After she broke through the gates she said her prayers were trapped behind enemy lines. Her Fukishima tears crashed poisonous waves to foreign shores.

I knew how it felt to be thrown in a hole left with vipers.

They still hiss at me in nightmares except now I confront them, unafraid of their venom.

My first dream paddled me through a lush heavenly river, a beautiful angel rowed, I sat at the bow facing her.

She told me long stories I cannot remember. I never felt so safe as when I spent time with her.

Time spent in a fallen world made pure waters metamorphosis to chemical troubles.

My prayers joined all the others
and sailed the jail free sky of hope.

I left her memory in a place my voice cannot travel into. Or maybe it can.

I wonder if she knows her stories paddle through my veins struggling for remembrance.

They say empathy is a wounded healer, I wonder if they know I have felt them in the distance.

Cries so intense my sensitivity got scarred on a tree engraved with the whole world's initials.

Never the same again, I understand how consciousness is a wide forever river pressing closer to empathetic ocean.

I once tried to protect myself from everything by forgetting her elegant lotus petals. Spikes in my eyes taught me invaluable lessons.

Some say empathy is a weakness.

I know now that it leads to our strongest miracle.

Who are we without compassion?

A blinded monster killing everything.

Empathy is a wounded healer.

Forgive yourself and remember your lotus petals so you can help others open up their own gardens.

We can only hope they all remember.

The Room of Dancing Shadows,
undulating across the wall,
like ****** Persian ballerinas,
making no sound at all.
Reaching, retreating, a mosaic form,
eternally shifting the dark shade.
Pictures of no light in a flux,
remain fragmented, cold, unmade.
Hypnotising, random shapes in black,
swim serenely, start to slide.
The Room of Dancing Shadows
holds its fear deep, deep inside.


© Pagan Paul (03/10/16)

... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein,
   when,
... a drifting butterfly
alights upon one's
      opened hand
           again,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... life really cannot get weighed
although we always do at first
   when,
... a soul entering through an
      opened womb
alights upon a tiny life unborn
however even
            then,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein

... sometimes sweet love itself
is all a loss
and then we pine, cry and groan
wishing a time again,
   when,
... love adrift in the air returns to    
alight upon a shattered heart
      opened to hardly believing
          again,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... for the loss of a living loved which eventually
comes to almost all and one
we are oh so glad
   then,
... for any drifting love of friend or kin
to alight upon one's own
      opened yet broke
heart and soul to live, still
          again,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein

... of course before the end of life
upon these rough stumbly shores
If arrival not much too late
all have hope for
   when,
... salvation alights upon an
      opened poor soul
with at first only a wee bit of true
belief of him,  until eternity's
         then,
... if not for all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

... eventually breath like all love except
God's love leaves everyone
In the known earthly end
   when,
... a searching death
alights upon as cause of one's  
      opened grave
         even then,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      how much beauty lies therein

... Remember too,
a butterfly, a life, a love, a soul
if caught
and grasped too
tight around, this
        then,
... shatters fragile wings,
taking away all and any hope of
soaring flight, of a
a life, a love or a soul,
as a rising butterfly
      opened to the winds,
        when,
... it's very hard to absolutely tell
      so much beauty lies therein
... without all the
beautiful colors,
   arising in the mind within

©  2017 Jim Davis

A word that describes you is "practical."
Before doing anything, you want to know
Whether it has a definite purpose.
If it doesn't, it's a no-go.

Before taking action, you must determine
What advantages will be gained.
If you lose your concentration
And scatter your forces, you'll feel drained.

You can concentrate all of your energy
For protracted periods of time.
But if anyone tries to rush you,
That, to you, is a major crime.

Whatever you call reality,
That is what you cling to securely.
And because of your stick-to-itiveness,
You don't give up prematurely.

You need to feel emotionally secure,
And so you are naturally cautious--
Always on the look-out for those
Weighty concerns that threaten to squash us.

Regarding dependability,
That is something at which you excel.
But to you it's extremely important
That you can depend on others as well.

Disappointment doesn't come easy;
You take it very much to heart,
Especially since you know you always
Put the horse before the cart.

If you can follow your planned agenda
And have the time, your tenacity
Helps you accomplish all your goals--
Everything that's within your capacity.

You can be loving and patient,
Soft-spoken, and subdued;
But you can be a stubborn cuss
When you're in a not-so-good mood.

