Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sjr1000 Jan 2015
Came to me in a dream,
The internet of the unconscious
the place
where dreamers flee.

As I lay down,
Eyelids shutter's close
deep dark night falls,
Into the interweave
we are delivered,
Into the collective unconscious
we go
coast to coast,
In synchronicity's archtype's flow
where all the
heroic demons and fears
dwell and go.

Awake?  A dream?
A Balinese on LSD.
The boundaries fall
as the currents of the interweave
take us all.

When we hear a voice
we look around
to
see if anyone hears it too
otherwise how are we
to know
if it's a dream or if it's true.

The interweave a current,
We only enter unconscious
or
is it
when we are fully being?

We don't know.

We are swept along
on the night riding songs,
Our voices sing in
colors vivid, strong,
Sparkling in the black sky
lightning of consciousness crackling
the thunder of life
echoes in our ears
ripping us asunder,
To emerge
on another side
in another way,
Not too different,
Not too the same,
Irreversibly changed.

Our hands we hold
as we plunge, plummet
into the white current in
the dark sky
broadcasted to
the tumbling
rotating
universe
the interweave
a transit to
anywhere
you might imagine,
Don't fear,
Courage is here.

The imagination
runs so wild
call it what we will,
When we make our return
from the interweave's
milky way,
All we will
really know
is
that
for those
deep dark nights
when the eyelids shutters' close
after connecting
to the interweave
I
with each other was
free.
This idea of the "interweave" did come to me in a dream. The internet we enter when we are all dreaming.
As I understand it, the Balinese teach that the dream world is as real as the awake world in a nightmare you can ask your pursuers for a gift.
Keith J Collard Aug 2012
Colonial mansion, in an ocean of grass,
windows aglow as I walk past.
funeral service now used of verandah,
but I hear music, not mournful stanza.
french doors open to a reminisce,
with boyhood heart, of vitreous.

Footfalls on parquet floors,
tux and gown past crown moulded doors.
captured ambiance of a setting sun,
shown from chandeliers highly hung,
day I was born, born the day of prom,
I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.

Girls betrothed by corsage on wrist,
rare french curls--a lunar eclipse.
bedraggled boys now dapper and genteel,
vest and bow-tie, a knightly feel.
chapperesses smiling at maidenly gait,
happy drowse in  mansion estate.

Cuff-links, silk gloves, nail polish of gloss,
beheld tonics and sweets, carefully aloft.
opening cord, an arrow from cupid's bow,
striking coquettes to their tippy toes.
they sprang to dance,I stepped back,
invisible in shadow with tux of black.

Shoulders, lake ripples easing to shore,
hips, gentle waves, right before they pour.
boys stiff, as if waists beheld sabers,
legs, sweeping brooms of on shore waiters.
"your too handsome to stay here unseen,"
said rivaling chaperess, past semblance of queen.

"You should dance ,"said glittered lips of pink,
bent like sparrow wings, during teacup drink.
privy to why in shadow I hid my blush,
her class my crush, that crushed me so much.

She strained me, even the shadows she gave,
black silk, stretching,--convex and concave.
crude metal and wood classroom seat,
clasped her waist of slender physique.
she was guarded by a window in curtain mail,
and tended to by servants of light and gale.
light loved her skin of Mediterranean sand,
and wind enthralled by each and every brown strand.

Light penetrated strands, blondly hot,
wind would blow, cooling pony tail off.
her shadow curtsied under my desk,
long legs danced in irritableness.
mourning class is abuzz with scent of prom,
flower not frost, rules the school's dawn.

I gave my consent, to an earlier invite,
then on, suitor blinded me with light.
and Great Gatsy, and looming prom night,
subjects of sparrow wings pressed tight.
" show of hands, who do not have a date?"
slender wrist arises, from an arm curvate.

alone, she shown that no one asked her,
this stone of Rome amongst boys of plaster.
hand fell with boy of teachers match,
wind shrouded her,from the window sash
rays gave discomfort,to gaze her way,
but I looked through burning ray--

To see a trace of a tear,in eyes ovate,
a goddess unsought, with sadful face.
I, poor, fatherless, could not possibly go,
to prom with princess of arched portico?
I could not interweave my hands to dance,
or know where I could place my glance.

Wind blew a scrap from her desk, indiscreet,
it was pierced by light at my feet.
"will" and "with" were dotted with a heart,
"prom" and "me" before most painful part.
my name in her beautiful free hand,
the color red from hearts inkstand.

(Class bell rings) I travel over star lit lawn,
the music gets louder as I return to prom,
eyes turn to cotton, in shadow as I ponder,
as pain was forgotten, I came upon her.
invisible hands, lifted my chin to a red shape,
our eyes met, her's smiling, mine agape.

