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 May 2014 Jewal Myors
Jack
~

And I fall…down

As the sunset of life reaches out to me
in marmalade swirls…orange sherbet dreams
I follow in loose footsteps,
not sure of the bridges I cross
or those burned in the process

Alone I stumble on braided pebbles,
scattered on this serpentine path,
feeding my mind with thoughts
Peering back on what was,
crying when your picture finds me

Dark tangerine tints line the sky now
for the day…this day…my life
shall soon disappear beyond the horizon
Fading to a tiny speck,
hiding in plain sight where no one can see…or care

Finality sings its sad melody
in fractured bar chords and minor notes
As I again find you invading my soul,
reaching down from my heart,
the place you still reside

And I whisper I am sorry…for the pain
Collections of hurt I did not realize I carried
beneath shiny bows and pretty paper
Sending you away from me…my precious gift,
the loss of all that was me…you

Quicker my steps drive
to that straight line illusion beckoning
Darker still as minutes pass
for I know this end is mine alone
as the moon crests the sea and I fall…down
The years of memories
pile up like cord-wood
stacked randomly,
a Jenga game of blocks
balanced  precariously,
verging on toppling
when a piece near the bottom
is removed too carelessly.


Memories must dwell in the past,
forever in the life of the mind.
They cannot be pulled out,
touched and held,
nor lived over and over again,
except perhaps in dreams.

Eileen Auger
3/22/14
I love the way he looks at me
every time his heart feels
the night's embrace.
And my body desires to dance for him
until morning falls
upon his face

I watch him drink each hour
from a cup of moonlight ecstasy.
While my hands touch his skin
as a breeze...........
that whispers me.

The morning finds me holding on
to a cup
of memories.
My heart drinks them in
as Dawn.....
kisses me.

Copyright @2014  - Neva Flores Smith
I found it very hard to write a poem like this when I am not in love and it is not about anyone.....but I tried.
Sometimes my memories sneak out of my eyes
and roll down my cheeks  
These prisoners always find a way to escape,
When tension reaches its peak
Off into the night
Where everything I invision becomes bleak
Sometimes my mind doesn't follow my footsteps
and leaves my heart hollow
These prisoners derive themselves out of feelings that were ever so potent
But now..
I realize what chances are overlooked when words remain unspoken .


-Tamera Brown
For those who lie restless at night thinking of the missed oppurtunities
 May 2014 Jewal Myors
ponny jo
There is something to say
For worn leather shoes
Creased from the effort,
And also abuse.

Old leather shoes
don't complain when worn loose.
Nor do they break after bending.
Solemnity,
Ah, black shoe shine glistens
Tread long since used,
it's abhorrently smooth.

They don't fall apart
when broken or battered.
They will lace on,
Though life left them tattered.
mud filling the cracks, tears, scratches?
They keep on, why should that matter?
Finally this, my mind matches.

they drudge on because they don't know how to quit.
I wear worn leather shoes, mine are a perfect fit.
 May 2014 Jewal Myors
ponny jo
What is this somber aching that reminds me that I am here, as if the shining Sun warmed hearts but forgot me lying near

I tried to bask, and red pain was my reward.
I tried to draw that joy, and ended feeling bored.

The mood set by regret. a poised bird, an egret. Those stones churned and reset the feigned glow of the pulpit.

Shocked awed and shown it, an ever reaching feeling called content.

So play pain again, I'd really love to feel.
The old man tells the hours almost perfectly
From the length of shadows
Having walked the length of life
Without ever needing a clock!

He can smell in the air the coming rain
Knows the clouds that bear showers
Can closely predict season’s yield of grain
Needs no watch to measure the daily hours!

He can tell when his cow needs a bull
In her moos hears the urge for a mate
Though he has never gone to a school
His knowledge has stood him to this date!

He knows all the stars in firmament
Best way to till the soil for harvest
Has never needed a doctor for ailment
Knows the herbs to heal all infest!

Such is the man who has never been to school
Yet his wisdom can fill countless pages
Making instinctive sharp senses as his only tool
Has handed down his wisdom through the ages!
 May 2014 Jewal Myors
NuurSeraph
I was reflecting on a moment, as I reflect oftenly..True.
So in this vision I looked deeply at the picture of the figure standing there.

