=LadyofGaerdon

dreamt a white rose withering

+Watch Send a Note Give

Featured Browse Scrapbook

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 notCosmic Symphonyin Poetry

18 Comments

More Like This

I am your present. Happy Valentine's Day!in Photography

14 Comments

More Like This

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 myThis Strange World That No Longer Contains Youin Prose

20 Comments

More Like This

the forest breathes for youInhale
poison,
exhale
life.the forest breathes for youin Poetry

21 Comments

More Like This

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. ItSehnsucht - The Winter Faein Prose

34 Comments

More Like This

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,
sSaltwater Veinsin Poetry

35 Comments

More Like This

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.It's Not About Famein Poetry

17 Comments

More Like This

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
Carving Constellationsin Poetry

43 Comments

More Like This

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 sThe Promisein Poetry

16 Comments

More Like This

Dinner In a TombShe always did love pomegranates.
She didn't know I'd poisoned them, when I left them on the table when she came to retrieve her belongings. She didn't know I'd already found a new place, that I'd set her a trap, a plan to bring her here, down, down into the catacombs that are now my kingdom.
She stares at me now, dark circles beneath wide, empty eyes. I offer her another seed.
"Come now, my dear. Do have something to eat. You look deathly pale." I flash her a grin she ignores.
I butter bread and place it in her cold hand. "I've arranged this feast, just for the two of us, and you haven't even the good graces to eat it?" Her blue lips offer no excuses for her rudeness.
The bread slips from her hand. I retrieve it, curl her fingers around the crusty edge. "Try again, darling. You'll get the hang of it."
I brush golden curls back from her bloodless face.
"I told you you'd never escape me. My hell is your hell, my love."Dinner In a Tombin Prose

19 Comments

More Like This

Jack o'lantern

tiny orange kitten
smells of autumn splendor, sweet
Jack o'lantern secrets.Jack o'lantern

39 Comments

More Like This

Exhale, AmaryllisMid-summer heatwave,
I push through humid air,
like dreams of swimming, graceful,
through the streets.
Chest aching, I
inhale heavy, tangible air
thick with scent of summer's bounty.
Honeysuckle vines tangle in my lungs,
perfume my breath.
My sighs exhale nectar
past my lips;
words glint in sunlight.
Berry brambles twist into my veins,
thorns prick for blood from inside-out;
honey-suckle oxidized breath,
painting white blossoms red:
My heart was a pure-white bloom once,
but I inhaled arrows of golden sunlight
and bled forth Amaryllis.

Exhale, Amaryllisin Poetry

41 Comments

More Like This

MemoryMemory flows through the veins of this land;
the earth does not forget the blood that was lost:
it nourished the roots of trees that still stand.
Memory flows through the veins of this land;
whispering past monuments to man,
ghosts roam the fields that armies once crossed.
Memory flows through the veins of this land.
the earth does not forget the blood that was lost.Memoryin Poetry

32 Comments

More Like This

The Virgin and The Whorein Prose

470 Comments

More Like This

RemnantWashed up a remnant,
a relic of abandoned epochs,
she inhales her first breath in an aeon.
Air thick with soot,
pungent with poison,
sinuous hands fly to her throat
as she sputters a curse
in a language long forgotten.
Beneath the slick surface of her murky realm
lost, she wandered on,
searched through centuries for a land
half-remembered in dreams.
Time and toxins took their toll
and when she arose from the depths
her scales shone bright with mercury,
glinting silver in the moonlight.
With trembling fingers
she combs starlight from her tresses,
brushes moonbeams from her curves,
counting lesions to her body,
carved by knowledge, knives
or nothing. She no longer knows.
She shivers in the shadow of
impossible structures,
their quivering reflections rippling
across the magic mirror
from which she surfaced.
In the dark their glass eyes gleam,
a thousand starry-eyed monstrosities,
rake their gaze across her form.
She clings to the shoreline,
jagged rocks and filthy sand.
AnotheRemnantin Poetry

48 Comments

More Like This

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 toToday, I Am Still Therein Poetry

51 Comments

More Like This

...scattered on the windWe drive the path of thorns
through dark summer streets,
stagnant air shifted
by rolled down windows, speeding.

My head in his lap,
his eyes curious upon me,
I sing.

She, ahead of me,
notes drifting back,
entwine our rising voices.

Both their eyes upon my face,
and with soft, endearing notes,
seamless terms -
she gives me away...

to him....scattered on the windin Poetry

46 Comments

More Like This

Only The WildOut here, eyes are unnecessary.
This is what I say to the children
I've been asked to supervise
this dismal February week,
out here in the mountains -
the woodland -
the wild.
Out here you can feel the trees;
the sheer weight of their presence -
physical, tangible -
envelopes you like snow,
a shiver in the soul.
Biting wind wailing through the branches
raises the hairs on the back of your neck,
and you tremble
like saplings in a storm.
Rain and ice and something in-between
drip down from the leaves above.
You feel its caress against your flesh,
taste the kiss of the frozen forest
against your lips, face upturned to the
pine-bough sky.
You know it's there -
you can smell it:
deep and ancient and
heavy with pungent memory.
Pine isn't a variety
of air-freshener, children.
It is alive with the spirit of the earth.
Pine outlasts this brittle season
when all else cowers from the cold.
Evergreen stands proud
against battering wind,
Only The Wildin Poetry

30 Comments

More Like This

Tomorrow I'll Be YouYou're twenty-five tomorrow and I miss you.
I'm twenty-four and I'm lost in your wake, yet again;
you were always ahead of me, one way or another.