Only a glass-maker could imagine my sight,
seeing hot curves form in dance floor light.
only a wax-wing could have rivaled her eyes,
waves gently broke to gown down her thighs.
"will you dance with me,"she softly entreated,
" I don't know how,"a coward repeated.

A princess which tournaments were held,
for which every timber of mansion were felled.
not for Rome the mansion's Corinthian column--
--for her--from quarry prom did befall them.
I could not tarnish this feminine form,
with my lineage in crown she adorned.

I turned from beauty, to dark acres tread,
under willow, I play the last thing she said--
my name--as I shunned from last chance,
now back under willow, cane marks my stance.
I have preserved her forever, shying fate,
even if it was with my own heart-break.

I still see her--in the most beautiful prom poses--
--still--as lights flicker out and a coffin closes.
We never think about the little details, which began our journey to this instant.
We cannot see the threads that have connected us all along from the beginning.
We have been slowly braiding these strings since we were born without noticing it.
We take for granted the hearts and minds of society, which mold us into today’s being.
We ignore the domino effect of one past event, even though it could have led us elsewhere if different.
We won’t ever know that one person could have altered everything in never-ending time.
We wonder how long and far our destiny goes back to when we finally met that specific human.
We don’t stop to thank the friends who leave and stay for making us open our eyes toward fate.
We forget the grieving of the beloved buried when you and I try to commemorate everyone.
We share a childhood flashback together, a memory once unaware of one another’s existence.
We fast-forward our documentaries expecting tight knots, unplanned outcomes, and made amends.
We experience normal behaviors and are left unsatisfied craving lucidity and astral projection.
We agree on being the original kids cast out with real issues and phobias who nonsensical teens mimic nowadays.
We will only ever hear a few stories out of billions of walking narratives in this loud and silent world.
We are shocked when we conclude that we have more stories with our friends than we ever did with our lovers.
We seek independence to do what we want and have to do unlike our old friends who sacrificed and settled early.
We remember everybody we didn’t get to say goodbye to and wish we can make-up one for each of them.
We want to succeed for ourselves and for our families who are unfortunately stuck with what they got.
We realize things are only getting harder as we get older, but in our youth, we were able to handle anything.
We observe the simplicity of firework explosions because we want to be neon bright and high on happiness.
We try, try, try to remain ourselves when euphoria is lost and give something new a chance for a first opportunity.
We balance out our emotions when we determine that whatever happens, it’s meant to be for self-improvement.
We are caught off guard when all memories, good or bad, are suddenly bittersweet at last.
We decide in the end that it is better to have closure and tie loose ends rather than live as strangers and dwell unfastened.
We hope to discover an entity or someone emotional and understandable like us to end the loneliness.
We continue to strive, to witness the ghosts of morals and lessons and defeat our demons of all sorts of flaws and mistakes.
We do not regret a single choice because the idea of freedom relieves us to arrive at the junctions.
We are tested with our best and worst days to show ourselves we are worthy enough to accept reality.
We keep growing bolder, stronger, and wiser, even when we feel the opposite, to know we are still alive.
We are grateful for the past, the pain and joy, because it guided us here to the forgiving present.
We allow ourselves to become untangled for vulnerability to trust again with the right, relatable bond.
We love and hate from start to finish, from the strands of the cosmos down to the fibers of our bodies.
We think it is strange when a lifetime collapses into a moment with an image but not necessarily.
We found peace in the morning night limbo above the void and life on a place where people find the answer to death.
We ultimately unearth ourselves from acting like fragments of the universe because we come to terms that we are the universe.
Cat Fiske  Jul 2016
Purple Skies
Cat Fiske Jul 2016
We all learned,
the grass is as green as the sky is blue,
but the sunset and sunrise seems to make this untrue.

Now I ask you,
have you heard the tale of the sky?
I can tell you for I have seen it with my eyes,

one day,
there comes a time,
where each of us begin to die,

and where does your spirit flow,
into the wind,
into the skies,

like how your blood is blue until it touches the outside,
the sky is as blue,
as the blood that swims through,

when the sun begins to leave,
the sky becomes purple to grieve ,
this is where the blue and red blood interweave,

eventually the sky goes a rosey pink
and then when the sun has left in a blink,
it gets too dark to even think,

in the night it is blackened blue,
and in the morning it becomes new,
while new souls pass back and forth,

the sky you see is our life force,
transferring lost souls,
and filling the found ones with life,

the sky has many purposes,
besides holding the sun moon and stars,
the sky lives to serve us,

the sky is full of scars,
why on tragic days the sky shines beautifully,
to show us hope is not something to of forgotten,

so now you know the story of the sky,
and you will meet with it the day you die,
and the ones you love will watch you fly.
Haylin Jan 2019
The flags interweave in a synchronous pace.
A pattern is formed and dissolves into space.

