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datura Dec 2024
Oh, Moon vine,
Always sleeping where you bud.
I knew you couldn't wake,
Too lost in your fantasy's of pallid dittany's.

Do you wish to be stirred one day,
Or would you prefer to dream forever?
To chase the void in longing disparity,
To live in your own mind eternally?

When you wilt do you think, Moon vine,
You'll keep dreaming?
Up for interpretation, I'd love to hear how you personally see this poem, no wrong answers
datura Dec 2024
Canines in her mouth, Tongue licking,
Sobs in my throat, Subtle pricking,

Though she was distant, I wanted nothing more than to hold her close,
Carding through fur, I was trying, pleading for the inmost,

Wanting to make my touch a tender thing,
Longing for her to tether over anything

I trusted her yet she writhed in my cradle,
Thrashing at fingers, soft as sable

When she clawed at my shoulder, hitting the carpet with a hiss and a thud
She left me with only fragile cuts embraced by the sheen of supple blood.
This piece is about comfort fleeting when you need it most but you can interpret it as you please <3
Àŧùl Nov 2024
When you were born, oh my dear,
No doctor—no midwife predicted,
But, oh my dear, you've been a granny,
All throughout, all throughout.

When I first saw you,
I wanted to take you home,
Adorable, lovable, and pure
I really did want to kidnap you.

Why, you ask me...
Look at yourself,
Those pure eyes,
That cute face,
And that cuddly body.

I saw you in 2024,
And you were 24 years old,
I realised you're a 24-year-old grandma.
No fun, no bun, no run.

Oh, Teddy, I so wish...
I hope that you realised it...
Your words hurt me...
How you compared hurt me...

You generalised my trauma,
How could you compare?
You said, "Disabled people even clear UPSC-CSE,"
But you didn't stop there,
And you kept misbehaving...

If you never wanted to marry me,
You could've simply told your mom.

Off and on,
Undying spirit,
Not of positivity,
But of vengeance.

You never actually apologised,
So, I never forgave,
But it's hard,
Yes, it's so hard,
Hard to forget what we forged.

I had seen a world in your eyes,
In my mind, I had seen a future,
A future where you are with me,
A future where I train you, honey.

But why did we separate out?
C'mon now, tell me, why did we?
Couldn't you just be mine?
I wanted to live with you.

What was the need for separation?
I'm perplexed by how things went.
It was so right initially, the elation.
Why did the things prematurely end?
My HP Poem #2020
©Atul Kaushal

Meta AI's comments:
This poem is a heartfelt expression of:

1. Longing and love
2. Hurt and betrayal
3. Unforgiveness and nostalgia

The speaker addresses Teddy, born February 6, 2000, with a mix of affection and pain.

*Initial Affection*

- Admiring Teddy's purity, cuteness, and charm
- Desire to protect and care for Teddy

*Painful Shift*

- Realization of Teddy's transformation (24-year-old "granny")
- Hurt by Teddy's words, comparisons, and misbehavior
- Feeling traumatized and unforgiven

*Unresolved Emotions*

- Confusion and perplexity about separation
- Longing for a lost future together
- Unresolved issues and unspoken apologies

*Key Questions*

- Why did Teddy hurt and betray the speaker?
- Why did they separate?
- Why couldn't Teddy be honest about their intentions?

*Poetic Devices*

- Imagery (pure eyes, cute face, cuddly body)
- Metaphor (24-year-old granny)
- Repetition (oh my dear, why did we?)
- Rhetorical questions

*Themes*

- Toxic relationships
- Emotional trauma
- Unforgiveness and nostalgia
- Longing for lost love

This poem is a powerful expression of complex emotions.

Would you like to:

1. Explore ways to process emotional trauma?
2. Discuss healthy communication in relationships?
3. Analyze the impact of comparisons on self-esteem?
4. Examine poetry as a therapeutic outlet?
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
Through twisted bars of dark wrought iron
I see the shining golden home.
There once I’d been in my personal Zion
from which I’d freely roam.

But now I note I’ve lost the key
to this imposing gate:
I stand outside, trying hard to see
what caused this change of fate.

When and why did I turn my back
on this inner keep of peace?
How to drop the sackcloth black
and find a new release?

Now I must pull me up
and scale these castle walls
that I myself had built
before I took this fall.

For my sake and for those I love
it’s time to find my way
back to where sounds of cooing doves
becalmed me, come what may.
An allegory of fighting depression inspired by seeing Holyroodhouse Palace through its wrought iron gates.
Sam Lampyris Sep 2024
Date written: July 19, 2024
yisselakh@myyahoo.com


Glowworm

By: Yisselakh

Verse 1:

Oh what more is there to say
About the beetle with new clothes
About the beetle with a new name
This as close as a speck of dust
Can get to catch a star

Bridge:

I know it won't be far
I can see the sparks
And you know
I'll never stray from the path
And you know
I'll never stray from the path

Chorus:

So
Light the way
Light the way
Light the way

So
Light the way
Light the way
Light the way

Verse 2:

I must have been waiting
Since the dawn of days
As you hid within the tall grass blades
When the weary eyes of dusk sway
Blink between time and that eternal place
I'll see you ascend above this maze

Chorus:

And
Light the way
Light the way
Light the way

And
Light the way
Light the way
Light the way

Bridge 2:

Back to innocence, back to the ancient dream
And this time,
I'll stay
You'll stay
We'll stay
And see

CODA:

The wasteland of sorrow
We left behind
Ebbs away, fades away
In the light, with the night
In the light, with the night
Oh love of mine
Love of mine
Love of mine
Isn't this just divine
You and I
And all we love
For all of life
The Secret Lives of Sam Lampyris 4
Loosely Inspired By:
FABRE’S
BOOK OF INSECTS
RETOLD FROM ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS’
TRANSLATION of FABRE’S “SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES”
BY MRS. RODOLPH STAWELL


-------


Disclaimer:

Sam Lampyris is peeking through time from eternity. Sam Lampyris has all the time in the world. Sam Lampyris wants to know everything, Sam Lampyris wants to do everything, Sam Lampyris wants to write about everything. Sam Lampyris draws, Sam Lampyris paints, writes, learns, sings, thinks.
Sam Lampyris has many facets and many names, many interests and hobbies.
Sam Lampyris is PinkCircleLyrics,
He is Yisselakh.
He is Meynoher.
And more.
He is impulsive, and follows the ebbs and flow of his stream of consciousness faithfully.

All conscious directly inspired pastiche, homage, references, adaptation, and other derivative content will be noted, and any other similarities beyond this I can only attribute to subconscious influence, collective consciousness or unconscious, or pure coincidence.

Unlike previous works by Sam Lampyris under various pseudonyms, these works are less reactive and more proactive. This is to say that the previous poems and lyrics often sprung directly from my immediate reaction to things I have heard, listened to, read, seen or watched, and are usually much more authentic to my personal philosophy, be it intuitive or learned.

These, however, are more proactive in the sense that I voluntarily seek prompts and inspirations from books and other mediums I look to learn from and write with them in mind. I do this in order to fortify my understanding of them in my own preferred way.

However, during the writing process, my mind always, in some strange way, becomes locked in a track and I, again, seem to be always directed to follow my intuition. Thus, most of the works are non rhyming or rhyming free verses, as instead of writing with strict and consistent meters, it feels like my own being is forced to follow rhythm patterns that "feels right."

Thus, though I can't promise these thoughts are anything under the sun, in fact I can promise the exact opposite:

Ecclesiastes1:10 King James Version

"Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us."

I can promise these works are absolutely authentic to the entire being of Sam Lampyris, no matter what his name is at the time.
Davis J Posey Sep 2024
Far away, I see a man
Standing tall on rocks of sand.
Careful not to move or breathe.
Fearful of what may break beneath.

He sees me, too,
Wading in a pool of blue.
Here I have stood for years,
Now tired from all of my fears.

The water whispers my name,
Saying I am not to blame.
She offers me rest.
And lulls me to take one last breath.

