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ankle deep
I strode
through the memory
through the horror, of waking

up, from the depths of my knowing,
into the realms of my understanding,
conjuring tempests of fear
my heart
wailed in terror
ankles snagging every root
I was snared,
sneering
snapping at the world
hoping I'd find the sense of peace
where your innocence was lost
where your heart bled alone,
in the wildernesses, of time

the crossroad
was empty
but surrounding
were the totems
wolf head, vulture head
rat head, fox head
python head, jaguar head
hanging from their maws
the souls of the dead
and there,
your soul
betwixt the union
our destiny
our annulled embrace
I bore my soul for yours
risked my eternity to be the raft of your own
to be your driftwood
your belly of the whale,
your captain of survival
your eagle o'er head, watching for danger

and yet,
truly you were my savior
how your kiss was never on my lips
but in my heart
in my thoughts you loved me like no other
strode me as a victor
winning my honor with your passions
tempting me with dreams of moons
where honey flows thick as melon dew
cream of the gourd,
pouring into your womb, your sacred desires
your arid climes of keeping
burrowing into your hollow trunk
into your belly, nourishing your will to hold me
to tame my fears of abandon
and trust my every touch,
running down your cheek with a feather's grace
my finger tracing the goosebumps you can't hide
the embarrassment of pleasures simple
yet overwhelming
gentle... yet deep

I touch you in my heart as a promise
a lover's wish that you live eternally
that we may meet in paradise
for, in this life, I never knew you
never held you

I will never
make love to you,
but,
I've filled your immotal womb with my doweries
storing every day we'd spend together
in a perfect life,
where, if we'd only saved each other,
from the monsoon
that swelled in the cascade,
the tearfall,
of the knowing
that we never said,

"I do."
I wrote this with a woman in mind.

Someone who has been one of the few women I've admired in my life whose personal glow, seductive charm, ****** allure, artistic spirit, and celebratory persona has captivated me repetitively, although I only know her as a model and acquaintance, not a close friend.

With my health as it's been for so long, and my sociability being at an all-time love, I've been single for the past 14 years and celibate for the past 5 years.

Being a fan of women only, who provide their services as purveyors of digital, ****** indulgences, has been my only means of keeping to myself and not suffering the ache of venturing to sail the seas of dating that have, truly in my time, convinced me never end well and never shall as I'm decidedly, and experientially, undatable.

I've come to a point of acceptance on the matter, and to no longer feel shame that I'm definitively incompatible with most if not all partners past, present, and future.

The most pressing reasons are firstly my financial and vocational spirits, talents, opportunities, and experiences, that are virtually impossible to pursue nor entertain any longer in my life as I have had it with persisting either as an artist or as a 9-to-5 employee of any business or institution; secondly, I am, sad to say, wholly committed to being euthanized, but cannot afford it, and it is regardless illegal in most territories in the United States, except under the strictest conditions of physical ailments that are terminal, which is ethical, and a surefire safeguard against medical malpractices, but not realistic for people like me whom, I believe, have legitimate concerns of wellbeing, quality of life, and ultimately, are sufferers of having no will to live to sustain ourselves and consciously bear the passage of life.

Like Frodo Baggins, in the Lord of the Rings, I feel that call and that pull to be away from life. To travel away. But there is not "traveling away" from life.
There is bearing its passage until death. And so, I see not other means of existing but bearing out however I may survive until my mortal coil expires.

So, in my deepest of heavens, where I sustain my wills to romance in my mind, heart, and soul, the woman to whom I dedicate this poem is someone of a true inspiration to me, and one of two whom I've written poems for, of this like, which can be found on this site.

I have no sense in me of ever truly wishing to be with this woman.
Her life is complicated, and far from my relativistic reality of experiences.
I doubt we could ever see eye-to-eye or get along long-term.
I wish that were not the case. Regardless, I hold her in high regard as somewhat of a light to me. Someone who lit a fire in my soul that never quenches, and never fails to illuminate my mind with the breath of love, romance, inspiration, courage, and peace.

Yet, this same woman is also someone through whom I've seen, felt, and feared the deepest terrors, visions, and heartaches of unrequited, forbidden, doomed, self-destructive, and tragic love made manifest in our unity.

I know not if that is true, or if it is truly, rather, my sense of living a nightmare, separate from her and my pining, that tinges my experience of her with dread because I am an inferior man, truly, in the face of any kind of meeting with her, and I'm terrified, not only being lesser than her in stature, experience, maturity, and having established a survivability in this world, but I also fear how free, and dangerous, she is, and that danger, that freedom, is something I would never afford myself the love of.

