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island poet Aug 26
pick a word, let it lead you astray, then (soil)

a poem to exclaim, refracting the sun rays emerging
from the curves of your chested heart, the waggle of
ten fingers conducting your inner song, the baton first
waved swipe to earth pointing, let us commence there:

think of yourself, entirety, as soil, you the potter,
what has been planted by others, nourished by others,
along sides of your ingestions, you the grower, seeded
anew, each word, hybrid edging with existing vocabularies

the sun from without, the sun from within, the rivulets
of water, the arterial pathways, feed the treasure chest,
and you, farmer, planter, grower, picker, plucker of the
produce, serve us, baskets grown on the fruited plain of

poems’ soil consisting of the writings grown in the
unique you,
all of you,
body & soul
I feel her stir and stroke her hand.
My plan is to sedate her, gently bait her to sleep,
Just a while longer, to somewhere deep,
Where she can keep to her dreams and in those dreams recede.

The seams of this island
Are too fragile for her agile hands.
When she wakes, she shakes mountains,
And tangles the sky by the locks of her hair.
And sighs of rain—alert, at her thunderous applause—
May as well be daggers for the damage they cause.
We’d barely survived her, so I now lay beside her.
I wrap her in lullabies, so life may thrive despite her.

I feel her stir, and stroke her hand.
There was only ever this feeble plan.
The seas are calm; it’s barely dawn.
I hold my breath and she slumbers on.
This poem was written after Hurricane María  ravaged Puerto Rico in 2017. It denotes my fruitless desperation to control the uncontrollable. It's one of my first.. I hope you enjoy it.
Kagey Sage Aug 17
Let's pretend we can enjoy the world's decadence
like the oblivious do
Let's do chaos magick
to make our dreams come true
and grow closer together as
the monkey claw closes too soon
and we sit on a pile of
decade old what-if situations
stamped down by unintended consequences
Let's cash in our paltry spoils
and toast to loving fate
Here's to staying together
just for the story
We used to say: predictable, finally
Now we're thinking: routine, help me
The wheel's spinning so fast
it's a blur
We're shamans of samsara
cautioning against becoming gods
Fear change
but can you please spare some?
I forestalled enlightenment
just to help you all become
one mushy blob
and now I'm bored

I'm not uptight  
I'm just a bodhisattva
waiting to die so I can leave this world
Wish someone would just give me some spoiled food
so I'll be done for good

When life gives you rotten produce
make banana ***
'Cause it's no use sitting
and ******* about
how our world isn't another one
Drink up
store extra slurp in your tum
Make society so no one's starving
and the kids can have some fun

­**** your pie factories in the clouds
Bulldoze churches to build parks and playgrounds
Make it illegal for stores to throw food in dumpsters
just so some homeless guy will learn
how to fish in a desert sandstorm
caused by industrial emissions
that our overlords refuse to pick up
themselves or even pay the bill for

You bamboozled fools
just want to watch subliminal *****
on your shiny screens
all to trick you into drinking the
venomous ***** milk from plastic straws
It's all the slaw that the marketers peddle
Indecipherable hacked bits
your mind fractionalized
and trained to keep coming back to bliss
The endorphin kick of these brainwashing clips
Can't read anymore cause I got
a worse attention span than a goldfish
Me and Skipper tried to save the Minnow
but she was no match
for the ocean
Now we're stuck on an island
where we don't even consider
the headhunters human

I forgot what we ought to do
I keep ******* up the signal fires
and coconut powered sonar systems
'Cause I look all around
and all I wanna do is clock the Professor
cause we're fighting over Ginger
It doesn't take a brain surgeon
to season your oil
and if you forget
the vegetarian oyster sauce
can it even still be considered a stir fry, smart guy?

**** it
let's just eat the octogenarian and his wife
'cause I read a study that said
the rich would willingly give up their life
for the economy
Last I checked, sand dollars aren't tasty
so your bone marrow's much more valuable
than your bullion and Nasdaq arrows
Ssoho Aug 13
Battled chrome
I see the eyes of a man who is a ghost
The tears of a man who cannot escape
The past of the future
That has changed
The hours that deviated from the 24
It belonged to
In this place
Time is but a burden
Scars are just a reminder
Of the triumphs that never fully grew
Kissing the chrome
I see no one
I knew before

IG @faithovrdiamonds
Lyn-Purcell Aug 5

Distant Fortune's Isle
Stars glints the dark one's eyes
Wind brings silver dew

New day, new haiku!
Hard to be believe that this is my 940th poem, haha!
Anywho, keeping with the Pleiades aka the Seven Sisters, this one is for Celaeno. She is also known to be a wife of Posideon and bore him children, Lycus and Eurypylus, and ruled over the Isle of the Fortunate, a
isle reserved only for those were supposedly reincarnated three times. They were deemed pure enough to be accepted into Elysian.
Just two more Pleiades to go!
Anyway, thank you all for growing followers, I'm forever humbled and grateful for the support🙏🌹💜
Here's the link for the growing collection:
Be back tomorrow with another one!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
rosie Jul 7
it was a purgatory
sins were to be forgiven.
the island wanted them to
"remember and let go"
letting go was the final step

no, Jack, you never left the island
we never left...

we moved on.
based off the show "Lost"

"see ya in another life, brother"
Nat Lipstadt Jun 18
once again the fog draws me in,
speaking fog soft,
“of me, of me, you must,”
so write-birthing,
I am mustered out,
so ordered.

This fog is personal, in your face, changing by
masking/unmasking street and bay, slow burning,
this one, revealing a tableau, like a theater curtain
rising to audience applause for the set before them,
so unexpected, eye-delighting, pleasuring perspective.

why should you care? what matters this to you?

your fog likely little different, in the Cascades,
Everest, the California coastline morning burning off,
not costing anyone’s life, the Blue Ridges smoking meats,
the Quatse River saying, follow me to the Alaska glaciers,
(in the Midwest, some states, use rivers as boundaries,
so they like the fog to keep the ‘neighbors’ on the other side),
the twin Ghats, or mourning steam rising from the Ganges,
or the Zambales Mountains, guarding Manila Bay entrance,

all mine, here too, so slow retreating, gifting a quiet, wider
bay vista tween two islands, one Long, one sheltered.

so wrong, it matters so, none beyond compare!

these mountain or river comparison, white or gray,
listen friend, look closer, see my face, my words
fogging your soul’s view, full of carryover affection,
so deep, they borrow West Virginia coal miner~heroes
to dig it out, a different kind of mining,

so it is here, I see your multi-colored faces like
light flickers shedding clarity to these troubled times,
troubled waters, saying here we are, we are!

we here, outside your window, on waters calming,
see us dancing, but it’s so hard for me spot you in
the mists, for mine eyes are clouded, misted over too,
glasses fogged now, **** these **** tears.
Jun 18th
Year of the Mask
You know where...

Eugene O'Neill

“The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. You’d never know it was here. Or any of the other places down the avenue. I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted—to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. It felt ****** peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost.”

― Eugene O'Neill, Long Day's Journey into Night
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