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Adil Zaidi Mar 2015
Neither in the vividness of the arches of a cathedral,
Nor in the dangling bells and echoing rituals of a temple,
Neither on the holiest banks of Nile or Ganges,
Nor among the peaks of the grandest Mountain,

There is no augury, there is no God, is there no God? And if there is,

Why are the eyes of lives haunted by the cruel dreams of disbelief?
Why is banishment tangled around the feet of a truth seeker?
Why the perverse thoughts and deeds ruling the Mankind?
Why the pious body and mind are today full of grief?

If there’s God, Why is this sea of cold blood on a high tide?
If there’s God, Why are the innocent lives being wasted?
If there’s God, Why are the good being handcuffed?
If there’s God, Why the darkness is today the source of light?

The slaps of violence on the face of peace is a sign of doom,
If there’s no God, then these drops of bloods cry for whom?

But GOD is that moment which is beyond knowledge and wit,

That one cipher which has taken centuries and yet not deciphered,
That one point of thought where the minds seize to think,
That one decision which stops a man from giving up,
That one drop of tear from the eyes of an Oppressed,

That one source of energy which makes us to take a stand,
That one voice of truth which demolishes the works of lie,
That one smile of innocence which equals a million shouts,
That one silver lining which makes us believe in ourselves,

Calls Aloud and makes us believe, that there is A GOD,
And He’s Everywhere, With everyone, and Will always be.
veritas Jul 2018
girls and boys and girls! its
a sultry summer, swinging, sighing, swishing hips by mine
slipping elusive behind stone arches, cursing on my lips, **** (whispered, softly)
glazed cherries in a glass bowl they drip and melt, and oh hell
my fingers are red and sticky and sweet but i love it i love it and
she's smiling like a dream
she's saying goodbye until next summer
until another year, another dream will find her way to me.
summer vibes
CK Baker Jul 2018
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display

winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to hell
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
Ashley Chapman Nov 2018
In a playful vision sent
Your ****** homologue
Of amber shins and pale phalanges
Weaves four-leaved clovers.

In response,
***** spurs
And protean winged descent
To float into your kaleidoscopic star:
Gliding,
Freely falling,
To rest in lace extremities.

There in our bed of sensual feet,
Sunflowers breath,
Whose burnished rotating petals
Gather me in wisps,
Each spiral frond,
Gyring
Before death's voids
Is drawn in purls.

And in pleasures held,
Cossetted in latticed limbs,
A ***** lustrous rich embrace;
Denuded and alive!
And with abandon kissed:

    Bony toes
    Tendons
    Deep arches
    Shins
    Ankles,
    Sweetmeats,
    Light and delicate.

As here between pretty shins
And fleshy silken feet
Our ascent begins
Rising,
From low regions,
To scale new heights
And crown our night.

This lovers' leap into prismatic
reproduction
In the empty Cosmic wastes
     In a web is caught!
Where feet and toes inspire
Continuity for pointed stars.

As material possibilities collide
The lust for life
Is born in non-existence:
So in our nest of feet,
Mating in the game
With heads thrown back,
Of lust drink deeply we.
A friend sent a mesmerising image taken from a kaleidoscope. In that image so many ideas came together that I was able to put this down. It tells of what I know, the line between life and death, or more succinctly put, between our conscious and the great unconscious. In mind, to love is indeed sublime as it removes us from ourselves and plunges us to meet our heart's desire. Out in the wastes of time and space we also see ourselves writ large where whole galaxies collide and in so doing, the resultant chaos, new stars are born. So I take solas in such thoughts, even if my soul does at times yearn to shuffle off this mortal coil and be at peace and know Truth at last.
Cné Jan 2018
~
Him
sits in an arm chair
slouched and relaxed,
watching her
with a glass of whiskey
in his hand

~
Her
lays on the bed
naked, long legs spread
watching him
watching her.
~
Him
asks her to do
what he had
been dreaming of
even before seeing her naked.
Beautiful scenery

~
Her
strokes light and feathery, at first
delicate fingers tracing
up and down
while the other hand
on her breast
tipping her nip
~
Him
mesmerized by the show
he takes a sip of whiskey
the burn does not compare to
the burn growing in his pants

~
Her
dips a finger inside,
spreading the glistening liquid
found across her inner lips
increasing the pressure
and moving from side to side
~
Him
doesn’t know where to look
as she concentrates
on her ******,
pulling at the tip
she gnaws her bottom lip
he settles on her eyes

~
Her
picks up speed,
the circles of her fingers
smaller and smaller,
focusing on her pearl
shallow breaths growing rapid
as she nears her peak
~
Him
slips out of his shirt
he starts to sweat
unbuckling his pants
to release
the growing pressure

~
Her
tilts her hips
finding the optimal position
to intensify her pleasure
~
Him
holds his breath
to hear the
gasping of her breath

~
Her
eyes on him, longingly,
back arches,
head falls back
and lips part
“Oh God”
in heavy breath
~
Him
“Amazing”
whispers unsure he said it aloud

~
Happy **** Day
Caro Jun 2016
You lied about my sweet weight,
And you lied about my arches,
You lied about your love for the depressions in my skin,
You faked that sincerity
Of course you lied, because how else?

