You are a powerful wizard
While I am a mere mage
Spellbound by your eyes
I am trapped in your cage

I am being held captive
In the beauty of your mystical mind
Lost in the spells of your charm
My spirit I am unable to find

Cursed I am by your magic
Wandering in the depths of the
darkness
Maybe yours maybe mine
Whose it is I cannot determine

Entangled is my fate
In the strings of your destiny
You are the healer of my thoughts
Saving me from my agony

Bewitched is my heart
Breaking by the spells you cast
Caged in the colours you hide
I am being punished by my past

Enchanted by you I am
The one reviled by all
But I see through your masks
You are drowning in your pain's rainfall

If many people knew
That words
Once out of our mouths
Can either pierce
A perfectly beating heart
Or caress
A woe-stricken soul
They can either be a balm
And soothe the aching burns and scars
Or lodge as bullets
Inside a mind
Bestowing wounds
To be nursed for a lifetime
They can either make
A skin shimmer with hope
Or strip it of its lustre
Like dull ancient sculptures
If only many people knew
That their words are endowed
With a power so surreal
Which can either save
Or wreak havoc
Then perhaps
Less tears would be shed
More smiles would be exchanged
And this world
Would indeed become
A better place

I am sorry to my body
But my spirit was not strong enough

My life is sometimes only that green
that everybody see's during the day,
and at night when you awake
with your window open wide
and perceive the fresh scent
of a brand new beginning,
with the joy it transfers to us all,
conveyed within the air we breath,
that comes only in nature we see.

"Whoever thou mayest be, beloved stranger, whom I meet here for the first time, avail thyself of this happy hour and of the stillness around us, and above us, and let me tell thee something of the thought which has suddenly risen before me like a star which would fain shed down its rays upon thee and everyone, as befits the nature of light. - Fellow man! Your whole life, like a hourglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again, - a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process.

And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of time which makes up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time, one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things: -|- and for mankind this is always the hour of Noon" )|( when the One True Queen of the Universe is Crowned. )|(

So let's talk about suicide
and how it could have taken me
and how it still might.

So let's talk about suicide
and how childs not yet old enaugh to wake their minds
try to end their lives as we just sit by.

So let's talk about suicide
and how tired old folks cut their time too short
because they have noone to love.

So let's talk about suicide
and how self-harm is cause of laugh
and how one day it goes too far.

So let's talk about suicide
and how I never thought I'd see myself
writing about my own.

So let's talk about suicide
let's talk about mine
my first try I threw my knife before the red shone in my eyes.

So let's talk about suicide
and how my second try I mixed rum, Coke and bleach.
It tasted really bad, but I drank on.

So let's talk about suicide
and how I don't really want to kill myself anymore
but I guess there is something about me that makes me close to it anyway.

So let's talk about suicide
and how my last attempt will be at the bottom of the sea,
drunk with misery, drunk alone.

So let's talk about suicide
let's talk about it because it happens all around us
and talking is the best way not to break.

So I've talked enaugh, now it's your turn

I remember it well
the rich mix of smoke, perfume, and garlic
one could almost taste the absinthe in the air.
Toulouse-Lautrec, was deemed acceptable
as we embraced his artistic vision
singing our Chason Realiste songs;

We are the people, the poor gaudy freaks
traipsing about with drink in hand
sliding stockings down
from thighs, spreading
our provocative
dreams while delving headlong into
decadence and garish night life,
trying to escape banality .

Ah Henri, the prostitutes, and there
were many, Marie Charlet
your first,  
                        even with your genetics
and anguished tirades burgeoning,
she loved you well.

Tremblement de terre, your creation
we too contrive when mocked
to become carefree and
                     obsessively delusional.

Thin brushstrokes
touched dispassionately
and yet there is sympathy suffused,
a continuum of unarticulated
and variegated respite;
the allure of mouth watering treats
and trollops that take the woe-begotten
to stellar heights,
                      while we the hangers-on
raise glasses in salute
                     tonguing the inner sanctum of the Moulin Rouge
our astute imaginings savored while
craving even more of those
                           lusty nights with breasts and bodies
                                       exposed, nipples whetted blown upon.

