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'Today, The Jay...'*

I open my eyes to see its a new day.
Today, What's the day?
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
The only thing of which I'm certain
Is that its not a weekday.

So, What can I do today?
Without delay,
The first thing I do is get my tray
Light a blunt to take the pain away.
Inhale and exhale,
Through the passageways.
Chill. . . Then, light another, just because its today.
I'm still in bed, but it's already a good day.

I push the sheets and pillows out the way
Then I get up to empty last night's fluids away.
Then to the kitchen, wondering what I can eat today
What can I do, to keep the hunger at bay?
Maybe some rice and filet?
A little something to kickstart the day.

While the food preps, I go back to my tray.
I smile and giggle as I sculpt my one true love, the Jay
With me at any time, anywhere, in any form, on any day.
Even though I'm already high; 'Hooray'.
I still want another hit of the Jay

The Jay,
Hits, Without delay.
Stays,
When everyone goes away.
Fades,
All the pain away.

My worries, It allays.
My happiness, it brings to the fray.
Keeps my mind, from going astray.
Literally, takes my breath away.

Causes, no form of decay
Keeps me, from getting 'ire'
Doesn't negotiate, doesn't parlay.
Just good vibes, all the way.

The love of the Jay;
Isn't just a single foray.
Its a constant exchange,
Everyday.

It's a feeling, that once attained,
Nothing, will ever take its place.
And there goes the tale of my day,
Spent with my true love, the Jay.
Pagan Paul Dec 2018
.
Kalypso sports within the waves
luring sailors to watery graves
but if they make it to her isle
there they may tarry for a while.

Food and wine are given a'plenty,
they are rocked into lust so gently,
Nymph, Maidens, Bacchanalian revelry
lead the sailors into darkest devilry.

*** and sin are openly displayed,
a salacious procession, ***** parade,
And all men their vices expressed
seek the comfort of Kalypso's breast,
her hospitality soothes, allays their fears
as she slowly steals away their years.



© Pagan Paul (05/12/18)
.
On the cold solstice
the velvet magnet
of Luna's magic
pulls

quietly urges

whispering
gentle spells
into dreamy ears

compelling
her lover
to rise
quixotically
coaxing
him from
the warm sleep
of winters
first night slumber

she summons
a willing lover
inviting him
to follow
her stark
alluring light
illuminating
the lonely blackness
of a bleak universe

her
seductive powers
transcends distances of
a thousand solstices

her
resounding light
a sure mark
braces any weakness
emboldens desire
guiding the bidden
to unforeseen
destinations

standing
in your presence
my face is flush
reflected by your
resplendent light

my heart
broiled
by your
vexing
radiance

the roiling tide
of a midnight reverie
ebbs
as my
earthen shadow
begins to pass
over your
indelible
whiteness

I witness
my dark countenance
eclipse your light

defiling you
fearing
to forever
mark your
effervescent silver
with the baseness of me

without shame
your smile
allays my fear

you understand
you anticipated
the expression
of my
coy reticence

a sweet chant
sings
unencumbered
reveries
gently
reassures
you've danced
through many
moonlit nights
with eager lovers
only to return again
in virginal whiteness
across the
endless cycles
of time

released
relieved
abandoning
all restraint
now
I
summon you

my blackness
your whiteness
breeds a
sensuous
orange
sweeter
then an
open mango

she rules the sky
a celestial monarch
forcing Mars into
a sheepish retreat
commanding
mighty Orion
to sheave his sword
while
Venus
seethes
with envy

my form
begins to swallow
your lines
and
soft curves

my blackness
disappears
into
inviting cracks

falling into
dark creases
the soft billows
sweet mounds
voluptuous craters
gay playgrounds
for my mouth
mysterious hillocks
eagerly explored
with hands and
limbered fingers

a quixotic Eros
the scent of spice
swells in my head

everything
enveloped
like a
holy ghost
playfully gaming
hide and seek
radiantly moving
through
darkened canopies
of a lush forest

nostrils fill
with
tang of spice
a scent
of Caribe

face buried
in thick tresses
of maddening blackness

becoming unhinged
by eyes speaking
a thousand languages
as lips whisper
joyous whimpers

a silent kiss
of an orange lit night
writhing bodies
splayed together

ravenous tendrils
shape sloping
cloud pillows

quivering lips
unveil smiles of
alabaster pearls

mocha darkness
sambas through
the night

she exhales
her lovers name

Luna bathes
her cinnamon curves
in delicious
mango light
offers generous
dollops
of ******

peeking
baying
drifting
I cast off
onto a sea
of lucid dreams

drinking from
a dark aureole
as the tresses
of her
sweetened nest
moistened my member
in a sacred communion
to a hungry lovers mouth

her dancers legs
slim, supple
unbounded
and open
sweet to taste
smooth
so soft
to touch

the fullness
of our rumba
se los tango
con cha cha cha

light steps
close caress
kinetic commotion
wild laughter
fills the sails
of bold schooners

Luna's smile
commands
the seas
to heave

un poco loco
ola de feliz
los hablamos
un contrara
la estas
la esta

the lavender sky
of the mornings
twilight
inspire
Meadowlarks
to herald
the emerging day

still
drunkenly swigging
loves nectar
sleep creeps closer

confessing
small regrets
she fell
victim
to passion again

Luna
comes back
to her lover
pets his chest
with delicate fingers

in a voice
as light as air
she sings
a poem
into his ear
of passionate nights
beauteous art
longing to express
heartfelt truths

