She saw a flower, sensitive plant of my garden
She saw a flower, sensitive plant of my garden
it was the warmest, sunniest morning
it was the warmest, sunniest morning
Warmest of garden, it saw a flower in the morning
sensitive, she was my sunniest plant


The wind is blowing from west over the river
The wind is blowing from west over the river
The sky turns dark above the mountains
The sky turns dark above the mountains
The west wind turns, is blowing over the mountains
From the river above the dark sky


The city far away, the buildings tall
The city far away, the buildings tall
Disguise the green fields beyond the crowds
Disguise the green fields beyond the crowds
The tall fields, the green buildings
Disguise the crowds beyond the far away city                                  


The tall mountains, the fields, the sky above                              
saw a disguise of crowds over city buildings                                                        ­                
my morning, it was the sunniest beyond the west                                                             ­             
The green river she turns dark                                                             ­                               
The warmest wind is blowing from far away                      
Plant the sensitive flower in the garden

life is a marathon
it isn't easy
it isn't graceful
it isn't pretty
times will come which are so dark
even the sunniest of days feels cold
evil men sow their sins from the shadows
and it stops you in your tracks
like hitting a runner's wall
breathless stinging lungs
scream out against the lack of oxygen
like silent voices mourning a waking nightmare
but even from under the umbra
we might find something
worth redeeming
a helping hand offering us some much needed hydration
or friendly words of encouragement from strangers
life is a marathon
and we can't allow the runner's wall
to stop us from moving forward
for the sakes of our brothers and sisters
who didn't get their fair chance
to cross the finish line

1

Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio.    (Dante)
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!    (Petrarca)

Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
    Or come not yet, for it is over then,
    And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
    Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
    For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
    Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
    My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
        Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
    When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet?

    2

Era gia 1′ora che volge il desio.    (Dante)
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima.    (Petrarca)

I wish I could remember that first day,
    First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
    If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
    So blind was I to see and to foresee,
    So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
    A day of days! I let it come and go
    As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
    First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!

    3

O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!    (Dante)
Immaginata guida la conduce.    (Petrarca)

I dream of you to wake: would that I might
    Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
    Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As summer ended summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in sight,
    I blush again who waking look so wan;
    Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
    Thus only in a dream we give and take
        The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
    If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
        To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.

    4

Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda.    (Dante)
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore.    (Petrarca)

I lov'd you first: but afterwards your love
    Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drown'd the friendly cooings of my dove.
    Which owes the other most? my love was long,
    And yours one moment seem'd to wax more strong;
I lov'd and guess'd at you, you construed me--
And lov'd me for what might or might not be
    Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;"
    With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done,
        For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;"
        Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.

    5

Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona.    (Dante)
Amor m'addusse in si gioiosa spene.    (Petrarca)

O my heart's heart, and you who are to me
    More than myself myself, God be with you,
    Keep you in strong obedience leal and true
To Him whose noble service setteth free,
Give you all good we see or can foresee,
    Make your joys many and your sorrows few,
    Bless you in what you bear and what you do,
Yea, perfect you as He would have you be.
So much for you; but what for me, dear friend?
    To love you without stint and all I can
Today, tomorrow, world without an end;
    To love you much and yet to love you more,
    As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore;
        Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.

    6

Or puoi la quantitate
Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda.    (Dante)
Non vo' che da tal nodo mi scioglia.    (Petrarca)

Trust me, I have not earn'd your dear rebuke,
    I love, as you would have me, God the most;
    Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost,
Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look
Unready to forego what I forsook;
    This say I, having counted up the cost,
    This, though I be the feeblest of God's host,
The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook.
Yet while I love my God the most, I deem
    That I can never love you overmuch;
        I love Him more, so let me love you too;
    Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
I cannot love you if I love not Him,
        I cannot love Him if I love not you.

    7

Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto.    (Dante)
Ragionando con meco ed io con lui.    (Petrarca)

"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
    "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand
    As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
    Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love's citadel unmann'd?
    And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?
My heart's a coward though my words are brave
    We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
    So often; there's a problem for your art!
        Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
    And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.

    8

Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme.    (Dante)
Spero trovar pieta non che perdono.    (Petrarca)

"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake:
    And bride of life or death she made her fair
    In all the lustre of her perfum'd hair
And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
    Her husband through his eyes at unaware;
    She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
She trapp'd him with one mesh of silken hair,
    She vanquish'd him by wisdom of her wit,
        And built her people's house that it should stand:--
        If I might take my life so in my hand,
And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
    And for love's sake by Love be granted it!

