[x]

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

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.

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

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.

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

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

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

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.

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

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More from ~KaitoKnight

MontagmorgenMontagmorgen

Das Wochenende ging vorbei
so wie im Flug
nicht lang genug.
Und als ob das nicht genug sei
geht Montag los
was mach ich bloß?

Bin noch ganz benommen
seh' noch ganz verschwommen
und könnt schlafen wie ein Stein.
Doch der Wecker läutet
ihr wisst was das bedeutet...
muss das wirklich wieder sein?

In meinem Bett fühl'
ich mich geborgen
doch ich muss aufsteh'n
an Montagmorgen.
Und die Probleme
und all die Sorgen
beginnen wieder
an Montagmorgen.

Lustlos ziehe ich mich an
und fahr zum Zug
nicht schnell genug.
Der war mal wieder zu früh dran
hab ihn verpasst
-Hoffnung verblasst.

Muss den nächsten nehme

SchularbeitenEin Mensch muss Schularbeiten schreiben
und er beschließt lang auf zubleiben
um für die Schularbeit zu lernen.
Doch sein Eifer will sich entfernen,...
er kann sich nicht recht konzentrieren...
und muss den Eifer ganz verlieren,...
beschließt am Fernseh'n sich zu laben,
ohne etwas gelernt zu haben.

Der nächste Tage – es ist soweit,
die Klasse schreibt die Schularbeit.
Der Mensch versucht sich auf gut Glück,
bekommt die Schularbeit zurück,
betrachtet das was vor ihm liegt:
er hat 'ne gute Vier gekriegt.

„Das nächste Mal" das schwört er sich,
zutiefst entschlossen „lerne ich!"
Und als die Schularbeit dann naht,
der Mensch auf se

Der BesserwisserEin Mensch ist gut darin und schnell
die andern Menschen generell,
ohne sich groß zu informieren,
zu tadeln und zu kritisieren.

Er kann die Fehler gleich erkennen
und sie den Menschen sofort nennen.
Welche Methode effizienter,
welche Lösung intelligenter,
welch Art und Weise wirkungsvoller,
was schneller, schöner, größer, toller,
kurz – besser wäre allgemein,
wie's ist und wie es müsste sein,
der Mensch weiß es in jedem Fall,
zu jeder Zeit und überall.

Doch wenn es einmal darum ginge,
das dem Menschen etwas gelinge,
und man sehr viel erwartet schon,
erstrahlt es kaum in Perfektion.
Im Gegenteil, falls er es schafft,
dann nu

MenschenEin Mensch der sich die Welt ansieht
und darauf achtet was geschieht,
erkennt nach längerem Bedenken:
„Man könnte sich so Manches schenken!"

So manche gutgemeinten Räte,
nie Niemand je beachtet hätte,
so manche heldenhaften Taten,
die in Vergessenheit geraten,
so manche guten Grundideen,
die ungebraucht zugrunde geh'n,
so manche Regeln und Gesetze,
die Jeder mit Genuss verletze,
so manche noch so gute Absicht,
die an Stumpfsinnigkeit zerbricht.

Die Einsicht ist unangenehm,
die die Menschen sind das Problem.
Die Stümper und die Dilettanten,
die Schlamper und die Ignoranten,
Die Faulpelze und die Chaoten,
die Spinner und die

AliensEin Mensch benimmt sich manches Mal
ganz ohne Grund irrational.
Er wird geplagt von vielen Ängsten,
davon die ältesten und längsten
und mit Xenophobie benannten
Ängste vor dem Unbekannten.
Von diesen Ängsten gibt es schon
so mancherlei Variation.
So glauben Sciencefiction-Fans
an so genannte „Aliens".
Die kommen von sehr langen Reisen
um uns lebendig zu verspeisen.
Oder wie wir es tun mit Schafen,
uns hordenweise zu versklaven.
Oder um uns zu ortopsier'n
uns Leber, Niere, Herz und Hirn
noch bei Bewusstsein zu entreißen
und diese danach zu verspeisen.
Oder Experimente machen:
Fusionen, Klonen und so Sachen.

Oder verschärft:

PrologGleich zu Beginn dieses Gedichts:
Von Poesie versteh ich nichts!

Ich bin kein Künstler oder Dichter,
ich schreib nicht über schöne Lichter,
nicht über Emotionszustände,
nicht über Wintersonnenwende
nicht über Schönheit der Natur,
nein, sondern ich schreib immer nur
über das was mich so beschäftigt,
mich runter zieht oder bekräftigt.

Und auch mein sogenannter „Stil"
was Schreiben betrifft hat nicht viel.
Als in Haus-Maus-Reimen zu schreiben,
die billig sind - und billig bleiben,
ist bei mir leider nicht mehr drin.
( Na gut, natürlich noch der Sinn...)

Ach ja, damit nicht Jeder fragt,
so viel am Anfang gleich gesagt:
Auf meine

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Forever alone...

by ~KaitoKnight, Dec 8, 2012, 12:13:21 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Ein Mensch, gewillt sich bald zu binden,
kann leider keine Freundin finden.

Die Auswahl ist zwar unbeschreiblich,
an Wesen welche hold und weiblich,
doch was auch immer er probiert,
sie sind an ihm nicht intressiert,
oder sie sind schon unzertrennlich
vereint mit Wesen welche männlich.

Und schließlich wird der Mensch von diesen
weiblichen Wesen abgewiesen.
Und wenn er sein Gefühl nicht zügelt,
von männlichen Wesen verprügelt.

Drum wird das Leben fortgesetzt.
Zwar einsam, aber unverletzt.

Forever alone...by ~KaitoKnight

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~KaitoKnight

So ging's mir bis jetzt zumindest...

*CherryblueOrange Dec 8, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Life fucks everyone. Thoroughly. Baum.

I wü jo nix sogn, oba des is echt scheißguad, wos du do schreibst..! o:

Reply

~KaitoKnight Dec 8, 2012

Danke^^

Reply

*CherryblueOrange Dec 10, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Bittegerne

Reply

~JokerIsMYFreak Dec 8, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

_{_{...bis jetzt}}

tja i ko nur wida sogn dass de reime echt guad san

oke wie long brauchst du bis du so a gedicht fertig host??

Reply

~KaitoKnight Dec 8, 2012

Dadurch das i währendm unterricht schreib eher länger oba wenn i moi drin bin geht des in am durch^^

Reply

~JokerIsMYFreak Dec 8, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

Echt jz? ^^

Reply

~KaitoKnight Dec 8, 2012

Klaro^^

Reply

~JokerIsMYFreak Dec 8, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

ds is cool ^^

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