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"I know
you told me
not to go and do this,
and I agreed not to,
but.. well.. Sorry, sort of..
'Sorry' in the sense of
'I'm doing this on purpose.'

Just know I mean well enough."
An internal monologue.
Plot twist!
Anyone
who does not aid you
to be the Character you are
only helps to water you down-
to sell you out to their world.

Moreover, anyone
who discourages you
from being your Character
isn't worthy of your attention;
they are an enemy of your creative potential,
that is to say that they are destructive
to the you that would be;
the you that could be-
perhaps should be.

Be a Freak.
Break social rules.
Defy expectations.
Play the Fool
and own it, too,
lest the Fool own you.

What has the Fool taught you?
Have you been willing to learn?
Have you the capacity to teach?

Wouldst thou follow
Hermes, or Loki? Mercury? Thoth?
Or would they follow you?

*We need more Characters.
Fear not Card #0.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fool_%28Tarot_card%29

-
 Mar 2015 Helen
bones
Pathways..
 Mar 2015 Helen
bones
There's a forest
inside her
as thick as
the night
and no-one
to guide her
and no
guiding light
no-one
to remind her
that just
out of sight
is a path
she could make
of her own
so she waits
and she ages
like stone...
 Mar 2015 Helen
Sally A Bayan
A SIGH
 Mar 2015 Helen
Sally A Bayan
It's like a habit, done unconsciously
Do we even know, it is reactionary?
This breathing out with varying intensities
Could itself, be a tendency
Says a lot---it could mean anything, 
It could mean everything...
Speaking becomes a choice,
To hear, or not to hear one's voice. 

There's a sigh of admission
Or agreement...a signal of an ensuing confession,
Rarely comes with a nod or a smile...
We admire with a sigh
Our eyes, a sparkle it could never hide,
We give out a sigh of despair
When hopelessness permeates the air.
From disappointment, we frown
Our shoulders are down,
And when one is anxious, and wait-less
Limbs are so restless
Mind is unruly, followed usually 
By a sigh of anxiety.
When heart and mind have conceded
A sigh of surrender has succeeded
When what we see is beyond comprehension
And we.....have run out of options...

When the air is laced with sorrow
We sigh, and then tears follow
Because words refuse to flow
A sigh is all that we can let go.

We sense disrespect
A snort, we usually expect
As things, people, sometimes stray
And we sigh in dismay.

When what we feel we cannot utter
We exhale...it feels so much better
Sometimes, it is gentle...other times, violent
Could be like a shout...or one so fervent...

I ventured...thought of a lot more sighs,
They could fill my page...I could run out of rhymes
So I'm ending this poem with one...prolonged and high
Acknowledging...that a sigh is not just a sigh,
it holds words, actions suppressed, even ****** expressions,
Confusing....at times, giving wrong impressions,
Because...the true reason for the sigh 
Is known, only to the one who sighs.


Sally

Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
 Feb 2015 Helen
Joel M Frye
My darkest friend who knows my darkest side,
penumbral spirit might eclipse her own;
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

While living through what most would not abide
she bleeds for us through all the cuts she's known,
my darkest friend who knows my darkest side.

She feeds the beasts inside we've deified
and knows my monsters right down to their bones.
She gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

She wades abyss's waters at high tide
and dives in eagerly to swim alone,
my darkest friend who knows my darkest side.

Sensual, seductive, sanctified,
soft as woman, hard and strong as stone,
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

She writes her deepest secrets, never lies,
while keeping from herself how much she's grown.
My darkest friend who knows my darkest side;
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.
To coin a phrase...you know who you are.  ;)
 Feb 2015 Helen
Olivia Kent
The English teacher told me,
"that proper poetry just had to rhyme."
"I had to tell her vehemently,
that I thought she was going out of her mind."
Poetry,  is a special heart felt thing.
It does not need to rhyme.
Unless it is a sonnet.
About a cute pink bonnet.
Or something similar.
I told her," that poetry came about from a free flow of ideas and rhythms"
That nobody knows from where it springs, as a trickling stream of words become an ocean of ideas.
Where eating leads to innovation and titles.
How many things can you find to write about chips and beans?
Watching television an inspiration in itself.
Just one word in conversation, may create a spark that could grow into a dinosaur or more.
So, Mrs Meacher,
English teacher,
Poetry doesn't have to rhyme.
Rhyming helps from time to time,
(C) LIVVI
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