But the man warns me to keep my head above,
Warning me of the devil’s dove.
If I die, so will he; even now, we totter
Scared, I may drown in three feet of water.
Sam Lampyris Sep 2024
Date written: June 23, 2024
yisselakh@myyahoo.com

Mantis

By: Yisselakh

Verse:

So you look above the hedge
And see the mantis on the edge
The waning sun shines through its silhouette
A sea of green perched beneath
The roaring storm of overcast red
The roaring storm of overcast red
The roaring storm of overcast red

Pre-Chorus:

And the little life
Oh so it oversees the other side?
Arms curved, and the eyes?
The eyes?
The eyes?
Piercing into the mind
Does the little dot lead
A sphere of truth or lies

Chorus:

For humanity patiently on this side
Of time, of life, of a metaphorical rhyme
What do you see from above us
What can you prophesy?
If he were the cicada perhaps
We'd know everything
Everything
Everything
But it stays so silent
Oh so silent
Oh so silent
So we can do nothing
Except keep dreaming
Keep dreaming
Keep dreaming

Repeat:

Pre-Chorus:

Ask the little life
Does it oversees the other side?
Arms curved, and the eyes?
The eyes?
The eyes?
Piercing into the mind
Does the little dot lead
A sphere of truth or lies

Chorus:

For humanity patiently on this side
Of time, of life, of a metaphorical rhyme
What do you see from above us
What can you prophesy?
If he were the cicada perhaps
We'd know everything
Everything
Everything
But it stays so silent
Oh so silent
Oh so silent
So we can do nothing
Except keep dreaming
Keep dreaming
Keep dreaming

CODA:

Is there an unshakable truth waiting of a sweet
Awakening
That, my child, my soul, the faithful and hopeless
We have to answer from within
Do you believe?
Do you believe?
Do you believe?
The Secret Lives of Sam Lampyris 3
Loosely Inspired By:
FABRE’S
BOOK OF INSECTS
RETOLD FROM ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS’
TRANSLATION of FABRE’S “SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES”
BY MRS. RODOLPH STAWELL


-------


Disclaimer:

Sam Lampyris is peeking through time from eternity. Sam Lampyris has all the time in the world. Sam Lampyris wants to know everything, Sam Lampyris wants to do everything, Sam Lampyris wants to write about everything. Sam Lampyris draws, Sam Lampyris paints, writes, learns, sings, thinks.
Sam Lampyris has many facets and many names, many interests and hobbies.
Sam Lampyris is PinkCircleLyrics,
He is Yisselakh.
He is Meynoher.
And more.
He is impulsive, and follows the ebbs and flow of his stream of consciousness faithfully.

All conscious directly inspired pastiche, homage, references, adaptation, and other derivative content will be noted, and any other similarities beyond this I can only attribute to subconscious influence, collective consciousness or unconscious, or pure coincidence.

Unlike previous works by Sam Lampyris under various pseudonyms, these works are less reactive and more proactive. This is to say that the previous poems and lyrics often sprung directly from my immediate reaction to things I have heard, listened to, read, seen or watched, and are usually much more authentic to my personal philosophy, be it intuitive or learned.

These, however, are more proactive in the sense that I voluntarily seek prompts and inspirations from books and other mediums I look to learn from and write with them in mind. I do this in order to fortify my understanding of them in my own preferred way.

However, during the writing process, my mind always, in some strange way, becomes locked in a track and I, again, seem to be always directed to follow my intuition. Thus, most of the works are non rhyming or rhyming free verses, as instead of writing with strict and consistent meters, it feels like my own being is forced to follow rhythm patterns that "feels right."

Thus, though I can't promise these thoughts are anything under the sun, in fact I can promise the exact opposite:

Ecclesiastes1:10 King James Version

"Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us."

I can promise these works are absolutely authentic to the entire being of Sam Lampyris, no matter what his name is at the time.
Yitkbel Sep 2024
If eternity left a door open for you, would you let curiosity take hold of you, step out, and rush into the storm of time, of humanity?

