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vircapio gale Jul 2012
she is my nihilistic god;

i am a stag leap.
the fainter wind-caress
felt deep in trunks and boulder bed.
i am delight for loosened thorns
that piercing underfoot will spur to run
my naked body's open-air embrace
atop the callus of my seasoned fun,
skirring flora shadow-dancing bright
descending mountainside of noon
in blurrs refracting sightful bones.
i am the sense of
transtemporal glacial moans,

the heartbeat of the soil breath
to puff from feasted log a mycophile's awe
or want for all placental webs in view
for naming earth a seeping sorrows tithe:
my consciousness of things alive.

the stinging lungs atop the path
are emblems of a winging truth
to overcome her nearing death.
i am the lingham of creations' race.
i am the sensate reeling blow by empty blow.
the gravity of light and dark;
gray theopolis of fists and falls.
envelopment of massive meanings filled
in nether-branchings' net
and mediatrix scorn: the wider world absorbs my self as ~ all~
~. .all. . ~
prating some nepenthean law
to sour our poetic hate
and deeply bury seismic seeds she wants to sow, like
ancient clues of metagender fact:
hermaphroditic **** to 'normal' eyes.
icecaps to resize and singing moralize;
a dolphin midwife toning yoni love
for labor certain nuns call "gift"
as crown of pleasure heights
on par with mysteries;
regrowing infant fingertips,
to pi recited over days,
to vaster mindscapes drawn in ways
'beyond the genius of the sea'

why wait for ease of shame?
thin veils of culture lift
and family bonds anew to tow
the peace from out irratic weight of nation rifts;
instantiations burst beyond the tunnel course~
rhythmic doomsday yearnings line the halls of humantime:
prophetic visions of a sea to come,
Utnapishtim keeps himself alive
to garden with his wife a thriving mortal line.
Quetzalcohuatl finds himself *****
to bloodlet savior sexuality,
his heart a morning star, a Mayan Venus shine.

i see the standing trees
entwine slow-love to sky
so i can swing and heave
my universe above the words,
to carry thorns as well as petals, doves.
the vision ends. the new begins
to filter dyad lies through
inter-
corporeal lens.
embodied ivy climbs the tree of death
to rewind love and deepen love,
to bound the loss with goddess wisdom ends and other ends
of ouroboros shedding clear
of limits insight thrives to near.
sunglance peeking is the hovering of me,
steady comfort crosses floating lotus feet.
the softest rock has melded under thee
to join a forest pausing here.
a berry soaks itself of all i am
while nutty chipmunks chirp in whirls;
the clouds are girls you've been,
Nephelae to tease in quenching gowns
the verdant book of men we've known, who leaf
the air to taste another form of fairness lent.
silver is the sun in times of stillness overached.
sifted tensions drift to lie awake, but
drowning in a stream of glowing calm,
i am the woody balm.
the scent of bark unnestled dry
and leaves remembrance when
the breathing stops, the final
fleshing in of nowhere, never then.
you are transcendent of transcending
pure. end, endure and lucid ending live again
in empty worship ringing plenum om.
Sally A Bayan May 2019
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions and principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.

we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice

we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...

countless points of comparison,  
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...

we write......

we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities

yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...

years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night

while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May, 19, 2019
(a love poem, edited...for all Hello Poetry writers)
F                  l            e               e            i               n          g            I              m              a          ­ g            e            s-
mindscapes framed in glass
the world looks fragile, delicately beautiful
drowsy rhythm smells like green chilli fritters
colours stand out amongst our greyness
awake-yet drifting away

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
         24.10.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Brad Lambert  Sep 2013
O' Jazzia
Brad Lambert Sep 2013
It's been one hell of a night.

She sat in blue light, artificial,
fingers tangled in dreds, natural,
head bobbing to bare beats
and **** draws upon the well of
electronica, O' jazzia,
O' sense-sinking psychedelia,
O' fleeting fingers ******* false feelings in the dark;

And this is what music is.
This is what music has always been.

The arrangement of sounds to tell a story,
paint a picture,
build mindscapes and landscapes upon which stories and feelings
will meld and melt and freeze to ice,
hot ice,*
a paradoxical nocturnal noctuary of dreams and nightmares and candles dripping with wax.

Sing me home, Chet Faker,
bring me back to your apartment.
Sing it long and sing it low,
(This gas station fluorescence sure is ******* the eyes.)
sing me back to Boulder, Colorado;
to Joliet, Montana.

