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I Took To Howling With YouI was shy at first, timid in my dealings,
I laced the trap against my throat,
sang sparing, tip-toed
around your poems.

The tone, the slow vibrating
from the shoots of my shoulders
to the gleam of polished talons,
it purred around inside me.

Oh the song, Coyote,
the same resigned call, it
paled before you, swallowed down its insides,
wept.

I took your little hand in my big hand,
flew out towards Crow, and for a while
My Love, there were poems
and the world was enough.

I took to howling with you,
down from the branches, safe
womb of the tree, I spread
dirt between my toes, sang happy,

sang the song of free,
your wild howl
compareeins.

you were

the smoke pouring out of her mouth,
(misty coils of a vague filth,
dancing to noir jazz, fading with each note)
smudged lipstick on the side of of her mouth,
and the little streak that crawled to her tooth
when she bit her lip in a supposed wonder,
and her eyes threw a faint film over themselves,
(like an elegant lady wraps a silk shawl around herself in a light breeze)

zwei.

you had

the light feet of a dancer
whose calluses were hidden under tight shoes,
whose toes would arch like Nut over her children,
(and she or you would spin with the earth, holding her frame as if-
as if earth was something of mass, as if
chromaWe were merely children when the stars came.

They rained down from the sky in a burst of light, like shards of glass pouring down from the heavens. Supernovas blooming in the night sky, petals raining down onto the barren earth - angels, falling with their wings sheathed, glowing, as they glided down. We watched, starstruck, as the glow overtook us - we were mesmerized. We waited with bated breath as the meteors landed, the celestial light subsiding as dark forms started to pick themselves up from the dust.

They moved towards us with an otherworldly grace, their steps leaving no marks on the earth as they descended upon us. Frozen to our sp
When your hands can mimic birdsWhen your hands can mimic birds,
you lose the need for sound.
A flight of words that bear no chirp
are none the less profound.

They don't perch on a pitch.
They don't possess the need .
They fly until you've seen their song,
then silently recede.

No one could find more freedom than
the freedom granted flight.
No one can see more beauty than in
words passed left to right.
if only, if only.i.
we drove nowhere
and we spoke a language
that nobody understood
underneath a foreign sky
blanketed in the scent of pine.

ii.
you told me
my eyes were like envelopes—
because they were always
opening
closing
fluttering to the sound
of breaking seals
and ink stained fingertips.

iii.
i told you
we should run away
to a new land
with new faces
because
i was enamored
with people i had never encountered
and places i had never gone.

iv.
you laughed at me
and said that
if i didn't spend
so much time with my head
buried in world maps
i would realize
that i was living on one.

v.
i remember
it rained that day
and the tea went cold
but the
I Of YouI want you to break
and never bend for me,

see my history
spiderweb your brilliance
till you belong to me
(and I, to you)
utterly and forever

and know
you cannot stop this.
Automatici.
"So where are you from?" The boy leans toward me, questions swimming in his eyes. I smile.

"Oh, I'm from Boston."

"No, I mean, where are you from?" My smile falters as I realize where this is going. It's an all-too familiar conversation, one I've been having since I was old enough to reply.

"Do you mean where was I born?"

"Yeah."

"I was born in China."

"Do you speak Chinese?"

"No."

"Does your family speak Chinese?"

"No."

He looks befuddled. I sigh.

"I'm adopted."

"Oh!" I see the light bulb over his head go off in a shower of sparks. "Do you know who your real parents are? Like, your real parents?" My temper flares. I stifle th
Come Home: A PantoumYou'll always come back to me
when the lights in the far hills
are done searching. For, new beds

entice adventurers. Too,
when the lights in the far hills
come home, the homespun dream they

entice adventurers too,
but they can't. (Dream we're neither.
Come home.) The homespun dream they

turn pioneers to homebodies,
but they can't dream we're neither,
our wanderlust fit to turn

pioneers to homebodies.
We've always made love free, so
our wanderlust fit. To

turn ourselves towards our home
we've always made love. Free. So
when the last adventurers

turn themselves toward their homes
in faraway lands, I know,
when the last adv
This Common BloodI am young when I first hear the word 'adoption'. I am so very young, perhaps three, maybe four. I accept it easily when my mother sits me down and explains that I did not grow beneath her heart, but rather in it. I nod my head, smile big, and ask when I'm getting a little sister. My mother kisses me on the forehead and puts her hand on my head as she stands up. "If you wish on a star, Sarah, maybe she will be here very soon." I practice my wishing until night's companions wink merrily in the sky.

