On the streets of gold,  forgiven
by the skin of his teeth, maybe.

On here; on Earth--
stuffed in a corner
Bloodied.. trundled, fondled
wearing his sin--

(his unholy,
carcinogenic/pathogen).

And I,  I want to go to heaven..?
I would **** you, everyday
You self-serving *******,   now forgiven

I will take hell, you ****

She is still down here
and so, here.. on earth (and below) 
will become my heaven.

And I will become like you
and I will wear your pelts of perpetration
     and I will be hated for it
but there will be healing in the land
    because I am not  of you
nor am I of those who continue to do  

what it is that you have done

May the heaven you have entered into,
fully forgiven..   fully 'healed'
    become your hell

  through all things revealed

You felt nothing then
and you feel nothing now
But soon, you ****.. you will feel
I promise you  that  you will feel..

There is a darkness, even in heaven

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.

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.

"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..?

Pain.. when left alone to just be pain;
and trying to heal from that place, without giving hope to others
the way that you do so beautifully when you write the way you do..

It all becomes such a loneliness, when unshared.

And your opening up in that beautiful and gorgeous way that you do--
it is a wonderful example (both to, and for) so many who are still
tightly bound within the pain of it all, never knowing that the
reaching for hope is so very worthy of their time and energy:  
both,  desperately needed

in order to become able to press through the shame;
in order to just be able to hold on.

Never more gorgeous and **** you are to men like me--
when you glow that way..
as a beacon of light to those who were ones bound so very tightly,
within the injustice of all that was so unfairly laid upon them--  
                                                        ­ just as it also was with you.
And,
your healing and perseverance, in your movement towards strength,
again, is opening doors for many--
there is no doubt in my mind, of that very truth:

Something deep and beautiful happens inside of me, and those like me
when I see ones like you do that beautiful thing that you do out there.
Wild thoughts come to the surface-- of mouth, pressed to mouth,
and gentle (and the not so overly gentle) removing of clothes-- in a
not so very un-fast pace.. in the deep need to so very quickly know,
between brightly-glowing bodies;
that wonderful feeling of skin on skin. Really. xo

And, though innocent in your use of it, and unbeknownst to you,
there is a conniving and scheming within it that bypasses all of the
filters of my heart, and enters directly into desire's  unbridled
and untamed world--

the one that always is brewing within me, subsurface.

Leave it to the gorgeous wild-ones such as yourself to bring that
part of me out into the light of day-- where I can barely manage it.
The thought of ever being alone with ones like you at night, brings
about such a wonderful,  
exploding  eruption of warm, lava flow..

even within itself.
True story, babe. xo

You have a foundation that you can feel now--
          its load-points, bearing directly  on top

                                    of Love's firm bedrock.


Whatever  you want to become on top of that
    is  whatever  you  believe   your loved core
    is  worthy    of being built in to  (becoming).

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

Don't speak directly to her--
you will melt the skin  off
     her bone-frame

Instead,  find parallel-words--

ones that will  float alongside her
as she walks,  so as she is able-
she can pluck them--  like
wild roses  alongside the highway

Sometimes, love takes a
   tremendous
amount of creativity--

the name of the game is
    its destination..
not  the control of its path

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.

There is a   r e l e a s e
  that comes,
in holding you
close at night..   a
barrier that comes down
in the late night
and early morning
hours.

  You've been  alone
within all of this  difficulty
that you have  known
  for so long.

And then very much
   hopefully..

   even if only for a moment,

you are no longer alone

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.

..And his head went through
the windshield,
his grey-matter splatter,  a
             sacrificial-musing:

Leading  to the wonderful
presentation
        of the ideal,
giving  all  the  world  

permission, 
to now, fully feel

providing the access for all
to now   fully heal
through all things  {real}..

borne,  from the ideal.

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.

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.

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.

Nearly everything worthwhile
has some form of a risk attached to it,
and the things that we want most,
often come at the greatest cost.

The less the cost is to us,
and the greater guarantee of no risk..
the more palatable
and placating the result becomes.

A jewel such as you need not
embed itself into dirt
in order to try to feel comfortable,
secure..

     asleep.