O' jazzia, my jazzia,
my sweet sand dollar saxophony,
will you meet me in Amarillo, Texas?
Will you play me a tune before the water-meter puts me to sleep?
Aparna  Dec 2020
;
Aparna Dec 2020
;
real as it is

she incurs the rigours

on her own in a void

far removed from rationality;

out of her element


esoteric whims float in and out

of her headspace;overruled

inexplicable visions,holographs;

phantoms from a past

seemingly remote

overshadow her mindscapes
rn
adieu 2020

:(:
HI DUDES

THIS IS THE MANY SIDES OF DAD, FIRST HE WILL BOP TEACHING US MUSIC

OF HIS TIME, AND THEN TELL US TO EAT NICELY AT THE DINNER TIME

HE WOULD SING, OH ROSIE, LET’S DO THAT FOR THE BOYS

COME ON SUSIE, ROCK AND ROLL

AND THENN AFTER WHEN I ATE LIKE A SLOB AT THE DINNER TABLE

DAD WOULD CHEW HIS FOOD, LIKE AN OLD GRUMPY MAN

I WAS A BRATTY LITTLE KID, DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS

HI FROM LADY, IN A LADIES VOICE

HI FROM SNOOPY IN A BIG MAN’S VOICE

HI FROM FLUFFY IN A POXLEY LADIES VOICE

YA SEE FLUFFY WAS THE CAT LIKE MISS PIGGY

I USED TO HAVE ARGUMENTS WITH THE CAT, SAYING MY BROTHER PUT ME IN CHARGE

AND HE SAID, SNOOPY, HE CALLS ME SNOOPY, YOU ARE BOSS OF YOURSELF

WHEN I AM AWAY, AND I WANTED TO BE THE ACTING MASTER, AND HE SAID

NO, YOUR BROTHER SAID SNOOPY, YOU ARE THE BOSS

AND DAD SANG THIS SONG WILD BILL HICCUP, OR SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT

AND MY BROTHER SMILED AT ME, CAUSE, THAT LADY’S VOICE SOUNDED LIKE FLUFFY’S VOICE

YA SEE WE HAD CONVERSATIONS FOR THE CATS ALL DAY, BUT WHEN DAD WAS ANGRY

HE LET IT SHOW, I LIKED WHEN DAD SPOKE FOR THE CATS, BUT I HATED GETTING ANGRY TO MAKE HIM ANGRY

YOU SEE DAD WAS A BIT OF A STICK IN THE MUD, TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY

I HATED THAT, BUT I WAS LIKE THE KIDS AT THAT STAGE

BUT I TOLD DAD, TO GO AND **** A LEMON, HE GOT MUM’S FRIENDS TO DANCE

TO HIS VERSION OF SINGING IN THE RAIN, YA KNOW, CHOO CHOO CHA CHOO CHOO CHA

BUT I TOLD THE WORLD THIS, BUT I WANT DADS HUMOUR IN THE WORLD

DAD’S ADVICE NEARLY GOT MY HEAD PUNCHED IN AS I COPIED THAT

LIKE IF SOMEONE SAID, WHAT AM I LOOKING AT TWIRP, DAD TOLD ME TO SAY,

DUNNO HASN’T GOT A NAMETAG ON IT, BUT CANBERRA COULDN’T EXCEPT THIS

MAYBE, IT IS OFFENSIVE, TO THEM, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T STAND FOR THE ANZAC DAY

I WAS GETTING MIXED MESSAGE OF DAD AND THE YOUNG DUDES, CROWDING MY HEAD

I DON’T MIND THAT, CAUSE NO KID WANTS TO BE TOTALLY LIKE THEIR FATHER

MY BROTHER WAS A LITTLE COOL KID, WHEN HE USED TO TEASE ME, AND THEN USED

TO GET INTO FIGHTS WITH ME BY THE POOL, I MAYBE HATED AT FIRST

BUT I AM NOT LIVING WITH PAST TEASING, I USED TO THROW STUMPS AT MY BROTHER

HE WAS SAYING, I WASN’T A COOL KID, I SAID, HE WASN’T A COOL KID

WE FOUGHT, WRESTLED, AND PLAYED BACKYARD CRICKET

WITH ALL OUR NEIGHBOURS, OH YEAH THAT’S COOL AS

DAD LOOKED LIKE DADDY LONG LEGS, AND MUM WAS MUMMY SHORT LEGS

AS THEY WERE HAVING A HIT IN BACKYARD

I HAD MY VERY OWN FOOTBALL LEAGUE, AND I PLAYED FOR BRIGHTON

AND DAD PLAYED FOR CCAE, WHICH IS NOW UNIVERSITY OF CANBERRA

AND DAD SCORED ABOUT 1000 GOALS SITTING IN THE FORWARD POCKET OF OUR FRONT YARD

I USED TO GET SICK OF DAD LOOKING AT ME, AT BEING A LITTLE SHY BOY

I HAD MY PLANS TO GET ON TV, THANKS TO MY BROTHER, FOR MAKING IT EASIER

I AM SUFFERING, BUT I FEEL POSITIVE ABOUT HITTING THE BIG SMOKE

BUT MY BROTHER AND DAD’S SENSE OF HUMOUR, GOT ME THINKING

WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE TOO IMAQGINATIVE, BUT IT MADE ME THE COOL PERSON I AM TODAY

I PERFORMED IN TWO PLAYS, URBAN DREAMINGT 2003, AND MOVE SPEAK ACT FOR MINDSCAPES

IN 2014, I HAVE TO SIT TIGHT, BUT THERE IS TRUTH IN THE FACT, THAT BIG THINGS HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WAIT

EVERY BLADE OF GRASS TO BE SOWN, MOVE SPEAK ACT HAD FUN WITH MY EVERY BLADE OF GRASS THEORY

IN A THEATRICAL WAY, MADE ME FEEL GOOD, DAD ALWAYS SAID, TO START SMALL

DAD GAVE ME A COMPUTER, SO I CAN BE FAMOUS ON YOUTUBE, WELL, HE WAS GIVING ME THE COMPUTER

CAUSE I NEEDED TO LEARN, BUT DAD USED TO TELL FUNNY JOKES TO FAMILY AND FRIENDS

THEN HE STARTED TELLING HIS LIFE STORY

I HOPE, IF DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL GET CATS OR DOGS, YOUR FUTURE TWINS IS MY DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS

TALK FOR THE CATS, YA SEE ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE ALIKE, IF YA LISTEN TO THEIR HUMOUR

IROBIN WILLIAMS DID IT IN HOLLYWOOD, DAD DID ITWITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS, THINK ABOUT IT

ROBIN WILLIAMS AND DAD ARE THE PERFECT TWINS, BUDDHA DID THIS, SO THEUY CAN CROSS PATHS

LOOK OUT DAVID CAMPBELL AND LISA CAMPBELL, YOUR  TWINS ARE FUNNY

**** ANY MAN OUT OF YA COTTON PICKING HEAD, I PREFER DAD MATURE

I LIKED HISV FUN SIDE, **** HIS BIG BIG MAN, I WAS SITTTING ON THE COUCH

CAUSE OF THE FUN DAD HAD

BUT I HEAR VOICES NOW, OF ME GOING TO JAMISON SLIDE

AND SPENDING 2 HOURS ON THE SL;IDE, ATTENDING POOL PARTIES

DAD PROBABLY THOUGHT THIS WAS COOL, BUT I WAS NOT A LITTLE PARENTS BOY

I WAS A FAMILY PERSON WHO LOVES LIFE

BRING DAD AND ROBIN WILLIAMS TOGETHER JIMMY BARNESY’S GRANDCHILDREN

BOBBYE DAD, ENJOY NEXT LIFE WITH RW
Druzzayne Rika Feb 2018
Blank expression expresses enough thoughts
the unlived unemoted invasive grows
undefined remaining unused words
undelighted lazy curves
untriggered to any stimuli
selected to roam mindscapes
honest to the truth.
S Smoothie Nov 2013
Immaculate dreams float through my mindscapes
eyes of liquid love washing over me
Strong arms embrace me just to let me go
you fade in and out like a welcomed stranger
you find my heart strings
and gently pluck most beautiful songs of love out of me
A sideways glance captures your full manhood ready and wanting
And as I turn, you no sooner dissolve into thin air!

An intangible love...

your thought prints lay all over my body;
my soul wraps itself around yours
only to twist myself into nothing.
ever dependent on these dreamy whisps
of visitations upon my request
my lovely ghost
A thought  here,
a whisper there;
where are you dearest?
Please come to me,
I ache so much to
love you now.

Ephemerally yours,
a love that died a thousand deaths.
dye Jun 2016
1: shallow beach

our little talks
have always been like
little waves,
secretly desperate for height,
something passionate surfers
will never learn to like;
and like a lonely muddy puddle,
desperate for depth,
hoping that someday
it'll swallow up all the boots
stomping on it.


