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Today, I Am Still ThereToday the wind is warm
and carries scents that spark my memory.
Today, I am not here.
On a day much like this
I shattered my spirit;
splintered shards slid from my spine,
through shattered vertebrae,
and clung to cracks in walls,
then scattered on the wind.
Today I can feel those fragments,
I can smell it in the musty scent of books
that takes me back to the house made of paper and words.
Some fragment would remain there, I know,
even if not for the fall.
Today I smell roses,
I feel warmth against my skin,
and hear birds chirping hymns to the spring;
sometimes I can almost hear
footsteps on the deck,
and I wonder
if I even miss the sun.
Today, I am still there.
Today I can feel wind in my hair,
and if I close my eyes,
I can catch that fragment that still flies,
zipping past the sidewalks
on legs strong above the blades.
Today, I ride the wheels I long for.
I've always heard I was was an air spirit;
sound and scent my guides,
and to

Dark MotherBleed your colors to the ground,
let them swirl in the vortex of your breath.
The gathering chill escaped from your lungs
whispers the green earth into death.

Dark Mother, keep the spirits
you hold within your hands.
Souls eternally bidden,
soaked and seeped into the land.
Dark Mother, keep your fury
quivering deep within the ground.
Harm us not, but let us hear
the power of that sound.
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the sun falls from the sky.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Dark Mother, stir your cauldron
deep living waters of rebirth.
Wash clean this wretched wreckage
we have wreaked upon the earth.
Dark Mother, shall we reap
all that we have sown?
When spring returns will you be there?
to light our path toward home?
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the seasons slowly die.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Will you exhale a merciful breath,
to warm our world once more?
Or stop the wheel from turning,
leave us trappe

The Ballad of SerenityA nightingale in a birch nearby,
sang a song that made her cry.
"Another note and I shall die!"
Her threat was met with no reply.

And so she rested by the stream,
and heard the crickets softly dream.
She watched the cattails kiss the stars,
believing heaven not so far.

"And here is where I shall be free,"
whispered fair Serenity.

The orphaned child, the strange young girl
born into an ancient world.
No elegance or skill had she
but the ballad, of Serenity.

She was cursed with just one song:
a ballad haunting, soft and long.
The words were never hers to hear,
but danced always beyond her ear.
On harp, flute, lyre she wiled aw

Tragic BeautyI remember lying in my hospital bed at the physical rehabilitation facility, far too many years ago, staring at a picture of a little girl. Someone had brought it in for me, though I didn't remember who or why. In the picture she was wearing shorts, and leaning to feed bread to the ducks gathered around her. I stared at the little girl's legs and cried. She was beautiful.

"I broke you," I whispered to her. "I'm so sorry I broke you. I never meant to. Please, forgive me." And she did, of course. But I'm not sure if that made it better or worse.

There was a poet staying in the room next to me. He was a brain trauma patient, unlike me. For so

White OwlThe white owl opens up her eyes,
sways her vision to the skies;
seeking out a creature's cry,
through the woods' nocturnal sigh.

In the darkness crickets sing,
far beneath the owl's white wing.
Dew drops to the leaves still cling,
sparkling with a lucent sheen.

Senses alert, she prepares for flight,
hearing creatures near their plight,
she spreads her wings into the night
silent as moonlight, and as white.

December RainThrough mist, through my eyes, I see I am blind
my soul hath no knowledge, heart hath no sight
through my ears the wind blows, cold as the night
deafening me to the sounds of my mind

The sun, his face shining, mocks me with light
his bright severe finger pointing at me
illuminates things I can't bear to see
nowhere to hide, I am faced with my plight

But rain falls, empathic, drowning my cry
her icy chill numbs me so I cannot
feel memories of a heart so distraught
thus consoling me with tears from the sky

