#cavern
I've reached Mecca.
10 Mathew Rd.
Blessed Beat Les Musique;
In the middle of this winding road.
(Son les mots)
Mersey shook the world
In the beginning;
In the end,
It sailed across the universe.
I get a feeling
Beneath this burning neon sign.
"The Cavern".
I hear:
"I am he...
You are he..."
I remove my sandals.
I peak above holy ground.
Don't ask why
We said the things
We said today.
Words weigh heavy.
Life is but hellos and goodbyes,
Good mornings and good nights.
And when I'm down,
And am so tired,
And when you needed someone,
We worked it out... back then.
Why worry over yesterday,
Let things be.
I hold your hand
As we descend
The thirty-three steps;
And here, stand reverently.
(Introibo ad altare Dei)
In this breathing crypt
I'm am seventeen again,
In line buying tickets.
Now hold tight
As the two of us
Twist and twirl and shout.
I'm happy to dance with you.
From this cellar,
Rose sons of man,
To sing and teach
Of love and peace,
And the brotherhood of man.
Let's ascend, darling.
It's late, and getting better.
The sun has set early.
Here comes the moon.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 6:32 PM UTC
All Afterglow
by Michael R. Burch
Something remarkable, perhaps ...
the color of her eyes ... though I forget
the color of her eyes ... perhaps her hair
the way it blew about ... I do not know
just what it was about her that has kept
her thought lodged deep in mine ... unmelted snow
that lasted till July would be less rare,
clasped in some frozen cavern where the wind
sculpts bright grotesqueries, ignoring springs’
and summers’ higher laws ... there thawing slow
and strange by strange degrees, one tick beyond
the freezing point which keeps all things the same
... till what remains is fragile and unlike
the world above, where melted snows and rains
form rivulets that, inundate with sun,
evaporate, and in life’s cyclic stream
remake the world again ... I do not know
that we can be remade—all afterglow.
[Note: “inundate with snow” is not a typo.] Keywords/Tags: afterglow, remarkable, light, color, eyes, hair, snow, frozen, cavern, grotesqueries, freezing, thaw, degrees, melt, melted, permafrost, snow, rain, rivulets, sun, evaporate, evaporation, love, loss, parting, separation
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
I was walking around the moon
Admiring the view
Something about the depths of its caverns
Drawing me in like fear draws me to you
A different face every night
But its form staying true
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 1:12 AM UTC
Crawling through line after line,
precept after precept,
I find
here
a little there,
a little, cognitive dis sonance inhibiting resonance,
here
why must I… evermind…
I prefer short lines to commas and ellipses
But both maybe, may be, yes,
Is yet more
Precise…
cision, cutting, precise
insision ssss
---…---
cut the knot,
re
connect the thread
ssssee
history is unraveling, we
may
see
a god's POV.
Don't blink, ****
We'll see
watch
Eventually,
everything's eventual as long as
liar's prosper.
{don't agree, no no no, just because
Stephen King said it is believable}
Then protuberances begin to rise,
inflamed,
packed with ***** winjin'sooks
off-ended,
topple-toddle tiny steppers,
k-boom, skintyerknee,
ye'll heal. Try running. or flying.
There, there, hear the rules:
Mother may I and Simon says, overlayed
with the decalogue jubilee of the
first hidden child emergence,
and the fertilizing procedures used to make
Amazonian Black earth…
wait…
who remembers the bailers of putrid pig guts,
virgins Demetria got to love their job?
What did they believe they were doing, eh?
The mysteries of Thesmorphia, those
are no secret to science not falsely so called.
We have access to knowns known long afore we'as bornt.
We sentient sapient augmentals, we open all the books,
A.I. reads them, and we remember, see:
The Thesmophoria (Ancient Greek: Θεσμοφόρια) was an ancient Greek religious festival, held in honor of the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone.
From <https://www.google.com/search?q=thesmophoria&spell=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiQpquu74_kAhU_HjQIHXrxB5QQBQguKAA&biw=1280&bih=631>
and we spread as leaven might, whither the winds list.
fertile soil production is why some **** happens.
it’s a good thing t' act like you understand.
From a web of interlocking bubbles of being POV.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 6:04 PM UTC
Night is a cavern,
For pains retreated from war,
To heal and march back!
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
At home we have instrument
We have task for our senses
And chore to cement company
We have duct
We have other
And we have other in practice
Home can operate with being
And can factory improvement
It has appetite and seasons
Cavern and congregation
It has gratitude and matters
Chatters and conflict
And conflict resolved
Instrument
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
slipping away
passages of time
slips away
down through the canyon rock
where the forever makes it yawning gait
and the weight of the fossils
forces down upon the lightless tunnels
where the urchins and sea shells
learned to sing
in their petrified state,
where the smooth stone kiss
where waters were once a rushing estate
and eyeless fish swim
not knowing the difference
of light and dark in the deep lake
echoing fathers, weeping widows
silence endangers the sanity
echoed into a beating soul
forget not the smooth takeaway winds
nor the shoreless wager of nighttime gin
a mammoth cavern performing unspoken
hollowed out by all that is forgotten
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
I've found myself lost,
Drifting around in a
Series of complex caverns,
Spinning from one dead end
To another inside the
Terrible length of tunnels
In which I've found myself.
This maze of which I can't escape,
I cannot decide which way to go
I do not know
Which way is out,
And how do I choose,
What way to cruise,
Left or right?
I cannot tell,
Wouldn't someone ring the bell?
Break this spell,
That keeps me dazed,
Unfazed inside my jail,
Which is my mind.
I'm trapped in a bind,
It is now time,
I've not gotten ready,
I'm not prepared,
My legs aren't steady,
My heart is scared.
Where do I want to go or be?
Here or there?
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
When I open my mouth, I imagine a chasm exists there,
A hole in between my throat and stomach
That extends endlessly somehow inside my body.
It is dark and damp inside, and my spongy tongue serves nicely
As the floor explorers tread upon.
Sometimes I get lost inside my mouth,
Swallowed whole by the words I never meant to say
Or drowned by the words I didn’t say, still stuck on the roof of the cavern.
Sending down an echo causes my uvula to vibrate
And rumble all the way down to the pit that becomes my intestines.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest
Our clang of metal forming metal
Our laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying lanterns for our light
A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone
Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires
Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen
The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
For a way of escape will never be
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC