born underwater a virgin to the birth of creation
complacent verses bathing in lakes wasted her patience
ocean poems emotive prose the notions grow
breast strokes sowed in silly string civilized sovereignty
divinity’s reliance divided by Earth’s dire needs
fires breathe regardless of the rain she breeds
seeds beneath the sand hold no reason to lie in wake
so we speak in foreign tongues with dominance a mistake
to take her language for another world
visions died with imminence and grandiosity
a coliseum’s misconstruction catalyzed combustion’s coldest counterculture
living within the wind sinning stings it’s singularity
glaring stares impaired all sages of their clarity
careful conscious turned rotten swimming in the toxins
glossy water robs apostles of oxygen
filtered riddles fiddled this conviction’s symmetry
& now the god’s live in ignorance and misery
crimson skies abysmal cries they’re looking at the ground
astounded to the loud doubts that overpower clouds
powdered optometry devoured flowers of their solitude
another rotten petal for every sentiment left misunderstood
confused prisoners gifted with the write to think
proles sentenced to wonder why the caged bird sings
a paradox of broken thoughts to question it’s intentions
matter undermined the undefined enlightenment
spirals in the light comprise a present tense
evanescent destination sensei keep I humble
so many stripes up in my wavelengths
widowed endorphins scrape the pain away
balanced chemically an efficacy of electricity
many marvel but the master’s prophecy is destiny
mathematician, painter and poet
a genius of an engineer
I wish I could have met the man
or even better if he were here
I would follow him everywhere
absorbing as much as I could
trying to collect his brilliance in a jar
you know most surely I would
his curiosity and imagination
equaled by few mortals ever known
his feats of undeniable skills
his seeds of desire forever grown
the anatomical research he started
unequaled technological ingenuity
the beautiful Mona Lisa's face
the Last Supper reflects his ASSIDUITY
the creator of simple bobbin winder
the theory of plate tectonics
solar power and hydrodynamics too
his thoughts on moving robotics
yes he was a marvelous genius
his love of life will live on forever
sharing his unending reaching mind
we can marvel at this man together
Gomer LePoet ....
Do you see my exterior and marvel
at its ability to capture the weak pupil?
If my skin is but a blanket to cover
you on your lonely nights of desire
then leave my presence.
Look at me and desire to
dissect my brain to find my most horrid
memories that I cannot face alone, and
walk me through the eerie graveyard (my mind) with
your hand in mine whispering “It’s okay”.
Look at me and desire to
open the doorknob where my eyes used to
lie on my face, wanting to enter the world
of perilous ghosts that have lingered in
my soul, and sleigh the hungry monsters
relentlessly pulling me in their darkness.
Look at me and desire to
remove my ribs to reach my fragile beating
heart full of dark secrets, fear and uncertainty.
Place upon it a healing kiss that will render
it impervious to all that tries to break it.
Look at me and desire to
stay by my hopeless side when I begin to drown
in melancholic oceans, as life will have overwhelmed
my delicate being.
Look at me and desire to
kiss my mouth much ardently and never feign
your love for me, for I will always be true.
Look at me and desire to
accept all about my being that I wish to replace
with something greater. Love me when my demons
begin to claw at my vision, leaving the world in my
perception to be horrifying and empty.
Look at me and desire to
tell me that I am Enough and all that you need
and could ever want when I look at my sorrowful
reflection and begin to believe otherwise.
Please, I ask of you
(whomever shall be bewitched by my presence)
do not desire my exterior until you have fully
dissected my interior because I can assure you
my darkness will remorselessly swallow you whole.
she didn't know..
until she knew
what a curve of learning!
both college-students and real good-friends
he was a science-and-botany buff
and the mountain would get a taste of his cells
and she, student of philosophy and languages
would hear the latent-message from a dozen sources
they shared confidences to the other
things they never told a soul
he also discussed his theories and science-experiments and projects and stuff
she told him how slightly-uphill her lectures in Russian proved to be
they'd meet there every Monday.. under the campus-trees
with two hellish-strong espressos
he remembered her chewy-doughnuts without any snow-sprinkles
'cause she was given to these silly coughing-fits
when eating peanuts and pulses
he teased her endless and ragged all her idiosyncrasies
they seemed closer than kin
yet he seemed to remain aloof when she tried to get closer
he brushed off her advances
and told her to get lost
then ran off with Lilian on Tuesday
then Zita next Tuesday
then Sumaya the following Wednesday
and Tarryn on Thursday after that
and so it went on for a whole while
the whole academic-year, in fact
they studied together
and swore in debates
and met every Monday
oh, that was the one day he never dated
on the first day of each month
he'd give her a beautiful clutch-pencil
its casing bled entirely in translucent-fuchsin
and told her to guard well context over content
she never understood this cryptic-crap
but smilingly accepted each one
she thought them too pretty to use
and kept them in a special-box
yet her heart broke each time
he took out a new flavour-of-girl
and shared his tongue with
Sally and Margaret and Lisbeth and Anne..
