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Estranged ensemble orchestration onerous
                     Intangible instinct intrigue impetus
                     Cortex vortex vertex fastuous
                     Somatalogy cognition equilibrist meatus
                     Vertigo vestige vexation covetous

                     Haberdashery hauberk harangue inspection
                     Mystical silhouette sojourn direction
                     Perpetrate propinquity harbinger rejection
                     Fastuous fortuity forum election
                     Chiaroscuro chicanery gossamer convection

                     Metaphysical mystique’s rive declensions
                     Paphian kitsch kithe abstentions
                     Paltry panderings rife contentions
                     Horologist hackamore lapidary inventions
                     Soliloquous covertures manifest intentions

                     Noumenal ***** exsertion illuminate
                     Apropos ipso-facto aspersion relegate
                     Clairaudience taciturn subversion denigrate
                     Larceny lecher coercion expurgate
                     ***** lewd beatitudes exonerate

                     Perpetude parameter incorporeity pervasions
                     Terminus thrall’s anathema correlations
                     Exegesis peroration imputation iterations
                     Ideational peripherals intimate evasions
                     Vituperative verve’s temerarious elations

                     Psychic reverie subterfuge decision
                     Astral projection transience derision
                     Exserted proximity phantasm incision
                     Machismo machinations elicit precision
                     Heredity heritage heresy revision

                     Edacious intransigent gamut phallus
                     Indispensably puissant barratry malice
                     Invariably imperative metaphor talus
                     Aorist actuator pseudopodia chalice  
                     Altruistic egalitarian segregant palace

                     Allocution incursive objectify ostensible
                     Enamor allude ingratiation inimical
                     Infatuation allure emendation rhetorical
                     Cursive ***** raconteur allegorical
                     Amorous endear sycophant categorical

                     Inherently endemic anachronism political
                     Emendation propensity opulently diabolical
                     Surreptitious ethnicity epigraphy mimetical
                     Pompously bombastic flagrant inimical
                     Doughty nuance intrepidly maniacal

                     Obliquity euphenics intrados expound
                     Subjunctive ancillary subordinates confound
                     Ethereal euthenics ubiquity propound
                     Subservient adversarial repartee profound
                     Meritorious monocracy mendacity astound

                     Insidiously sinister incumbency abuse
                     Obstreperous imperatives obdurately retuse
                     Ominous omnipotent avarice deduce
                     Trajectory faction commensurately obtuse
                     Cornucopia critique sequesterously abstruse

                     Tyrannical ulterior ultimatum purvey
                     Adjunct conjunction conjecture portray
                     Evocative emulation connivance convey
                     Fulminate fuscous futurity relay
                     Cephalic phantasmagoria protuberant assay

                     Acuity educement propensity gesticulation
                     Preternatural proclivity tactile articulation
                     Eidetic mnemonics scenario prestidigitation
                     Transcendental accession ascentional avocation
                     Derisive subjective subordinance rumination

                     Apriori arbitration apostrophe sagacious
                     Predilection predication apomixis bodacious
                     Wonder lust itinerary transitively tenacious
                     Intrinsic affinity succinctly salacious
                     Prophylaxis protocol invasively ostentatious

                     Hypercritically mitigational dialectics felicity
                     Surreal serendipity dharma propensity
                     Supplicant sever hypotaxis intensity
                     Monogamously autonomic ostracism eccentricity
                     Evolutionally metamorphic rendition complicity

                     Insipidly vapid invective flatulence
                     Intangible ratification interdiction corpulence
                     Exigent viscid visceral virulence
                     Eradicably mingy minion truculence
                     Fortuitous refraction remission opulence

                     Ephemeral effulgence effluent projection
                     Accidence ambience acoustics confection
                     Recondite esoteric prosaics detection
                     Epistemology epithet equities correction
                     Erudite effusion existentialize affection

                     Arduous ardent amore egressed
                     Corporeal essence enigmatism caressed
                     Adrenergic analeptic fatidics confessed
                     A posteriori cartography tropism ******
                     Anaclitic analgesia anacrusis suppressed

                     Irascible audacity compunction astute
                     Rejuvenate remission remonstrance compute
                     Nocturnal emission repose dilute
                     Rendezvous rectitude recital refute
                     Remunerate resonant retort impute

                     Agnate nous monad prerogative
                     Suborn impedance numinous imperative
                     Adumbrate intimate obfuscation evocative
                     Extrapolation excursion incursion intuitive
                     Invective prognostication prosthesis demonstrative

                     Retrospect innate residuals compete
                     Reliquiae requiem anecdotically surfeit
                     Aesthetic aphorism geomancy effete
                     Brusque macabre dementia replete
                     Perspicacious perseverance personification complete

                     Avaricious aegis vagary incite
                     Colloquialism jargon ideational delight
                     Prurient adage vernaculars insight
                     Apex crux axis matrix excite
                     Affluent opaque quintessential bight knight


                         Dichotomous epilogue :

                      Intuitive inherency , anachronism transpositional cogitations accrue
                     Torturously portentous intrinsically pervasive transitivities ensue
                     Consternating transient , verbose barratry verbiage brew
                     Viably salient venially mendacious veracities construe
                     Endemically aggressive encroachments , latent magniloquence review
                     Tenaciously intrepid divinatory futurity venerations imbue
                     Probitous aversion nominalism propensity derivations eschew
                     Intrinsically auspicious tortuously invasive transitivities blue
                     Anachronism transpositional , intuitive inherency cogitations ; adieu
v V v Jun 2014
There’s a place of perfect simmer
where the flame runs just so high,
never quite to boiling over,
neither still a tepid bath.
  
At least that’s what you insisted to me
in your frustration at my inability
to find a soft place to land between
pulses of ecstasy and re-heated casserole.
  
Even still you love me
like a whirlwind loves the dust,
gathering it in by picking it up,
steadying it's spin by collecting debris.
  
I thought we would make a respectable tornado,
together, instead I find myself
breaking loose from your gentleness
and destroying homes, alone.
  
If only the weather could tell us whether
we were headed for perfection or destruction.
  
If only the *** I stir could be a crystal ball.

If only I could love you
as much as I do.
A co-write with my good friend Jamie Johnson.
v V v May 2012
There’s a place of perfect simmer
where the flame runs just so high,
never quite to boiling over,
neither still a tepid bath.
  
