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Hummingbird has a message
Things aren’t as they appear
Hot lava on marble stairs
Man knows the end is near

A hole is in the floor
The case is not packed right
Hurry, hurry, time to go
Don’t want to miss the flight

The daughter leaves the pack
The mother watches with fear
Aperture click, perspectives switch
The pack is bad, no coast is clear

Hummingbird dips and dives
Fury boils, screams enter ether
The drain is clogged, the bridge is broken
Distractions nibble, gnaw and eat her

Then sparkling violet flowers
Cascade from the long black hair
Running fast and leaping far
Bionic energy in the air

One spirit in three persons
Find the baby in the brush
Flat bike tire, dusty road
Must go faster, in a rush

Road too steep, car too weak
Never ready for the journey
Lava’s rising, getting closer
Bend the mirror, twist the time key

Now you appear as you
But you also are in others
Woman, child, mother, daughter
Humming bird knows how to hover
Like dreams, art does not always make sense, except in some ways to the artist, who needs to express something, as does the dreamer.
I awoke in a cold sweat—
alive, alight, horrified—
from where I peeled back her pretty pericardium
and made what I found within to Be Mine.

As if love and butchery were the same vein,
her jugular, traced in my fantasy
by the tip of something sharp, only enough
for that sweet, uncouth look in her eye
I’d never have the honor to see
if her life weren’t in my hands.

But I realize: it's wretched to wish I hadn’t slept at all.
Dedicated to Alice, savvy and so forgiving, unduly or not.
I woke up this morning with a hair on my bed,
Not from my body, not from my head,
7 inches longer than the length on my head.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

I went to sleep last night not a word said,
Locked the door, shut the light, plop, bed.
8 hours later I’m here with this hair.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Now I'm just pondering “Whose hair?”
Next to my pillow, how’d it get there?
9 centimeters away from my face.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Did I teleport last night? If so where?
I didn’t invite a friend, not over here.
10 hours ago I hung out with a few,
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Did I sleepwalk last night? What did I do?
Should I ask “does this hair belong to you?”
This brown curly squiggle is making me mad.
I don’t think this hair is mine.
Amaris Jan 19
I had a dream about a memory
So vivid I recall conversations
My subconscious made up a story
And turned it into nightmarish creations
Mimicked the past, I got lost for too long
Paralyzed, I'm no longer strong
hani aqil Jan 12
1
I’m not one to tell
But some people really deserve it

I’m not one to be so fell
But some people really need it

2
Sometimes I think I could ****
Sometimes I think I am wrong
But now I know I was right
My just bloodlust is useless to fight

3
I paint your face white
I paint over the neon mess
I tackle you to the ground
Ram your head on the seething white floor

I want to ***** your skull
I want to hear it snap under the weight of my hands
Alas I am weak
But not weak enough to **** you quickly

4
My knees are digging into your chest
My hands are around your grizzly neck
Asphyxia is a good solution to some problems

Choke, you old *******

I won’t let you go so fast

5
I drag you by your hair into the lift outside my unit
It’s really dark
It’s way past midnight and everything is quiet
Everything is quiet when you’ve lived so noisily

6
The red lights from the buttons glow slowly and gently and I press the first floor gingerly
The automated voice says “first floor” in that funny little way it always does

7
The lift descends, with me and you
It is like a passage to ****
For the both of us

We’re not dead yet
But we are corpses
Both of us

8
The stars are so pretty tonight
You can rarely see them so clear
But tonight every corner of time is enveloped in a
Gluttonous cocoon of darkness

9
I haul you out to the shady alley where
Nobody sleeps but nobody listens
And I wait
For the dogs to smell you

The dogs are tearing your flesh apart
Like bubblegum
I want to feed you to them
See their canine fangs sink into you
But even the most vicious hounds
Will never use you as meat
For fear of the evil laced in you

You’re not dead yet
I told you I wouldn’t let you go just like that
You can scream all you want, old man
Nobody sleeps but nobody listens
A timely taste of your own medicine

10
You can’t spell illegal without legal

11
In your last moments I **** your mouth with a knife
Jo Swan Jan 9
Animosity allergens,
dark as the Dracula’s dungeon,
insidiously infects the heart.
Vivacity begins to part.

