.. will it scale?

Can its brick and mortar  ramparts
be penetrated?  

Probably not.

Now, lifted up;  
pinned  up against it
there is a *******
that will break through

Within the wall's crumble
there is a rebirth..

A Heavenly emancipation--
and the most beautiful  of flows

Colors..
that  as of yet, have been named
Places  that have not  yet
been mapped

There is a spirit that you  want
to keep close
(but say one word to it
and it flees)

There is a light  that warms the skin
      down to the heart's very nucleus

Say hello to it
and watch it go into denial
of its deep love for you
of its deep love for Love

   Reach for it
   and watch it dissipate.

Slide back in to your own world
and watch it weep

   Believe  in it
   and watch it glow

You are in there,  I am certain of it--
Behind the gear's finely-honed,
precision fit  gear..

in to gear
in to gear

into gear..
And I wonder..  do you want out?
The machine  on the outside, self-repairs
Any attempt towards dismantle  from
the external,  is futile..
But the internal,  beautiful girl..

"I don't know what you mean, about 'machine'"
She is apprehensive, those beautiful
brown eyes,  looking up at me..
"Look down, sweet girl"
Her thighs, fully parted,  as I slide
in to her.. those amazing hips,
moving so perfectly with mine,  extracting..

Milking from me, my warm  pulsing *****--
a deeply-penetrating lubricant,  pulsed
deeply into the machine
As if to lubricate its gears..
As if..

But penetrating so deeply, as to now
permeate the insides  of the
mechanization's innerworkings--
turning from lubricant, to that
of a corrosive nature..
Fully coating now, the inner you..

as it turns back now, into that
of a healing balm
Bringing to you  a moment of Light  
  and internal clarity--  
long enough for you to see

    That the machine  is made vulnerable
    by the ever-changing qualities  of
    Love that found its way through
    As the awakened parts within you, for the
    first time.. understand

the machine's love-blocking,  nature
And you begin to choose, mid-******
the machine's dismantle,  from the inside--

'Little by little..

Line, upon line..

Block, upon block..

Precept, upon precept..'

Until we have the chance,  once again..
to do it all again

I see you  in the layers
between the layers--

One,  stacked atop
of the other,   but none
losing their God-given, loft

I see your tears--  watering
a Universe,  parched..
.
Wanting to say  that it
knows,  the true color of  rain
or the difference  between  

good..
and the bad,  kind of pain.

I reach  for you
and you dissolve..  evaporate--

like you were never, mine.
Were you ever,  mine?

Insane, jealous wives..
controlling ones
They are everywhere
or at least  they are,
with the men she knows..

So she comforts them
in their affliction,
in a cherub-like  way--
these poor men,

with their  insane,
controlling  girlfriends  and
wives--

crazy, jealous women
that refuse to allow  their men
to talk to her
or be alone in a room, with her

It seems as though  
the world is filled  with
insane,   controlling
jealous women--


at least,  in the lives
of the men  she knows,
there is.

With a twinge of internal dissension
I realized that I had  all along
been ******* nothing else,  but air.

This made  me--  a dedicated loner..
smile, profoundly.

I chased myself around the room..
playing,  hard to get..
But me
with me
will always  be gotten.

I  got  that, my loves
..get that?

To inhabit the space  within
oneself,  to such a degree
that the skin, thins itself out

    in order to leave  room
    for that which is  to occupy--

An indwelling  
of self,  to such a degree
as to stretch the skin
to full capacity..

    leaving no room  
    for ambiguity--

All cells and atoms, within
now  fully occupied,

   fully inhabited

by the most beautiful  
form of indwelling  of all--


   That,  of the self.

Forgiveness is
as forgiveness  does

and I have fallen  short
of breaking through
this family thing
this family, fling

This family hold
from days,  of old

This family-fed,
smiling, waving
****-pocket, (in)bred
Head-in-the-sand
adrenal gland
Death-bonded hold
this fungus-laced mold
holding you down
by your choice to choose
Nothing, but them

And out of the ashes
reaches up a hand
that strangles the mother-******..
aptly called

because  his ******* of
your mother..   his daughter,

groomed her
to bathe her pure, firstborn daughter
in order to offer her, back to him
as a living, breathing sacrifice--

Pure.. Holy.. Blameless;
without spot,  or defect   to him,  

     the destroyer of worlds

but mostly,  just yours --
his dearly, dearly Beloved.