The mango consumed
Luna's whiteness returns

my shadow recedes
into inconsequential
nothingness

naked
I stood
sadly witnessing
the dark horizon
overtaking
my fleeing lover
swallowing her
in tiny bits
as morning drops
a final veil
over the face
of a now
vanished love

Music Selection
Grant Green, Moon River

jbm
Oakland
1/19/11
RAJ NANDY Aug 2018
Dear Friends, this poem was composed many years ago and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Time here is compared to the money lender and miser Shylock in Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant Of Venice’, where Shylock insisted on cutting out a pound of flesh from the merchant Bassanio, for having failed to pay back the loan taken from Shylock! Hope you like it, - Raj


                TIME THE GREAT USURER
      TIME the great usurer, is a great miser too,
      Always knows the cost of things to be paid
      back by you!
      It readily loans you the desired amount in
      number of years.
      Smilingly assures and allays all your doubts
      and fears.
      It makes the loan to appear like a free gratis,
      So you hardly bother to take any notice!

       But with the passage of growing years and
       life depleting with time,
       In paying back your interests, you got to
       default sometime.
       Precisely at that moment, the usurer knocks
       rather loud,
       And through death takes back its’ principal
       amount !
      
       Alas, Time the great Shylock knows the cost
       of everything.
       When will it learn to appreciate the value
       we attach to things?
                                             -Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Some of my
earliest
memories
are of you.

I can hear
your soft
Irish lilt
humming
into my
drowsy ear,
waking me
to a morning
filled with
sunshine.

Half a
century later
I still see us
sitting at your
kitchen table,
I’m a six year old,
spooning warm
tea, dribbling
a soft boiled
egg onto a
piece of
buttered toast.

I remember
smiling at
the laughter
you and grandpa
enjoyed at my
proclamation
that I ate
three breakfasts
every morning.

You were my
connection
to the wisdom
and ways
of the old world;
extolling the luck
of the shamrock,
the lore of
the shillelagh,
recounting
the haunting
mysteries of
the banshees,
the mischief
of leprechauns
and the magic
of nymphs.

You were my
passport  to
a gathering
of the proud
O'Brien and
Cook clans.

You opened
my ears
to the thrill
of distant
Philadelphia
cousins
crooning
folk tunes to
happy bagpipes
while my
widening eyes
watched young
Colleen's
ecstatically jig
the night away
in full regalia
with stiff armed
step dances.

You are
my maternal
cartographer,
your DNA
etched the
map of
Dublin onto
my face.

You are the
wellspring
of the Liffe
that courses
through my
veins.

You were the
cook who
conjured the
nourishing
aromas of
a Sunday’s
sustenance
from a boiling
***; simmering
ham, cabbage
and potato to
succulent
perfection.

It is a
meal
that still
sustains
me.

The warmth
of your apartment,
the dainty doilies
and light filled
lace curtains, the
spoken hopes for a
sweepstakes ticket
and the hushed
murmurs of deep
sadness the
devastating toll
alcoholism
extracts from
a troubled family
steeps deeply
within me.

I see you
kneeling in
prayer;
the muse
of your brogue
whispers endless
strings of Rosary
incantations.

Angelic fingers
anoint each
blessed
alabaster bead
with the piety
of an honest
soul.

You
endlessly
cycled
through
the family’s
litany of
sorrow and
hope.

With a
matrons
fortitude and
an inner strength
women possess
to bear the
weightiest of
burdens; you
sought the
resolution
of release
from the
crush
of worry
and woe,
by diligently
lifting these
delicate
hosannas
to the
Mother
of Sorrows
compassionate ear.

Your petitions to
the Blessed ******
as intercessor,
allays all fears that
your light prayers
will not be lost in
the incomprehensible
clatter resounding
amongst the
heavenly spheres.

You knew
The Mother of
Perpetual Help
understands
and will
ask her
Son
to whisk all
burdens away
with the flick
of his feather
of absolution.

When your
daughter
became
ill you came
to mother us.

You fed us
Thanksgiving
Soup for breakfast,
lunch and dinner
till the last drop
of gratitude was
consumed.

You made sure
homework
assignments
were completed.

You drilled me
with spelling quizzes
made difficult by
my inability
to decipher the letter
H through your Gaelic
Haayche.  

Your exclamations
to “Jesus, Mary and
Joseph” was fair warning
to give Grandma Tippy
extra sway.

You were fond of
cats and took pity
on our mangy
Tom sympathetically
imploring us to
“look at the face of it”
before laying down
another fresh
saucer of milk.

It took me
years to understand
why you would
commence to
polish my
mothers tarnished
silver plated tea service
as the first thing you would
undertake upon
entering the house.

As a house keeper
for the wealthy,
the sparkle
of your daughters
silver plated tea service
was confirmation
that class mobility
and your enduring belief
in America’s economic
democracy was real.

Your daughters tea service
was just as worthy and
on equal footing with
any tea service adorning
Englewood’s finest homes.

At bedtime your
silhouette would
would fill the
doorway of
my bedroom.

The lullaby of
your blessings
filled the room.

From that
safe distance
you would
dip a brush
into a jar
and sprinkle
holy water
onto your
grandchildren.

When you passed
away I beheld
your magnificent
presence in a
state of eternal
repose.  You wore
a blue flowered dress.  
Your clasped hands
held a Rosary.  

I surmised
your closed eyes
were filled with
the visions
of rest and the
soft light of a
glowing glory.

Your lips gently
smiled.  I knew
you were in the
tender arms
of your loving Lord.

The Blessed Mother
now tended you,
coddling a newly
arrived saint
in the loving embrace
of a mother’s
unconditional love.

