It seems like whenever you struggle to look yourself in the mirror.
Whenever your skin irritates and appalls you,
You find someone who could spend a day in front of the mirror
Someone who treats their skin like a temple

I wander thro’ each charter’d street.
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow
A mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man.
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban.
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackening Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a ******
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.

The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.

I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.

How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.

They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

The box is only temporary.

1516

No Autumn’s intercepting Chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast—
But African Exuberance
And Asiatic rest.

When we devote our heart to what
phases and appalls us,
we leave no room in our hearts and
sit alone waiting on the people of our
dreams.
So many times we take morality and
mold it into our sculpture of opinion.
We take the image of the natural beauty
our friends arrive to take us and photoshop
beauty queens, anorexic girls, naked men,
and clear skinned bashful humans.
We look the way we do,
but we’re not done yet.
Split ends are the representation of a
woman who works hard to earn her
dream and live her destiny one day.
A teenager with blemishes enters the
school doors and cracks quirky jokes
and makes an eight grade girl laugh;
she who is fourteen and feels no inferiority
despite her flat chest and gap tooth.
He is not the fat boy who everybody loves,
he is a human being and is here for the same
reason any model,
rockstar,
dancer,
athlete,
actor,
and Olympian is here
today.
Can we look the way we do and feel as if
we need no photoshop on what is really on
us?
It’s all about
what is
in us.

I’ll not take your time, beyond what the need,
To relate to you a story and deed
As there’s no one else to plea this decree …
For just I survived, don’t you see.

I’m an old man, with a mind full of mist
But details of that night in my mind still exist
As vivid and clear, both sharp and exact
No, no mist there – all of it’s fact!

When I was young, and adventure routine,
With excitement and newness still unforeseen
I was eager to spread my wings to the world
And seek more adventures as those wings unfurled

Within my long travels I happened to meet
Two other men, with friendships replete
One was named Beckett, the other one Flynn
And better friends there never have been.

Beckett was tall – an athletic type
While Flynn, the scholar, more of pinstripe
Pinstripe or athlete – it mattered not
It was our essence together and that which it wrought.

Engaged were we in all daring do
High on the mountains, and under seas, too,
We crossed dry deserts, and jungles of green
And other adventures there in between.

We’d been together, t’was our sixth year,
And still our adventures made us cohere
To every madness – to every rave …
Until we decided to enter The Cave.

We discussed the encounter and planning for weeks
And assembled equipment – some new, some antiques
Until at last the day it arrived …
And our excitement?  It still there survived.

The map we used, was bought from a guide
Who told my friend, Flynn: “Don’t go inside”
When he had learned of our journey’s intent:
To enter The Cave, and begin our descent.

The guides’ words, had given us pause
We had thought: What was his reason or cause?
But … dismissed were his words of advice
We had each other … and that would suffice.

With ropes and lantern-hats and other such gear
It was into The Cave we then disappeared.
The light from our lanterns speared into the dark
We spoke very little - made no remark.

Onward, downward, in blackness we went
Placing out markers for our later ascent
The sounds of our footsteps, and scraping of walls
Reverberated ‘round us – as echoed recalls

In about six hours, or maybe ‘twas more
We encountered water upon The Cave floor
And there all around were beautiful shapes
Never were seen such gorgeous landscapes

Stalactites, stalagmites and mineral mounds
And dripping water with its’ “plopping” sounds
Pinks, violets and shades of green hues
And small salamanders made their debuts

We found a small dry spot and then we assessed
This was a place we could stop now to rest.
I turned up my lantern, and took off my hat,
When Beckett said: “Hey.  Did you just hear that?”

I moved not a muscle, and my ears went to strain.
All I could hear were the droplets, like rain.
Then from The Cave’s bowels came a loud din
I continued to listen – then heard it again.

We looked at each other, but said not a word
Confused and startled by what we’d just heard
It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a gasp
But more rather like a guttural rasp

One thing was certain, it wasn’t of stone
That could create sounds while standing alone
T’was our discussion, from which to derive:
The source of the sound was something … alive.

Then from The Cave’s deepened black hole
Came again sounds from a source with no soul
The sound was menacing, and one I despise,
I watched the fear grow within my friends’ eyes.

Instinctively, we three then moved as one
In that instant – our re-ascent had begun
I had been last in the line coming down
Now I’d be the first to reach the “above-ground”.

