Calm before the storm
I've been wondering
Searching a safe space
Shifting my short stay

Near around,
Daydreaming break,
Then,
A walk of infinity
Till,
The time to close those eyes
Comforting the disturbed.
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Being Gypsy
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
E A Spain Feb 3
She won’t hide even though the storm is coming
The clouds try to distort and drown her face
But she’s brightly glowing, remaining sound
She’s my constant and she is peace
She lights our way to say the least
And you’ll look up to her in your sleep
As her waves calm you in the night
She will wane and wander til it’s light
Until all is right within everyone’s heart
Just another day goes by, we won’t always be apart
When the sun seems to stop shining, she’ll find me again
Beaming down with all her love
As if she’s more than a friend


<3
Nateive Son Jan 15
$3 and the click of a mouse
Becomes $390 two months later

No rhyme
No reason
Just belief

In the same way that Manifest Destiny
Drove stragglers and no-no men to the edge of the ocean
Seeking something
I can now call up Japan
Just to say hello

It's amazing
That we're killing ourselves
By being so

Connected.
Who is the greater fool?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SzPnQTpElBw
Sudipta Maity Jan 12
The Gloomy hair river and eyes coal black;
In eclipse of half moon night,
its too quite to wisper.
Vegabond my sleep disappeared.
Light cold winter and my poor love;
the  old blanket which,
I am dyingly search for.
Rambler my sleep turns to subliming.
The dream hives is now break parts,
so i listen to ears, songs of night birds.
Gypsy my sleep fadded wonder.
I wraped my sheet with tight grips;
and she gives her sympathy by mild warming,
saying that you lost your sleep forever.
Where is the words for the pain,
touch of nicotine turn my lips brun.
......Oho my sleep come bake to me,
.....Oho my dream plsease be return.
sleep less night
Johnny Noir Dec 2017
From Prohibition on through the Great War
and into the 50s, the golden age
of stripping started with Minsky’s
and Mae Dix who sucked off black guys in the parlor---
The roaring twenties saw the very heart
of leather and denim rough trade rise from the golden sea,
WWI emerged and gave us Hitler who knew---
Dietrich & Riefenstahl, Hedy Lamarr & Louise Brooks
all were foreseen by Mata Hari et al,
predestined like Greta Garbo
and Bette Davis but the lights of Oz shone bright,
the corona of our Portuguese naked thing;
This thing on the news looks like European football---
Holy Mother of the atomic bomb and Korea,
look about the Ark for dry land
and sea the ancient city of Nippur
rises out of the ashes of the yuppy sun,
In galant fashion we cake-walked to our mother’s ancestral breaths---

The Russian-Futurist girl walks in
and winds the clock
Strippers who began in their teens
in the late twenties-early thirties
kept the new tradition alive
despite Modernists winds
blowing Sara Teasdale down 42nd Street
and right off the block
where she can see Ann Corio
rinse her stockings and
for one dollar she will deliver
you one tight hot nut,
she will not be shallow henceforth---

Victorian strippers were fat
to put it bluntly---
We all want a harem
that eats too much,
Solomon had more than one
horse-faced bitch from the South---
Victorian strippers were hairy
and sweaty as hell,
Their leotards showing off
Their cosmic curves---
I want to be immortal
and go back in time
and fuck whores in their twenties,
Victorians sweaty
and smelly, perfumed
and bathed by the maid, fuck her too,
obviously---
And all before the movies silent or otherwise,
the yarns of heroes that fly
across IMAX screens
in another hundred years---
1917-2017, get it and go to 2117
Where the 21st century strippers go
We know why and how now,
The time-traveling mechanism
Merging singularities
Into a pre-calculated time,
a specific time in her sparrow’s voice,
elegantly fucked by the wormhole,
humid and naked, bitch---

Two, three or more singularities
merging in a coordinated precalculated timespace
altering the quantum time-effect,
what is call normal time,
bending into a single singularity,
if that is at all possible---
Somewhat like a fios cable,
but this is temporal and able to move
forward or backwards through time---
That questions whether one can move sideways in time;
teleport or subjective telekinesis---
Moving internally alters the objective setting,
that is one can travel through time
and space separately and together,
merging into one continuum or stream of time,
or time-frame as you’d have it---