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?

the true nature of the beast

~
It  c h o se
to consider itself
made complete--
in its own self-- apart
from relationship,
from connection..
a p a rt  from  a n y
attachment to glory
and so,
it found itself
from with-inside itself
made complete
in its utter incompleteness.
~  ~
Beings-- created for
growth- back in to into glory
were built to be
made complete
and so it roams
the face of the Earth--
looking for ways to
complete itself..
an attachment.
~  ~  ~
Life, in itself
has a built-in safeguard
hedge of protection
in every-thing on Earth.
But we,
who have undergone
severe trauma
at a young age
have had that  h e d ge
   torn from us
(as the  d i s m em b e r i ng
of our souls took place) ..
and so that which roams
searching for its
addiction--
for its attachment...
then finds.

and then attaches

lying to itself each
time--
that it can gain
t h e   f i x
the indwelt-access-
back into perfection--
the one for it
that never-was
that never will-be--
its way back into glory.

It knows that,
so it attaches
with a vengeance.

~  ~  ~  ~
You, quisling--
only the power of
deception do
you have, ******.
You do not grieve
the loss of eternity--
because, for you-
it is unobtainable. ******
You do not feel the need
for Redemption
because, you  o n ly
know the word contempt.
And yet, wholly
unable to feel self-contempt,
you only know one action--

d e v o u r.

We will transcend
your attachment
your usury
your devouring--

Gnawing our bodies away from our spirits--
a   d i s m e m b e r i ng
making us believe
that is all we have ever known;
And making our bodies
a d d i c t ed  to you-
in whatever form
that may be
as if they were
built for nothing
but  y o u--

to prop up your own emptiness.

We will  f i l l  back up
with Love.
And then you'll be the one
who will be ******.
******

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.

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)..

Bewitching hour..
And the thought of you
taking my words in
has it dripping down the sides
as I stroke..

Building up for the fourth time tonight
in the thoughts of you being
open..
and naked..
and near

I pull you on top of me
and those beautiful hips  of yours
begin to move..
Mouth to swollen *******,
hands under your thighs
as I lift you  up

And then  slowly
ease you back down..
your beautiful luscious,  clenching
down on to my shaft  so tightly

     As its liquid  juices
     come forth, in praise

If I were an entity..

and the only way
I could have  access
to any form  
of the word,   b e i n g
would only come through
the  actualization
of the word,  inhabit..

    Then,  out of a world
       of billions,

    I would pick you, also.

"..it passes through waterless places
seeking rest,  and does not find it."

In your beautiful, Everything..
it has found  the most
Sweetest of rests, Lovely Angel.
. . .

Problem is..
your so very beautiful  Everything
was not placed on Earth,

    to be occupied
    by anything, other..

    than your own,  
    so very beautiful..

            Everything.

  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.

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

(true story..)

Ah ****, Babe.
(Same message, copy/pasted..
and then sent to a whole different part of me;)
((but you and I both know it is all still part of the whole))

      so here goes..

I was built to run on  all eight cylinders.  8.
Within this world, more often than not,
I am left with no choice but to run on 3.. or 4..
Not my initial choice,  but due to what little
of someone that they (most everyone) present to me
they only bring spark to the measly three or four;

But every.. uh..  few once in a while(s)..
(Get it?)


Who you are, sparks all 8 within me,
and within that depth of interaction (connection)
you yourself (I am sure of it) would expect (hope for)
no less than all 8 from me..

(Let me get this out as subtlety as I can..)

   But suddenly, dear friend..
you want to *****-slap me down  into
a small wooden box that has only room

     for 2.. or 3..

((along with little ol 'freshly-emasculated("eunicated"?)) , me

Problem is.. what am I to do with those very potent
    and powerful last 5.. or 6?
Cause I swear you're the one that could be fully capable
of requiring from me, all 8.

I could swear you're that one.. At least I thought you were.
    hint// (I know you are..)
Hmmm.   You want me to fall asleep?
I have a bed for that.

3  bore the **** out of me.. be it through politics..
or even the everyday, Mundane. .
or whatever the mother-****.
I have not watched TV or seen a commercial in over 20 years.
Trump was prez for over 3 years before I even saw his wife.
It was at a Subway, and I asked a friend,

    "***.. who in the m-**** is that?"

Everyone got a good laugh.
Not as hard as me, because I never even heard
that Howdy-doody ******* Obama's voice  the whole time
  he was president.
Not that I care..  or like..   or don't like..

    but it is simple as this--

The world is going to turn as it sees fit.
The Beast will achieve its all-consuming end..
which is to dilute  into powerlessness,
(void of all rightfully-attainable Glory)
each and every soul-bearing  human
that it can possibly get its Rat-claws  in to.
You have people in your life that add to you
and not take away (steal from you),   Life?