    9

O dignitosa coscienza e netta!    (Dante)
Spirto piu acceso di virtuti ardenti.    (Petrarca)

Thinking of you, and all that was, and all
    That might have been and now can never be,
    I feel your honour'd excellence, and see
Myself unworthy of the happier call:
For woe is me who walk so apt to fall,
    So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee,
    Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!)
Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall.
And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite,
Because not loveless; love may toil all night,
    But take at morning; wrestle till the break
        Of day, but then wield power with God and man:--
        So take I heart of grace as best I can,
    Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.

    10

Con miglior corso e con migliore stella.    (Dante)
La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora.    (Petrarca)

Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing;
    Death following ******* life gains ground apace;
    Faith runs with each and rears an eager face,
Outruns the rest, makes light of everything,
Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing;
    While love ahead of all uplifts his praise,
    Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace,
Content with all day brings and night will bring.
Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above
    Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
        Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace:
        A little while, and age and sorrow cease;
    A little while, and life reborn annuls
Loss and decay and death, and all is love.

    11

Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti.    (Dante)
Contando i casi della vita nostra.    (Petrarca)

Many in aftertimes will say of you
    "He lov'd her"--while of me what will they say?
    Not that I lov'd you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
    Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
    Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
    My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
        Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
    I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
        My love of you was life and not a breath.

    12

Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona.    (Dante)
Amor vien nel bel viso di costei.    (Petrarca)

If there be any one can take my place
    And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve,
    Think not that I can grudge it, but believe
I do commend you to that nobler grace,
That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face;
    Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive
    I too am crown'd, while bridal crowns I weave,
And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace.
For if I did not love you, it might be
    That I should grudge you some one dear delight;
        But since the heart is yours that was mine own,
    Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right,
Your honourable freedom makes me free,
    And you companion'd I am not alone.

    13

E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore.    (Dante)
Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia.    (Petrarca)

If I could trust mine own self with your fate,
    Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand?
    Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand,
Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date;
    Who numbereth the innumerable sand,
Who weighs the wind and water with a weight,
To Whom the world is neither small nor great,
    Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we plann'd.
Searching my heart for all that touches you,
    I find there only love and love's goodwill
Helpless to help and impotent to do,
        Of understanding dull, of sight most dim;
        And therefore I commend you back to Him
Whose love your love's capacity can fill.

    14

E la Sua Volontade e nostra pace.    (Dante)
Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome.    (Petrarca)

Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
    Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
    Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
    Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
    Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
    The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
        A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
        The silence of a heart which sang its songs
    While youth and beauty made a summer morn,
Silence of love that cannot sing again.

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! though that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
’Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be—that dream eternally
Continuing—as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood—should it thus be given,
’Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revelled when the sun was bright
I’ the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,—have left my very heart
Inclines of my imaginary apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought—what more could I have seen?
’Twas once—and only once—and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass—some power
Or spell had bound me—’twas the chilly wind
Came o’er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit—or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly—or the stars—howe’er it was
That dream was that that night-wind—let it pass.
I have been happy, though in a dream.
I have been happy—and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love—and all my own!—
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

In the middle of the night he cried-
arms outstretched wide to his father
who was never really there
and the times when he actually was
the liquor stained lips would reply
with an adaptation of his truth-
"**** it up and be a man".
The boy looked at him with hollowed eyes
and a heavy heart and from that day on
carried a burden upon his shoulders
at the life he thought would treat him well.
But it painted dark skies over his sunset
and brought clouds to the sunniest of the days.
He was born in a world where emotion is never okay-
So the chip upon his shoulder turned into a hole
and eventually made it's way into his heart.
That chip now a disease on his insides
his brain rewired to push everything back,
to swallow his hell whole and to hell if he did
because he knew what this life was doing to him.
His insides turned to stone and he held a stone face.
As his father told him the names of all the men
he should look up to and he left any women off the list.
So as the boy grew old he found himself hiding away
his insides and never showing a hint of emotion
because he knew it would let his father down.
Outside he took his fists and misplaced them
upon four walls-
his arms outstretched around little sister's neck.
Society's genetic defect.

Someone once told me-
men are more likely to commit suicide than women
I thought about this for a while-
Women wake up everyday in fear of dark alleys and street corners
Afraid of men with any address begging to undress them-
We can't walk down the street, any street without worry.
We cannot go into the store without fear painted at our feet
We have become afraid of our own shadows.
This life has built resentment upon our shoulders
ever since the wage gap got less and less
and even now we still have work to do.
But we can't forget that society has painted a picture
of us all and they're nothing close to a self-portrait.
They're more like those fat faced comic illustrations
you get at amusement parks and laugh at
because they look nothing like you.
Us women have been taken advantage of for years-
hiding behind car keys in-between our fingers
and pepper spray on our keychains.
Men have had to hide their pain behind fake smiles
and bank accounts that are supposed to make them feel bigger.
When in reality, we all just end up feeling tiny.
We all feel like the edges of our feet are on top
of years and years of misandry and misogyny-
and although the words feminism encompass feminine
all it's really about is total, complete equality-
so now is the time to treat everyone equally.

