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Tom McCone Jan 2016
last time, before i
slept, i felt the huge vast
emptying of the housing
of myself. the
feel of melatonin, shape
of space too impossible
to occupy. coalescing thoughts
as a pearl bound in ring of
starlight.
and i rolled out of my body
& stepped acres
& came alight beside the
porching of your own,
and, in whatever moment's motion
you were carried through, i
saw
faint blue, pulse in your neck,
and lay my hand on your cheek,
and was happy
a lasting moment
until i didn't exist.
Katherine Laslie Nov 2015
I am the sly fox
Sacred and misleading

My spirit,
You worship
A treasured diety

Beautiful, though I am
I am horrible within
Tread carefully
Treat me with care
Or ignore me, if you so dare

I am the sly fox
Colorful and cruel
Loyal, though I am
Don't ever take me for a fool

My spirit
Is in the air
I can hear you
Anywhere
Don't underestimate
A wild fox
That can't be tamed

We are born to destroy
For, destruction flows through
Our veins

Be ever wary
Stay alert
Keep your voices
Hushed and unheard
The sly fox
Is on the loose
And knows of no boundary
MsAmendable Nov 2015
Quick step, step
Paw,
Sashay
Dicing steps,
Sleek,
Low to the ground,
Prancing, Sly gances
Creeping slowly, belly stirring leaves
Swaying
Stumbling
And moving on
Sydney Queen Nov 2015
I miss you in the mornings
when you teach the foxes to dance,
barefoot and all a trick of the light.
You are peculiar,
though all the best things are.
We may not break the bone,
but we do drink the marrow.
Yes, you say.
Wait for me, if nothing else.
Yes,
though I see how it pains you to admit it,
to spit it, to rip it out,
in spite of it being true.
You, whose only weapon is a shield.
You, who are free.
It is easy to forget
that Dionysus was the god of chaos,
too,
and that theres a bit of him in all of us.
We don't have to move the mountain.
We can live in the caves
and learn to be less real than we are.
We say new things in an old language.
The enemy ships land,
and we join them on the beach,
spinning round their fires,
singing war songs to each other's reaching hands.
How strange to be a part of something
and still be your own.
do i ever not reference greek mythology.
b for short Oct 2015
Today I learned that
red lipstick makes me a fox.
Foxier, that is.
© Bitsy Sanders, October 2015
Tom McCone Sep 2015
Wish i knew what to say or how to lift weight but remember, you are as you think. and i know it's hard, sometimes, to see the light that casts shade seemingly everywhere, but it can be as simple as turning eyes to the great warmth floating up on the sky and knowin' life is a joke if you make it through laughing, right?
we skim, as so many stones, on an endless pond's vague and indifferent face, more directions to feel than anyone can see, and lay, cold n warm, in alternate takes. but time continues inerrant, and the world slips through the sheets of everything, as always. through the bent sheathes, somehow, i felt the great warmth: now, not the cardboard circle in the sky, but inset, on firm land, lapping in waves, far over and under each depth; right down to the last, misery, where sometimes i sit and wait, knowing you visit, too.
so keep lifting yr lips and
  tryin' to swim, and
i'll do the same,
                      okay?
promise
Heals tapping on the
Hard
Wooden floor creaking
Under the weight
Of time and weather like
The wind and steam
Of the machine in
The caffeine dream
Of the woman inside
The cup
Slowly burning my lips
At every breath taking sip
The words slip away
Coffee Fox is an actual coffee shop in Savannah GA
V Aug 2015
There was once a fox, a fox whose name had gone unknown, but nevertheless was in truth all on its own.
With a pelt of fire and auburn, and eyes deep and serious,  it was no doubt why so many considered the fox "mysterious".
Yet, this tale is different, and I will tell you why, this fox was not like the rest, he sought to be like the wolves- twas' no lie.