Quickly my feet in the lead, lead the way
Flynn, right behind had nothing to say
My friend Beckett, brought up the rear
And in that position had the greatest to fear

The lamp on my hat pierced through the black
And I looked for our markers to lead us back
To save our strength, nothing was said
Again - the loud sound that filled me with dread.

The sound became louder and closer it be
And I moved faster through the black before me
I could hear Flynn’s breathing, so close behind
I tried to concentrate on the markers to find

Somewhere behind me, then snarls I heard
Loud and vicious, run together and blurred
Close … so close … the beast was so near
Adrenalin rushed through me to react to my fear

T’was then I was hit with an overpowering stench
The smell caused my stomach to turn and to wrench
The odor blew past me, and I knew t’was the breath
Of the Beast of The Cave – its’ oder of death.

I was near running, but down on all fours
Sweat was streaming from all of my pores.
Then I heard those terrible screams
The ones I keep hearing in all of my dreams

It was Beckett I knew in his shocked agony
Midst the snarled snapping of jaws I can’t see
I heard bones cracking and squishing of flesh
And the fear within me gave new strength afresh

My fingers were raw from grabbing the rock
But on moving forward my mind had its’ lock
My stomach still queasy from the stench of the beast
I knew it was finishing its’ beastly feast

I knew, too, t’was only a matter of time
When the beast would return - I had to climb!
I heard Flynn say: “IT’S COMING AGAIN!”
Again was a surge of my fear deep within.

I heard once more the beast from behind
And fought the panic taking over my mind
Something heavy struck against The Cave’s walls
The kind of sounds that ghastly appalls:

A scraping of talons of heavy clawed feet
Caused my heart to double its’ beat
I had the feeling that Flynn lagged behind
I screamed my urgings loud and maligned:

“Flynn!  Flynn!  Catch up to me!”
But took not the time to look back and see
For the beasts’ crashing against The Cave’s face
Told me it neared – and was re-gaining the race

My knee hit a rock, and my balance was lost!
I fell to the ground, and then feared the cost
In losing the time in scrambling free
Again sheer panic stabbed into me.

In less than an instant, Flynn was there too,
His face in my light was of a strange hue
And as he helped me get back to my feet …
Flynn turned around – t’was The Beast there to meet.

The stench overwhelming, but the sight was much worse
There standing before us: The beastly curse
Of overlapping scales in shades of dark gray
The rest of its’ body concealed in umbrae

But its’ eyes … its’ eyes … I’ll never forget
Rheumatoid yellow, and deeply inset
Its’ reptilian lids blinked just one time
‘Fore its’ lips peeled back - revealing the slime

Glistening yellow over dagger-like teeth
Then oozed from its’ mouth to fall there beneath.
The beast reared up, then we saw its’ claws
Sharp and deadly within its’ forepaws

Towering above us, no sound the beast made
On beams of our light had his gaze stayed.
Unexpectedly Flynn then turned and faced me
… With less blinding light, the beast could again see

Why Flynn had turned I never will know
For the beast bit him in two, at his torso
And I was looking at Flynn – direct in his face
When the beasts’ bite his life did erase.

I screamed, and instantly away did I run
Away from the beast, and dead companion
Through the price of Flynn’s life, more time had been bought
To reach The Cave’s entrance – the goal that I sought

Running wildly, several times did I fall
Toppling did not my mission forestall
The beast I knew still somewhere behind
Drove me on forward with my frantic mind

I heard its’ clawed talons scraping the wall
And prayed I’d not again stumble and fall
Then, up ahead, a small opening I viewed
And I saw my chance, with hope there exude

Twelve feet … six feet … then it was three
But the beast and its’ stench was there behind me
I dove through the rock opening, scraping my head
But better that injury than ending up dead

I was elated, and about to rejoice
I then heard a scream – it was my own voice!
In my leg erupted intense blinding pain
Looking down I saw the bloodstain

My leg, through the opening, still was stuck out
There was but split-seconds, before I’d lose it no doubt
I pulled my leg back, and in but a flash
My shoe was removed by a clawed talon slash

I crawled back from the opening, then I could see
My wound was deep, from ankle to knee
Then suddenly through the opening came
A clawed talon whose aim was to maim

I quickly withdrew out of its’ reach
As claws shot through the openings’ breech
The opening too small, for continued rampage
And the beast began then to voice its’ outrage

It’s deafening roars assaulted my ears
Echoed Cave chambers and in my mind did adhere
I began attending unto my grave wound
Knowing I now was no longer marooned.

T’was another hour ‘fore I crawled out The Cave
But many days ‘fore I’d shed the shockwave
Of what had transpired, and what I had seen
And my damaged leg was lost to gangrene.