And if the rain cannot drown my sorrow
She will cry with me until the morrow

Copyright 2010 Julia Rain Jeys Wellman. All Right

Saltwater VeinsWe chased unfamiliar coastlines,
crossed a continent of earth,
abandoned Northwest shorelines
like broken shells upon the beach;
drove straight ahead, towards looming Atlantic,
laid down roots in an East Coast state
without a shoreline.
But I missed my rocky beaches,
crashing waves swirling sea-spray
against wind-reddened cheeks,
breathing life into salted lungs.
So we chased the Atlantic northward,
up the coast, snaking up Route One,
a wending wave of rocky coastline.
I leaned to touch the water,
and it flowed fast from my fingers -
'til I turned, and
the Atlantic chased me up the beach,
caught me fast in its swell,
froze me in place as seafoam
lapped hungry at my heels,
swallowed ankles seasoned with brine.
My feet sunk into sand
locked between sea and shore
unable to move for fear of falling,
of being swallowed whole.
Then gentle waves released me
sopping wet against the sand
And now I feel the pull
of coastlines east and west
tides rent me from within,
s

Unmarred Memento

I thought about how I cut my palm
falling on sharp rock
while we searched the lost and found
of the sea, hoping for treasure.

I wondered if the ocean
would take our lives as payment
for the wares it could not recover
until high tide -
when we would be long gone,
warm inside the cottage on the bluffs,
admiring our pilfered discoveries,
safe from the sinuous fingers of waves.

While outside the foghorns bellowed
and the mist crept in
through cracks too small to see,
seeping into our seaside refuge,
to once again caress
the lost shards of its kin.

I watched the blood swirl in the water
as white sea foam rushed forward
to colle

The PromiseYou promised me, my love, you see, and I shall not forget.
We climbed the tower stairs as the bell solemnly chimed.
"If life forbids our love, then in death we shall wed."
You took my hand, we kissed our last, and off the edge we stepped.
But you let go, so I alone, plunged into the night.
But you promised me, my love, you see, and I shall not forget.
So I wait for you now, my love, for I know you must regret
Your eyes were flick'ring candles as you watched me die.
"If life forbids our love, then in death we shall wed."
You'll see me there again, some night, waiting by the tower steps.
You'll take my hand, I'll lead you up, up into the sky.
You promised me, my love, you see, and I shall not forget.
The bell will toll an exaltation, before we paint the ground deep red.
I'll whisper back the words you spoke upon our midnight flight:
"If life forbids our love, then in death we shall wed."
I'll ghost a kiss across your lips, to steal your final breath
Then look into your candle-eyes, and s

DreamsDreams. An odd word, isn't it? For it means two very different things. Dreams are your goals, your aspirations. They are also the visions that come to you in sleep. Why do we use the same word for them?

I am beginning to fear that my dreams are interfering with my dreams. I fear I may, in fact, be addicted to dreaming. I spend my life dreaming now, one or the other, asleep or awake: the two definitions wrestle with each other for control of me, like a rag doll, I am pulled back and forth, in and out, feeling nothing but stretched and shamed.

I am sick. I am damaged. I sleep. I truly think if I were to lie down right now and time was of no i

Announcing The First Lit-Visual Alliance CONTEST!Announcing the first contest for the
:iconlit-visual-alliance:
What is the Alliance, you ask?
The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists.
So. In the spirit of `thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I would try to do something about that. And so :iconlit-visual-alliance: was born.
As often as I hear literary artists complaining about lack of exposure, I hear visual artists complaining of a lack of inspiration and motivation to create art. And that, I must say, is simply nonsense. There is a massive amount of inspiration to be found on dA - and it's called th

Winter Alliance Contest!

Greetings, fair Allies! It is my pleasure to announce the Winter Alliance Contest!

:iconlit-visual-alliance:
What is the Alliance, you ask?
The Alliance is a project group intended to encourage visual and literary artists to work together. I've felt for some time that the dA Literature Community can at times be somewhat insular - to its detriment. We in the Lit Community are also sometimes prone to griping about the lack of exposure our work receives when compared to that of visual artists. So in the spirit of ^thorns brilliant Complaint Challenge I thought I would try to do something about that. And so the Alliance was born!
Because I, your founder, have a deep and abiding love for the seasons, this group will now host seasonal contests, and as the Autumn Contest is now over, it is time for Winter to reig

