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Poetic T Mar 2017
vestiges linger in static waters,
        dejection
                       ascending its reach further.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
On a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an island,

had a layover in Dubai,
so I decided to visit a friend,
a beautiful traveler such as myself,
in Dubai the Hyatt was her residence,

I got off my flight,
and cleared customs,
took the Metro to Palm Deira,
then emerged into the thick Emirates air,

felt like I’d emerged into a tide pool,
the air was damp and salty,
as if I’d submerged my whole body,
into summer sun heated waters,

walked a long short walk to the hotel,
and entered the oversized lobby,
Dubai lives off of air conditioning,
and the climate control was welcoming,

my friend came down to meet me,
dressed as beautiful as ever,
a flight attendant she was very attentive,
we hugged and she invited me to the rooftop pool,

on the rooftop I changed into my swimming trunks,
because even though it was just I layover,
I bring my trunks with me everywhere,
because you never know when you’re gonna swim,

she stayed poolside,
gazed at me apparently amused,
after a quick dip I emerged refreshed,
toweled off and we talked,

she asked me why I write,
she asked me what my goal was,
I told her I didn’t know why I write,
or really what my goal was,

she pressed on,
and insisted there must be a reason,
so I answered her question,
with the following reasoning,

“I guess I write,
so that our collective humanity,
has some sort of documentation,
of our emotional history.
But I don’t have a goal,
and I am not flattered when people compliment my work,
because I don’t really consider my writings mine,
I consider them the world’s.
So when some says my writing saved their life,
I feel awkward because God wrote it not me,
still I say thank you because I don’t know what else to say.
The books I’ve written are bigger than me,
millions of people have read the poems I’ve penned,
but most people that that have read my poems,
wouldn’t recognize me on the street if they walked past me,
see it’s not me they know it’s the writing I’ve written,
which means readers think they know me,
but they don’t know me at all.”

There’s a moment of silence,
on that rooftop,
all the lights of Dubai,
reflecting in her dark molasses eyes,

and I ask this,

“Do you ever feel trapped?”

She seems a bit perplexed by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,
here you are,
in The Emirates.
You are constantly on call for an airline,
you could be called to go any minute,
so you’re in a constant state of defense.
Plus,
this whether,
I mean,
it’s unbearably hot here,
and people here are completely dependent on A/C,
plus there are cameras everywhere always watching,
and to open almost any door here you need a key,

it seems there’s so much security that nothing and no one is free.”

“No I don’t feel trapped.”

Her answer comes too fast,
as if she doesn’t want to take the time to think about it,
and speaking of time,
my flight to Thailand is quickly approaching.

I change out of my shorts,
put my ‘normal’ clothes back on,
khaki shorts and navy shirt,
so that I can cruise through without being bothered,

but I am bothered,
because I can’t even touch her,
this is Dubai and despite the pretty lights,
this place is not Liberal it’s Conservative Islam,

and everything is forbidden.

We make our way across the rooftop poolside,
walking on plastic grass under canvas canopies,
we get to the outside door she slides her plastic key card,
and we enter back into the climate controlled insides,

we reach the elevator,
she taps her key card again,
the elevator opens,
and we start to descend,

inside the lift I can’t help myself,
she’s too attractive,
so I try to place a kiss on her shoulder,
she pulls away.

“Aaron no!”

“What?”

“We can’t,
not here,
I can get in trouble,
seriously.”

She nods discretely to the close captioned camera,
recording our every movement in the corner,
I guess the only thing we can exchange here is glances,
the system still hasn’t found a way to stop us from making eye contact,

and eye contact is the only contact we’re allowed to make,
everything else is forbidden,
heck they’d probably even outlaw looks if they could,
the elevator opens,

we’re back in the lobby,
she offers to walk me to the metro,
I obviously accept her offer,
I would accept any offer she ever gave me,

We emerge back into that thick Emirate air,
that damp and salty tide pool,
back into that traffic and incessant noise,
back into the smell of the fruits of the sea,

I ask her why it smells so much like fish out there,
she tells me there’s a fish market across the street,
she tells me the Pakistanis shove fish in her face during the say,
and have absolutely no respect for personal space.

we reach the doors of the metro station,
already we can feel the cool artificial A/C breeze,
and I’m again reminded how fake this city is,
fake people fake air fake grass fake plastic trees,

seems she’s the only thing real here,
and we are about to say goodbye,
we hug quickly before we depart,
don’t want to catch the attention of the camera’s eye,

she waives goodbye,
as I descend back down the escalator,
I want to tell her that I don’t like goodbye waives,
because that’s exactly what I saw before I lost my sister,

in other words the last time I ever saw my little sister,
was when she waived goodbye to me,
before she drowned in the fish pond,
actually that’s the only memory I have of my sister,

but that’s another story for another day,
that’s a different trip entirely,
that’s something that happened long ago,
something that now’s a distant memory,

anyways that’s why I wanted to tell the girl in Dubai,
“Please don’t waive goodbye,
because that makes me worried,
that we’ll never see each other again.”,

but it was too late,
the hands of time had already pushed us away,
the escalator was already creating too much space between us,
I guess I can hope that we’ll see each other again in another time and place,

but for now,

I’m on a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an Island,

and the planes coming,
and it’s almost time to board,
and you can’t go back to a passed moment,
because the only constant is change and the only direction is forward,

so be forewarned,
if you love someone tell them right then,
because even when things are just beginning,
everything and every one is only a moment from the very end…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
A lesson in Time and a Reminder to Love
Devin Lawrence Jun 2016
There's more to this little brown bottle than the sunshine within,
and if you search across the hills of Kalamazoo
you'll find the meaning of gold.