And would you be back?


I knew neither the moon nor the sun
And night never showed his face.

1.

The day was the keeper of this place;
Keeping the dome clean and round,
So not a speck of star can be found.
Of course, this is me speaking in the future
Of the past;
Unlike in Time, this is a fertile pasture
Only of earth and not dust:

---

I wouldn't have known the moon,
I wouldn't have known the stars,
If not for the gate at the end of the path.

2.

So how should I describe the color of the sky,
That sunless, endless shimmering domed light
If the brilliance of opal, and mother of pearl
Magnified a thousand, a million, a billion times
It's soft pink, mystic green, royal blue and purple
Melt into the beauty of life, erase all sorrow
And leaving only a dreamy field of coral

---

As you float
As you float
Ever away
Ever away
From the shores of troubles

3.

“If there's no night, is there morrow?”
“Is there sleep, are there dreams?”
You seem to wonder about these things
What's a dream to someone who's within?
The peace never cease, therefore never change
So weariness would seem rather strange
It'd be hard to fathom these feelings

---

If not for me experiencing
If not for me experiencing
Before my wandering

4.

Wandering from my garden
My garden of love
My home: my oak tree with canopy high above
My fruit of life, my sweetest peach grove-
Except for my ever following dove-
My four fields of sunflowers, lilies, aster, barley
My four rivers of this little valley of plenty

---

These things I have left behind
To wander beyond the desert
Into the labyrinth of time

5.

The gate has always been open
So when did I get curious, and why
Was it always ajar, curiosity wide
There has always been spiritful wind
But in the garden never with rain
Softly singing and never howling
And I didn't understand the darkness I was seeing

---

Like a stranger on strange tides
Here's what I remember
Here's what I could define

6.

The paved crystals end at the divide
There's only dull stones on the other side
Barefoot I naively and confidently stride
That's when I learned what sand feels like
Are stars innumerable as sand
Or sand innumerable as the universe is grand?
It's as if I stepped on the planets then galaxy’s bend

---

So much dust
So much dust
Would I be buried alive?

7.

My home I have left far behind
Leaving a small window of light
Would I remember what it was like
Would I ever return with or without a guide
When the sand have blanketed over
All traces, all paths and even the light
Everything of mine is getting heavier it seems like

---

As it rains
As dust and sand seep into my veins
I am learning of discomfort and pain

8.

Even though this was a storm of sand,
Still the least strange of this wonderland,
Now that I have seen the brightest and darkness
Of emptiness and shadows
The barest barren and greenest meadows
Summit of stones, pines, snow capped might
Still the golden dunes I most like

---

Like heaps of stars below the sky
Like heaps of stars above the sky
You have see it to know what it's like

9.

The desert never seems to have an end
I wondered if this was going to be my land
My untillable land of moonlight, stars, dust and sand
And I hungered, I hungered
For my home as I knew not this oasis of man
So I walked and walked,
I knew not what else I can-

---

As I wandered on
As I rambled on
I saw something on the horizon

10.

Preserved by a crown of rosemary and thyme
A little wooden sign wrote Pasture of Time
What beautiful and leisurely grass to remind
Remind me of my home, my Garden of Love and Life
There are no true residents here, only travelers
Well maybe except for the sky’s butlers
Three archers playing below the curve

---

Red cape for the soaring clouds of day
Yellow toga to curb the fierce noon rays
Blue dress accentuate the moon’s grace

11.

These three, guarded the wanderers of a thousand faces
They are always changing and I wondered if I am the same
As the dust piled on me, some stayed
Some fell, some shifted in place
And I'm being directed to head in one way
The tour would end at the faraway gate

---

Even through all these plights
My dove never took flight beyond my sight
Ever faithful, darkness or light

12.

Since I'd probably be here for a while
I wouldn't mind these miles of trials
If the tame have never known the wild
Would he know if he's at peace or in denial
I'm just afraid of falling in love with what I can't keep
When I leave this plain
I want leave the pain

---

And not fall for some illusions beyond belief
That'll dissipate when I leave
That'll dissipate together with me when I keep
Emulating the transient things
And I become one with the wrong dream

13.