2: gutter

our exchanges have
always been trippy as ****.
every word we say floats above our heads
and we would smirk as we watch them position themselves.
they form these neon swirls
that our pupils **** in for us
to share a nirvanic high.
as we see the post lights beat different colors,
our monochromatic mindscapes
dramatically turn into psychedelic voids.
on this elevated surface,
on this gutter,
on this place most people perceive
as a spit spot,
and on this cemetery
for cigarette corpses,
our chaotic souls
have found a dwelling place
and
our cluttered minds
realized its capacity
to be eloquent like a fluid pen,
to be sad yet tranquil like somber nights,
and to be embossed like keloid scars.


3: airplane

our
conversations
taste
exactly just
like the view
from a window seat
on a starry night flight.
our sentences never failed to leave
trails of cerulean glitters on our tongues
before they came out of our mouths.
but as we moved above
the dots of city lights,
we could only think of how
depressingly ephemeral
everything is.

4:  mind palace

our intertwined thoughts
built a helix bridge
connecting a place of infinite stairs
to an abandoned house of mirrors.
i can't forget when you told me once
that i was your favorite trespasser.
but to me, you're just one of those strangers
who tiptoed his way to get in
just so he could try to figure out
which mirror door led
to my most honest labyrinth.

5: rainforest

every time our letters fall like raindrops
and land as paragraphs on the dry earth,
the petrichor is sniffed by pine trees  
and as they happily sway,
they discover their capacities to dream.
they aspire to be the blank moldy papers
that only the two of us can fill.
they desperately want our words
tattooed on their skins.
our hands, their spine.
their home, our minds.

6: dance studio

we agreed that we were the world's
most horrible dancers
because we danced with our
two left brains,
not with our
two left feet.
i could only come by night,
and you could only come by day,
but our opposite timezones
never prohibited us to miss
this dazzling performance
only our minds can make.
sitting cross-legged together
in front of a wide mirror,
we see
two people
dancing
two different genres
but somehow magically
complementing each other

7: bedroom

we made our discussions
with our spontaneous feet.
each aimless step
summoned a plethora of paths
that we promised we'll take
i can't seem to forget
how happily  lost we were;
not because we are products of a consumer-obsessed era,
but because we are products of the realization that the Earth is made of unlimited wormholes that we can zap through to discover things.
i can't also seem to forget
how our days would end with our toes touching the
chipping paint on your wall
while we stare at the photographs we took by the sun;
while we listen to music as our souls spun.
it has been our personal routines to remind ourselves
that we are not slaves of superficiality.
but as what i feared...
we expired
just like the stardust we basked in.
we used to bleed dreams,
but now, what are we?
we have become two cogs left to tarnish
in some corporate machinery
06/06/16
"the conversations you have are as important as the lectures you go to."
THE JOB AT ACTEW WAS ******, I WASN’T GETTING WHAT I WANT


i prefer to be an entertainer, dudes, a really cool entertainer

rather than being in a job where they treat me like ****

you see i was told, i was getting a job in tuggeranong, i never got it

in fact they never even asked me

instead i got some ****** job, in the bush, *******, yaw ****

i was told off too many times, at least at the rainbow, they treated me better

i hear voices treating me like a hooligan, because my whole job at LEAD, was a tease

i don’t want to go back, they only cared for me, if i worked

i felt i was being judged for my problem, of not handling jokes

but everyone was teasing me in that job

nobody wanted me, for my work skills

well, they did, but, i wanted out of lower molonglo

and now, it looks like i am working at common ground

only volunteer, but it can’t be much worst than ACTEW, or LEAD

anyway, i dreamt last night, that, ACTEW rang me up, to ask if i would like to work

and i said no, because, they are just using me

mental health help me better, and i like to be given the opportunity to help the homeless

and they treat me better, well, at least i think they treat me, better

i performed in a mindscapes festival, reading poetry, doing a xmas show

perform in poetry slams, it could be my left leaning views

you see, the people at ACTEW were nice to me, but i feel i wanted to move on

ya see, my voices were driving me crazy, like i wanted to sing we’re not going to take it, really loud

i love loud music, nothing i did was ever good enough for LEAD, ok

stupid, i really was looking forward to that job in tuggeranong

and they took it away, without fucken asking me, it’s so annoying

all because, i got frustrated, because they kept cracking jokes, about when i wanted a fair go

i do my breakfast shows, tired from medication, so i wake myself up a bit, by dancing

i went to the national multicultural festival, on the weekend

i was at breaKing point, and i had to go to hospital, and turn LEAD and ACTEW off me

i don’t care, i just don’t care, ok, i am showing i have staying power,

you see cath and susan ***** came to me in my dream last night, asking do you want to come back

— The End —