Kaleidoscope movement and the swish of a sabre.
What flows like dance is a pain and hard labor.

Glitter and make-up fluff and curls for the show.
But there's nothing soft about the rifles they throw.

The best part of the guard is not seen by the eye.
It's teamwork and sharing and daring to try.

When the show's over and the props put away.
There's always more practice and some time to play.

So just when you think the guard is all done.
Somewhere in a gym, they're still having fun.
vircapio gale Dec 2012
common chilling sights--
i see humanity
ungranted

ice nucleators--
mutual lives underground
buffered dots of heat

Jupiter winds glow
revivals there and then --
red swirls of lust

twelve conquests past
all creatures skyclad
in that loose zodiac belt

unconditional
dark solstice
deepest love

festive thanks
at dread allayed--
more roasted birds
.
the same sun,
snowflake years
uniquely melt
.
still Fall-ripe,
matunda ya Kwanza
nourish unity
.
only a nick,
the green knight forgives
saint sir Gawain
.
winter thin
Shakyamuni trees
entangle star rays
.
Dōngzhì recurs--
tangyuan and dumpling soup
warm ears and hearts
.
Lucy brightens
Advent's tidal frost
sugar powder blind
.
strong eyelids--
holy corpses
smile again
.
endyear eyelids pull
open --                            
Summer's chain emails
.
i nightgaze here too--
Yalda Shab brightens birth night
vermillion sweet eve
.
gelt to gifts--
sacred lights remembrance
wonders burning yet
.
obstacles embraced
powdered elephant dance
ancient clouds of lore
.
of country dwellers
gifted greatest gifts--
pentacles outshine
.
hot planets glint
subtle light unseen and far --
night sky snow

transaeonic squint
textured sense illumes vast space
light trails interweave

evergreen bird womb
coos beyond my porch--
fireplace ignites

Februa nears--
thermals gather itch for
one last indulgence

Hubble vision melds
an interspecies lens--
"home" descends anew

integral trust--
grapes freeze by vintner's paths
of future sweetness

moss between toes
Spring ooze effluvia
giddy spine sky high
Sean Banks Apr 2013
I
Oh how it is quite strange, clowns and princes
along with me, share hits and misses
And how we work, eternities to construct
One man always stood beside me
So here is some spoken word poetry
About my Duck

All these stepping stones, its such a big climb
I gotta just put my nose to the grind

why yes my mass was shapeless, but definitely not aimless a hand full of aces, as my box of tools simply out rules those with mere jacks.
A capering clown
in sawdust mounds
  I would never be allowed
and that’s a fact

lessons  learned on ones own, yet taught by others
And I discovered
the blood that doesn’t connect us brings us closer to one another
no relation which cause the creation by which leaves me fulfilled
Last name: Banks. First Name: Bill
The reason I know skill doesn’t breed passion, passion breeds skill

Now, Though outrageous,
I must say that only the mans good values were contagious
and although the man ages,
the books cover changes,
not the pages

II
On the topic of books, lets take a look
a copy manipulate with traits
of stone written rules
That William had the jewels
to chip loose
I call him Duck
But these actions wont get him confused for a goose

A book of rules in which every one is to receive, Billy Banks believed that mine needs to interweave his own recipe

The reason I keep tricks outside of my sleeves
the reason i wasn’t deceived by the ease of being naïve
The reason my metaphors are as deep as seas

He is the reason I dare to  believe that I am the sea and life is a simple little fish swimming inside of me  which I can control just not directly
its always with me but can be caught up on hooks, tangled up in seaweed
so when is pleads, I attend to its needs
with guarantees of bachelor degrees
and although it will not come with ease the sea calms the storms breeze, clean its debris and fathom that hard work is to be worked hard but always  is always done correctly
I change the tide so the fish swims not always straight but always with strides.

When the stones hurt the feet  to be a climber
Duck is always there with a reminder

Though its deep, I reap
The benefits of being gifted everyday by the array of knowledge portrayed
In the celebration of the man on his birthday

III
So like Obama
I wanna
Make you believe “Yes I Can”
No man, No object, No figure, No wall
Stand in my way from achieving it all
And Believe is my suggestion
Cause the guaranteed truth is good to invest in

All this?
I give credit to the book Duck did edit
So let it

Be known that I stand a grown *** man,
And with these hands let me reach from my soul and pull
within me the key That unlocks the box of tools that help create eternity
and trust me
I was equipped properly
A level to keep my head on straight
A bucket, to help evenly displace life’s weight
A set of blank keys to open any of life’s gates
A chisel and a hammer, my own identity to create

A ladder to climb from the holes I dig myself into
And shovel to fill and forget no regrets and its all just bliss
Like a pig tattoo that never did exist