At least that’s what you insisted to me
in your frustration at my inability
to find a soft place to land between
pulses of ecstasy and re-heated casserole.
  
Even still you love me
like a whirlwind loves the dust,
gathering it in by picking it up,
steadying it's spin by collecting debris.
  
I thought we would make a respectable tornado,
together, instead I find myself
breaking loose from your gentleness
and destroying homes, alone.
  
If only the weather could tell us whether
we were headed for perfection or destruction.
  
If only the *** I stir could be a crystal ball.

If only I could love you
as much as I do.
A huge thank-you to Jamie L. Johnson for co-authoring this poem with me and for providing a ton of encouragement during an extended period of "nothingness".  Please read Jamie's work if you haven't already done so, she is an amazing poet who I admire greatly.
Balance.  What a charged and pregnant word.

Balance.  Common in our daily vernacular
but void of it's innate and innermost meaning

Balance - what do you see?
The Golden scales of antiquity?

What a dichotomous lie
For Balance is multi-planar, multi-dimensional
Multitudes of exponential, fractal-like branches
Hanging from the largest trunk of the largest tree with the largest network of life-providing roots spreading in all directions at once like a wild-fire with unlimited fuel

Balance.  It's perfectly symmetrical reflection
Only distorted by the waters of our perception
Thrives and simultaneously strives for connection
Connection to the mirrors of eternity
The pristine, naked, flesh-covered bodies of pure vulnerability, set free to explore this spherical dream

Balance is a friend, but left unseen, reaching for our touch without so much of a glance towards it's arduous efforts to bond with the deep dwelling dreams of Souls,
Balance can be distorted, as the tree is, in the ripples of our confused and distracted minds.

Crack!  A branch breaks.
Balance falters, catches itself and picks up its severed limb - a sacrifice, for the greater good.  The only good.

Crack!  Another branch breaks.
Balance steps to redistribute it's misaligned weight
A sacrifice, for the greater good.  The only good.

A fitting mantra.

Crack!  Crack!  Crack!  Branches breaking back to back
Plummeting to the cold hard ground.
This sudden decay is too much to handle
The limbs of this great tree, the greatest amongst all cannot regrow at the speed at which the others wither

Ironically, balance is now imbalanced

Shaking, desperately grasping the ground with its roots  to stay upright, at the very least, to remain present, persistent, possible, but, most importantly, present
Present for those vulnerable naked bodies to one day glance past their distorted waters and into the depths of what truly is...

A force, so strong, so humble, so forgiving reaching out through it's remaining, fatigue-strewn branches in a dire need to make contact with the branches of our mortality

When branches unite, as they shall, as they always do from time to time,
Imbalance is washed away as waves wash the shore
And Balance emerges from the distorted waters, now retreating, pulled by the tide of self-awareness

Perfectly, our fingers fill the gaps of our grief-stricken but eternally determined ally and meet with it's tender stumps, the necessary wounds of time
A fusion of worlds meld the two together in a forge as hot as the sun but as nourishing as a mother's touch

Balance, in all it's glory, sewn to us through the channels of our consciousness is now, truly, and undeniably,

Balanced.


- Brian Patrick Williams
11/13/2013
PK Wakefield Apr 2010
i may be maybe be
he
that which is
(and isn't)

both: that
or This

an i
and we

the center and th
e boundary

inseparately separate

physically meta

i wish i wish i
could
define
that thing that
i
call:

me
Thomas Jul 2014
I watched the snow descend to earth
Attention sought as flakes give birth
Submit to all her majesty
Surrender clouded canopy

A freezing fox that runs across
The curtilage wild turkey's toss
A lofty oak tree hides raccoon
Two fledgeling birds lose their platoon

The strapping deer takes off in flight
See squirrels flee with all their might
An Owl concluding calls of whoo
The animals know too eschew

All happens when the snowflakes fall
Am spellbound by one flake or all
The memory each one contain
Unique like us and our domain

Snowflakes and animals I see
We all are different you and me
Is random chance its proximious?
Creation not dichotomous

Am thankful I could see this view
And freedom too believe it's true

_______________
Iambic Tetrameter.  abab rhyme knit
PrttyBrd Nov 2015
I am
The
Very fence
On which
I
Walk
111315
Hudson Everett Sep 2013
Do you notice the dichotomy
In which I want to hold you closer
The only way to warm ourselves
Is to make our bodies into fire
I want to grab you rudely
Abruptly kiss your lips
I am burning with a passion
But frozen still in place
I love you more than life itself
Lets ignore both cold and pain
And prove now to ourselves
That life is in the moment
And love is in the night
Andrea Cullen Dec 2012
Melancholic misadventures and misanthropic moments make meeting men more and more meaningless,
Meaning less and less to those who undress to convene in the act of adulterated ***.


Flex:
Point!

Sit down,
Smoke a joint,
Go to sleep,
Work,
Eat,
Wash

(sometimes, not too often)
Feign attraction
and smile with your eyes as you die on the inside

Darkness outside


Whilst wintery winds whistle,
the worldly-wise whittle on and on in their wordy way of the other-worldly wonders they have witnessed.

We can but wish that their wily whispers will soon diminish with the melting snow
Or else go,
Turn your back on all that you lack before you step on a crack, break that back and see it refract through the prism of the microcosm of your mind

Colour-blind

Lost

Trying to find


Be found

My heart beats yet I hear no sound
As plasma pumps passionately through my pallid passages and I ponder partially perceptible pursuits that preside in my past

Digging deep down into the depths of my ***** deeds discloses a discerning dichotomous divulgence of doctrine and dogma

Two mothers
Three brothers
One sister
And a whole load of Misters!
Riq Schwartz Apr 2014
What acclaim is there
for the man who breaks
the heart of a *****?

What worthwhile service
can assuage the soul
so torn in malcontent.
He prophesies of Eden
telling Eve to hide her shame
in lieu of his land perfected.
"What other hell do you threaten?"
He claims, "Fire! Fire!"
But her lungs hold smoke
to keep hands from shaking
breaking spirits and homes
as Priest rushes
to the safety of Soap Box
lightheaded from the height.

What solace is there
for the arsonist in the convent?