I could never love someone that free and dangerous because love doesn't survive in those stressful climates borne in her promiscuous lifestyles of heart, body, and mind. I could never imagine marrying her, having children with her, living together with fidelity and honor, and truly making every effort to value each other with the eternal heart of God as our footing in our time together.

And so, truly, I see myself wounded in finding my heart so willing to be open to her, but to closed to the experience of what I imagine is certain, undeniable, and fatal pain that would end our union as powerfully as it could ever have begun were it to have become a union made real.

Despite all the omens in my purview, eclipsed by all the potential holy revelations of love beyond imagining with her, I see her as an elixir of beauty, forging ever anew in my heart every day I wake and think of her - someone I don't know and haven't spoken to in over a year, but still treasure in my heart in a way she could never understand or know.

Several months ago, she moved to a city nearby, and in the passage of her arrival, an earthquake happened on the eastern seaboard spanning from her city across to mine.

She truly is someone who rocked my world, but I don't know whether she bodes well for me, or is the source of harsh, perishing, and punishing lessons for me to wake up and learn that love is not a dream for common men, it is a war for the hearts of lovers that cannot be waged without the sums, strengths, tethers, measures, and weights of power, wisdom, and truth worthy of defending that love, be that love holy, and Of God.

Regardless, I pray she remains well. And she is always in my heart, but going forward, perhaps more in my prayers. She is an angel to me, but in the sense of being an evoker of passions, not of faith and fidelity, which is where I find my boundaries and safeguard planted, fortifying me for when she is someone of a heart, mind, and soul alike to mine.

As always, enjoy...

DEW
Bitcoin is my lifeboat
In the midst of raging waves
Specifically designed
As a tool that builds and saves

Bitcoin is my harbor
For the value that I earn
Secure and well protected
Once I take the time to learn

Bitcoin is my lighthouse
Marking where the dangers lie
And showing me the benefits
Of a firm and fixed supply

Bitcoin is my anchor
Giving focus to my days
Improving daily habits
In so many helpful ways

Bitcoin is my haven
As I rest in nightly sleep
And plan for many years
With the funds I safely keep
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery104BitcoinIsMyLifeboat.html
Anais Vionet Apr 25
Sunrise was just a red line in the inky void, as Lisa and I reached the harbor decking stairs,
but at once, the brazen slash began widening, like a silent, slow motion explosion,  
thin, smoky wisps of cloud, like flammable tissue, prismed the stage light ignition.

bee-de-deep my phone chirped. It was Peter (my bf).
“Hey you,” I pronounced, as Lisa took off her left sneaker and shook it, upside-down.  
“How’s the harbor?” Peter asked. I glanced at my watch, it was 5:32 am in New Haven.
Peter must be at lunch (in Geneva) and tracking our morning run with the ‘Find My’ app.
“Beautiful,” I pronounced, “they’re really putting on a show.”
Of course, I meant the universe, the sun, the turns who were already at work, and Long Island Sound.
The gulls, perched on whatever, and grousing at each other, obviously haven’t had their coffee.
I read that AI had decoded bird talk and on a wire, they chittered, “Move over, you’re in my space.”

“Just wanted to say good morning,” Peter confessed, “Good Morning.”
“Good morning,” I wished back, “gotta go,” I replied, Lisa had finished de-pebbling her shoe.
“Yep,” Peter agreed, “Seee ya,” he quipped. “See ya,” I chuckled, smiling.
My watch asked, in my Air Podded ears, “Have you finished your workout?” because I was motionless.
I pressed the crown of my watch and slid the phone back in my pocket, our jogg’s only half done.

We began our harbor exodus, by turning our backs to the haven. It was already beginning to busy with boats.
We slipped on our hats and protective, polarized sunglasses as we began to run directly into the blazing sun.
.
.
Songs for this:
Sail on Sailor by the Beach Boys
Dancing in the moonlight by Toploader
Cold Heart - PNAU Remix by Elton John, Dua Lipa, PNAU
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Exodus: a departure or in the bible, a mass emigration situation.
kate Feb 9
god forbid, but there's no way to deny it. juliet's family had perfected the art of chaos. it was not just a mere event, but it was their way of life.

mornings turn into a journey of walking on a maze of landmines. and family dinners were an event to behold. the white wheat of rice flew like confetti, pieces of vegetables and fruits ricocheted like bullets, and her cats were forever in fear of an imminent earthquake.
god forbid, but she couldn't just escape the relentless storm from her family. if you asked her to define what's normal, she'd probably draw you a sketch of a random line and label it "home sweet home".

juliet yearned for an escape like a sailor lost in an ocean, longing for the calming waves of the sea. each day felt like a battle against the tide of noise. she'd die for silence, for a moment to collect her thoughts without interruption. her room, once her sanctuary, had actually become a battleground of noise. her favorite songs blared through the walls, while her favorite video game conquests echoed like a distant thunder. it felt like a castaway on her own island, drowned and surrounded by a sea of hurls.

desperately seeking a haven of solitude, the constant waves that took her, leaving her like a mere shell of who she once was, part of her, hoped for a place— a place that she could call her home.
can't think of a title lol
Anais Vionet Jan 6
It’s going to snow tonight. It seems the brick shoulders of Elm Street will ooze, like watery eggnog, with a light snow tonight and we’re twitching with delight.