Then too, our burrowed deep sensations grind out torch songs, even as the flames leap high to singe us all,
                 we laugh, we cry.
Curled flame we toast the unexplainable
creating an orgy of molten light,
bodies of heat brighter than stars.  
We become the false dawn,
stripping darkness from the midnight sky,
an explosion of all we are and have to give
                       our lives one long pursuit of Celebration,

Things weren’t going well
They fought too much
Tony decided to move out
Couldn't take another punch
So he got into the Camaro
Then he headed east
Back to Memphis, where he grew up
To Beale Street
All the while he drove
Racing through his mind
Was the question of what he was doing
Was it all about his pride?
Molly wanted commitment
You can’t blame her for that
No more playing house, she said
“Where are we at?,” she had demanded
Tony had misgivings
She was the best that ever happened to him, he recognized
As his life’s truest fact
Another hundred miles he drove
Finally, he turned back
She was his home
Where he had to be
They would make it together
It was their destiny
She opened the door with surprise
Imagine her two bright eyes
Then came this, he spoke
“Every mile I drove was in the wrong direction.
I now realize what we have is golden
What we have is love
What you want, you now have got.”
Then they both cried

That was many years ago
They now own their home
Donna and Jimmy are their kids
How their love has grown
No more wrong direction
Never since that day
As evidenced by the doormat
Which to all they say,
“Welcome to our happy family.”
Indeed they are
In this true story
It turned out that way

He speaks the language of flowers
Quietly toiling in his garden
Digging, raking and smoothing soil,
Gently coaxing nature to match his vision.
He knows the bees, spiders, beetles, worms and earwigs
Regarding them as friends.
He follows seasons, moon and stars
As others do people
Enthralled at the changes they bring.
He listens as the birds sing
Watching with joy as
Fledgling take wing.

be with the one who sees constellations on your skin and treats you as the brightest star in the sky
be with the one whose arms feel like home and you’d run to drunk in a room of everyone you’ve ever loved
be with the one who is satisfied with just your company and needs nothing more from you but your presence
be with the one who does everything in their ability just to make you happy and doesn’t let you go to sleep sad
be with the one who distractedly traces your skin just to remind them that such a wonderful person is not a figment of their imagination
be with the person that restores your faith in true love and good people
be with that person because they are not common and never let them go

s.s

kiss me in your backseat
like nothing has ever been like this before
'cause you kiss like a promise
like you have never wanted anything more
than me

and just maybe, i'm crazy about you baby
and i guess it's a mess but i've always loved messy
things

and with your lips on my neck, i feel like the best is yet to come
and with my heart on my sleeve, i hope you can see it beats like a drum

and i'm wrapped around your finger and my gaze might just linger on your face
and i can't help but notice what we've made of this moment in this place

is beautiful
you're beautiful.

in the streetlights, with your brown eyes looking into my heart
hold me tighter, with your bright lights lighting up the dark
you're lighting up

I set my alarm for early.
“To go for a run” I say.
“I need to get fitter”
The alarm wakes you too
Your body makes it’s way towards mine
And suddenly all I care about
Is how easily I can fit,
back into your arms.

Oh this picture is big floating on air or a magic carpet tell me how something wrong feels just right your smile is warm and very bright the lies from your mouth tell me why they feel so right looking into your eyes I see you for who you are and you tell me it's gone be alright never trusting you I'd seem to be a fool on guard for everything I've been thru not loving you right if only you knew where I came from holding on to what I think dreams are really made of

The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
It's  touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
And I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.

When it seems all the world wants to sell me on painkillers, you face the troubled of all sorts with a scalpel and a wink. Even when those stitches holding your own spitshined heart together are looking a little iffy.

Since childhood, we’ve floundered like fish out of water both longing for the sea, but with age, I think that you and I have come to view the ocean in very different ways.

What I see as an adventure, you’ve always seen as home.

The sea could never quite mystify someone who’s strived to be more siren than human. No, unlike the flower from which you were named, your real garden patch is present with the planets.

