La-Carmencita

Maybe You Already Know Me

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Dear Zak: 11-22-11 by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

Dear Zak: 11-22-11

We have filled envelopes with paper And our souls with poems… I have always thought that the sounds of the city were the most beautiful Nurturing a fire in our throats, the fire of poems and songs and fall and winter and wine and dashboards and new dawn rising The fire we have named Walt If I smash clocks to slow time, what can I do to make it go faster? I am listening to the voices of poets Forever clamouring, wrapped in whispers around the trees and sprinkled among the stars that shine over us both. Write to me again, friend Together we will paint poetry over the rooftops of the world

Dear Zak: 10-06-11 by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

Dear Zak: 10-06-11

We prize these memories: Of moonlit nights, cold, light off the dashboard reflecting like stars in our eyes We place those half-remembered objects on the altars of our souls, yellowtail, dark rooms, ink on pages, records spinning Offerings to our passionate god God made of words! God made of poems! The abstract "one day", the dawn of our new era, the future Waiting coiled in the base of my spine Watch over us Walt Whitman Over the rust on my hands from the inside of freight cars Over the ink staining your lips Oh God of words God of my mother God of cold-water flats God we sometimes call inspiration God that m

My Sonnet by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

My Sonnet

you are my poem your line, the curve of your hip, your verb drawing out adjectives from my lips, into verse - I think I've finally come home. let me write words and dream in the caesura between your arms shun the sun for a blue florescent glow that affirms our newfound innocence. when read, we can be seen. as what I am, imagine me. you taste of ink, of healing and hope hands in my hair bind me to you so gracefully together, it is possible to be whole. your meter, the rhythm of your heartbeat is felt at every point where our skin meets.

03.05.11 by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

03.05.11

The light of winter made it all feel like early morning As though time were standing still for us I pressed my smiles into the skin under your collarbone Your poetry ruffled the strands of my hair And grins made it hard for me to kiss you Nothing else mattered. We were alone and alive I felt safe for the first time in too long And, though both cold, our fingers fit together perfectly.

1. by La-Carmencita, literature

9:53, Flight Late -Again- by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

9:53, Flight Late -Again-

I never knew angels. I did know you, for a while And you still drip like shivers down my spine While I wait in white-walled morgues For my tin-can coffin I knew you like summertime With heat like this three penny coffee (And just as cheap) My name broken on this loudspeaker Seems sweeter than your mouth Trying to pack all this baggage above And inside my head In this kind of limbo I forget how long it's been It's always light above the clouds. I knew you like death (Like falling) The very taste of the ink you write with This turbulence Is a frightening reminder of my own mortality Empty eyes are warmer

He Watched by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

He Watched

He watched her hair get long In preparation for summertime And her lips grow redder. He watched her get lost inside her mind Watched her mouth on the bottle And cigarettes in cold fingers. He watched her sip coffee in the morning Until she was alive enough to let Her ideas roll off her tongue- He watched her in many languages As she hid from snow and ran from wolves Became dark and thought as bright as the sun Until she mirrored him in negative.

Waking by La-Carmencita, literature

Winter by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

Winter

I've given a thought to summer, Though the frost in my head makes believing impossible. I want to mourn the ever-changing tides Sing funeral dirges for the leaves rotting gently Because I'm the only thing out here not dead. You didn't understand my hatred for snow And I couldn't explain That it was a reminder of solitude, And how things are always changing, Good things may die forever, but the cold always comes back.

Sun by La-Carmencita, literature

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Dear Zak: 11-22-11 by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

Dear Zak: 11-22-11

Dear Zak: 10-06-11 by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

Dear Zak: 10-06-11

My Sonnet by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

My Sonnet

03.05.11 by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

03.05.11

1. by La-Carmencita, literature

9:53, Flight Late -Again- by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

9:53, Flight Late -Again-

He Watched by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

He Watched

Waking by La-Carmencita, literature

Winter by La-Carmencita, literature

Literature

Winter

Sun by La-Carmencita, literature

Watchers 9

ExistenceWeSummonYou

cogongrass

the-LIQUIDSUGAR

Kalayni

Poetrymann

DeadXwriterXmaraveno

with-peacock-wings

1-800-Alix

TheWonderingSoul

Watching 14

theWrittenRevolution

Poetrymann

PoetryIsTheAnswer

Breathing-Poetry

LooseLacesPoetry

wearydrearies

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TheWonderingSoul

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temporary-peace

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Poetry by Poetrymann, literature

