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Ben Ditmars Jun 2014
scratch off
your disease and
match the dollars,
instant cash from
bells and cherries
like the drawings
of a whistle aren't
symbolic or a warning
for bottomless desires,
buried dreams replaced by
objects cheaper than a
chance or step into
uncertainty.

© Ben Ditmars 2014
  Jun 2014 Ben Ditmars
r
Pull up a chair
and rest a spell.
In your glance
I can see a tell.
Your heart is not here
when he's in town.
Your home fire
is burning down.

Come sit,
let's talk awhile.
I won't ask you
for a smile.
Here, now,
just take my hand.
Let us watch the sun
sink into the sand.

It is getting cold,
but the night is young.
There's still a fire in me
that has not been sung.
We can watch the moon
creep o'er the hill.
I'll sing for you
and warm the chill.

Pull up a chair,
let us talk awhile.
The night is young,
I can make you smile.
Take my hand
and make me feel.
There is a hearth here
that's burning still

r ~ 6/25/14
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  / \
Ben Ditmars Jun 2014
Breathing doesn't mind the rain
It takes its time
Moving through your veins
The chill sublime

It takes its time
Softer, faster as we kiss
The chill sublime
We are in bliss

Softer, faster as we kiss
Soaked by the sky
We are in bliss
I hear you sigh

Soaked by the sky
Your lips cry out
I hear you sigh
Releasing doubt

Your lips cry out
Moving through your veins
Releasing doubt
Breathing doesn't mind the rain.

© Ben Ditmars 2014
My first pantoum.
  Jun 2014 Ben Ditmars
Wanderer
Colour of a blue eyed newborn's
Iris sneaking itself through
Marshmellow clouds lined
With pink mother-of-pearl
And my admiration.
I want to touch everything.
I work with my hands.
I can build whatever you need,
And am the best tickler
South of the Arctic.
I want to put my fingers through
Anything beautiful I see.
Always looking;
Wanting to touch.
                              
That which begs to be touched
My mind caressing tree limbs
Breathing in celestial counterparts
To weave through this new configuration
Third eye open
Stumbled upon fathomless depths
Unknown
Wide brimmed, wide eyed
Don't sleep, don't sleep
So much yet to soak up
To taste


That which begs to be tasted.
Skin, warm with wanting,
Wet with relief and
Passing contentment.
Lips that uttered
Curses now kiss soft
Fingertips tracing
More love than
Love has ever had.
All is new
To the reborn.
Here are my hands.
They see through me,
Look into you, and rest
Upon the centre of your
Innermost centermost.
An umbilical between
Godess and
Man.
I smile mouthfulls
Of everything.


Hopeful, hope filled
The silver edge to this cloud
Dropping rainbow 3pm's to halo
Around my grinning skull
I am simple in my sobriety
Chrystal cut clear in winter yearning
Seeing the forest finally for the trees
These wonders reaching down out of the darkness
Shedding light on this pale, pale mourning
Nerve tips trace along your dips and curves
Memorizing
Mesmerized

And that baby-eye blue
Is now a full grown heaven
Full of sweet nothings
And nobodys,
Holding only such ideas as
Void and timelessness
In its handless hands.
I watch it with you; arm
Around your doll waist,
Shoulder against your
Head.
It's a new day.
A new, beautiful day.
A new, beautiful, hopeful
Day for us both.
Pots of gold on either end
Of this unimaginary
Rainbow.
The first, third and last verse sets of this piece are written by Sverre Holter. Thank you for your kindness and company :)
You don't like me.
You like the idea of me.
You like the idea
That someone who is
Suicidally depressed
Can make you
Extraordinarily happy.

You like the idea
That my deep
Cynicism and scepticism
Can fuel your
Overjoyed optimism.

You like the idea
That I'm  the
Wonderful, beautiful
Intelligent, nerdy girl
You thought I was.

I am nothing.
I am empty.
I am not an idea.

Ideas are dangerous
Exciting, giggly.
They fill the idealist
With roaring delight.
Such a fantasy
Couldn't be real but in
The mind of a
Surrealist, Idealist
Socialist, Capitalist  
Fascist.

I am not an idea.
Ideas are fun.
I am not an idea.
Ideas get things done.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are good.
Ideas aren't real.

I am real.
I wish I was only
Your idea of me.
I wish I wasn't real.
Written 14th May.
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