In the realm of my subconscious,
I've confronted my madness.
There’s a monster in me that should die-
my morale withered and dry.

My spirit polluted with hate-
toxic as organophosphates.
The psyche is a perpetrator
who lusts for the power of ******.  

Drowning in the depths of darkness
of my wild imagination,
I’m shocked by this revelation!

The epiphany of my evil-
influenced by the vile devil,
my ego- sinful and gruesome.
Dear Lord, what have I become?
Keith Mitchell Nov 2018
dream within a dream
me just stomping around in my subconscious lucid dream
corner turned
it’s us just short
passionate embrace
spiritual kiss
eyes ardent as before
combination solved to this complex situation
can we start with a friendship
just a freak in your mind
is that the extent of your creativity
i think not
did you just paint a ****** painting of me
and I ask in the dream
can we be friends
start of something great
you reached for me
the embrace of a hug I remember all to well
it was the quiver that got my attention
never in a dream
something as original
sun or moon
touching my heart
present quiver love
when I wake up
I’m content
profundity is you
haunting question
where do I find unconditional love besides my own
aesthetic little boy in me flipping over every rock in sight
Arianna Nov 2018
Shadows of wings
Fall, a fleeting night,
Over the forest;
Winged phantom
Far-off
Dancing circles before the Sun.

Prowling along the mountainside
Ablaze with light and snow,
The Eagle climbs still higher
Through the blinding Vastness,

And I follow.

A speck emerges
From the twisting kaleidoscope of Morning's blank brightness
Spiraling towards earth

A feather

Alights at my feet in answer
To questions festering unasked beneath the surface,
Warm with the omniscience
Of high-above things:

          A sliver
          Borne hither
          On the breath of the Cosmos.  
* = the last line refers to Abbess Hildegard von Bingen's metaphor of herself as "a feather on the breath of God". It only came to mind as a conceptually appropriate parallel to the feather and to the symbolic significance of the Eagle with regards to this text.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQWEHhXQ8Fs
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
Did God not make love vain in the first place?
Stolen my wings; my sacred space.

Did God not lie to us all?
To say together we fall.

Can we have time?
Because peace can only appease my rhyme.

What is with people today?
We act in our subconscious away from the fray.

Can someone just make sense?
Because what does not makes the world tense.

Only sticking around because I am a known freak.
To women I am not sheik.

Can someone just make sense?
Because this world seems dense.

Will I succumb to my fear?
Because away from this world I wish I could disappear.

People are starting to swerve as they steer.
What is wrong with people today I said with no fear.
Robert C Howard Oct 2018
Above the caldera at Yellowstone,
a brittle soil-rock crust
caps a lake of liquid fire
with only fumaroles and roiling geysers
to stay its upward ******.

One errant step is all it takes
to breach that mantle's fragile seal -
spelling death by fire
to any hapless wanderer
who fails to guard his path.

Fragile calderas also roil
buried in darkest hollows of our psyches -
brewed of failures, slights and fears
dissolved in molten pools
of self-consuming misery.

To dress and salve our wounds
we sow gardens of reconciliation within
with beauty, trust and reason
and bow to gods of grace and solace.

But a despot’s studied eye
knows just how to tap our fragile crusts,
releasing acrid lava flows
from pools where fear and rage reign hot
and reason has no district.

Sisters and brothers of our flesh I pray
we find a holy and transforming alchemy
to convert our heat to light
and shield our sacred calderas
from enemies that stalk us from within.

July, 2006, revised December, 2014, 2015 and 2018
Robert Charles Howard
I decided to repost this poem because after scores of revisions over the years every stanza is substantially different than it was when I first wrote it in 2006.  Hopefully after 12 years, I've got it figured out.
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