Real
you may think this is not true
but it is and if you disbelieve
well now start to think again
it started like this:
I was walking downtown and was bored
I entered a bar and yelled to the bartender
"Get me a sheerly temple"
It wasn't alcohol but I liked them
I got my drink and sat down on a
circle bench and when I did a man about
6'2" blonde beach hair and a smile on his face
"Hi.I saw you walk in.Can't shoot whiskey?"He asked.
"I can I wanted something more normal.."I reply back.How did he have the rights to ask me that.How rude!
"I'm sorry your expression looks disturbed."He says.
"Sorry Mister I just don't know how you have rights to ask me if I can shoot whiskey.That Beach hair is somewhat personal,what if I couldn't cause if I did i'd die?"I say.He stares at my hair."Hot pink and green?Beautiful combination."He says."Okay thank you?"I say."No i'm being truthful."He says."Okay well maybe I like you."I say."Well I like you."He says."My name's Tiffany,call me Tiff."I say."Jacob,call me Jake."He says.
We talk for hours then he kisses me.
    Then he decides I'm dumping this girl
And that's how I got dumped for the first time.

His heart of pleasantry games
in futility, his host so sheerly  
a lion, in field of corn today.

Where he now host only his inkling of frost
now crossing his mane
as thanksgiving.  That rain makes him clear
a king among her.

sky of oblivion darkness holds the image of you plainly
black on black but still sheerly visible
amidst the murderousness of this
everlasting night

your eyes are storms and your teeth are the
dark stars in the sky

little knives that i wish
could **** me

hair that falls effortlessly, gracing the perfection of your countenance -
a devil in your own right
you are my mistake

nocturne haze keeps me living
but your radioactive gaze
has left me in bones

a hollow man walking
into the blacknight horizon

where he would sprout wings of ash
and fly to you

Théy would sheerly
Brush by your eyes

Whispering of secrets
Long held within

The dark veil of the sky
Saying of everything that is

Shades of cascading red
Would sing of your name

As shadows of your act
Elude to this work of art

Everything that is You
Silently floats within your presence

Only to be my everything
In your absence

Imprinting your essence
Within my being

you couldn't explain it to me?
this doesn't pertain to me?
i've been blown off for being ugly before,
and i've grown to accept that...
yet i've made it a point
to make up for everything internally
that i lack aesthetically
by being sheerly phenomenal
in every aspect within my control....
and i swear to you,
if you only gave it a chance to know
you'd be f*cking sorry forever
that you let this one go.

i wish you didn't
exist
i wish someone with such a unique personality
was merely fiction
i wish that prepossessing face of yours
wasn't real

i wish i could
turn the handles of the clock
in reverse
so that i would've
never met you

why did you have to casually
saunter into my life
and fill me with felicity?
like it was nothing
like i was just another experience

and completely ignore me
and shut the door, our door
as if you were content with that
as if we were strangers again

i hate you
for making me
fall in love with you
sheerly, by being yourself
why couldn't you be
chicanery and lies

writing this makes me
want to talk to you
but at the same time
i want to ignore you
like you did to me
until the point
that i almost doubted
my very own existence

and i never thought that
i'd be doing this
because
i tried it once and failed
miserably
but this time
i'm determined
i will maim and forget
everything that you were once
worth to me

and the sad thing is
you probably won't even care
because there are so many
other people that adulate you
just like i do
you're probably used to
all of this doting

i should've known
before falling in
much too deep
into this dystopian nightmare

being in love
with someone that couldn't care
any less about you
makes you feel inexorably forlorn
and dense
and just worthless
so now i know what to do

i'll look back to this
every time you visit my reveries
i'm closing the doors
and they're going to stay shut
forever

Did it not hurt you,
when we were severed apart?
Maybe, just maybe, the word is true,
that you never wanted us to start.

I can feel us,
our friendship, gradually disintegrating,
into ashes and thin strips of rust,
until the denouement of deterioration.

You are now, sheerly, an unrequited montage,
as I accidentally utter your name.
An elusive and blurry mirage,
is all you shall remain.

But, I'll enjoy the ride,
while it lasts,
the conversations that have dried,
and memories of stained glass.

people tend to come then fly away here, and we think we know them.
in memory of Busbar Dancer i had to look up James l. Dickey and he is all he said.

Falling Related Poem Content Details
BY JAMES L. DICKEY
A 29-year-old stewardess fell ... to her
death tonight when she was swept
through an emergency door that sud-
denly sprang open ... The body ...
was found ... three hours after the
accident.                                              
                              —New York Times
The states when they black out and lie there rolling    when they turn
To something transcontinental    move by    drawing moonlight out of the great
One-sided stone hung off the starboard wingtip    some sleeper next to
An engine is groaning for coffee    and there is faintly coming in
Somewhere the vast beast-whistle of space. In the galley with its racks
Of trays    she rummages for a blanket    and moves in her slim tailored
Uniform to pin it over the cry at the top of the door. As though she blew

The door down with a silent blast from her lungs    frozen    she is black
Out finding herself    with the plane nowhere and her body taken by the throat
The undying cry of the void    falling    living    beginning to be something
That no one has ever been and lived through    screaming without enough air
Still neat    lipsticked    stockinged    girdled by regulation    her hat
Still on    her arms and legs in no world    and yet spaced also strangely
With utter placid rightness on thin air    taking her time    she holds it
In many places    and now, still thousands of feet from her death she seems
To slow    she develops interest    she turns in her maneuverable body

To watch it. She is hung high up in the overwhelming middle of things in her
Self    in low body-whistling wrapped intensely    in all her dark dance-weight
Coming down from a marvellous leap    with the delaying, dumfounding ease
Of a dream of being drawn    like endless moonlight to the harvest soil
Of a central state of one’s country    with a great gradual warmth coming
Over her    floating    finding more and more breath in what she has been using
For breath    as the levels become more human    seeing clouds placed honestly
Below her left and right    riding slowly toward them    she clasps it all
To her and can hang her hands and feet in it in peculiar ways    and
Her eyes opened wide by wind, can open her mouth as wide    wider and ****
All the heat from the cornfields    can go down on her back with a feeling
Of stupendous pillows stacked under her    and can turn    turn as to someone
In bed    smile, understood in darkness    can go away    slant    slide
Off tumbling    into the emblem of a bird with its wings half-spread
Or whirl madly on herself    in endless gymnastics in the growing warmth
Of wheatfields rising toward the harvest moon.    There is time to live
In superhuman health    seeing mortal unreachable lights far down seeing
An ultimate highway with one late priceless car probing it    arriving
In a square town    and off her starboard arm the glitter of water catches
The moon by its one shaken side    scaled, roaming silver    My God it is good
And evil    lying in one after another of all the positions for love
Making    dancing    sleeping    and now cloud wisps at her no
Raincoat    no matter    all small towns brokenly brighter from inside
Cloud    she walks over them like rain    bursts out to behold a Greyhound
Bus shooting light through its sides    it is the signal to go straight
Down like a glorious diver    then feet first    her skirt stripped beautifully
Up    her face in fear-scented cloths    her legs deliriously bare    then
Arms out    she slow-rolls over    steadies out    waits for something great
To take control of her    trembles near feathers    planes head-down
The quick movements of bird-necks turning her head    gold eyes the insight-
eyesight of owls blazing into the hencoops    a taste for chicken overwhelming
Her    the long-range vision of hawks enlarging all human lights of cars
Freight trains    looped bridges    enlarging the moon racing slowly
Through all the curves of a river    all the darks of the midwest blazing
From above. A rabbit in a bush turns white    the smothering chickens
Huddle    for over them there is still time for something to live
With the streaming half-idea of a long stoop    a hurtling    a fall
That is controlled    that plummets as it wills    turns gravity
Into a new condition, showing its other side like a moon    shining
New Powers    there is still time to live on a breath made of nothing
But the whole night    time for her to remember to arrange her skirt
Like a diagram of a bat    tightly it guides her    she has this flying-skin
Made of garments    and there are also those sky-divers on tv    sailing
In sunlight    smiling under their goggles    swapping batons back and forth
And He who jumped without a chute and was handed one by a diving
Buddy. She looks for her grinning companion    white teeth    nowhere
She is screaming    singing hymns    her thin human wings spread out
From her neat shoulders    the air beast-crooning to her    warbling
And she can no longer behold the huge partial form of the world    now
She is watching her country lose its evoked master shape    watching it lose
And gain    get back its houses and peoples    watching it bring up
Its local lights    single homes    lamps on barn roofs    if she fell
Into water she might live    like a diver    cleaving    perfect    plunge

Into another    heavy silver    unbreathable    slowing    saving
Element: there is water    there is time to perfect all the fine
Points of diving    feet together    toes pointed    hands shaped right
To insert her into water like a needle    to come out healthily dripping
And be handed a Coca-Cola    there they are    there are the waters
Of life    the moon packed and coiled in a reservoir    so let me begin
To plane across the night air of Kansas    opening my eyes superhumanly
Bright    to the ****** moon    opening the natural wings of my jacket
By Don Loper    moving like a hunting owl toward the glitter of water
One cannot just fall    just tumble screaming all that time    one must use
It    she is now through with all    through all    clouds    damp    hair
Straightened    the last wisp of fog pulled apart on her face like wool revealing
New darks    new progressions of headlights along dirt roads from chaos

And night    a gradual warming    a new-made, inevitable world of one’s own
Country    a great stone of light in its waiting waters    hold    hold out
For water: who knows when what correct young woman must take up her body
And fly    and head for the moon-crazed inner eye of midwest imprisoned
Water    stored up for her for years    the arms of her jacket slipping
Air up her sleeves to go    all over her? What final things can be said
Of one who starts her sheerly in her body in the high middle of night
Air    to track down water like a rabbit where it lies like life itself
Off to the right in Kansas? She goes toward    the blazing-bare lake
Her skirts neat    her hands and face warmed more and more by the air
Rising from pastures of beans    and under her    under chenille bedspreads
The farm girls are feeling the goddess in them struggle and rise brooding
On the scratch-shining posts of the bed    dreaming of female signs
Of the moon    male blood like iron    of what is really said by the moan
Of airliners passing over them at dead of midwest midnight    passing
Over brush fires    burning out in silence on little hills    and will wake
To see the woman they should be    struggling on the rooftree to become
Stars: for her the ground is closer    water is nearer    she passes
It    then banks    turns    her sleeves fluttering differently as she rolls
Out to face the east, where the sun shall come up from wheatfields she must
Do something with water    fly to it    fall in it    drink it    rise
From it    but there is none left upon earth    the clouds have drunk it back
The plants have ****** it down    there are standing toward her only
The common fields of death    she comes back from flying to falling
Returns to a powerful cry    the silent scream with which she blew down
The coupled door of the airliner    nearly    nearly losing hold
Of what she has done    remembers    remembers the shape at the heart
Of cloud    fashionably swirling    remembers she still has time to die
Beyond explanation. Let her now take off her hat in summer air the contour
Of cornfields    and have enough time to kick off her one remaining
Shoe with the toes    of the other foot    to unhook her stockings
With calm fingers, noting how fatally easy it is to undress in midair
Near death    when the body will assume without effort any position
Except the one that will sustain it    enable it to rise    live
Not die    nine farms hover close    widen    eight of them separate, leaving
One in the middle    then the fields of that farm do the same    there is no
Way to back off    from her chosen ground    but she sheds the jacket
With its silver sad impotent wings    sheds the bat’s guiding tailpiece
Of her skirt    the lightning-charged clinging of her blouse    the intimate
Inner flying-garment of her slip in which she rides like the holy ghost
Of a ******    sheds the long windsocks of her stockings    absurd
Brassiere    then feels the girdle required by regulations squirming
Off her: no longer monobuttocked    she feels the girdle flutter    shake
In her hand    and float    upward    her clothes rising off her ascending
Into cloud    and fights away from her head the last sharp dangerous shoe
Like a dumb bird    and now will drop in    soon    now will drop

In like this    the greatest thing that ever came to Kansas    down from all
Heights    all levels of American breath    layered in the lungs from the frail
Chill of space to the loam where extinction slumbers in corn tassels thickly
And breathes like rich farmers counting: will come along them after
Her last superhuman act    the last slow careful passing of her hands
All over her unharmed body    desired by every sleeper in his dream:
Boys finding for the first time their ***** filled with heart’s blood
Widowed farmers whose hands float under light covers to find themselves
Arisen at sunrise    the splendid position of blood unearthly drawn
Toward clouds    all feel something    pass over them as she passes
Her palms over her long legs    her small *******    and deeply between
Her thighs    her hair shot loose from all pins    streaming in the wind
Of her body    let her come openly    trying at the last second to land
On her back    This is it    this
                                                          All those who find her impressed
In the soft loam    gone down    driven well into the image of her body
The furrows for miles flowing in upon her where she lies very deep
In her mortal outline    in the earth as it is in cloud    can tell n

With campaigns established
Accolades accomplished
An honourable life, taken to the max
Championed feats, of no small measure
A nation can treasure
Matters addressed with proficiency
The shaping of an era – equality
Realization of rights, project legacy
Impacting a wider communityRaise the bar, unsettled below
Challenging the status quo
Battles fought
With justice sought
Of leadership, seeking to serve
When forces merge
Mark the campaign
The present cannot remain the same
Confinement release
Establishing peace
Break the borders
Let indifference cease
A fight for freedom, oh justice prevail
Of strategic systems – show society
With due propriety
Of political accountability
The epitome of civility
Accrued insight
Of human rights
To lobby, to lead
With fairness proceed
Catalyst creation, positive change
Expansion of range

Of non discrimination
Heroic determination
A valuable service to the vulnerable
Outreach outstanding, by example lead
Contributed equation
To influence a nation

Of historical significance
Sheerly profound
With relevant reverence
A shining light of difference

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©️

I will never forget
the time I finished doing a public
2 and a half hour reading
of my second book
“Lucid”
sweating shaky nervous
It is sheerly and purely
an inner dialogue
of my own inner
blackness and whiteness
arguing about what state
I am in
It is nothing to do with how
the audience constructs
or interprets the politics of race
A man taught to be caucasian
from a young age says,
“what about all the good things white people have done?”
A black woman in the front row
immediately turns to him
“This is not about that!
I am from Alabama
60 years old.
I have family members
I watched get lynched
family members that burned
in agony in churches
I cried tears on their bodies!
I felt the immense heat
from crosses burning on
my neighbors yards
we had to have patrols go out
armed
to protect our people.
I did not come here to hear
about whiteness
You can go anywhere for that
not here
this is what I need to hear
you want to hear about whiteness
you are in the wrong place"
She calmly looked at me and smiled
"Thank you so much for doing this here."

consciousness sounds so much better in other languages... e.g. świadomość - which literally translates back into english as: awareness... or a step futher: an awareness... which does away from the concept of ego, given the existence of the opposite / direct article, invoking a god, or a collective, i.e. the awareness.

tree / man  looking at a tree
i'm an object
         looking at an
                                       object -
   my attetion though?
i'm a subjecting
      a tree to be
a subject
             rather than an object...
   the tree?
    its subject is photosynthesis,
on an unconscious levelling
to my own, sure,
     photosynthesis
  is the tree's objective...
    but the poly-intrinsic-dependency
any parasite will tell you,
    i need to scoff off this organism
to serve an existential purpose
of existence per se...

only in english, has the post-scriptum of
**** sapiens has been found:
the divided man, the **** schizoi...
sheerly through the laziness of
not establishing a bilingualism psyche:

the concept of an english gentleman ought
to understand,
    given that nietzsche stated that
a "polite" society disavows the practice
of dialectics...
    surely then a polite society can't be
mono-lingual...
            for multi-culturalism to "actually"
exist, you require the basic foundation
of bilingualism...
     rather than concerns for the genitals
in the argument of bi-sexuality...
if your idea of god is in your underwear,
then clearly he won't exist,
    besides oral ***,
               a Y in the tongue?
                                 a tongue as a Y?
the same reason bonsai tigers (cats)
have lizard eyes, and actual tigers have
humanoid  pupils, never the shrinked
slits...
        
            tina "*******" tuner!* though...            
what's love got to do, got to do with it...
               got to do with it...
                          who needs a heart
when a heart can be broken...

   never abiding or succuming to the "logic"
of arithmetic, a necessity of the counting
method, well, given the calculator,
      
    me? just watching sparrow...
thinking about the size of their eggs,
   of all and every bird: lizards with wings...
jerky...
     twitchy even...
               rather than sullen crows walking
with the sort of labour effect of a carpenter...
  the sparrows? winged kangaroos...
  just hopping...
         and itchy upper-spines
  akin to the almost detachable heads
of insects... ******* a.d.h.d. in the making...
   it's raining and i'm wearing sunglasses
saying outloud: **** me! it's sunny!

what grows beneath my skin is not beautiful.
i have never been one to consider myself as beautiful except in fleeting moments of vanity
when the curtains are closed, and the lights are turned off
only then i am beautiful.
i like to imagine that if i had been born into a world where mirrors did not exist
– then i would be beautiful.
only when no can see me am i beautiful.

