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Whoever architect
The Universe

At first
With a noble purpose
The Sun may have been made
Then
The human may have been
Designed

Among human
They may have decided to gift
Some as an artist
Among Artist
With the soulful ink
Came Poet/Poetess

That time
Something may have gone
Wrong
Most had writer's block
Most often

Finally
A moon may have been made
To amuse the poet/Poetess

Since then
They are musing
They are mused
Genre: Observational
Theme: Stimuli
Chris Saitta Aug 3
Sunset is a washwoman's stream of rubia dyes
And the crushed scales from the Kermes insect,
While the loosened garments of life slide
Over the ancient liquidity of the hills rolling
As the mountains rolling as the seas rolling
As the clouds rolling as the graves rolling
Like eyes rolling back to sleep.

I am pressed for lullaby,
Not the pillow-clap of thunder or the ether songs of Persephone,
Biding by her asphodels with icen fingers from plum-colored hell.

But press my ear in my mother’s lap of ancient sun,
Of peplos and himation and stola,
And listen to the vines and bunched grapes
And all of heaven sink in its commodiousness.

Press my ear to the sun-fed heart that flows
To the furthest span of the cloth-seas of man and
The solemn songings of the ever-deepening sky.
My mother all along smoothing out the wrinkled sheet of sunlight.
The scales of the Kermes insect were used to make red dye in Ancient Greece and Rome.

Peplos and himation are Greek female clothing while stola is Roman.
The uniVerse Mar 2017
Shine forth ancient one
for I too am your son
your vessel of choice
use me as your voice  
through written word
to eyes unseen
and ears unheard.

The language of love
is an unspoken truth
all writing that was
forms a mental noose
around the neck
of our ideas
that seems to break
unanswered prayers.

Allow me to write
on your behalf
that you may restore sight
with the words I craft
and let yours be the light
that illuminates my path.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B0WXG_mnqLL
Don Bouchard Jul 1
We trudge the fetid jungle,
Thinking our green way
Must be an overgrown trail.

Dampness pervades our clothing,
Soddens our shoes,
Drips from leafy branches,
Fails to cool us in the tropic heat.

We ascend gingerly,
Hoping for cooler air,
Realizing the immensity of time,
Of memory moving on ahead.

Shrieking birds unseen
Foretell dooms imagined:
Snake and lizard fangs,
Feral creatures' claws and teeth,
Unseen traps waiting to inflict
Sudden deaths or slow.

Silence arrests us,
As we stumble to a cliff,
Gasping for air,
Longing for coolness,
Stopped in our breath as we see....

Climbing the ranges ahead of us,
Above, and arching up and down,
The great dragon's crenelated back
Undulating over the mountain ridges,
Disappearing into the past.
My recollection of seeing the Great Wall of China just outside of Beijing
JS CARIE Jun 23
On the night of initiation,
curves of pale luster began to gleam unwrinkled from the darkened divots along the lunar surface
A perspective unseen for so long, it was viewed as a defaulted “wink” on the face of the moon
And therefore, forgotten, unmentioned, until it’s means were sought  

From days ‘fore, and long since now dust
Scribing authors, secrete beads of frenzy  into ink filled phial
Sending tremors down, into the quill tip
Filling scrolls for permanence in a preemptive defense against continuous unraveling thoughts would befall
this fluency into incoherent clutter  

Pioneers of preprint in a provoking tome,
would speak educated reasons why these areas of Moon had been locked under sealed dark punishment

since Empedocles mixed cosmic elements to breed an undeniable proving truth

Exhibiting the myth of danger
alongside
The established absolute and supervening fizzling sunset
proving the existence of love...

—————————————————-

“Since I have given you words from my within
like the ecliptic rising and burning massive,
Our mutual visibility of late is either one-sided
or
short lived
I’ll take a detour around the comforts of romance
And try to talk my way into your pants
By tossing at you, letters squeezed together,
for your minds transcription into the heart of my subliminal write  
In hopes you’ll feel a trickling gush
If I get really lucky these words will find you like a volcano erupts a ****
The same way water, beating against years of stone can fall
And crash through a dam with pouring force so insatiable it’s territory is marked in history
Corruptive egos
Unleash the beast
Cultural grave
Stagnate silence
Empty promises

Amusing paradox

Sacred stones
Religious plague
Searching peace
Martyr pays
Keeping faith
Genre: Dark Observational
Theme: When silence speaks, it's right, because no one is.
the tremble of the ground
thrusts more fear in your heart
than the gnashing of ancient jaws,
the burn of leather scales and the
sprays of blood in the atmosphere.

fire brushes the tips of the clouds
but they thought
it may as well spew from the
back of your throat,
dance along invisible wings
that carry you past the carnage,
the tremor of cracking souls
and hopeless shrieks towards
the unforgiving sky.

bones sigh under cool glass,
brushed with the earth
that betrayed you.
R Jun 5
i look around and have seen this all before,
we tell ourselves we discovered something new,
but we have lived this all before.
- that feeling when everything modern feels ancient, and i feel like i'm looking into the past
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