I thank you and
bless you my beloved
Grandma Tippy.  I am
caring for your
Rosary Beads.
I consider them
a precious gift
and most
valued treasure.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day
Margaret "Grandma Tippy" Minehan
Love Jimmy

Music Selection:
Bill Evans, Danny Boy

Oakland
3/17/12
jbm
vircapio gale Apr 2013
before it falls i dilate
with electric scent, spine-hairs
string her possibilities as kites
to tug my summon ground--
lilt, wave and spiral
distant mischief to a head.
i rumble on the vista, far, and,
on occasion of a social clearing hum,
chance aloneness on a hill
to watch the herald lake and trees, nets
secure themselves as emblems to my storied lust.
apsara, i
breathe you in in strokes
submit unconscious rhythm of imaginal delights
made real to last beyond experience of time
descended of the clouds
sea rich, heavy, sultry
you unroll an atmospheric fate:
my lust to span the sky, irrupt an earthen,
orgiastic zenith of all things--burst fantastic quell
in pale continuum your pedestal allays

floating hair as long as frantic overcast
horizon length
and indistinct of rain..
green, blue continents of eyes, mists
suspend ecstatic sway
in areolae breeze,
my hands the brimming cups
to gather, spill
bright ****** drops
into the signal essence rising,
center rhythm of a liquid bounce
that shines in belly-button crescent moon--
each gust a lapping of the sky-clad ache of moonlit summer leaves,
another sudden adolescence lost and gained--
falls on me, dripping
legs to wrap and draw in
every ***** blade of grass--
saturate the lingam i am living in--
enveloped in vaginal dance of pressure
pulling on the earth i am
an arching back
and skyward ******

begun before a time historians belie
wind genie, yoni,
full of all i ever willed..
how rare appearance has to be,
knowing you unique
to whimsically revise
your lightning shape akin
exotic form to fit my changing own
and yet you don't exist, my eyebrow says
between horizon-cracks
and patter of the gale--
bolts to spread dark syrup
through my veins..
i am intent on having you
to let you have me as your first and last
--being young
i am intent on twining my virginity to you,
to pierce my own hymenal dome--
slick with yearning, thundering
in moan across the hills and puddled tennis courts
undulating to my concord whim
your rivuletted ***** of the gods, goddesses --gulped between inhaling--
eyes that roll pineal
genesis denuded of a crime, apparel
gone insane delight
of endless tempest ***--
the purge cascades a vacuum in each vessel..
limp on writhing grass
euphoric in a space of never having been

what soul i have
her visitation marked--
with gridless memories unfaded by the games a decade
striates on the mind. i made
her more than what my way would make of her
and less for what my symbols lose;
i call her muse,
and forfeit right to call her anything again.
i am the burning key and lock
our chastity attained and lost
in vaporous blurring of all stars
rewinking in the gossamer above






.
apsara: a female spirit of the clouds and waters
I look at those across from me - searching distant seas.
I guess what they say is true. When a harmful breeze
blows
we will all unite.
But yet when peace does come we search for a fight.
I know though that - no matter how good - corruption
will take root. Until destruction
turns good will into dust and hope into decay
And as we search these twisting allays
for answers
all we can say is pray....

but we will divide
because we all are fearful
and we will be cheerful
when the culprits are found
searching with trained bloodhounds
when it comes to hope
we'll pray with all our might
for their strength, families and fight
we will love for a moment each other
hand in hand with our brothers


*Pray for Paris
Do not distribute or use my work without my explicit permission.
George Krokos Jan 2022
Dogma and doctrine only hide the Truth
that is our birthright since the time of youth.
We have all been led to believe the lies
which the authorities show to our eyes.
The passage of time often does the rest
and makes sure curiosity fails the test
to uncover the truth that's been hidden
by all this dogma and doctrine ridden.

Ignorance is a strong, powerful force
that stalls investigations in due coarse
when people begin to suspect the wrong
they have been subjected to all along.
Authorities try to keep their power
with the dogma and doctrine they shower
onto the people who look up to them
quelling the light of truth that they condemn.

Nowhere else does this happen as often
but in religious faith which can soften
the hearts and minds of people to believe
that something else is just there to deceive.
A sad case of the blind leading the blind
which is one of the follies of mankind
who are led to believe what they're given
is the truth being like victims driven.

This doesn't mean that something else is true
unless it has been proven so by you;
through personal experience that stays
in your heart or mind and the doubt allays.
Take for example those few converts who
formed the body of the early church new;
what kind of experience each one had
making them join up and feel very glad.
_____
Written in April, 2021
Death-throws Mar 2015
I was never a good boy  , dabbling in the wrong side of the right life,  i stole coins like candy from my grandmothers cookie jar.  Of coarse i was wrong, but i allays...
I always thought i was right , because my world had so little light  i didn't know...
I didn't know what was right, what was i to feel? how i was i to fight?,
i wasn't..
depression is like having a red dot on your forehead and you cant tell if that's from the divines gifting you inspiration to speak or the ****** down the road firing words sharp enough to slit wrists through the ballistic scope of the internet. and how dare you say..
"get over it"
how dare you say"be happy",
because depression is like a black hole
that not even light can escape and where all stuck at the bottom..
only the lucky few get to sit at the top with smiles and wave without being ****** in. throwing in careless well wishes like the coin you stole into a well...wishing that coin would grow and swell and unfurl into the note  of green you think you need.
stop counting your own blessing and count mine,  because down here at the bottom  its to dark to see the notes of happy things you write, and still you throw more and ask for them back but why is it always about you?  why cant i get a helping hand without seeing the back of it against my cheek, because we only get help when its returned..and we can only beat depression when we earn it.  and the only way to earn it is to run faster then light because that's where the answer is...
happiness
and im not talking about the kind of happyness that drips from the slit neck of a broken bottle, im not talking about  the kind that seaps from my lungs in the clouds i blow, im talking about that someone ..
the girl with cute socks all fluffy and pink,  the doctor who series box set and waaayyy to many treats..
im talking about  the people who even when my skin is made out of stone see the marshmallow of my heart, even when my worlds falls apart, and the fragments of my reality splinter into stepping stones across a  raging river...
they make the steps not so far apart...
  while upstream my family and my friends rush construction on the dam that will slow the flow enough to cross..
THERE THE ONES WHO CARE  !'
the ones who grab that happiness that outruns my own black hole and dive head first into it m force feeding me spoonfuls of sugar and courage and smiles because  they never saw the swirls of darkness around me they only saw emptiness


