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You are old, born an enigma
Science fiction is your hate
Addiction is your love

You love death
Al you know is ***

My family is nothing
I am nothing

You are synthetic
A mind without a mother
A father is your gap

i asked several women about birth. all strangers. I encountered fear from an old womb, she lashed out at me, and i wrote this.

Sur l'isle de evocation
a parody of Paris
the beating heart of France
an exultation of hell and heaven

secured by a stake
enveloped by a blue mamba
unable to escape the flames of desire
eyes widen in fear
a flicker of light in the dark approaches

the laughing licking light ascends
trembling trees unable to bend
crushing fervour all around
upward flowing conduits the secular rain

the molten skeleton teeters
France holds its breath
archangels strain in suffrage
the walls will hold
la dame will survive
the people invoke the deliverance

the light begins to wain
the magician becomes the smoke
the lance to heaven pierces the heart
belayed are the bells
fighting holds the line

a cough amongst the smouldering fumes
a guardian not seen
the bonds are not broken
the abode is saved

glaring out from a bell tower
sadness views the destruction below
sacred are the loves of engagement
harried by the time of contempt

Le Français are mortified
a chariot touches down
the dawn angel stirs
its divine intercedence appears

the lance is withdrawn
the mamba turns red
convict us the rebirth
its nations faith rings out
dawning  a peoples decree
a chance video triggered this poem, check out the twitter
Sitting above me?
Or laying a front me?
Who is god!

God is the creator of all.
Yes of course.

My mind creates everything I’ve experienced.
My mother created my mind.
Who is god!

Is god the creator of physical material?
Or is god the decipher of it all?
Is god what I desire?
Or does god reside in me already?

Am I part god?
Eggs so fertile, but absent of seed so volatile.
Who is god?

Our minds are so powerful.
But we only experience less than one millionth.
All thanks to the computer above me.

Is that god?
Is god the computer generous with information.
Or the mother, fertile and generous in sustenance and life?

Whoever you are...
Hello God.
Scott Hunter May 19
Every day I'm born anew
I must admit there's changes few
But changes nonetheless I see
What's changed is cast as memory.

But every time I look at you
When I have changed and you have too
Both grace and beauty I still see
Sweet radiance in eternity.

So even though I try to see
Each day with new eyes, wild and free
I do but hope to see what's new
In grace's eye and beauty true.
1st January, 2004
Val Vik May 17
Before I was born,
the first sound I ever heard. . .
It was your heartbeat.
Little heart beats
Constant hammer
In construction
Sonogram panic
On the day before Adamma's birth
Mama came visiting
She said she had a rough night
And she couldn't stop thinking about me

On the day before Adamma's birth
Mama made me peppersoup
The whole house had the heavy aroma
Of Uziza and Uda spices

On the day before Adamma's birth
My husband kissed me tenderly
And laughed when I said I wanted frozen peppersoup

On the day before Adamma's birth
The sky was beautiful
It showered light waters on the earth
I watched the beautiful scene
And absorbed it's familiar misty scent
From my special window

Mama chuckles each time she hears me call the window special
But my dark, handsome husband doesn't;
He understands every bit
We stood face to face by that window,
With extremely beautiful emotions overwhelming us
We spoke silently, our eyes passing numerous messages across
We were pregnant

And so,
On the day before Adamma's birth
We stood by that same window,
Kissing tenderly,
Reminding ourselves that our baby was on the way

On the day Adamma's was born
Light beamed on our family
Adamma's smile was light itself
And it beamed through every corner of our lives

And then I realized,
I had two babies
My baby, and My baby
*Adamma is a Nigerian-Igbo name for a female first child. It means 'beautiful daughter'.
*Uziza and Uda are traditional cooking spices used by the igbos.
DEW Apr 30
I wait in tantalizing agony,
skin prickling with lustful heat.
Silent is the night,
absent even of humming wind,
and croaking crickets.
She whispers,
saying the things I've always dreamed.
The heavens open.
Worlds, once locked away, bear their cosmic fruit.
I transcend the confines of my mortal form,
tasting love like breath to the drowned.
Sunlight cracks the shell of night, peeking over the horizon,
my eyes part as I wake from sleep.
If but a dream of love could stir my soul in slumber,
what can love true do to a man's endless hunger?
I love it when poems like this come to me.
It's been a while since I felt so impassioned as to write something like this.
My poetry writing times come in seasons.
Could this be a portent of a season soon to flood its way into my life?
We shall see.


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