Subtle melody, find solace

as fingers ride the wind like wings.
Side walk top hats are my wallet,
as heartache grips the listening crowd
and just like that, the wind too sings
along with my torn fingered strings,
that fly like heartache sung aloud,
and come alive like Spring.

My fingers know which notes to tear away.
The violin knows what wind it needs for tune.
I'll rest the base against my neck and play,
Street corners my rehearsal room,
in coldest winter or sunniest spring;
In frigid night, in scorching day,
I'll play. My blistered fingers know the way.

Seasons come and go astray.
Plucking fingers freeze and burn.
But everywhere by bow resolves to turn,
the wind follows, waiting for my word;
His cue to take the stage and sing
songs that come alive like Spring
and my smiling fingers know which string
will permit the wind be heard.

The waterlilies
Float above graceful Koi fish
White and cherry red
Amongst ripples cast through ponds
Of alternate dimensions

Whilst white sakura
Flow like the wind through long hair
Outside car windows
During the sunniest days
Of an endless rain season

Clouds glide across sky
Like those wet waterlilies
In search of lost time
Yearning for life in the warm
Recesses of all-being

As I lay here
Encapsulated in softness
I close my eyes tenderly
For my dreams are placid
Gossamer, floating wild yet gently
My dreams are the sparkles
My dreams are the ambers
But my dreams are not dreams
My dreams are honeyed streams
Manifestation
Of bliss, of love so pure

I am witness of a miracle
I was born once as mortal clay
Buried deep within, seeds of my dark fate
They said,
“You can change not,
Your fate is forged,
On iron pages it is wrought”
Exclaimed I;
“Does not moisture crack the seeds?
Does not I carry that grows to reed?”

So I marched on barren lands
Wildly searching that could damp
Scared,  a step with each heartbeat
Thorns piercing and bleeding my feet
To heavens I prayed in desperate I cried,
Tears of agony in my eyes
That moment bestowed upon me
Our blood is the water that damps the seeds
The more we bleed, the more we reap

Hence I was reborn amongst sunniest rays
To taste the sweetness in bitterness
To experience the noise in silence
To listen the music in smiles
To see the laughter in eyes

As I drift to sleep now
I will not dream, I can never dream
My reality is too beautiful,
My reality is all I dream

Until that day when,
My reality becomes only a dream,
When my lids would turn stones
And the blood in me runs dry
Till that last day,
I will use my blood
To moist my seeds of fate

sunset of lifetime

red apple in sunken sea

sunniest **** beach

I invite you to read my poem at: http://www.poemhunter.com/contest-vote/pygmalion-and-galatea/

A very wealthy and handsome man,
Owned a mansion and a bay,
But was not at all married,
Which baffled him every day.
He was as proper as a royal prince,
And was the utmost handsomest guy in town,
Hopefully he will get the chance in his life,
To simply smile and not frown.
When one same ordinary day,
The wealthy man took a long walk into town,
He then further noticed a small party,
With several women in the same color gown.
It was the brightest and sunniest day,
And the perfect day to be outside,
But the man was dressed for winter,
So he decided to step aside.
He waited until the music stopped,
Then did he roam his way into the crowd,
He had to close his ears,
For the people were very loud.
The man was very timid and sensitive,
And barely spoke to anyone,
He'd sit near his beautiful bay,
Which was supposed to be his fun.
When the man spotted an attractive young woman,
Who looked tall and friendly,
He made his way over to her,
Boy how nervous was he!
The wealthy man introduced himself,
And told interesting facts about him,
The girl looked fascinated,
As it was starting to get dim.
The couragous gentleman went on one knee,
And asked, "Will you marry me?"
The girl looked baffled and terrified,
As she ran to spring free.
Such a beautiful girl,
Who he really didn't deserve,
So he went to find another gal,
The next looked superb!
She was average in size and looked gorgous,
But when she glanced at the hopeless man,
She didn't care for him,
And rather joined in on the song, "Can-Can."
When the wealthy an suddenly gave up,
He sat by himself in the corner,
To him it felt so hot outside,
That is felt like a sauna!
At that very moment,
A gorgous girl walks up to him,
The poor man felt so hot right now,
That his whole body felt limb.
When the woman introduced herself,
The man did as well,
This woman was the prettiest out of all th girls,
That, he could surely tell.
After a long discussion,
The hopeful man bent down on one knee,
And asked the big question, "Will you marry me?"
The woman gracefully accepted,
As they both left with a smile,
But there's one thing the wealthy man now knew,
That all this waiting, was definitely worth while.