And one after another those broken hearted lovers those screaming from slit rists or happyness in there raught minds strip there beds and make a rope from the sheets  and tossed it from the tallest window of the fortress of life and  as soon as it touched the ground..they scream. they scream like animals climb.. climb dam you climb!!! climb like gravities blowing you a wet kiss and  the worlds tied wings to your back CLIMB! and those eat the bottom of the rope .. they  chant your bane  to keep you going...keep moving they say.. and those on the other side who can see the sun rissing and see it getting better they scream hurry! because my lifes passing me by and only they can see it...

and i can say because of them...the friends that care the one who suffer i climb...Ii still do... I haven't stopped and im STILL not at the top but im still going...
and its hard...
and my hands bleed from the effort and the slits on my wrists beg to burst again but i cant...
I  cant **** the rope that love built with my own blood and slip back down
I  must keep going...
thanks to the selflessness of those around me i know that bed sheets aren't for nooses...
there for ropes..
because dreams aren't  knifes there an escape from climbing...
the soft pillow i rest my head on doesn't feel like rocks any more..
because i couldn't dream before and now its all i do,   i  scream it DREAM!  i yell from one ear to the next look at me! smiling with  broken teeth look-at me! my scars aren't scars because I've shaped them into badges of pride because im climbing...
and as long as i climb ill never have to touch the ground...
  as long as i catch the rope when i slip those who love me will cheer me on, iscream it... look at me, not even a black hole could catch me now

*L.G
a quick spoken word speach
Emily B Mar 2016
STAY CLOSE, MY HEART -- RUMI

Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways;
Come into the shade of the tree that allays has fresh flowers.
Don't stroll idly through the bazaar of the perfume-markers:
Stay in the shop of the sugar-seller.
If you don't find true balance, anyone can deceive you;
Anyone can trick out of a thing of straw,
And make you take it for gold
Don't squat with a bowl before every boiling ***;
In each *** on the fire you find very different things.
Not all sugarcanes have sugar, not all abysses a peak;
Not all eyes possess vision, not every sea is full of pearls.
O nightingale, with your voice of dark honey! Go on lamenting!
Only your drunken ecstasy can pierce the rock's hard heart!
Surrender yourself, and if you cannot be welcomes by the Friend,
Know that you are rebelling inwardly like a thread
That doesn't want to go through the needle's eye!
The awakened heart is a lamp; protect it by the him of your robe!
Hurry and get out of this wind, for the weather is bad.
And when you've left this storm, you will come to a fountain;
You'll find a Friend there who will always nourish your soul.
And with your soul always green, you'll grow into a tall tree
Flowering always with sweet light-fruit, whose growth is interior.

(translated by Andrew Harvey)
Clare Sep 2020
His awesome silence
Allays the soul

His beautiful silence
Blesses our spirit

His calm silence
Comforts our heart

His deafening silence
Dramatises His presence

His eloquent silence
Eludes all words

His frequent silence
Finalizes all questions

His glorious presence
Gratifies the senses

His Holy silence
Hushes our being

His incredible silence
Illuminates our minds

His judicious silence
Judges all matters

His kingly silence
Kindles a flame

His long silence
Lingers all night

His mysterious silence
Mystifies His aura

His necessary silence
Negates all doubts

His outstanding silence
Outdoes our interference

His peaceful silence
Precedes all victories

His quick silence
Questions our motives

His royal silence
Restores the poor

His sudden silence
Surprises the proud

His tangible silence
Touches the searching

His unique silence
Unravels all misconceptions

His voiceless silence
Visits the hasty

His wonderful silence
Washes all fears

His X-ray silence
X-irradiates our consciences

His yuletide silence
Yields to reflection

His zesty silence
Zooms into prosperity
Marc Hawkins Oct 2017
The mainstay of guests,
Their backs against chairs
That are backed against walls,
Readily seated and settled
Into tight knit sub communities
And discussion cells…
Thrashing out social failings
And political ineptitudes
Gleaned from broadsheets
And RT News updates,
Mumbling agreements
Or gentle dissents,
Some too ****** to participate
(should have “passed the kouchie
‘pon the left hand side”).
One spills red wine onto white cloth
And they all laugh longer than necessary
About the irony of it all
Even though there was no irony
In the situation to begin with.
There are a small handful of male guests
That I feel I could get along with.
I give way in the doorway
For the hostess to deliver nibbles.
There are a handful of female guests
That I think I’d like to ****
(the hostess included),
But none of this allays the reluctance
To step through the threshold.
The hostess exits the room
As I pin myself to the hallway wall,
“It could be you”, I think,
And try to relay this through a raised eyebrow smile
That goes unnoticed.
I attempt my break in
Just as the conversation turns to
The importance of contemporary art
In modern society
And the relevance of Jim Morrison’s poetry
In the cerebral world of words.
I search audibly for a conversation
Centred around Adele’s latest album release…
And I NEVER, on a good day, want to talk about THAT.
In for a penny, I take the step with a fuzzy indifference
And am drawn to a hand extending the offer of a spliff,
And to the ***** of empty wine glass on full bottle,
And a “will you, won’t you?” expression,
And I trip and fall over a synthetic fur rug
Lying, recumbent, too scared to take my eyes
Off the pendulum light bulb that hovers above me
And all I can think is that the hallway
Was a much safer place to be.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
Midnight Confession to Stingray  III  

And suddenly awake. i think i heard the phone ring, but long ago that no stingray called me; it would be absurd. who call a forgotten man, yearny of themselves?. And suddenly awake and crying i wonder what i have done to live this. why i can not die? what's stopping me? god kills for pleasure, i would do it out of necessity. i end with my life and the importance of being earnest.
    
Outside roars the sea. the waves claim my life, my life claim it and head on a silver platter the almighty, responsible to no justice. ha! justice. Consign it everything to god is to add an extra shadow existence. whenever i get depressed i confirmed the existence of nowhere. already said my old friend Andrei, "the soul craves harmony, while the world, reality, life, are full of dissonance".
    god! i do not want any harm to feed my humor. and i tell you because i know that fate is but the unilateral decision of a supreme being, without the intervention of the creature that falls. you and your **** decisions!
  
I must then settle the illusory permanence of my bad steps taken. after all, the man has not been done to exemplify rebelliousness.
Insert - cans carrier some catching film and rolls a finger cuts / , looking at his finger and begins to move circularly, leaving his palace versailles topic decorated, full of blood stigma. then  an arm and his shadow the succor envelops faucet cracked.

insert final -
you always give back things to their original order, no matter what man does or does not do. when the world ends, will only continue the deserted streets where consummating the drama of solitude, loneliness of man. solitude, that awe you feel your son, more powerful even than the fear of death. loneliness, ontophanicus element of childhood fears and unrecognized face of the adult human animal.


Insert - Snifp    opens window, moist your hands with rain, seals his hands, making a drinking vessel of your hands. someone you back then close was noting his eyelids his old love visiting him - Snifp shudders take turns and trafficking in their eyes hands that image. followed gets humming a ditty ... continuing with your thought the song of your song - only the first two lines sing, the rest is with musical pacing phraseology showing on time images:

  "  maybe everything is reduced to ideas. the great wars and the huge advances in the history of mankind are due to them... what is most important for the soul to believe in change? the flowering of ideas! proclaim them the wind and see how they are trampled, but when they die, they will be remembered by them.
    yes, i know, when my turn comes, or not taking into account what you have said, i must kneel before you. "

Insert - Snifp - in your room like versailles, kneeling before the accompanying idol behind his cabin. it was a huge torrent cans with film rolls. some were leaving your movies its packaging. on the upper part of torrent was an eye that turn that also glinted colors and eye on pared scenes showed pictures romance film and expressionist cinema.

  " something happened with spring and winter, only took one night to erase my life. everything i've done, everything i am has been solely because of my insecurity even look at my letter, is confused, irregular, insecure, unfinished, unfinished, ugly to my way of translating the letters on paper it is unsafe. That's why i am where i am. it may not be the best, but it's comfortable. i should not deal with anyone but my ghosts. "

Composition: the whole song - this song in passive voice - before each pause they call Snipf, her father, her mother, she the same calling it self doing choir with letter of the song telling you enter is late and that not early to work everyday continuing - voice feels off, but the darkness appears immensity of arms in clothes ragged and *****, treating him to speak. every aspect of song be supported by allusive as a documentary imagine.

[insert images]: Mr Snifp. this in a paramo isolated, everything smells rancid stink and essence with her mouth glottis churned a finger as mayor, the three items that were deposited in calderon reddened by flare. Their beards 90 cm, crisscrossed end of pointed shape. mr. Snipf it took out glottis your hands together his cross to remove the book and the lenses pipe. While he continued impetuously making this movement of his arms, lashed out on the top step your home room your nearest death, and if it was confused casket 60 cm or a 2 mts. such was the fan accession that uttering which carried from the limbo of house untouchable pantheon, but it was not, all the servants threw it out of doors sliding down the cobblestones, while Snifp kicking as if to take revenge until the last priest perpetuity oblation gave to your existence non tyranny.Still getting off cobblestones, planters keep falling, cornices. carnations falling on follow your body wood caged.

Removing Snifp appears in Calderon lenses, pipe and the book, but this time he has in his hand left the book, and pipe right. but when child, walk the avenue where would buy tidbits, seeing through the showcase  the owner of the commercial always had in his right hand a book and left a pipe.

Snifp lying on his altar Calderon churned with thousands of books, lenses and pipes, falling to tiring and suddenly the ground with his right hand possessing a book of phrenology and left a pipe smoky reddish. it was so faint Snipf and only with boiling essences smelly around.

[insert end].

Zooantropomorphic Basic Kinetic Theory:

In the room, three and a hommo sapiens stingrays. Located facing each other. how to illustrate and in between them appearance with animals, and acting daily activities.