Dear Anna,
I turned seventeen just recently. I thought of you when I woke up, and I wondered if you were thinking of me. I like to think that you
for unseeing eyesladen with sky
we stumbled
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.

between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
steady-soft,
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.

keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
and somehow
build kingdoms under
upturned noses.

with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determinat
hindsightAt one time, we followed
the fires of July like fools in love
with heat smothered on our raw anatomy--
but fall has wrought our kindling into cinders,
carried it away on the earth's currents and sighs.

Here we see the girls with pressed skirts and
polished Mary Janes catch drifts of oak leaves,
pale-downed arms reaching for the bleached clouds
of late September,

and when the boys with all their chivalry abandoned
come searching for pig tails and rounded thighs,
we watch the snow eat an old world
from our separate park benches.
Cigarettes lay crumpled on the ground,
dead soldiers from our last war.

But when I open my eyes again,
SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.

You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribs—and then against each other's.

November became solstice, and
Like petals and leavesWhen she thinks of him, she thinks of tree branches:
spindly fingers spread out, stretching
in angles wide for handfuls of sky.

And she thinks of him.

She thinks of him digging his toes
into soft, damp sand,
wading in shallow depths before
being carried by crescents of the sea.

She thinks of him in a blur of curls, in the
warmth on her waist and the coolness on her lips,

pressing the memories and the maybes
like petals and leaves
to paper.

And she thinks of him.
DormantWinter is a blank slate,
but not like Rousseau's—
it cleanses
sucking out warmth like poison
leaving only windburnt frost
tacked to the window pane

all we remember
is the numbness
the shuddering
skittish steps across the ice
snowflakes pasted to our faces
smoke rising from our lips
dragged across bleak clouds

winter has us captured
bound by fur and walls
drifting in our eggshelled silence

bone cold until we birth ourselves by warmth
emerge from our shells wet and heaving
uncurl our fingers one by one
joints crackling like fire at our backs

until spring comes
drip by tender drip
old wounds thaw
we are found raw,
What Soft DreamsWhat soft dreams we lay -
What soft dreams, like infants put to rest -
Frightfully bare, and compromised,
Our kisses on their breasts.

We close our eyes and trust them safe,
Kept 'til break of dawn -
Forgetting that the night is fickle,
And dutifully, as long -

It safeguards some,
Covets others,
Moved by neither coin nor threat
Nor anguished mother's cry.
Browse More Like This
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More from ~HoldTheNoise

4: DarkSleepwalking:

My sight a'skewed and pupils wide
I dance the night away.
My dampened skin
Grows cold and thin
When stepping in the fray.
As once warm apparitions pass
In junctures and in fleets
I crystallize these warming flits
Of once sweet memories.
In bed I lay and here he stays
To keep awake my dreams.
When sunlight clears
He reappears
And all my fears reprieve.
When windows crack and curtains fail
Into the ground he flees
I think he's dead
But 'round my head
His shadow follows me.
She Smokes Away Her SinsBurning.
Burning.
Always
      burning
is the cylinder flak of her blunt.
Sweet.
Sweet.
Forever
       sweet
was the cigarette's soft serenade.
it sang away her thoughts.
Ticking.
Ticking.
       ticking
was the conduit of hour glass sand, suspended in the air between her glass lips.
Decreasing.
Decreasing.
       decreasing
were her minutes.

to seconds.

and Then...

Nothing.
2: LoveLove is a reflection.
A thin, fragile mirror, spinning on a string in the corner of your mind.
It's vision blurred by the vortex of misidentified emotions swelling around it.

