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Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
      overwhelms  unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge


A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace


Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed


The naked truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
     unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind


An emotionally enslaved  heart
tarries,  marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
     lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless


Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate;  vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake


It's getting harder and harder
   for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
   climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree


  Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp


A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“  
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil


Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas



Jesse Stillwater
June     2018
Notes:                                                                                                          
a friend sent  a link to a deeply thought provoking modern classic 70's song about Vincent Van Gogh and the complexities of imperfection some of us relate .... i'd listened to the words prior but never heard before now.

  Title is last final lyric line from:  "Vincent" (Starry, Starry night) 1971
Writer(s): DON MCLEAN, ENRICO NASCIMBENI,
ROBERTO VECCHIONI
mariamme May 2018
sitting here sweetly, today
yellow paint on my gums
but i'm smiling now, aren't i
the songbirds make love
outside my window as i stare
lost in my computer screen
in love with my reflection
in the black plastic and binary
smiles look nice on my face
so says my mother before
i let myself cry when she turns
away from the swimming pool
of mingled emotive thoughts
technicolor swimsuits in my
closet, i'm not in there anymore
i wish i was; i need the color's fun
to pretend that those songbirds
can sing away the sadness
painting a starry night in my eyes
while the sunlight filters in
splashing the shadows with yellow
the color of my gums as i seek
the elusive joy you spoke of
'eating yellow paint' refers to vincent van gogh's search for happiness,
painting your insides yellow to hide the sadness. i can relate.
Shane Leigh Oct 2017
Hello Vincent,
It's been a while.
I can't remember when last I touched you
Nor can I remember
A time you called my name.
Oh Estelle, my beloved
You whisper to me
In the throes - yes, throes - of our sheets
And you play with my hair again ...
In the silence of my madness.

Vincent,
Do not foresake my breathe
For my *******
As they rise and fall under your eyes;
And yet,
My breathing grows shallow again ...
As though I've had too much wine
My head is spinning;
And still,
You mutter quietly my name -
Estelle -
Like velvet, like silk -
Estelle -
Smooth is the sound from your sensuous lips
Into my ears.

An explosion of colors
And a deep inhale of breathe
Followed by a moaning exhale ...
Vincent
And, in the midst of it all,
I hear only my name leave your lips.
© Shane Leigh
Enjoy (:
His baby face made
Me feel young
Again
Like a
Kitten lost
To a moving red dot

****
The way
His coat hugged
Those perfect angles

It said the opposite
Of his baby
Face

No child looked
Anything like
Vincent

No Vincent
Is All
Man
Oooh the
Confidence that ooozes out
The sleeves of his
Oversized
Coat

Makes me wanna
Puuuurrrrr
Me!
Ow!
Oh Neigh
May say my ex-beau

But what does
That Jack know
Anyhow he's just

Bitter
Jealous of my
Vincent

That I'm with a
Younger man
Now and he's

Lonely
Whereas I'm
Satisfied

So completely
Satisfied
I wonder if this
Might
Just
Be

The one
And
Only
Vincent
...
https://bojackhorseman.fandom.com/wiki/Vincent_Adultman
Bragi  Aug 2018
Vincent
Bragi Aug 2018
A Story of guilt.
Not for him, for us.
Vincent.

Strokes and flicks,
Glides of guilded golds
Hushed in the Blues,
Innocence in the Greens;
Boldly infused oils
Spilling out on a canvas;
A legacy built on
Sorrow. Toil. Turmoil.
Who with dark indents on a page shaded in
Shadows showed
Work. Work, work,
Constant work.
A Starry Night’s muse.
All the while cowards saying they always
Knew,
Always loved,
Always loving
Vincent.
megan catcher Jun 2014
And you as well must die, beloved dust, And
all your beauty stand you in no stead; This
flawless vital hand, this perfect head, This
body of flame and steel, before the gust of
Death, or under his autumnal frost, Shall be
as any leaf, be no less dead than the first
leaf that fell this wonder fled. Altered,
estranged, disintegrated, lost. Nor shall my
love avail you in your hour. In spite of all my
love, you will arise upon that day and wander
down the air obscurely as the unattended
flower, it mattering not how beautiful you
were, or how beloved above all else that dies.

   -Edna St. Vincent Millay
this is NOT WRITTEN BY ME.
It is written by Edna St. Vincent Millay,

I just thought it was beautiful.
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