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sorting through stained jeans and shirts

I remember her

pink gingham dress and gnawed knees

from the floor she scrubbed

removing traces of brown blood
where she bled for

him

(for God)

swallowing sins and secrets,

the ****** Mary merely

a memory

to her.

I select a pair with ripped shins,

hand over my dollar

anticipating the anarchy of bare skin and ribs

(once fleshy)

protruding like

a ***** before

(Christ)

and I am not

that girl

in the thrift store

pressed palms

praying, praying, praying

for the taste of a

saviour
silted clouds
upon thick breath air
signal

the cackle of a
green woodpecker

gentle pulse
of earthen bells

her
glass fingers
bestow heaven

unto

a rain flower
washed
anew
Today at 8:45 AM  






Today is i realized this is the seventh year since oscar grants death. My heart to his family and the city of oakland. Im not here to come down on the police or the politics of them crime. Also we at 550 dont condone the senseless violence of the city. As an artist public figure, i cant see the increase of gun crimes a help. I know no one is perfect but everyday is one step closer to perfection. Spread love and knowledge amongst all. Yesterday i was goin over our history in the world. Mmmh we need, i forgot about the world. I made a life and got lost in more than just. Yet this blunt is around the world. Pass, we do go. Do you get lost? I drift alot without thinkin. 2nd gear quiet in the cut just pullin exhale. Next alot of laughter. Where when does it stop.
I sit in my room
and
notice my guitar
filling me with its radiance
a glimmer of light
shining brightly upon the
softly colored mahogany
it beckons,
calling me to strike ever-so-gently the
strings

to paint on the canvas of
silence
such is my calling

I reach for the instrument but
things are
different, this time
I find not the vibrant breath of music but
the self,
determined and
willing to lay-bare its heart to
the world
my eyes are opened
I am aware and
I breathe life into my lungs
for the first time
© Copyright
 Mar 2016 Dawn Lambert
Pixievic
Barefoot she walks along the beach
Retracing lost memories in ripples of sand
The murmur of the surf plays in her ears like muffled notes bowed on a cello, as the sun drips down behind the cobalt waves casting shadows to equal those of her longest night
Hushed colours paint her skin in hues of poignancy, her heart beating in rhythm with the tide as she glides through the surf
Footprints erased as if she herself had ceased to exist
A hallucination in the twilight
She pauses
Salty spray kisses her cheeks like unshed tears from fatigued days and solitary nights
Gazing out upon this vast entity
Sublime in its majesty
She recognises
The meaning of it all
Life, love, death
Images of antiquity play a delicate overture weaving dreams
A skittish child, pigtails and freckles, wearing a yellow gingham dress - collecting precious shells that will gather dust in a long forgotten attic
A timid teenager throwing pebbles into oblivion with the boy who will steal her heart, her kisses, her youth
A young family drawing their lives in the sand, building castles for the sole pleasure of knocking them down
A graceful woman cloaked in bereavement concealing a smile for the reflection of youth glimpsed in the wrinkled mirror of time
She lays herself down on a bed limestone
Silver hair fanning out amongst the seaweed
And gives her last memory
Back to the sea

(C) Pixievic
Looking at old photographs
 Mar 2016 Dawn Lambert
Nigel Finn
Do you ever get the feeling
That you've tried your very best
With self-love and self-healing
But have somehow failed a test?
And realise you were concealing
Something you had left repressed?

As you start to feel that everything
Finally goes your way
And you laugh out loud like your a king
And regret nothing you say
Or do, or write, or feel or sing,
And you think "what a wondrous day!"

Until you look around and realise
Not everyone feels the same
And as you look into their eyes
You feel just a hint of shame
That you've ignored those peoples cries
And feel that you're to blame.

It's not that I'm not happy
with myself- because I am,
But I realise that to feel that way
I must help my fellow man,
Because improving someone else's day
Helps me feel the best I can.
There's a phrase that says "You can't expect others to love you if you don't love yourself." I believe it's also true that you can't expect to love yourself if you don't love others.
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