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Ron Conway Sep 11
We come ajoined along knife's inside edge
We're taken to temptation
Compelled to dance we're striding sliding
To the serpent's assignations

We swim amid the reeds of deep green seas
We're taken to the shoreline
Where whispered wonders wash our old dreams clean
So to new dreams false enshrine

As sour fruit betrays with flies and stench
We're taken to the knife edge
Battered, beaten broken belying our soul
Left to part along the ledge
Clad in crisp capris,
A serious striped sweater.

Sunburnt skin scratched,
By blades of misty grass.

Two beasts barking,
Perched on the porch.

Marching through her meticulous meadow,
Mary welcomes morning in Maine.
William Jun 12
Aspen of Appalachia, away,
Bereft from bleating, brooding bovine.
Clay County contrives conspiracy
Doomed, darkened, deceitful. Directed
Eastward at Eastaboga’s emp’ror
Full of most fitting flight, fleeing from
God. Those good graces known given up,
Heartily, exchanged happenstance his
Immortal soul for idolatry.
Jeered at Jehovah, jested Jesus,
Kingdom keeping the kicked knaves knowing
Lowly that the Lord lash little at
Men who make ****** and mudwork made
Nightly. Nefarious no-goods now,
Open but not ostracized. Oh, old
People praise the past per penchant but
Quickly they quit; queerly quell their quest,
Running from redemption and rambling
So he stopped searching, got set soulless,  
Turned to the tantric, tuned to the tumult,
Unburdened with useless unknowns. Up
Verily and vivaciously, vet  
Words which will warrant wonder. Why not
*******, excellent, exuberant?
Yet, ye of yellow faith, yon Yahweh
Zeros the zest of zig-zagged zetas.
Ahmed Herrou May 29
What's your name?
You're a so so-so so-and-so.
For reasons you say you don't know,
you'd always find me feeling so low.
Is it you? Or my love for you?
In the morning, I'm mourning.
Wondering if something
would change.
My sorrow's soaring,
hovering till the end;
my doom.
Won't you you save me
from this gloom?
My heart has no room
for it but you.
Is it you or my love for you?
The poet
Singing solemn songs
Of love, lust, and lonesome

The jester
Gabbing of gallant, gruesome glory
And jolly love jokes

A jester void of seriousness
And a poet void of soul
Together take on the world
Conquering it whole
How is it??
gray ivan May 6
Time always ticking
A trip triple tricking
The thinker’s talent telling
Told trust in their wits
A tad foretold in tableaux
Tot tot tin buckets in tams
Take out and talkative
Go tick tick tick tick
Trick the topography
Turn up the top town
To take a tent
Try truly hard
But tend to be tardy
Tagline and cosine
And untwine and the
capital of Lichtenstein?
And whatever else you can find
To taint the trees with
Watch the tardigrades
Trek through lichen and tailwater
Taradiddle my fiddle and
Trick the ticking time
Just for funnn
alasia May 4
I feel as though I am a slave to destruction, knees nailed to rickety floorboards that creak against creation. I am head bowed, pleading for pleasure against the cacophony of the ******, washing white floors with grime. I am the harbinger of ends, an omen of unhappiness. I am question marks, red streaks, spilled coffee on loved words. I am torment, tormented by the ways I’ve been tormenting the things I love. I am oceans inviting and striking with no warning, hurricanes gently shaking before swallowing and devastating, promise land offering refuge and whiting out identities because nobody gets to be free. I am shackled to remorse, self hatred, anxiety. A prisoner of pain, daughter of broken glass, born in spider breaks, marked by shards and splinters. I am the whisper of ruin rattled through crows calling home across worlds and realms. I am jutted bones cutting into flesh collecting blood for breakfast and sorrow for supper, feeding famine to families I am familiarly unfamiliar with. I am cast away, fallen angel, victim to the rise of hope and sequestered from safety. Left to forage fight in fields long forgotten, to discover decades of indecency and be punished by punishing the lucky ones. The thinned wrist souls slipping from restraints, to make commodity of clear consciouses, and deliver doom promised by our ancestors. I am an agent of misery, a companion of karma, nothing more than a slave to destruction.
SW Apr 14
Dusk sets on the quiet desert
Eerie shadows hide behind saguaro soldiers
And sanguine striped snakes
Sneak back into the earth
Rowdy coyotes meet among the rocks
To cry at the moon
Who never cries back

The wind roams so freely through the desert
Stopping where she likes
To dance with the wildflowers
Or tickle the sun soaking geckos
She laughs as she passes by
And the sands chase after her
Begging to ever be so light as to
Keep company with the clouds

The mountain wraps his unfaltering arms
Snugly around the valley
A regal jacket of deep greens and browns
Laid across his towering shoulders
He lets his gaze follow the hustle and bustle
Of life in the desert as suns set and rise
From the place he has always been
Greeting each javelina and jack rabbit
As they settle into his solid embrace

The wind moves manically
Passing through the creosote bushes
With just enough time for a polite greeting
Before she rushed off to tease the birds
She touches every piece of her beloved desert
But she can never settle or linger too long
For fear of losing herself all together

The mountain feels his weight
Pressing so firmly against the earth
He faces anyone who challenges him
And he only rumbles with laughter
When they strike
But he begins to wonder what lies beyond
Where the liquidy sun shimmers in the air
He cannot abandon his post
For fear of crumbling into pieces of himself

The mountain cradles the wind
Slowing her down long enough
To warmly welcome her home
The wind tells the mountain
Stories of the desert


bound         by brilliant beauty

a lit ter a shun: bababaB

(c) rochelle foles 2019
i love to play with words and sounds.  this just jumped so carefreely onto the page this morning. it’s as silly as can be, babababut that’s ok by me!
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