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Alfredo Alfresco was born
In tesco's,
Right by the self service
Checkout.
It's an act from beyond.
(God's always been, well,
A bit peroxide blonde)
As to why,we haven't
Enough much information
To say.
After all, meanings can
Move in a mysterious way.
Merry May 2018
Sea
Like a drowning painter
In the treacherous depths
With oil paints, thick and rolling,
On a soggy canvas
Painting the sea
Your presence swells
And I paint you
Drowning me
SoZaka Apr 2018
you pulled me back
from a ghastly place
forgetfulness of who I am

a child who forgot life
as he knew it best
you saved me from the abyss

I wonder
could I do the same
for you
togetherness oneness
SoZaka Apr 2018
I am the dominant factor in my life
turning the pages of a book only I will read
my yesterdays are unlike any of your days
but the same could be said of yours in many ways
we are the mirror that lies down the hall
that shines light
on one and all
Identitny of others through continued identity of self
matcha Apr 2018
i first felt confused.
everything seemed to slip between my fingers
were they even my fingers?
now i was completely terrified.
this sense that everything was foreign like i've never seen these surrounding in my entire lifetime.
i didn't
couldn't feel myself.
my
it
those fingers.
i saw them move as fingers do, but they didn't seem like my hands, my fingers, my flushed palms.
it felt surreal.
even the people i knew seemed unknown to my eyes.
it gave me this churn in my stomach.
a churn that screamed "danger".
but why?
don't i know these people?
i should know how they act
how they talk
how they walk
how they move.
but when i saw them talk
when i studied how their lips formed around words
i heard nothing.
there was no familiarity in their voice and the words they spoke from their mind to their tongues.
it sounded
like static.
like white noise.
the nothingness that's heard in a room of complete silence.
i felt like white noise.
that fuzziness; the pins and needles kind when you haven't moved in hours.
i could've brushed it off.
maybe tried to refocus my brain into thinking that
"yes. all of this is familiar. don't be so dumb."
but i couldn't.
all i felt was bile in my throat as i internalized my imminent panic.
it was settling there in the pit of my stomach all because
i couldn't recognize my own voice.
i couldn't recognize their faces.
i couldn't recognize where i was nor could i recognize why i was there in the first place.
what was my purpose?
why do i wake up, go to school, come home, sleep.
why do i do these things that give me little to no substance in my life?
this regular schedule
of constance.
that's what caused this white noise.
the white noise that pressed anxiety and stress into my chest
making it heavier
making it harder to breath
making it worse.
i hated it.
but i couldn't do anything about it.
this white noise.
oh, how much i despised the thing.
but
all i can do is revel in the moment until it passes.
Julian Delia Apr 2018
In my dreams,
I saw a grove;
Farm animals walked around in a drove.
Birds fluttered and chirped;
To me, it was strange,
For these animals seemed unusually free.
The sky seemed eternally blue,
The blades of grass a vivid hue -
As I lay to rest beneath a tree,
I heard an enchanting voice,
A chorus of sentience vibrating in harmony.

Given the choice
To sit there
Or walk towards this mystical source,
This musical, human recourse,
A cry for help perhaps, sounding like a tune of despair,
I felt moved.

So, for what felt like days,
I walked.
As the enchanting voice got clearer,
I approached the figure of a woman.
This sonorous presence
Heard my feet crunch on a bed of leaves;
Her body was coated in this essence,
Life itself
Seemed to flow out of her robes.

As soon as she turned to look at me,
A slack-jawed mortal, in disbelief,
I found myself flooded with relief
When she stopped singing,
And said:
“Welcome home, son.”

I finally understood
This grove that smelled like pine and wood
Was home to someone ethereal.
“Mother?”
I asked, the anticipation and the confusion
Being too much.

“I am not the Mother
Who brought you to Earth.
I am Mother Earth, your home and life-giver.
I am the air that you breathe
The earth that you walk upon
The water that you drink
And the fire that you misuse.”


Upon this stately declaration,
I felt this manifestation
Of shame and sadness.
“What ails you, my child?”
She gently asked,
Sensing my emotions.
Steadying myself, I said:
“For years, I’ve held these notions
That as humans,
We should be guardians of all,
Both the great and the small,
Creating life and mourning death
Not wasting a single breath
Until our children
Inherit a world that is better
Fixed by solutions that were deemed the most clever.

Instead, I failed you;
We all did.
Instead of respecting you,
We abused you.
Taking you for granted,
Our plans we mercilessly supplanted.
To our species
You were a conquest
Another addition to the dominion.
I am sorry,
Forgive me.”


Her immortal hands
Reached out to hold mine;
A kaleidoscopic ecstasy of visions
Gripped my very soul,
Suddenly, in tune with life as a whole.
As I felt this blissful connection,
This divine intervention
Of the infinite briefly meeting the finite,
She said:

**“Son,
Don’t let your apology weigh on your heart.
It isn’t Mother Earth you should worry about;
It’s your future that is in doubt,
Not mine.
When the rivers run dry,
When the air becomes sickly,
When the earth is scorched
And fire its master,
When you are all destroying each other,
I will survive, you will not.
I will find a way to thrive
As your cities crumble and rot.”
Fruits of my imagination - I hope you digest them nicely.
B Young Apr 2018
y b
I desire to play the piano
   fingertips like cigarettes
I desire to pick at the guitar
   fingertips like cigarettes

I want to whistle mellifluous melodies to my comrades
   lips like cigarettes    
I wish to massage your head
   broken fingernails filed cigarettes

I search for my voice to shout but my lungs
   are (((filled)))

I want to write a SuRreal poem
   But, my
fingertips are as cigarettes
cigarettes poem poetry surreal
Kabelo Maverick Apr 2018
Mazes, jigsaw puzzles
Perils of snakes and ladders
Amazing, as I jinx all troubles
and devils with the sage of my letters
Eat dust or catch the gingerbread man
Jesus made me a catch, fisher of dead men
A kaleidoscope life rippling to a point of decipherment
Climb the *****, thrive flipping like the poise of Spiderman
No special case, just immortal and complex
So essential, this trait of my moral compass
MVRK
FRITZ Apr 2018
the bed is nestled in disarray puffed and creased and folded
all off kilter mattresses scratched up air pad
nightstand bruised by rings of white where water collected
laptop pushing yellow light weakly through the red currant smoke
its warm and inviting your face is tingling and a soft smile lurks.

the trip and walking in the storm

          in the rain neither wet nor dry
              
               skin neither hot nor cold but feeling

                    something smooth and searing pushing on the brain

               fierce winds and acute awareness

          a new phase an evolution a transformation
    
     it flings you up but pulls you down

to that sleepy groove in the shade.

dead leaves on the windowsill and the silhouette of leaves
cast on the fading white wood and the wind
***** the torn up mesh a broken insect screen slashed up
stuck with my head in the blur and the sizzling haze
there's still sound in the skies.
333
333
333
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;

rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings



imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater
22nd  April  2018

Imagination set free ... perhaps rooted in the branches of a tree
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2397540/a-lost-angels-wings/

Luscinia, nightingale -  songbird noted for its melodious nocturnal song
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