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I met a girl in the city once who
Was the emerald of Seattle
She loved the arts
And the passion of the
Common man -
It was inspiring
She
Told me
The countryside is all wrong
And I believed her

We'd walk
The sidewalks between
Coffee shops and bakeries
Between
Vacancy and marketing
The line
Between
Businessmen and the homeless
All these people
Like mantises feeding on
Each other's heads and hands
All this opportunity

Then she was swept away
At the light of the
Next city crowd we passed
So I went home again

I met another
Afterwards
From my city who
Told me
That art is all wrong
And that dried all the
Blood
From my heart
But I believed her

So I followed her along
To find out what
Art meant
And it was
Sleeping in
With
Gluttonous love
That was never
Satisfied by just one man
But I think
She
Was scared of
Committing to
The opportunity
Antino Art Oct 2018
If you're unclear about love,
return your heart to a place with fog
With clouds created from breathing in the cold during long uphill walks that end in a view of the water
Return the way daylight retreats to the grey embrace of the Pacific Northwest sky at the edge of winter, dissipates in all directions like ripples upon their misty bay
Return the way sunset colored leaves hanging in limbo fall back to Earth
Visions to pieces
Tears to eyes as condensation builds
against the glass of a coffeeshop window and distorts the view from outside and from within
Return the way rain lands on a broken sidewalk in Seattle,
not pouring so much as drifting
through what looks like a new morning
blurred with all the dark nights that came before.
Antino Art Oct 2018
Seattle is where it's okay to bury your head in the clouds,
where it's acceptable to walk beside and among their sad water

Here, the greys of puddled sidewalks
give way to deeper greys that extend beyond the reach of their docks

This is the place where you can get to any level of cold and wet, only to be steps away from any given coffeeshop and the steam from a mug held with two hands

This is where you'll wake up and face the rain sans umbrellas
where you'll gain an aesthetic to the gloom, a poise to the overcast
Shrouded in mist at the far corner of the map, you'll draw your energy
in harmony with the ups and downs of their multi-storied fish markets and undulant streets

Here, you'll find your path through faded daylight and breathe in air embalmed by hundreds of rainy days

You'll exhale the weight you carry within your chest into a healing view of a horizon lined by ferry boats,
there to take you across whatever darkness you're faced with at day's end.
Kelci Jun 2018
I long for those nights flowing through
The veins of the city with you,
Watching the wind dance a waltz with
The leaves at our feet just for us
Swept along the waterfront as if
Carried by the waves themselves
A phantom limb passing through
The body of a lover, unnoticed yet  
Still taking in every single feeling
Deep Thought May 2018
Where do you run when your loneliness strikes?

It's just about midnight, while you stroll downtown glaring at the lights.

All over creation, I see the **** of the world,
while pride tries to draw me in.

Can't you see what PornHub has done?

As I sat in front of the garden of Eden,
I watched others stand in line waiting for their fruit.

Oh, how deceived I was.
Being ****** made the loneliness worse I was numb to it.
We're all lost,
overly using the wrong Messiah such an Urban Legend.

These apples had my heart but never caused me to Have A Heart.
I certainly almost surely died,
from the tree of knowledge of good and evil.

Admit it, we are all lonely.
Psalm 25:16, Matthew 28:20, Romans 8:31-38,
Kilam TA Apr 2018
Influence is the power you have over others
Brothers fighting over the bigger crumb
Dumb to what they and their sister's have become
Won by skin tones and education
Legislation driven by religion
Forgiven by a being we've never met
Regret nothing, so we do it again

Friends burn bridges for this power
Liars sell visions for this power
Poppers give their lives for this power
This is why I despise this power

We all sin
So we all can't win
But if the game was rigged to begin
What do we ever, really win?
Kilam TA Feb 2018
Rotting flesh bathes under the sun's unrelenting waves

Our prey has felt the reapers touch
repossessing its soul
so we may harvest the remains

The scents invade our nostrils
luring us into a state of blissful hunger

We dive
We feast
We leave none to waste
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth
snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
dot the busy causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
The mileage added up to just a grand
Not a lot for 20 days,
No crossing of a dateline
Or a continent’s divide.

But still that world seemed somewhat foreign
and I saw streams of amazing things,
That were echoes of my teenage self,
As different now as I was then.

A hazy forest, dark and damp
Where the mist turned into fairy snow
And we walked on in muddy shoes
To learn the mysteries of falling water.

