the tales we'll weave when we are old and gray....

A change in programming...

Teea's back so Scoundrelly Aristocracy is reopening... So what to do with this blog?

Well basically I am turning this into my 'Poetics Blog'

basically it's going to be for random writings of mine that I consider poetic.

because I think that's lovely.

-Kelsey Lynn