      You don't need me.

You are all things Beautiful that I say,
but  **** your comfy,
palatable little box you want to zip me in to, Love.
You dream of a world filled with all 8,
but carve from it the emptiness of a measly 3.

(I love you, but have a super ****** way of showing it.)
We only live once in this body we have,
and at the end of our time here, the 'husk' falls off.

My whole reason for being down here is to
somehow get out into the light of day
the truth about who we truly are.

People want to focus on the husk?

We were built solely to Unfold into the Glory that awaits us..
(The Glory that is already in us, though in most.. still dimly-lit)
Because when the husk falls off.. well Kid..
All there is in Eternity..   is Relationship.

      The more Hearth-lit, one's Glory
      the greater the capacity for Relationship,
      which is all we will have left  at the end of all things.

   Cool part is..
the very Nature of Love Itself..  absolutely Craves it.

..Craves it, sweet Angel.
You are tremendously Gifted.. but sadly, we (you and I) are done.
I'm a ****.. I know.
I would much rather kiss you than ever hurt you.
I will be there for those (she) who needs me
until she stands up and truly beats my ***
for being the person that I am.

      She still needs me.
      So that is what I will do.

btw.. you are by far, one of the best I've ever seen.
Be glad that the world doesn't rotate around me

   .. or we would all be ******.
   Kisses to you, Sweet one. xoxox

Ambushed..
yeah, just like that.

Heart-lit, little star-glows,  holding
all of the universe in their  young,
galaxy-dust  laden hands
changing, an until-now-thought
predestined plan..

launched, at me like love-laced
little mortar rounds,  sent by
something.. all-too-sneaky, maternal--  

lips, oh my goodness..
      this is all so very unfair.

And all I wanted to do is just leave.
and all I wanted to do  is just sneak away,  unloved.
Maybe in the next life,
though,  I doubt it--

those angels that she talks to..
      they are as sneaky as she is

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

This bridge is faulty
there is dry-rot  taunting
    the girders
Its spandrels:
all knobby-kneed..
  Its pseudo-elaborate  trusswork,
    as if   designed  
    by a lonely drunk

It's pilings..  questionable
Its deckwork, treacherous.

    Its abutment--
    aw,  **** me..   

    its crumbling.
.  .  

If we cross over  
under the lie of darkness
we won't be so afraid..

     But these structural-flaws,
     when revealed  by the sun
     are so incredibly intriguing.


  Let's take that step
  and see if it holds us.

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.

You make yourself easy to be seen..
    by someone like me.
The only  thing I would think you would  find
  as surprising

Is why it has taken this  long
for a beautiful Thoroughbred in Spirit
such as you
to finally be seen
for exactly who it is that you are

Free from assessment or judgement,
I would venture so far to say  
that the greater  central part
of who it is that you are,  
is (sadly so)  tremendously lonely.

Again, not a judgement  at all,
but an assessment of life in general.
A lover like me would be perfect,
but I am  (as you could guess)
spiritually volatile in how deeply I push--

..Even within the normal  give and take
of everyday things. Sometimes  even
one well placed  word  can bring one
off-center and into  (and towards)
an even deeper part  of their own journey.

Most gorgeously-luscious
Thoroughbreds such as yourself
usually  pick less 'challenging' partners
in order to have a somewhat more
'stable' home life..

..But sadly with that also,  develops
a relationship where the deeper,
   more exctasy-based and driven
      parts  of  you

   are left with no choice
   but to become, dormant..

in order to protect the 'beautiful-luscious'
within you from slipping into despair

--Until one day,
what you have been avoiding
   (longing for)  most,
shows his *******.. unorthodoxically-untethered,
brazen attitude (and perfectly clear eyesight)

   and suddenly you become seen.

There is absolutely no way
with some one like me  that you..
(within all of your Wondreous,
   Deep-feeling Glory)
would not eventually be seen.

I urge you to take  every single
part of it all,  in..
(the very thing you were "built" to do)..
Even if in doing so, you were almost
continually brought right up  to
(and so very often, "over")  the edge

Gifted fingers, helping the body  find
its own form of release,
when the pressings of Spirit,  mixed
with the deeply-Penetrating View  that
Love carries within every single  part
  of itself..
..Those gracious fingers are not 'up to no good'..
   but instead..
(by the very Deeply-Understanding
nature of Love itself)..  
  both they..  and the  whole
  beautiful process of Release..

      is deemed, Holy.