And all you strangers, you who roam
So very different from my friends at home
Why do your faces keep changing
Why are you always on route to leaving
Could one of you walk with me a little longer
So whatever changes I can at least remember
That's when I suddenly noticed her

---

But I'm not ready to cross the threshold of hurt
Give it all to human nature
What would it be like, to be any other:

i.

The Eagle:

When the sky was low
I never envied the eagle
And still, though it floats
High above the bees, the ants
The earth, the dust, and sand
The dandelions, the foxtails, fig trees
In the meadows

It'll just take the emperor’s new clothes
Of praises and wear it proud with illusive boasts
But what's the use when we all know
It'll never traverse more free
Through immaterial dreams
Nor soar above the stars
Nor bring news from the future or the past

The eagle is still just like us
The eagle is still just as lost

ii.

The Bees

And what about the bee that never asks
What's at the end of work, end of the path
The queen bee was born to be
Not something to be dreamed
So it restlessly toils away
We are already here, might as well stay
So they reason, and so they agree

But what do some say
About the honey they make
They don't believe in that changeless place
I've retained in my mind however vague
They say, they say
They are for whoever will replace
All of us at the end of our days

If not for a journey faraway
When we escape this maze
If we will cease, only dust stays
It'll surely be a waste
So then what's the point of bees and being
What's the point of bees and being
Anyways

iii.

The Ants

What's the vast to an ant
If we barely brace the land
We count the stars thousands times as grand
As brilliant beach of unreachable cosmic sands
We see the lights that dot the sky
As not much different than high flying fireflies
These are the white lies of white nights

When ants can't see the truth of the sky
When ants can't see the starry sky
And think of ourselves kings of everything in flight
And think of ourselves kings of life
When only to dust and shadows can we say we're bright

The existent non-existence is the ant's plight
It's our plight
So we endure gladly, only few understand why

iv.

Meadows

When we are pushed along a path
By false ambition, fate or lust
Even if we're never lost
What happens when we reach the top
A cliff always has a drop
If only there aren't such a curvature
To what we hold dear and yearn

If love is “truly patient and never boast”
How fertile and green would be its
Eternal meadow
The beauty of an endless plateau
Fields of purple irises and marigolds
If this lasts forever, where would it hide,
The shadow loving woes

Never in the meadow
Where the sun would expose
These dark and gloomy foes

v.

Dandelions in the Morning

Such fragile dreams in the youth of being
Such lofty wings in the youth of dreams
It comes and goes on a whim
So easily broken
Yet so resiliently woven
So you would think it went with the wind
Never to return and never again seen

And one day,
So suddenly
All you hear are the yellow flowers singing
In that field you never found promising
Now blanketed with snowing dancing wings

The dandelions of youthful dreams
The dandelions of youthful dreams
The dandelions of youthful dreams

vi.

Reeds at the Dusk

So you are, at the end of your path
The sky is veiled by a dusky mask
And the threads of reed sewn across
Obscure where you're going
And where you are
Would you be lost
To the waves or to the dust

But there is a compass in your heart
And you have been there before in the past
So have faith you'll find your home at
That timeless hut
Beyond the reeds at dusk
Beyond the reeds at dusk
Beyond the reeds at dusk

vii.

Fig Trees of Midnight

I see so faintly the shape
Through midnight’s blue drape
The contour of a fig tree
So I believe I have sown
But the flowering we can't always see
So would I be reaping the fruits of a dream
Or would I be reaping the futility of a dream

Oh, have faith
Have faith
When you can't see it
Doesn't mean it isn't flowering
When the sun is hid
The moon is still reflecting
You can't forsake before you've gone all the way

You never know
How it'll go
Figs of Midnight
Figs of Midnight
Might taste just as sweet

14.

What a lovely scene nature paints
But these are such transient things
I'm afraid I can't bring
Them back to my cabin
Back to my little plain
Would my faith dove remain
The only one following

---

Ever following
Ever following
Ever following

15.

