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Juhlhaus May 2019
Gravel mounds in the mist
Are the mountain ranges of fantasy,
Spring green, eerie seen
Through commuter train windows.

Pitched roofs recede
Into infinite distance,
And junkyard parking lots are legion
In the gray suburban obscurity.

Factories and landfills loom,
Monuments and masoleums,
The labor and the leavings
Of Earth's little colossi.
Musing on the view from a morning commuter train.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
II.
To love pales in comparison of being loved,
but to love and be loved in turn?
Truly puissant, indeed.

III.
Though on the thread of life, the ink will spill
but never fades away. Now I see. If all I am
is to be nothing but a memory, the least
I can do is to make it a good one for the
future seeds.
Memory can slip and slide, but these words,
my words, that I have painted will remain.
More excerpts from my poetry book, 'Mythos', that was privately published in the final year of university. Again, it's already copyrighted so no one can take or use it without my permission! Looking at it now, I do see it's potential, so I'm slowly dusting it off. It's basically like my Jasmine Pearls poem...only longer. Oh boy lool
Love you all!
Have a great night/day! ^-^
Lyn ***

© Section from Chapter 'Part VI: Rising Postlude' in 'Mythos' by Lyn-Purcell.
All rights reserved.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
I ask you to mother me greatly, memory.
I ask you to father me strongly, experience.
I ask to strengthen me gradually, time.
I ask you to hone and refine me, wisdom.
This is excerpt from my poetry book, 'Mythos',  that was privately published in the final year of university, which I'm sharing here. It's already copyrighted so no one can take or use it without my permission. I remember when I gave my lecturer the final draft for revision, he said this section stood out to him the most. I'm thinking maybe I should polish this manuscript also and publish it publicly! Let me know what you think! Criticism is welcome.
Love you all!
Be back soon!
Lyn ***

© Section from Chapter 'Part VI: Rising Postlude' in 'Mythos' by Lyn-Purcell.
All rights reserved.
A tooth! my first!
exclaimed the small boy
Eyes filled with tears
of pure simple joy

He ran to his mom
clutching it tight
and burst in the room
squealing with delight.

Many questions he asked
one after another
about the tooth fairy
perplexing his mother

She listened intently
with him on her knee
"write them all down
for the fairy to see"

The boy set to his task
with paper and pen
and slowly wondered
where to begin

"Where are you from?"
"What do you do with the tooth?"
"How do you fly?"
Please tell me the truth

With the letter all done
he placed it under his pillow
then slid into bed
just like a minnow

He fell fast asleep
dreaming his dreams
and awoke the next morning
with a jubilant scream

A reply he did find
under his head
He opened it fast
to see what it said

"A time long ago
there was a boy just like you
who saved us from tragedy
when humans were new"

"Great battles were fought
with creatures of all kind
and magic was something
quite easy to find"

"But humans grew old
and got very greedy
then corrupted themselves
into something quite needy"

"Power corrupts
unless you're quite wise
We could all see the signs
no more light in their eyes"

"They tricked us quite often
and hunted us down
stealing our magic
for their own crowns"

Centaurs and Fairies
Dragons and Elves
Among many others
started saving themselves"

"We learned how to hide
here in plain sight
by changing our vibration
so as not to fight"

"Then a spark in the dark
flashed bright and true
and we knew in that instance
just what to do"

"A child was born
innocent and pure
with him knowing
He was our savior"

"A secret he hid
within his own tooth
a secret of magic
the heart has in youth"

"Magic that courses
through children like you
who understand love
in all of it's hue's"

"The teeth we collect
and crush into powder
to Help us retain
our magical power"

"For magic is something
that comes from within
of pureness and love
but not evil or sin"

"A warning there is
and hear it you must
If you force a tooth out
it will turn to rust"

"Powder from teeth
forced out before ready
corrupt the pure magic
making it unsteady"

"This kind of magic
creates creatures not nice
Like goblins and trolls
so always think twice"

"Now let me be clear
about all that I've said
Feel with your heart
and not with your head"

"Face and embrace
The beauty of you
Believe in the magic
and let it accrue"
kiley g Mar 2016
shimmering face
dewy eyes
trembling lips
shivering thighs
toeing the edge;
the poverty line
devotion or obsession?
i need a sign

thrilling fall
death’s chase
spectating
his heart’s haste
rush to the drop
i go in your place
twin pools of red
a championless race
The archaic Mythologies
Were well depicted ventures of Human
Spirit to verily present acts of the absolute Nutness
An astute of a compelling question Still
Much relevant in today's lmplicit
Deconstruction of  Committing
A moral Excession.

Old Greeks came to a betwixt paradox when compairing
the two ulterior motives:  
~ a completely mad passionate love
~ a sharp cold blooded oportunistic love
I know there was One,
but, then:
Two.

I was told
Three,
but, I'd venture to guess Four.
Or, maybe, Five.

But, I don't know, man.
I can't quite tell.
How many would you say?
What's it mean to you?
Dancing on the mangled
corpse of Jupiter, we recall
nothing but revelry. I wonder
about God and summer and
poor boyish ignorance.

There are eggshells in my hair,
or maybe they simply are
my locs. Snapping like shedskin,
left and right, they are an offering.
Divining me, divining you.

Pan-fried resistance,
Your tongue beckons
I am a celestial body
blindly hopping galaxies;
Devour me.
Scorched earth, limp talons
draw constellations
in the dark dark dirt.

The deep welcomes
this offering, gratefully
sinking down, down, down.

Vibrations be ******,
I am not a slave
to your words today.

Repent! Or so you may be
lead to believe. Brittlebones,
you have done nothing wrong.

Seaweed caressing torso and legs,
the body is present, cradling
an entire universe in its arms.

Nineteen years of compartments,
I am made of boxes.
Each more intricate than the last.

Budding wings are emerging
from my shoulder
blades. I feel nothing, yet.

Higher! Up, up,
altitude claims breath.
You remember drowning.

— The End —