The vibes of it are too much and sure, it will just turn to slush, but you know how romance twists reality - snow seems laced with pageantry.

After two snowless winters the light dribbling, like a flirty look or a stolen kiss, will be exciting.

When I chose Yale, I was promised - ok threatened with - cruel winter weather.

I’m going to dance however I want, and if I commit to cruelty, I’ll accept it with all of its honest challenges. That cruel weather never materialized.

We returned to New Haven yesterday to be here - for the snow. Earlier, the wind was blowing in from the sea - but hurray! That’s changed.
Jellyfish Oct 2023
When I have no where left to go
I come back to this blog where I feel known.
I type for hours, and don't expect flowers
This page is comfortable, it fits my tone.

If you trace my journey from the start,
There's tears in many moments; a piece of my heart
Years may have passed, but in every part,
Words have been my solace, a work of art.

In this digital haven, where stories are sown,
I've found my refuge, a place to be shown.
Amongst kindred spirits, I've truly grown,
In pixels and text, my feelings flow
Thanks for always being here He,Po
N Jun 2022
My dear, I am writing you from the depths of my solitude, to ease your worried heart and mind. Loneliness has been gnawing at my terrified flesh as of late. Yet, my only wish is to remain alone. Unseen and untouched. I think this is pure joy, or the illusion of it. But I am content at this very moment. I promise.

You might think that I am slowly sinking. That I will soon reach the bottom of the ocean, and you fear it is too dark and solitary there. That I might not survive my own madness— not this time, not by myself. That I cannot swim nor do I intend to learn how to. That I willingly gave my body to Poseidon as a peace offering. That I finally made my peace— not with God, but with a god nonetheless. That I am all swallowed up. That I will not see you again. That I will die lamenting your forgotten smile. That Azrael, the angel of death, weeps over my doom. That I have died long ago—
But how can a corpse feel such emotions?
How do I tell my stubborn heart that it is not beating for you any longer?
How do I comfort my frantic soul by lulling it to an eternal sleep?
—And if so then tell me, my dearest one, don’t I deserve serenity, too? After burning for a decade, yearning for a safe haven. Do you think I finally deserve to rest?
Heidi Werner Jan 2022
I have memories
Of lying down in the backyard
Of my childhood home
Dressed in a hug
Parka, snow bibs, and gloves a size too big
The world had grown completely silent
All my fears held back
By a curtain of snowflakes

Sometimes
when the world is too loud
And everything is a little too much
My mind will wander off
To a snowy neighborhood
At night
In a small town

Often times this mental space
holds only darkness
All my developmental flaws
Packed away in moving boxes
Thick black smoke seeps between the cracks
Of pristine cardboard and plastic
Being loaded onto a truck
A size too small

It’s funny
That house never felt like a home
But sometimes
When the world was wrapped
In a blanket of snow
I felt peace and warmth
Out in the cold
Written while discussing liminal space and safe haven. Where do you find moments of soul haven?
Lily Sep 2021
I was sixteen when the machines came.
The letters “C-A-T” screamed at me from across the street
As the harsh yellow tore at the roots of the
Cherry trees across the street.
Of course the orchard had never been mine,
I had not planted the seeds and curated the
Beautiful blooms through their short lives,
Picked the cherries off the trees myself.
But what about all the photoshoots I’d done
Among the gorgeous white blooms,
All the times my friend had walked through
The rows of trees to get to my house and
Left paint splatters of cherries across the kitchen floor,
All the sunsets I’d seen through the leaves
That made me nostalgic for things
I had never experienced?
What if I’m growing up and moving out
And can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that
These plants that have smiled at me from my
Window for over a decade have returned
To the Earth?
What if these days the
Weeks are crying when they should be glowing and
The absence of trees is simply the target of
One of those odd tricks that sorrow shoots out of the mind
That remind me that change is the only thing that’s
Permanent?
I wish that the emptiness of the field could be replaced by
Happy little white blooms
But instead the CAT machines screech and moan
And all I can feel is
The ache of old nostalgia and the
Peculiar nostalgia of the unknown.
a reworking of "I can now see beyond the cherry orchard" from almost two years ago!  Time flies when you're having fun, right? :)
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