Seattle, Jollywood    1904 -    
Dangerous but mostly harmless.
"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature."
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts..." -William Shakespeare
Dangerous but mostly harmless.
"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature."
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts..." -William Shakespeare

Warm torrents of rain utter best, eaves broken gutters
in hot summer with rumbling thunder asunder
naked but for cutoff jeans and purple Chinese houses
Let loose rally cry,  a primal voice of joy and freedom
summer has come to heart and bird call nous
slip and slides, running fearless of lightning strike news
Zeus, parts clouds to spy one eyed in appointed winds
aiming at those that would hesitate under Lindon trees
sensing a prodigal fragrance and mother crow's riot
open fields near dense privet hedges defy revelry
baked erratics by cold lakes and deep dives not taken
while a boat's buoyancy sends balance a mysterious cue
water's lumbering Leviathan body ripples to its caress
breezes take up names; sweet, cool, muggy mosquito
and in even' time porch light lowered voices loll

-cec

Oh! How beautiful her fair hair–
that these pains now suffer
each groan of this wheel pair
stretch each sinew's spiny puffer

Swift and potent speak in tongue
charmed to have her eat the apple
then lay beside her having sprung
stung, and breach our lady's chapel

Damn this manic searing ghost
leave these broken bones and loss
bleeding tears of fable boast
pleading for a nimble dōss


Now upon this lying rack
chains clink and crack this back
Alack, to be found in wormwood's hands
plans, impoverished, crushed by mice-men

Oh! How beautiful her hair
to find oneself in this despair
for having false toad tail
from darkest pits and blacken flair

-cec

An assignment's conclusion: After Othello's death, among others, Iago is to be tortured for his crimes and the whole of the truth. This is one possible scenario before his death.

Laying within the tallest grass field–
That yellow star's daddy long-legs
grazing with a warm solar breeze
playing shades of hide and seek
into a child's mind, full waxing
waking to an offset world
more than small discovery
that farms in grains of time and space
where ants prepare empire
beetles' carapace form beep their horn
navigating, root bound, primal paths
ignorant of overt oblivions to come
go with candy eyed curiosity
prostrate in solace on an altar of life
waiting to be found

-cec

You, now turn to ashes, still call my name
diminished and watery as rolling waves:
you were my heart, you were my same

telling me you are gone to Elysium's gate
fate, draws a line in sand and castle's breach
witnessed with hesitant eyes that uneasy wait

time has run its course from ocean deep
to find upon this land's end awash in sorrow
where creatures immemorial crawl and weep

You were my heart, you were my same
Your turned to ashes now and I have no name
"waves and waves good bye, down to the sea"

-cec

Don your jaunty hat boy
sing a merry song of chase
"Love abides, or love abides not"
Through hillock and forest greens
legs on strings pulled puppet
this and that way and back

a lilting voice and nettles' prick
flowers' color impressions
etch into retinal rhythm tick
delight running rampant rouge
when lost in streaming gardens
summer's youthful roose et ruse

-cec

  May 29  bulletcookie
MyDystopiA

Holidays were spent with vodka
in the haze of oblivion
in between the sun
and the moon,
full of thoughts of you.

Christmas Eve
there was a full moon,
bright and yellow,
full and hollow.
It was a beautiful sight,
smelled like pine.

I slept in the garden
and danced with the night,
high as a kite,
I prayed with all my might.
I wished upon a star.
I fell hard.
I fell far.

When I hit the ground,
the pain was sharp.
A dull ache
inside my heart.

©J Cole

https://soundcloud.com/mydystopia/holidays

Traveling in rising walking strings
you stretch out these soulful sinews
and tune your mandolins of song
of seasons and tall waves on deep
whaling, wailing a home longing
in lungs breathing for both of us
on traditional barks and harbor docks
wanting, waiting, wanting
pickity passion's dancing flocks
of seaman's doves to prompt
voices aimed at golden gates

-cec

 
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