The physical human body  becomes
pushed way too far  within its limited
ability to contain,  the Wholly
uncontainable Ectsatic Pulsings
  of Love's true Agenda.

Perfection knows that and says
      (so do I)..

     "How could she not?"

Be gracious to yourself, girl.
You have wanted to live
within the Beautiful Realms,  
worthy of your calling.

   Welcome Home ❤

And when he opened  the word, written:
it said that God would give him
   the greatest gift--

which was God, himself

And immediately he succumbed,  to the pressure
of Love's great purge

Bringing to the world;  all,
       the greatest gift  of all--

                   his own demise

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

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.

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.

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

Sitting here in front of this screen
my Artist Peppino, across my thigh--
[the greater (for the time being)
giving way to the lesser]

One day, I will be able to breathe life
in to your strings, my love..
the way I do words, on to paper

And on that fine, glorious day
I will no longer need these cheese-****
stupid ******* online poetry sites
to bring forth the music of my soul

Nor will I  continually  need to wade through
this never-ending barrage of classic  hiders
and their bastardization-like misuse of poetry~
in order to hide behind the very words
that should be  given the permission  to make them become,  
truly known.

There is no alone-ness within the magnificent  resonations

of the perfectly plucked string
of the most perfect,  of guitars

Like this one, sitting  right here   
in my lap.

I was shovelling drifted snow outside  today
and was overcome  again
by the warmth of that  beautiful,
   deep feeling.

You may never understand
the need to push through the mundane
and into the deep,  central Core
of the one you care most about.
    For you,
in your current world, that is not attainable..
but for me..  looking at you..

I know you very much have that  deeply-gorgeous,
extremely worthwhile attainability in you.

Without connecting deeply with one such as you,
I would just be sliding superficially along the surface
throughout this entire 'life' here..

Knowing there is a whole world of untapped closeness
lying just under the status-quo
of the normal 'everyday' operating level.

That is not saying we would necessarily  be ******

       at all

   It just means that there is,  sadly
   such a huge amount of giving up  of the Beautiful
   in order to continue on skating along the surface.

That is why I do what I do, and say the things I say
   late at night.
During the day, I am operating  
out there on the "everyday" level.
At night,  I am connecting into the unfathomable depths
of the most lusciously-beautiful gold mine I have ever known.
I can't do the "surface" thing with you, Young-love..
    In fact..  I won't.  

You get that in your marriage,
and pretty much everywhere else around you.
I refuse to be a part of that tremendously sad list.

You will never not be that deeply luscious gold mine..
You will never not be fully worthy of the attempt.

You want to be left alone.

  
      .. ok.

Selmhem Naise

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.

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.

.. not to be so mad at me
for wanting you out of there,
     or with me
where I can best do you the most good.

Your Glory  was never meant
to have to hide in the shadows..
nor was it  ever  meant  

   to suffocate
   beneath the blanket of indifference.

You were meant to shine, beautiful girl--  
and you will..

Your brother wants you to
I want you to

Those who are broken..  who
most need you to..   do.

You will, beautiful girl
I promise you..  you will.
xoxo

She is shaking,
fingers on keyboards, trembling

A confined spirit..
               now  untethering

You are absolutely beautiful--
Immersed within  this magical-Unfolding
as music  mates to words
Fingers, strumming now

Now finding their perfect placement

     ..On the keyboards
     of her newfound freedom
     A beautiful spirit   now returning
     to a once-little body,   beaten

     for being her beautiful spirit's  home.
     Now with headphones  on ears
     there is a  restoration

     of years and years and years,  
          locust-eaten

...Of those years, and years, and years.
                   .      .      .

Tell me about pure Joy, churches..
the nice cars in your parkinglot,  
    aint showing

The look on her face, while untethered

     tells me everything
     You can only dream of 
      ever knowing.

This is true Church--
This beautiful  Sunday-mornin' glowing
This spirit-infused flesh

A perfection of music
momentarily, flowing.

From hidden cloud
her flesh-infused  spirit
is my one chance
at pure Joy, knowing..

My love  for her,
continually-growing..

     In heart,
     tarred-n-feathered..


     In Art,  all  hers
     I  am  become

       Untethered.

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.."