Now sleep evades me, for my horrible dreams
Show beams of light, and unearthly screams
Of Beckett and Flynn and The Cave we were in
I know tonight, I’ll re-live it again.

So, now you’ve the story, you’ve heard the deed
I swear is the truth I’ve herein decreed
And Beckett and Flynn are enslaved in their grave
And I lost my leg to the Beast of The Cave.

Pinnocchio and the Queen!
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

673

The Love a Life can show Below
Is but a filament, I know,
Of that diviner thing
That faints upon the face of Noon—
And smites the Tinder in the Sun—
And hinders Gabriel’s Wing—

’Tis this—in Music—hints and sways—
And far abroad on Summer days—
Distils uncertain pain—
’Tis this enamors in the East—
And tints the Transit in the West
With harrowing Iodine—

’Tis this—invites—appalls—endows—
Flits—glimmers—proves—dissolves—
Ret­urns—suggests—convicts—enchants—
Then—flings in Paradise—

Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.

Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid
Fallacies.

Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.

The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.

The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.

Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.

And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.

NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
              from Tucson,AZ
                E.J.Anderegg  

In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.

Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.

Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,

It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.

NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****.

Though ******’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.

The Dead, Dying... Death
The visitor that appalls
Even when foreseen

Broken loose and freed from a tiring hand
One who, in restful dark, withheld just that,
And left me to wander
To trace forms in the dark
Where troubles and trifles and plain existence
Creep and whisper their damning allure.
How prone am I, at this fatal hour,
To marching idlely backwards through
A blackened torpor
And letting exhausted candles
The haunts that hold, illume the endless halls
That each corner and door
Some revealed appalls.
Drown their debauch which sensually fawn
Out in the words of Byron’s Don Juan
And still feel their tempts, by some form of folly,
That compel me to a world of licentious melancholy.
Looking back to my bed, growing all the number
Cursing the forces which denied me my slumber
And what I saw in rich, encroaching beryl
Reconciled the dreams bereft of me:
An air of such fancy, a more permanent scene.
A smell like the snow to the darkness betrothed
Harkened me hence to a frosted window pane
And out it I saw an occasion so mundane
But at his hour, this light, the glittering flakes effervesce,
I thought I a soul gone from this place
And sublimed to a world
Which cannot harbor, nor ever know, hate.
The sky was so pale which, blithe did it shed,
So many crystalline wonders falling from space
And resting with ease and settling right into place
At that I saw the immaculate ground
Uniform, sanctified, untrodden upon,
With such power as to ward away any notions of destiny,
And purgation of all that could darken the mood.
Each lambent flake a seed sprouted
‘till the lawn was full of snowy trees,
The boughs which bloomed like a placid freeze
Themselves wearing white and all encrusted with ice
Like holy men inept to the notion of vice,
Reached high to the Heaven,
That which I doubt,
To catch alms on their fingers and Gloria shout.
Miles off I hear permeating through the calm
Respire as I arrest,
Synchronized, with time, the lungs of the world
Until my being, minutiae, was that of the whole
And the heart of beauty, a natural heart,
Beat, my confederate,
In league with my own.
In the colors of preternature, picturesque they played
That even in my worst of lows,
My heart at that placed stayed.
The azure raiment bleached at the wakened hour
And my eyes could not help but look away
Blinded by some intense light
In darkness they reflect on the previous sight
And rapture still comes in recollection
How dull were the visions before me lain
Their memorial no substitute, all artifice and plain
Petty entreaties, my pinings for that place again
Though destruction of halcyon I durst not entertain.
Even in depression, it wiles ******
And at times is seizure upon me lengthy, despotic
I’ve something, a snapshot, a little dab of paint
Which even my horrors cannot fully taint
I’ll think back, I’ll go back to that very place
Which I did not wholly leave:
A place of pure bliss
Where I cannot grieve.

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.

All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.

All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?

Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.

I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.

In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?

He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.

Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.

Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
              from Tucson,AZ
                E.J.Anderegg  

In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.

Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.

Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,

It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.

NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****.

Though ******’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.

Like rivers, it falls
from my cheeks the tears
this farewell, it appalls
I'm perplexed by these fears

And yet, your embrace
it brings comfort and joy
your love I cannot replace
such sweetness shall never cloy

But it is that I will miss
such lovely sways
to my heart, what bliss
but now we must go our separate ways

NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
              from Tucson,AZ
                E.J.Anderegg  

In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.

Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.

Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,

It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.

NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****.

