Romanov Sestina

Sword held aloft on the arms of a silent, old figure,
Shards in great flurries cascade through the ominous passage.
Smallest of boots hurry fast the whole length of red carpet,
Heads so discreetly averted from transparent windows--
Guardians fogging the youngest so desperately running,
Silently saving their Papa's mysterious secret.

Spinning on heels to retrace through their own concealed secret.
Racing the shadows of a towering, ominous figure
(Outlines of lips which with orders are constantly running,)
Children--the hunted-- dash back to their safe, secret passage.
Time then allows for the fleetingly opportune window;
Grants them their chance to slip under the discolored carpet.

Sliding on water, the boot heel unsettles the carpet.
Neither's to blame for unveiling their haven so secret.
Shots ring out, shatter the last of the isinglass window
(Back-up arrived for the enemy, as one may figure.)
Catching a glimpse of a boy taking off down the passage,
Coats begin swirling, the men moving in take off running.

Soldiers come raiding the home, several running
over the glass and the mud that sinks into the carpet.
Tessa remains with lips sealed for the shadow men's passage
over the chambers so bleak 'neath the tapestry's secret.
Woven deliberate, seeming a nonchalant figure,
Silk deceived not the intruders from spying the window.

Boots of fur stomp through the stone wall's cut window.
In children's wide eyes, a glass river starts running.
From beneath hair, faces turn to the shadowy figure...
Shots that might echo if not for the bloody, red carpet
silence Dmitri, forever concealing his secret.
Kicking up dust, Anastasia retreats down the passage.

Breezes of ice billow through the once comfortable passage.
Draperies flutter from jagged new holes in each window,
whispering, leaking the manor home's every dark secret.
Bases of statues collect dust with which they are running,
pooling the remnants of that which adorned the fine carpet.
Sword at his feet, there is nothing resembling that figure...

Gusts whip the secret through each gray and echoing passage.
Out full length windows the last of the shadow men's running,
Trampling the carpet that welcomed the figure's invasion.

---MRS 11/08

(I know there are grammatical errors and mistakes with the punctuation. I am just too lazy to fix it right now.)

(p.s. Mrs. Lowe loves this. I hate it. With a passion.)

one day you're in.

she just, she can't.
she only has to.
she knows the magnitude.
and she knows the sitch.

she can never fix it.
she can only watch.
shudder, cringe.

don't unravel.
you can't fall apart now.
hopelessness is not a stranger to her,
to fiver.

she writes and she wrote and she will write more if she needs.



listen to your saddest songs
listen to her. things will go wrong
and nobody should make these rhymes,
and nobody should have the time to read this.
but what if they need to?
she shouldn't need to.
you shouldn't need to because you shouldn't be there.
There is the place that holds you down.
There is where dreams are hidden.
the people There don't want what's best for you.

look up out of the well.
look up because she has been there and found the way out.
she can't show you, apparently.
she can't help you that much.
but at least she can let you know
that you can.



-MRS 10/19/08

ps. i think this sucks. but i really felt like i needed to write something even though i can't write anything.

faker

you don't miss her.
clearly.
and there are no words.
she writes anyway.
but there is nothing left to say.

just a tired apology that spins over and over
on a broken record.

a sigh of vinyl and we're nowhere new.
calendars marked up in hope
are only scars on her wall.

nobody can make it go away
because the cause was incomplete.
and you didn't get it.

she knows. she knew.
she just wishes it were different.
but that would make everyone different.
because they make it this way.

and she is so tired of being vague.
and she just wishes you would at least even the playing field.

guilt is ten times worse than sadness.
and she's got a bad case of both.
but you don't care enough to help her.
you didn't care.
and you don't miss her.
clearly.

--MRS 8/30/08

sochelle crab?

so she believes in it.
so what?
it is not what you said.
never what you said.
it's logical. sensible.
still lovely and ridiculous.
but practical.

revisions of older days,
in hindsight, unwise.
with today and with right now,
not a great idea.

but an idea, nonetheless.

---MRS 8/24/08

there can't be this much oil, can there?

this is not where I will break.
I cannot slip out of my sheets of comfort and family to simply fall apart.
I am needed. I am not narcissistic.
I cannot be missed.
nobody can be missed.
some doors will stay locked forever because their keys broke.
to risk it,
to put myself out there,
it is one thing.
to say I shall not perish.
that is another.
I will not fight.
we can not fight.
fire fuels fire and you’re letting it breathe
but still, calm waters can erase the ashes.

MRS 7/28/08

in the back of her mind, the end was inevitable.
her subconscious failed to warn her that she would be standing in a crumbling well.
however, her awareness changed, possibilities came into focus.
it’s no secret or lie that she’s erring.
your presence to raise the broken wings increase the pain that she already knows.
she needs you to need what she needs.
believe that this failure is not like an end she still seeks.

