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Just Grace Jul 1
Hollow
Doesn’t have to be a bad word
Hollow
Doesn’t have to mean “empty”
And “missing”

When I listen
It means there is a container
Wrapped tight
And taut in something warm
The hide of a once wild
and free animal
is now a fate reverberated
as another passionate, wild being
Strikes it
Sparks the potential aflame
Into a sprout of a heartbeat

Or it is
The fog
Once aimless and reaching
Until it finds a lighthouse
Its beam also reaching for it
So when light strikes the micro droplets
Each effervescent molecule
Is lit in the turn of the path
In each passing round
An orchestra plays

That is the word
“Hollow”
To me
Just Grace Jul 1
Read to me
the story of the sun
and how our first lovers
were the stars

Your mind beams penetrate me
radiate my cells
pump my blood

I'd swim in my hair
like you do

Some melodies
don’t need a literal space, you see
world traveler,
you don’t know this place

I like that
you can’t give me an animal
intercepted patterns
trim
unchartered moments
primally coded
in me and you
Don’t be afraid
Whatever happens
it’s only Love
Thomas W Case Feb 29
I first heard the
lullaby in the
womb.
It has a pulse
and rhythm.
It was embedded in
my tissue and cells.
And when I was shot out,
****** and naked,
the cord was cut.
The journey began.

At five years old,
I remember closing
my eyes , and lying
down to go to sleep,
it felt like I was
being rocked.
I wonder if the
subconscious mind was
remembering the
rhythm of the womb.
My Mom--pregnant with me
walking upstairs--downstairs,
elevators
escalators
movement
pulse,
the eternal lullaby of
the womb.
When I closed my
eyes, it felt like I
was being rocked.
It felt like I was
in a swing;
back and forth.
Easy, like a fragrant
spring night.

I feel and here the
pulse--the rhythm,
the heart in everything.
In footsteps--in the wind,
in the ancient river, and
in the mermaid's song.
I feel it in
the beating of the
hummingbird's wings.
I see it in
Van Gogh's jagged sky,
in the flight pattern
of the wasp.

There is a rhythm in
death and birth.
Oh my God, the rapture of
the rhythm of love and
joy--so sublime.
The primal beat of a
heartbreak--pain,
like painting with
blood.
So real
too lucid.
Icarus, let's fly into
the sun, drunk on
***** or cheap wine.
We'll escape--liquid smooth,
until our wings melt,
and we fall back down,
crash
to the pulse
the rhythm
***  ***
***  ***
***  ***.

Sometimes,
I wish I were
a rock.
I disassociate to my "friends" lives scrolling by,
I don't need any spliff or fungus to reach
Peak apathetic  non self congruence.
Watching years pass by in seconds
Is all the psychedelic room temperature
Mental priming for my primate mental
That I could ever hope for

Before being snapped back out
By the cubed carrot reward of
Internet interaction
Which keeps me salivating and searching
For ways to increase the amount of time
I don't have to associate with that guy inhabiting my body
For a while I can see my problems as goners
Being slowly erased from my mind like a magnet over a hard drive

Until a kindly panic attack reminds my of
My lack of lack of control
And the selfless self centered guilt keeps me
Wishing I were working instead of living
Who could be so audacious
As to propose a life out side
neth jones Jul 2019

#1

I’m no good at merrymaking
I do it alone
I do it dark
And I go at it with rabid excess
I am fellow to it
Until morning
And I make the morning hurt
A mark is embed


#2

Amoungst great company
I am dog unwanted
In the comapany of one
I am villain bird
I am influence
I hit a drinking partner in the weak knees of weak truths
And things go madly south
But tonite I am alone
As I ought
And not sought out


#3

Astray from the fireside
Into the woods
In the territory
Where I fear to thread the pathways
I shall recover my work
In the graven woodland
I shall face myself down
And bed darkness
Where I am truely wed


#4

Thriving and well hausted
I strain and clamp upon the energy
I face my enemy
My power
I bide from his readings
I make ****** pleasings
Form verbal greeting
And extend a hand
For this
The first of many a meeting


#5

Upon this connection
This Faustian reflection
I make the primal
The woe in me
And the red wash of ravenous pages
My activity
My moulded tool
My rage
My howl against creativity
sol May 2019
Laid down, the only answer that can be given.
Clearer light, separate and distinct, from the same fountain.
Ambition, to counteract ambition.
Human nature, to reflect on human nature.
Angels were to control itself.

Divide and fortify. Natural defense, safety. Absolute negative connection between this weaker and the weaker.
All the power surrendered.
Evil will render This, turned against, broken into.
Justice is the end, pursued until it be obtained, or lost in the pursuit.
Unite and oppress, anarchy to rein as a state of nature,
not secured against the violence.
modus operandi. i was told this piece seemed very Feral
Oskar Erikson May 2019
like-a-night-terror
slip pin g  out of vie w
                                  the words elude.
  so keep there
the                 eyes
     unfocused
at paper or/// screen till the sentence---- rushes into sight.    
              break it.
                        ^^                  butcher it.
     keep it.<<      >>  analyse it.
  toss it .                                         kiss it.

where w a  s it?                  was it ee ee e even here?

a tremor in the night
awoken without the memory
(all poets say is a million different "I can't love you any other way.")
of a line i wanted to write.
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