You make me want to be as stalwart as Stonewall, and save my wishing well quarters for the pigs who tried to suss out every non-straight playing broad through her suit clothes, so that on the days where the face of my best friend's assaulter bears down like the man in the moon, she’ll preserve her beautiful, blessed hands by halting her fist before it can hit any wall.

Apparently, you’ve been learning Russian on a whim since age eleven. You love tattoos and art in it's sometimes most tantric forms. The firm and sometimes too-firm handshake between aesthetic and soul, and what, дорогая сестра, is more human than that?

And you called yourself cynical.
Yet when the life of a honeybee means so much in your hands, I can’t understand how you tried to scorn the weight of the world. You found beauty in banana slugs, and I have to believe you do not know your own self.

Seeing you make sense of other people, I now believe that mermaids are incredibly self-conscious, so when we asail our Somali plundered doubloons, blood diamonds, pearls of tortured oysters, and other ill-gotten goods back into the sea, may we feel we’ve done our duty when they see their own reflections for the first time and become narcissists.

Because of you, I tried for the first time to love myself, because like it or not, this is what I’ve got. What we’ve got. The most detached tag team duo the world’s never seen.

But on the day that I finally throw the dragon’s den fortune of our mother back into the mariana trench from which she and the sessions family came, I’ll think back to the time where she said that, as siblings, we’d grow up to be best friends. But let’s face it, we have both lost a lot of best friends, though you are the only one of all those come and gone who’s yet to steer me wrong. Okay, that’s a fat lie, because for a second of my life you convinced me to believe that you are cynical.

Comparing your stride to the rest of the world’s, I will never again judge somebody for the way they walk. Even if they have to drag themselves, kicking and screaming from point A to point B, the last thing a person needs is another stranger stepping on their lifeline.

I hear of everything you're doing, day in and day out, think of all the times this world’s nearly lost you, and I remember the statue in our neighbor’s front lawn. A little girl-an angel- with butterflies landing atop her precious hands. Then I realized that to be an angel statue means you can never reach out for more, and suddenly, I know why you always preferred cyborgs.

the sun drips
like
a
yellow yolk

oozes
down
the gold knots
of my spine
breathe the first of Spring days
the radio plays our favorite song

i see you backwards
quickly
all the times we had
vulnerable;
gone.

the sky is blue, the lake is blue
your eyes are blu
and they say i look like your
sister
oh gods. help me
i can’t feel anything
except you
and everything here is you

When the kitchen staff did the washing-up
They could not but notice, among the bowls
And serviettes, spoons, knives, pitchers, and plates,
One of the best silver trays, blotchy with blood

And scraps of vertebrae, ruining the shine
“Oh, bother; those stains will never come out,”
Muttered the old woman in charge of such things
But she scrubbed and polished, did a good job

With that and with each costly silver cup
When the kitchen staff did the washing-up

If you must leave me
then I'll let it be
I am pushing to my death
so I can breathe

I am at a lack of words
Overwhelmed by what surrounds
My war begins at home
My war is my own heart

If we must break
the tears will fall down my face
but I'll let it happen
with all my pain, but I'll be there

The truth is
I'm scared of you
In a good way
Because
If i'm scared
It means i hold you dear.
I'm proud
Yet terrified
At how you can make mistakes
Terrible ones
Break my heart
And still manage to make me smile

So when i tell you,
I'm scared
Don't run away
Embrace me
And tell me
I need not be
That you might hurt me,
But your intentions were not to
How you would fix it,
And be better at understanding,
How we will build it together. .
Tell me it is okay
To be scared
But not of you.
Because you won't leave.

Tell me
And make me believe it by staying
Not by disappearing
And appearing
But being constant
Each day.

Prove me
And
My demons wrong.

Let me win for this one time
Let me be me for this one moment.
Let me embrace my feelings
Including the scary ones.

Stirring velvet wine
Alone amongst the stars.

