Let me get this out..


Every night, I would tell you goodnight
And that in the morning,
the sun would rise again..

   making all things, new.

I wanted those first rays  of light
to find you, still alive
You were so very much  hanging
by a thread  back then.

I am a strange, strange  man
as if you didn't already know,

But I have been gifted  with the ability
to truly save you

   (And you know it,  
   through.. and through.)

If you die..  I will take it on
as solely, my blame--
for not pushing you  harder
with everything I know,  Love can do..

It will make you hate me
as it saves  the precious life, in you.

PaulSN

She clutches her heart
with both hands
in hopes that he will not see it;
(But hearts like hers--
they cannot be held back; and
who it is that she is cannot be hidden),
but it instead was built to be out there--
right out into the light of day.

Her fingers look so cute as they
work so hard to hold the view of her in--
she oozes out between fingers
in the most beautiful of ways.
And with a heart like hers--
even that which tries to contain it
becomes beautiful--

she seeps out
through the most beautiful of fingers.

~paulSN
(in exile, for failure to rise on the third day)

~

There is a spectrum of light
so deeply embedded into darkness,
that it is no longer discernible
as light to the human eye,

And so it is beyond the scope
of certainty; the realms that
this spectrum of light operates in.

And there is an observation point, wholly
outside the realms of human introspection;
as is there is an enduring nature of
the spectrum of light  that transcends
even the fire of judgement;

(in the simple fact that it will remain
after all else   is burned off);

Yet, until that day comes,
it will remain suspended; in
an almost uneasy uncertainty--

even  of its own salvation.

Yes, it is a light that transcends it all, yet
being no longer discernible
as light, to the human eye,  

it  is subject to human judgement.

I have seen those familiar with that
spectrum.. and with things, real.
I am overwhelmed with sadness

   --wondering how very lonely they each must be.
         I hope to get to know more of them someday.


And, as for their spectrum of light--
   I would trust it with all of who  it is
        that I am.

Selmhem Naise

Ive been thinking--
and theres
     something
I just cant  shake off

its your eyes
    they give you away
  and its your very own  smile
    that they betray

They carry in them
  a cry
in almost  every
picture of you I see

    Your smile is genuine
    but your eyes dont agree
    
    .. and you have  no
    idea   what it is doing to me

I picture your life
    happy
with a fullness
of its own

So why do my  eyes
well up with tears
when I look into  those
beautiful spheres of yours?

Im not such a fool
to think its about me
but the pull  I feel  to
hold you close--

why cant I let that go?

For your sake I  try
to keep it all to myself, now

as I glance up and
smile at you--

   truth-hidden  behind
   cheap sunglasses

the forming of substance
Stephan W
(stepped out to get some air, and never came back..)


It presses its face
against the inside of the glass-like globe,
It is vaporous, unformed; globule. It can
experience the moment.. but, formless--
it is unable to hold onto the knowledge
of that experience.
It is  k n o wn  by Glory-- referred to as; being
~
There is laughter in the newborn baby's sleep..
dreams- present-moment flashes--
of funnyface smears, left there-
on the outside of the globe by the angels;
Left only to a startled jump, and then tears--
the initial shock.. the aloneness of being born-
into the imperfect world of potentiality,
and into the new and as of yet unfamiliar feeling
of unmet needs.
The glass encased Perfection gives way into
the only true access into love--
found only in the movement towards volition,
as the crystalline-like glass
that once encased the spirit
is now traded for skin.
And so that which once experienced Glory
from within the protection of the glass sphere
now enters into the world of participation--
first, though- as an infant..
wholly dependent on those
who (hopefully) will give
who will nurture.
~ ~
Perfection gives way to incompleteness
made perfect again only through love--
Touch brings love right up to to the skin,
baby takes it in.. unconditionally,
yet, in a way
still pre- volitional-ly--
It is outside the globe, now-
and spirit is participating in its own needs;
the little baby cries.. no longer 'complete'
and protected within the sphere
Now wholly dependent on love and care-
from the outside.. taken in, solely
through the repetition of warmth
and the primal longing for its own gift--
that of volition.

Yes..
a small baby has now become
a little higher than the angels.

These rocks--
round,  not suitable for skipping
centuries of rolling along
the stream's flow--  all
the edges ground smooth
in the most ancient of ways.

These ones making walking difficult--
when one rock doesn't fit well with others
it rolls
and shifts;  not
wanting to find its   place
with the other rocks, making
footing unsure--       unstable.

I see this one;  there--
unconcerned with the fit.
It
has an edge or two--
   still..
as of yet  not ground smooth.
It stands out--  not
for the safety of step it can provide,
but for it's utter uniqueness--

               a stone like no other;
     with it's almost chosen-rough edges.

I want that one-- right there.

                         That one.

paulSN

Johnny in black
a girl's heart attack--
his perfect-guitarred-croon
made all them girls swoon

and for her...
              her name was June

A stint in prison
for freedom-- the reason
dude learned his lesson
came back to sing-them

and brought along a girl
                                 named June

A ring of fire
his heart's desire
no line to walk
when you walk the talk

Johnny simply had a thing
                                       for June.

And through his heart
though worlds apart
she saw what was true
and it carried them through--

that beautiful view of Johnny
                                              in June.
Yeah..
there was hurt in it too
all things-- covered
    in blue


all because Johnny
                    loved June

You are beautiful forever--

the core of who you are..
still  wholly uncorrupted,
is made in the very image of God--

It is intertwined with your flesh
so that your flesh may become healed.

But your flesh is immersed in
the stupidity, placed there by others,  not you.
But you are the one that still  chooses
to believe its ******-up message--

The one that says   it will not work
or that   it's all too much
or that   no one cares, anyways

or that  you are not worthy
             of the magic that is in you.

The relational part of your own  healing
that already exists  within you
will come to you from those
who love you enough
to want to tell you the truth--

That the message your traumatized flesh, carries
is nowhere near the truth,  but instead
is immersed inside of the lie.
I tell you the truth, in response to your
acknowledgement of my faith in you
and you respond by treating me as if
you have no value for me whatsoever.

What tells you inside of yourself
to respond that way?

So, I make a play for you again,
not to make you mine..

  but to remind you of who you truly are.

All of the healing you will ever need
is already inside of you..  through the
Image-bearing nature  of the very core
of who you are.  Its deep ache  to permeate
your broken flesh  is held at bay
by Love's beautiful choice to  yield
to your own freedom of autonomy

Because love, without freedom
is not love at all--

but only control.. with a smile.

I weather your storms
because not even your own  lack of
believing in yourself  will ever
stop  me from believing in you.

--And yes.. you are at times difficult--
sometimes to such a degree,  that the dream
you actually are to me..  at those times

can feel to me as if instead,
like a bad nightmare..

But that is only the stupidity, of your flesh
and your own temporary stupidity  of actually
believing  that,  in itself..   as if  to be life..

 and as if  to be you.

You are my beautiful,  forever
that will never, ever  change.
One day  you will see, beautiful girl.

I know that one day,  you will see

A small box of candy hearts
were  being gifted..
as if being
the most intricate  of Tonka Toys.

Small, trembling hands,
reaching out
to  a small one,
         dirt-encrusted..

There's a half a box
of ******* Jacks:
prize... still intact,  in the other.

Two scabs.. and the bite mark  of an
alligator lizard,

   on just the one  that receives.
.
She had walked all the way across
the school's playground
to find him there.

Brought with her a nickel
for helping Mama fold the laundry
down to the 7-Eleven store,
last Saturday morning;

Not  any old box of candy, would do.
Not just any old box of candy..
                            would do.

A plunge,    into the wonder of it all
eyes wide open
(and then, shut again)
there is a survival  that thrives
but, only in seclusion.
Deception and evil,
and every form of illusion

(things, once clear..   made opaque
                      within the confusion)

         can exist  only here on earth
                  Of that  cold hard truth

                     there can be  no other
             logical  form of conclusion.

D Vanlandingham

Death only has power  when entwined with flesh;
as it is the pathological.. and its need to be propped up
--which is all there is   to embrace the illusion.
Yet, no flesh can stand  before the Face
and so  is burned-off  in an instant.

Now, with nowhere left to hide--  
the hidden..  becomes, fully known.
                   (the illusion,  and it's deception)

And so  separated,  (but not really)
all things  known
will eventually be brought  back home--


A boat, now empty of its captives~
the last to step off;  

                shining  as  bright

                         as the Morning Star

~M Vogel
(sequestered from the status quo)  


Sitting here in front of this screen
my Artist Peppino, across my thigh--
[the greater (for the time being)
giving way to the lesser]

One day, I will be able to breathe life
in to your strings, my love..
the way I do words, on to paper

And on that fine, glorious day
I will no longer need these cheese-****
stupid ******* online poetry sites
to bring forth the music of my soul

Nor will I  continually  need to wade through
this never-ending barrage of classic  hiders
and their bastardization-like misuse of poetry~
in order to hide behind the very words
that should be  given the permission  to make them
become, truly known.

