I told him, "darling you move me but my heart is in the Mediterranean". And he answered, "so is mine"...

Transcendence is before you should you choose to take a swim.
Into your deep blue you dive and all that is within.


Referred to as my subconscious so you may understand me clear.
But there’s nothing very simple about the message I’m sending here.


The colour of your blood, the liquid through your veins,
is really just a pathway to the place that feels your pains.


The heart is an ocean but within it there’s a sun, submerged beneath the ocean, and all that is but one.

...And I will look at you, through the windows to your soul and I will speak from beyond the depths of my ocean. Just as Mother Earth has a heat at her core that only the Sun understands, only you will understand as I speak from this place. Only you will recognise and feel the melodic vibration from my every syllable. I will be completely without fear when I tell you that I will love you until the end of the ages, through the entirety of this epoch and to the next one. I will promise you that I will risk everything to allow a moment of serendipity to unite us again and again, as we cycle through this projected expression called the human experience. For it is only you, and it has only ever been you. You see this love I wish to express in the physical plane, will be one so pure, and one so real that it will emit its own force field, an unbreakable one that allows a poetic unity to blossom fruit never tasted before. This beautiful unity - one without *******...

Strive not to understand me. Even I stopped doing that. I learnt that before I could understand me, I would be wise to first understand the macrocosm, for it is my grand reflection after all.

If I understand it, and you do too, then you will understand me, and me you.

Burning branch lit aflame, no dove can rest and it is a shame.

When peace needs rest and the city is burning, her heart grows tired and rest now yearning.

A safe place, lovers in a field, where the dove does rest and needs no shield.

Beside the Rhine where all is well, let me stay, let me dwell.

But calling back that world on fire, more knowledge he said, you do require.

It was deep.

Much more than meaningful.



More like a cornerstone romance,

from a library in the cosmos.



Like a deep sea scroll,

One unobtainable,

And nothing about it tameable.



It was like solstice, but not summer,

Like solstice, but not winter.



Like a fifth season,

One of its own,

Flaunting all the colours.



It was something enchanting,

Like snow falling on palm trees.



Something mesmerising,

Magnetic,

Hypnotic,

And blissful.



It was unclaimed,

Unowned,

Like land on Jupiter.



It was shocking,

But not horrible.

More like waves of adrenalin,

The ones that save your life.



But this pearl was less about my life,

And more about my death.



This was less about him

And more about me.



For all the magic I foresaw,

Was the magic that is me.



...............................................................­............................................

​

I am the supernova romance

Etched on an emerald tablet,

Clutched by Aphrodite.



A story you’d find carved in a dream,

Retold upon rising with bewilder and a gleam.



I was the dance to The Drifters,

Upon 11pm sandy shores,



The kiss under the bridge,

In that electric storm,



The naked swim in the caves,

That night the moon turned rose red,



The whisper louder than the roaring crowd,

That made you smile and nod your head.



I'm the twist of violet,

In an orange fuchsia sunset,

A besotted perfume linger,

Once inhaled you can’t forget.



I was the fire in that winter desert,

Where we talked about the truth,



The zest in your drink,

When we sat squished in that tiny booth.



And I was the 20 white candles lit,

In that studio,

On the French blue coast,  



The warm wink in the room when

You stand to give a toast.



Now I’ll be the film you wish you saw on the silver screen,

And the private island you only wish you could have been.



So before I died I was reborn.

From that shell without the veil,

From that pearl without the mourn.



Projection death on a canvas blank.

For the romance I have only myself to thank.

​

BY NICOLE BONOMI

So do not throw your pearls before swine,

Instead in the sand go and draw your line.

For this love you have is rare dear girl,

A guide and blessing in the name of Estelle.

I sat and woke to see it all clear,

A stage I was seeking, no longer to fear.

For I've spent too long wasting precious time,

Never again will I throw pearls before swine.

I told you the ticking madness was enough to turn it into a panic race, so detached from all that we are made of, we become nothing we are made from. Now ingesting genetically assembled seeds - that don’t deserve the name seed at all. For seed is life, she belongs to mother earth, not a synthetic corporate beast.

A patented man made pill that sprouts an idea of life, a deception, that when ingested in it’s varied shelved forms and assimilated, draws us further and further away from nature, and our nature, and man, now part robotic manifestation through assimilation alone.

And they come with their chains and capitalist whips to break the backs of the earth reapers and sowers who fed yesterday, who fed their fathers, chaining them into a prison unbreakable, suffocating beneath a system controlled by paper. But surely man, his free thought, seed and crop, is more valuable than paper slavery?

And our brother labours in pain, all but to produce a good, or a bad that the unsuspecting haggles for, all because their growing inner robot has a dogmatic pining to be more than nature itself. He seeks supernatural, he seeks fame and status, and to be a god, but that “god” has no concept of the cosmos he was set forth to know, to praise and to be praised by, so instead he worships artificial idols.  

And the fight continues. And the madness ticks on, debilitating the organic ones; seed robbery after seed robbery, crop seize and acquisition after policy, after policy, after tariff after bill and there is no bailout. It’s all woven into a web of intricacies, leaving no room for natural, no room for humble.

Then they say the meek shall inherit the earth, and I wonder when, and by question alone I am reminded of the ticking madness. I am reminded that natural, never questions time.