MRS 7/29/08

spectrum ends with little color between
where I ran on the “8,” you are jumping into a third.
will you anticipate? expect what may come?
my art shall refuse to disclose it to you.
some souls must do their own work.
this one yearns to travel with an hourglass to you.
allow it to tail the greater soul.
I will face what distracted me from rectitude.
one will aid in the picture if you only paint in the words.
the ashes themselves prevent framing the work.
so please build an encasement with oil paints
I promise to guard your faithful carpentry.

MRS 7/30/08

i have one more.

________

it is inconsequential.
it will not be heard.
it will not be understood.

read it and reread it.
it's crypted, crystal clear.

if you see it, will you read it?
(even though you wont look here)

-MRS 7/23/08

i hate to rhyme.

faceless days seemed so simple in the moonlight

Enter: Foreign, strange graveyards and battlefields.

I tried to stop the carrier for you.
Don't jump so dangerously.

Rooted here, shut eyes--glued and pinned--
are the only screen from reasonlessness

Yet: Past the fountain and around the corner
all along, forever was closer than we never knew.

I am following this map over eggshells and glass.
Vows to alertness can drag me after the bread crumbs.

The screens and stiflers may extinguish my fire.
[and may the pain fall out of step]

Could one only be sure of intentions
never to want their own puzzle pieces.

Some serpent you are, deduce for yourself.
The wrapping suffocation burns.

Hold on tighter, serpent,
let instinct overcome what it can.

It may be for no lack of effort
--but an obstacle course--greater than insignificance and fairytales

So molten and explosive...
stars so bright cannot keep wings.

When the feathers dry and dust away
the scale will adjust to accommodate me.

Gagged and bound, my message machine,
your stone can't match your ring so easily.

the hands push me on, but, snake, you can chase me with my words
to make me grasp subconsciousness while the filters age against you.

The natives know the ground
and they know (as do i) you've got it bad.

can you reach it?

-MRS 7/18/08

feel stronger, ____________

let her speak
let her breathe
let her tell you what she's saying
don't drown her where she should be
let her wander
let her stop.

it isn't fair to have her listen
then to leave her on a thought
wait for her words and her stories
then you may take off.

two-sided means two-sided.
it's only rambling if she's quiet.
it's only different when you're settled
but different isn't good.

let her see things
let her say things
don't be what you are afraid of.
even if she's just an echo.

-MRS 7/7/08

New Moon: Chapter 5

you hate it?
you can't believe it?
you feel sorry?

she doesn't feel like it's so special any more.
she is just as much a part of the world.
and clearly you can't escape it.

don't try picking her up.
this is where she's bound.
this place just calls to her, doesn't it?
it's raining in paradise.

it hasn't changed enough.
but you couldn't have waited,
just two more days.
really twist the knife.

so you're at 12 and 3 now.

-MRS 6/14/08

(What is the opposite of spare) change.

you could count in change what she has done.
you grin and bear your clothes that don't fit.
she doesn't want the better you have to make
it feels unreal.

what is real is separation and what is true is naïvety.
the adhesive is real. it's effectively true,
but one day, if neglected, the glue will dry out.
it will be all too blunt.

and in the coins that count her worth
she will protect you as best as she can
Chris and Michael can do only so much
and she has coins for only a little.

so maybe it will count for every cent that she spends trying.
she will be well spent, you are in good hands.
you just don't want to reach out.

so for each passing moment, she works that much harder.
every second expired, she earns a bit more.
so that each passing moment you spend in the ball pit,
you're watched over and kept safe from harm.

if finally, you see it fit to step out,
and change into something that breathes,
the right outfit is waiting, complete and divine.
ready to pay off.

her beauty is not the kind that's skin deep.
fringe benefits aside, she wouldn't be half so sweet or caring
unless somebody pushed her outside.

you must find your own way out, she will help you reach your goal
but the paths are yours to pick and choose.


-MRS
5.8-9.08

if it doesn't make sense

i cant hurt you. i dont want to hurt you. and i'm scared that i will. and i know that i will. and you just need to find this. i don't think i'm too big of a fan of immediate reactions.

this wall has been up from the start.
the start of everything.
and i thought that you knew that He would always come first.

i don't do hate and i refuse to be mad.
i do not expect the same.

no matter who you are,
you will only ever rank second best.
and you may be my world, you may be my home
but i have to---

i have to.......you......
you have to...
i don't know what to do.

--MRS 3/30/08

and if this doesn't make sense
you will know that it's not for you.

and if it does...
it isn't about you.
it's not for you
or against you.
if it does,
it is to you.

shamrocks

Each moment holds a memory,
Each memory sacred to me.

I can remember when I first arrived,
Condemned to this world.
And I remember that I was different.