There is no alone-ness within the magnificent  resonations

of the perfectly plucked string
of the most perfect,  of guitars


     Like this one, sitting  right here  
                                             in my lap.

Aw ****,  another apology
for what it is she hasn't done
there's a coat,  wore
a done, done--

one,  never to be undone

And she'll wear it, yet can't share-it
but with something like this
it can't be helped
but, to share it

It is every where.

They say they care
so why in the ****  are you  pulling
out all your hair.
Maybe they just don't care
about anything
but what it is  you'll wear

so they don't have to.

PaulSN

Wheels cranking
gears clanking

a precision machine  that
would make the
   Terminator's ***** rust wi-....

Silly little spilly
open-mouthed hippy-filly-  yappin,
   all *****-nilly

A crane in
your brain to
keep thoughts   sane--

but you talk so   funny
through that smile; and
     your heart--
it is melting your   mental
contraption

  How do you always  find
a way to speak to me
through it all?

And I'm still  trying  to
figure out  how
all that brilliance
fits into your pretty little head

You must sometimes get
   fatigued
beyond all recognition--

and the  only way
you can deal with it all
is to find  new ways  to
   b r i n g   it to us

        without us  even knowing.

Youre not quite ready yet:
beautiful-one
   and so..  in your creativity--
y o u  don't walk from your machine-  

    we do;
every time  we walk towards you.

Stephan W

The key turns,
and each tumbler falls into its
pre-honed slot

There is an infinite magic
in  her world of words--
her heart finds them
through special agreement,

as the door opens wide;  no
resistance at the hinge,
and it is at that very moment  that she
  gives
everything that she has.

Her relationship with eternity--  it
calls me to her.
I want to be near her--

    be her friend..

And with both hands,  brazenly
touch the hem of her garment--
slide  it  off  of  her;

      share..   in the eternal.

  Love, taken in.. on the inside--

Deep into the tummy
makes all things possible.
You are now feeling the dream.
You know very well,  within
your unlied-to  core,

  that you are more than enough.

It is your gorgeous flesh
that still carries  within you
the residual, dark shame
of the (unfairly placed into you),  lie.

You are enough to be the dream
within someone's fullness of dreams..

Mine.  You are beautiful.

I don't want to be   p u l l e d
in  to  your  world..

My hope is to  become  able
to lift you out of  your world
    until you find your  
                   true,  own..

  Instead of the one  you
  have  fallen  in to

Beautiful gouls, they seem
to be,  as they shuffle  
along the walkway,
late at night.  Hooded
and unassuming..
sometimes,  barely seen
avoiding possibly,  even
the pain  that the very light
of day, can so very often  bring.

There is a horrible  undoing
of what once  was
in order to leave  for them
what now is.

And when
there was a gold
to be found
in these hills  of black..
the non-ancestral  hearts  
that so clearly, lack

the humanity that tried to stop
the very same thing  that had
happened  in the east:

    the crave  for gain
    caused these tears of pain--
    and a glympse into the true
    nature  of the beast.

Breathtaking beauties, they all are..

Ha.. but They'll cut your ******'  heart out
if you ever turn to face them

Yet even with this  slice-n' diced
brokendown, blood-pump
I can still.. so very much, swear

that every single one of those gorgeous
little sunsabitches, 

    were sent, directly  to me
    by the very hand of God

There is the core of who it is that you are..
inside of you,  my beautiful ανάσταση

                           and it will never, ever leave you.

When we are hurt real bad..  and in such unjust ways,
we can sometimes lose ourselves--

                                          from ourselves..

But that part of us will never  not
                           want to be found.

We become afraid because the pain from the hurt
has been so bad.

There is a central part of you  that has been protected  
from every bit of that harm--

                                      that is the core  
                of  who  it  is  that  you  are.

    I­n its utter and magnificent beauty,
    it is wholly  unable to be corrupted
              by this less than loving world..

And in it's perfect ability  to see,

       it will always let you be the chosen one
                                                     to find it.


This is the picture painted,

             of you,
                finding you.