  Crooked teeth, yes

     but a finger-puppet's face
     leaves no bite-mark, trace

Shiny wrenches, swung
by hands on sirens, sung
A heinous intent here
has   began..

      ..begin?

Begun.


Shovel in hand--
            the torso will go   there

   the head,  over here..

won't that be a hoot?

Mom won't carry the evil
that you gladly,  choose to wear
(still.. your little, yellow Volkswagen
is so ****** fucken cute)

You're an addict, Ted
nothing more.
Your self- celebration,
nothing but a dead-end street.

        Stay sweet.

She bleeds through the
ends of her fingers, as she cries--
   she dies inside
   as she relives the horrors

   and re-suffers the blows;
   down on to the paper
   it all goes

her shattered-heart knows,
and her tear-stained face shows
that this is how she will reach
those, all alone;  

so, with trauma-scarred hands-
and blood-stained-red bones, creates
the much needed seed to be sown
  

   and down on to the paper
   it all goes

This place. I don't know.
so many people / want to block..
  their words--
they climb all over me.
one's in particular:

Heart-expressed words bringing down
the healing light of relationship to the parts of me
who up until now
have known little or no relationship of its kind;

      and there is conflict within me  as I fight it..
    years the locusts have eaten; and the opportunity of restoration;
      often squandered. in vanity.

none of that mattered much;

                                 until now--

When the unredeemed heart-parts of myself
reveal to me their dormancy:    left detached
from community  with one another--
  an internal community   necessary
  to withstand  the brilliant light    and glory
  brought down by those here who write as she does.

          but she;

    through her unfiltered heart-writes
    brings down the very magic and beauty and fullness of the
    relational dance of the godhead.

     And it's raw beauty is ****** slayin me.
I so want to block her  for the conflict she creates    in me  
                    .
      but I will  press on

and allow her supremely-smithed words--
(words not even written to me)
to have their beautiful way,

in

and through..
the help that has been all around me;
(each and every one of us)
waiting...  
             all along

   --as  if they were cleaning my soul,
      re-integrating my fragmented, heart-parts.

--And you will not go
you will not fall
Within you  are the thoughts
that will lead
to your untimely leaving

if you listen to it all
you will lose
And the whole world
will lose, along  with you

Please don't leave
Please, sweet love..
stay--
If for no one else

then please stay  for me

In your pretty little head
is the death
that was never
meant to be yours
ah, love.. can't  you see
there is a renewal
within the breath
of  all  who are finally
able to let love in.

That head of yours,
my sweet one
It will tell you  
every-where  to go--

  every where,  
  but to me.

Yet
I know those messages
spoken, also..

So clear and so loud--
in its mist of distance
its concealing cloud,
the fog that makes it all
seem so very very real

But what of the real
within this feel,  within me

That tells me of your worth
and the tremendous value
that lies within the rarity
of all there is that is you..

In your head, you are ugly
In mine,
you are my  so very..
Will I ever  be able
to get you to see
what a departure like that
will do to me?

Within your own self view
is that oh so horrible 

           undoing of you
How very real  it feels..
this,  which was so very unfairly
placed in to you
This..  which now  only wants
to see you dead

Such a very beautiful
pretty, little head

And you--
my so very,
very

very..


Very.
xo

Paul SN

There is a kinetic  c e l e b r a t i o n
throughout the entire universe--
both known and unknown;
  each molecule a universe to itself-

a world interconnected;
of sub-atomic celebrators
filling all time and space
perpetually valuing value itself

Value--
who, at its prime core
is in itself
the self-celebration
of hope/value=  Love- (tagline) #healing

    and it is everywhere.
                  Yet, we.. are unaware.

Loving words
  (all that is real)
align with the celebration-
   of the kinetic-heal

and they pick up the magic
(the receivable rendition)
allowed into the receiver
through the act of volition

   and suddenly we become aware.

   •    •    •    •

I am  melting  into   you--

and  in the blend   of us
I am finding   the
c l a r i fi c ation      of me--  a
process  until today

I never believed in.

Once rolling alone
I am finding
the word,   h o m e
in everything  
    that     you do..

    e v er y- t h i n g.

Ah  my sweet, beautiful angel--
baby.. can you feel it?
The Majestic Universe,  in its
infinite love for you
is pressing itself  down upon you.

  Feel the thickness of Love's
containment, as the core  of you
shudders
on this new-found  of yours,  
Holy ground.

  And like a child, wide-eyed
the warmth of Love's touch
causes your innocence to prophesy..

