Lime

26 December, 2019
by vintageblack
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Random / Poetry 
Venomous snake
That bites my ankle.
Slimy mark
Imprinted on my skin.

I did not even notice
I was trespassing
Your green garden.
The one that
I used to step upon 
With naked feet.

I distance myself,
Dancing,
Dangling my legs
Under my polka-dotted skirt.

All I needed
Was to doodle
Small figurines
On your blank notebook.

Doodle away,
And take a sip of coffee.

Famine abounds
And you need
To stop wasting away.

Willingness is the wonderful
Gift of the soul bearers.
They instill
Fanciful thoughts
And set them alight.

Open sky,
A broken key,
Bringing down
The merry outskirts.
They do not want
To kneel and fight.

I run to the forest,
I bite on lime, 
And by the finish line
I doodle away.

If only I wasn't wearing
My polka-dotted skirt.

Blinking

24 December, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry 
Sailing solo,
Sand and songs,
One wet page,
All sweet and dour.

I feel the soothing caress
Of the steaming bath.
I smear the mirror
With wet tenderness.

Cold water,
Lashes at my back.
I lash out,
As if your long hands
Were grasping
Golden rings
That my fingers
 Will never wear.

 Sad song, 
 Blinking boat
 Sailing solo.

Night Barking

23 December, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry 
Stretch out your hands,
Caress the book covers,
Savor their titles,
Enjoy their pensive skin.

Don’t fear fun
Embrace the wonder
Of those sad stories that
You almost dreamed.

Yellowed pages,
Dog-eared chapters.
The words
You didn’t write
Are truly yours.

Like black magic
Ink disappears.

With empty lungs, I bark,
And I bow to the writer
From the resolute wisdom
Of the starry desert.

Like black magic
Ink disappears.

These are the books
you should have written.
Your travel companions
To the afterlife.

This very barking night.

Seamstress

17 November, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry / Random 
Humanistic woman,
Yet not humane,
Fat with ideas
Bursting off the seams.
 
Can’t keep 
Probing her thoughts
In a world that
Laughs at its own jokes.
 
She tightens her belt
But fragmented sentences
Keep rumbling
Inside her belly.

She can hear them
Revolting in her guts.
 
She is hungry,
She doesn’t even know
How to keep her diet in check,
How to digest all those stewed letters.
 
Fat with ideas
Bursting off the seams. 
She is hungry,
Yet she doesn’t even know
How to concoct
Some random verses.

There is not even rhyme
And even in freestyle
That is a recipe for disaster.
Read fast,
And eat up
Till there are no words
Left in the pantry.

Come over
Lithe seamstress.

Stumble

31 October, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry / Random 
Wonder woman
With a red nose,
Cannot see
Beyond her wide ears.

Untidy stare
That fixes upon
A yellow mountain.

Her eyes wide open,
Her sticky toes
And those clown shoes
That make her stumble.

Lipstick paints her cheeks
And decorates the room
That she inhabits.

Cry away
To the dark crowd
And cheer up,
Remove the paint.

Wonder woman
with a red nose,
Your eyes wide open
And your sticky toes.
Cry away
To the dark crowd
Remove the shoes
That make you stumble.

Near

30 October, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry 
Fresh mint leafs
Refreshing my throat,
Yet I keep savouring
Those purple feelings.

And as I sip on this wine
I envisage a time
When I reveal
My meandering thoughts 
To an unwanting world.

Spineless fear
That bends out
And sparkles away
In an undeserved manner.

I bow to you,
I levitate,
And all I want
Is to get near.

I just want to sleep.
And to never look back.
I count the golden linings
Above my head
Those ones in the shape
Of crying clouds.

All too near.

Tears

27 October, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry 
Everyone bowing
To the righteous rule
Of the Ohm goddess,
Who pierces through
Their ears
With her siren song.

There will be blood
But there will be none
From yogis,
The smell 
Of imported incense
Already dried away
Their veins. 

Restlessness
Is their heroic pastime
Of yonder years.
Yet revolt is in the air.

For they can kill
With their blank stare
And soft fingers
And watery teeth.
Yet they should not
Oppose their tears.
Sediments 
Of wonderful fears.
Fears of salty unrest.

 Unrest in my heart,
 I want to follow them
 Down their path
 Of salty obedience.
 Yet I resist.
 All I want 
 is to fly away,
 Melt into the horizon.
 I close my eyes,
 The imaginary wave
 Cradles me
 Into sleep.
 
Revolt is in the air.
They should not
Oppose their fears.
Sediments 
Of wonderful tears.
Tears of salty unrest.

Mellow

16 October, 2019
by vintageblack
comments 3
Poetry 
Silently mellow
 Like a mellifluous flower
 That stands tall
 Facing the silky bushes.

 My trainers are too small,
 My feet do not want to obey,
 And amongst all the shrubbery
 A pansy tickles my ankles.

 I want to shout,
 He wants to cry,
 Relieved
 That he is no longer
 Lost in his deranged speech.

 Forever flowery.
 Facing the bushes.
 Silently mellow.

 It wonderfully tickles
 like a thorny rose,
 and I resist.
 My soul finds solace
 That a restful place
 He finally encountered
 During his languid sleep.

 Meandering along
 He picked an olive tree
 the seeds of which he’d planted.
 Enjoy the soft caress of your pillow.

 Silently mellow
 Like a mellifluous flower
 That stands tall
 Facing the silky bushes.

 I stand up,
 I flounder
 With an unimaginable desire
 To wildly burst open
 Like a blooming fish.

 I can’t scape,
 I will jump
 Into the nearest puddle.
 Bubbles come and go.

 Forever flowery.
 Silently mellow.
 Meandering along
 He picked an olive tree
 the seeds of which he’d planted.

What the Eyes Can’t See

6 October, 2019
by vintageblack
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Random 
A little mouse in the kitchen
Quietly hidden 
Behind lower cupboards.
He seems hypnotized 
By cooking smells.
 
He wants to escape
His hiding place,
But a dog lurking around
He senses.

 Some breadcrumbs
 Fell off while dishing away
 A poor man’s toast,
 so I leave them there
 for the little mouse's tea.

 The suave hunter
 Now enters the room.
 The mouse is scared and silenced,
 As he can smell 
 His early morning death.
 
Momo is shedding,
The floor is full of hair.
His stomach is rumbling,
The mouse will turn
into woolly snow one day.

I turn a blind eye
And leave the room.
A new chapter is
Waiting for me
By my bedside table.
 
There are no sounds, 
And on the floor
The hair remains unswept.
There are no dry tears either
For what the eyes can’t see.

Lantern

16 September, 2019
by vintageblack
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Poetry 
With green and yellow shadows
 Your ferocity I admire,
 You misbehave
 Like a house in ruins.

 Yet everyone is there
 To pick up your rainbow pieces
 When your stride falters.

Peripheral vision 
 Does not abound
 In your sea of cobblestones.

 If only I had a lantern.

You sigh, and that sight
 truly pierces
 Through my thick skin.

 You didn’t even know I had skin,
 and when it got dry, 
 It blistered
 Like your little soul
 Of Green and yellow shadows.

If only I had a lantern.