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A Simillacrum Sep 2019
Burn all the books,
bibles, effigies.
Halal the deities.
Eating never felt
this **** filling.
I knew your eyes
burning me away
In the beauty of fire.

Like a monk without a temple
I watched with
the experience of distance
as my effigy sat
drowning in your leering embers.

"I don't wish to remember you."

I whispered like the ash caked to my lips.
It wasn't a question anymore.

"But, you WILL honor me"

The echo of its words
scratched my soul
sending me into the silence
of winter fields.
The dusk of life.
It's desease,
a solitary crow cawing its way
through my resolve,
absorbing the dying stars in your eyes.
My heart tripping,
over their pleading rythmn.

I screamed it as if to imprint the words
Into the fabric of time.


"Sit there and pray"
"It's all you have left"
"It's all you ever were"

I stood then,
in the circle
that fears dying gasp tends to make
as it's life is being devoured from it
by the wolfs of rage.

"Where do you want me to be?"
My voice cracking like ice,
part suprise, part steel.

"What can I give you
that you won't bleed all over?"

"Only the truth."
"Only the past."

"My secrets are mine."

"Only the wind and the wheel
will ever show you
but you are too busy looking
for tomorrow to see today.
To much vision to feel
what's right.

"I have not moved past you
I have shed you.
Like beer from a bottle.
Making someone happy,

at least for now."

I turned and walked away,
leaving the three of them
To fire and wolves.
What ever you are dealing with, deal with it from the inside out.
achuthan Dec 2018
someone told decades ago
you smile
as the big bang of a blast
flashed over the land
mistaking a people,
it was the only light
in the darkness.
.. .. ..
you have the noble truths,
and assets,
the path to the cessation
of all the agonies
no satisfactoriness.
either noble
or ignoble feelings
of intense jealousy.

but i know
you are not in meditation,
you are in a trance
thinking deeply
about the girl
who is sent away
to get some mustard
from the homes
where death has not been peeped
at least once,
though you know

and you may be pondering over
a full moon be risen,
and the moonshine of sense
be pervaded
throughout the universe.
but alas!
even from your own home
you have been evicted
and now
your children
are in deep fights
in a state of consciousness
how to bring
the shipwreck of icons
in the hegemony
of colours.
i wrote this when i saw the effigy of buddha carved in the red stone by mātambu suryan mash a great artist
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
Give me brushes and
something colorful
not tested on
a thing
with a heartbeat
and watch me go!
I love me.
I know how
I like      to look.
Think that this
face is
for you?
Think again.
Think that      This Face
is for you      and your. . .
Think again.
Think again.
Isabella Terry Jul 2018
Why am I your effigy?
You burn, you mock, you curse at me;
You tell me who I’m supposed to be,
But instead, I’m just your effigy.

Rip my skin, and scream and shout,
And tear all of my stuffing out.
Then whine, and cry, and moan, and pout,
Then beat me blue, and scream and shout.

Pin me up, and pierce my heart,
Then rip all of my limbs apart.
Blame me again, and then you’ll start,
To bruise my lungs and pierce my heart.

Punish me each time you drink;
After all, I’m only me.
Your daughter? No, it’s clear to see,
That I am just your effigy.
A crab
squat fair
why amour
thick but
slender will
toe himself
in close
but rather
than let
go of
ties with
enzymes in
his heart
can pouch
egg with
a pinch
of salt.
Moon Humor Jan 2016
Two o'clock sober
might still be hungover
you're begging for my tongue while I beg for your love.
I never thought I'd love like this,
one-sided and founded on ever unstable lust. I shouldn't even call this love,
I think it's love and I think you're just in it for a ****. Writing
poems about you is "hard" because I can't admit
what I can't bring myself to say out loud. You told me your secrets
and I swallowed the seeds, letting your admissions
bloom inside of me.
How could I have been so stupid? I should have known
you would plant a garden just to leave.
Girls made of gardens wither without affection
I must not be your favorite flower. I don't think I ever was
but you keep coming around just to see my petals unfold
every spring and I let you leave dew drops all over me

We've done this before. Lines and rows of blooming pinks and red,
scratches, finger prints, bruises, hickeys, marks that fade
after a few days. No matter how many days it's been, weeks, months
we find our way back to the patch of wildflowers
where we first decided to make love.
There will always be changes to the scenery and
I can't think of anyone else that I would plant myself anywhere with.
One of us is always leaving but somehow the wind blows us back home.

I'm not religious anymore but the Ten Commandments
seared inside of my psyche flash
before my eyes and I hear myself repeating
"Thou shalt have no other gods before me"
while I make myself ****** to the pictures you sent me. One night,
I wrote everything about you that I idolized in big letters on lined paper
and ripped it into squares. I twisted the paper bits
into your godly shape and whispered
your name as I dropped you into a floral candle and let the flame
eat your tiny body. Have you ever felt crazy?
Have you ever been so in love that it makes you crazy?
Until you've made a lover into an effigy
and tried to force your passion for them to rest
by cremating their paper remains
I don't know if you understand how close love and crazy really are.

I swear. I swear, I'm done.

But I'm not done. I pretend to forget
the way your name feels for a while, I pretend to idolize
other things but when you appear
uninvited to my dreams I can't forget the things I've seen. You kiss
my forehead as midday sun
settles on my skin and a garden of roses
start to bud where you've planted love. You pick the most precious one
and when you cut the stem I **** awake, facing the candle
where I tried to destroy what I thought of you. I don't know
why I see you everywhere and I don't know why
I keep asking questions that I'll never have the answers to.

Once you're actually here my laugh bubbles
from my throat and chrysanthemums and lilacs and daisies
fly out. When you kiss me I swear I feel ivy
entwining itself into my hair and my eyelashes grow tuberose.
I bloom with you and when you leave I become winter, waiting for you
to tend me. Every day with you is spring
and I know exactly how fast the seasons change. "Thou shalt not covet"
but god, I want you
I want you to trust me with everything and I want you to sow more seeds.
I can't tell you the last time I read my bible,
I thought it didn't have a hold over me anymore but I want you
to choose me and I don't want
to feel like I'm setting myself up for heartbreak anymore.

I've been thinking
about touching you
for so long
And now that I am
it feels euphoric

Your skin,
as soft as
I remember it

I melt into your words. I catch the flame
flickering on my bookshelf
where I burned your likeness and look into your eyes
flashing my most devilish smile.
You're back in my room and you've covered my body with sticky honeysuckles
and forget-me-nots. You, imperfect as anyone else but I see you
like you're some walking god. You, human as me. Your hands
left prints of hibiscus on my skin and when you leave
I open my diary to the page where I pressed cherry blossoms and maple
leaves and they fall as I write about how happy I am to see you.

"I just don't think that men like you like women like me who have moonstone eyes and crazy day dreams, women who dot their poems with inky pearl tears, pressed poplar leaves and, well, I wanted to write you a poem but I can’t think of any creative words. I want you to read how beautiful you make me, how your eyes drink me in, how I overflow for you. I want you to feel the conflict in my heart... so rarely that I see you but every time we reunite we are even better than the last. I don't know if you want to read it but I want to write you a poem. I want to write you a poem that makes you cringe because I write with honesty. I want you to feel the rhythm of my words the way we feel the rhythm of our bodies. You should be happy to inspire someone’s poetry. You, you don’t love me. And that’s fine, because I’ll always look back at you and see sunshine streams on your skin."

My room is all white and pink, floral print and my African violet.
You look perfect in the rosy glow
of my feminine sanctuary and I feel so appealing,
I trust you enough to show you everything, I say, luxuriating the words in the sunlight.
I want to absorb this moment to keep me warm. When I lay alone
thinking of drifting to sleep in your arms, it is this moment
with you around me,
the way you kiss my face like I mean something to you
and this is the place I go, when I swear
all of this means nothing to you. Doesn't everyone want to feel home?
Maybe I think being with you feels like the kind of home
with a nice garden I want to live in. Maybe you feel it too.

Maybe I'm reading too far into everything
and not saying enough of anything
maybe both of us say nothing hoping the other will
be the one to admit the feeling
but you, as soon as you leave and I tell myself I’m done. Swearing
I've burned up the last of you, I’ll never do it again.

I can't stop thinking about you

And I'm back thinking about you, too.
Word *****
Kagey Sage Dec 2013
Effigy girl waits
naked amidst foggy jungles
Not waiting for me

Lovely roadside woods
would be ever so more peaceful
without a road near

Effigy girl smiled
at me ounce and everyone else
I only smiled at her

Haiku marshmallow
Easy to swallow, easy to chew
O haiku, *******
Hida Abbad May 2014
If they made Holy Scriptures out of our deeds
How many would we put on display for everyone to read?
When Bani Israel was frozen in time
within divine words,
they did not know
they would become timeless lessons
for generations to come.
Not the liar when he told his last lie,
nor the careless while laughing at the cow,
not even the pious while he raised his staff.
Yet today, we read their stories
With heedless hearts ,
forgetting that we too will be written
in pages heavier than stones
on scales worth more than mountains of gold.
So, why do we pretend that our time is infinite?
As though tic tocs were nothing but melodious beats
synchronized to our pulse.

wal Asr
And by time
Innal Insana la fikhusr
Verily mankind is at loss

How can we not think of yesterday as an effigy,
And tomorrow’s uncertainty as a form of art?
We are artists.
And when our hair strands start to reflect the silver moonlight
When our eyes start telling century old stories
When our joints start pleading with time
Will we then finally ask ourselves:
What will there be left of us?
or mere copies?
From the collection - My faith
Frank Ruland May 2014
WAR! What is it good for? Pretty much ******* everything if you take into account your freedom. Get off it, you ******* hippies. I mean, except for abolishing slavery, ******, communism, and fascism, it's hardly accomplished anything. Go over to Iraq right now, find an insurgent, offer him flowers and a joint. Just see if be doesn't blow a hole clean through your head with his AK47. Every one of your skull fragments strewn across those bloodied sands would've been another reason why we have men across the globe, ready to put themselves on the line. Not saying I'm a warmonger that's looking to go waving my gun around just to make an impression, but there are people out there with agendas that include wiping your mug off the face of the Earth. And a lot of those times, those people don't understand anything other than violence. When you have tyrants that are all too willing to to douse their own people in mustard gas, I think that warrants some opposition. Who else is going to stand up to tyrants when they disallow their people freedom of speech or any access to the outside world? When you have narcissistic modern-day Caligulas running around, trying to annihilate an entire race  and call it a cleansing, what are you going to do? Write the ******* a concerned letter and hope he'll be your pen pal? You know, just for ***** and giggles, I'd actually like to see how that'd turn out. Maybe ******'s heart would've grown three sizes that's day and the Holocaust would've been stopped dead in its tracks. Hell, why don't we send Al-Qaeda invites to a peace conference at Burning Man? I'm sure they wouldn't turn your sorry ***** into effigies of the main attraction with a rocket propelled grenade. I'm sorry-- I'm being facetious. You go right ahead and protest our soldiers. I'm sure they love fighting off drives of militants with dreams of eradicating your families, just to come home to their own people picketing them with scolding signs. After all, it's not like they're fighting to uphold the ideas of our ancestors or anything. We're handed freedom, just like when our country's forefathers decided Great Britain wasn't so great anymore and wanted to go hang a foreign flag somewhere else. God almighty... Who are you that you do not know your history? Surely, someone who thinks that war gets us nowhere.

— The End —