Though you're usually slow to anger,
Surely you know what people say:
If you make a Taurean mad,
You'd better get out of his or her way!

You have a keen eye for beauty,
But don't be too materialistic.
Your strong need for material comforts
Could make you act opportunistic.

You need to be close to the earth;
Nature gives you inspiration.
The feeling that your foundation is weak
Causes a lot of exasperation.

If you're stubborn, you're VERY stubborn;
If you're lazy, you've VERY lazy.
Since you're good at whatever you do,
That shouldn't sound so crazy.

Your determination and strength
Should be an inspiration to all.
If you want to, you can do wonders.
It's up to you; it's your call.

- by Bob B (4-23-17)

April 16, 2017
Dear You:
         When I think of you, there is this gap of space unexplained. Almost like when you have to stand up during a spiritual chant or sacred ceremony. Or when you look up at the sky and realize how very small we actually are in this Universe of the Divine. When you see how the half full moon cups so beautifully in tangerine glow across your section of sky, and how the clarity of stars imprint the constellations of the human heart.

    I guess what I am actually saying is, you are so much more to me than a female *** *****. You are the sacred. The down and *****. As earthy and tangible as it gets. The source of rolling waves to exquisite pleasure. A pivotal and unique part of my feminine self in the form of the mystical, the beatific, the mysterious.The portal for the source of Life itself.

But let us start at the beginning.

I remember you, at the tender age of 5. Exploring the mysteries of my own body, under the covers where no one could see. At about age 8 or 9 I worked you over so well that a small explosion ensued, and I was utterly  stunned, thinking that perhaps I had done something wrong?
I dared not ask
a  soul.

Only later (but not much later..when the red flow started) did I read about the subject "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and later "Changing Bodies, Changing Lives". (Thank you, more open-minded stepmom :))

As a teen, I was lucky enough to have amazingly progressive ***-ed at my NYC school. AIDS was rampant and our ***-ed teacher, an ex-priest, had us rolling condoms down bananas in no time. How we laughed and turned the color of beets. And watching "The Miracle of Life" was pretty amazing.

By then I had a very good relationship with you, Little Miss V. I stroked and coaxed you out of your shell any opportunity I could. My cherry was intact, but popping and bubbling over was fantastic.

You are connected to the trials and tribulations, as well as the highs and lows, of first love and love in general, as I discovered in time. I was exposed to the vulnerable, the tender, the painful. I realized that your intense physicality was indelibly connected to my emotional source, veins mapped and held together my strings of blood and discharge. Somewhere, I needed to protect you, and myself, to know when to give freely and when to hold back.

You were the gateway to motherhood, to the slippery sliding exit from the womb of my prodigy. The intense pain and wonder of it all. The place where it all began, the result being three gorgeous and sassy love bugs. "What, Mommy? I came out of there?"

You are now the woman goddess source of me more than ever, and despite the powerful pain and ****** rivers each month, I am thankful. Thankful to be a woman, to be alive, for the inter-woven magic of the ecstasy and ardency of emotion. So much better to feel it all.

My womb with a view.
My moon's tides, ebbs and flows.
My candied oyster, succulent shellfish.
My pretty little cat.
My aching, drooling, dripping swamp of longing and loneliness.
My jewel of enigmatic darkness.
I will never take the words "****" and "*****" negatively, and can turn it right around on those attempting to do so.

For you hold the links to my heart, to my soul. You are my little nesting fuzzy creature, worthy of kisses and appreciation. You are my internal bomb ticking and ready to blow, my slick, hot bud poised to flower.

And, oh, how you flower.

k, Little Miss, V…Ciao for now.
Love, ***, the woman-goddess-love –light source you own

It was a Thursday night
As dull as mud
And the guy I was with
Was as much fun as a broken tv
Then this bloke came into the bar
Who knew my companion
And came to join us
He said to our mutual friend,
"Eyup, Brooksy.
D'yer fancy gettin' ******?"
Brooksy sat there moaning
With a face like a slapped ****
"Nah...I'm workin' in the morniin'"
I, who was also working next day
Said, "I'll get ****** with yer."
And a lasting friendship was born

Now, my mate and me
Both needed the kind of friend
Who would calmly say
"Now hang on....that's not clever."
But instead we were both the sort
That said, "Yea, let's do it.
It'll be a laugh!"
Which led to dubious adventures
Sometimes things got dangerous
And others just plain daft
But I have to say, on the whole
It usually was a laugh

                                      By Phil Roberts