His speech its own
blend of herbs and spices;
sour prepositions
and capsaicin soaked subjects
caught in the heat of judgment
like some wrathful deity,
holier than thou.
Resisting respite despite
facing the fire of his deeds,
the innocent frolic, carefree.
He finds he
is the tinder,
caught in his conflagration.

What pity have we
for the lost life of kings?*

Caught between revelries
and pomp,
caustic circumstantial froth
from his echelon elect
as we revel in flames
and fight *** with sins.
You know these things,
see them, taste them.
Spiteful planet, we adore thee,
eschewing humanity
with piety and privilege
and soft-spoken actions wont to liberate
the conscience.

Sing me the song of the sword
and I won't say a word.
Jason Feb 2021
She wanted all the benefits,
But none of the responsibility.

She needed me to love her,
But didn't want to care about me.

She expected me to follow her,
But she didn't want to lead.

She hoped I would decode her riddles,
But she wouldn't take the time to see.

She extracted a promise from me,
Then hid behind it like a tree.

She left me to live in chains,
But I am human, and I am free!

If she were to do all the things
That she expected of me,

Maybe she would swallow her pride,
And finally begin to understand me.
© 02/22/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Yeah yeah, I know, I keep changing it.  Fine-tuning ya know? :D
David Barr Dec 2013
Is trust really a delicate dance of uncertainty?
A lamb may skip with innocence over the bright dandelion-covered meadows of our majestic urban constructs, whilst Mother Nature unravels her thick carpet of jeopardy, without reservation or shame.
It is possible for us to refrain from captivations which allure us to the psychological precipice and to appreciate the chords of the blues which beautifully tantalise the innermost recesses of suppressed and forbidden yearnings.
So, join hands with the sonic waves of Saturn and respect the psychological precipice with sober awareness. Darkness and daylight are not dichotomous astrological differences where fatalistic determinism stands in diametrical opposition to authentic internal equilibrium.
Contemplate the soothing and beautiful anticipations of dusk, where the flight of the bat reveals a miraculous contrast against the deep pastel curtains of the night; and acknowledge that twilight exposes her morning glory in the simple droplet of dew.
The shadows hold no substance. Metamorphosis is a tangible possibility in the realms of existence. Do you believe it?
Jacky Xiang Aug 2010
My anomalous trip thus far has been dichotomous.
Harbingers motivate my advent: a chorus.
Acceptance of frolic ventures sent: a quest.
My sneakers meet familiar soil at last.

Designed to be a panacea, yet I fall ill.
Sleets of rain impact my soul: a slight chill.
Hazed trance, awashed clean of all acrimony.
A lurid stroll, downhill, parallel, perfunctory.

I, a stoic mercenary, avenging my ties tonight.
Arcane magic flow through my veins, my sight.
Moisture sparkle, glistens through my mental maze.
Resistance, control: I attempt to regain ablaze.

Synaptics fuse, burn, misfire, discombobulate.
Higher functions remain: calculus, formulate.
Veritas! Visual focus be on 2D layer sharp.
Disintegrated data sung with melodious harp.

Laissez-faire slayed by Communist meritocracy.
Mental hierarchy arise from wayward sorcery.
My affection for her nets only melancholia.
The amity cease... yet reborn by spying cornea.

Upon a hill from sea to sea brings forth diplomacy.
Lively lads, enshrouded in black; they be prodigies.
Persons of worth: one stranger joins their ranks.
If my creed offend, beg you pardon pranks.

Silent drizzle softly sings of night and majesty.
Lament under moonlight, behold gray sanctity.
Ne'er shall dreadful turmoil befall our facilities.
Literature conceals such divine secrecy.
Describing my trip to Vancouver visiting old friends.
Simon B Aug 2017
The conflict of knowing for a surety
But not being told.
She's bested by her dubitable  insecurities
and I grow weary and old.
No, I'm not making this furiously
I'm actually quite whole!
It's just curiosity kills
And I'm a full-on cat.
will she say it -?
will she unfold-?
Will she proclaim a story
that's yet to be told?
Will I write a ballad of joy, instead  verses of cold?
The world may never know
except for me, deep inside my soul
softcomponent Feb 2015
It was six in the morning**: I sat in a cab dangling on small-talk with a middle-aged white male cabbie basted in the demeanor of the over-friendly uncle. He asked me about school—I'm hyperawake, paranoid, body pulsing, feeling loose, depersonalized, and lightly psychedelic—my vision wavering as if someone had entered my skull to punch raw brain. I did a gram and a half of ******* that night; mixed lines with ketamine to simulate a proto-psychosis, but am convinced I may very well have driven myself past the point of no return. I'd been doing this strict mix for over 2 straight weeks, landing myself in out-of-body experiences and coked-out drawls on the floor like a sad, puckered monkey chewing on a lemon it mistook for an orange. Why I led myself to this existential precipice is both beyond me and totally within my rational sympathies if I pretend I am on the outside looking in.
When I was 18—drawn, for the first time—away from smalltown Powell River and into the Vancouver suburbia of Port Coquitlam, my only successful job-find was a McDonald's arched inside a Wal-Mart. The double-insult this presented me as a teenage anarchist pushed me deep into my first true emotional crisis which I only turned to accept after a particular phone call with my father in which he appealed to me to think of this stint as a 'temporary social experiment'; a chance to learn and breathe this proletarian experience from the inside out. During the pre-Christmas night-shifts, the only customers we ever had were the dark, apathetic silhouette-people Wal-Mart hired to greet the absolutely no one's walking through the door. I incessantly cleaned what was already a mirror-wet floor and made sad conversation with Rosario—the slightly autistic shift-manager with a prickly-shave of a face and an awkward sense of humor I could never come to appreciate and yet always managed to humor in polite obsequiousness. Regardless, it was a form of spread and endless boredom that began to fascinate me; it brought me to a darkness I had never quite known. It was an experience—like all experiences—to be had at least once, to the fullest and truest intensity. To be pushed with reckless sincerity.
Ever since, I have found myself pushing every limit to disembodied extremes—on occasion, to points of such profound irresponsibility or feigned responsibility that I break a particular streak and wind-up on the other dichotomous side of whatever line I unintentionally (or intentionally?) crossed (or broke?) because everything is a social experiment and I've touched the multifarious lives of overworked modernity, residential care aide, dishwasher, Christopher McCandlessesque wilderness jaunt, melancholic Kierkegaard, psychonaut, and now: a short-lived ****** inspired by the excess of Burroughs and the early beatniks all willing to **** their darlings for the sake of blood-stained posterity.
And yet meanwhile—in the cab—I can feel my headache grow perceptively wider from my left temple. Almost like a mushroom cloud over Bikini Atoll I am watching from as safe a distance as the physical body can withstand, according to some calculable hypothesis drafted by Oppenheimer himself. I am constantly amazed at how lucid I am in conversation with this friendly cabby; given that I feel as if I'm about to go ******, focusing so deftly on the way the streetlights glide across placid puddles moving only with our tires intervention—and the way I keep imagining insanity in the form of a zombie-likeness of myself strapped into an electric chair, skin melting and eyes rolling back in my head as I seizure to metaphysical death—I still laugh away short quips about the blind-leading-the-blind (he has no idea how to find my destination, and keeps pulling over to check a book road-map for 4143 Hessington Place). The only reason I am with him now is that I am venturing to see my girlfriend at her group-house past Uvic where the door is always unlocked for friends and friends-of-friends, she being the only solution to this crisis with her stash of .5 Xanax pills.
I remember those tense moments—with my body and brain as taut as a bow—he would pull over or pull out and my entire existence seemed to move through space and time as if against a wind that was perpetually in resistance—as if my entire consciousness was going to capsize into some form of overdosed darkness. Even when I exited the cab and waved a friendly goodbye to the old man, I could feel my dopamine receptors attempting to fire on empty. This caused a latent buzz that was only solved with two milligrams of alprazolam and my eyes wide shut until my head shut down.

