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 Dec 2014
Jamie King
The spark of passion ignites the heart, until it is engulfed in a conflagration of notions, as curiosity triumphs over caution.

The seed of wisdom, planted in fields of knowledge, is cultivated and refined in kingdoms of intellect to innovate speeches of freedom.

Blisters in sweaty palms, rubbing against the pen, as it drifts between the paths of future and past, where hope is met and joy is felt.

Consumed by epiphanies, the heart-beat is felt by trembling hands, squeezing the pen for inspiration, to bewilder imaginations, giving birth to new perceptions.
You take your time and put your heart into your work. This is for true poets (creativity challange)
 Dec 2014
Amitav Radiance
The mountains raise their heads
To look up to the sky
Looking to kiss the eternity
Searching for the soft caress of clouds
And soothe the upheaval it went through
First drop of rains anoint the rugged surface
The sequestered waterfall cascades down
And adorns the mountainous terrains
Covering it with the soft velvety green
Enthusing life into the once lifeless rocks
Once among the rubble
The mountains have found their place of glory
 Dec 2014
mûre
I gave up on astrology
when you gave up on me.

       these stars will never align

doomed to a quickened heart
when every other year
you tell me I'm
beautiful.

you're a devastating black hole
I've wary watched the effortless pull of
galaxies into your guile
invisible webs gilded with your smile

infinite universal promises of nothing.

having fallen sick with the brush of your hand
(careless earth-shattering connection)
    
          he loves me... he loves me not
                 he loves me.... he loves me not

"your old friend"- how dare you?
at the origin- ever aliens!
you never obeyed the customs
when every look was all a kiss
and every touch a secret question

"we never were just friends," I muse-
fleeing on my gondola down the milky way
casting over my shoulder your cordial invitations to love you
from this millennium onward, you've changed the font but kept the paper
into the nebulous reality you've tried to gather
I don't. I won't. I would not rather.

let daisies decide.
leave me alone.
 Dec 2014
mûre
Cast me a stone, all ye who are able
I'm certain all that lies herein tells a fable.
If it made things hurt less, I'd bite at a bone
But I relish the taste of what I wish I had known.
If only you were gone. If only you were here.
My diary has become more deadly than dear.
 Dec 2014
mûre
i) Life is a story;
we are charged with forever narrating our existence to ourselves. This makes us- in a way- omnipotent. We knew it when we were kids-
how vividly we could sprout wings (and all other manner of magical appendages), materialize majestic beasts and enchanted cities out of the air.
As we age and busy ourselves with grown-up affairs we
forget this
and leave behind the charms and colours of our imaginations. So as

you write your story
to yourself
about
yourself

take a moment between pages
and
ad lib the impossible.

See, by doing so, you defy universal laws and create a possibility that is as palpable as
ice cream on your tongue.
It may last a second or ten seconds or even a minute, but it feeds your soul.
Regrow your youthful wings. Speak in cello. Invite a Jabberwocky for tea.
(a. You wont regret it)
(b. It is a gift)
(c. Jabberwockies make for very dignified company)


ii) People are constantly evolving. Everyone (and I mean everyone) is growing. As

people evolve

So too must our opinions of people evolve.
Our assumptions. Our unconscious prejudices.
Approach all souls with dignity and grace.
Hear with an open mind (wide, wide open!), and really hear.
People change, oft for the better. In accepting and nurturing the growth within those around us, we

grow ourselves a little bit, too.

iii) Some really very smart people believe that there is no such thing as altruism.
They seek to prove that every act of kindness

every good deed

every sacrifice

is ultimately for our own benefit.
An evolutionary instinct to save our ***** in any given situation,
so that we may carry on to have many, many babies that look like us.
They search to find evidence in the belief that all generosity and kindness is built on
pretense, profit, and self-preservation.

They might be right. But if we know it in our hearts to be false we can maintain a world that is
good and pure. Science is brilliant. But sometimes it's *******. And

sometimes it's up to us to figure the difference.


iv) Devote a little time every day to appreciate natural beauty.

Whether it be a far-off vista, the ineffable aesthetic of a jagged cliff that tumbles into the ocean (Thank you, Blomidon)

or perhaps....        cherish the architecture that structures the
face
of a person
you love

Allow yourself to be warmed by the beauty, and your eyes to lose their focus.
Breathe in so that the space in your cranium expands upwards and upwards
Til your whole consciousness is a cathedral.

And in that lovely sanctuary, you can find astounding calm and repose. It reminds you of the

bigger picture.
 Dec 2014
mûre
I see a Woman eating her muffin
looking at Man who is looking
looking into the depths of his paper cup
and the wrinkles and rivers on the back of his hand
thinking When did I get those?
Coffee Cup looking at the blue bin in the corner
Coffee Cup thinking Well, I guess this is how it goes

The secret force that wrenches eyes upward
from the secret morning monologues
happens like electricity happens
and Man sees Woman's eyes and frowns
and can't tell whether they are blue
or brown.

Crumbs are on her lap.
Man doesn't notice but Woman thinks he does
Moving imperceptibly and not wasting a calorie
she flutters her hands over the warm loaves of her thighs.
Man notices an ephemeral strain Simon and Garfunkle and
becomes aware of a softening within his sternum and
electrons slowing, softing, into a May spring aesthetic
Woman rubs her finger which does not have a ring
and Coffee Cup wonders if it will still
have sentience within the bin or if the world
with all its broken beauty and mornings and warm hands
will suddenly just stop everything?