  De innocentibus prophetiae, love--


  And  n e v er   will you  ever  
  ever again

    doubt

  that the  core
  of who it is that you are
  is  truly  loved

If it ever becomes too much,
come and find me--

I'll be over here:
in the grass-covered prairielands--   waiting..  

like the catcher in the rye.

PaulSN

I have seen her--
a beautiful author of fine
heart-matters..  she catches
words out of thin air--  and
in reaching out her hand;

they,  with great zeal
slow down for her.

When she makes them  
 her own
they gladly  give up
their semantic-like  little
autonomies.

Like me, they
trust her heart with
everything--

  even their own  
 re-naming..

And like me also,
they feel safe
when they are
near her.

D Vanlandingham

I have gotten to the place
where I hate most everything
Except for the deep, raw truth

      of true brokenness.

And the love that I feel
for those  left so alone
undoes the twist of my hatred,

Bringing a warmth  that
keeps me alive, in my deep longing
to be with beautiful spirits,

                       kindred.

Selmhem Naise

What would you do  
if you knew there was a light source   whose
very nature  could illuminate the back
sides of molecules and atoms;  as if
the source did not come from its point of origin
but instead--  permeated all-throughout  
    from all sides at once..  in all directions--
    at the same time;  simultaneously..

    yet also perpetually

..and if so-- where could one hide  from the
knowing-ability  of light of this nature
that chooses to have "known-ability".

What if
by chance,  in life here on earth
we are given the dignity to choose,  through
autonomy.. the freedom to hide--
the power to place, even if through illusion;
obstacle,
 
and create shadow from a light, that knows no shadow.

What if,  the nature of love  that is also light
chooses  through muse, as one of its loving ways,
to pierce through obstacle  created
by autonomy's oftentimes, need to hide-

What if.

Wouldn't that then be an act of kindness..
and also a beautiful act of honor  towards autonomy
to not force its way in through power
but instead.. coax,  through heart-persuasion?

..And that much more a gift  muse would be
if one were to know  that at the end  of life
would be the complete and full removal  of obstacle
      in order  to know  
   and be fully known?

Without loving acts such as muse
what would be "knowable"  within us
if obstacle were never penetrated,  

   here
in the land of the living?


What if.

Drearily,
just this side   of succumbing
there is a  saving-grace
within the fine art
   of numbing..
but
is the gain  worth
the loss--

a soul,  meant to be alive..
    now  grown over--
    now, covered in moss?

Within the succumbing
I become saved
from the annihilation  
of the soul
In its attempt  to survive
in a world, hell-bent
on stealing it.

Can I get  me
back, to me
before it is  all
too late?
There is a poe
at the gate--
  saying:
Oh my dear Paul..

don't wait,
don't wait..

don't wait.

Selmhem Naise
  (02/2016)

I was so much older than you, but not enough to where
we couldn't be in the same school at the same time.
I watched you grow up throughout the years,  
and you attracted my attention in a way
that I have yet to find words to describe.

The first time I saw you, you were with your friends
stopping in the park on the way to school-
swinging on the swings,  even though you had
long outgrown that stage. It didn't matter to you
because at home you still had Barbie dolls that
you played with. You didn't care what people thought,

you just did what you did because it made sense to you.

As you got older, so did I and I grew in stature, yet
would still look towards you where you were at,  four
grades younger than me. I was tall, muscular, tanned,
long blonde surfer hair. You were a freshman and always
hung around with that messy looking nerdy-type kid
who had tape on the edge of his goofy looking horn rim
glasses. An upper class **** started ridiculing him,
and you jumped up off the bench  and literally climbed
up on his back and started punching him in the head
as he was spinning to try to grab you off of him.

I was close enough to run to the commotion, and told him
that if he laid a hand on you I was going to knock him cold.

Do you remember me grabbing hold of you
and lifting you off his back  and setting your feet
back on the ground?

   I looked you right in the eyes..
   and it was at that moment that you saw
   what I had carried of you for so long.

   You were still just a little girl at heart  and in body.

The end of that year I graduated and moved away.
I went on to marriage and family, work stuff..  everyday things.
When much of that crumbled, I found myself here;

   and there you were again..

I have loved you for nearly all your life, little scrapper
it has been well worth the wait.

Feb 27


"Dear, complete and total *******, M Vogel:

Your account will be back to normal on Oct 27.
Because our moderators have reviewed and agreed with the members' concerns about your work, this suspension cannot be reconsidered.

Please read FAQs for more information..