“am i beautiful?” i ask the silhouette that dances around my room
it leads me as i curse my vulnerability and wish i could draw it out of myself like a spool of wool.
i wish it were that easy.
i contemplate death as i watch my neighbour tending to her roses
i think if i were to die right now
it would not be roses that grew out of my stomach
but thorns.

when i was young i dreamt of becoming a surgeon
(or a pilot or a fireman or a detective or a zoologist or an astronomer)
i yearned to save lives, fix people, all i wanted was to help
but now i have reached the despondent conclusion that i cannot save myself
let alone someone who really needs it.

nowadays i resolve my issues with cider and *****
the alcohol burns on the way down but i have grown to love the way it feels
once upon a time dandelion hands reached out to me and said, “you’re drinking bottled love now.” and I believed him.
if i breathe deep enough
sometimes i think i can feel what heaven must be like.

but when i open my eyes again my reflections grounds me
with the force of a thousand wasp stings and i am sheerly disappointed
i will never be a surgeon.
i cannot carve the cigarettes i have embedded into my heart into flowers

- sometimes even beautiful things cannot grow out of the ugly and deformed.

CHRISTMAS
God's children needed help from their great Lord.
You left Your heights and came down as a Child.
The Child reassured all the hearts of men
that He would bring His love the world to reign.
You took man's form and followed his own style
to show that man to You is so worthwhile.

The people yearned  to know what was that Lord
Who can do all and build the sky and world.
You showed them that He is sheerly a born child
Who loved man much, and him He glorified.

How modest You were when You left Your skies
and showed us God in that young Baby's eyes,
assuring man that his Lord is a fact,
and dwells in all the world and in man's heart.
I beg You, Lord, for rebirth in the hearts
to touch the faith, and kindle our lights.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________

I wanted us to love through the greatest
tragedies that came our way, trusting
in the feelings that we shared, understanding
that stressful situations were only a test
that came with a secret solution, that all we had
to do was stay loyal to the game and know that
nothing could break up the bond that we shared.

Our love was incomparable, flawless flashbacks
that had us swimming in elevated climaxes,
reminiscing on sweet and sultry dreams that felt
so tender embrace, lying beside you, basking
in your truthfulness, all the heated stages
that had us lowkey slipping like I was a drug addict,
high off the crack, smack, tab, incessantly applying pressure
to feel our heartbeat increase like the speed of a Lamborghini.

We made mad passion together, lost in the deep,
eternal rivers of nirvana, entangled in the coolness
and smoothness of our worlds merging, hungering
moments that were sheerly **** and supreme,
drinking Four Loko’s in our overflowing carnal solo flow,  
coasting on the wings of thrilling avenues, easing into the
soothing nature of each other, the fullness in our souls
that told us that we were floating in unconditional ecstasy.

A love like ours was full of overpowering enchantment,
so many unrivaled poetic occasions, brimming with romance,
sinking in the lyrical lovingness of our flesh pressed
on each other, smelling your clean, masculine scent,
such a relaxing dwelling that felt like it would never end,
sharing our hearts as one, feeling so loved.

Once,
I put little jealousy
into my pocket;

My skin
started sheerly itching.

Then,
I smeared some petals
On the suffered part.

Today I feel fine.

I loved you through the darkest times
of my life,
savoring the moments
when you made me feel
like I was your home,
calling me to come over to your crib and check up on you,
to go out for a ride in my whip
as we cruised the highways,
bumping to the smooth beat
of Notorious B.I.G.’s song, One More Chance,
spitting bars, breathing in the vibe, and leaning to the side,
raising our hands to the clear southeastern sky,
the calm, joyful breeze blowing upon us.
I remember how you soothed my emotions
with your lingeringly gentle touch,
allowing me to feel such glowing sweetness
in your presence,
as if we had teleported to an unexplored land
where the sheerly exuberant rivers rolled in from the east,
inviting us into pleasing bliss,
to stand in front of you,
your arms enclosing my body to yours,
staring at the tall, full-grown trees,
their leaves in harmonious rhythm with the motion of our limbs,
the beautiful, blue-eyed eagles soaring in synchronization
with the vagrant wide clouds,
making me want to dance cheerfully in nature’s greatness.
It was incredible how your touch
could transport me to another place away from reality,
your eyes like the color of obsidian,
so interestingly alive,
your eyebrows a spellbinding dwelling of compelling love
that I enjoyed being immersed inside of,
your moist, royal kisses on my cheek so delectable
that I could feel the intense, radiant heat on my bones.
I craved everything brightening within you,
the way your dreads were designed so effortlessly,
a peaceful place to be,
a significant destination,
a shimmering constellation,
a majestic creation,
embracing it all,
without no pause.