Every stingray, is an object and subject to time, the eyes of Snifp, but more remarkable is that each of them can auto refer, as having instincts and feelings, which alternately men intimidate and used in a extended range of possessions and physical, and electromagnetic powers psychic. "

Snipf in the room seemed feeling redeemed, because they came to help him, came to the town of his abode. A hold a escape. but to think and think and read what rugs you wrote on the wall concerning this theory, he reminded inescapably on fatigue years of thinking, to nearly multiply your ideas on every beat of your heart as an avalanche in your own heart

And they continued typing:

... Thousands of years sail the seas for fixing without ours where our dreams console conditions. we have seen many events, births islands, shipwrecks _ at that time Snifp, he takes the head and can not believe what you tell manta rays, being very shock and sorrow.

He told ...: as you, enjoyed the freedom to grow and believe in my labors happiness. up next to toasted you hiding the sun my skin. trying to follow them confine of the seas as well wishing one day be as you but i saw growing up and that my gaps growth .
interrupts writing one of them on the wall:

... Birds and we seem confused in the sky and the sea. its movement is a great similar  infinitely ours. by instance. for reproduce places and we are in very favorable temperatures. Our food to go for a  tractile  movements resort in places, where our hunger and thirst unite to hunt our prey. There are certain movements, seemed birds river near the sea; with love that in a small ball enjoying our offspring thousands of kilometers from hunting place chosen.

My father strand a day in the pacific sea rivera, seeing some odd birds in groups, moving choreography of side to side, changing their appearance or disordering composition, rare birds when they reached another species, but enough with birds are you were visiting for them with their move to, they give the spectator the camouflage invisibility, violated them to be your space.

Snifp: but the move with air allays tour and return either in any direction. and when i feel abandoned by my wishes of faith or of love, which will be the right move?. One of them says: the movement may not porte nothing, or also something ruined, importantly possessing energy for all be alive call the highest levels rising to pay for that move your body energy; something like love for fuel survive, perhaps not frustrating not to have to turn disoriented when we storms at sea with boats and we want trap, without relying on a moment to pray, to save our destinations. Snifp, think that as you suffer, it happens to us. the blankets impassive, floating on the piece and brought them to Snifp the miles genealogies and exhausted by origins of existence.The cornerstone of movement, time division yours and mine, separated by both affected synchronicity things for immense currents.

Snifp replY: if, if you !!. but both to animals we  vanished others because you have eyes for men only see your interests.
Snifp as if you are thinking _ ourselves the told, what confusion ... not !!.

Then  in men, animals are invisible visible and motion forms. But yes, each generation of movements different article, since each margin regarding your drive specific functions  changing the man, what you plenty of activity what to generate be blinded  no recalling the advancement finally  to not to repeat their mistakes. Snipf words in good men living in a house of fears caused by collective and not totally bad habits subjugations evolved animals. An animal, a being who owned and self contained and do nothing  not self  supply materiality.

We do not pray to  God, just keep your policy creation and preservation, just keep your commands as a whole to vibrate, knowing and ignoring sometimes. This is our Creator. Stingrays sailing in my Mind  and in  the spreading architectural dreaming.
FINAL  MIDNIGHT CONFESSION TO STINGRAY-  Under edition
spysgrandson Dec 2016
the days, she counts
backwards, and recalls what she was doing
5000 sunsets ago

and she does know
5000 from now, she'll be gone, if number
wizards are right

on this winter night,
she thumbs through old photos
of loved ones now far away

she finds one of a sunny day
five decades past--she and her man long departed
sitting under a tree

there she can plainly see
the pines and the bed of needles
on which they made love

and directly above,
she squints to discover, a bird
caught in flight  

she returns to this night,
places the photo in the box where
it has rested all these years  

somehow, the image allays her fears:
the father of her children, smiling, holding her hand;
the bird she finally saw, wings spread forever
misery
the pall of demise
an empty soul
seeks consoling
wandering through an endless
darkened night
the deathly tomb appears
within the hearts of the bereaved
these sorrows
stay ingrained
loss shackles
with encumbrance
reprieve for the grieving
comes by way
of time's easing salve
  a healing hand
which comforts
and allays
Brother Jimmy Feb 2015
I am a fixer; I want to repair,

I want to remedy your woes,

And take you up to highest heights,

The place where my heart goes



Each time I hear your voice,

In the timbre that matches your playful eyes,

Dulcet lovely tones, so choice,

It expands my mind, you must realize,



Ah, but instead I damage more,

The very muse I hold so dear,

So uncomfortable I become,

At the sound of the tiniest tear,



And yet, I love you, Muse,

An oafish child, though I am still…

You inspire the best of me,

You’re my Venus in the clamshell!