Though ******’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.

Calculus believes in God:
That's how each problem is solved
Chemistry believes  in Karma-
So each equation is balanced: what happens on one side happens on both
Physics believes in ******* the good over;
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction

Yet, Earth spins because of the rules of physics.
What does that say about out lives?

And literature believes in everything you do
Or nothing you do
Or it tears you apart because half of the work aligns with your beliefs while the other half appalls you

Ring around the chamber,
who will go inside?
I'm starving and *****
so why would I hide?

I feel my ribs, but my stomach even more.
Many girls have been violated again and again like penny ******.
I don't know what to feel
because for the first time
I don't think God is real.

A shower will do me good, I say.
They wouldn't want us to stink, if we did stay.
I pull off my stripes.
The nakedness appalls me.
As far as I could see
I found human skeletons
staring back at me.

The door shut, but water there was none.
Every person bled into one
massive grave.
For every life, a soul gave.

Ring around the rosey
pocket full of posey
ashes,
ashes,
they all
            fall
                  **down.

Beauty has been murdered by my hand.
Every feature disgusts and appalls me.

I have strung my own noose,
Stepped through the loop.
I stand ready
For you
To kick
My stool

The fake world speeds communication
Yet quickly sends sin and the devil too.

I stand a ****
And a harlot
Unworthy
Of your sweet perfection.

Whimsy plays too big of a part
In what we call normal life today.
All the Gods the snobs invent
Have these expensive feet of clay.

You can put a monkey in a cannon
But that don’t make it incendiary.
Anyone can smoke a camel, but
That doesn’t make it a dromedary.

We need to have a nursery rhyme
That warns us about politicians.
Specifically how to disarm them
And turn them into electricians.

You can’t roll a joint properly
While surfing on your Sea Doo.
You have to ask the questions
But the answers might mislead you.

Unlike an elephant who remembers
Who knows what the thing recalls?
Voters forget every fourth November,
The outcome far too often appalls.

Bringing popcorn to a media circus?
Plays too much like a bunch of selfies.
The humor there is out of service.
Leave that movie on the shelf, please.

You can sing a song of sixpence
But it doesn’t buy a flipping thing.
It’s hard to find an honest man
When artful liars get everything.

The young women show up
at this old man's door
with their legs ripe
and long and their
skirts short, so short,
and framed against
those forever legs with
the bronze, sun-kissed
amber of skin that tastes
of the sweet, clean salt of sweat
in Summer warmth.

They knock a few times in
quiet, tentative rap with
slender, thin knuckles
before moving quickly
away toward the stairs
--No, this was a bad idea,
I should have never came--
Blushing furiously as I crack
open the door with a slight ****.

I am ugly in crazed eyes and
stained shorts and no shirt
and broken air conditioner
leaves me standing in thick sweat,
but it is the old dirt-sweat
of an old dirt man,
and it tastes stale and sour
as it drips downward
from my temples.
She smiles,
shy and honest enough
for me to want her right
there where she stands,
asks if she can come in.

My place is a wreck and
she doesn't mind
as I apologize for it,
but I feel terribly for it
and wish she was gone,
the wine is almost
finished but we drink it down
even though it is warm
and the glasses sweating
within our hands.

Copulation comes easier
than conversation and
so she is silent atop my lap
except for the nothing whisper
of *** in my ear, the breathed
moan of lust in the dark rooms.
--Baby, you're beautiful,
oh, oh, you're beautiful--
and I don't much have the heart
to correct her but it
appalls me that
she could think so
knowing myself as I do,
most likely she is
only acting anyway,
so I don't think much of it
except to nod and flip her
over and she is all
legs and *** and ****
but she is self conscious
and won't let them
out of her black-lace bra
and I let her have her insecurities.
Instead, I'm with those endless legs
like golden honey and so sweet
and smooth and burning
with that inner heat of womanhood
and Lord, doesn't it
just feel good to be
young again?

If only for a second
within those eyes
and arms and
legs
legs
legs.

