~HandfulofStars
S.
Newest
Catch and ReleaseThe room’s holding shadows with yellow fingers,Catch and Release
paper skin smoldering with the mystery of 8:15 pm in July.
There’s a cacophonous chirping of crickets, silenced only when the fierce rumbling
of convertibles and thunder comes closer.
The scent of freshly dug earth and newly planted jasmine buds floats invasively into the room, drifting around leather furniture and
skin, clinging childishly.
I’m tired of this rain, of the inevitable choice between a morning that burns or one that drowns.
I’m tired of
by ~HandfulofStars
Robert Frost's SorrowMy gray eyes gazeRobert Frost's Sorrow
upon the ballet of the falling leaves, winding their nimble bodies to the ground, lulled by the humming of silence into a graceful bow to the arrival of this misty season.
My frail, frozen arms lift to return the caress
of the breeze, which rubs against my snow-tinged skin like the fingers of a lover, and I discover a dim joy coloring
me at the thought that the warmth has
fled into the harshness of the sun.
The grave sky looks down
at this pallid performance of naked limbs of oak and birch and maple, and I cannot help
by ~HandfulofStars
The Fisherman's SlaveNight spreads her fingers across the Nagara River and my eyes swing toward feathers, the onyx-tinged figure of a cormorant, glinting with the light of the lanterns, as the creature slips into theThe Fisherman's Slave
inky nadir.
Wings curl around its body, like the fluttering of a geisha’s robe
as it sinks into a warm, amorphous haven, searching for the familiar glint of iridescent scales and rice-colored skin to fill its stomach with.
There’s the hint of a wink flitting on its long face as it unblinking
eyes land on a small, oblong
rainbow
by ~HandfulofStars
The Costumed ManBlack teeth lay on a dark mahogany dresser overshadowed by a half-oval mirror, holdingThe Costumed Man
the facade of a tall, worn man, as he reaches forward and raises them to his head, running them through his full head of black hair.
He carefully slides the comb into pink, silk lined pockets of his rigidly pleated gray slacks. They rustle there, nudging against the familiar sides of a silver, square mint box, a small bottle of Calvin Klein Romance,
and a few scraps of ivory-shaded
paper folded precisely, pressing against the long line
by ~HandfulofStars
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| I write tomorrow on yesterday's sheets. -Mahmoud Darwish |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: America, although I wish it was Istanbul
- Interests: thunderstorms at night, blowing bubbles, laughing, reading, little coffeehouses, musing deeply
- Favourite movie: Ever After, Crash, The Prestige, chick flicks, black-and-white romances, Bollywood
- Favourite band or musician: Ray LaMontagne, Damien Rice, Sara Bareilles, Brandi Carlile, Mat Kearney, Rachael Yamagata
- Favourite genre of music: mellow
- Favourite artist: John William Waterhouse, Van Gogh, Mucha, The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood
- Favourite poet or writer: Philip Levine, Yusef Komunyakaa, Robert Creeley, Cecilia Dart-Thornton, Duong Thu Huong, Orhan Pamuk
- Favourite style of art: traditional
- MP3 player of choice: iPod nano
- Personal Quote: "The violets in the mountain have broken the rocks." -Tennesee Williams
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