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  Oct 2017 kyle
Sylvia Plath
'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy:
train tracks always meet, not here, but only
    in the impossible mind's eye;
horizons beat a retreat as we embark
on sophist seas to overtake that mark
    where wave pretends to drench real sky.'

'Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's devil is another's god
    or that the solar spectrum is
a multitude of shaded grays; suspense
on the quicksands of ambivalence
    is our life's whole nemesis.

So we could rave on, darling, you and I,
until the stars tick out a lullaby
    about each cosmic pro and con;
nothing changes, for all the blazing of
our drastic jargon, but clock hands that move
    implacably from twelve to one.

We raise our arguments like sitting ducks
to knock them down with logic or with luck
    and contradict ourselves for fun;
the waitress holds our coats and we put on
the raw wind like a scarf; love is a faun
    who insists his playmates run.

Now you, my intellectual leprechaun,
would have me swallow the entire sun
    like an enormous oyster, down
the ocean in one gulp: you say a mark
of comet hara-kiri through the dark
    should inflame the sleeping town.

So kiss: the drunks upon the curb and dames
in dubious doorways forget their monday names,
    caper with candles in their heads;
the leaves applaud, and santa claus flies in
scattering candy from a zeppelin,
    playing his prodigal charades.

The moon leans down to took; the tilting fish
in the rare river wink and laugh; we lavish
    blessings right and left and cry
hello, and then hello again in deaf
churchyard ears until the starlit stiff
    graves all carol in reply.

Now kiss again: till our strict father leans
to call for curtain on our thousand scenes;
    brazen actors mock at him,
multiply pink harlequins and sing
in *** ventriloquy from wing to wing
    while footlights flare and houselights dim.

Tell now, we taunq where black or white begins
and separate the flutes from violins:
    the algebra of absolutes
explodes in a kaleidoscope of shapes
that jar, while each polemic jackanapes
    joins his enemies' recruits.

The paradox is that 'the play's the thing':
though prima donna pouts and critic stings,
    there burns throughout the line of words,
the cultivated act, a fierce brief fusion
which dreamers call real, and realists, illusion:
    an insight like the flight of birds:

Arrows that lacerate the sky, while knowing
the secret of their ecstasy's in going;
    some day, moving, one will drop,
and, dropping, die, to trace a wound that heals
only to reopen as flesh congeals:
    cycling phoenix never stops.

So we shall walk barefoot on walnut shells
of withered worlds, and stamp out puny hells
    and heavens till the spirits squeak
surrender: to build our bed as high as jack's
bold beanstalk; lie and love till sharp scythe hacks
    away our rationed days and weeks.

Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,
and god or void appall us till we drown
    in our own tears: today we start
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love
knows not of death nor calculus above
    the simple sum of heart plus heart.
  Aug 2017 kyle
r m
if i remember correctly,
you wrote a manual on how to swim
in this sea of disappointments

wading my way on above-me water *****
the energy, the life, the sureness out of me
**** this pressure everyone puts around me

i am naked under currents; don't peak
the water had been dyed pitch black now
the color of doubts

in their eyes they stitch words on my skin
capital letters p, e, r, f, e, c, and t
they decorate me like a diy existence

if i remember correctly,
you wrote a manual on how to drown suffocating-deep into one's sweetest dream
give it to me now
my poems are available at my wattpad account, ventricles.
an online digital collection will be available at issuu on october 2017.
  Aug 2017 kyle
r m
there was bravery in her song
and invisible beats were composed of tugging heartstrings
and hopeful rests blending well at that octave, note after note.

there was magic when the writer got lost in his own story
navigating there, making mistakes, being more human than god in contrast to others who had journals of do's and don'ts.

there was something positive whenever i wake up each day and face the battle
of standing up, being alive and practically living life
positive whenever i say no to backing down and giving up

in her song
in his words
and in my every waking moment
there's life and humanity and mistakes and it's all right
my poems are available at my wattpad account, ventricles.
an online digital collection will be available at issuu on october 2017.
  Aug 2017 kyle
moondust
no one taught me
how to love
without the mandatory
'i love you's, without
fabricated appreciation
just because everyone else
was doing it,
no one taught me
the rawness of it all
how the feeling
consumes you like
fire and makes you
speak in a language
you never knew
you could speak

no one taught me
how to express myself
in ways that don't
slip between people's
fingers like water,
with palms up
heart cut out and bleeding
every pad and print
facing the earth
each vulnerability visible
from the stars

no one taught me
how to keep my emotions
running like a broken tap
because for years
i'd switch it off
once i thought i was done
dealing with them
and afterwards i'd never
want to run my hands
through the water
ever again because
i was scared to feel

no one taught me
how to love how
to express myself
how to feel
that once i loved
i burned like rome
i loved people more
than they would ever
love me, i'd always
love them too much and
once i learned how
to be vulnerable i
ended up tearing my heart out
and giving it to the
first person that
would listen
once i learned how
to feel i felt
too much to the point
of drowning my hands
rubbed raw from
running through
the water one too many times

no one taught me
how to live in greys
so i live in
blacks and whites
all or nothing
too much or too little
a constant push and pull -
i just want to be whole.

i just want to be whole.
  Aug 2017 kyle
moondust
the bible says faith
is the assurance of things
hoped for, the conviction
of things not seen.
how strange and yet
magical it is for us
to believe and remember
in things we do not know
the way the three kings
believed the star would
bring them to the child Jesus
the way people used to believe
that the phases of the moon
meant life, death, and rebirth
symbolizing the way a woman's
womb would swell once they
bear a child
the way we hold onto history
as if we are witnesses of
every horror and heartbreak
remembering the lost souls
using what we had to find out
what we will have
faith is total trust
and surrender
knowing that the world
began with adam and eve
but not knowing how it
will end
for the moon
the stars
our history
can only tell us so much
and our faith
is the honey found in heaven
the conviction that someday it
will be all we taste

i believe
i believe
i believe
kyle Aug 2017
I don't believe in anyone, so I say,
yet here I am being consumed, just another prey.
if anyone has ever felt ignored, worthless, or unappreciated
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