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lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."
The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming warmth of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment before I heard you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the first second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along
Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for? 
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude
False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days, 
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be 
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen
ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).
False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for
Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.
WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are 
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.
Redeeming Light
Read bottom to top:
.
there
journey
e
h
t
and the stem is
than the flower must be redemption
n
i
s
are
If the roots
a true writer's souli write to release
i write to breathe
i write to feel
i write to bleed

i don't care
if you don't understand
i don't care
if you can't relate
i don't care
for your opinion
i don't care
about you at all

my words are thoughts
my words are emotions
my words are curses
my words are memories
my words are everything
i want them to be
and fuck if you can comprehend

i could write in measure
i could bother with rhythm
but i'm better than your rules
i'm beyond the margin

i'm a fucking psychotic mess
of ambiguous lunacy
that only the ones that think
can understand
the ones that
are just like me

fuck your critiques

fuck your citicism

fuck your opin
Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.
Shared HappinessI like it better when you're happy.
The world feels like a safe place -
A good place to be.

Stay happy, even in the face
of great adversity
I know these last few years have been...

Well, difficult, to say the least.
But as long as your heart shines
I can hear it...

That devilish smile on your lips
the one no amount of miles
or hardships can erase

Remember, I'm always watching
With the eyes of my heart
I see you clearly

And, as long as you are happy
No matter where this life leads me
Then I am happy too.
HumanDear Hypocrite,

 What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

 Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

 What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

 What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

 
bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.
ConstructDelving into the origins
Of what makes an individual
Who are you? Who am I?
There’s a lack of understanding,
Yet we jump to judge
And claim to know
That which we could never understand

Attempts are seldom made
To investigate the unknown
To strive to discover
Those we claim to know
From the inside out
Extract the innermost thoughts

In place there is an idealist mirage
To which our beliefs shall cling to
In desperation, or disbelief

It’s the construct of our mindset
That leads us all astray
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More from ~SummerRayn

First Job
First Job

I'm creating an Assistive Technology Department student worker handbook
For my technical writing class,
Demonstrating my ability to gather information and knowledge
And assemble it in Helvetica ten point font in a bulleted list.

In Section I, "Office Policies and Procedures," it is described
How to find and navigate the office's computer network.
But there's nowhere for a bullet that explains
How the server is called "kokua-wai" because Steve,
The Supervisor, is from Hawaii, that it's okay to giggle,
That it takes everyone at least two weeks to remember how it's spelled.

Section II, "Hardware and Software," includes opera
Sometimes, SleepSometimes I think about a long fall;
Sometimes I think about knocking at
And opening up
And walking through a door.
Sometimes I think about a staircase numbered
Ten nine eight seven six five four three
Two one,
And a great big feather mattress
On the ground floor.

And sometimes sleep just comes,
Like a birthday gift--
Like the first half of "close your eyes
And make a wish."

Sometimes, sometimes,
When the gray fogs creep,
Sometimes, sleep;
Warm and sweet,
Like a tree-ripe plum...
Sometimes sleep
Just comes.

Sometimes I think about floating in the ocean,
Being something unborn,
floating in the water,
Hearing my mother'
PoetryI walk out of the dry and frosty air conditioning
Into the dim, drippy summer,
Working on an explanation for why poetry
Is not always an allegory for the emotional condition of the poet.
If an artist sees a craggy, gnarled tree,
I venture silently to my invisible student,
And is interested in its planes and bulges, and paints it,
It does not mean she considers herself to be the tree.
It means only that she sees the tree,
And in the tree something she wants to keep.
It means--

A scouting drop strikes my hand.
Startled, I look down at it,
Turn my hand upwards as if to have my palm read
By a weeping eye. Then,
Without warning

It
WeaknessDid you mourn it, a little, when it left?
The inability to wound the one
Whose wounds once caused you such pain?
There was a time when you would have gone to dust
To keep her from harm or unhappiness.
There was a time when the crusts she threw you
Were as a banquet to a starving man.
You were weak then. You are strong now.
But is it already fading, the memory
Of how her eyes look with the light of gratitude,
Of how it feels to have, if even for a moment,
Your heart's hunger sated?
Now you gorge yourself on the meat
You always said you wanted,
Like the animal
You always said you were.
But does anything hit bottom?

Did you wish
Storms--A Haiku CoronaGrey clouds, grey air, wind's
Sluggish gusting. Skies saying,
"I'm weary of storms."

I'm weary of storms.
Spring's fee for growth is tumult--
But how much tumult?

But how much tumult
Can growth take? When does hoeing
Come to harming seeds?

Come to harming seeds,
They can drown as well as drink.
So keep your rain.

So keep your rain,
For I have had enough of
Grey clouds, grey air, winds.

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June 19, 2011
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Postcard

:iconsummerrayn:

I often find myself wondering
what my family would think if they ran into me now,
the differences that would stand out to them
from the last time they saw me, a year ago.
I usually stop at the obvious:
purple hair, eyeliner, thirty extra pounds.
I used to hope they'd stumble across me
sometime when I was at my most lost and lonely,
a selfish snapshot wished on them at my lowest.
That would show them, make them understand.
But now, today, I wish they could drive by
right this instant, and see me on the sidewalk,
loaded down with grocery bags
full of fresh fruit and sweet tea,
cradling an armful of giant sunflowers,
in love with June, and laughing
just because I don't have room for all this happiness
inside of me.

A postcard sent home.
Greetings from sunny My Life. Having fun.
Have mostly given up
Wishing you were here.
:iconsummerrayn:
Oh my gosh I am going to murder this poem and everything it loves. It is giving me such issues. For one, it really actively irritates me that all my poetry these days are these dumb diary subjects. Even though on some level I realize that it's stupid to be mad that all you can write about is your life, geez, who does that, right. But I can't come up with anything eelllllsssse. And where did my ability to do images go. Why do I always feel like I'm telling and not showing. Guh.

But also I feel like this poem somehow missed the point thematically. Like the last section comes off as a big "hang you, Imma be happy and see how you like THAT" or a "well I'm giving up and faking happy" or something which is ugh not how it's supposed to sound at all. It's supposed to be more like "I wish they could see me now just to know that everything is finally all right, I'm happy and that's good." I don't know what to do or how to change it. I thought of adding an "all my love" to the end of the 'postcard' sentiment, but that seems like a much weaker ending than what I've got. Thinking of changing the "mostly" to "finally"?

And of course I always hate my titles.

SOMEBODY HELP ME DISSECT THIS SUCKER AND MAKE IT WORK. I AM BEGGING.
:iconmissdudette:
*MissDudette Jun 20, 2011  Student General Artist
So much hate for such a neat little poem.
Reply
:iconsummerrayn:
~SummerRayn Jun 21, 2011
I know, I was kind of starting to froth about it! XD But I was trapping myself in this cycle of WRITING FRUSTRATION and agh. Some grudging distance of time has resulted in my acknowledging that it's not as bad as I thought but it's still... not quite right. Ngh. *Neverendingly self-critical*
Reply
:iconmissdudette:
*MissDudette Jun 24, 2011  Student General Artist
Well, I do like it. :). Just know that you can make a hobby into a chore if you don't keep it easy and have fun with it. :).
Reply
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