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 Mar 2018
aviisevil
my breath is blue
cold and forgettable
in this dark room
and with my eyes closed
composed of a mind
and all its follies,
that I cannot switch off;

i am lost, yes,
bless'd with a life
i never would have
known otherwise,

of minutes, mountains and
stones, wise men; a home
and sun rise,

here on this rock
me and so many like me
will die, pretending we
never would,

consuming blood and wood
even burning the forest down
'tis his kingdom, filled with
people bad and good,

some mad and filled with
scars and broken days
then there's that who
has no need for a place,
some wear stars and some
wear no face, some are meant
to die, some meant to stay

some go away never to
come back, some find
grey days soothing as they
pass by, some live
in good-byes, and some dye
themselves, some don't cry,

some won't die, and we'd
watch them live forever,
whilst we break our lies,

i live the lies too, yes,
but that's more bless'd, in
this storm of illusion,
outside this dark room
where i bleed away bits of
me, everytime i step out,

loud noises and the clock,
to break me down,

silence louder than words,
empty air for me to drown
trapped in a circle 'round
my neck,

eyes to dream me a crown,
and a mind for the countless
worthless things i've found
gagged and bound,
in the deepest layers
miles deeper than my skin
sinking, and inking my
breath blue.
 Mar 2018
The Non-Poet
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreak­ing
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid
 Mar 2018
Thomas P Owens Sr
I am not angry with the day
though I gaze the skies with such disdain
I cannot outrun the light
so in the interim I wait idly by
or hide in shadows

so strong and constant
is the Sun
reminder of my weakness burns
I greet the darkness in it's absence
it holds no truth
no strength
only the means to cower

I will ride the ***** of night
until I fall into my dreams
where thoughts are kind and colors play
it is here I escape
the wrath of day
revised oldie - still not satisfied
 Mar 2018
Polar
I hear the rhythmic clapping
And feel the pounding of feet on the ground
As dust swirls and dances around
While I sit facing the sun
In all her divine beauty.
Encased in the wood of the red gum tree,
I am at peace.
Burnum carves my totem outside
Surrounded by holy men,
Loved ones and ancestors.
This is my signifier and protection.
I am Miki the moon
Recently returned to my tribe
Heeding the call of the spirits.
My people mourn deeply
But know I will come again
To be at one with them,
First I must commune with the great creator
Rainbow spirit of the sky
For now is the time for dreaming.
Thank you everyone for the likes/ loves and comments, you made my day special!! :0)
 Mar 2018
Jesse stillwater
Lingering coastal fog
  climbed up the seaside cliff head
    The windward crest-edge
       sprawling  out
        the rolling waves
        misty breathe,
       shapeless as an ocean
      sigh betides;
    cloyingly crawling
  through the lush
hillside meadow verdure

The clinging mist dissipates
   like teardrops soon forgotten:
      the Dawning of the day
          caressing the evanescent dew;
             an ebbing tide
               remembered for a while...
               Dawn awakening
               newly sun kissed Daffodils
            animated with felicity and mirth;  
         lilting ballerinas
     gracefully swaying,
   contagious with the leavening
    serendipity of the westerly
      sea breeze ~

        Velvet bisque painted
            daybreak constellations,
              embossed by sunrise
               splendor ~
              each root bound bouquet,
            kismet choreographed ballerinas
         in Spring's  Rustic  Ballet


                        Jesse
.               11 March 2018

a favorite spring meadow trek just above the ocean off highway 101

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