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The Green Zone at MidnightLike human teeth, the boots crunch
the throat-clear truck revving
to ship the soldiers completely elsewhere;
beyond the stucco sheet concrete
of the barricade, the dead heft
of ordnance underwater sound
scattering stars like dark shoals.
Searchlights detonate in the hot gloom.
They spill through the cobwebs of wires
and lie white on the sand, in pieces.
Dead NoteI slipped and wrote a poem
soft as old playing cards
the plastic snapped from the keyboard,
my finger pocking rubber like
a dead piano note; dust-breath.
Missing key, lone and ridiculous
as a Scrabble tile.
I slipped and wrote a poem
blunt as a hollowpoint.
The soft silt of flour on the keys,
globes of oil left jointed sinews
spelling sharp advice from the sweating
chocolate block, the slim kitkat
of the spacebar.
I slipped and wrote a poem
dead as stardust.
The thrum of typing through the letter mist,
insect clouds of occasional undressed
punctuation, crowded like yet-to-be-formed
letters failing to imagine the quiet indignity
of their shapes.
The CometWe stood shivering, my Dad and I, shrunk
under enormous arctic air, watching
the source of all tears spin silk into the stars.
Homeward bound, this mote-borne traveller;
pilgrim after warmth and light, a shattered vase
with nothing to end its fall, spilling glass dust
into a darkness larger than the fever-dreams of God.
Four thousand years ago, it lit the night
and saw the Akkadians scattered like dolls,
a forest of flags tattered in the chalk of moonlight;
urus turning the pages of the ocean;
the hundred-year pharaoh narrowing
rheumatic eyes at the first clear gleam of bronze.
You fall back into those millennia of night;
our planet turns, tilts us into darkness and dust.
Soweto StringsTremolo dusk. Sunlight rills cast
nets along the tigerstripe waist
dusted by ringlets of rosin smoke.
Protea's loose purple shade
sediments the honeyed brazilwood,
the heartache of acacia down in Soweto;
liquid boléro of heat. Zephyrs trill the aloe's
luthier curves, the purfling of matchbox houses.
Strings tuned to four crystal fifths, glazed
by the vibrato breeze.
RuinThis sluice of swamp,
weed-throttled and starred
by lilies mossed benches
lit by lichen like a night of fireworks
and the dregs of forgotten picnics
lost to sleep crumbs.
The gunfire of a diesel ticking over,
heaping sods of dry earth teeth
polished to a gleam of blue steel
by sparked stones.
Engines row against the earth,
snarling it with mesh and acetate,
pestling stone to powder under tangerine totems
riddled like the sides of bullet-flecked tanks
straining at their hydraulic sinew.
In the ruins where we
cricked our necks,
lost in the tent of shadows
where we strung candles and
the brambles still search
over sheaves of broken bricks.
But it won't Come OffHe is trying to wipe a stain from his spectacles.
His doe eyes are shallow pools black with bloom,
nodding from the glasses in his hand to the
bench's arpeggio score of faces.
The courtroom light cuts gems from the lenses
they squeal at the silk; he blinks deep as a frog,
huffing beads of breath on the cold glass.
A mote of dust caught from the cracked earth,
baked dry by how many summers cemented
by hot spit whipped in the oven air.
There is a cough, and he fumbles like a man
catching his dreams; his glasses lurch
like splinted birds and he clips them with a breath.
He is trying to wipe a stain from his spectacles.
They flash for an instant like rain-glazed windows:
a school filled with skulls, lined up like a jury,
teeth falling into their mouths like nuts.
On reflectionOn looking back into your past
thinking how the time flew by,
you stop seeing the important things in life,
while struggling to survive.
Worrying about the future
and the mistakes made long ago,
disturb your peace of mind at present
you just can´t let it go.
Your errors are over and done with,
your past you´ve left behind.
The future ahead is a blank slate
so to yourself be kind
Stop worrying about what might not be
or dwell on your wrongs with regret
best to live in the here and the now
For it´s the key to real happiness.
Written by Suzanne Karbach sept 2014
SeptemberSuffering in this world of hate;
Emitting my sorrow through my fate;
Preparing my life for the treacherous fight;
Taming the fury through what I write;
Empowering the voice that’s always screaming,
Marking its words from what I’m dreaming.
Being weak from the torture of the past,
Engraving worded scars that’ll forever last.
Remembering why I keep surrendering
In this month of September,
Where I’ll keep weeping…
QuatrainMirrored by a rippling shadow
Looming over the watery reflection
Their bodies reaching high with golden tips
Bestowed by the waning light of nature
Burdened by an ageless battle
Their old scabrous impression
The serene elevation over Earth's pits
Nestled within verdant nature's cradle
Pelted by hail until leaves turn to tatter
The leaves regrow with nature's own fixation
High enough to grasp the sky to sip
Drinking deep from Neptune's own ladle
Dancing WavesCan I see fire as energy
When I look into the candle
A message from the atom's make
Such beauty I cannot handle
To touch enlightens from contact
But flesh plays paltry passage
So scorn is thrown by cosmic hands
With feelings of burning sage
So touch my gaze that tries to see
Why the tongue speaks to the air
Perhaps to endless waves unseen
That inferior I say is bare
Epiphany then takes me whole
That racks my waking hours
And wrapt as babe in natal womb
My struggle no longer matters
For I will always be upraised
Afloat this sea invisible
The energy I see as flame
So radiates across the sill
Onto my palms where ashy scars
To them I feel no pain
As I breathe in this field of life
Dancing cross my face
Can I see fire as energy
While all its children guide
My mind to its enormity
Encompass all inside
Still I falter in this thought
But forget the angst for now
Because this sea will sail me far
And always I upon the bow
Listening to your lies..Pulling on my insides..
Spilling my intestines..
Burning my throat..
Searing my body.
Listening to your lies,
is like being stung with a million bees,
being stabbed a million times,
being set on fire,
and then peed on..
Stop lying to me..Just tell me what you really mean!
Time WanderersIt is that time of day where she must flee
From her cursed eternal hunter:Run!
He wishes to rid her curse and be free
And yet for years he never got it done
She plays all day throughout her adventures
Time-warp point is what she must find after
It's her destiny and curse, only hers
By mistake, he joined the ride forever
He succeeded in finding her one day
And she offered her life, open and true
But he could not kill his desired prey
For he felt pity and something else too
There was strong friendship and love- a connection
That echoes throughout their timeless affection
I Won The FightYou have no power over me, I repeatedly said
As you first struck my face, then my head
I love you so much, you repeatedly said
But rather than let you go, I’ll first see you dead
I love you, you brutally beat out of me
Now convince the world that I am the man of your dreams
For too many years, twin ribbons of guilt and shame tied you to my heart
While sledgehammers of fear and pain tore my world apart
But like an artist, I airbrushed away each unflattering mark
For too many years, I tip-toed through life trying to gauge
Every word I said, every move I made,
Never knowing which would set off your untamed rage
And as the world moved on without me
My one true desire was to be set free
But leaving was far more intimidating than you could ever be
Still, I had no other choice, you see
To save my own life, I’d have to escape
From this prison of torture that you alone created
So I dug down deep and found strength in my soul
And from weakness, I became so very bold
I reclaimed the f
Wrap me in ink, wrap me in beauty.
Only break the silence to say something soothing.
Wrap me in beauty, wrap me in water.
Is there bad news to share? Save it for later.
Wrap me in water, wrap me in black.
I will be gone a while, then I'll be back.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More