This Strange World That No Longer Contains YouThey say I'm like you. I hope they're right. They've been saying it for a long time.
My parents always wonder how they ended up with such a polite, demure, sweet, pure little thing. Though of course you and everyone else know what a hellion I can be. But I certainly didn't get any of those aforementioned positive qualities from them. I have you to thank for those.
You raised the entire family and handfuls of our friends. You are Grama to the entire town. But you're my Grama, (even if you're really my great-grandmother), and I was the lucky one out of all of us who seems to have taken after you.
They tell me I'm positive. I'm strong. I'm resilient. I'm not sure I see it. But they said the same about you, and I certainly saw that. They say I'm taking news of your death positively, because I'm glad that even though I was not present, my friends were, your other grandchildren, yours because they were mine. Or perhaps the other way around. I'm sure your cooking earned me more than my

PassionYou look me over
And you turn away
You lead my heart
Into silent decay
'Cause you want something beautiful
Want something beautiful
You want something beatiful
So you look away

Well, this I call passion
This I call real
Are you ready to see me?
Are you ready to feel?
But you don't see anything
You don't see anything
No, you don't see anything
'Cause you don't see me

You speak such wise words
But won't believe what I say
Think you've got to hold out
For some brighter day
'Cause you want something real
Want something real
You want something real
But you turn away

And, this I call passion
This I call real
Are you ready

It's Not About FameThese words within me,
singing just beneath my skin
are not just mine.
I'm going to unleash them
upon the world
and make them yours.

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More from =LadyofGaerdon

Cosmic SymphonyThe notes build up deep within you
burning at your core
snaking through your veins until your skin hums red-hot with fire.
They say the sun is hottest
when you are just barely out of reach.
It is there you shall ignite.
But if I managed
to slip past your blistering corona
past the halo of light that surrounds you -
and stroke your scorching surface
would I find the right
to burn with you?
And maybe
I could learn to play you
like the instrument you are.
Helios, god of the sun,
your surface shudders with sound,
melodious vibrations
unfit for such ears as mine.
Yet still I wonder what you would sound like
if my hands would not

Sehnsucht - The Winter FaeKatie stormed out the front door about a minute after arriving home. Her parents were at it again. The argument had progressed to the point where neither one was making any effort to keep their voices down. It didn't matter that Katie had SATs to study for. There was no chance of that with her parents screaming their heads off about - what was it this time? Katie listened.
Oh, God. The hairbrush. They're fighting about the hairbrush again.
That was enough for Katie to slip back out to the porch, pull on her rollerblades and go. She didn't want to be here if the cops showed up again.
Her friends liked to make fun of her for rollerblading.
"Who still does that?"
"You should try skateboarding instead - at least then you might attract some cute skater guys".
"Rollerblading? Seriously?"
Katie tried to ignore them. They didn't understand her need to escape, not just her house but her life. To Katie, rollerblading was freedom. It

It's Not About FameThese words within me,
singing just beneath my skin
are not just mine.
I'm going to unleash them
upon the world
and make them yours.

Carving ConstellationsDoctors carve out constellations,
stitch star maps into my skin,
a web of scars, a path to take
to find myself again.

My scars are sewn of haunted stars,
constellations but half-drawn;
ghosts of star-fire whispering words
that fade out with the dawn.
They took my rib from me,
ground it up, reformed it,
turned it into Eve;
made a girl with my own name:
a girl they say is me.
My fragile face now hers,
our spirit splintered,
she stands for nothing
I once stood for.
Deep scars fade
before their meanings are deciphered;
yet more maps unfold

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Submitted: January 11
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the forest breathes for you

Journal Entry: Fri Jan 11, 2013, 9:32 PM

Inhale

poison,

exhale

life.

21 Comments

Four Line Poems

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the forest breathes for youby =LadyofGaerdon

Contests / 2012 / Four Line Poems

Because trees take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen. Humans inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. It's a rather beautiful symbiosis, really. The trees enable us to breathe. And though trees don't breathe per se, our breath enables them to do the same.

Written for #FourLinePoems' Competition.

love 1 1

joy 1 1

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~NocturneJewel Feb 9, 2013

That is such a beautiful symbiosis and so poetic too. It reminds me of a saying on one of my T shirts "though we exist as separate species, our fates are connected universally." It's so true.