Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I'm in a room without recovery area:
a room of intermission, a room
of collapse. Where are
the convenient little windows
to release a wicked bird of thought?
The quiet there is monk-like,
rogue, and slightly unpleasant, guilty
of moments spent with shadow.

I want to build a clock
that ticks once a year
—more dark than shark,

my confessional capacity
time-stretched,
like the heavy intoxicated *******
of the witching hour. And I'll
make soup from the leftover prayers
of the day before, all in hopes
the rooms of me, then so clear,
will one day be faraway suns
in the temple of heaven.
 Feb 2022 Seranaea Jones
Zoe Mae
I've been living too much to write
Instead of writing too much to live
Now I know why I hid in plain sight
Amongst frilly words and mad libs
up
as a paper doll
in blouse and skirt
and knitted shawl
and it’d hurt
between the lolls
when he didn’t call

He cut me
down
as an old oak tree
with tainted words
dropped to my knees
cut me in thirds
in a fell swoop breeze

He cut me
in
the spring
as tulips bloom
cut all my heartstrings
not to resume
this threadbare fling

He cut me
out
of his life
with a pen
not a knife
and then
took a wife
It’s all coming up in spits and spurts –
the worst parts of me.
I see those ones aren’t really me –
just outdated, overrun programming.
Why do I have to choose to run it
just cuz the program wants to finish?
It’s a program. That’s not me.
What’s “me”? I don’t know.
I can’t ever seem to stay still
long enough to decide.

All there is, is all the watching.
All there is, is the art, and the dance
and the song; the words.
Yet, those aren’t me too.
Though, those are the better parts,
the ones I like to keep.
I can say I feel weary
from the other, more tiring things.
But who? Who is weary?
Who works? Who suffers? Who sleeps?

I’m here. This is all I know.
I’m here and, this is everything.
The wonder of the world
is whatever you want it to be.
What do you love?
What will you keep?

I will go, blissfully naked and unmade,
up into the arms of my only beloved –
my Self – my world – my own mother.
I will draw life from the air
and cause the world to know.
We are here.
12.28.2021
O'er here is that ok ? asks the Angel with her quiet ways  
as she lights the wax candle and rises the temperature in the room
She takes us on a journey of escape where golden dreams await;
A purple butterfly flies by and with awesome wings she lands,;
upon a lily pad.  Fluttery sounds of water ripple on a happy river,  
seasonal and joyful they chime through your senses as you listen,
to a gurgling brook  your body begins to float light as a feather;
The Angel guides us, with her luminous light over to the other side
where millions of butterflies frame the doorway that leads to heaven
gossomar wings, monarch butterflies, and red admiral beauties,
All lead by a thousand purple winged butterflies, each holding  
Ori Light Enshrined, one for each soul present here, ...
Shine dear soul shine as bright as you can, you are an echo,  
enter the Sacred Temple and receive your transillumination: ,  
Adamah, earth being, detach from the world and connect with
your celestial Chabers, heart to heart soul to soul we empowered
live to breathe, we co - exist in total harmony with each other .
Like the  metamorphosis of butterflies we change and become,  
purple butterflies, endowed with restored strength and vigor .
Pace Sia Con Voi, Cari Amici
 Feb 2022 Seranaea Jones
Maddy
Love them all and appreciate them
Watch and photograph them
All different and interesting
You are regal
You are sweet and strong
You have beauty and are statuesque but swans are mean-spirited
Those differences and the respect that Mother Nature has given her children is evident
She and her children deserve it
Even though Dolphins, Pandas, Koalas and whales have my heart
There is room for Owls,Squirels,and
Swans
What is precious  formidable and causes awe struck moments
Biodiversity fills me up
Owls,Squirrels and Swans as well as all their creature friends
Great whether big or small
@rainbowchaser2022
No time to Shilly or to Shally.
No time to Dilly or to Dally.
If all you’ve got is Tittle-tattle
I’ll just up and go Skedaddle.

Got no time for Hugger-Mugger
Won’t put up with Argy-bargy
Rigamarole will have to go
Outside to eat yellow snow.
ljm
I'm deep into the process of writing a word-by-word analysis of the many facets to be found in this remarkable poem, which analysis will be available at considerable expense next year from a prestigious publisher in New York City. Be sure and watch for it!
Next page