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She was fierce.
She was wild and night-time.
A heart so gigantic
she could paint a picture world-wide.
Her style was her own.
Her spirit is unchained.
Liberated running away from society
touching the earth with her bare feet,
it embraced her soul,
leaving her breathless and carefree.
A natural and appearing
like a field of flowers,
bright and magical.
She was a kaleidoscope of colors
living enchantingly under the moon at night,
and cheerfully in the sun
with its radiance and light.
CC Feb 26
The crushed night sky with foliage deep within it seems like a troubled place to sleep underneath
A nomad's roof is bare and unseen with the wasted moon of every earth
Why warily waste away the sweetened caress of each breeze?
Wondering when we will wind up binding our hands around the trees
Freckles on each cheek like stardust upon the brow of Zeus
Sleep is a journey you will reach despite the torrid jungle of your mind
The treasure that you are burying is a breath for each life you have been reincarnated into
Who can say it is a fault to desire less when riches are a foolish goal?
Around you lay a long-haired grass, your feet barely touch the ground
You must think that the woman fears no predator
To sleep so soundly while she roars
Music is a spiritual tongue,
Find someone to talk to,
Bless us with the revelation,
The sound is huge.

Flying fish fill the sonic space,
A classic romance,
Through and through,
You're beautiful,
You're handsome,
And you're a cad.

Creation has a place for everything,
Life's lesson is surrender, so let it go,
Go with the flow,
Like it as it is,
Push past the fear.

Here we go,
Here we go,
Here we go.

Here we go,
Here we go,
Here we go.
BOOM!
The key to impromptu freestyle music, Writing, art and other things
Lane O Sep 2020
A wildflower bloomed
On the edge of a path.
One scarce of flora,
So I bent down to ask.

"How did you flourish
In soil so lorn?"
Her reply was brief,
But it carried no scorn.

"Oh yes, it's quite odd
To have sprouted here alone,"
Said the gypsy flower,
Amongst gravel and stone.
Jordan Gee Aug 2020
I foot the ladder
I called upon the wheat
I called upon the spaces where only an ibex can stand
I called upon the swollen silence, the space between the keys
I called upon the distended bulb of awkward air that is my usher unto
the people of this world.
I called upon God to change my purpose for me
but all I saw were white shapes in the darkness.
he had sent his heralds with the long horns and bugles
the thrones and cherubim suspended like a women’s pearls about the neck
but i was too deaf and hard of seeing
on what was happening in my day to day
in my aloneness
in my facebook messages
in my bank account.
I thought the die was cast and so
I rode their mercy like an uncut Arabian steed.
I was young and my shadow was a
bad foretelling -
like worms drowning on the pavement-
like an empty soul factory in the bathroom stall.
but I’m on borrowed time like a black cat dream on
the narrows and the cobblestones.
like how a broken broom breaks all gypsy curses,
black cat dreams are never wrong, and
in the deep statecraft of my undoing I’m almost sorry for
what I asked for.
See, there are two of me and they are crowing
I know not which one bodes the ill intent and which one wields the cyanide.
but both are mostly indolent in their listening
to the building of the gallows.
Every breath is a fatality
Every hand full of dirt is a genesis
and I can hear the hangman at the gallows.
Let Justice Be Done, Though The Heavens Fall
and i’ll go see my brother on the water.
halfway up the sky he’ll build eternity outside of time,
and I will foot the ladder.
birds of hollow bone they herald my undoing,
planting white lilies in my heart.
by the building of the gallows I will foot the ladder
sometimes there are only hammers
sometimes all I see are nails.
where is the healing balm in this dreamscape that I invented?
he’s holding sulfur in his death hand.
I looked up and asked him for a bright lantern
I asked him to keep this pen alive and to fix me to his liking
I asked him for a bamboo raft worthy of the rapids.
I told him that when I was in California I was so sad I couldn't see the ocean.
I asked him that if I were to give penance
could he take these tumors in his hands.
all i saw were reflections of him smiling
like long eclipses on comanche moons.
I heard the gears of the clock all grinding but the hands were spinning loose.
I wanted to be home then, but he said I already was. And then he told me:
You are the gallows and the hammers
You are the black cat and broken brooms
You are the pavement and the worms and
the drowning and the nails
You are the lilies and the wheat
You are your brother and his dreaming
You are the cyanide and the birds.
but i’ve so much invested already in the crawling
in and out of beds
that all there is left to do is
foot the ladder till I'm no longer deaf to the horse's mouth,
to the screaming of the diad in their forgetting of their
Oneness
Of their Atonement
Of their dreaming of the dream.
20.Jan.2020
She cometh from afar,
Chanting words of magic.
Singing beautiful songs
Calling out to the spirits

Her powers so glaring
Her voodoo doll by the window
The crystal ball of life
Cards of the future laid in the table

Looking into her eyes,
Seeing the communing of the spirits.
The owl on her roof,
Making scary sounds welcoming the spirits.

Piercing into my soul
A telling of the past and the present
Her reading of fortunes
A telling of the future

The enchantment in the room
The conjuring of spirits
Her performance of black magic
A force of good and evil

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
This poem describes a voodoo gypsy.
K-ROB May 2020
Its nice 2 have someone to care.
You don't just find that anywhere.
You are so kind and sweet,
God meant 4 us 2 meet,
at this moment and time,
and 4 us 2 share our little rhymes.
We will see each other again and when we don't you will always be my friend.
I feel your soul when you speak,
don't hesitate to call if you are feeling weak.
I will be there for you,
for you are one of the many few,
who accepted me for me and
who understands how people really need to be.
Great person, we will hang again - hopefully soon!!!  I think SC is calling my name!
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
This Distance Between Us
by Michael R. Burch

This distance between us,
this vast gulf of remembrance
void of understanding,
sets us apart.

You are so far,
lost child,
weeping for consolation,
so dear to my heart.

Once near to my heart,
though seldom to touch,
now you are foreign,
now you grow faint . . .

like the wayward light of a vagabond star—
obscure, enigmatic.
Is the reveling gypsy
becoming a saint?

Now loneliness,
a broad expanse
—barren, forbidding—
whispers my name.

I, too, am a traveler
down this dark path,
unsure of the footing,
cursing the rain.

I, too, have felt pain,
pain and the ache of passion unfulfilled,
remorse, grief, and all the terrors
of the night.

And how very black
and how bleak my despair . . .
O, where are you, where are you
shining tonight?

Keywords/Tags: distance, gulf, apart, divide, foreign, faint, gypsy, saint, loneliness, broad, expanse, barren, dark, path, black, light, shining
annh Nov 2019
My misgivings hide among the shadows,
In the tangle of long grass along the hedgerow
Between your wide open fields and my cultivated lawn.

Unspoken truths crowd out the spring bulbs,
Now snarled with weeds and thorned with blackberry,
The cobbled pathway which once linked my hope with your promise.

Will you meet me at the gate by the old sycamore tree?
If yes, then bring your dreams, untethered, and the dappled autumn sunshine,
I will bring my careful notions and the soft spring rain.

Prim roses and wild lilac; a velvet ash and sweet chestnuts,
Your gypsy summer, my redbud winter,
Our season, one garden.

‘Nothing is all bad. There are very beautiful flowers in the desert amidst the spikes and thorns. Just don't let them take over. In the garden of love there is little room for prickly things.'
- Kate McGahan

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=09qocOrQZNs
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