I held her close. I knew she thought I was an idiot.
originally written as a project for my Creative Nonfiction class, Jan.2015
Jacky Xiang Sep 2010
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.

Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.

My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.

Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.

To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.

Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.

Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.

I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Wrote this throughout the day on a school day (Wednesday). If I was told I was going to produce so much scribbles in the morning, I'd have called them insane. Anyhow, just a slice of my mind on this sunny day. In regards to the title: there's always some insanity in adoration, but a piece of reason also exists within that madness. :)
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s élan vital
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically  phatic  propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s xenobiotic barratry
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
My sad attempt at social contiguity after reading poetessa diabolica's
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1268186/bella-donnas-intrinsic-nuances/
Oh to be so artistically aesthetic as she
Tanya Chaudhary Oct 2014
She is a enigma,
Difficult to comprehend,
but easy to pretend.
                                                                ­                                   She is freedom.
                                                        ­                                     Yet she is a desire.
She robs attention,
she steal thoughts.
                                                       ­                               She has a bright smile.
                                                          ­                         Yet she has a dark heart.
You can see the twinkle in her eyes,
but not her scars and her marks.
                                                                ­                       She makes herself fly,
                                                            ­                but inside her heart she lies.
She is a mystery,
An open book to everyone,
To only have each person read a few pages,
And not the entire chapter.
                                                        ­       She plays so many different people.
                                                  With time, she has become a brilliant actor.
She is her person.
                                                         ­                              She is a kaleidoscope.

                        *She is like a splash of rainbow on a canvas,
               later photographed and printed in black and white.
Tom McCone Apr 2013
Flittering feathers write sonnets
in soaring frequencies;
taking in the ocean at once,
I felt ripples brought to standstill,
damped by second's refrain,
curled back into the
picturesque blue written ahead,
but
no cloud harbours the ceiling,
no late words shown, jotted down
by the
indifferent and
invariably disappearing breeze.

The latterwork of these days took it up,
and hung it out
on lines stretched across skies and time,
betraying tender surfeit, in moments
torn out,
and,
leaving only
vague traces of
woodworn prose,
spilling out my last sentiments:

"we, once,
were alive,
if only for a moment."


In dreams she holds small collections
of sandy flowers,
above the shoreline,
as the dichotomous cluster takes theirs,
behind a fragmentary grain
in the blacksmith's hide;
written, again, are those seasick letters,
wrung out
in the dead heat of the forge,
the demands of strangers,
in stone buildings by the fireplace,
electric heater, off,
the inbetween reeling
of slightened accomplishments,
the scent of oil,
left over, from the husk of noon.

Miss and want, over again,
missing beguilement in afternoon's repose.

"come back...",
but she ain't the one gone.
dedicated to antarctica
Jordan Kit Feb 2010
Girl down the way
Carrying large brown-bagged bottles of liquor,
Nectar to the saddest poets who
Consume,
Consume,
Consume,
In order to consort with the sordid, dichotomous entities,
Enticing visions of vicious enemies
Crouching, kneeling, fighting, feeling,
Fleeing at their visage-
Does she get the message?
One more night of drinking alone.
Calls a far-off friend,
Sad and ******.
She asks with a tragic shake in her voice,
“Where did I go wrong?”
In a New York loft she
Groans,
Sighs,
Fumbles over words
That might not mean a thing.
Emily finally declares,
“You are more,
So much more,
So much undeniably more to this world
Than the blood in your veins,
Than the letters in your name,
But the facts remain;
Sometimes you are in love,
But sometimes,
You are never the same.
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Embark embargo extraditions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s id conclusions
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically  phatic  propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix's vertex vortex
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s synthetic synthesis
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
Elan-vital's apotropaic apotheosis
importunacy
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
i actually did own a doberman pinscher called axl... yes: no e in the same. ****** was mad, what do you expect? his ears were sliced so he could look like some urukai orc of isengard... try trimming the ears of a human being: to then pretend "think" they'll be wiser... that part where they chop of the tail of a doberman? i wasn't around when that happened, i can clearly picture the plastic surgery on my axl... so what am i going to say about circumcision? makes the ******* mad! they're sending ****-picks to people... how about i just watch you smile? is circumcision the ideal motivation for preserving life? like you need the complete vuvla to be attracted by it? ******* surely isn't fun with that revision... just as much as saying: a billion ching changs... or we could do away with the lips and call these people the todkompflächeln; personally? i'd begin the aesthetic surgery on the ears, maybe making a few "elves" would help the situation... otherwise m.g.m. gets no mention, because those ******* don't even know what ******* with one feels like: i can peel mine back for *******... but you can't cloak with one during the grand practice of: taking a ****.