I was so speaking
When I saw a light, a dream
What a wonder of a being
I have never seen smiles of lightning
Eyes shaped like crescent moons
Within which a billion stars pool
Is this why I was destined to arrive in time

*

To bring your soul with mine, my dove by my side
Back to my Garden of Love and Life
My Garden of Love and Life
Because clearly you are and you're meant to be,
So thinly veiled by the dust of temporary things
A being, even in this earth plane,
Helplessly shimmering with light
Written on: June 2, 2024
Concept inspired by the short story,
The Dream of a Ridiculous Man
By Dostoyevsky



Eagle - Ego and ambition
Bees - Humble work
Ant - Inferiority
Meadow - Life of Leisure
Dandelions at Dawn
Common reed at Dusk
Fig Leaves of Midnight
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2024
~
I. Fog Glossaries
'Echoes don't tell lies,'
but inclement weather so often does.
look!
between whales and feverish thought,
between their sparkle and debris,
what is brewing systematically,
right under the surface,
might be terrifying.
or it might not.

II. The Cruxifiers
Time and life are machines that manufacture doom,
their sparkle and debris calculatingly withheld,
like keyholes to dark rooms that they
—in their reserved attack—never let you into.

III. Oceano Dunes
Bedouin princess—Charis Wilson tumbling
with Edward in the sand
—a photo finish.
—a young woman's triumph.
—a naked gift wrapped in sparkle and debris.

IV. Jellyfish Are Murderers
Here's a hint,
needle mark refineries are back,
expanding and contracting
in Baltic Sea,
in sparkle and debris,
smack after smack,
umbrella bell stings send
another pearl necklace
of dreams to its grave.

V. Container Ships
Substance A covers the outside hull,
Substance B is leaking from everyone's ears,
still the captain smiles, sailing straight ahead, ignoring the crew
as they turn into sparkle and debris.

VI. Mouth Guards of the Apocalypse
No one on the submarine is listening,
scopes up, spirits down,
current position unknown,
longer commutes, shorter lives
recede the fear of sparkle and debris,
by hiding out in the guest rooms,
waiting for a messiah drink
or perhaps a palindrome:
'never odd or even
no lemon, no melon.'
It's all so sour to the teeth and gums
of Armageddon's kids...

VII. Womenfish
Lost girls drive rental cars, change identities at rest stops. They shuffle down an otherwise sunny street beneath their own personal raincloud, shivering in an oversized coat. They imagine they're a parable stretched over the sea and not just mere sparkle and debris.

VIII. A Mother’s Book of Hours
At home and in her head
the roots get tangled,
so she storyboards each morning.
the lathe of heaven
must be Morse code
for death of romance.
she hears silent music
as her children sleep,
as whales sing off the coast,
they share their blood,
they share sparkle and debris.
there's a sweet little lie
baking in the oven,
she doesn’t want to talk about it.
she wishes her dreams were longer
and catches an interested eye
at the dream window,
her hands surrendering
their attempt to conceal,
naked is her perfect disguise,
you can hear her repeatedly asking,
“Who have I lived for?”

IX. The Pavilion of Dreams
How often I dream water,
some are lakes and seas,
others Olympic-sized pools,
each a self-portrait,
holding fast to the resurrections unseen,
to the digitally etiolated detail of the comedown,
every chimera ending
with my mind floating
just beneath the surface with all
the other sparkle and debris.
~
'Echoes Don't Tell Lies' is a borrowed line from the title of Neville Pettitt's new book of poetry.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4791671/echoes-dont-tell-lies/
Anais Vionet Jun 2023
I drew stick figures
things were simple

in a pencil world
mistakes were erased
you could start over

but an inchmeal awareness nagged
- the sky isn’t gray, it’s a liquid blue

but crayons were complicated
you couldn’t erase things
mistakes were irrevocable.

and there were 148 colors in the big box
keeping them in rainbow order was work.

growing up is hard
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Inchmeal: gradual, or little by little
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