at Peace    1969 -   
Thou cometh the Winter
in discontent
the leaves of Summer
must give up the rent
~ Helen 04/05/14

Remember this,
To be touched
is not just
Fingertips on skin
Hugs of the soul
are a deeper embrace
They reach beyond
the human face
to see where
you truly begin
~ Helen 26/12/13

'When the time comes
place the coin,
beneath my tongue
so I may pay
Charon!
Or else my
journey
has scarce begun'
~ Helen 01/12/13

All poems posted are original and written by me, Helen Doogan, under copyright law except where expressed and acknowledged to the original author.

In other words... don't steal my shit ;)
Thou cometh the Winter
in discontent
the leaves of Summer
must give up the rent
~ Helen 04/05/14

Remember this,
To be touched
is not just
Fingertips on skin
Hugs of the soul
are a deeper embrace
They reach beyond
the human face
to see where
you truly begin
~ Helen 26/12/13

'When the time comes
place the coin,
beneath my tongue
so I may pay
Charon!
Or else my
journey
has scarce begun'
~ Helen 01/12/13

All poems posted are original and written by me, Helen Doogan, under copyright law except where expressed and acknowledged to the original author.

In other words... don't steal my shit ;)
Helen
Helen
11 hours ago

he said
I'm sorry
she said
I'm fine
both knew
each other
were
lying

it's a fine line...
Helen
Helen
1 day ago

the mirrors reflection
only ever spoke of her
as
weak, alone, a ghost
pitiful, mournful
wonder-less at most


it was her place to hide
but the mirror
LIED

she punched it
with her fist
until it was
shattered
and
broken
bleeding into the cracks
until it became
a
reflection
                 truly
                          spoken

Helen
Helen
1 day ago

Never mistake her silence
as words better left
unsaid

She is merely strategising
with the demons inside
her head

  Reposted by Helen  ·  2 days ago
John Patrick Robbins Aka Gonzo
John Patrick Robbins Aka Gonzo
2 days ago      2 days ago

In empty pages and stark contrast the storm chased away the weak now alone I stand.
The hero a pawn truth cast aside for others cause .
We embrace solutions where  no problems exist.

May the colors run red from forgotten cause and history be erased for the sake of all that must be forever mundane.

I wish only to drag you to the depths and leave you to linger where nothing but a child's logic can remain
In spider webs we threw are thoughts now tangled the words left to wither in passing days.

May we dance in empty halls to illuminate the shadows and create the ghosts for others to place there hopes of what never shall be again.

To silence the voice is but closing the chapter  to spite the clear view .
Nothing stands a statue for the promise of tomorrows decay and the bastards will parade there ignorance as the simple minded spread a plague to which we are losing this battle.

I write for no one to read and all to judge.
Where's the laughter now the jester  is asked in ruins of a kingdom now simply reduced to ruble.

I remember what you will never taste and you may judge but waters tasted pure beats the stolen verses and burrowed lines of a time I no longer care to understand.


And Time passed me as it will pass you just the same .

May the silence remind you of that which never was to be.

We all will know this place someday.

#life   #death   #time   #past   #reflection   #sea   #misery   #monkeys  
Helen
Helen
3 days ago      3 days ago

no words could describe
her thoughts
no colours could paint
her pain
silently
she stood
beneath
the colourless
rain

Helen
Helen
3 days ago

As my frontal lobe articulates
from the anterior, just under
my forehead, I understand
why sweat beaded upon my
upper lip and my eyes bled

Spilling words onto a sheet
of paper, ink stains shaped
like a swarm of angry bees.
Crisping like raisins too long
in the sun, angling on a hook
that captures May like a
golden sunset dying on a breeze

Messages in Cherry Red reflecting
on the mirror to be read back after
an intoxicating night. Never would
the words remain in the steam of
a quiet shower that washes away
remnants of sorrow or a quaking
knowledge that what the lipstick
says just might happen to be right

A table set for twenty six as only
one will attend to partake of seven
courses of molasses and fake hope
Pacing up and down, rearranging
the letters in a potion of epic…ness
that can only come from plucking
consonants from a burning lava,
scraping the bottom of the barrel
for a vowel in the Alphagetti soup

There is the napkin I blew my nose
into which only had a phone number
on it. It turned into 8 reasons why
I would never bother to call
And there is the corner of my duvet
that I dribbled on but the pattern
resembled all my shattered dreams
that poured out of my mouth while
sleeping and became my greatest fall

Here is the ultrasound that has a few
words that sum up what the world
means to me and a picture of our daughter
This is the 15 scraps of paper that you
wrote 15 different lines of love to me
and they are all in the box, being loved
just as everything else ought to.

There are books and printouts and bits
of cardboard and a piece of driftwood
that I used to scratch a few words in
with a rock along with the photo of
the words written inside a heart on a
beach that was one thousand kilometers
away from you but I was there and
you were not.

There is 3.4 gig on a computer and
a gazillion that are frothing inside a
compartment that is internalized and labeled
Someday To Be Said. No matter where or
how or why or now or latter on paper or
engraved in rock on a elaborately carved stone
or chasing their own tails in their own head
Folded like a paper plane and launched
into a rabid universe words will land where
they will, dressed as they are, happy the party
is still in full swing. They don’t wonder
if the landing is soft, they fall, and then
they become still.

Happy Landing

so.... I found this old usb in a draw, full of my poetry... old poem, circa 2011, new name :)
  Reposted by Helen  ·  6 days ago
K Balachandran
K Balachandran
Aug 26      6 days ago

Her loneliness wears maroon,
                 I am aware," to her yin, my yang,"
mine in deep purple echoes,
                the density that's her, in my presence.
On an island of her own, she sojourns,
                 where there is comfortable room for two.
A happy recluse she is, ruminating,
                 diving deeper in to the sea of consciousness.
What does it really mean?
                  we are wound around a "KOAN", working on it,
wouldn't stop to think,  I flow
                    with the insistent gravitas of the current,
Through her the dense silence speaks,
                     in voices clear,  heard within me.
all beyond words, and in a far more
                     subtle plane, than this existence.

Koan--aparadox to be meditated up on
 
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