I want to frame your face,

When your smile allays my pain,

And gentle words drip from your lips,

Like drops from leaves after the rain,



You quicken my belief,

And make me want to try,

To be the best that I can be,

To make you glad, and keep you nigh.
Valentine's 2015
Michael Marchese May 2023
My soul is now shaded
More aquamarine
To have lived by the sea
Caught adrift in a dream
But I merely mean
Too good
For truth to compare
To be barely
Still clinging to life
But aware
There is no sweet release,
Sugar-coated deceased
That prepares us for
Gone
Is just resting in peace
That allays
Waking days
Of its cognizance craze
Liberates us,
Or saves us,
Or aids our escape
Better than
The departure
Revolves around me
To the part where
I’m suffering
Simply to be
Aditya Roy May 2020
There was a time
When a boy lived
In a home of keys
He had a key for every situation
One day, a man approached
Asking him, how do I live with my wife
The boy searches for a key
He finds a flower crested one
And says, this shall placate your wife
Let me warn you, however
At the full moon
The key disappears
And so does its magic
The man goes back
Tells his wife
Look at this beautiful ornate thing
The wife says this is perfect
For now we can be the best of lovers
The husband delighted with his purchase
Waits for the full moon
Wondering why a key
With such lasting happiness
Should have temporary power
The full moon approaches
The wife is always toying with the key
This worries the husband
But, he allays his concerns
Thinking, his wife will not mind a bit
For now, let him enjoy her company
And he had been getting plump lately
When the full moon arrives
The wife seems pale
The husband now understands
That it was the key to her heart
Now the magic had died
With it came sorrow
As the key vanished
She locked away her joys
Forever, in her heart
The flower never blossomed again
A short story in the form of a fable. I hope you enjoy my creative side.
I awoke this morning and decided to enjoy or work the day to the most brightest full....
The more I worked out of pure wish to thrive and enjoying those who enjoy my company, thick or thin..
I saw my own rainbow...
I felt the relief of worry fall from my mind. The balance of self and beauty came back.
I was ready...
For a newer way to begin.
I might have been hurt by many so many times before.
I got sick of my trust walls blocking my time to be sweetly spent with those I have just met or friends I have bumped into, along my days path.
Wether it to get to and from work
Or to share more content with a world in which to make my love a creativity a job.
The ways in which I approached each barrier became as bright as the sun.
Burned right through the wall dividing me from just anyone.
All my positive works had already warmed other's and reinforced a new life, which I have started to make for myself, as each moment begun.
I am sick of despair's cages. So I broke free.
Now the old me is freer to be what I allays could be.
In time, people shall see the new and free me.
Moments are truly like the movie "What about Bob." So brilliantly made indirect and directly in it's symbolization.."
"Baby Steps out the door. Baby Steps to the bus...Baby Steps to the next moment.."
When I truly set free all know expectatons of me and felt as if "I were on my own personal vacation."
Even in a busy day.... I didn't need to talk.Just smile.
For I "Baby-stepped the path of mine into a newer and brighter day."
Time goes and we
know it's just the alibi
it needs
as it slowly feeds upon
the passing years
which allays our fears
because we know that
eating is quite natural.

As my spirits rise when
hearing this
the spirits in the bottle
disappear
and yes
I'm on the '****'
keeling over
going under

but still,
if and when I wonder
I wonder when and if
or is this me
or is this a parody
of someone who
could be me?
sometimes
I wonder if even
She
knows,
time goes.

Slowly and deliberately
I grew up and became the me
you see, but in any group of men
do you see me as a man?
if and when or
when and if you can
let me know.

And at times
I think the monkey
that was on my back
had fleas and left me these
scars
and at times that seems a
reasonable explanation
for the cut and ****** of
when I can't place my trust
in any situation.

I follow my nose
time still goes
against
the wall
against
my will,
thy will
be done.
Nicole Mar 2021
Sunlight streams through a crystallized window pane
flinging fragments of light across the wall.
Clear, my eyes take in this unclad display
as the ticks of the clock mark a lifeline of passing.
Shadows begin to flee the assailing of light;
Inner angles and crevices of darkness taken over,
quietly seeking to displace my blurred blackness.

Naked in pining, my exposed loneliness allays,
striking in exchange to the gracility of the dawn.
Beams ***** my furtive senses,
caressed with enravishment in every breath and sigh.
Seconds pass, keepsakes pass in slides
quickly moving against my focus;
Remembrances of happiness and treasure.

A elevating breeze floats in
as I crack the casement to the outside world.
The pane, chilly along my fingertips.
Apart in my seclusion and isolation,
rivulets of moisture streak down my face,
after the frailty and withdrawal dictated after loss
bows to the command for closeness.

A whisper of covenants drift along the air,
carried by a past, gentle announcement given freely.
It directly corrodes this battered brokenness.
I inhale the sweetness of paradise lost,
and step forth into the clear morning
with certitude inscribed on an arrow in my breast.
I begin my day, without you, again.
Prescribed blood tests
present no qualms,
unlikely nothing askew i.e.
ticking time bombs
nor prone to catastrophization,

albeit anticipatory anxiety
plus demeanor of poetically titled
medical practitioner allays, calms
alleviates agitation exhibited
by dad's and/or mom's

panic minimizes si? no sweaty palms,
nonetheless precautionary measure taken
thumbing apostle Matthew psalms
ayee feel grateful relatively
clean bill of health.

Nine thirty morning
appointment earlier today
September tenth two
thousand nineteen no way
found yours truly bright

tailed, and bush shay
eyed, cuz mine circadian rhythm
(reed sleepiness), I cannot betray,
yet medical plight concerning
bowel movement analogous to clay

stool pigeons ever ray
now and again plague me: hay
4 four at aye
oh elle dot com, alias math they
you scott harris happy as jay

bird for personable rapport
she, said practitioner did display
offering friendly feedback
proactive measures to avoid
finding mine psyche

analogously scrambled (think) souffle
even absent such agreeable
pharmacological medications keep at bay
panic stricken state
seeding additional gray

hairs (matter of fact
synthesized prescription -
pills selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors)
only necessitate small copay
Medicare bonafide dogsend

whereby nurse practitioner equal
however much she doth weigh,
in salt, though an oft worn cliché
feather in her cap coup d'éta
personable, laudable, hospitable...

