Heather Arneson

writings: poetry

September 2012

Love is a ship taken by storm
And its remains visit us as if we were islands
Alone yet yielding
Unable to reject the advances of an ocean
Drowning itself each day
And time may wear us down
And time may bring us little
But we are what is strong
And we cannot be unyielding to what the storm
Has rendered lost
. . .

When the night was still
Ringing endless
Its little glances
Pools of shadows
Danced until
I felt freedom from sense
And my surrounding trees
The breadth of what I own
My happenstance
I tried to touch
The torrent of crushed leaves
Though they formed a cocoon
I fell into
And you fastened me
To the world beyond
A depth charge of light
In the midst of broken stars
. . .

Delusion depressed into marigold skin
Layers blooming into
The doorways you walk in
No one told you the Earth
Ruptured to give birth to you
And each day my mind
Slaughters beauty in every which way

Nothing could begin brilliance
Unless ending with the sun


Regret is sleepless
And never forgets to wake you
In the middle of dreams
It sends its misses and makes you feel
Like you have forgotten
But finally you are free
You see regret is the calm
After the storm
That represses the dynamics of death
It is the road that leads you
Post wreck
The sixth sense that replaces your sight
When you have been abused
And the light has gone out on the day too fast

Regret is an angel
Without wings that meets you for the first time
At your own doorstep
Reading headlines that have
Nothing to do with the world
And you stay away from the world for a while
Because it is too large

The Night Watchman

Closer to my touch he felt
Knelt and spilled my absent
Wandering eyes
That swept away the innocence
From his burning lips
Belying my new kingdom
A reconnaissance of reflection
Is the depth between the pills falling
And this night
Of arbitrary dreams
That leapt in my mind

He is my love
I am for him a last assault
For a life of a begotten child
Taken away
I only house these broken pieces of walls
I say
As he corners me into some fleeting form of truth
That tore at his mouth like a storm
Like showering stars of glass
I see him watching me through
I am my only vision
For a moment
A death concert for a minute
And he is my night watchman
Who cures the hollow with strands from a
Stealing the grave
With his only fire
. . .

Life is a nest
We purge it like it's a canyon
Flying from its love we protest
But it conquers the infantile
The truth in us
The terror and we try
Broken like an ocean
To figure out its cadence

At the Last Resort

The pain in your beauty
Makes me want to follow you home
But I am an earthworm
I wait until my mind melts down
The idiot villager I am to my
Two folds of a book I cannot read
The own vice is my skin and bone
Crawling for miles and miles
To my own city
Where I know everything
But you
And this is the electric bird of chance
My soul companion
The time that waits for
No man or woman
In the distance you beseech
An old word
To a new friend
Yes send me with a few kisses
In your eyes
No more lies
The mystery of you is what I read each night
Not myself
Not the world
When I develop a void from my voice
Into the tar of night
I travel light years beyond
The whirling orange piqued crest
That touches the stars when it wants to rest
The rhyme that decides when it comes and goes
The devil you have never been
Nor I when I laid in sin
My body, I want to burn
Like a hypocrite hating the temple of itself
But at the end when I'm at the last resort
Pray for me
And you will likely be my outstretched freedom

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©2012 Heather Arneson
©2012 Publication Scene4 Magazine

Heather Arneson is a poet and writer and is currently editing "Grange
Park", her first thriller novel. Her musical group "The Lyre Effect" features her spoken word poetry. More at:www.thelyreeffect.com.


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September 2012

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