She's wearing these long, bright red rainboots
On the sunniest of days
As if she's afraid that if she doesn't
She'll fade away and disappear forever
"You won't!" I want to shout to her
"You'll never fade away
Because you are the most beautiful thing
That has ever been permitted to stay in this world
To pass before my eyes
To smile... perhaps in my general direction..."
But she doesn't hear me
She is lost in her own analysis
Of the shifting clouds
The little whisps of whimsical water vapors
I see her spin slightly
Gazing up at their shapeless shapes
Her lips mouthing words that I cannot hear
For I am a coward and do not approach
O, What I would give to speak with her
For even the most slight of seconds
About even the most trivial thing in the universe
But alas, it was not meant to be
I walk slowly down the street
Past the cacophonous roaring of
The motor cars
As unflattering as they are to the ear
So she is beautiful
I arrive at the corner
The smell of tar and gasoline rise
From the steaming asphalt
I turn
And she is there
She is there and she is sitting
She is sitting on her bike right there
She is on her bike and I see her as I turn
"Hello" she says
She smiles as she says hello
I search for the words
To tell her how
She has owned my heart
Since the moment I laid eyes on her
"Ayeii" I say as the light changes
She giggles and rides away
"Hello I love you"
But it's too late
She can't hear me
I walk across the intersection
And continue my long walk back home
Filled with the hope that maybe it will happen again
Maybe I'll see her again
Maybe...

There she was
An angel in beautiful words
Words found only in his dreams
In those hidden corners of lubriciousness
Musky shadows muted the sunniest of days
Like-minds grazed in intensity
And from those shadows rose her sun
Resplendent and bold
Illuminating every nook and cranny as she passed
There is no judgement as he reads
Those possibilities in her beautiful words
Could it be, there is another...kindred

But no, doubt fills a mind wrapped in norms and raised in terms of proper
Curiosity begs the question
Her truth answers his innermost lies
Looking for justification, a way out
Raised believing, too good to be true always is
Looking for a way to feed doubt and squelch a fledgling reality
Yet found his fantasies in this angel
With a face that made them real

What do you do when your demons become human
When your shame is no longer shameful
When you are accepted as you are, in all your seeming depravity
When your darkest yearnings are craved by another wading in the pool of lasciviousness
When your concupidity is realized

Crossing the line dragging fantasy into daylight
Holding on with both hands basking in the sun
There is a sweetness in this angel with beautiful words
A loving nature, a truth that cannot lie
And there is a gentleness in his heart that he cannot reconcile with darkest passion
So, what do you do with a dream come true?

You walk away into the norm and leave the joy to burn in her sun
Pretending her sweetness feels no pain
Hoping against hope, that her reality was never your dream

You keep sending me up and down like a yoyo-
But I'm the cheeriest, sunniest yoyo around.
Going down is the best bit by now
Because I know I get to spring back up.
You might find another yoyo eventually,
But none so bright, hardwearing, or smooth running as me!

A boy.
A boy,
Who's love I need to feel.
I'm not his girl
He's the love I long to steal.
His voice is the sweetest,
My ears have ever heard.
For him,
I'd do anything,
Say anything
I'd give him the world.

Even with my best intent
I let him slip,
Melting to sloppy wet drips
And flowing straight,
Through my fingertips.
Even when I tried to grab hold,
I grabbed, I jabbed, and pricked,
Still away he had surely slipped.

Oceans apart
However, close we are.
There's still a spark,
It magnifies every emotion
Heightens every notion
And through all the dark,
There is still a shrill
A deep, deep, shrill,
The life-giving *****,
Beats out of turn,
Even still.

I look into those deep dark vessels,
The Windows to your soul.
They search my flesh
They cry out,
Why?
Our future clear as sunniest of skies.
Though it's not a happy ending,
What a surprise.

Reality the way it always does
Creeps close.
It's wrong we know very well
in the heat of the moment, passion swells
We're both thinking stop,
But onward we march
Into this terribly beautiful yet tragic arch,
Of love and lust that cuts so deep.
Our brains know better, but our hearts,
They are weak.

Then it hits.
In that instant a vivid dream
Comes to me lucid and not quite serene.
Your lips dancing in time
With mine closely behind

Stop

You look at me and remember her.
I'm sorry I say "I loved you first"
"Love me" I scream
Without a sound.
The words pouring out silently
My wide and weary eyes
Say it all as they cry.
Kiss me again
To send me away so abruptly.
Would surely begin,
**My end.

