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by vespera

I've actually been looking at trying out some prose-poetry lately so was really interested to see you post this. Obviously the imagery ...


You had her hands
curled in your lap, keeping them
away from me.

They had pushed a tube
through my throat to stop the buildup
of stories.

But the moon was in another country,
picking the Earth. Knowing
about Spring. He wandered everywhere,
wanting to know

and behind him, animals
began to enjoy the darkness,
sending a forest of moths
and other new creatures up

to wash the face of the moon. The sky
was terrible. I gave up
your name. For so long,
I tried.

Earlier, when he came,
you washed your palms in the light. Ruining them
with colour. He lifted your lifeline
out into the air.

Your eyes broke like emeralds. For so long,
I thought that I would die.

I imagined that,
elsewhere, two Buckeye trees
stood near to each other, singing
two slow songs from the Earth.
And there was Spring.
You Were Annie Wright
Again, I'm reworking old stuff for performing live. Although I think this one might belong on a page. I started reading James Wright again and he's taken over everything. Original version is here:…

' it happened, I had seen him one more time - three days before he died, three weeks after my first visit. He had been moved to a hospice in the Bronx called Calvary. It was a releif to see him there after the squalor of Mount Siani; his single room was quiet, clean, tidy. As I walked in the corridors while nurses attended to Jim, I saw a skeletal young girl with no hair, the skin tight on her skull; I saw a young man with a leg amputated, bandages over his arms and head - yet tenderness and regard for life were palpable in Calvary's air. In the corridor a pretty, young black woman sang softly to herself and, with her arms clasped together, danced a few steps. Jim's nurses and helpers touched him and called him tender names.
Annie was there with her niece Karin East; Jim was particularly fond of Karin. I stayed for a couple of hours, mostly without speaking. At one point Jim started to write me a note, and paused after the third word. On his yellow scratch pad I watched him write, "Don, I'm dying" - and then, after a tiny pause, as short as a line break - "to eat ice cream from a tray." 
Jim stared continually at Annie as if he memorized her to take her with him. Once he stared fiercely at her back while she looked out the window at wet snow falling late in March in the dingy Bronx. He signaled to me that he wanted Annie. I relayed the message, and she stood above him while he gazed and his jaw shifted from side to side. He held her hands, then took them his lips and kissed them.'

- from Donald Hall's introduction to Above the River by James Wright

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who do not hold me
in their palm
like an ice cube.

Not you,
reaching into my back
like a river bed.
I am never the same

and you
shape me like a god;
cast my body
like a net.

But everyone
knows the human body
is, what, 65% water?
But not why:

Evolution is just not sexy.
There is some unfortunate overlap
in the way we used to love each other
as immediately as animals.

But lets role play: I will be man,
you be the dawn.
Fuck me until I forget
how to walk upright.

Your hands were the bronze age
of man; your mouth
started the industrial revolution
of my shoulders.

We have one word for sex
in my language: "rhyw,"
also meaning "some," a certain;
an unspecified; an unknown.

It has been fifteen hundred years
and still I am not ready
to describe you:
you are some woman
and I was never ready

for the nuclear reaction of my body
to yours and now my clothes feel like sunburn
around you, now my hands
are as useless as missiles.

You made everyone else go away.

The Little Death;
The refractory period
before a single cell
can move again;
The Wasteland
where you have rebuilt my body
as a university.

Outside, a world
covered in ash and snow,
is just a dirty picture
of the world before I knew you.

So come, you,
the final woman
who eats my name,
as satisfying as a swear word
in your mouth:

"Fuck me."

I know:
I'm full of shit.
But there are other girls, even now,

who don't see that as an excuse
to treat my body like a garden.
I write poems for other girls.
Another poem I'm reworking for an open mic. This is an amended version of…

Again, open to notes if anyone has any.

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You were my first,
but I abuse you
like a second language.

My word for happiness:
it exists
in the language of your bare legs.

Why should I care
that I am not the only speaker?

Tell me: his accent,
the management of his tongue;

how he whispered "Fuck"
into you at four in the morning

and how many other words he knew
for you.
Speak the Senior Tongue
I'm reworking some older pieces to potentially read at an open mic in Perth. So I'm very open to any suggestions anyone has. I'm not 100% confidential in the opening of the second and third stanzas. 

This originally showed up in…

The title was inspired by this article :…
Oh, it was you,
the wild and beautiful
and dangerous woman who grew
against the weight of a body.

I should have known:
your body was soft and dead
as a flower whose sharp legs
were not good enough.

But your eyes still
stung and your voice was happy
as a swarm of bees
and you wanted the sun.
And you are gone.
And the people here
would not recognise you.
You, who simply stood up from the winter ground
and existed.
You, who lived too long
in the countryside
of your body.

One night, you loved me
and your mouth burst like a fruit,
too soon, too soon.
You are gone, but still
deliver the same madness to me
that Spring brings for flowers.

I think about where
you put away your sadness:
a country of snow.
I want to lie down

there, like an animal.
I could live for days
beneath your frozen body
of water.
So this is the last journal I'll put up for now. It's a handful of quotes that I keep in my poetry folder and a few poems I missed the first time around.

Quotes… - Jaime Gil De Bieda… - Miranda July… - Galileo Galilei
fuckyeahliteraryquotes.tumblr.… - Ian McEwan… - F. Scott Fitzgerald… - Jeffrey Eugenides… - Margaret Atwood… - Unknown… - J. Robert Oppenheimer

Poems… - Vladimir Mayakovsy… - Dean Young… - Ezra Pound… - Hafiz (really, really enjoyed this and just found out it was written over 700 years ago and he's basically part of Iranian history. What .… Phillip Kaye - from 'Repetition'

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Add a Comment:
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2014   General Artist
let me tell you, you deserve a delirious amount of views, lovely being
your poetry speaks to the soul :heart:
Gay-Mountain Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2015
Thank you. And thanks for all your other comments. I worry that a lot of the stuff I write is probably only going to be interesting to me so it's good to know someone else enjoys it.
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2015   General Artist
your poetry definitely deserves at least 10 times the amount of attention it is getting! how about joining a few groups and posting your works with them? that can really help generate more attention and favorites on your poetry? :eager: :heart:
Gay-Mountain Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2015
I dunno, I've kind of dabbled with groups in the past but can never really find the time to get involved with them properly. There's a few I still submit stuff to but tbh I feel bad that I already submit nearly as much poetry as I read on here.
palaeochannel6 Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2013
I like what you write.
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
You've been Featured. :heart:
Gay-Mountain Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2013
Hi, sorry it took me so long to reply to this but thanks!Although I do have to ask....Ladies of Lit...I'm not a lady, shouldn't that count against me?
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
It was not for Ladies of Lit, it was for my 30 Writers Series.

You're welcome!
RiseandBe Featured By Owner May 15, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Welcome to #PoeticalCondition!
We are happy to include you as one of our members and look forward to your contributions.
We hope to see you as an active part of our humble group.

Your Founder, RiseandBe
indigo-mouse Featured By Owner May 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thank you SO MUCH for suggesting my poem as a daily deviation.
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