billions... it's starting to look very much like a *****,
given the character names... i mean: wags?
next season is bound to invoke the nick
*****... it has become an existential prison,
since the moon landing: bye bye
the brothers grimm and the fairytale...
i know this because someone has already
made the same conclusion...
billions? who'd i like to doppelgänger?
   mike wagner... scalp him, skin him, whatever,
i am trying to believe that i don't have
that wry smile of his when writing this,
the cheaky chappy type of smile,
what i can tell you is what happened yesterday
after my drinking session ended...
spring's impeding, *******, i'm going to
watch more television since i'll be sad having
moved from, what could be best described
as alaskan funfair... night by the 5pm mark...
i sometimes get the shakes...
but only out of anger, that boils down to
my neighbour complaining that i sometimes
lose the plot and say things aloud...
the boundaries i'm crossing is equivalent to a bird
singing in the night...
    but last night, was, spectacular...
   i forgot what chess even was...
   i had heidegger's *ponderings ii - vi

(in hardback) on the windowsill...
                       i had a crescent version and a complete
version of amitriptyline (25mg)...
       nurse! scalpel i'm getting a headache!
    ami-tri-pty-line (ptee line? or pti lean?
yes, lean, no fat on it;
   so as i was about to get the sucker punch
i was playing imaginary dominos
even if just that, or throwing invisible dice,
exchanging positions of these two pills
            and four swan (brand) filter tips...
i do remember saying something into the night,
what it was? i don't know.
            so it was either dominos or "throwing"
dice on a book on the windowsill,
moving the one complete pill and the other
bitten off crescent (what's that? about 13mg?)...
and the filter tips...
                and it was on a hardcover surface
of a book on a windowsill...
             i knew i would take the plunge at
some point, the question was when that would happen;
i don't know what i had to even cherish
the grace of thought at that moment...
the next oddity came with an empty glass
and trying to balance it on the parapet ledge...
it turned out to be a case of fractions...
     the tipping point stood at: two thirds...
it would never be done in halves, and certainly not
quarters...
              see... mm... money is fascinating
as a concept, how it was arrived at;
  i can know the man who invented the lightbulb
(jefferson, right? ol' tommy)... money?
   no clue... who could have "blinded" the greeks
to the extent where we stand now?
      the more i drink the more i think that this
cann't lead to any sort of accomplishment other than
the stated words...
    i do really retract into speaking verse that
i never write down... it's there one minute, gone the next;
but that domino / dice thing with 1.5 sleeping pills
and 4 cigarette tips (yes, i can roll a cigarette
like a machine, so the tips were not ***** by tokes
to remind people of marmite / vegemite of australia
colouring): i smoke cigarettes thinking about a sun-tan.
why was i doing this?
don't know, what's the point of playing domino
or throwing dice to gamble?
                     there is a chiral point to be made,
or at least a parallel point...
         a chiral-parallelism, as is the case with concept
of parallel per se...
such that title suggests i stole "something" that actually
steals...          hollywood and cuckoos...
      there are always two ways of saying the same
thing: moving forward, however dichotomous those
sayings are...
                  since that approach later turns into
a dualism that then eats at psychologism and morphs
into monism and: we're back at square one.
Irrelevance
        Endless patterns & bright blue window pain eyes.
I doubt I'd recognize happiness if it settled
the smell of rain, cemetery grins
       -euphoric
        she laughed out loud in the presence of insecurity
destroyed the hope & childlike deities.
Roman aesthetic, industrial faun
         implicate vigor and false pleasantries.
Water can no longer clean your skin, natural imperfection.
Seething arrival into endless mirrors of red
         imperious revelation, spare me
                           -Consistent Smoke-
spherical sun beam with a nervous smile
beautiful facade in a strangers last gift to uncertainty
          glass silver speck, on the edge with a grin
Follow suits: witty confounding  leather strap of righteousness
Open late in case of mistakes
film the photographer & capture youth
          you're a sick little girl
          golden wet lust mild with love
          Wind chime
          Wind crime
          Sing song
                              Somber solitude
low hear, little plants grow
No need to feel
She is not here
We are all alone.
  
-Alan Harley Clark
Babylyn May 2016
If
given the chance
to choose-
who to love
I'd still pick you.

If there is
someone
I'd die for,
it's always you.

Ask me
multiple;
a hundred
a million
gazillion
times,
It's your name
I'll say
With sparks
in my eyes.

But tears
will fall
right after-
'cause right
then, I will realize

You'll always
do the
same thing
you did to me;

Drown me with goodbyes.
M Padin Oct 2013
The black chair sits
in the garden,
selfsame shadow.

The mirror is
mirrored:
   reflection.  

Humans are:
humans are, that is,
dichotomous,
self-fulfilling
neurosis.
For Paul Celan.

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.
There's too much prose in this world,
Sermons are more than service
Money is more than mind
Polemics dominate over resolution
Truth crumbles under loads of lies.
While millions go without food
Poverty is researched
Sustainability is analyzed
Cost of survival is determined
By people living in luxury!
Baffled I turn to poetry,
To seek symmetry
In this dichotomous world!
myownmuse Mar 2014
Dichotomous mind, making me an idol
then a liar
my mouth should have remained closed
so you could not have reached in
and twisted my tongue
the drama unfolds in passive-aggressive
turning my apology
into Medusa
only reminds me of why I stayed away
it is enough for me to know;
I did not look down on you
and I did not lie
Joanna Oz Aug 2016
there is a universe inside your chest
infinitely expanding
though infinitesimally slow
at times
boundaries stretch, breathe
though confusing at times
destruction feeds growth,
dichotomous paradox forms whole,
stars implode, give way to supernovas,
give way to planets filled with lava and snow
there, inside, a universe
constantly churning,
the incessant spin of all burning
that births light and shadow

here I stand on the precipice.
here, in an amorphous dusk and dawn,
unclear if day or night
is about to kiss the horizon
unsure if I should call to moon or sun
or neither,
or    you.
here in limbo, arching my spine to
sneak under the guardrail of loving
here, instinctually shoving myself
into bottlenecks and genie lamps
oh, how my gypsy soul wants to run,
yet feels so enchanted it stays, here
on the precipice,
itching to gain entrance
into the universe brimming
inside of you

there
there, inside your chest
there I said it.     and I'll say it again,
and I'll say it even louder:
I confess! I'm enchanted!
I'm enamored, enthralled, enraptured,
I want my heart
to know your heart,
I want to dive chest-first into your outer space galaxy nest
an astronaut without a helmet,
I want to explore, awestruck
never trying to label, box, or understand - simply experience
your universe

there, I finally said it
I'm finally starting
to write the poems I'm afraid of,
the ones I don't want to say out loud
I'm starting to write out shadows and solar flares and floods,
starting to let my heart bleed out of my pen, cause
what the hell am I hiding from?
what are we all so scared of?
we were ****** into this strange world
blind and wet,
groping in the darkness for heaven
meant to rip ourselves open again, again
meant to feel with the depth and tempest of oceans
meant to risk and be fools and fall to meet rose-hued ends