there is absolutely no hippocratic jurisdiction in psychiatry, i sometimes walked into the psychiatric offices, poked fun at psychiatrists for being callous sadistic *******, as one suggested: thinking out-loud in reverse: oh, he must have been abused as a child... psychiatry has strayed away from making a hippocratic oath... it actually doesn't have an oath to make: it has persisted with more harm than good, clinging to the notion that there is no summa totalis of the body, and medical psychiatry is to blame for this persistent infiltration of psychiatric lingo... you can't even begin to imagine how much it pissess of people who live in a secular society, to be strapped under an umbrella of "mental illness", while the jihadis are celebrated as completely "sane", psychiatry is the one branch of medicine that's persistently being undermined by the general public, for me, psychiatric materials are too readily available, is psychiatrists are the new priests of the secular age, i demand! i demand that psychiatry does what the church did once before, return to it being solely written in latin! too many ******* retards are abusing this branch of medicine, suddenly everyone is a ******* psychologists amateur, the jack-of-all-trades know how! ******* know ****! i'm this close | | to boiling point with respect to the degradation of psychiatry... reverse everything! start writing psychiatric works, solely in latin! give psychiatry some hippocratic credibility, sure, it's a hit & miss with the pharma side of things, but come on, give these people some ******* empathy, do what the churches undid, and write all psychiatric material in latin! the public doesn't have to know the complexities of this branch of medicine, because, clearly... it doesn't!

we live in an age where dialecticas is
not engaged with,
not even to the point where you can self-realize:
oh, right, i know absolutely nothing!
you can't do that these days,
you can't have that self-realisation -
that "demand" for a "consciousness" -
100 years ago people spoke of a *soul -
that summa totalis of ****** mechanisations,
that eating some food and then
falling to sleep, and yet the organs working
their magic digesting the food...
yet people have replaced the soul
with a reinvented concept of
"consciousness"... the **** does that
even mean? a second awakening within
the first wake?
the brain is the only ***** that can't
truly experience itself unconsciously...
even when it is "unconscious" it still
poses the threat of dream theatre...
   i find that the summa totalis is
bordering on an a "soul" within this
membrane, in that:
  at least one aspect of our body can't
exactly become part of the summa totalis,
and become enclaved akin to
the heart during sleep...
or the stomach prior to falling asleep
while still managing to digest,
the brain can't be deemed completely
unconscious, otherwise how else would
you mind to state why light is trapped
and then projected, and we dream?
           dreaming, that "consciousness"
of the unconscious brain, and somehow
pulverised by the truth-bidding inflection
of the pentagram...
       god, i hate these sorts of poems,
i read a bit of heidegger and suddenly spiral
into this jargon...
  i abhor it...
           literally, it's about as enlightening
as turning on a lightbulb, minus the stereotypical
imagery surrounding an einstein moment...
more like that loony tunes moment when
the head turns into a donkey's head,
   or we see the dunce's hat appear...
elsewhere the capirotes march...
                     but then i think of mental illness
and the stories of the young,
and i'm genuinely worried -
   i was one of the first kids to own a nintendo
NES...
  yes, from the ages of 4 to 8,
my father was just a voice on the phone,
and the odd package of gifts from her majesty's
fair green land, notably the nintendo NES...
but being one of the kids, we still preferred
warm summer nights, hide & seek,
playing with marbles, walks into the woods,
picking strawberries coloured pale yellow
before being ripe, throwing potatoes into
fires, eating gooseberries, eating whole plates
of sunflower seeds,
                  i remember days when we had
neighbours, neighbourly women playing cards,
sitting till 11 talking outside the communist
concrete blocks...
that transition period, i.e. my childhood
has a knack of almost always reappearing...
   so i must be "mentally ill" for reading heidegger,
not many people do,
maybe i suggest something?
  learn biology / chemistry or physics to a degree
level before reading books like that...
it softens the blow of reading puritanical
humanism of, say, a novel...
        or poetry...
             and some people take holidays
to the caribbean, or take a cruise around
the norwegian fjords...
   or walk the great wall of ching ching...
   or ride a horse on the mongolian steppes into
the sunset, or ride the trans-siberian railway...
me? i take a "slingshot" back "home"...
get immersed in the native tongue,
  and finally! oh finally! manage to read a book
in the native tongue...
  i found that i'm a slow reader if i have
a book in polish, but can still hear english
on the television...
   back "home"? what a surprise it was for
my grandfather: he just threw bolesław prus'
book lalka into my lap one summer and said:
lap it up.
      and i lapped it up...
  point being, all these sights and sounds,
scents and exciting stories people have from abroad...
well... when i was in kenya,
i lounged, drank enough to fall asleep in
a hammock overnight and was not stolen by
the somali pirates, but someone did steal
my glass of cognac when i woke up the next morning,
then drank some more, and stayed in the shade,
played some ping-pong with a german,
chatted up these gorgeous ivory beauties of
the night, and chilled with macaque monkeys
on the balcony giving them nuts and sachets of
sugar, again, in the shade...
   i took one dip in the indian ocean and became
bored from the beach vendors pushing
****, drank some more, wrote a short story
for my grandfather about an elephant
           dunking its trunk into a bottle of whiskey...
drank some more, lazed in the shade,
read c. g. jung's western man in search
of a soul - dedicated it, and gave it to one
of the german beauties, drank some more,
         laughed at a baboon with hemorrhoids
trying to sit on a roof once it raided the kitchen...
point being: what sightseeing i have when
i go back "home" is the language -
sometimes i read it, sometimes i might write,
but i definitely speak it,
  but reading it is like the tower of pisa
for me...
           this complete re-immersion of the 8 year
old kid that left kicks in...
        ooh, ant that -18ºC temp. of winters in poland...
to be honest, i never know why people
decide to go to tropical places on earth,
sunniest and what, in the middle of the winter
months, why?
      coming back must be a double ******...
why not go to somewhere where the winter
months are worse than from where you came from?

Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst type of pessimist.
At heart I'm an optimist, looking past the highest mountains,
trying to reach the sky with the tips of my fingers and
catch the clouds at the base of my palms.

However, in head,
I'm the biggest pessimist
finding the dark spots on the sunniest days,
herding death between the cracks in the concrete.

And the head is like the heart's big sister,
telling her to take a step back and make sure of her actions,
bossing her around, burning out her spark,
leaving the dead of the night with nothing but doubt.

But you've got my lips coated in sugar and
my intentions wrapped in flames.
You've got my heart scrapping its knees and
my head spinning

Because who would've thought
it'd finally meet its match,
unable to hold something down
with two hands and keep it in place.

But both of them are undoubtedly worried,
darling.
They're running for the hills and
finding a place to set camp where you'd never find.

Empty handed and confused, they're still searching and
the only thing going through their thoughts remains to be

"there's still time to run
          there's still time to run
                  there's still time
                            just move your feet,
                                       don't look back
                                                 and run
                                                         as fast as you can."

gd

I get lost in your eyes
In the purest of ways,
Like being lost on the beach
On the sunniest days.

And I'm caught by your touch,
So smooth and so sure,
I'm caught altogether
In all that we were.

It’s time for yet another session
To inform you about depression.
You may want to say “Just stop!”
Like a psychological traffic cop.
But as any of us who suffer say
“Pal, it just doesn’t work that way.”
This is not some social craze
And it certainly is not a phase.

It is something we suffer through
And you’re lucky if it isn’t you.
It’s worse than any story you read
To have a ***** fight in your head.
There are no praises you can sing.
Something is wrong with everything.
Even the sunniest day looks gray
And you can’t see it another way.

For many of us, it’s a long sad story,
And maybe cerebral instead of gory.
Something has made our life tough.
Maybe we were never good enough,
Or that was the way it all seemed
Before our dreams began to scream.
We can seldom remember back so far
To discover where lie the scars.

There are times when things go well,
But most times it’s a personal hell.
You can’t take joy in the normal things
That might make other’s heart sing.
You find that you have given up hope
You feel you are at the end of your rope.
Sadly, while you sit and pull your hair.
You see you have gotten used to despair.

I know some of you that don’t suffer
This illness want to help a brother
Or sister come beyond this trauma.
But you can’t label our pain as drama.
What you can do to lend a hand to us
Is to listen to us and not abandon us.
What often works is a true confessional
In the hands of a well-trained professional.

January- Her toes were chilly just like the trees in her front yard. She had never known what happiness was & she still hadn't found the answers (especially not in me), yet the love for the similarities of december compared to this beautful month was similar into the way that she loved food but hated to eat; she loved the way her glasses looked on her, & how perfect the dimples on her face felt in the sunlight, & every song that I ever wrote for her, & the way I make long lists about all the ways she was beautiful to me.
She loved all of these things, but never me.

February- the clouds always looked over her like a big brother & always told me when she was in need of one of my helpful conversations consisting of me expressing all the reasons why she is so important to this world & that nobody would be who they are today if it wasn't for her birth & her substantial impact on people's outlook on life. She hated the way everyone would fall for her like leaves in september & she would always feel bad for b(rake)ing leaves & hearts that weren't hers to b(rake) in the first place. She was most magnificent when she was upset, the passion, the sadness, the fear, it was all just beauty in its purest form.

March- This was her favorite month, because it was so spontaneous and unexpected just like her;
one day it's raining
& the next day a cloudless day where we're sunbathing in my living room,
& even the next day is a harsh winter with a spice of sun added to the whole recipe.
One day she was dressed up & happy,
the next day she could be dressed down & apathetic towards life (& especially me),
& even the next day she did her make-up but not her hair & she actually manages to put socks on but they aren't matching (& she hates not matching, maybe that's why I never match my socks anymore) & her mood has a hint of attitude with a spice of sarcasm, & I love every single second of it. Becasue life is like the month of march, you never know whether she's going to love you or not.