Cheers to this:
the smell of barbecue and grass
and the taste of oranges drenched in ale
and sunlight.
As the fire crackles
and the flames move like the flags we claim,
I can hear each individual string
on a friend's guitar
as they tell a story of an everlasting summer.

When it's cold
the sun smiles and burns
as the sound of cannonballs piercing aqua blue waves
washes through your body
clad in pink
skin,
and fabrics
seen from many
and any
wandering eye.
As the hi-hat sizzles,
so too does your soul,
and that's why you can't help but
dance dance dance.


But just like any season,
this friendly brown bottle
is a moment in time.
Winter must come,
people must go,
but somewhere in the recipe for your favorite drink
are all of their names
glistening in gold.
From Kalamazoo, with love.
Colm May 2016
Deep, somber, reflective pools.
Stirring by an ocean of blueish gray.
Vast as the mountain and all of its roots,
Clear and deceptive as the piercing light on a cloudy day.

Not flustered by the coming storm,
But troubled instead when it is blown off its course and swept away.
Unshaken by the torrential downpour of warming rain.
For cool inside they will ever stay.

Such pools as these are ripples away from some escape.
Yet when all other pools would've walked away,
They stir themselves and still remain.
Fixed and introspective.

Much like the tides which arrive anew with each coming day.
These waters rise and though they reach,
The wonder and bewilderment is never washed away.
From within such pools.
"The most amazing thing to me about the sea is the tide."
-John Dyer
Alan S Bailey Jan 2016
With the sun
The fire spirits
Bring amber hues
Golden and applied
To a weathered canvas
In the deep blue water
Floating in pools
Of violet and marine
Evermore fulfilling
Evaporating upwards
Floating as silk-smooth white
Clouds, then only descending
Into the emerald green
And soft grass
Holding flowers
Giving them
A cordial of life
With her laughter
Echoing afar.
Poetic T Dec 2015
And those of the perception in a waking moment
all saw what was coming as it crept upon sight.

With eyes that were the gateway the pools of black
the door was shared forever sealed shut.

All were of eyes pearly now impenetrable
To what they gazed upon  in silence.

It stood in the veil scratching into realms
Of  wanted plains to gorge upon souls.

But where all were blinded one door was
Open, seeing to where its steps would be fallen.

Those of lost perception gathered to lend sense
Where no sight could gaze upon the coming.

She looked upon the shimmer that had torn and
With hand held ever forward touching unto oblivion.

All that were pearls shone in the darkness and with
Each hand did sew one loop in the fabric of reality.

It lunged prematurely but the ties were sewn and the
Prophecy of the blind was sealed with but one that saw.

All tough those that's had the seed wilted from sight, with
But a drop became a flood of meaning and sealed it tight.
Though we can not see does not mean we can not defend our selves from its arrival
Jesica Dittemore Aug 2015
He’s too scared to ask me to dance
He thinks I will let him down.
I wish he would take a chance
Just ask me to dance
Here, now, standing in the rain
But we just stand there
Gaping like fools.
While water’s collecting in pools,
Then finally he grabs my hand
And spins me quickly around.
It’s so sweet, our first dance.
Dripping, soaking wet
Love does make you see things.
So now I know it wasn’t him but me.
He wanted to dance, but I was scared.
Darren Scanlon Aug 2015
Gaze into a persons eyes,
far beyond the mask
and wonder at the questions
that you’re too afraid to ask.

Gloriously gazing
into depths of deep emotion,
currents running deep
within a cool and placid ocean.

Dive into the loving soul
of one who gives their all
and marvel at the feelings
that are waiting for the call.

Deliberately diving
into strong rolling waves
risking all you have to give
for a lover, to save.

Drift along on the gentle flow
of loves deep warming spring,
exulting at the warm embrace
that begs your soul to sing.

Dreamily drifting
in waters that refresh
you feel its teasing touch
upon your warm and tender flesh.

Swim far out to distant pools
and reach the hearts horizon,
wells of clear compassion
and a strength that’s so surprising.

Sensuously swimming
and content for evermore,
at peace with the heart and soul
of the one that you adore.

...

Melt into a soul-mates sweet
and tender smiling eyes,
never again will you feel the need
to wonder how or why.

All you see within those pools,
is all you could desire,
together let your souls fly free
and set the breeze on fire.

Let your hearts set the rhythm,
beating beneath the sun,
as songs of love and joy ring out,
new life has just begun.



*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 23rd June 2014.
Revised 11th August 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Lexy Jul 2015
Stare at a television for too long,
and you're sure to find it becomes a difficult task...
training your eyes to adjust to reality.

This crisp world morphs into a mirage,
seen through the revolver of a machine gun
infinitely strobing between what is and should.

Like a child trying to blink back tears that seem more like a tsunami.

The **** finally cracks.

Reminiscent of those summer days spent at the pool,
staring at the world through a rippling glass wall.

I've always been interested in new perspectives.
Kathleen May 2015
In this place things swim around slowly,
every color bleeds into each other.
You can't make out what you're looking at or why you're there,
but more specifically,
how you feel.
You're sitting in front of a pool of absence.
Dipping a toe in and watching it ripple on down to the edges; change course.
I, of course, sit in front of it for hours pensive, worrying.
And all my thoughts change the mixture.
And all my moves trouble the water.
And at times there is the great upset brought upon by rain.
When it rains the silence dissipates.
The surface ends up fighting against itself.
The little droplets spring up and begin spurting out towards whatever incomprehensible answer will suffice at the time.
The commotion is only settled by focus and time.
Then, everything turns to whispers.
Here and there of words drop phrases or concerns.
Ultimately it quiets and it's back to swaying like reeds and still moments like these.
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