I just want to make love with the light
of a thousand candles, a million stars, and the moon turned on
and panting
silver dripping from her tongue,
dizzy with the heat of solar undulations,
stripping down to the heart of the matter
down to the simple truth of it all:
I was born to feel,
and my god, you...
you make me feel universes
you make me feel thunder and lightning and bedroom churches and power surges
you make me feel sunrise stillness
and it makes me fall silent.
so here I am, writing the poems I'm afraid of
and sending them out, messages
in bottles, adrift
in the endless oceans of your universe
David Barr Sep 2015
The coldness of my unleashed disinhibitions have gracefully succumbed to the wisdom of cosmological forces, despite my ravenous salivations for all that is vehemently forbidden.
As I bark inside the relief of this solitary pound of articulated and socialised liberty, like an expression of abstract artistry within an ethical mudslide; I continue to teeter upon geographical tightropes which span unforgiving terrains across the ancient divides of propriety, where the baron plains of deuterocanonical origin are populated by restless spirits with gnashing teeth.
So, if they could ever be personified, I could easily butcher a myriad of depravities which tangibly characterise my inner Astarte and Ishtar demons – although, such an event would have to occur after we have engaged in a myriad of abominations where raunchy and indulgent copulations shamefully expose our brazen wantonness to animalistic inclinations.
Never offer to tie me down.
Restriction diametrically opposes my socially skilled yet nomadic being, as it sojourns across a psychedelic array of vibrant gardens, and weaves through present pathways which are timeless in their being.
It just is.
That is the essence of ontology.
Can we ever effectively contemplate the philosophies of predetermination and predestination?
As I am not dichotomous in my thinking, there is a legitimate place for being an omnivore within the walls of our societal fabric.
Although I radically accept that of which I do not approve, the psychology of ambivalence has led me to raise questions around the validity of horticulture.
My clock has melted down the flamboyance of those multicolored mountainsides of being and nothingness.
pandemoniac Apr 2021
silent poet thinking words,
never i must write
lucid wretched loving words
all bark and half the bite

silent poet thinking thoughts
the ink refused to make
mind and pen are separate
an unyeilding opaque

if i tell the tale to you
of love and praise and good
you'd laugh and laugh and laugh some more
naive misunderstood

my mind a chasm of infinite good
the world dichotomous strange
the vines do seize me gently
to a velvet padded cage

my head is a bed of roses
the thorns pierce me not
i am safe and free and happy
delusional, deep in thought

**** me softly
make me smile
your intoxicating
rapt exile

silent poet thinking thoughts
writes symphonies in his head
the writer and the audience
will dance until they're dead

silent poet thinking words
is struck by stockholm syndrome
perfect captor perfect world
illusion is his home
why am i not a good story-teller if all i do is daydream?
“You never really did like talking, did you?” she asks rhetorically.
As our fingers interdigitate and the sky dims deathly dark against the white waves of the Gulf of Mexico,
she accepts my silence as an answer while we walk westward into the ocean.

And what good would it have done for me to speak up?
The crashing waves on either side of us speak mountains more than my words ever could.

I speak mostly via my eyes.

My soul leaps and bounds out from my hazel shore and into her oceanic ports, her verdant eyes.
We walk toward the end of the pier, as the wind wailing against our ears drowns out the sound of our flip-flops flopping.
They’d go “flop… flop…” but neither of us can hear them.

The wind divides the water molecules from the salty ones, sending some up into the air and into our trajectory.
I can taste them on my skin and in my eyes.

As we pass the last obstruction and the air that aspires to be a hurricane intrudes our lungs, a mantra plays in my head, words she once said:

A healthy relationship is one in which you’re comfortable with the noise and the silence.

And here we are with both the opaque sound and the deafening quiet, each paradoxically cancelling out the other.
If the flop of our shoes is masked by the sound of the waves, perhaps the distress on my face might never meet her eyes.

But it does.

And as we return eastward from our finger-locked, tongue-tied stroll down the Naples Pier, she takes the south exit while I take the north.
I didn't write this as a poem originally, but I started to see myself in it the more that I wrote it, so I transposed it here.
David Nelson Mar 2010
Alphabetical Order  

amazing are the stars, that fill the eyes of a woman in love,
broken is the heart of a man, who has been turned away,
crowded are the stairways of the souls, searching the ****** glove,
dichotomous minds each separating, between month and day,

emulating the desires, that never seem to be quite filled,
forever left behind in the wake, of the steamy encounters,
gratification comes so close to the edge, of tears that spilled,
humbling the spirit of drive, as she casually saunters

in and out of her trances, thus requiring a special technique,
just as your about to capture, the flag of your quest,
keeping your head above the line, you get just one peek,
lovers separated, never owned, still merely a guest      

might as well step into the path, of an oncoming fist,
never was any remote chance, that this would be resolved,
over and over the words are repeated, like reading a list,
permanently bringing injury to the dreamers involved

quietly, you grab your bags of lost promises and regrets,
resolving to the facts, that are right in front of your face,  
securing the one of you dreams, don't be placing your bets,
trying to hard, seeking too much, another time, another place

underlining the failures, that are displayed on the page,
verification of these unwanted responses, we certainly don't need,
when oh when, can this heartache release built up rage,
xylem pumping the fluid, will it finally bleed

you're standing there now, with nothing to show for the time,
zanyism is quite commonly blamed for the entire episode.

