I give love
love love
with the one look
of my eye
eye eye

I excite your lament ion
charge it
high up high
uuuuu
potentially ready
a ***** cation

I am your aesthetic
flaming electric
activate your kinetic
stop the resistence now
don’t drop voltage
difference I create is continually asymptotic

I am the variation in your magnetic
I am the field of your *** ethic
if you not behave
I become your inelastic scatter
geomagnetic storm
high potential
chemical desire
mechanical fire
radioactive disaster
through your interior
I roar blast break
silence the rocks
shake the lights
reverberate in your head

I give love
love love
with the one look
of my eye eye eye
I excite your lament ion
I am your voltaic lion

Lips dance like raindrops on a car window
(set the scene: fog, island, river, rain)
the rain the lips dancing towards isolation

A lion in a coma
missing prey in sweet dreams of undrained blood, skin
          lacking a pure bite of crooked teeth

Wrists snap towards a limb of another body,
a separate body moored to a dock - one heart, two sets of teeth -
***, sweat, skin,              DNA absorbed and merging

A beast upon the throne of bronze
his claws dig deep through the velvet cushion
                    oh, how much the taxpayers compromised for that
you wretched maniac, may you marry rich - if you don’t marry me

No parenthetical this time in my rhyme, I'll lie flat the baseline like, Here are my cards, bro. Take a look at them all, bro. Get started with just the light kinds of gospel like, Bro, did you know I got a **** down there? Taken aback you say, What? Bro, did you know I'm packing a tackle, though so modest in stature, bro, instead of a package I joke split/second to cope and still manage to crack a satanic smile as I call my most modest hose a gigantic, titanic ****?

Word. You got nice lips, still, though, how bout you look up and get down on me, yo? Word is that I handle it with alarming aplomb considering how I present myself to the world. So what I got a culturally appropriated slab of ink tattoo yo. Just a guy trying to get along with the little he's got, and then on top of that I like to slide my **** n stuff. How about me too? Cause I can get down on you if we both repeat **** like we believe it. You got *****, bam, and plump curved fat just as all the girls growing up had, fashionable hair and even a soft face. You, girl, I can bend you over. Sure, be glad to bend you over.

Rough riding baring face to the wind on highways
I never thought I would be here deciding
Do I believe in others' abilities enough to believe that they know me as
If they would know a human?
Get close, pry in, to my life,
you'll find a lion, lonely, dragging coats of molted skin
with wire stolen from her other lives,
the desperate lioness devours the food she can.

Manes sneaks!

Where is the king?

King stalks!

Sneaks quietly like a slow breeze.

The wind dies with a big roar.

Love is a strong cat.

The lion endures like a hot jungle.

Strong,  giant quietly fights a rifle's bullet.

Wow, courage!

Roars die!

King falls like a brave soldier...


Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved

We're all parched.

In a circle we sip
from the watering hole,
all sides, another animal
most of them pay me no mind

but the lion stares at me
from across the rain,

his whiskers brush
the surface —
I respect you.

He laps up his drink,
and with a flick of his tail,
bids farewell to good company.

I look down into the ripples,
formed from the mouths of
many thirsty beasts,
and I look up into my weary eyes.

I am grateful to be alive.

Kissed by rippling lips,
myself I drink deeply

Because this
may be the last time
I return to quench my thirst.

I wipe the drips from my lips,
and look down where they rippled

Lion smiles up.

I can't reach the moon or see,
The glowing stars of thee
I can't fly like birds
Or get closer to your beds
I can't dive into your ocean
Or enjoy your pearl of devotion
I can't word the word of peace
If this love means to chase
I can't win this long war
When you just wave from far
Don't judge my poor broken heart
Or the lonely soul struck by darts
It's only the evil heart of yours
When you shut all of your doors
I've lost the lost lion in me
With the kind of man I want to be
Now the warrior in me is dead
By the glimpse of hope, you've killed

Brazen rusted iron-scent of blood–
there, before him, a river of crimson and failed dreams.
No boat, no oars.
Just plain chivalry and bravery and yesteryears’ scars
that manifest all throughout and within him.

He dips his feet.

There were scattered skeletons
and crunched broken bones
basking under the dunes of the night.
There were ghosts clinging
unto his own ghosts;
creatures against creatures.
The tip of their swords
sinking down to his own tired flesh
in attempt to find refuge
in the treacherous wings of the forests.

He swims along.

And his shoulders were battered
and his mare was tainted–
with dirt and dust and ashes of the enemies;
with memories and silhouettes buried
sent flying along the caresses
of the north winds.

He gasps for air, and stills himself under the ebbs.

Under many moons and scarcity of life–
Scarcity of Life–
the recurring sight of the gaseous light
and the inconsistency of the breath-intervals,
he remains still and proud.
His soles burnt with pain and interminable suffering
as it crossed the stretches of the savanna.
This is his life,
dwelling on the dawn borealis
and stained with apparitions of the past
and demons and absurdity.

*He has crossed the river.

After the day's work, the canopy of stars
sheltering our heads, tell me a story
as you sit down to do your washing;
The night has now fallen silent, now
tell me Senora, stories, of bygone times,
of heroes and kings, of sagas of valour
and of the denizens of the forests,
wolves and lions, and of ancient wells.
I wonder in awe, when  you lift the stone
pestle down. Here's mine a heroine own.
It is cold, and the fires warm our souls,
woolen caps too, and the flickering lamps.
Now put me to sleep by your side, on
the charpoy:  I hear the wind sleepwalk,
jingling her silver anklets in the thin air,
when I wake up in the dead, as crickets
rustle, and shadows talk, to count my
blessings that you are still by my side.

First it was a tornado,
Then it became a lion,
And one day it'll become a memory,
Floating...
Somewhere...
Burning paper tips at the end of clouds like ember,
And sunsets dipping below horizons,
To conclude that life...
Moves on...
Isn't it beautiful though?
Ripples like an angel's vibrato across waves.
Singing in harmony with perfection.
Silhouettes and dancing shadows,
Stretching beyond vision,
Disappearing under currents,
And making itself known in another hemisphere.
Peaking and rising and sharing its beauty with someone else.
While its absence is mourned.
Until it returns in the morning again.
Bring new hope.