I look at my keys. The sort that express, not
the sort that open doors and drawers
but even these, time to time, will
fall beneath the wooden floors.

Man pulls his long coat off the back of his chair
without ceremony rises and turns to go
leaves his cup on the table for a coffee girl to attend to
and exits as the rain turns to snow.

Woman sits. And sits.
Woman might order another pumpkin muffin.
Her knees are chilled, watching her pinkly from the edge
of a pencil skirt like children's faces from a blanket.
A moment later she makes that same comparison
and laughs internally without gesture or sound.

And Woman looks around.

Woman smiles. Not because of Man or muffin
or the secret life of a Coffee Cup
but because she is Woman
struck lively by the sudden meta
fleeting passage of The Bigger
and her eyes, definitively brown
spark like bumper car antennae
and struck by magic, the same magic electricity
for an irreversible instant meet mine.

And for one fourteenth of a moment
Woman knows Me with all her life.
I shiver and she lobs me the red bean bag
and I hold the image in my mind like
a relic of the living divine.

The Bigger, the morning
the secret was mine.
 Dec 2014
mûre
It's pouring rain and my backpack is full of strawberry kefir.
I think when we decided to take a break,
you took half my brain with you.

Kefir is a delightful crossbreed of Yop and Perrier. Creamy sublingual fireworks. A single tablespoon is sufficient to send a conga line of 5 billion probiotic bacteria boogying through your innards. But like most things I enjoy, I cannot successfully covet in small, measured portions. Which is why I went for the litre in the first place.

I imagine your face as I rinse my strawberry saturated belongings and imagine the microscopic bacterium hoopla happening between my fingers (you would laugh at my conga line comparison, because you are one of the world's only people who knows how much I truly despise conga lines).

Oh God, the water is just diluting the yogurt. It has become the great Sea of Kefir.

You would have the solution to this. When it comes to logic, you manage to beat me every time without ever making me feel intellectually inferior.

But I need to figure these things out for myself.

Luckily my other groceries were sealed in plastic:
-chia seeds
-goji berries
-cacao nibs
-wheatgrass

These were spared.

As you can see, since we have decided to embark on our own paths for a while, I have tried to be "HEALTHY!". The bathroom is a small library of moth-bitten self-help books (Thanks, Mom) and my bedtime is close enough to twilight to high-five the sun on its way down.
I've started to work out again with a little more addiction than conviction or even common sense.
And because you aren't here to regulate me, I've busted my knees (aaaa-gaaaain.)

And all notwithstanding, as I wandered down 13th avenue with my organic Hippie super-loot, feeling very smug and self-possessed in my birkenstocks, I passed by my favourite breakfast joint, and my kale-fertilized stomach was very persuasive: No, I insist.

Proceeded to savour three enormous pancakes that I could have stitched together to form a roomy buckwheat overcoat. Drowned them with a 3pm coffee. I thought nothing of it, but after all we've been through when it comes to food, you would have been so proud of me, babe. When I admit that I've got a broken heart (-darling, I know I broke my own) people are far too kind to me. 110 minutes and three sacks of flour later I float in a sweet gluten haze from my free (and freeing) lunch back to my apartment.

Which is when I discover the Sea of Kefir.

I think I'm trying too hard.

I think, really, the Art of Becoming One Whole Person isn't so much about us becoming the Perfect People we've always wanted to be. That's not why we strapped a hundred helium balloons to our otherwise incredible relationship and tearfully waved as it disappeared over the horizon. I think it's really about just learning how to regulate ourselves.

Here's one Truth: We will never, ever be perfect. And we will never find our perfection in each other. We have to let that go. We have to stop fighting against the invisible standards we create in each other.

But we can get over ourselves enough to be Pretty Great.
Just make peace with the Pretty Great folks we are. Have the 3 pancake- sore knee- kefir backpack afternoons, and still feel Pretty Great.

And when we do, I think our relationship will feel Pretty Great, too.

Because I'd rather be able to remind myself that I'm Pretty Great,
than rely on you to convince me I'm Perfect.

Yikes, there it is.

So that's my homework. It's full of errors, and there are countless agitated holes worn through by pink erasers, self-doubt, and heartache.

But I know, darling- that by the end of this, you'll give me a sticker-

(and by then I wont need it)

I'll put it right next to the one I've given myself.
Woah! A rant? A letter? A story? Who knows.
 Dec 2014
Amitav Radiance
The heart is young
And the soul beautiful
Light shines through
The transparent moments
Beauty is what we seek
And it follows us
Beautiful thoughts elate
Dreams help us to fly
And make a difference
Let’s embrace the beauty
Abundant of love, always
We want to leave a gift
Worthy of the future generation
Let love rule within
And we can die beautiful
Peace shall reign supreme
 Dec 2014
SG Holter
Brother moon.
ruler of the clear
winter morning
sky, rubbing the tired from
my eyes on the way
from bed warm with
woman to
construction site cold with
concrete and
sharp with
coffe brewed by
callused
hands for effect rather than
enjoyment.

it's monday, brother moon.
but your ring of halo
reminds me
that christmas -its opposite-
is as close now as a
mother's heart
to her soft, sleeping
infant, upon entering its
bedroom
beneath your guarding,
gentle
gazes.
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