And finally a broken compass
Not to make me fail, but to force me to blaze my own trail

So when the stones get high and I need a break from the climb
Duck makes sure I know there is always time

IV
So I swear and you know it
And if you don’t he would love to show it
One simple push, poke or a shove
And he will have you believing he is busting out the golden gloves
Doesn’t that sound like the man we all love

The lesson taught?
backing down
means your not at the top

Forcing over stepping stones so quickly on this climb
Duck made me know to do my damage in my prime

So at seventy five,
you are still alive
And to nobody here is it a surprise
Another story of the scar
Another cigar
To smoke
Your too up to date to even be called old folk

So at seventy five
you are still alive,
and to me it sure isn’t a surprise.
And Duck I want you to know to me you will never die.

and let it be known, I refuse to use your present tools as my stepping stone
As everybody’s life path must be created on their own.
So as I refuse to use your present tools as my stepping-stone
The man that I named Duck taught me to reach the tops thrown

And I will never ever quit climbing….

*A tribute to my Grandfather Duck on his 75th Birthday. A spoken word remix of a poem he taught me, that has been the motto to my life - R.I.P Bill "Duck" Banks
Andrew Daly Oct 2012
Step inside the refuge of my disillusionment,
you will find a blood red sun bursting in the eyes of
a man that never harnessed an even temperament.

A cresting wave crashes on the beaches along
these rusted railways that interweave these broken skies,
a  road paved in regret, spilled from my minds eye.

Obscure sounds, and muted lights diffuse from
the gutters lined with my inner child’s blood. We shiver
coldly, a voiceless wind passes misunderstood.

Tragedy unfolds before our eyes, the luster has
given way to rust due to an underlying apathy. Without
affection, resolute urgency is beyond our capacity.

A cursed fate we are resigned to hate, a blessing
we’ve dusted over in a fools gold asylum. A serious man,
with serious lusts, still a bitter ghost of mistrust.

Wash your ****** hands in the morning sun,
remove your emerald isle from the barrel of my gun,  
hearts bleed ruby red, a vascular fire in the sky.

Fate will fall about the movements upon your ethereal
skin, neurotic waterfalls rush through the nightmares you’re
living in. Bid to create a dream… where we… are clean.
Joseph Perales Sep 2010
a pretty face and she’s little waisted
a pretty place and a little wasted
tumble and tip into submission
stumble and slip into position
set all sweating systems to go
as emotions among other things grow

I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive

that’s just the way the story goes
when we remove our whorey clothes
and get right down unto the bone
the nitty gritty, the solid as stone
I want to get down to the heart of you
I want to feel every last part of you

I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive    

I will not deceive, please believe
I will not deceive, you best believe
as long as we can receive and relieve
as long as we interweave every eve
darling I would never, could never leave
I will not deceive, I will not deceive

I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
JennyFrenzy Oct 2014
Rich crimson leaves cascade from trees
Embers of fire in the breeze
Luna sails the black sea unseen
Autumnal spell of Halloween

We carve a brood of sculpted gourds
Bake apple pie for all adored
While trick-or-treaters come and leave
Phantasmal dream of Hallows' Eve

Candles burn bright in our window
Ancestors led home by the glow
Our bonfires flames swell with sheen
As shadows dance on Halloween

Let the feast for the dead begin
This spirit night, the veil is thin
Humans and ghosts interweave
The magic realm of Hallows Eve

The clock strikes the Witching Hour
Loved ones graves we bloom in flowers
This spooky Eve of in betweens
The time of rebirth, Halloween
Happy Halloween!
Mariam Paracha  Dec 2012
Spider
Mariam Paracha Dec 2012
Spider

Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.

The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,  
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you


You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.

Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
I B Liviu  Oct 2013
Uprooted
I B Liviu Oct 2013
Soothing as the wind can be,
Embracing calmly trees of change,
Blowing through their leaves of tea
It bends the branches rather strange,

Flying birds shoot to the sky,
Aiming for the gentle clouds
To be smothered way up high
Far away from vile grounds,

Bathed within the warmth of days,
All that blossoms in the sun
Goes to sleep as darkness lays
A pitch veil you can't outrun,

Waves of foamy salty oceans,
Kiss the shores of golden sand,
Mighty currents are in motion,
Spreading life across the land,

Snowy peaks of rocky mountains,
Stand immortal in cold winds,
Icy rivers blast like fountains
Flowing down the forest's wings,

Fiery lakes of molten rocks,
Hidden from the naked eye,
Rise above like building blocks,
Gravity they must defy,

Rain starts falling from the skies,
Hurtling down towards the ground,
Soil and the clouds it ties
With loose threads that float around,

Stand outside and interweave
With the strings of liquid cloud,
Feel the rain drops and believe
In love and life, and have no doubt.

— The End —