I fell in love with you, Grace.
Like a child, wild and hungry,
Born from passion and blood.
This is too much to bare,
Waves of pain crashing against my soul,
Holy siren of love, throw me against your hate and don’t be sorry,
Leave your sins sprawled all over our bed of roses,
Tonight I’ll be singing to the moon,
Be one with wolves of darkness,
Stray through the night,
My heart is a thunder, a lightning,
Unreachable and deadly to the touch,
No one can enter but light,
And so fast that you can’t even follow my steps,
But you’ll feel everything,
From the beginning to the very end,
Thunder that you’ll cry when the night dies,
And the storm will no longer be there,
Sun shines against young smiles,
Even after the storm,
The light of the thunder will always remain.

Start a humanitarian crisis.
Separate families at the border.
Remind people that immigrants
Are very low in the pecking order.

Continue with a counter program.
Keep repeating hundreds of times
How immigrants are dangerous
And also the cause so many crimes.

Then reverse the order that
Separates the families so
You can pretend you care immensely
(Even though it's just a show).

Blame the Democrats all along
For causing all the injustice and pain.
Say they all want open borders--
That they are the ones who are inhumane.

After bombarding the people with
False "facts" on immigration,
Their tolerance for cruelty
Will grow. The power of demonization!

Send to the border the First Lady.
Give her a tasteless jacket to wear
So she can add more controversy
And callousness to the whole affair.

Have your conspiracy theory friends
And harpy friend appear on the news
To brainwash viewers so more and more
People will start to share your views.

Encourage your sycophants in Congress
To parrot your buzzwords hour after hour,
And you'll be well along the way
To having what you want: POWER.

-by Bob B (6-24-18)

When I was little,
I thought the world was on my side.
Now that I’m older, I’ve realized
It’s me against the world.
Society is going to try,
To tempt me, to hurt me, to destroy me.
And so far I’ve tried ignoring it.
But now, I know it’s out to get me.
As a child, the world would hold me close,
And told me it would keep me safe.

The world has opened my eyes,
Drowned me, and made me realize
I can only trust myself.
It’s alright, I’m okay.
Or I’m not, maybe I’m insane.
Maybe the world is just the world,
And I just can’t accept it.
Maybe I’m searching for a deeper meaning
To my pain.

Waking up to a heavy chest
My body begging me to sleep again
And my anxiety begins the second I realize I'm alive
I'm trying to learn to function
With all of this negative energy inside me
I know it'll pass and
I know it'll get better
But right now it hurts
I feel unloved
Unloveable
I feel lost inside myself
A place I can't stay too long
Before I lose my mind
I can tell myself I'm worth it and
That my worth isn't defined by others
And it works for a bit
Until something else comes up and
My heart loses its energy
And I either feel like giving up
Or ready to fight everyone

To
      be
            loved
                        is
                             simple,
                         ­    simply
                  begin
              to
     give  
love.

Quietly sneaky
you came
Thunderstorms
in my heart
Yet you left
me alone
unset and alone
You were the moon
Now i ask delicate
why when i hear your
name i can't forget
the words on you mouth
those blue eyes staring
inro mine unashamed
I found new hope
untouched
buti can't shake you away
when i hear you name
and your sparky attitude

but i will keep on
romoving your spell
on my soul
for there is always the
sun when the moon fail

Somewhere in this life I will find the escape of my search , I shall open every door, look out every window, travel anywhere my escape may be.  
Then suddenly I am confused as a strange thought crosses   my mind as I sit all alone in my untidy  box I call a home ,
What is it I'm escaping from? Is it the mirror of an old woman always staring at me, she is like the rose I use to see but her color has faded as her skin is  wilting like the petals of a once beautiful flower now turning to dust .  
The sadness of reality now striking like the thorns on the rose a stinging pulsing pain as I realize there is no escape as I fade off to sleep I may wake another day, everything I see will be seen just the same until the day the rose petals fall to the ground as does the old lady pass away.
©kimmied1105

There's more to suicide than what we think it is.
It's not just unanswered questions,
sometimes, it's unasked ones.

For doors are many
      and each one has no lock.
For gods are words of the mind
           unkept delusions of mans past.

We need to unlock the humanity
  of ourselves and see we aren't
           just one,
we are in fact the many
                       that make the whole.

Knowledge is the key that opens
                                 our potential,
not to bend on knees like
                        slaves to nothingness...

~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-Job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!

the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life sucks” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s is in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs

summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)

but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early

got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived