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bulletcookie Jan 2019
globe of bright white brush
golden strokes surrounding you
a king's winter guide

-cec
bulletcookie Jan 2019
Through sheer curtain casts a diffused light, thread bare
wispy Wayang perform behind; parading shadows
as curious sleight of hand unveils today's vane weather  
past glass pane doubt at morning's province

that foreign sun filtering through clouds of grey
parting enough to blue where dawn begins and ends
while pocket-sized birds dip and dart across garden flora
fulfilling their native chirp charged larks

saline winds straddle mist to settle dew on green:
moss, grasses, leaves, do cushion a fallen limb
its clinging lichen, in common leap, adheres their bond between
each stegnon layer, iris, to the next

thus fixed in this fabric's fiber, spirits
decant Pandora's brew imbibed from age to aged
as staggering marionettes **** and stumble on stage
scenes unfold on scrolls of old, this day's mystery at midwife

-cec
Wayang: a form of puppet theatre art found in Indonesia and other parts of Southeast Asia, wherein a dramatic story is told through shadows thrown by puppets and sometimes combined with human characters.

Stegnon: Biological chinking, a general term for all sessile microorganisms and meso-organisms that grow on or within the non-aquatic surfaces of the world, including rock, soil, and vegetation.
- Trevor Goward
bulletcookie Jan 2019
Brother―
you cut a grin
laid a fade-less scar on my hand
branded in our innocent games and  loving tones
this silent scar,
surrounded by sun-worn wrinkled skin
and blue blue veins,
Betrays

Cane and Abel
regardless of that innocent rock
rolling on moss like boys will
allot; ups and down,
take ins and out
this destined lesson bound
in a slice of dread
and disbelief
now at rest

-cec
Greenfield far far away
In droves luring Africans
Across the foaming flames
Through the Sahara hell
Scaling the stormy Sea.

The sheep in droves
Galloping across the desert
Taking risk in risk, hoping
Till every breath of wants
Dies in want of want.

Many have died
Some are dying
Many will still die
Tell me not why!

Humanity in high flames
Burning in crimson clouds
Coming to outlandish rainbow!

The dead dead!
Would they come back?
To bite the hunchback
Hounding the donkey's back
In search of the greenery​.
bulletcookie Dec 2018
now solitary
life counts stillness' hours
winter's austere white

-cec
bulletcookie Dec 2018
this moon metaphor
flips every month's light and new
giving one hint more

-cec
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