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They  call  my  flat
a  museum.

Because  of  all
my  stuff.

But  as  a  keen
collector.

I  can  never  get
enough.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.2017.
 Jun 2017 SK O'Sullivan
Sjr1000
The creative spirit
sleeping in the back
of the room
tossing and turning
dreaming
eyes spinning in sleep
level four
R E M
but not saying a word
leaves you wondering
what's the point in
everything

Creative spirit
taking a hiatus

No where to be found
maybe in Hawaii
looked under the couch
even checked the kitty litter

Creative spirit, taken a powder

Now I'm feeling
so lost
so all alone
what am I supposed to do

Creative spirit
give me a sign
smoke signals
telegraph
telephone
email
text
Not even messaging

When does the somnambulisim
ever wear off
I told him he
had taken one too
many

The creative spirit, though,
still smoldering
where there's
smoke there's fire
where there is fire
there is passion's
heat

I'm remembering what
Chuck Berry taught me
"If the joint is rocking
Don't bother knocking
Come right on in"

Creative spirit you
can't cancel
no excuses will
be taken
We have a date
mañana
at a quarter to ten.
 Jun 2017 SK O'Sullivan
Ma Cherie
How do I know
you are being dishonest?

well you ask if I'm upset
I say no no.

however that's not true-
exactly,
I am upset
but also extremely confused.

I see you see the truth by asking if I am upset

An guess what?
I see very clearly
when you are lying too.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Ugh!!! ;/
A nest of intricate design
A piece of art unmatched in decor
Amid the dark verdure
Of needle like leaves
The gay habitat of a swallow and her brood.

How suddenly it erupts into a clatter of sounds,
As the mother bird comes diving in
With a wee bit of a wriggling worm
Discreetly borne in her tiny beak.

Thrusting it into the gaping mouths
She departs and comes again
And again comes with something
A whirring insect or a twisting thing.
Nothing can appease her ravenous horde
And on she goes ferreting about.

At night fall she alights abrupt
From what infinite heights, God alone knows
Darting into her nest as she hovers,
The din subsides............
First into a fizzle, then into sharp silence

Bundled in her warmth, the little ones
Sleep till the first flutter of dawn
From my window, I enjoy this diurnal scene
Repeating itself in methodical precision
Until someday, into heaven’s insurmountable heights
The young ones take off on tiny wings!

A sight so accustomed, cheery and gleeful
My eyes would soon be deprived of
And the thought makes me ill at ease
A wonder it is, the young ones
Inexperienced though, thrives so well
On catapulted suddenly into an eerie world!

What husbandry in nature!
What Godly solicitude!

The next morn, my heart missed a beat
At what I espied through my open window.
On the ground lay the swallow’s nest
Ripped, broken and blown to pieces
Like a heap of rubble after a tremor.
By its side lay a few downy feathers
The sad reminder of a stark felony!

In an instant flashed past
The grim image of the black Tom cat
That prowls my courtyard in the dark
With glowing eyes and bristly whiskers

Damning that accursed thing
I picked up that wreckage
My mind violently mutinying over
The ‘insolent might’!!
This was written sometime back when a bird had built a nest on a bushy tree in my garden… I waited counting down days to see the eggs hatched . But what happened in the end was heart breaking….. !
 Jun 2017 SK O'Sullivan
Lora Lee
So many emotions tonight
I just cannot keep
them in
They are bursting out
from this jar of stars
that I keep next to my bedside
and tonight I couldn't
close it tight
if I tried
yes they are erupting out
as the lid
flies to the skies
messy emotions everywhere,
all over the
bedcovers
spilling onto the carpet
over my fingers as I attempt
to catch them
now I see
that the stellar energy,
just busting
through the ceiling,
up through the roof
and over the stratosphere
is mine
it seems that
I am going for a night- ride
amongst those
brightly encoded particles
sensory endings a-glow
reaching out like starfish
infinite pieces of our being
as they meet the forces beyond
I am rushing through those
night clouds
fluidity floating
trying to understand it all
attempting to know why
How can I make it right
How can things get back on path
And then I realize
This is it…
The path
I am on it
the pieces
       will come back together
only after
they freely
unabashedly
shatter
 Jun 2017 SK O'Sullivan
Lora Lee
Lay me down
      in those fields  
         of silken flowers
        where the buzzing
        over our heads
       whirls us into
   lightspun holy
my dress a metaphor
for loneliness
as you lift it off
and let it disintegrate
into the evening's
electric ether
your lips
    undoing the tight
       leather laces
        that have held my
     heart in place
until now
Now.
undo them
   in unfurled totality
let my feminine essence
drip, in non-verbal words
onto your fingers
let my elements
   light you up
    from within
firebrand sunset
in molten metallic sheen
indigo lip of ocean
melding into crackling
            hiss of earth
               and humming
                   under this
                dark rich loam
              tiny vibrating buds
     sprout from fossils
trilobites become
hazy with new moss
seething insects
lay eggs and spawn
feeling the bloodpulse,
that simmer of surface
in slick magnet energy
Curled stems of wild
poppies and zinnia
tie down my wrists
snake around my thighs
clasp my
tender-***** ankles
as if to open me
up even more
than I thought
            my soul
                   could go
and I do not resist
for soon they will
accompany you
as you decorate my
deepest womb
              with blossoms          
filling me with your
soul's seed
your musk-scented fervor
nestled, subaqueous
into the root of
my sweet
       deep
of  
  need
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qU8UfYdKHvs
This song. Just says it.
 Jun 2017 SK O'Sullivan
CK Baker
I met an old man who would strike up a pose
with a burgundy ferret he called Arbor Rose
he smiled as I focused and yelled to him cheese
said "a mind functions best when it’s 40 degrees"

He wore a black cap and carried a cane
and the locals would muse that he lost half his brain
I watched as he passed by the Warfield Hill grave
as he swatted a fly and gave me a wave

He opened the gate and fastened a lock
and pulled from his pocket a grandfather clock
he reached for the sky and parted a seam
and the ferret spoke out, said "it’s only a dream"
Through a pane of glass
life dissolves into its essence
Through a pane of glass
creation speaks

I never thought it would be this way
I chose to go
along for the ride
while this mad world
careened off the tracks

And yet creation
the godhead
persists
expands and contracts
unperturbed

I struggle to understand
the code
I peer intently
into the enveloping dark

And at the end of this inquiry
I find only music
and silence
upholstered through and without
by a sweet sense of peace.
Based on a photo I took through my window on a wet world.  See my Facebook page at Jeffard Ster.
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