LIGO meets Teasdale
and they fall in love
on the android colony on Mars
at dawn---
Matthew A Cain Nov 2017
If love is a drug than I don't want it.
cause I got a gypsy soul for leaving
and a mothers heart for scars in need of healing

If love is a drug than I don't want it.
Because I got no self control,
An addict mind and habits ages old
Love has always been an intoxicating idea. I recognize that I find corrosive people to satisfy my temporary state of mind. When midnight comes calling and I'm all alone I seek out relationships to keep me high. I seek love but find a cheep substitute drug in the form of infatuation and lust. Most times I can't tell when it's the substitute and when it's the real thing so I simply try and never take the plunge in the first place never take the first hit. I keep everyone at arms distance because I'll never be addicted to the fake thing if I never take a hit. consequently I'll never get that real high and so I die with my extroverted mind driving me insane as I look for connection but can't let anyone in.
Aaron LA Lux Oct 2017
Got that Celebrity Life,
got that “He’s Too Real” type of vibe,
got that you want to have him forever,
but you can’t because it’s “Hi” and “Bye”,

that he moves too quickly like a Gypsy,
that life’s too good somebody pinch me,
that you see him but don’t really know him,
like I’ve heard the name seen the face but who is he,

really,

no time for the drainers,
I’ll ball until on the wall of the Hall of Famers,
if Life’s a Game then I’m all in,
Life to me is what a game is to a Gamer,

dedicated,
tunnel vision,
writing books about all of this,
split decisions,

split screens and wet dreams,
getting rings I get things,
a champion at being a champion,
into inventing things that are inspiring,

even my sadness makes me happy,
can’t bring me down,
and I can’t fully pronounce this city,
but when I’m with my local friends this is my town,

this is our town,
we are local heroes,
make a lot give a lot,
so what yeah I’m a weirdo,

but so is everybody else that’s anybody,
the freaks come out at night and I’m a night owl,
if you know the Mysteries of Life,
then you already know me well,

developed such a relationship,
that strangers act like they know me,
but I guess that’s what happens,
when you’re an underground celebrity,

a celebrity to celebrities,
anybody that’s somebody should know me,
connected to a higher power,
not Austin Powers all real more like Jay Z,

got that Celebrity Life,
got that “He’s Too Real” type of vibe,
got that you want to have him forever,
but you can’t because it’s “Hi” and “Bye”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Brianna Sep 2017
Dancing through the bright and loud New York streets my little gypsy queen floated by with her camera in hand.
Snapping memories here and there she found love around those dirty streets and neon lights.

He tried to grab her waist and pull her in but she was too preoccupied with the memories she was making.
Her hair sparkled like glitter and her smile could make the ice caps melt.

Singing to the beat of the sirens and the moving to the beat of the traffic she weaved in and out of local shops like the complex braids in her hair.

She was the queen of the grungy corner kids waiting for one more cigarette.
She was the goddess of adventure and the muse to all who craved the lust of life.
She was the Gypsy.
She was the Artist.

Dancing through the crowded New York underground, my little gypsy queen was unbelievably and undeniably herself in every way possible.
Niki Elizabeth Sep 2017
The patter of an early evening rainstorm awakens her
and she untangles her sweaty limbs from those of her lover.
The sun has begun to set;
the thrill of adventure calls to her once more.
He begins to stir, awoken by her chaotic movements;
And lazily admires her beauty as she sifts through mounds of overdue laundry,
still smelling of suntan lotion and chlorine,
in search of the perfect shirt.
She’s late, as always,
She can hear her friends are outside in the car -
blasting throwbacks and spilling drinks
as the laugh and scream for her to hurry.
They fly through the night -
windows open letting the cool breeze filter the air thick of smoke and jubilance
All too eager to reach their destination;
moon children growing restless under the stars.
The ocean calls her home and its salty air clears her mind
as flames shoot out of the fire,
crackling and popping in the midnight sky.
Cheers are heard as bottles are passed;
pulling her head back out of the clouds.
Champagne to welcome the sunrise,
whiskey to bid summer adieu.
Daylight begins to break -
she takes one last drag of her cigarette and turns to go.
He’s still sleeping when she arrives,
this time she’s more careful not to wake him when she leaves.
The morning dew on bare feet remind her it’s time to move on -
the mountains are calling her name and to them she would roam;
it was always temporary,
changing with the seasons.
But to him -  
she tasted like skittles,
and she smelled like summer;
one he would never forget.
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