April- This isn't a good month for her, she's behind in all of her classes because of her job & life at home & she's scared of everything. It's sunny & windy half of the time, & rainy the rest of the time. She hates the rain because it ruins her hair & reminds her of why her mom isn't in her life anymore & the fact that she'll never forgive her dad for that. On the extra rainy days she didn't go to school & on the sunniest days she sat inside catching up on all of her missing school work. To her, april was like the world we live in, absolutely horrific.

May- the color was riveting; the skies were as glossy as her eyes after a short nap, & she had just finished reading her new favorite book. Love was short tempered this time of year, but at this point i'm used to it. Lovely May couldn't have come at a better time though, because lasting love never lasts & everyone knows that. She has just told me that she is slowly falling for me, & this is unusual to me because i'm usually the leaf that is falling to my inescapable death, not the other way around. But the way the goosebumps on her arm looked & the way her lip quivered was so unbelievably beautiful as she was telling me that she's loved my childish humor & stupid stories for quite some time now, but has finally decided to let herself love me instead of drenching her affection for me in sarcasm & rudeness. I am finally loved & i'm not sure if I can stand up without thinking about her kissing me & how am I supposed to go to sleep when I could be holding her instead. Lovely May couldn't have come at a better time.

June- Sweat. Sweat. Sweat. Sweat. Not because of the sun either, but because her body against mine was a sauna & the way we looked at eachother put a shame to the way the sun looks at the moon. We were explorers of the human body & our first trial had taken place with eachother. We have never been outside of our city so we decided that we would travel the world together, through each other's stories, body movements & wandering souls. I had seen pictures before of the great ranges & valleys that are so beautiful, it's a shame that all they'll ever be are just valleys; but nobody prepared me for her smile,
& the way she laughs when I pick her up & spin her around in public places,
& that strapless dress that she loves to wear,
& especially the way she tells me that i'm perfect & actually means it.
Nobody prepared me to actually want to keep on living.

July- the heat was at an all-time high whether it had been between our agruments, or the sun cooking down on us like eggs on a sidewalk. Maybe the temperature had something to do with her mood swings or maybe it was just her realizing that I wasn't as perfect as she thought I was. I can't tell you I didn't expect this though, no one in my life had ever stayed longer than a few years, whether it was because of my overly direct opinions, or my waves of jealousy, or my (meaningless) indirect insults; whatever the case was I didn't expect much from anyone nowadays, & the strangely beautiful thing about it was, neither did she.

August- I can't really say very much about what happened this month except her hair blowing in the wind is more heartwarming than any cup of hot cocoa & the way she broke my heart with just her eyes will forever haunt my cloudless dreams.

September- Just like the month of september, she finally settled into a pair of warm, comforting arms; but those arms were definitely not attached to my body & the month of september definitely wasn't sad just to accompany my mood, it was sad at the fact that the world is slowly falling in love february & losing interest in all summer related festivities; this is how I felt, she was slowly falling in love with the rainforest & I am just a single tree.

October- She would still call me every now & then, but only when her & her new boy toy were having relationship problems or when she had a bit too much to drink.
"I made a mistake." "I love you." "I want you back." "I miss you so much."; the sentences evacuated her mouth like water falling from a cliff & could have easily exterminated every cell in my body had I not hung up before I could hear the end of it.
I loved her & I wanted her more than I wanted to see the sky each morning, but I knew she didn't mean anything that she was saying in those insignificant, yet crucial moments; I knew she didn't love me, she loved the idea of never having to be alone.
I was pretty sure october was coming to an end soon, but honestly, I didn't even keep track of the days anymore, I didn't keep track of anything anymore.

November- winter is just around the corner & I haven't  heard from her in a week of two.
I think she's happy now.
I hope she's happy now.
Even if i'm not, I hope she is.

December- I realized that no matter how cold the weather gets, her heart will always be much more colder, sinking to temperatures a small child would have nightmares about.
I finally have come to terms with the fact that she isn't coming back;
just like the leaves,
just like the sun,
just like time,
she's gone.

The Shimmer On The Blue
Dappled sunlight sparkles
Among the pinks and purples
Greens and blue.
Like the sunniest days in a garden
Where shadows cannot get through.
Pinks of a snapdragon, the rose
With its transparent  hue.
The lemons and the lime
With a clear water dew.
The speckles of white where
Snow in summer once grew.
The breeze dances on the leaves
Of the delicate bamboo.
Clouds dodge the rays
As the sun peeps through.
All in all a wonderful time in the garden
Watching the shimmer on the blue.