Love is an illusion.
An emotion invented as a kinder substitution.
It is an overcompensating label humans assign
to selfish attachments driven by personal gain and search for self-satisfaction.
It is a band aid of guilt.

Love is a paradox.
An infinite cycle of REcycled emotions.
Each time it is used expenses in larger restorations,
Requires higher maintenance,
And yet, we remain in love with the concept.
3: LightLight is not living, yet carries a pulse
Light is not running yet follows it's course
Light is perfection yet shows every flaw
Light is deception and breaks every law
Light is the burden which young shoulders bare
Light is the heart which the innocent wear
Light is the tip of a cigarette's nose
Light is a mixture we're not meant to know
Light is the dew on the grass growing damp
Light are the streets at the feet of a lamp
Light are the stars in appearance and mass
Light are the waves over beaches of brass
Get The Message?
Fair velvet pedals of rosy red lips
Atop a white powder frame.
Knuckles and nails and pink polished tips
Enveloped with spider-silk train.

Pincushion padlock, striped velvet braids
Elastic belt buckles of gold
Off centered jawline and neck full of crooks
Placid eye
Lashes of black painted hooks
Eyes growing dimmer, it's worse than it looks

For the people who run this parade
My Fear  Have I an empty, naive mind
For fearing which I feel?
Not palpably, nor physically,
But imagery unreal.
  I do not fear the darkness
For my flaws are hidden there.
I do not fear the pains of death
Nor tipping of the chair.
  I do not flinch from loosing love
But burn the bridge it built
Like laces of a tapestry
Unfolding threads of guilt
  But I fear of being locked away;
Broken wings won't fly.
Chained beneath a roof of stars
And tortured by the sky.

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November 1, 2012
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[x]

October Eyes

:iconholdthenoise:


Such gentle colors drip across your freckled shoulder blades.
A quilt of puddled watercolors soaked in auburn shades.

Spun of golden rivulets and rinsed in autumn skies,
So many endless currents swimming through your lonesome eyes.

Brushing under fingertips and over shattered songs,
Unraveling like morning glaze against my paling palms.

With beauty like October hills and hollow as the skies,
The water drops against the earth will be our lullaby.
:iconholdthenoise:
Something I just recently dug up from my trip to the Tennessee Mountains not too long ago. I completely forgot this poem existed actually (x

EDIT:
Oh my goodness, thank you all so much for my very first DD!! I'm so honored I don't even know what to do. Thank you to all the people who have taken the time to read it and to all the lovely comments! It is all greatly appreciate~! :blowkiss:
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Daily Deviation

Given 2012-11-13
October Eyes has enchanting rhyme and a lilting rhythm. Have some words, courtesy of ~HoldTheNoise ( Suggested by ~Nyatto and Featured by ^NicSwaner )
love 23 23 joy 9 9 wow 2 2 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconcoliri:
Mood: Love ~Coliri May 2, 2013  Student General Artist
Tan simple y tan hermoso <3
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:iconholdthenoise:
Mood: Love ~HoldTheNoise May 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
aw, muchas gracias!
Reply
:iconraynechordalyne:
~RayneChordalyne Feb 25, 2013
I really like this... I can see it becoming a song, all too easily.
Reply
:iconholdthenoise:
~HoldTheNoise Feb 28, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Haha, if only I could write music!! ^^;
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:iconimaginative-lioness:
*imaginative-lioness Feb 22, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I have featured this piece in my journal: [link]
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:iconholdthenoise:
~HoldTheNoise Feb 25, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much!! (:
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:iconnotensmsk:
~NotenSMSK Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Hello there :) first, congrats on the DD! This work surely deserved it :) Now lets see... well there is little critical to say. I love the rhyme and rhythm and the soft expressions with wonderful meter just make one read it again and again. Wonderful imagery! I would say that the beauty of the work is in the flow of it. Anyways, good job and keep writing!
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:iconholdthenoise:
~HoldTheNoise Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much. I really appreciate the kind words! :hug:
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:iconnotensmsk:
~NotenSMSK Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
You are welcome :)
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:iconateendra:
~Ateendra Dec 23, 2012
Thrilling. :D Nice, nice. :D
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