I tried to take a picture
Of everyday I was with you
I tried to take a picture
Of all the happiness you bring

I tried to take a picture
Of the flowers that you sent
The ones that were red
With that very strong scent

I tried to take a picture
Of the day that shined so bright
The way the sun radiated yellow
Giving us its light

I tried to take a picture
Of the nights by the lake
Where we sat in the blackened dark
Smoking getting baked

I tried to take a picture
Of the smile on my face
But I turned the camera around
To hide the clear but staining tears that raced

I tried to take a picture
Of the love around me,dear
But an uncompromising flash burnout
Causes me fear

I tried to take a picture
Of the happiness you bring
But what I captured
Was the truth and its sting

Standing by a crystal lake,
With the surface as still as time,
I gazed into the reflection's soul,
The same time it stared into mine.

As the moon fell down the sky,
As slow as an autumn leaf,
It crept its way into the painting,
Making the two of us feel complete.

A gush of wind suddenly came,
Revealing the fragility of our bond,
Leaving the both of us,
Simple vagabonds.

Conceding, I walk away,
On a path only by me explored,
Whether our fates will ever cross again,
Nor you or I will ever know.

The wind is gushing again,
Disturbing the serenity of willows,
They sing, and sing again,
About the love they just witnessed.

Woke up,
at Lake Balaton,
wrote up,
some words like Babylon,
or rather,
a rant on like the Tower of Babel,
chant down,
Babylon we build up and gather,

or rather,
we collect then scatter,
collect the thoughts,
then write them in patterns,

sort of,
like what prose is,
bitter sweet,
like what a rose is,

smells good,
but has thorns,
stormy seas,
but calm shores,

snore,
no,
sleep,
yes,
wake,
up,
re-,
freshed,

at a resort on a vineyard,
overlooking Lake Balaton,
with a girl who is gorgeous,
that let’s her ball of yarn unravel some,

she says she’s my “substitute,
in other words a replacement,
for the other girl I was going to bring,
with me on this 24 hour vacation,

and at first this sounds like an insult to her,
like she’s just here because the other one couldn’t make it,
but really if she can so easily replace the first girl,
then that means that the first girl was actually basic,

and was easily replaced with,
the new one,
see the first is so last night,
and this new one is so new dawn,

I’m on,
a level seldom reached,
like a secret state of enlightenment,
the type that’s so sacred it’s rarely preached,

enlightenment,
secret,
oh there he goes again with that Illuminati talk,
Jesus,

Jesus,
has nothing to do with this,
the new one is on the balcony dancing,
in the sunshine’s rays she’s beautiful,

the old one is gone now,
has no place in my life at all,
except for on the shelve of Past Memories,
that hangs on the Mind Museum’s wall,

although,

I had had an intense dream about the old one,
I’d dreamt about her Illuminati tattoo,
and we’d made love some of the best love made over,
as if I was Adam and she was the Forbidden Fruit,

ooh,

what’s the truth,
what’s perspective,
what’s the proof,
than any of this ever existed,

what are we doing here,
and how much longer will we be,
why are so many slaves to their own projected fears,
while so few are liberated with love and set truly free?

And this all comes to me like a never ending dream,
as I write this words which come to me in a conscious stream,
as my new love dances outside on this resort’s balcony,
overlooking Lake Balaton which is so big it looks more like the Caspian Sea,

see,

I woke up,
at Lake Balaton,
wrote up,
some words like Babylon,
or rather,
a rant on like the Tower of Babel,
chant down,
Babylon we build up and gather,

or rather,
we collect then scatter,
collect the thoughts,
then write them in patterns…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of the largest collection of poetry in the world.

We cruise rattlesnake bends.

Once in, you
find phantom lakes;
I - a full moon
over mountains of clay.

Sitting at the wooden table
the sun rises to my right
and the mountains become blue
under a grapefruit-shake sky.

My hands are *****. My lips
dry.

we idle on an alluvial shoreline
embracing the snaky lake
like a stash of winsome
our mono-filament minds sliding sideways
when dandelion breeze brushes
the surface waters

this is nature’s sitting area

crescendo of frog castanets
clack beneath thick green
algae hair left for dead

a bird whistles hidden in the oat-ed
bank backdrop while the foot
of the earth falls asleep

stale sun and beer mixes
inside our polyurethane nostrils
and we make a pact
not to leave until
we catch something to plug
the day from draining all its sunshine

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2017

Speak to me thee wet
and lonesome lapping waves
Outrun evaporation of your grave
along this chiseled limestone shore
where you have passed
through distant bygone doors
Across the lake,
where terra cotta porticos
stand tall and dark eyed maidens
wait for men to call
with servant hearts,
and apron strings,
expecting all the good things life might bring
Explain to me the mystery of this place
The air is still; the sun upon my face,
weathering whiskered old men
leathered and tanned
who sell fresh fish from a wooden stand,
pausing to smell the cedars high on the hill
that long for a breath of winters chill
Oh, to be liquid just like you
and stare at it forever
through the eyes of a molecule

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2012

Languid lakes levitate my soul.
Mists hang low upon those hills,
While mountains scratch the surface of the sky.

The world is whole,
So full of thrills.
No time to reason why.

Galaxies spiral, out of control,
Stars swirling in milky swills.
Scenes I hope will never die.

Yet time, I’m sure, will take its toll.
And do whatever our God wills.
Oh no! I hear you cry.

Yet look at coal, or any tree bole.
And look at fields of daffodils.
Life’s next cycle is always nigh.

Paul Butters