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 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
ryn
Plumes
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
ryn
.
            •vile plumes reaching to the
                   sky•killing the earth as days go
                      by•cutting corners, we dump our
                          waste•the easiest of solutions exe-
                          cuted in poor taste•there are many
                          signs, how could we miss•when
                               we are the ones who did this•
                               scores of geniuses and inte-
                              llects•can't come to consensus
                                   and drive a pact•to save the
                                           world for our children•
                                                  to save what's
                                                       left for
                                                            f­uture
                                                           ­   gene-
                                                        ­         ra-
                                                             ­         ti-
                                                    ­              o
                                                 ­                    n
                                                               ­     s
                                                          ­              •

                                                ­                         **IIIIII
                        o                    o                   o           I    I       
                   OO               OO               OO           I    I      
           OOOO         OOOO        OOOO           I    I      
     OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 
     IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
     IIIIIIIII     IIIII     IIIII      IIIII     IIIII     IIIIIIIII
     IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Concrete Poem 15 of 30

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Its frightening as a thunderclap in a twilight forest and as deafening as the steady drip-drops in a cavern beyond light.
As choking as being tossed asunder with no life preserver in a raging sea, to be swallowed in ice and time.
As sought after as a ******'s pure kiss, by needy fervent lips and steady hands gripping all the more tighter.
   As feared as Death's embrace, if not more, because it says you are finally alone.
     It is that blissful white noise, that comes with a much sought after release with a patient and attentive lover.
       It is the steady dull ache in your bones, as the glistening blade caresses your skin.

      As it washes over me I breathe deep. I feel the fear, and the panic as to what if they find me this time, and will they ever.
     But as I let wave after wave crash down upon me, drip after drop hit the floor.
     As my fear gives way to bliss my lover could not bring, my panic drifts to calm from the songs the knife does sing.
...As comforting as floating in the ocean, as soft as a lovers sated kiss, as lost as a child's purity, and as beautiful as Lady Death's familiar arms.

   I cannot wait to seek the cool embrace once again...
i posted this a while back on D.A., and i was in a dark place at the time when i wrote this, not exactly poetry as usual.

http://gothg1rl37.deviantart.com/art/Silence-512942756
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
Steelhaven
We held hands by the lake. Mine a spindly, spidery manacle of ice. Yours a mellow, soft glove of eiderdown.

We held hands by the lake as it froze over and we glided across with blades strapped to our feet. Moving like a pair of swans sheathed in steel and silver.

We held hands by the lake as flowers peeked out to say hello to the rain that fell upon our fingers intertwined. Where we traded hearts as you picked one for me and I for you.

We held hands by the lake as the days grew longer and our lives grew shorter. Where every heave of your chest was a promise of a forever lost to the summer heat.

We didn't hold hands by the lake as the trees cried golden snowflakes that fluttered down an invisible stairwell into piles of honeyed amber and I was alone, alone, alone.
Tell me lighthouse, did you shatter your own light, or did it burn out?
did you mean to forget about my world, but highlight someone else's?
more and more ships are coming into your harbor, and I selfishly wish I could roll in like a storm to wash them all away
you aren't supposed to shed light on anyone else, but I'm the one hiding in shadows
and you're not fighting anymore
there are so many regrets
so many things I never told you
so many things I'll never tell you
the wake of this absence is world-shattering, but this is just how things are
and neither of us will change it
tell me lighthouse, are you as dark as I am?
A series of things titled 'For You'
Have you ever stumbled upon someone life-shatteringly special?
You lose your breath and can't think straight.
But somehow they've stuck around.
Feeling like a stunned vegetable to your innocent charisma.

Like divine intervention we met in the most unlikely of ways.
We hit it off and spent hours together, confined and stressed.
How did we get along so well?
How did we manage to learn more together than alone?
How did we manage to find each other in this big world?
I'll always wonder if there is more to this story.
Answers to my plaguing questions that rule my emotional state.

I don't know how to describe what it is I feel in a rational way.
It doesn't serve rationale.
Writing it all down or saying it only compounds how crazy I must sound.
But I'm not a loony bin. On the contrary, you are just infinitely more special than you realise!

But I'll not skip a note nor bump a chord.
Because I see you so finely in all your elegance.
A beauty which radiates in an innocent manifestation.
I can't tell if everyone else can see it also.
They must?!
I must have no chance here.
I know I should cut my losses and move on.
Right..?
Hope to find this feeling once more.
But something from beyond the blackened ether of midnight skies and space dust tells me to keep trying.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
 Nov 2015 Jeffrey Pua
Sara Jones
We look up at the stars and think they're beautiful
But the tragic truth is that most of the stars in the sky are already dead
I guess that's why we leave flowers on headstones
Because somewhere in our history, death has become beautiful
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