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 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
Chris
It is wet
 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
Chris
A hummingbird hovers outside my window
admiring itself in the reflection
I see its colors shine in the morning sun,
almost hypnotizing

Staring, I wonder if it sees me
alone behind dusty mini-blinds,
vertical slices of faux wood
narrowly showing the world beyond

Thin lines of what others see,
blooming flowers and green grass
inviting happiness to wander freely
through cool breezes and sunny days

I should smile at this precious scene,
spring is near in signs and actions
Yet I do not, for I despise spring
It is a symbol of life, new life

Life is the darkest thought of my mind’s shadows
That last sip of cold black coffee
Imitating thoughts and dripping moods
Poetic phrases can’t mask

Pleading images claim all empty fault
As crimson blood runs the gutters
Splashing on concrete cracks twisted about my neck
Laughing from a back seat around the next corner

And still that hummingbird lingers, pointing
Tiny wings move in a rapid dance
It’s red throat casting aspersions in my direction
As I reach for my own neck, it is wet, and I am tired
 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
r
r's poetica
 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
r
I thirst in my search
for words
that came first

in verse and in song
what's been here all along

since Peking (wo)Man
singing in the womb
at Zhoukoudian

when the first moon climbed
above branches frozen in time -

our rhythm and rhyme -
a memory of a memory
of the history

of how a poem came to be.
r ~ 3/21/15
My apologies to the great poet Archibald MacLeish (1892 - 1982)
Winds brought her smell on the Broken Hill
it stirred a butterfly somewhere inside me
danced my **** to get her skin’s feel
grab her impale her ride her merrily!

But she looked scared the few times she saw me
kept moving away at quickened pace
in her hazel eyes seemed written boldly
in the stream haven’t you seen your face!

I had no notion of love but a void of pain
that sighed as the winds’ moan on Broken Hill
her laughter with her guy of a clan alien
made my hands itch to go for the ****!

But I refrained for the yawning difference
sensing I could never be her match perfect
the way she walked to me made no sense
she was taller and strangely more *****!
The Broken Hill Skull discovered in Zambia in 1921 was the first early human fossil and the most likely ancestor to modern humans.  This work is inspired by a belief currently held by scientists that instead of a linear evolution of one species replacing the other, Africa was perhaps a melting *** of interbreeding human species, where Broken Hill Man lived alongside the evolving lineage of modern humans.
Ideas are like tall trees
they begin microscopic
small beams of humble enlightenment
of what they could become
until a mighty body emerges
and boughs like warrior arms reach
draping and lush
inviting suggestion

I am surrounded
by many eager minds
towering above
my own meagre imagination
kings and queens
of profound thought
how they stretch to find me
so my inner eyes
may witness restoration

Ideas are like tall trees
where even darkness
fails to demolish
http://darcyellington.tumblr.com/post/114089663160/ideas-are-like-tall-trees-they-begin-microscopic
 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
bones
keys
 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
bones
she leaves
everything
on a page,
all her sorrow,
her love
and her rage,
and I truly believe
she will write
herself free
of the jailers
who fastened
her cage.
(can't-sleep-remix)
she lives
inside out
on the page

in secret
but one of  
these days

I truly believe
her words
will be keys

that pull back
the bolts
of her cage.
 Mar 2015 Josh Bass
Rose Claire
I don't understand how you can sleep so soundly when your soul is unrest.
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