A midas treasure of wave-borne findings
Spilling from a cavernous hall
Pieces of so many lives found
Floating on the morning tide.

Stories of a Nippon sailor’s life
From things that got thrown overboard
Images of fishing boats
In round glass ***** and floats of cork.

Carve the circle with a line
That led to a reunion of
The ones that I grew up beside
But never quite was welcomed in.

A rounding up of recollections
Shared at tables set for eight
Where those left out still don’t fit in
And bonhomie was the music played.

To the ocean of my childhood days
Waves that tell me who I am
And fill up all the empty spaces
City life drained out of me.

A shining tower with ninety steps
That wound around like pizza slices
And tripped me up to ******* blood
As balsa airplanes spiraled to the ground.

No time for wounding on the schedule
Shedding blood but never tears
The leader of the band played on
Admiring a Tsunami boat

Come all the way from far Japan
With cargo of the local fish
Still swimming in the unspilled sea.
A miracle born from true disaster.

Another beach, not like my own
A warmer, calmer span of sand
With jutting rocks in shallow surf
That dare you out to climb them.

Drawn once more to city lights
And the grassy ***** where mother lies
There were other gardens to enjoy and
And contrivances with just two wheels.

How quickly we grew shuttered in-
Just two days in big city life,
The restaurants and funny shows
Still told us it was time to go.

Longing for the beauty of the Gorge
We were met by smoke and blackened stumps
And exits blocked to waterfalls, ravaged
By the fires of ****, and **** now for 50 years.

A teenage boy with fireworks and no sense
Destroyed the loveliest drive on earth
And bragged to all his awestruck friends
That all the news stories were about him.

With fingers crossed at Mount Rainier,
The sunny weather turned to slush and
Fell two inches in an hour.  I ate fresh snow
Off branches as we hiked, and froze my tongue.

We wore the heavy coats we almost didn’t bring
And cheered when sunshine took the snow away
And we could walk in forests once again
On trails we never knew were there.

A wonderland of cast off parts and metal bits
Became giraffes, seahorses and other marvels
In the hands of a roadside welding artist
Who sold a giant piece to my home town.

A visit with a sister who shared my youth but not my soul
Who grew one way and I another
Leaving not a thing in common for us
Except the love that comes from blood.

No way to avoid the final city
Hellish place of one way streets
Endless detours and construction
Pay all you own to park two hours.

Yet there was the comedy and
Segways once again to ride.
A troll under a hulking bridge and
Poor Rapunzel in the tower.

Passing up the tourist musts,
Visited in journeys past, we saw
The small and quirky things
That make a foreign city yours.

Twenty days, almost no rain
Unheard of in that rainy clime
A lot of sun, some cloudy skies
A bit of snow to frost the cake.

Twenty days to drive a circle
On the map of who I am
And where I came from
To bring it all back here with me.

To this place so vastly different
I wonder how I found a way
To fit inside this giant tumbler
And plant a seed that actually grew

A would-artist long ago
I wonder how I mixed the paint
To make a life so changed, in colors
Blended from Seattle’s soils.

Painted on a Portland canvas
With a brush of Longview bristles
Wetted with Pacific water
To present my image to the world.
                       ljm
Should anyone be curious about our route, here it is:  Fly to Seattle, pick up car, Ferry to Kingston on Olympic Peninsula, drive to Hurricane Ridge and Sol Duk.  To Forks (No interewst in Twilight locations) to Beachcomber museum, and Hoh Rainforest.  Aberdeen (skipped Curt Cobin park) and Longview.  Class reunion.  To Long Beach  (the only REAL beach on the west coast), To astoria to climb the tower (and fall).  Maritime museum and that tsunami boat.  Seaside, Canon and Red beach.  Tillamook and the cheese factory.  Portland.  Mom's grave.  The poor mutilated Columbia Gorge, to Umatilla.  Then through Yakima and Ruchland to Mt. Rainer Nat. Park.
To Puyallup (properly pronounced pew-al'-up) to see sister and on to Seattle for the last 3 days, then home.
*** - I've just done a boring vacation letter.  Be glad you aren't on my Christmas newsletter list !!
Kilam TA Oct 2017
Being bombarded with temptation
Doesn’t dim the fireworks
That crash like the a Titan gait
Inside my heart
No exposed midriff will propel my drift
As my thirst can’t be satisfied
With the bucket and pulley water they fetch
This carnal passion I feel remains sky-lit
Bright and beautiful
All, because of you
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