Ignoring the Remains of February Through the Cruelness of Time.

 

He stopped me, throwing fire to the ground...

I could have stepped through him, feet stuck to the remains of February, time ticking, waiting, patient and cruel.

There, in the corners of the edges that exist behind the promise of never, were eyelash~laden wishes, laying in the dust of hope, words slept silently, never dreaming, and I...

desperately tried

to

pick them up.

He twisted, I watched him, my jaw dropped and he suggested I kiss him in places where he never smiled, I had an affliction for the skin that crossed paths with his stomach, I had an obsession with the way he

breathed

so I exhaled and

blew

eyelashes all over his body,

 

head to toe, he smiled,

I counted the teeth that appeared through our wishes

and he promised

he'd

never

leave.

I closed my eyes for the fear of re witnessing February, terrified of the words I'd destroyed, I was certain they'd come back and bite me,

right on the skin that circles my stomach,

I held my breath so time couldn't find me, and, laying there near the dishonesty of perfection, my fingers grazed him.

He slipped, though he never moved, not an inch and never close to me, he knew the pieces that were easier to see and claimed things the mirror never said, he was cracked in places and I forgot to tell him...

that, there, in the crevices that wrote our story across his skin...

my tears were seeping through.

We were poisoned, somehow, sweet drops of destruction tracing the places we never smiled, so I parted my lips and bit down, tugging on the remains of February and ripping apart the words of us, and we were powerful in the moments that tore and screamed...

and annoyed him...

for it was hours past the beginning of Spring, weeks beyond winter, and his naked, afternoon~sky~stealing eyes begged for sleep

while I begged him~

lashless now and crying~

to only remember

to

dream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

"for it was hours past the beginning of Spring, weeks beyond winter, and his naked, afternoon~sky~stealing eyes begged for sleep"

...the delivery of this line amazes me with the volume it speaks. I truly believe that giving birth has deeply touched a reservoir within you, that overflows with wonderous things. Your days are blessed with this extraordinary child, just like our lives are blessed for knowing you!

Much love,
Kelly

[Starlit Scarlett]

Hi! Sorry, I know this is a long time in coming, but I'm trying to get bak into the swing of things at writerscafe, which means going through all my (very very inactive) read requests. :)
"I held my breath so time couldn't find me" --a brilliant combination of the heart-breaking and playful.
I loved this poem, and I don't usually like poetry that makes me sad. I think it's because there it a subtle but poingant beauty to the way in which you describe the pros and cons of every situation: time is cruel but also patient, dreams and sleep are elusive but are irrevocably there in some way. Overall, this is extraordinarily vivid and evocative, and is enhanced by your very inventive imagery. Brava!

[Not Afraid of Bruises]

this is a great poem - I get the sensual feel of a relationship without being grossed out by vivid detail (there was something very intimate about this piece). I loved most if not all the lines, a daring piece that is very powerful...beautiful job

I would ask your permission to post this on my website and have you be a guest writer (you keep ALL the rights to your work) but I have to keep the site PG and this poem, as i said, screams of intimacy. Still, an amazing piece. Usually the format of it would drive me crazy....but i really think it fits the piece (sorry for any typos in here :)

[Rhine Wolf]

Brilliantly written! what line to choose, so many that captivated me and held me fast. brilliant!!

[R J Askew]

Sorry to take a while, been away.
Again you make your titles work really hard. There are flashes of great drama in this and some of the images are very strong. I especitlly like ... 'throwing fire to the ground' ... 'words slept silently' ... 'I counted the teeth that appeared through our wishes' ... 'I held my breath so that time couldn't find me' ... I'm reading with my head at the moment so the relationship angle is not as important to me as the language and expression.

[Alicia Isabella Lane]

"I held my breath so time couldn't find me, and, laying there near the dishonesty of perfection, my fingers grazed him." Speechless ... Brilliant.... Amazing ... from start to finish. What a powerful moving write! I'm stumbling to find words that will offer this justice, and I find myself at a loss. "while I begged him~ lashless now and crying~ to only remember to dream." Tears did indeed answer the end of this extraordinary work!!!

[J.P.O.et]

'He stopped me, throwing fire to yhe ground...'
How could I not be instantly drawn in by that opening line, phenomenal
Lots of just GREAT lines here, esp.
'in the corners of the edges that exist beyond the promises of never' and
'I held my breath so time couldn't find me'
The 'breathed,exhaled, and blew' part was rediculous and I LOVE the underlying theme
here of dream and dreaming

'to only remember

to

dream.'