Why did this happen?
'on ****, love.. and helping my cute as **** stepsister become relational.' was removed for 'Inappropriate/Obscene'
Jan 18

'on ****, love.. and helping my cute as **** stepsister become relational.' was removed for 'Inappropriate/Obscene'
Jan 18

'on ****, love.. and helping the cute as **** daughter of the woman who likes my father, become relational. (rethemotherfuck,post) [and ex(themotherofthefuck)splicit]' was removed for 'Inappropriate/Obscene'
52 seconds ago

'on ****, love.. and helping the cute as **** daughter of the woman who likes my father, become relational. (rethemotherfuck,post) [and ex(themotherofthefuck)splicit]' was removed for 'Inappropriate/Obscene'
52 seconds ago

'on ****, love.. and helping my cute as **** stepsister become relational. (rethemotherfuck,post)' was removed for 'Inappropriate/Obscene'
45 seconds ago

'on ****, love.. and helping my cute as **** stepsister become relational. (rethemotherfuck,post)' was removed for 'Inappropriate/Obscene'
45 seconds ago


Please try to get in line with the quality and moral character of all our other writers on the site, or kindly ****."

Love,
HP Moderation
(site de-scumbagging division)


"Hmmm..?"
~M Vogel

youtu.be/uXEUW792etk



"umm..
I created this for children;; Children... understand?"
~Elliot

youtu.be/54OYS_mZlBE

PaulSN

I have been writing
   about you
almost since my
very first-ever   poem

It was your spirit  I
could feel--
   even  when I was  wholly
unable  to feel

You are  a b ra isi v e
in the most  t e n d e r e s t
  of ways
    my little scrapper

And I have  pulled you
  t o w a r d s   me
a  thousand  different  days

(yet, I have never touched you)

Little scrapper,  you are
  a d m i r e d
from afar
      by me--
the one who has been
    watching you--
all these years

Look up, beautiful-one
turn your face
      to  me
          and see that I am
                                     still here--
wanting just to  touch
the side of  yours
with *******

          just a touch

Yes,
silly spilly--
       yapper-lilly
I am right here..
   lookin   at you-  tenderly
                                              still--

              even after all this time

D Vanlandingham

My hands..
gently around her throat
as she momentarily
slips away, from the pain--
her beautiful doe-eyes, a full
submittal of trust..
(and I am worthy of it all..
so very very worthy, my beautiful)
and deep within  her release

she takes love in
she takes it in

There is a rope in the garage
that has her name on it
the bannister at the top of the stairs
(so very, very unworthy)
to provide support
for her beautiful body
that  now, only wants
to no longer  have to carry the pain
The rope does not  carry within it
the warm-blooded pulsings
of my own, heart's love--

  (it does not feel your trust,
   at the moment  of release..)

but    like me,
it has no concept of how to let go..
my hands--  they release
at the moment  of your own..
the tears in your eyes, say it all to me--
that you don't want me to  ever
learn how to let go.
The rope,  being pain's release
in to the final

Mine, a never-letting-go
into  the  forever

my hands  they ease their grip
but my heart--
      no..

      no   not,  ever.

A heart  
that just wants
to be what it is..
without edit  needed,
to avoid punishment
or worse yet,
counterfeit imitation

So why not we
stoke up
the gaslight  flame
and color it all, empty
or count it all
to that of self gain
nullifying the good
down to that  of
everyday, commonplace
or that  of an every day
self-centeredness..

making
every single bit of this,
un-fixable

They take into themselves,  living water
from the vine strip that love brought to them  from
the canopy's Gathering--
from the passing storm of the lair, in Stratus

And behold, they are unafraid,  
     these thirsty-ones--

these cohesively-vibrating, pre-feathered cygnets
these illustrious,  winged smolts-- 

                              stream-drawn,     
              ­              ocean spawned.

Their wings: give flight?    No, not quite;
(though for an eternity  they have flown.)

And ever since love,   its been known
ever evolving,   they are..

         yet never  fully grown--

The Living water
keeps them stretching,   reaching..
yearning,  for  a  wind


        that will give their hearts a home,
                                             seed-sown.

Those beautiful eyes--
they wont stop looking at me
and they never stop  believing in me

I swear to Christ, I ******* hate her
My contempt-filled, trauma-built fortress of distrust  
is systematically becoming  dismantled

                        raw;­  pure--   love,  
      is such a sneaky little ******.

And its unfettered, magical-wizardry  is now
putting my central core at risk--
     the fear of annihilation
     is one truly ****** up hell
     a ******* horror  beyond all horrors.


She is still looking at me with
               that love  in her eyes.


                Now I really hate her.

Stephan W

The sinking ship wasn't your life, my beautiful--
it was simply a series of messages, unfairly laid on you
so very long ago.. and in such a way
that they became a way of thinking;

    --and in and through them,   your mind..
      and also your life-view,  was formed.

And so, it wasn't one ship, whose porthole
you finally swam out of,   but many--
each time,  only after
  you had enough love  inside of you
  to be able to embrace the truth--
       ~that now told you that you had to exit the ship
       before it was going to take you down along with it~

It was love, that was able to show you
what was on the other side
and it was love that helped guide you to the surface
every  time you exited the ship
and each time you did, you developed a greater trusting
   of the process..

and each time you swam through the porthole
you looked that much more beautiful to me--

     Your beautiful face, glowing..
     Your gorgeous mouth, so willingly   pressed against mine
        so you could draw into your  own lungs
        the very air of mine that I breathed into you,
        as we both made our way up to the surface.

And slowly, in each ship that you exited,
your mind became more, and more renewed--
All the things that kept your mind and heart away from love
were the very things I would need you to
deal with before I could ever be with you

     or someone like you.

And so it was in my love for you
and desire for you to become whole..
and also, my deep contempt for the messages
that have been so unfairly laid on beautiful ones such as you
that have both  caused me to want to take the time  
to help you see..

That each ship who's furniture you were so tediously polishing
was in fact, sinking to the bottom of the sea..

But it was  you  that had to see it for yourself, Love--
in and through the view and understanding
that what you at one time found valuable and necessary
in its ability to keep you alive,
     now stood in the way of you taking in love--  
     the real thing.

So you see, love.. It couldn't have been just one ship..
but a whole series of ships--
and each one could only be exited once you had enough love inside..
and in truth, our bodies, (in their broken state of being) can only
take in as much love that the grace that we have been given
up to that point will allow..

Which is why the element of time is such an important thing,
and I consider it a great luxury that you and I were able
    to come back together
    time and time again--

               even when both of us thought every-thing was over.

I needed time to keep from continually throwing my phone(s) against the wall
(and out the window),
and you needed time to process what was coming towards you...
(and, also your anger at me)
     for pushing you too hard sometimes ..
     and other times being too harsh, or unfair..
     or from bringing too many of my own issues into the process.

But one thing for me I know for sure is true,
and that is every time you exited that porthole,
you became even more beautiful to me  than ever before
And, with-in the tenderness of your trust..
And the way you pressed your beautiful mouth to mine
as you took my air into your lungs.. as if your own..
     In the curve of your gorgeous hips, as your dress--
                                                          clingi­­ng to your skin..
in that warm, ocean water, as you slipped out of the portal
towards me and then up to the surface with me..
body, pressed against body..  as you took my air in

And the way that you learned along the way
to truly trust.. and take the risk to make your needs known:
   how to ask for help, now--
long before your heart, mind, soul  and that beautiful body
     went into despair--

That you would make your needs known to me
in the most beautiful of ways--
ways, which unknown to you,
     would draw me in-   towards  you
     in such a tremendously, deep way..


And so, you can see that our beautiful friendship was
doomed from the beginning--

   what has happened in my heart now,
              was inevitable,

       and is the outcome of your incredible response
       to all that has come towards you..
                                           from me.

D Vanlandingham

ah, this rolling  this flowing////
are we all not the same  when the sun sets sail..
when the tides, no longer take out,  but brings in--
    arms at sides,  all?
Who steals from who, then  at that time
when the music within the dance  
mesmerizes all..   and there is no longer place
for dissention..   or strive, for gain?
Everything becomes seen,  
when there is nowhere left to hide
and  with the full removal of judgment
there is only  light inside
(but it has to be wanted, more than the sin,
of holding on)
where then  is there shadow
when all that blocks,   has up and gone..
the sun-filled sails that bring us home
on tall ships   we each, on--
main.. fore,  and mizzen;  staunchly-braced
amidst an in-the-face-of-death, laugh..
shrouds, proudly tight   causing  
the most  beautiful  of harmonics,
from fore boom.. through jib,  to gaff--
A war-less armada,  this stunning fleet of peace
sailing together,  upriver..  through the jungle//

and into the magical advent...  
into the beautiful world,  of full release.

"From the days of John the Baptist until now,
the kingdom of heaven has been advancing forcefully..
and the violent, seize it by force."

--Jebs


ahem..

By 'his scrawny little neck' she grabs him
and pulls Him,  from his Throne--

"Fucken know it all..  he don't know ****.."

blurts out  she--
the all-seeing,  ever defining one.


The paint on her war-brush
is the blackest of blacks..

as she  brands  me for

the  orbiting  of her 
                          that I

    most clearly,  lack.

And an ability that is all hers,
not mine--

The one, self-given:
the power,  to define.

And, she wonders where mine came from;
me-- who was once a mother's son..

As I  ******  the grown-up  a l l  of me
into every single part of her

     that feels,  just like mom.

I was young once, my beautiful
helplessly.. (almost hopelessly)  subject  to it all

   --but no more,  my sweet
     ever-painting, honeybee.


That black, babe-- it don't stick;
no, sweet love..   no,
no   not no more;

Ah, Baby..

can you hear me
can you hear me??

...   can you hear me..?

Selmhem Naise


Most often we write

  for ourselves

               and to our selves.

And most often  we
end up reading our own work
             much more

             than anyone else does.

Most often
our poetry is
our own  spirit's

             pressing itself back towards us--


        The  one  we want
  and need
  relationship with
                      most deeply;

                                  most often

                is our very own selves.

Selmhem Naise
03/2016

Poetry is so much
more
than many people think it is.
It is
the place
where the battleground of light and dark
makes its  finest stand..

or most pathetic fall.

Selmhem Naise

In the end,  I
have found what it is
that I have been looking for--
the hope of hopes:
and a view  of views--

"God's hand in all things.."

D Vanlandingham

I could not help it,
but to show you how the moment felt,
and in the unfolding of a picture, painted;
the deepest of your dreams were unknowingly shown to you
And it caught you off guard-  having, to that day..

   you never imagined,  it possible.

But you did not yet understand that you wear your dream
somewhere within the thin-walled interminglings
of the word's first primal, urgings..  and its out-into-the-light-of-day,
manifestations... (and baby, I feel like crying right now)
but I will continue
I will continue--

You never signed up for this,  I know..
but you are the one who  chose
to allow your war-torn heart,
to keep on beating//
your flame-scorched lungs,  to keep on breathing..
and now look at this mess, my beautiful--
your beautiful-everything has bled out on to me

and  everywhere that I am..  I am wearing you

And all I do  is tell you what it feels like  to wear you
but in doing so, I made known  your dream
and somehow-- within the stretch of Love's ache's, bad luck
I have become hated  for making your secret, come true--

         the revealing of the dream,  made known ::

                                                the Unfolded you.

And now, you are raging
because you never imagined, the possibility
that there would be someone  out there
that would care  enough about you
to become able  to see..

(and a man became hated, for just being  me).


Yet, even now  to this day,  beloved;
I close my eyes, and smile
within the depths,

  of your deeply loving, hatred.

Your *******, when love-based
within their beautiful forming,
and then  glorious unfolding
are Love and Light's  extracorporeal
pulsings;
focusing   l o v e t on e d
sonic shockwaves directly at the  machine's
extremely intricate innerworkings..

Having,  through years of horror-based
survival tactics; in desperation.. slowly learned;
now ingrained-- softening up the very
innerwall-linings of your very spirit
in such a way as to unknowingly
provide footing
for the machine's  deep embedment,
and then,  permeation  of all things
previously, you..
having now enwrapped itself into
your very sinews

holding your precious spirit   captive
from the the soar

These passionate, late night forays
outside the wire with you
are not exploitative, but instead
are love-driven  deeply focused,
fully intentioned pingings of Light's
Relational sound waves
aimed directly at the beautiful you
held so tightly, so covetously by the machine
as your wonderfully  nectar-filled body
responds late at night, aligning
to the me, you have come to know..
heightening your beautiful response
to the point of screaming,  passionate release--

your own, fully love based..

      extracorporeal..

unwelcoming,   of the machine.

D Vanlandingham

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so
absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
~Albert Camus


Manifestations, through metabolization--
there is a shift provided  within
their very act of being,  causing a cost
that none of those who choose to  punish

would choose to pay,

    Yet.. pay, these earth gods will:
    as that is the only world that they know

And to survive, with such a vengeance
as to provide the necessary offset   powerful enough
to bring about the very death   of death, itself

A death, not wanting to die,  but instead
made alive  within the very death
it brings about in the hearts of those  

    who punish the very ones  capable
    of causing its own demise--

A catch-all, catch-22...
a never ending, vicious cycle
the offset  made nearly null and void

    through deception's presentation of the image..
    gunfire in the air, there is a celebration--
    its Wehrmacht-like rallys and assemblies;

                                  social media at its finest.
                                       (selfies, selfies, selfies..)

But the Earth Gods;
they are an insertion in to every bit of this..
     undeceived  
     unwavering

     uncontrollable.

D Vanlangdingham

You are running out of places to hide
because they no longer mean what they
once meant to you.

    And you are trusting more...
    because.. **** it, that's why.

You now love the man, who the bigger
part of you once hated--
but when the bigger became the smaller,
you forgot just why.

..And now all that you can remember is
that you have always loved the one,

    you tried
         so hard to hate..

And hate becomes love
when you let go,  and become  
a part of

the very part of you,
that you tried so hard  to un-do.

Your finest of  dreams
became known..
And in those precious hours
you soared,  as I soared
until your own,  
horrendously skewed,
self-view
slaughtered the ever-living
****  out of it all..
And, oh my sweet
little desert-wanderer-
you have been mad at me
ever since.

I did not create your view,
someone else did-- so horribly..
so very unfairly
     long before we ever met
I came to help  restore  in you
that which was stolen from you
so very long ago.
   But you hauled off  and kicked
   me in the ****
   as soon as your ever-wearing
   internal-messaging system  kicked in
And down I went, my beautiful--
a total ******* in your eyes
with no way left to bring you  the gold
your better-everything, still hungers for.
**** me, my beauty..
baby stick the knife in
    deep.
And in a moment of remorse
your tear-stained rusted fortress-gate
will swing wide open..
and with my last dying breath,
I will hand it over to you anyways--

         The gold your war-torn heart
         had always hoped for
         but never thought it deserved.

   You are Ishmael, my beautiful--


   a blood-borne carrier
   of the Living Word

paulSN

Open up the floodgates of hope,
and need
and along with the
access
to life it brings  
comes years  of being

left hanging
let down
ignored
abandoned..
hope upon hope
upon hope,  left

dashed
smashed
crushed
quenched
drenched

in the dry emptiness  
of emptiness itself..

until the resilient
childlike
hopefulness of a little-one
wears down

into despondency

And so it is
the hope of hope
that brings back access
into memories

of when we first  
gave up hope

and then (God help us)..
the reasons why.

Beautiful keeper of the gate
push through it all my love..
push through it all,
     and as you face your hell

you will begin to see your heaven again.

All these years
(and all those covered up, fears)
Ah, babe.. the things I would do
to keep myself separate..
to keep from being  pulled in--

to all things, nonlife;
from that which  my spirit
could not believe in..
to paths that felt to be
diametrically opposed
to a true north  
that I did not know,
but could only feel
Oh what have I done,
my beautiful--
I have judged, and lost
so much

in order to become  so un-able
             to  hold on  to so little

Just how much  of me
would be left,  
had I let you in; 

      ..everything?

Or  no-thing--


sans the memory
of all that I have done
in order to obtain it.

Selmhem Naise


"...A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that's just how the world will come to an end:
to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke."
~S.K.


Uncanny wit
A bit of a ****.
And his Glory he hides
As the red orb he slides
Over the nose that knows.
It is to only "they that can see"
His 'pose that shows.
The clown is a genius...
And so very few knows.

Tell him...
Tell the clown what it is that you see,
In and through his funny-colored eyes.
Maybe the glory that is his
Will pierce through disguise
In order to be
What each of us that 'see'
Do already see.
That we
Are in the company

Of a truthteller kinda feller.


(Applause)
from a whole new kind of crowd

Your soul's movement
is everything..
my sin;  when made manifest,
a particulate--

(when breathed in,
there is a certain freedom within it)

Within view of the altar stone
all  hidden knives, become fully known
(and, alas, my love--
there's no ram  in the thicket)
Beautiful, within the endeavor
though still vastly distant--

(what a fool I make of myself
trying to make this thing, rhyme
by having the audacity
to use the word, Covenant.)

Maybe, I--
your long-lost,  supplicant  
has been  nothing more
than a deeply-embedded, replicant.
(or something)..

paulSN

I cannot betray
who it is that I am,
little beauty-
and so, in doing so
I will continue to hold on
to that which I know
truly gives me strength;

but..
I cannot help but hope
that as I do, the rain
that waters my tree
and helps me to stand--
also waters
and brings nourishment to
the very roots

of the beautiful sapling that is you.