There she was, I use this tense because a stranger is a she, a he, a they...not You.
But really it was a picture of the little girl, that once upon a time was me.

Maybe some of you saw it, the little girl...standing in a costume, just as was accustomed thing to do...every...single....day.

She was her Parent's Molded Clay...in which they made their plans with their hands, their work of Art, prospect for blood, they craved to feed from poured out Praise one day.

You see...I was a malleable creation, a desired exploration
To design & mold her, Zoom in to Zero, the next multilateral SuperSoldier.

Every moment of everyday, they tended to their artistry, to my dismay.
Their Scientific Approach was so cold and calculating, so as to miss the spirit in my eyes slowly dissipating.

The tears that wept precisely calibrated for the flow,
To keep the Clay moist for the work they must do.

Twas Painful, albeit, of gutting in the Unnatural Power.
My head be last, lest they loose Pressure from up top the Water Tower.

I'm glad they left my Eyes for last, cause I watched and waited behind the Glazed Over Glass
I saw it All,
the sinister craftwork,
my reason to exist,
in such a wicked Plan
to be unleashed across the land.

The Rage against this mistreatment, the injustice, the lies, the secrets:
Their Plans

I Swore an Oath to the One Power to Be , so Young, I assumed it Was Me
I would use the Power they delicately labored, albeknowenced,
to them,
with
Blade of Truth as my Sabor
I would act in the milliseconds between transfer
from the Furnace to Surgical Chair

And Rage the Rage of a Billion Suns,
Bring Reign,
such a schorching electrictricity,
Fry the Circuitry,
the Programmes, each Implant, **** each Signal before it could reach me, redirect and reflect every laser pointed at me, back at it's Source  

The Panic Spread, backup squads called in quickly to attend
to a Power
they knew Not what
Orders for Kinetic Delivery
in Defence

My self generated OverRide Made immediately operational, I just knew what to do

I Spun so Swift, drilled beneath the Earth,
Close to Oceans
of the South Pacific,
I emerged, shapeshifted
into a Magnificent Dolfin

Swam far away, across the Globe
to find somewhere safe

In the midst of a deep red sunset, I emerged a Young Woman with nothing Other than to complete:
                  
   My OWN Mission
 ~«\~|§|~/»~

With Blade of Truth & Justice Vision
§  
Resurrect Truth, Protect the Mistreated Nature
ω  
Expose Corruption, and dismantle for
Reconstruction
|⊙|
°
Reign a hellfire on the Offenders who refused to Submit
      
V||§||V

© All Rights Reserved
Feb. 24th, 2014
Venusoul7
any Syfy Buffs that would like to collaborate on a more in depth screenplay version of this supernatural concept
please message me
it is by far not even close to presenting detailed ideas I would love to explore on the movie screen l
Let me know
 May 2014 Jewal Myors
NuurSeraph
What kind of Sin dares Usher in
A devious man to lick his lips, gutteral gasping beneath his Breath
The Wonton Musing oozes a delicious Decay,
The Poured Out drooling, his Power Pulsing, A Foaming Fantasy Power Tripping
~to Control the Spiritual World
at his Will & Command?

Here's what he imagined:
Biblical Bribery.
Blasphemous Forgery
Who ever has the money or an Unbridled hand can piecemeal a Story for premeditated Zeal,
To make for a more attractive Appeal
Why need such profiled Idoltry?

To be Present
at the Moment of such a Powerful Man's Revelation, Spoken for and too You
To be blessed
with ears to hear Him
To worship
At the Alter of Salt
A pillar miraculous,
To Worship Within, in Him, beside Him.
A Scribe Sweats
To write furiously away
for later reference, Thus
Attention is spared and the Sermon Deemed for Organic Lackluster
"Scratch That
Oops
Edit
Kindly Repeat
Didn't quite catch That
Delete
Revise
Rephrase
Two or One spaced per Sheet?
The strain hurts my Eyes
When can We Break for Feast?
Are We Done for the Day?"


Can this be a possiblity
Can a misdirected, Unsupervised
Scrupulous Individual
Not quietly Misquote
The Word trianguled from Mouth to Pen to Paper?
The Words We have come to Believe In??
You Tell Me.....
please be advised this is not an attack or judgment or wish for a debate this my friends is simple poetry
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