winning accolades regarding
humbleness and modest stay
expertise within her craft hoop fillet
staving off general mills concerns

reason I wrote rhyme, eh somewhat passé
even Mister Ed would neigh say
so with his horse sense to stirrup
unbridled jollity - me hoof finds rein
ching words cathartic je ne sais quois

experimenting with this, that,
or t'other typed out array,
perhaps hashtagged as tripe courtesy quay
zee poor ah shunned poet fray
ming tropes distinguished (ha)

even if garnering no pay
English language I play
juxtaposing incongruities
to tease out reactions probably lay

build rickety lettered edifices
manuscripts best sentenced to sauté
within steaming vat
fed as swill to petsmart hogs
grunting as they fertilize mulch greenway.
newborn Jul 2022
the countryside passing by gradually
from the windows in the car.
wind whistling.
he stops abruptly
parking the car at the side of the dirt road.
you both exit the vehicle.
he grabs you by your sweaty hands
and lifts you onto the roof of the car.
slowly, he pulls himself up as well.
you both stare at the cornfield
as the sun is setting
along the line of pine trees.
you just watch nature, calmly, quietly.
his hand touches yours and you lean
on his shoulder.
he kisses your forehead and you smile
brightly, seeing midnight stars in his
golden hour blue eyes.
he climbs down and lowers you
as the sun sinks
below the brush.
he walks over to the passenger side
where you sit for the drive.
he buckles you in and kisses your lips.
they taste like cherry chapstick.
he packs into the drivers seat and looks
over at you adoringly.
you return the same exact breathtaking look.
the car starts moving, just as
leisurely as before.
soon you both spot an open field
hidden in between millions of shrubs
and trees and freshly bloomed flowers.
his teeth glisten as he grins so widely.
your wild hair tamed by the halt of the engine
whispers “yes” to his childlike disposition.
you both book it out of the car
and bolt towards the field,
yelling and pretending to fly.
you get a head start and twirl like
a ballerina in the light of the early moon
with clouds forming circles around
her majestic beauty.
he comes up right behind you and scoops
you up and hugs you so tightly.
you break out of the hug and tackle
him to the dry grass.
you both roll around, laughing, giggling,
smelling pollen, acting crazy.
you both stop for a split second,
seeing fireworks explode and
specks of the new moon
in each other’s pupils.
clarity strikes you and you fall softly
onto his chest with a sigh of pure bliss.
he strokes your hair,
the motion of the movement of his fingers
soothes your heartbeat.
you could die happily at this moment.
but he hears the howl of a
coyote and perks up.
you both jump up with enough energy
to power a twelve ton truck.
you race to the red jeep parked on the side
of the dusty road.
breathing heavily, you pack
into the automobile.
frightened, you turn to him
and you both burst out laughing,
throwing your heads back cackling like crows.
perhaps, you were afraid in that moment
but nothing allays you
better than him and his confident mentality.
once more, the engine restarts
and the road behind you grows
smaller and smaller,
the moon above sparkling,
leaving spots on the car where she shines
down on you.
she knows, she knows, she knows,
he loves you
to the moon and all the way back to earth
a thousand billion times
the scenario i thought of last night. i wanted to make the reader more involved, so i made it second person. this is the type of stuff i imagine.

7/17/22
Michael Marchese Feb 2020
Yelling at cows
To communicate
Don’t
It’s the nothing to eat
And the nothing
You won’t
It’s illiterate faith
In a written conviction
Submission
To sheepishness
Meek superstition
Conditions of living
Look closer to death
It’s traditions
Of giving
Largesse
Dispossessed
It’s a kid without shoes,
Without pants,
Without soap
It’s his future
Still stuck
In the past
Without hope
It’s a rope
Swaying from
The back-breaking
Day labor
When seasonal yields
Don’t appease
The slave trader
It’s nature sustained
In humane
Sorts of ways
Yet its plagues
Of malaise
No known substance
Allays
It’s ablaze
With the wasted,
Mismanaged,
Degraded
Potential surpluses
From scarcely
Translated
Inveterate cultural norms
Antiquated
To progress outpacing
Its status updated
It’s really just sad
In explicit
Indignity
Vapid morasses
Morose
In its imagery
Lacking in prose
Like its tax inefficiency’s
Masses of *******
Classless delinquency
Crassly harassing
All those it sees differently
Yes just
Synonymous with
A simplicity
Virulent in
Its immuno-deficiency
Mr E Writer Mar 2021
I closed my mouth and spoke to you
in one hundred silent ways
I looked at you, pain tore me in two
and darkened all my days
I closed my mouth and spoke to you
in two hundred silent ways
without a clue, what could I do
my clouded heart dismays
I closed my mouth and spoke to you
in three hundred silent ways
saw me through, my feelings spew
my dear you must appraise
I closed my mouth and spoke to you
in four hundred silent ways
I'm still here too, my soul now blue
lift the fogginess and haze
I closed my mouth and spoke to you
In five hundred silent ways
what can we two, once stuck like glue
have hope our fear allays
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2019
kindness amidst chaos
                loving allays loss
                           Time is indeed the Cross
Through ferns and brushes
And silver birch rushes
And leaves that have rotted away
Through hills and dales
And aromatic smells
And a wood that has no way

Where fairies once dwelt
On a land made of felt
Where the bracken is disarray
And the birds and the bees
And the broad slender trees
That never give right of way

By the deep turquoise pool
Where a zephyr blows cool
Over frog-laden lillies for days
An aeolian song purrs
Into a silence that stirs
Which the enchanted forest allays

As day becomes night
As the dark takes the light
And the moon casts shadows astray
A hoot from an owl
As night creatures prowl
Through the magic that stole the day

Right through the night
Shone the mad moonlight
Where circles of fairies did play
It was such a thing
To see the fairies take wing
And from the dead wood, fade away…..
by Jemia
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2020
I give thanks for Andy
Helps me through the days

Keeps me calm and focused
At times my fears allays

Today I walk again
Winter sun above

12:37
The wish for winter love.

— The End —