some lasted days, others short-weeks
but they all fizzled out
like the pop that they swallowed
and she wondered if he would ever
favour her with affection
give to her what those lucky-gals got
look into her eyes like that
whisper sweet-nothings to her
why didn't he want her?
but he was brusque with her and abrupt as discordant-chords
he scolded her like uneven-bricks tumbling down
and yet, it was to her that he played
his own alternate-ballads on his banjo
i n t r i c a t e - b e a u t y like living-pearls on those strings
he couldn't look at her, then
too caught-up in sweet-delivery of song
and with his eyes closed, her imagination took high-flight
as she was able to stare at him, without fear
and marvel at the mesmerising co-ordination of those busy-fingers..
others passed by, but he did not care.. so giving
she felt so unique
'cause she got what they did not
music and.. talk and.. those clutch-pencil gifts
and for his birthday, she gave him a two-tone pelargonium, potted in cream
left him wordless..
it was near the end of November
(just like now:)
and he casually mentioned of going away
a week-long hike in December
with a girl in a group that he'd met, some Sarah or other
and something in her flared and she broke down..
went off the rails
he looked on aghast, in total silence.. half-perplexed, half-squinting
which disquietened her far more than any outburst could have
he stood there before her, on that Monday
in the beautiful mid-morning sun
she remembered, to the moment.. how the light caught his eyes
seemed to be looking right t-h-r-o-u-g-h her
and almost, she saw the tiniest-trace of something...
struck by a touch of liquid-vulnerability in his being
but hooded-eyes quick again, typical-hider!
he reached into his backpack
thrust her a clutch-pencil
which she almost rejected
but she calmed herself down
and he looked at her once
turned on heel
and walked to his Beetle
rode off the campus
without looking back
and she kept on wondering what it was all about
that silent intense-look
news came of a group of hikers who succumbed
from high up
some slipped and
her acrid-tears were not the only to fall
she ran back to her dorm
reached for his gifts.. in full-remorse
and clutching a pencil in each hand
she squeezed and accidentally pressed on the flick-top
(it came out)
i t . . . c a m e . . . o u t . . . ! !
never in her life would she be as stunned
as they repeated their message
over and over
in tandem audio-confusion
in all the tongues she had studied
she learns now
of the time he took to delve into her crap to relay his truth through his amazing-invention!
at the interment, she couldn't speak
displacement dipped too deep
she took up one clutch-pencil
and pressed on the top
message loud and clear
custom-made brilliance direct from heaven's fingertips
the pall-bearers lifted him up
out of her life
now this roundabout-present lies in the velours-box
like he does in his
students of learning..
in book.. and in heart
S T - 25 nov 2013
the pen sure be mightier than the sword ~
but life is much like a pencil - ain't nada permanent :)
father, beloved.. who will care for us?
when you depart for war tomorrow
against the people's will
mother, beloved.. we pray for you
your seven children miss you so
we seek your guidance now
children, beloved.. hark ye well
there be a place to go, when alone
to feed the soul.. go quietly - inside
(when you fail to go within
you go without)
I hide behind my words.
I built my body out
of these words that
I can manipulate
until they convey exactly
what I need them to,
until they fit perfectly.
I lace them with meaning,
use them as molds to pour
parts of my soul in,
take them to form a
backbone for my most
Still, they are just words,
worthless and meaningless.
In the end,
You are a man of actions.
Each of your movements
don’t go without reason.
is cleverly calculated;
your mind moves
to create the balance
of cause and effect,
an act so precise that
the outcome of your actions.
As if that wasn’t enough,
you have perfected the art
of reading the actions
You see their true emotions
in their looks,
in their blinks,
in the way their lips move,
in their shrugs,
in the way they try to hide it
when they look into your eyes.
I marvel over your art.
I envy your ability to see
past their fabrications and
into their true beings.
My art of sculpting words
into makeshift bodies
dims like moonlight
under your sunshine talent.
If ever you choose to do me a favour, do this:
read my looks like you used to,
scrape the empty words off my skin and bones,
memorize the movements of my raw flesh,
feel the deliberate action of my heart
beating to keep me alive
that it is all for
Is it worth it?
To live a life without questions,
never asking yourself why,
There's no reason to pay attention
But I gave in;
Never too wise to make a rational decision -
Nothing left, so I let these opinions
become incisions in my flesh
Was it worth it?