Gomer Lepoet...
- From Rhymes or Reasons Vol I
PJ Poesy Mar 2017
Predicament of the zero hour
enabling brave or foolish decision
Even  mélange of both
Hitting home
physical structures oppose
Unfleshly
Holy Ghost takes over,
very much also  
Divinity and arousal

Only human
perched on brink of flight
dwelling is no perception
of freedom
Apprehending bigger picture
"To judge is not to love"
or something Mother Teresa said

When Pops referred to "The Bible"
it meant, bring him the sports page
Dichotomous our separate ways
revealing conscious decisions
Tridented a third eye  
When a vision of something further
sends to sentiment beyond
Cast and flung
Stealing home plate
and called, "Safe"
Pondering what only a god
may leverage
My father who had been suffering dementia, passed on today. This is a contemplation of his struggle and his strength. I love you Pops.
A minute portion, an iota of matter
That actually doesn't matter at all.
It just about sums  up the motes of life.
Our fragment of life may touch one,
May touch many, but in the end we're all
Small grains of a larger whole.

The sands of time, the granules of the host at Eucharist.
The scientific nucleus
How dichotomous
Religious and scientific particles
Floating in either a Petrie dish or religious fervour
We are particular particles forever searching
Searching for us, for truth and our beginning.
© JLB
Joanna Oz Sep 2014
There is a calm center within me;
It flows from deep rivers of breath,
Spiraling up and out in every direction.

There is a calm center within me;
Grounding me with sturdy roots,
Soaking up the sweet soul beneath
My rocky hard surface
Through twisting tunnels, tumble torrents.

There is a calm center within me;
Laying soft and still under rushing currents,
Reflecting patience, serenity, consistency
To my mistaken misplaced preconceived perceptions,
Oh they appear to be everchanging,
While the truth is they're stuck going round and round and round
Over the same cyclical trap, making me dizzy.

There is a calm center within me;
It is my mountaintop of mercy,
Where my mind meditates and marvels
At the we of conscious connection,
Spreading from me, reaching out to other frequencies
Emanating from peaks which surround me,
Where the dichotomous
You-Me, ******, Us-They;
Melt into a spectrum of WE --
And oh, I am just beginning to see.

There is a calm center within me;
There is a calm center;
There is calm.....

There is a calm center within me,
Let it flow out.
Venusoul7 Apr 2014
I agree....just simply through my Experience.
I understand the fine tuning acquired & required as we unVeil New & refined Capabilities
~Waves of Revelation, surging inside of You
~ as you feel a Personal Amazement of all previous Moments ~synchronized~
in
Cosmical interconnectedness
The Entanglement
~that directed the bigger Picture of the a transformative situation
(Testing Ground).

I realize I gain in blessed gifts for my service through proper conduct, awareness through dichotomous states of Eagle Eye Concentration, incorporating full sensory ~Engagement~
... at the same time I Release a part of my Conscious Attention into ~Extended Awareness~
Bless my Befuddlement...I..I..mean I am having a recent frustration causing conflicting feelings about the role I see Myself contributing as in the Grand Procession of These Kind of Things....

I am mainly Elated , Honored, Focused, Excited, and, Well, gawddarnitt...*** me ma horsee ma...We's gots a good long ride, Theys'alls a'beans tellings....I hears
...just laugh with me...ahhhh
Phase In,Phase Out
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
1

I say I'm a designer of systems, plans
Man's
Parts that stand together, set in place to serve
Trees and planets, too, which are unplanned by us
The observant, wise man
Tries to understand
Name the parts, pistil and stamen
Rocks, eskars
Elements.

Winter is shuddering to an end, mud roads
Cardinal pairs
Robin flocks return that will soon pair off
Buds
Soils swell
Will I live to smell it again, learn the lobelias
Understand and name the parts
It ought to be a great comfort to be so insignificant
Go among weeds, a wind
Thinking to myself

One's never alone
A dichotomous key is needed, a book of twigs and fruits
Accumulated over time and generations
Without it mine would be a blank mind

To be blank but knowledgeable
Without any machinery
In a perfect silence
That is the definition of death for which we have only to wait
But in my panic last night I thought death's inert
Grace requires consciousness
Hold on long to the senses
At least a century, maybe more
A boy hanging upside down from a fence at sunset, counting
      clouds

2

Now we go to our daily practice
And chosen disciplines
Sustained by the satisfactions of being good men among our
      fellow men
Women
Choosing to do this and not that
With the finite days allotted us that at first seemed like a lot
They're now few
But the chickadee's life to the chick and the cankerworm
      moth's to the worm
Seem as long to them as ours to us
What question am I asking today
By now, past half a century, I should have chosen a discipline
And been satisfied

To be a war president one must have war
May you live in interesting times - wish or curse?
Squirrels, high in oaks,
Fiber, fat and protein in acorns
Strong runners, leapers, climbers
Should stay off the roads which some cannot avoid being
      where they're born
Natural selection is occurring
Those that look for machinery in motion
Hesitate or don't as needed before crossing
Live in larger numbers than those whose modus operandi's
Guessing
The ravens eat the fur and guts of bad guesses off the roads

I impose my own small order
Having chosen mountains over plains or shore
Go to my daily discipline
And estimate the motions of the seas and stars
Measuring my satisfactions by my children's satisfactions
"I design systems that allow people to do their best work regularly and predictably, instead of intermittently and by chance, and to produce outcomes in quantities large enough to make a difference in their communities."

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Nik Krutilla Jan 2015
THIS STORY IS FOR A STRANGER ABOUT A WOMAN

It's not exceptional nor is it extraordinary.
It just is...
A brief journey through a half life.
She was given home to be born into that was furnished with doubt and anticipation.
A surpirse gift.
She had parents who loved her and raised her.
An adventurous and curious child.
She made way into the territory of her youth that was sometimes dangerous and sometimes timid.
That didn't stop her from exploring and wondering.
Pushing bounderies of her own mind and the surrounding world.
She climbed the highest tree just to fall effortlessly onto the ground waiting for her.
What could of been an instant end resulted in a hospital visit.
Left to her was a concusion and a willfulness to conquer fear from then on.
She was learning but not alone.

Forward some years and the little girl becoming a woman.
Being of compassion and loyalty she was a good friend.
Maybe sometimes too good.
An irrational chain of events one night out of thousands more to come would test that girl.
A time where her will and mind had been altered irrevocably.
An innocence stolen.
Still she trudged ahead for there was still life to be lived.
Even though at times, she questioned if her's was worth it.
She was a fighter at the core.
Cause and effect may be taken into account at this point.
Things had changed for those around her as well.
Here she was unceremoniously given the duty of caring mother-like for a child sibling.
Thrusting through an abandonment of the other half of a two pillar support.
Naturally and with some rebellion she mustered up the task and did what she felt she had to.
It was not expected but necessary.
She was learning but not alone.

