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 Aug 2014
The Messiah Complex
It only takes 8 minutes for light to travel from sun to moon,
and just a second more to reach your eyes,
but I swear in that moment I  d i e  sl o w  l    y
like a distant star ebbing, I still reflect your light
though we both know that I died years ago

That never once stopped you from trying to mend me whole, but in the end
sometimes the cracks are too big to fill,
and some hearts develop leaks, always taking more
than they're able to give, forming little black holes
that consume your light and
leave you feeling empty inside

So please, cradle me now
in arms that once held me as lover
and etch these words into the stone, that
now plays the part of heart

I loved you then, I love you now, I'll love you forever.
Written by Billy J. Dixon
August 2,  2014
 Aug 2014
Amanda In Scarlet
I wish I could spare you words like beautiful, babe, figure and thin.
I wish I could guarantee you a complete disregard for the size of your *******
Or the length of your legs.
I pray never to find you hunched over the toilet
Or hiding a sandwich under books in your bag.
What will the equivalent of cyberbullying be, in ten years time?
I will try, so very hard, to keep you safe.

Please, always talk to each other, and to me.
Share your heart’s bleedings
And I will help you staunch the flow.
I will find the courage to share my failings
And the confidence to pass on my successes,
Both were instrumental in my becoming the woman I am,
A woman I hope you will be proud of, and applaud.

It is hard to be a woman, in this world,
Urged, relentlessly to perfection,
Bombarded with it, drowned in it,
But perfection is a myth, and becomes imperfect with attainment,
It is the imperfections that will mesmerise,
Embrace them, love them, let them shine.

How long did it take me to learn these lessons?
Have I learned them, even now?
Sometimes I think I have, then I become overwhelmed
By anxiety and self-doubt.
This will happen to you too,
I cannot hope to save you from it
But I can provide some armour.

Think for yourselves,
Reject the babble and the screens, the illusion of celebrity
Twenty-first century addictions.
Do not become a slave to technology.
I can see how hard that will be,
But it must be done, if you are to remain people,
Retain your humanity.
I will help you; I will hold your hands.

You are tiny now, but I can see the strength within you both,
And I will nurture it, protect it,
Then it will protect you, out there.
I promise I will always be your tigress,
But you will not always be my little cubs
I will have to find a way to sheath my claws,
And let you stalk your own prey,
And evade the predators, just as I have done.

I watch you, playing happily together in the sun,
And wish you peace, and love, and joy.
Such simple things, yet so elusive.
I will not show you this poem.
But I will read it, frequently,
And try to keep my promises.
My heart thuds in my chest, each a double-beat
A constant repetition of your names,
Tattooed onto my soul.
 Aug 2014
Amanda In Scarlet
Take a soft tipped brush
Dip, and trace my nakedness;
Viscous dripping rainbow streams
Clothe me here within our dreams.
Swirl my curves
With satin pink,
Let your brush flutter and sink
lower, purples, red and blue,
I'm a canvas here for you.
Paint me scarlet, paint me gold,
Paint some words
italic, bold
Stop when you begin to weep
A masterpiece, for us to keep.
 Aug 2014
Amanda In Scarlet
The choices we make
The life-changing ones
Are indelibly etched on our hearts and souls and skin.
Every decision is a making, a changing,
I am tattooed
And so are you.
Let's compare our pictures
And tell each other stories.
Make notes on me
I'm still a choice
Waiting to be branded
Let your ink flow.
 Aug 2014
Amanda In Scarlet
Your birth was a storm of pain.
Red clouds
Roiling above a viscous sea.
Each surge
A bargain made with nature
For redemption, for release.

But I was never afraid.
I listened to you, your quiet calm,
Connecting, even then.
I breathed, perspired and rode
the rapids of my body,
Followed the pulse and rhythm of something unrestrained,
Released from deep within,
Urging me on.

There's a moment, when birthing
Like finding yourself alone, in a hot air balloon,
Rising higher and higher
Without the hope of return to solid ground.
You feel your insides gather, prepare for something new,
And it is new,
Indescribable, other, you feel like a creature from another world
And that's what you looked like too.
Little alien, yet so familiar
Eyes on each other
Daughter and mother.
This is an old one of mine, reposted, please forgive me the duplication, but my eldest daughter, Rowan, is unwell at the moment and I wanted to share this again.
 Aug 2014
Amanda In Scarlet
I want to take your hands,
Pull you firmly against my body,
Wrap myself around you,
Let you feel me tremble.

Take a moment to register the connections.
Take a moment...

I want to press my cheek to yours and hold it there,
Let your fingers tangle in my hair.
Move away slowly and place my lips against your neck,
Let you taste mine.
You'll want to linger, but I'll look up
And softly press my lips on yours and moan,
Such utter longing, inadvertent, impossible to suppress.
I'll open your mouth with my tongue
And flick your own, flick, flick,
The most delicious lick
becoming deeper, probing sweetly, and now we are touching
in so many ways, I am
about to explode just thinking about it...

How I want to kiss you.
How I want to be closer than this.
How I want.
 Aug 2014
r
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...

He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all

He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all

He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo

He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang

He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all

He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song

He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He  sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.

r ~ 4/12/14
 Aug 2014
r
Whispers
     in alabaster ears
words unforgiving, unforgiven
      year after year after year.     
Whispered secret secrets.

      Laurel leaved lies of liars
traitorously spilling wine while
      tear after tear after tear
shed and shredded truth
      cut sharp with guile.

      Cloaked smiles kissing
hands of befriended strangers
      in strange lands lighting fires;
fire after fire after fire
       burning hatred blind to danger.
     
 Sentried angry glowers guarding towers
      o'er ever changing landscapes of desire
 hour after hour after hour.
      Come little child, take to your lips
a bitter taste of this our power.

r ~ 4/24/14
 Aug 2014
r
She hides her smile
behind black lipstick.
Her voice is low
and in between.
She smells of loneliness
and cigarettes.
She sings for me
when she is high.

She gets me higher
than I can go.
She takes me low
and in between.
Her heart's on fire
when she sings.
Her voice is smokey,
full of pain.

She sings of loneliness
and broken dreams.
Her dance is low
and in between.
She gets me high
and lets me down.
She kisses me
with black lipstick.

r ~ 4/29/14
\•/\  
   |        
  /\
 Aug 2014
r
Alone in his dark apartment
black dog asleep
the sound of children playing
in the street outside his window-
children of color, his housekeeper says,
not quite seeing the distinction
only hearing happy voices-
an old jazz number on the radio
as he stands and dances slowly
with his cane tap, tap, tapping
to the beat and dreaming of a girl
he once read about named Helen
in a book of braille.

r ~ 6/6/14
\•/\
   |    \
  / \
 Aug 2014
James Jarrett
Her kiss

Spoken softly

Onto my lips

Recites me poems of love

Wild with passion

Told to my tongue

And I listen

And listen
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