The fierce winds that split fragile columns blow back cerebral gusts into the architecture of fantasy. The palace of intellect withstands an avalanche with its armies of random faith. They are the soldiers prepared to defend thought. They also serve our temporary foundations. A building is blind with its empty rooms. Such realities cannot construct themselves while emotional tigers tear at the linen curtains of air. This animal needs to become a seamstress. We must learn how to sew our designs carefully and part from the claws of our subject if we are ever to express its grasp on us. Life tends to manage our divine center the way hurricanes play with dust.

© Matthew Goff

MU 2d

In our world,

Things have souls that flap;
           Stars always fall in love;  
                 Dreams feel the heartbeat of beyond;
           Colours swim in swarms;
Thoughts are surrounded by auras;
Love is always here;
Souls have mixed colours;
Hearts float around;
Feelings have their own logic;
Each dreams is surrounded by an aura;
Wings go beyond dreams;
Colours tend to share their feelings;
Flowers are ballet dancers.               
Things have hearts that play music;
The wings of souls sometimes make a sound;
                      Feathers often dream of beyond;
The heart beat of an aura is slow;
Souls smile through eyes;
Feathers shed tears, sometimes;                    
Hearts love to flirt with stars;
Things have dreams about feelings;
Auras always smile;                
Thoughts have multiple souls;
Wings have auras, too;
Stars kiss each other when the moon is not looking;
Colours have short dreams;
Love goes beyond;
Thoughts are in love with stars;
An average aura dreams every day;
Things smile to each other on occasion;
Hearts think in beats;
Feathers cry sometimes;
Hearts enjoy dancing with auras;
Bees write prose;
Beyond is always here;
Dreams come in many colours;
Tears are stars in disguise;
Here is always somewhere else;
A star’s heart beat is faster than light;
Smiles are portals to beyond;
Colours smile when they remember;
A dream’s wing is transparent;
Butterflies are secretly jealous of flowers;
The aura of a smile tells a story;
Feathers love colourful auras;  
                        All smiles dream about love;

This is our world.
We are different.
We are beautiful.
We are poets.

Poets are aware about their world in a different way.

Caught in this net of time,
the restless nights create a paradoxical paradigm.

Caught in this head of mine,
chasing after false hope that imitates the divine.

Caught in this reality of ours,
staring at the stars until we snap back into the lonely bar's guitars.

Jim Davis 3d

Sad in heart
Poets should keep
Laughter still
Between lines

©  2017 Jim Davis

Evening princess,
Your feet are covered in sand and wishes
Songs to make the adventure sweet
Evening princess,
Looking at people with flowers in her mouth
Sandcastle symphony of stars

© Matthew Goff

Matthew Goff Apr 21

Evening princess,
I think of you while swinging from clouds
And holding your favorite flowers
Evening princess,
Your ruby realizations
Tell a story of reckless love
Evening princess,
Take your pretty bow to the stars
Evening princess,
You smash the glass of convention

© Matthew Goff

so the word for you folks tonight
to the mother who's struggling to make ends meet with two jobs
to the father who is struggling to put away his addictions that seem to win every waking second
to the girl who wishes she was someone else
i'm here to tell you even in  your circumstances
even when times when waves come crashing at you
and you can't find the strength to swim
His hands are faithful
he will pull you out of the mud and put you on level rock !
steadfast is his love
say goodbye , step out of the past

i just wanted to tell you that i appreciate all your words .... each and everyone of you , and i know poetry seems like a good place to out your worries so ..... son't ever think what you write does not matter to someone .... #lovePau
Matthew Goff Apr 18

Blonde the Muse

Streaked by the hours of moonlight
She sweats upon a rooftop cradle
A slow showering of heated liberation
As I swing along the fragile nesting of ivory branches
Stretched under the magnificence of her stability

And let her mouth, that soft vessel
Divide the gentle tide with a smile
That casts upon the crest of evening water
Two halves of a seashell

And let our embrace, soften the cool air
That parades around us, shedding secrets from our hair
And let me hold that hand that trembles
When the evening undresses us
With a yellow wink

© Matthew Goff

Martin Narrod Apr 15

Apple Jacks

Up into the sky, the girl with velvet pants, a hip and tender blue, she loves me too, she loves me too.

Feet upon the dash, sun rays on our face, our ashtray filling fast as I push harder on the gas, I'd drive a thousand miles to see her, I'd drive anywhere to be near to her, I want to be there when she smiles, even for a little while. I will be there. I will be there.

Mountain tops are wrapped in white, the highway pass stops being plowed at night, we've seen the sun it set, we've seen the sun it rise, and set again today, we're heading far away, because I will be there, I will be there.

A notebook filled with scribbled ink and our ashtray's full with inspiration but out of energy. There's a song stuck in my head, but only the two lines that she's said, I sing them over and over, and over and over, she wrote, "I will be there. I will be there"

I'm nearly running out of stamps, but I've got many more postcards I want to send, we haven't passed a town with enough people to have a mailbox, and America is getting thin, skinny kids with their line tattoos, girls dress down and never look as good as you. I'd rather go nowhere with you than everywhere with somebody who won't ever be there. You can be here, but you can be so fucking damn unclear.

We just ate two hits a piece, of 350 micrograms of lsd, we've still got more than half a pound of some Gorilla Glue  Hybrid Blueberry strand, I'd like falafel wrap and a red stripe too, we have enough to buy food for you.

I've never been sad or lonely since we started to go on our road journey. But I'm in love with your elbows, I'm having an affair with your elbows. Sometimes they don't return my calls, sometimes they don't even call at all, I will be there if you cry, and I'll be there to say goodnight. I will be here to make you come, so long as you'll be here to make me come. So let's drive around and have some fun, while we drive around in the sun. Will or won't, yes or no, to and fro, we've counted twice to just be sure, we have 10 toes and 10 fingers. I've counted yours, you've counted mine, i need to see your elbows one more time. I need to find your funny bone so it can crack me up, and we can race through states in this cardboard box. Can we put plastic wrap instead of using tempered glass, on this rocket ship Jimi's Blues, it's the only thing I want to do. To see backward into the fading sun, we can eat dinner or have Twix instead. I won't forget if you still put in. Just let me lick the numbers off your mouth. Just let me lick the numbers off your mouth. We haven't gone anywhere, so we can just stay here, I will just stay here. But please can you go to the store, I need new skateboard bearings and a kid-size box of Apple Jacks.

Lori Apr 13

an empty Indian palace. tourists glide in and out. lineage further than Mughals.
questioning why people love lurking in. do old buildings seek recognition?

a company of four Bengal tigers. two urinated to scent mark leadership.
territorial in the Sundarbans. two leave the mangrove seeking recognition.

a parrot repeatedly repeating what others say. broken record player
every day. same station same music same hurt same desire for recognition.

a friendly giant smiling his woes away. wouldn't stop stomping all over
the garden to imprint his importance. big footsteps searching recognition.

a fisherman reeling in only fish bait. a fisher of men he wants to be but
he never learns never admits his mistake. he's only fishing for recognition.

a saint singing in false humility. an actress on life's show of pretty little
liars. speaks holy but spits shit on people. only way to get recognition.

a hopeless dreamer on the rooftop contemplating the drop on a bed.
writing a short story on comatose glory. it's lori, asking for recognition.

ghazal prompt for Napowrimo. HP's formatting doesn't show my lines as couplets. they are supposed to be but i can't format or fit it in here. this was a fun prompt and i definitely love this style especially writing in your name at the end.
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