And every new year would be something new,
Would be something brought up for a day
Until that thing was taken away
and I would cry, and I would stay.

Each friend could hold a memory,
Each friend would walk away from me.

For every soul contains a fire.
Masked by truth, there hides a liar.

And every moment sacred to me
I could not touch--I could only see.

Painful lies held memories
Each was revealed as real to me.

Then sadness took completely over,
Tearing and shredding my four leaf clover.

And darkness seeped into my mind.
It deafened me. It made me blind.

Each moment held a memory,
Each memory sacred to me.

As my figurative life reverted to ash,
Into deepness and darkness I fell.

Thrown by a person. Another liar.
Another clover to burn on my pyre.

Each liar held a memory
Each pyre took that liar from me.

And by the time my life is over,
There will be nothing left of my four leaf clover.

There never were to begin with, though.
But I tried not to let these weaknesses show.

Each moment was just a false memory
And I've lost all that is sacred to me.

And yet nobody really cares.
Why do my tears fill their hearts with such joy?

Each tear will hold a memory,
Each memory, nothing to me.

They will crumble under graves of stones,
Their bodies withered, down to bones.

Each bone holds all their memories,
Each memory...nothing to me.

Death's ocean sweeps their lives away.
And here, I cry. For here, I stay.

--MRS '04

Refugees

here's your last opening to save her from an absolute ending.
the pitfalls are calling her down, down.
you can hear them, right?
she went and fell.
instead, you've wrapped her problems in a sugar coating.
and she's melting and she's ruined.

you knew what revolution you spurred.
don't run from her.
don't run from me.
you can't shut her out.
you can't shut her up.
you can't shut her in here.
but she can't make this stop.

You can get her out
and you can save her life
and you can hold her hand!
you can take this back,
and you can still be free
but you just have to crack!
and you have to help me!

--MRS '05

"dance and explode"

doors shut down on her and the walls cave in
so that all she can see is the end
that is her last debut.

so she's been shattered and sitting in the depths
of your empty heart and now you've broken her
she's snapped out of your myth and now
she's stumbling too far out of reach.

you've had your chance and escorted your debutant.
her heart is broken and she's better off now,
but you gave it a shot and she was buried to deep.
you couldn't hold your breath long enough
to really reach her.

--MRS '04



The theologian cannot pray until he opens up his hands.
And the writer cannot think without first opening his mind.
The children will not learn to learn unless they open their ears.
And the artist will never truly love, regardless of what they do.

The heart and the being of the beautiful craftsman are all transcribed to paper.
The paintings, the sketches, the poetry, the songs, the artist releases everything into.
One man can only hold so much emotion and must transcribe it, somehow, to paper.
There, in sheets, on canvas, in strings, on sleeves...the heart. The artist's heart.

[You cannot express your feelings until you know them. And you can't know them unless you open up your heart. You have to know your own heart before anybody else can begin to know it. You need to go inside of it first to make sure you understand how it's feeling and you need to put it in order so that nothing escapes when it's open for everyone to see.]

And there, you are beautiful. You are broken and it is breathtaking.
Because now I can see you and now I can see your heart.
And it is perfect. You are perfect.

The artist may write and paint their heart
But words can only go so far.
--MRS 3/9/08

watchman

The stars are scattered in the farthest reaches,
Hidden from the eye of man.
Unable to align and unable to explode,
Stars are the holes in the universe at our fingertips.

Fables and Fairytales revolving around them,
The celestial brilliance rings mythical—
Untouched by hands, but there.
Present—always—and there.

Offering protection for the brave heart to ask of,
Guardians of Heaven’s construction of nature,
Unrelenting in their magnificence,
The fine flicker is always there.

What man can destroy or rebuild is his business.
The earth’s core remains unscathed.
The true beauty of gardens, beneath the ground,
Lies hidden in the roots.

Springs and caverns dwell beneath us,
Hidden from the hands of men.
Majestic even to seek to behold,
Although secluded to the blind.
And yet—they are staring us in the face.

While man may erase the radiant greens
Or mask the reds behind grays,
Above, there is fire—
Alive in the heavens.
Past cloud, beyond planets,
The Wonders are safe.
No effort of man may take precedence over—
The efforts of God—his construction of nature.

And though they remain shrouded in mystery,
They are clear to those who dare to look.
To the watcher’s of the night-time sky,
They are lucid and concrete and at hand.

obviously.

everything i thought about
and all of this conflict,
it hurts to think about right now.
but when i see you,
i know that none of it matters

in time, troubles will fade from your memory
and in time, what you thought would be history
will be scarcely a memory

then with those thoughts,
i'll fade too.
in time alone, i'll be erased

and it's ridiculous and unbelievable
but remember
even if i'm never there
and you've forgotten that i've gone,
remember that i'm thinking of you.

---MRS 2/4/08