As time moved on she moved with it.
Experiencing love for the first time she lept into it with ferocious dedication.
Trying to use the knowledge she had witnessed and apply it to the grown up world.
In this endeavor, a garden to be planted where a flowerbed had stopped blooming.
From it a seed of life becoming and unbecoming before it's time.
A warning of maturity perhaps.
Then later a gift of responibility to come to fruition.
A living, breathing love.
Not without it's concequences though.
With this joy also came trepidation.
A new seed growing but with possibility of delays or death.
A birth defect, chromosome abnormality the doctors warned.
A lifetime of disability or a short lifetime resulting in eternal rest.
The girl knew that no matter what came about she would want to bring this life into the world.
It deserved a chance.
So with that a baby came immense joy.
And to this day no negative physical affects.
The gift she will be forever greatful for.
She was learning but not alone.

Years pass and memories are still being made.
People have been lost but not forgotten.
Now a woman, she masters her life with hopeful hands.
Her health was always a loose branch in the wind it seemed.
Sickness came in the form of kidney infection and dying organs.
Car accidents and permanent aches.
Feminine ****** duties being taken away.
Genetic self sabotage.
Mental illness and straining to swim above.
She was learning but not alone.

It was a long difficult road in a short expanse of time.
Her life that she was constantly improving and trying to understand.
Now brings us to the point of a recent harrowing situation...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2014
It's Christmas time last year and the snow is fickle.
Family is spread out and travel is a must for her little one to connect with everyone.
So she gets into her car to journey across the counties.
It's uneventful outside.
Work and bills and hobbies are what consume her daily life now.
But she is always focused on being a good mother.
So that's the reason for the ride, not the excuse.
Cruizing the same highway she's been down hundreds of times already,
She thinks nothing of it.
It's just what she has to do.
Traffic is sparse but other vehicles out now are semi trucks and hastily driving holiday commuters.
The radio is on and the child is in the back seat commenting on the passing scenery.
She is patiently answering questions and focusing on the road.
Up ahead of her some hundred feet on the snowless stretch she sees a car wiggle a bit.
Tightening her hands on the wheel she just knows this isn't right.
She can't move over to her left.
She slows down under the speed limit just in case.
But it's inevitable.
She's going over that samw spot in a few seconds.
Now as she does, her body suddenly kicks into instinctual safety mode.
The car doesn't wiggle.
It starts to fish-tail.
Hard.

Splotchy recollection takes over here.
From that exact moment, it could of been only a few minutes but it felt limitless.
As the car started to take a life of it's own she heard the voice of her daughter in the background.
A mantra of 'It's okay, we're okay" flooded out of her mouth automatically.
She tried to right the car but her hands could have been invisible at this point.
Half rotations from left to right eventually lead to doing a 180 degree motion.
Stopping the swivel just before the car impacted the dividing medium on the highway.
At unaided 55 miles an hour she was now looking into the windsheild of another car in the other lane.
The momentum pushing the slippery cage of metal backwards now.
She was a dichotomous fog of confusion and awareness.
Only lasting a few more seconds the car wipped it's way back East.
Sliding back into the lane it was originally in, it kept going.
She now could see the edge of the ravine getting closer.
Where the highway ended and darkness started.
A 20 foot drop if you fell sideways.
Scared chatter from the backseat.
Radio on.
And then suddenly nothing.
Like catching a glass from falling off the table the vehicle just stopped.
Everything turned off.
It was over.
Just sitting alone on the road.
No horns were honked and no one was hurt.
Her breathing was the loudest thing to be heard.
After looking back quickly to make sure her little girl was alright,
she closed her eyes for the first time since this all began.
That's when she felt it.
Something she has felt before but only faintly throughout her life.
When things were wonderful and when they spiriled down.
When she had felt great happiness and overcoming sorrow.
It was an electricity that bloomed in her belly and down her back simultaneously.
It grounded.
It soothed.
It overtook.
She was learning but not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could say it was a fluke or maybe luck.
For me it was something better, bigger.
As I continue on my life's path wherever it leads me, I just know.
I know that things happen for unknown reasons and we want to make sense of them.
Sometimes we can't.
All I can say is that by suffering through the pain and bad, we value and appreciate the good.
People have terrible situiations to live through but they live through them.
We find the meaning to our lives sometimes in mysterious ways.
Sometimes you have to attribute things to faith, undoubtedly.
And when it's not your time...
It's not your time.
I still survive.
What's your explanation of my story?
Something I haven't already thought of maybe?
When you can find another reason for it, let me know.
Until then I dare you...

Tell ME that GOD doesn't exist.


*©NDHK
David Nelson Jul 2013
Alphabetical Order  

amazing are the stars, that fill the eyes of a woman in love,
broken is the heart of a man, who has been turned away,
crowded are the stairways of the souls, searching the ****** glove,
dichotomous minds each separating, between month and day,

emulating the desires, that never seem to be quite filled,
forever left behind in the wake, of the steamy encounters,
gratification comes so close to the edge, of tears that spilled,
humbling the spirit of drive, as she casually saunters

in and out of her trances, thus requiring a special technique,
just as your about to capture, the flag of your quest,
keeping your head above the line, you get just one peek,
lovers separated, never owned, still merely a guest      

might as well step into the path, of an oncoming fist,
never was any remote chance, that this would be resolved,
over and over the words are repeated, like reading a list,
permanently bringing injury to the dreamers involved

quietly, you grab your bags of lost promises and regrets,
resolving to the facts, that are right in front of your face,  
securing the one of you dreams, don't be placing your bets,
trying too hard, seeking too much, another time, another place

underlining the failures, that are displayed on the page,
verification of these unwanted responses, we certainly don't need,
when oh when, can this heartache release built up rage,
xylem pumping the fluid, will it finally bleed

you're standing there now, with nothing to show for the time,
zanyism is quite commonly blamed for the entire episode.

Gomer Lepoet...
- From Rhymes or Reasons Vol I

— The End —