Games Like Us by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Games Like Us

I love how our clothes tell stories in the dark tall tales of battles left scattered on the carpet or ghosts sliding under the eaves to prickle your skin like braille under my fingers and how they play games like hide and seek chasing skin over sheets and blankets and how your buttons disappear under my command like toy soldiers off to war tagging our shadows across the floor and into the corners of each other where the moon spills us out in little pieces and the stars tumble - silver clad jacks through our fingers.

quench me. by Aravelle, literature

men made of snow. by cassondrachic, literature

Literature

men made of snow.

The way your tiny wrists can snap in half is frighteningly attractive in the most beautifully fragile way. You're too tone-deaf to hear the whispers in the wintry wind but you listen when I whisper baby whimpers in your ears. I'd dig up the ice on the pond beneath my teensy feet in order to save you from the anchor keeping you bobbing in the ever churning icecold. I want to turn off all the lights in this room in order to better feel your breath on my cold eyelids and feel the rush of blood through my toes; life slips by slowly while we wait for it to sublime and disappear and refreeze again into the freshwater's

Helen by Poetrymann, literature

Literature

Helen

Those thousand ships you launched still haunt this pier where old men sip beer from plastic cups, wishing their pants remembered yesteryear, and I just watch the gulls crash into the pilings. You were no mermaid, no Circe of my seven seas. You just loved the art of drowning - watching strong men go down for you, your charms a tempest in my bed. Steal me, then - this stench of bait and phosporus that stiffens waves and makes me walk on water. For your face has become a vanishing act and I need to remember what keeps breathing in these nets of yours.

the birdbone effect, phase one by kb-23, literature

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About La-Carmencita

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Apr 8
Canada
Deviant for 14 years
www.myspace.com/carmenholtby
She / Her

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My Bio

Current Residence: Canada

Favourite Visual Artist

Rene Magritte

Favourite Movies

Silence of the Lambs, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Other Interests

Singing, Dance, Piano, Guitar, Writing, Reading, Drawing, Photography, Philosophy, Ethics

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La-Carmencita

Feb 25, 2011

What hope is there?

0 min read

How is it that I watched two of the most beautiful minds in poetry slip away in one week?

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La-Carmencita

Feb 16, 2011

Journal, journal. bitchbitchbitch

0 min read

WARNING: The following content is unsolicited whining and bitching. Viewer discretion is advised. Why did I take poetry workshop this semester? Oh yes, because I wanted actual instruction and the professor is and award winning poet (Peter Filkins, check him out) and also my academic advisor... Boo. But my poems are NEVER good enough for him. There is never any positive feedback. Only negative, negative, negative. And annoying feedback, too. He tells us to write a blank verse poem. I write a poem in perfect PERFECT iambic pentameter. He tells me it's "too perfect blank verse". And he looooves this one guy (who is a poetry major senior)'s po

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La-Carmencita

Sep 2, 2010

Home Again?

0 min read

I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. Long story short, I just got overwhelmed by deviant art, so I stopped going on it. Also, lots of things have changed since I've been here. I'm now in college (yay) therefore have loads more time to write. I hope to get back in touch with you all. -C

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Profile Comments 29

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Solarune

Apr 21, 2011

Thank you for joining

, we’re delighted to have you with us. Welcome to the revolution.

We’re quite a busy group.

Among other things, we regularly post prompts and six week challenges for our members to try. So check them out!

Also feel free to add us on Facebook and Twitter: @WrittenRevolt.

the-LIQUIDSUGAR

Feb 20, 2011

Dear you awesome person/lover. U ARE AMZING! and thanks

You're welcome boo

On behalf of the Canadian-Writers group, welcome, we're definitely glad to have you.

Should you have any questions, comments or concerns, you're more than welcome to address them to me or the group via note, and someone will happily answer your questions.l

Sincerely,
Melissa

La-Carmencita

Dec 22, 2010

Thank you so much! I'm very excited to start contributing my work and feedback to your community.

Poetrymann

Dec 18, 2010

La-Carmencita

Dec 20, 2010

You're very welcome. Your work is always beautiful.