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 Dec 2013 David W Jones
Raven
Fooled
 Dec 2013 David W Jones
Raven
Such a beautiful liar,
twisting words to invoke emotion.
Assemble the fire.
Set me ablaze.
Everything left to interpretation,
He is the epitome of manipulation.
 Dec 2013 David W Jones
Guss
My body disobeys me.
Each step forces me to exercise parts of my body
I didn’t know had subsisted.
I hardly controlled my maneuvers,
as I basically drifted.
Even my helmet is showing signs of weakening,
under these steepening,
enormous pressures.
Terrified and trembling with my humanly gestures,
I must have sent vibrations throughout
the cold water as the creatures began to circle over my head.
I could see off in the distance
the submarine of my former occupation.
A distant iconic stationary emblem of my failures.
Then, the porpoises and scaled beasts parted
to contrast a heavenly sight.
No corpses or failed feasts started
in the ballast of this night.

For a maiden of duality
saved my beckoning soul
from the eternal slumber
that had otherwise awaited.
The rest of this tale I leave up to the mystery
of word of mouth.
But what must be said is that underneath
the blue waters lies
much that we do not begin to conceive.
Take it or leave it,
I cant force a man to believe.
I found this poem in a bottle off the coast of Half Moon Bay, Ca. When I had it dated they told me it was from 1943.
The air-con overhead
drowns out, not enough,
the couple on a date
next to me. His jeans have gathered fluff,
dried in a dryer, crinkled and in-a-rush.
Her shoes are clean though under the table
he doesn’t, and will not, notice,
the closest he’ll come to seeing them is
maybe on a bedroom floor in a month
or maybe two, maybe more if this coffee
date goes askew,
but for time being they gaze, stare
at one another whilst talking:
his plan is to set up an online outreach program,
take the money and run,
hers, to stay in education, an MA
in Creation Research, read and wait,
sit for Judgement Day.
coffeeshoppoems.com
Sliced orange shades,
your visage in evening light;
Bright forehead, dotted red,
Chandelier-ring, square-cut
ruby, on either ear; silken
streaks in hair flowing over
cheeks by the wind;
Ripples in the pond at night:
dimpled smile, broken
as in a dented mirror.
Lost from the front, lost
from behind; doubt rising,
like incense, ladder-like
the rib cage in x-ray vision;
Broken pots, moss-filled,
collecting the last rain,
bits of moon in the puddle
skinny-dipping after.
Totem pole, towering
light house, Zeus-thunder
zipping past the sky, my
Babel ego. Zorro moments.
At the center, a fulmination:
spreading front of a quake
ripping space and time apart.
A cubist perspective on love, loss and reconciliation. Cubism considers and presents intense multiple viewpoints of a subject. I have added an interior cut. Abstraction, analogy and symbol are the artist brushes.

Ma Jolie is one of Picasso's celebrated cubist works: you can see it here http://www.pablopicasso.org/ma-jolie.jsp
 Nov 2013 David W Jones
Guss
The reflection of stars dusts your pupils.
Photons of quantum light are what I see
when look into your eyes.
I find that pretty amazing.
The distance of our gazing
flowing off into infinity.
With a trinity of futures
our souls are always glowing.
But the hypostases with you
are the only ones worth knowing.

*I bless the day I met you,
I bless the universe for making you,
and I worship you to the very core
of every atom in your body.
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