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 Mar 2017 Kyle
Ritika
Flow
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Ritika
Move. Like that slow wind.
Flow, steadily.
Let every heart listen you.
Those hearts, which can hark,
Hark too deep.
Keep moving.
Let the eccentricities sprinkle,
Not just fill in the voids opaque
But translucent, invisible.
Be silent, serene, calm,
Singing your own song,
Make your direction,
Follow no trail...
Move. Singularly​, steadily, slowly,
Like that unplugged music,
Those unheard whisperings,
Those withering spiraling blowy
Tranquilized​ winds.
©err1585
Written on Mirakee. @err1585
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Ritika
Flinging those hairs,
Covered with goldens,
She was strolling
On the flames of hell
Metamorphosing it to
Paradise of love and warmth.
©err1585
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Pagan Paul
Isolation
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Pagan Paul
.
There is a man
     with only one hand,
in the 3rd eye of Buddha
     he learnt about clapping.

There is a woman
     with only one heart,
in the land ruled by men
     she retained her compassion.

There is a man
     with only one eye,
in the land of the blind
     he was ostracised.

There is a mind
     with only one thought,
in the land of the banal
     it treasures imagination.



© Pagan Paul (19/10/16)
.
Old Poem
PPx
.
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Aisrah Misch
We've been in several sleeping places.
Hotel rooms, apartelles, condotels,
cheap, dilapidated motels.
Would often wonder
who were the last occupants before we came.
Were they a couple?
A paid ******* and her customer?
(or maybe it's the other pronoun)
Two friends, lonely
and sexually craving for a warm body,
any familiar body?
(at the risk of being strangers the morning after)

Some rooms we've been in reeked
of loneliness and secrecy.
Some had crisp, clean sheets,
all traces of body fluids
laundered and bleached.
Ready to absorb our own.

I look at the walls.
Plastered white.
Crumbling green.
Peeling beige.

How many moans of pleasure
(faked or authentic) tried to seep into them
against the solid cement  towards another room?
Were they all moans, those sounds?
What if some were howling,
of force, of "first-time" pains,
of lost virginities?

The creaking of bed posts is the musical score of a three-hour narrative.

could be longer, could be shorter. Only
they can tell. There could be
cuddling (if they are lucky)
or turned backs (if they are ******).
Worse,
one could be sobbing.
Soundless, inconspicuous sobs
even the body beside her
cannot hear.
 Mar 2017 Kyle
gillian chapman
soft
 Mar 2017 Kyle
gillian chapman
i. my chest shivers with my heartbeat—a hummingbird, flapping its wings.
ii. the first spring sunlight, warm rays of melted gold. light falls like a blanket, lucent, scintillating bronze aglow.
iii. redness on skin, marigolds flowering, blossoming pink scattered on cheeks like stardust. a thousand million comets, light and more light.
iv. warm grass beneath my fingers, sprouting up and growing through my body towards the sun.
v. fields of wildflowers. rosy morning sunrise over ocean. light, light, and light, draping over earth like curtains of amber, twinkling. bokeh pouring through forest canopies, a solar sedative, the fauna doze. light, more light, drizzling from sunbeams, riding on the claws of the birds.
vi. warm golden blankets, lulling the world to sleep.
(g.c.) 2/12/17
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Mona
Ocean Atlas
 Mar 2017 Kyle
Mona
Through the sutures of my cerebral bones,
A non-human language of thought transcends,
Below the surface, in the depth of rationality,
All I feel is that rattle of waves, out there making amends.

Coral reefs grow along my arms,
I'm just as alive as you are,
Even a bit more,
as worlds collide and mornings glisten on my skin,
Every night the ocean sits on my shoulders
like a veil,
I dream of ways to chant my gratitude
on a mandolin.

A meaningless breath that blurs my porcelain eyes,
I see exhaled by the time travelers
that pollute the land,
A network of interconnected labyrinths extends,
I watch from afar, never to contribute
one grain of sand.

Sheltered from the extremities that lay beyond every rainbow,
I think in lively blues and shades of green,
Serenaded everyday by my ever-present peace of mind,
The taint of them land-walkers on my heart is forever unseen.
9/6/2016
“Ocean Atlas,” is the lastest underwater sculpture by artist Jason deCaires Taylor. Towering 18 feet tall and weighing in at more than 60 tons, Ocean Atlas is reportedly the largest sculpture ever deployed underwater. The artwork depicts a local Bahamian girl carrying the weight of the ocean above her in reference to the Ancient Greek myth of Atlas, the primordial Titan who held up the celestial spheres.
How can I ever explain it?
Not without a full disclosure
I will tell you every bit
Your kindness to which I demure

Soldiers fight their own private war
Mine to protect the Hill Tribes
Willing to suffer all the gore
All credit to them I ascribe

Upon arrival in Da Nang
I gathered my field gear and rifle
A mission with Colonel Vang
Preparation seemed but a trifle

My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies
Give a great gift to me, your sons
I will escort them through Hades
I'll teach them to ****** with guns

Wet their tongues in cobra's blood
I have come to save you from doom
The coming communist red flood
Boys already made their own tomb

We shall fly the flags of the Hmong
We'll rally boys from the villes
We must slaughter the Minh and Cong
The Hmong will have their own Bastille

I will take a dragon to wife
Boys will nurture in her foul breath
They will worship their ****** knife
We'll dance the ritual of death

I’m the lost soul forest monster
Others have come before today
They are pathetic impostors
We will flow through the night to slay

Other boys born beneath the palm
They have come to steal your life's breath
It's them that we target to bomb
I'll walk among you as Macbeth

My Duncan is among your kin
Banquo will haunt me til I rot
I will be fixed with mortal sin
Unable to wash away the spot

I will hide my hands from Odin
A conundrum in which I'm caught
Future will be among the Jinn
My destiny from this foul plot

Your sons buried in sacred ground
They'll not be stained with my darkness
Peace for them will be so profound
How many thanks can I express

Those boys in valor's selfless crown
From gallantry, their future gone
Sins I keep and can't beat down
For many years, I must atone.

I, far removed from battles roar
Do fondly remember those boys
Their smiles and laughter before
Stand out among life's greatest joys

No more the fierce warrior am I
Just an old man with memories
I am needing to just say goodbye
And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases
This is my lament.  It is extracted from my third life.
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