This is absolutely beautifull, I will add to my lib

J.P.O.et

[Jofer Serapio]

Wow. I must say, this piece is very vivid. I was extremely impressed at the way you portrayed all the raw emotion it contained. It made me feel like I was there. This is truly a great write. I'd have to thank Kara for sharing this now. =P

[Angel's Lady]

Simply quite poetically beautiful...great job!

[Gary H]

Have to say I agree with Chas. Thanks also to Kara for sending me this. I'm touched by the wonderful imagination that has been used here. I was captured by the mystery and energy. The alliteration used really enticed words together that changed their usual context. Apart from saying this was fantastic, I'm stuck for anything more to write - that Chas hasn't already said!!

[Anhedonia 1349]

Kara recommended this as my first piece of yours to read. I usually don't take read suggestions too seriously; I mean, we both know that the overall caliber of popular writers and the fickleness of what each of those writers likes or promotes. Of course, when a writer as brilliant as Kara suggests that I read a work and promises that the words I'll find will be more wonderful, more overwhelming, than anything I've read in a good long while, how can I resist? And alas - I'm rewarded with the opportunity to read one of the most vivid, poignant pieces I've read in a very very long time. And it's not just poignant in the way that syntactually-lacking but imagery-heavy pieces tend to be, for here I find that your clever use of structure and prose intertwine almost surreally with your strong narrative voice and delectible poetic images. But they're not just poetic images, are they? They're life images. They're images that you present knowing without a doubt that the truest critic will be able to actually read and understand. And sympathize. I admire writers who paint such scenes.

My absolute favorite aspect of this - which, without a doubt, comes attached with a multi-volume array of things that rank as "great" or "spectacular" - is your syntax. The grammar here is phenomenal, and not in the sense that Strunk & White's grammar is phenomenal - not on a textbook correct grammar level - but rather in the creative, innovative way that any one passage or fragment could (and did) stand alone and exist grammaticaly independent from even the thought immediately before it. You take a semi-prose approach of full, strong sentences and clauses and intertwine them sharp, blistering fragments and interjections which combine to form a very clever, almost-Modernist feel here. But your narrator's no Modernist, is she? She would never construct words and observations just for the sake of doing so. No. She's very Romantic in her feelings and very Impressionistic in the way she conveys them. I take my hat off to you and to the way your words resonate. It illustrates true strength and command of voice. It's spectacular, really.

I have to say that the words themselves really left me breathless in a few spots. Take, for instance, this part:

"There, in the corners of the edges that exist behind the promise of never, were eyelash~laden wishes, laying in the dust of hope, words slept silently, never dreaming, and I...desperately tried...to...pick them up."

"The promise of never". "[T]he dust of hope". That's so harsh. So brash and abrasive. It mingles to paint almost a desert atmosphere filled with barren dreams and aspirations. And of course, a landscape littered with sleeping words that sleep without dreaming rings eerily familiar, reminding me of the Waste Land that T.S. Elliot was so frantic to create. You remind the reader of how painful the truth concerning broken relationships and broken dreams really feels is. It hurts. Just from your narration, it hurts. It hurts so deep that I found myself taking full, almost panicked breaths in order to read on and uncover the rest of what you feel. The ability of any writer to convey that much life and pain and truth to a reader requires skills that most people wish they had. It's all very amazing, really.

I like the way you use nature to cradle the images you're conveying. Whenever I peruse the piece, I pick up on harsh, chilling breezes slicing through the gray, February landscape and tearing sharply against uncovered faces - breezes that seem rooted almost as deeply in the Winter that's already passed than in the Spring that's only just begun. And of course, the erotic physicality that walks hand-in-hand with all the encounters and altercations you mention here only verifies the fact that yes: love is real and yes: love in its purest form can be just as harsh and hurtful as it is bright and beautiful. I don't think I've ever seen both sides of a feeling painted as clearly and vividly as I see here in this piece. Again: Brilliant.

I apologize for using that word so often. But I'd be lying if I didn't conclude with it once more. This piece is, in its entirety, truly brilliant. It's poetry and prose and fiction and non-fiction and the whole bundle wrapped into one. And on an even more particular level, it brings forth the fervor of poets throughout the centuries - poets who seem freakishly different and unrelated - and combines it all into one fabulously-written piece that I'm sure won't be matched any time soon. Not on this site. And nowhere else, either.

Thanks for sharing this. You're everything that makes a writer want to continue writing and everything that forces a reader to continue reading. It was a joy. Really. And in case you couldn't already tell: This is going on my favorites list.

I look forward to your other works.

Sincerely,

Chas