I was glad you were eleven days ahead of me.
Twenty-five terrifies me even more than twenty-four,
and I shudder and shiver and wish that the cold outside would freeze me in place,
freeze time, until I can find my way back:
to you,
to me,
to seventeen.

But the treacherous sun will rise despite me, and the comforting night
I surround myself with, begging it to remain, will abandon me
slowly, as I did you.
The day wakes and you are twenty-five.

I know it's coming for me, this number I dread.
I don't want it. I don't want any of it. Words are my salvation, not numbers.
Numbers are my cage.

I always knew I could make it if you could.
But this year you are twenty-five Tomorrow I'll Be Youin Poetry

18 Comments

More Like This

Ever-Fading DreamYou are my direction,
but you're more than what you seem;
you are my destruction,
you're my ever-fading dream...
Reality is so much worse
than the world inside my head,
where longing weaves a tangled web
of every word you've ever said.
Life is never quite the way
that love makes it appear;
Every time I think I'm close
I find I'm nowhere near.
If all my love has been in vain
have I ever loved at all?
Have I come this close to you
only now to fall?
I've danced alone with memories,
never knowing which were real -
the bitterness of loss,
or the joy I came to feel.
I cannot seem to separate
the truth from my desire;
despair and hope are intertwined,
crackling like fire.
Faith tells me to hold onto you
fear begs me to let go -
will I spend all my time waiting
just to be alone?
I stand before you motionless
not knowing what to say.
If I reach out to touch you,
will you fade away?
Like ripples fade across the surface
of my silent stream -
if I open up my eyes
will yEver-Fading Dreamin Poetry

16 Comments

More Like This

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 trappeDark Motherin Poetry

77 Comments

More Like This

Unfurlin Poetry

47 Comments

More Like This

Snow White, Blood Redin Prose

72 Comments

More Like This

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 soTragic Beautyin Prose

164 Comments

More Like This

RSS

Comments

*Andromidicus Dec 31, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

I had no idea you were born on the same day I was O_O I officially turned 27 today on December 31

I am going to assume that you also turned 27 today since it says your 26 xD Therefore I bid you happy birthday

!!!

PS: What are the odds that we were both born on Dec 31 1985 and that we are both writers O_o? It makes me wonder if all the writers in the world are born on special days

~Lacewinged-Beauty Dec 15, 2012 Writer

^{your gallery is massive. i have no idea where to start. suggest your favourites? i'm a particular fan of short prose and free verse poetry.}

=LadyofGaerdon Dec 15, 2012 Professional Writer

It is a bit large, isn't it? Let's see....

Free verse poetry: [link] [link] [link] [link]

Short prose: [link]

~Lacewinged-Beauty Dec 15, 2012 Writer

^{Excellent! Thank you!}

=LadyofGaerdon Dec 15, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank YOU for your interest.

~Lacewinged-Beauty Dec 15, 2012 Writer

^{Not a problem at all!}

!alevkov Dec 25, 2011 Professional Digital Artist

quality gallery, need deffo more time, can you recommend something what should i check first?

=LadyofGaerdon Dec 26, 2011 Professional Writer

Thank you so much! I'm very happy you want to take the time to read my work! Well, I have a decent amount of variety in my gallery. You could tell me what you like and perhaps I could recommend something for you? Of course I am always most happy when people read my novel.

This is the prologue poem for my novel, if you are interested: [link]

This is probably the best poem I've ever written. It is a narrative fantasy rhyming poem: [link]

This is among the best poems I've ever written - it's free verse and very emotional: [link]

This is a fantasy short story that people seem to really like: [link]

Hopefully that helps?

!alevkov Dec 26, 2011 Professional Digital Artist

Yupp, anything with crime thematic based or not-so-girly-stuff in there? Tho will check the suggest ones, thnx.

=LadyofGaerdon Dec 26, 2011 Professional Writer

I don't really do crime-thematic...

Non-girly, huh? Okay, new suggestions. Pretty much everything I do is fantasy, but I'll suggest the darker and/or more adventurous fantasy stuff:

I still recommend my short story. There's blood and magic and treachery: [link]

My novel might start out a little girly-seeming, but quite a few males have read and liked it.

[link]

Dark Fantasy poem: [link]

Free verse poem about the ocean: [link]

Let me know what you think of those, if you want.

Advertise | Premium Membership

Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy

=LadyofGaerdon

Gallery Folders

Featured

Comments

Add Media

Style