To put my life in her hands
Fully knowing she'd let it spill
like grains of sand in an hourglass -
Except demons from my past;
I can escape about as well as a mouse in a trap
Its remarkably spectacular;
When I look, stop, then reflect
On everything I've ever done
to inflict another stab to my back
Oh, it's what I lack
In this marvelous abstraction
And how I let my decadent life
fall apart in a fraction of a second;
Every step forward, is just another regression
I take this message as a lesson
I need to embrace my consequences
So I guess I'm an aesthetic,
Because every time I think of her
I can't help but s-s-stutter
because I'm at a loss for words
Then I shudder as I struggle
to locate my common sense
Because ever since I let her leave
I haven't got a decent night of sleep
And now my only regret,
is the only question I've left
And that's why did I ever let my troubled mind double as my prison
I ponder through the legions of lesions
I mean I've got so many problems
even my shrink is in disbelief
Why can't you just leave and let me be
can't you see I'm grieving
the loss of all of my self esteem?
So it seems,
Maybe I really am crazy.
I hate it. /
Nowhere to go, I stumble upon a crossroads
Where I'm greeted by a drifter
who tells me of his most wondrous proposition
"Listen here kid while I enchant you,
I can grant every single wish
you've ever wanted to come true.
All the secrets of Heaven and Earth
I can bestow unto you."
Who are you?
"I come in many names
Why not address me Master, for you are my slave
Some call me Beelzebub, but really I'm you
The voices in the recess of your mind
You deny as the truth
I am Lucifer, the light-bearer
Knowledge, that which haunts you
I am the recurring nightmare plaguing your slumber" -
(The one with the window,
what do you see on the other side?)
A mirror, the haunting reflection
of memories enamored, inanimate
(Moments forever suspended in time)
"I am your Paradise in Flames -
Your Heaven, insurmountably enshrouded with shadows"
(What are they, the shadows?)
"Your fear. My demons manifest -
in pillars of billowing smoke clouds."
What do I have to do?
"Here, eat of my fruit
Simply hand over your soul,
then lo and behold,
You'll hold the entire world at your disposal
Quid pro quo"
Oh no, I stare in amazement as I wonder
Is this all worth eternal damnation?
It tears me apart
as my heart yearns with temptation.
I stared this abomination dead eye
as I proclaimed with a laugh of elation:
"Worldly possessions have always been
objects of my fascination.
That said, I'm really not one to follow through with prior obligations..."
"Take your time,
I have plenty -
About a lifetime in fact,
Because if you choose to dance with me
its a lifetime you won't get back."
I used to admire you,
and your promise of material ideation,
But I must digress -
Your abhorrent consuming darkness
Is extinguished, with a bolt of lightning
Brilliant and lustrous
"And no marvel, for even Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light"
It's then I decided it best to turn around and walk back the way I came.
For my Mother upon her arrival
Once the cold white warrior
softened through wisdom and
In your love I hear my own
Your presence through time
an anchor, an edge
a clarity of mind
a witness in the kindness
who in your presence
became melodic spirits
encased in kindness too.
How did you hold so much power?
Shiney youth and age
remind one of the ocean's
waves come crashing
Always the same
A moment one after the other
and gone forever.
In that flavor I taste
the sea and serenity
as I, as you gave to me;
and I held you there
a vast marvel of
endless wind blown currents
holding one mystery
Upon your arrival
as you blessed me
I bless you
in your infinite grace
please do not tease me
with pretty words
and beautiful phrases
i take them in
like a parched man
scampers at the sight
i marvel over them
much like humans admire
and i cherish them
like a mother does
her first born
and hold them
close to my chest
do not tempt me
with kind words-
i'll start falling
as soon as they
fall from the
My name is Winter
and I possess a frozen heart.
I am the witch of the quiet cold.
My heart, although encased in ice
is not hardened nor bitter.
Rather, it beats undisturbed.
It is preserved like scarlet winter berries;
the color of apples, the color of cardinals
and it is ever warm in its crystal cradle.
The cold is not a bad place to be;
it is comforting, loving.
It provides rest and sanctuary.
A place where solitary thoughts meet
only the boughs of the trees;
and at the top of every hill can be seen the lights of a thousand candles.
The humans below, they marvel at the wonders of fire
Remarking, 'how lovely is the snow!'
Remembering at the end of December the place where love takes hold.
Winter's gift is this, and it is my heart.
The warm and singing heart of the witch of the quiet cold.
In the simplest way
I am afraid of when you leave.
It's not for missing you,
I hardly see you as it is.
It's not even
That I'm scared you will forget me,
Although I am.
It's not only
That I am afraid I'll not get to see your face
And marvel at your eyes
And hear your voice
For so very long.
It is even simpler than that.
I am afraid that you are leaving
Because for that stretch of time
There will be no possibility for any of it.
Not the slightest.
No chance, at all,
That I will pass you on the street
Or hear your laugh in a crowded room
Or have a late night talk with you on the benches by the lake.
Gone: No chance.
And you simply don't know-
Hell, I don't even fully know-
Just how much of my life is sweetened
By that little chance:
That, any moment,
You could step into it
Like you do
With your lightbulb smile
And something tender to say as if it's no great kindness at all,
And make it all worth something.