Daughters of Albion, thy beauty and intelligence is bespoke
But your spirits are encumbered by cynical agendas, by oppressions' yoke
I await the awakening of the revolutionary heroines within
Who cast off the stigma and shame of the doctrine of sin
Against the rubric that sullies and enervates thy strength
I verse and converse at tedious length
Inciting thee to free love, to the wayward path of libertines
I'd love to see thee dwell freely in beautiful, transcendent scenes
Thou art the flux of sultry stunning supernovas
Only faintly seen and understood by men
Peering like voyeurs down elaborate telescopes
Which, for having filtered you, diminishes thy beauty by factor of ten
Your divinely wrought stars beget a radiance
That offers guidance to the straggling soul
I'd love to be enamoured of you in dalliance
The bars between us the mind appalls
Arise ye makers of rebellion and revolution
Commit thy self to the creation of freedom
And live in eternal celebration
Admitted in to passion's kingdom
Together the daughters of Albion shall waltz
Out the spirit's cage
Going traversing through the wilds again
With inspiration for them I rage

The delusions have begun
Random thoughts, day dreams
Every word she spoke
has been etched in my mind,
she commanding her presence
in every thought, every action.
Her voice in my head
Reverberating in my ears
even when she is gone.
Nights have become longer
And the days dizzier.
Nothing interests me, except her thought
She has become the source
of my passion, motivation and creativity.
Its her thought which fuels my actions
I feel so helpless, so captivated
I close my eyes and I see her
Its getting hard with every passing day.
Its like pleasure has disguised itself as pain
If this is love, it is too much for me.
But does she feel the same?
This thought leaves a chill in my bones
Every time she passes by the hallway,
avoiding to look into my eyes.
I know she is the ONE for me.
But this thought appalls me
'Am I the ONE for her'
I wish I am.
I just wish.

I see the demons
Surrounding me
Choking me
Just over taking me

these feelings never been set free
Feelings of hate and misery
Like a boom created in chemistry
Tick, tick, boom

Used for the suffocation of society
promised to end its entirety
Carried out like life’s philosophy
Only to end in tragedy

The lives of millions become history
For you all live in idiocy
Unable
Untold
Unbelievable

You all are blinded so easily
Not willed to act freely
You have been misguided so eagerly
Your lack of education appalls me
Why you even sit here is clueless to me

I can see that you disagree
But I can see me in you to a certain degree

I see the hate and misery
I see the boom you and I created too easily
I see the fuel to it, all too clearly
And Its not me

I may say it as I see it
But that’s because
That’s a portion of me,
I’ve looked into that mirror so thoroughly
I’ve lost track of what was me
But I’m back finally
And I’m ready to be free

- E. A. F

Pinnochio and The Queen
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I had a vision...
A dream our fingertips touched.

I had a twisted fantasy...
A nightmare where the spark was too much.

Fried from shock all she could muster was,
“You really, really love him, BUT”

There was where the story ends
From whence she came,
There she went

Gravity gently danced with you
Away from me
Petals vanished in the wind
All to honor your presence and utter negligence

I had a reverie
A dream our fingertips touched.

Lost in a cusp
Earth and air
It is merely dust.

For me it was once enough
Then I awoke from my slumber

Daily routine,
I count the calendar days
My sweaters cold static appalls me

I am laughing at how daunting,
Real and imaginary appear to be
Close, yet far

You are applauding
In the cryptic distance

Searching the audience
I vaguely listen to the lulls of your absence

I finally found something,
Greater than my own pain.

It takes
Snowflakes

To fall
In all

Landscapes
Reshapes

White sheets
Such treats

All day
Kids play

Some sled
The spread

Some ski
With glee

Some skate
The slate

Snowballs
Appalls

Snowballs
Catch alls

Such fun
Is spun

My youth
Had tooth

Long ago
I glow

Logan Robertson

2/1/21

It’s true you are:- by God made you are
A sterling star to shame a void
Alight all worlds as wander far
Beauty ne’er destroyed
As poets sight thy soaring light
Beget bars and sweet alms for thee
Like Love so bright in eternal delight
Hath all hearts churning seismically
A light create to bless all souls
And those by strife pursued
Cloaking of thy light the mind appalls
But in eternity all light renewed
Peace in hearts thy spark create
In life, in death, a spark insatiate

torpedo ink, some doubts to sink,
another mouthful, bruising to bethink.
without lexical integrity,
they're solecistic towards pedagogy, amusingly distinct.
basking in the blasphemy, armed to the teeth, blameless and bruised,
putting on another comical skit, guiltlessly bemused.
but don't sit next to me at this ball,
i'm pensively perusing the aisles of protocol.
baffled, more putrid than pellucid,
this hobnobbing appalls me, the exclusively reclusive.
a nuisance shindig, conversations far too allusive.
enough with the palaver, and this shallow vernacular,
far too stupid, far too human, forehead now growing vascular.
make way for me to make hastily for the exit, please,
my apologies, but i'm far too pedantic to revel in this cesspit, jeez.