Poems by Berta
These are all by me, all written since school started.  I'm off my scary love-hate-suicide-happiness-rollercoaster-hamburger-whatever-type-moods... so that's a good thing.  Some of them have made Writer's Workshop this year.  I am proud.... anyway, here's a couple... enjoy, and feedback if need be.

No Beauty Beyond

Children revel
as milky-white moon shines
over the daisy-petal necklaces
like fluorescent flickers.
We are dark in the moonlite
and shining like many seashells
washed ashore.

Legs lifted gleefully packs damp dirt down in bare footprints.
A dance below shivering stars envelopes all ritual humanity.

My rose-blood lips smile Cheshire,
teeth shimmer belligerently
like a child’s dream.
My milk-skin flows over
blue-velvet eyes reflecting stars
and drips down pearl fingernails
and polished palms.

Laughs like last breaths exhale chants of revolution, raw reality in dark dreams of man.
Instincts search unsparingly through night-life for meaning of shallow expeditions.

His pale fingers touch pink cheeks
in cacophonous cold blush.
White moon shines splotches of
Van Gogh, a starry night
too bright for his red-rimmed eyes
searching for innocent souls,
blinking through cloudy tears
from vials of vanilla vodka.

Shards of moon splinter across dew-frozen grass, hiding life.
Strips of cream-colored light camouflage jewels of industry; fool’s gold.


Other Poems


"Journal Entry About a Coming Storm"

In epidemic outbursts of energy, my storms come on
to me like a high school
drunk. Wet sheets of rain shower down on my face,
running into my veins and
pumping through my deep-scarred heart. An
Ecstasy-trip, the pounding of
thunder and chaotic hallucinogenic light show throbs
from my closed, smiling
eyes to blue-painted toenails, sending shivers of
anticipated weather toward
my palms. I shake in bottled up lust for the
euphoric breezes whipped around
the trees, tangling my thoughts into a ball of
bulimic song, purging all but
energy. Green-red skies lick toward the horizon,
touching the tip of my
dreams and recoiling in a teasing dance of give and
take. I am left
quivering in sexual exploitation of weather,
concentrated on me like ions
flung down into my skin. In opium-compared delight I
am struck down by the high I obtain from my storms.

"Journal Entry about Getting my First Tattoo"
I am high on cigarette smoke and blood, adrenaline
let loose like a jaguar,
skinning my arm in black scratches of ink. Shocking
me faint like speed and
liquor, needles lick my skin, a sensuous lover of
pain and patterns. Quiet among strong, hard melodies of
guitar, ink drips
under my skin, pushing
through layers of calloused soul, becoming an
addiction only matched by sex
and suicide. Light glares down on my butterscotch
skin, illuminating
unmarked scars and veins pulsing with blood that's
begging for more pain
than life. Rubbing up against me like a prospective
fuck, needles caress my
skin and taste the life slipping out in red drips of
nervous patience,
waiting for the next stab in lustful anticipation.
Better than a night of
Windsor, Coke and sweaty sheets in candlelight,
smoky half-hours of hurt are ecstasy.

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