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sir humbug Jul 2023
five years ago, June 2018,
I, poet Sir Humbug,
wrote:that the job of the artist was to be
luminous and dangerous

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the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous

luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves

when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised

and so the job,
our work,
begins


<>

five years on,
somethings have changed,
indeed, the dangers of
being luminous,
clarifying and exposing,
the requisite badge of courage,
need-be more desperately earned

the work is more risky,
as the rules of now are none,
and the risk of good taste,
thoughtful caring,
exposing you innards outwardly,
so easy to demean
and sadly
that titillates the iliterati

like a fire-working fireflies flashing,
their in-concert of ligh attracts the
oohs and aahs
but too,
the restless for glory,
opinionated blowhard,
whose critical boundaries of ill will
are
boundless

yet,
write on, right on
to be where courage be the
sticking point!

your verbs must be pointy,
your direction true,
adjectives of modest innovation,
craft harder, then harder again,
for the work must be honest
in a manner most delicate

now is the time of
subtlety -
if one must bang pots to be heard,
that you to are but a noisemaker, a loser,
an addition to those
lost in the din

quiet passion,
thoughtful insight
to inside, to the tender parts,
will rule the day

and the blow smokers
will rue the day,
as their pretenses chafe and flail wayside,
and your words,
be like sightings of new lands
where you take us utterly beholden,
willing explorers to places most wonderfully

luminous and dangerous!
Winnalynn Wood Mar 2021
Music is written beneath my bones
Without its sound I feel alone
I feel it seeping down to my toes

I’ll be the moon, you’ll be the stars
Let sleep fall upon us in rusted cars  
By and by, our souls light up the dark

Everything is connected, even just by the skin of our teeth  
Colorful and heretic, luminous beings are we
AE Jun 2020
You watch as moments are surrounded by an iridescent envelope
They transform into memories that float towards the sunset sky
Colouring the shadows with their flamboyant reds,
Resting in the clouds amongst soft blues
Prismatic and vibrant as they become the entourage
That accompany the sun’s goodbye
And eventually, they're gone, light years away
Now a part of a glittering nebula somewhere far
 
The night comes charging with its sombre hues,
Decorated with stars, waiting for you
To collect your dreams and take them far
And you watch as your dreams are tied with luminous ribbons
As they float above towards a boundless sky
To meet your memories somewhere in between
And before you feel the new day arise
They become one, entangled within your mind
 
And as you recall those beautiful days,
Those minutes from another time,
your memories will meet all your dreams
And come back to you
Surrounded by a foreign fluorescence
Disguised as gifts of time.
Dog Years Apr 2020
Though
The stars fade
the moon yellows,
and sun begins to follow,
loosing all its brilliant power
the one that makes small things cast big shadows.
When there's nothing left but a dark world full of sorrow's sorrows.
You are the light at the end of my tunnel and my flame for you will only burn brighter by  the morrow
Wrote it on my phone as I fall asleep. May delete or work on it some more tomorrow
K Balachandran Sep 2019
The spider, in many hues rules.
But I never could understand
The complete operational rules.
                                    Still I have
Unflinching  faith,like no other
On the spider, that it knows
The rules of transactions inside out.
I am in the web of a clan of
Spiders, day in and day out.

I just lie supine in comfort  
And let my song bird fly high
In the sky blue oblivion
Of my mind, listening to
The singing of the bard of
The absolute, transcending limits.
        I am more and more lured
in to his cave where light is present
By its physical absence.More and more
An innerbeing after substence
In the company of this siver luminous.

She comes alive, fire risen from smoke,
Her red hot eyes capture my truth quick!

The spider sitting on top of me
And working on me with
Her oceanic mind that seethes
Agile vaginal muscles, I picture
Is still reading "Every Women"1
From memory; I just feel it
as each of the steps to the
thousand petelled lotus is
left behind one by one.

My silver spider
who flies with me from
the conjoined base of
"Mooladhara"2 at the ****.
If she is the fire, I am the sky.
Hear the silver bell she rings,
In mind's eye I see how her
Silver strips gleam, wet with sweat.

As we step out to the garden path
The green spiders of thick foliages
Waved at us.Golden spider of the sky
Hanging low beamed at us.
1."Evcery Woman"(A gynacological guide for life by Derek Liewellyn-Jones)
2.Mooladhara means "the root and basis of existence" according to Tantra Yoga, located at the ***** one of the seven primary energy centres of human body.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Him: She looked different, I hadn’t seen her face this bright in a really long time. In that moment she was the moon, the star, a luminous soul that stood before my eyes. She was like confetti, leaving sparkles where she stepped. It wasn’t like the happiness she plastered on her face or the smile that made dimples appear on the ends of her lips. This was different. I could feel the energy. 
Her cheeks swallowed her eyes whole and those hidden teeth behind her lips were exposed. It was just everything about her, how her voice was powerful and high-pitched just like a youngster. The way her pupils dilated and showed all her excitement. The way her soul radiated excitement and joy. It was everything about her, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she laughed. Happiness made her feel like she could do anything. Happiness was more than just beautiful on her. It was luminous and powerful.

Her: This happiness felt ineffable. It was more than just a star lighting up in the dark, it was more than the darkness fading away. It wasn’t the happiness that is supposed to be picture perfect or the commercially perfect of having pearly white teeth. It was the one that my soul roar and bursting away from the confinement. It was the happiness that made adrenaline rush through my veins and neurons spark every cell of mine. It was the happiness that made me not care about what others thought, whether I was too much or over-excited. I was happy, I was more than happy after a very long time. It didn’t matter to me. I felt fierce. I felt like a child. I felt everything beautiful and powerful. I didn’t want to lose it to others words or to anything in this world. I was going to protect it, guard it and hold on to it. I was going to shine and radiate.
sir humbug Jun 2018
the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous

luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves

when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised


and so the job,
our work,
begins
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