A small and gratuitous thank you
to every single one of you
who read my absent minded emotions
that I plaster among the fields of great poetry.
A gracious acknowledgement
to the best friends
who listen to me say the same things
over and over
about the same boy
and his beautiful hands
and his leaving for Germany.  
A sincere recognition to the new friends
who tolerate my abnormality
and hang with me through the spontaneity
of midnight conversations through
binary code of chat functions.
A sincerest gratitude
to the mother who carried me through
the hard winter
when anxiety made me heavy
with the weight of my worries.
Who now shares happy afternoons
garden beds
and chai tea on the front porch.
To everyone in my life
who witnessed my darkest hours
and sunniest peaks.
To every single person who has trekked the terrain
of my unpredictable personality
and sarcastic biting words
my cruelty and arrogance
my sleep deprived, half assed attitude
my unpredictable pickiness
and my constantly changing tastes.
You have seen me at my worst
and stayed strong by my side
so now I am proud to share with you my best.
To everyone who helps me get through the day
Thank you.

My love for you is constantly growing

Growing like flowers underneath the sunniest sky
Building like snow atop the highest mountain
Rushing like the waters in a downhill stream

Every word you speak
Steals mine right from my mouth

Every look you give
Gives my heart reason to skip

Every time you touch
You touch deeper than my skin

You’ve got my full attention

You’ve got all of my love
Even the love i do not have yet to give

I can tell your love for me is only growing faint

Burning out like a fire
Tip-toeing out the door
Fading like echoes

Every word I speak
You hear but do not acknowledge

Every look I give
Reaches for you, only to be swatted away

Every time I touch
It is just another hand that you’ve felt hundreds of times before

You need something else
I can see it in your eyes

Please tell me this is my imagination playing tricks on me
Its cruel, hurtful jokes that I have been fooled by many times before

Please tell me this isn’t the case at all
that your love still grows for me like flowers underneath the sunniest sky

In my three years of high school I have encountered several kinds of boys, all of which I have fallen for in some shape or form. And I feel I have them figured out for the most part.
First you have the broken boys who make you feel in touch with your emotions and mind. They make you realize that yes you may be the sunniest person ever but every day comes with night.
Then you have the best friend. He's the one who has been with you through everything. He makes you feel special and happy. But alas when you try to date he treats you like crap cause he knows you will stay.
You have the "misunderstood" popular guy who likes to sneak out of class just so he can steal a kiss from you before you leave. But randomly stops talking to you the minute a more attractive less clumsy and awkward girl comes around.
Then there is the class clown, the nerd, the ****, the cowboy, and all the other basic highschool stereotypes that no one really cares to talk about or even pay attention to so why talk about it right now. We will save them for another time.
Then there is the kind boy who lends you his books. He will always be your crush that you will never have a chance with. He is intelligent and kind and also hilarious but of course he is popular and out of your league. He is the kind of boy who has an answer to every question. He is the kind of person you could talk to about anything, whether it be music or dogs. He is the guy who makes you say dumb things and makes you nervous just thinking about talking to him. He makes you wonder hours after you talk whether or not your face turned completely red when you two were speaking. But of course he is out of your league completely.
Maybe in my final year of high school I will meet a guy who blows this all out of the water. Or maybe the smart boy who sits next to me in English will actually see me. But either way every guy I have and will meet is worth the pain they bring because they leave great lessons and memories.

There I was

Holding an umbrella on the sunniest of days

Then he came

When he asked me why, I replied, “Just because”

I knew he saw all the pain I contained

And I felt he watched that boy love me then leave

He took my umbrella and told me I didn’t need to stop hiding

I just needed to find a new place for it

I agreed, and he took me in his arms and asked, “How’s this work?”

In that moment I knew why my past love was no longer present

I knew why in his arms I was sheltered from all hurt

It’s not that I think he’s a perfect person

Some days I even put a question to ‘I love you’s’ directed towards him

But without him I’d still be carrying the same umbrella

Wishing the sun would do as I did and hide

Wishing it would rain forever

Now I couldn't care less about the weather

I’ve got something way better

I always reach for you
When the night seems too long
It feels like you should be there
Lying where you always were

I want to hold your hand
Feel your fingers tighten
Around my own tentacles
Two hands cleaving as one

Since you’ve been gone
The walls listen to my sobs
And seem to whisper of grief
That edges my very soul

Missing you is like a nightmare
Where I never truly wake
It leaves me feeling sluggish
Even during the sunniest days

I often wonder if I will ever find comfort
Amid the pain of my memories
Will I ever look through the old photographs
And caress the heart of what could have been?

Missing you is a tragedy
That keeps me grasping
For the pieces of the past
Which frequent my thoughts
Without you, I think
Am I really me?


©2014 by Regina Riddle

I was care free with you
I knew that if anything went wrong
I would be okay
by you

I remember when we planned that trip to the beach
We never thought to check the weather
You and I laughed so hard as it started pouring down rain
I was fine without an umbrella just laying there with you

I am so careful now
I once had everything and lost it all at once
I even carry an umbrella with me on the sunniest days