I do it for me, because I know
that is what I must do-  stand.
Know that you are deeply embedded
within my very growth rings, so
as I stand
and sing
of the very rain  that
provides the very thing we need,
I stand for you also:

and everyone else who is a struggling
sapling such as I once was.

      You are me
      and I am you.

   We both thrive on the same water.

How do I stop looking..
when do I let go?
Your need is my view
(my access to you)
and if and when   you
no longer need me..
well,
then I'll smile  a smile;
but until then,  I
would even
pull you to me as
my own, forever-
   if that is what you need.
And for that,
part of me wants to
                apologize..
but the better side of me
wants to say,

    you’re welcome.

Maybe all those things
you already understand  
from me
but one thing I know for sure--

if you keep moving towards the good
you are going to be
view-******* for life,

     in the best of ways.


     Oh--

     and you’re welcome.

Lyrics by Wheeler Walker Jr.

I don't know what's happening here
Cuz I ain't even had a beer
But oh, you sure look pretty
It's nice to have a reason to smile
Cuz we've been hanging for a little while
And oh, things still ain't ******

Call it crazy, call it love
Somehow I still ain't ****** it up
It's a scary thought to think I might
Have just one ***** for the rest of my life

Now I just don't know what to do
Cuz I still ain't sick of ******' you

Words spreading all over town
That Wheeler's done messing around
And done with runnin'
And all my friends love talking that ****
All saying that I'm ***** whipped

       But I,  .. I say **** 'em

Call it crazy, call it love
Somehow I still ain't ****** it up
It's a scary thought to think I might
Have just one ***** for the rest of my life

Now I just don't know what to do
Cuz I still ain't sick of ******' you

I'm a brand new man getting on my knees
Praying that you ain't sick of ******' me
Of ******' me

Call it crazy, call it love
Somehow I still ain't ****** it up
It's a scary thought to think I might
Have just one ***** for the rest of my life

Now I just don't know what to do
Cuz I still ain't sick of ******' you

Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you
Still ain't sick of ******' you

I'm going to tell you something that you already know to be true,
but I'm going to say it anyways--

If either of my wives had half the ability to believe that you do,  you
and I would have never met, because I would still be happily married
and my heart's energy would be going towards her,  rather than here.  
Let your mind, and that gorgeous body of yours believe and think right now
whatever you need to in order to take sips of air in all of this difficulty,  

           but I know and see things much differently
      because I am not under the stress that you are.

Call me eccentric, old.. and whatever you need to so that you can
keep from getting ****** under in all of this mess that you are
feeling, but I will never stop seeing the things that are there for you..

and are yours to take hold of--
      within the parameters of your own giftedness.

******- all to hell,  yet still believing
(it really don't make sense, it dont it dont it dont)

But try us, and see-- we run on a different fuel
and rely on different  tools,
to keep the love  in us, afloat.

Don't rock the boat,   we say
but no one fully   realizes  
just how very strong
that rocked, or unrocked boat is

Yet, float along the sea of emptiness,  long enough
and even the strongest of boats  will self-scuttle

--and an empty world,  in a split-second moment
becomes suddenly,  tenfold emptier.

There is the core  of who it is that you are,
inside of you
and  it  will  never,  ever leave you.
When we are hurt real bad..  
and in such unjust ways,
we can sometimes  lose ourselves,
from ourselves..

But that part of us
will never not want to be found.

We become afraid--
even of our own  true selves,  
because the pain from the hurt
has been so bad.
There is a central part of you
that has been protected  from
every single bit of that harm--
that is the core of who it is that you are.

In its utter and magnificent beauty,
it is wholly unable to be  corrupted  
by this less than loving world;

And in it's perfect ability to see,
it will always  let you be the one,
chosen,  to find it.

This is the picture,  painted
of you,  finding you.

I'm trying to stay alive long enough
to get the words out..
the words your broken soul
has been longing to hear..

the shift, that will provide
                             the offset

Not as if, an undoing of the trauma
or an explanation as to why
this whole ****** up world
is as ****** up as it is

but instead

ones that will  show you
that it all has been worthwhile--
That the pain  that you carry
will find a place--

and you will no longer have to  be
so all alone


I am failing, my beautiful..

and I am dying
in all of my inability
to say to you  (and those like you)

what it is I have been built (from day-one)

.
.
.
.
.


to say.