He envied their beauty, their ability and strength, in fact his admiration went on to a fractured great length.
He would try to howl and change his stature- hell even his look, it was a matter of great indifference, but try as he might- no matter how long it took.

In time, after so much effort he took to the wolf, they welcomed him and never knew his story, pride and arrogance he was engulfed.
He followed and lived as one for the while he was deceived, but after all the time had past, disgust and mockery from all other animals was what he received.

It was only when the wolves outwitted him and made him a fool, that they chased him and slandered him, oh, the treatment had been cruel.
Now the fox understood why animals each held their own class and identity, when he realized then why he was meant to be.

A fox he was and would always stay, to the start of his life to the finish of his decay. Yet, he was reminded of why foxes were special, it was because they were no one else; it was stupid to compare, whether it be lion or mouse.  He saw beauty in an idol of its own, he became so mesmerized and driven, that even his heart he disowned. He saw no beauty in himself, when really all others did, that now his respect and dignity was so pitifully dead.

Though he admired the wolves and tried to seek them without end, let it be known fame and popularity is a horrid trend. So there are others greater and have more to do, but have you ever considered they may wish to be you?

Like the fox who wanted to be a wolf,  but in time fell too much in greed, be careful of the lies you choose to follow and take heed! Because not every beautiful face is as kind and free, be happy you are You and can declare "I am me."


A poem that had been in my heart for a long time, but took much time to understand it's true meaning as to why I was writing it-and how personally, it would mean to me.
I hope you find a meaning of your own as I did. <3
Tom McCone Aug 2015
i breathe out & the world is calm. we are standing waves in the sea. i am a long distance, a collection of lip movements, and all associated aches. you were a fleck of snow i barely even saw, and the ensuing onslaught of winter. plans turn around, often; we stick no closer to 'em than our moralities- i knew what i believed, just some other day: i believed i could roll out of the feeling of wakelessness that i'd thought you endowed upon my eyelids. you were prying them open, though, and i was the one at force. "sleep, my fears and doubts", i would call to myself -round midnight- "sleep and you may escape, or somehow come closer to what you're not sure if you seek".

but my plans, moralities and i, all ambiguous at best, changed. i can't pinpoint why. you said "maybe you can smell my dying, from all that way" i said i hoped not, that i could sense you but you just couldn't tell you were flourishing.

in the heat, i would make out daydreams like dialogue, spread sense like contrails: seemingly cohesive monuments to my bearing, left out to dissipate. snowfields on sunlit afternoons. but you, you you you you you, you stay heavy-stuck to the ground through cycling seasons. variation, only nondecreasing patterns in my everyday thought. inconsistence, only meaningful or meaningless. no pain, just ache all the same.

finally, in month's transitions, i found meaning (or its absence) and realised each was a facet of the other. that all facets were tiny jewels, set into the world, puzzle-piece mirrors set just. right., to reflect the gleaming bright pearl inset upon the other side of our tiny universe, each light another stroke of your portraiture, and i found longing: to find the unknown, through all things ordinary.

and you were, at once, more than a question-mark and the statement of my circles through days. you were the taste of waking, without sharp slice of reality. you were a mirror, hung in front of i, also reflecting; and i saw eternity unfold in us each. you were, and are still, peace on the shoreline. and i was, and am still, drowning, but i can make out sand on the horizonline.

so, i'll just keep afloat, if you can do the same.
so, i just won't go changin',
shine brighter with each passing day.
smile.
Invocation Jul 2015
Monkey, Climb me, I am Mother Mountain.
Crawl over my surface, climb my trees and pick my flowers.
Sleep in my shadow, lie on my face and kiss the sun.
grow as you ascend.
Stumble into my streams and praise the sky for the clear water's tickle on your hot skin.
whisper to my wind and be still: the trees respond like lost kings.
The peak shall be your glorious fulfillment and we can pray together as the sun jumps and falls over many oceans.
Wild Fox Mountain journey calls
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