You lied about your moon and my tides,

But you tread upon on my land,
Cheer as my salt beats my rocks into sand, I never flinched at your hand,
I never quaked at your voice,
But I should’ve,
I would’ve if I had known that you would run my rivers dry,
That you would lick your lips and sigh
And make love to my demise.

You’re sick in that the only thing I hold dear,
You craved to hunt.

You rip into the throat of my wild and reckless stag,
Watch it bleed as it cranes to see by whose hand it falls,  
As it breathes its last breath it catches sight of your thumb,
It knows, but consciously it forgets, because
It is with this abandon that I die for you daily,
And you **** me anyway.

I should’ve quaked at your voice,
Hearkened to the screaming that ripped away my choice,
You never loved my mountains, fountains of lies I threw back and back,
You lied about my ocean that you don’t care to explore,

It was critical and fatal,
You lied about my sweet weight and that I cannot forgive.
zebra Apr 16
darkness falls from night
i am still here waiting
after you are gone
azure veined seraphim

i think of you through this long season of my life
like swallowed ivories

you always said you did death best
and haven't made a gasp since
laid out in the field face down
my grey goddess of the wan sinless moon
smiling vacant
mud mandible
while a tempest beats the grass

are you here
shrouded wave
is the wind your voice?

a perfumed music plays

are you a smatter of molecules
a floating eye
sensate
a voluptuous ghost shaken din
in a sea of burning nights
between
sleep and wake
between
the living dead
and the dead living?

i could swear you hover
arches over arches
a continent of form
like heaving clouds
red legs and wafer thin shoulders
dancing ballet in a prismatic wilderness

flaming tongued angelic heads
burn lanterns of lust and gloom
Steve Page Oct 2018
Did you see a tarnished surface
that made you look again
Was it reflected in the lyrics
in the anthem of the Thames

Was the traffic still diverted
Had the knowledge lost good men
Were women dry from crying
at the anthem of the Thames

Did you see the children drowning
Was the tide too high from rain
Were the barges towed in silence
past the anthem of the Thames

Were the songs drowned out by shouting
Did the words turn boys insane
Did the drum beats beat past midnight
to the anthem of the Thames

Was it echoed through the arches
Did the shadows hide the stains
Did the wounded walk til morning
through the anthem of the Thames

Will you still be here at day break
Do you claim this grey domain
Will you pray for restoration
of the anthem of the Thames
The rhythm and structure of this came from some music in a movie, searching for Sugar Man. Once I got to line 4 of the first stanza the rest flowed.  Pardon the pun.
BTW The 'knowledge is a term used to described the exam black cab drivers need to pass to qualify to drive the iconic cab.  Sat nav seems to have replaced that hard won badge.
King Panda Aug 2017
death:
an abnormality—
deep prints left by
heavy boots filled with water
and washed away by
summer’s end.

grief:
a metal
sensation denude of
coldness—swelled up again
and again from life’s ***** driving
deeply.

I suppose you couldn’t
help but steal away.
you (now endangered
ghost) left your
trace fossils moted,
gray and cold.
our memories of you
divorced from the
mountain’s path—
a wound raised
higher and higher
to a crystal peak
where your soul
was plucked cleanly out.

we built cairns to
mark your going
and stories to signal your
inevitable re-arrival.
we welcomed the heavy contact
of fire felt in the
middle of the chest
and watered
arches cut beneath
the eyelids.
we felt the frigidness of
lit feet gliding
above mountain frost
and set forth your
eternal journey
to the solar eclipse.
but somehow
we lost your trace fossils
frozen in the rock.

where did you go?
who found you?
why?

these are the questions
of extinction of the
physical body
but the soul is
unmatched in
its uncertainty.
if it exists, it leaves
upon time of death
and reenters when looked
at through shielded glass.

soul:
a mountain
view, black and polished
by an unfurled moon. its
brother sun not far
behind.
RIP, my dearest friend. You will be forever missed.
zebra Dec 2018
come here with the jackknife and see what I'm made of
i'm **** candy she said
taffy and blood
a steaming deli
doomed chicken of the sea
doll parts, splayed pomegranates
femurs left in a ******; wish bones
eviscerations to admire
peaches and cream sprinkles
skin like cold grey soap
barbed wire ******'s spas
like a toilet flushing
spirographic squiggles
at the museum of modern art

video girl
video girl
video girl
like
butter flies flutter bye

dead movie star dancing
a matinee cyclops
everybody wants a glitter ****
incandescent candy store
a piece of her to take home in little bite size chunks
in a heart shaped pink box leaking red meat
enshrined crucifix; kosher
an **** of heretics like me
and maybe like you

god is whatever is in your heart

i pray to modernism
to be saved
by *** death and resurrection
and a bigger ****
impregnation ghoul
like a solar ******* hero
*** heroine
a Bedouin and a Jew ******* each other off
in a New York City
Holiday Inn
while the Kabbalah and Koran read each other

I packed the suit case
with a yellow mucous colored rubber tube, a razor and stockings
I don't know what ill do with it, but ill think of something

God spins death
so why cant you; or are you to good for that
albeit a narrow construction
to carve my fate in such short order

ill get into my short short funeral skirt and girly bobbles
ill go up and down on you like a yoyo
sea Venus foaming *******
til you flip me over
a deli sandwich
and cut me in two
splattered ketchup
on the blue plate special; extra mayo
while a huddled sabbath of *******, extra ******
groan like Pisgah turned to mulch
indigo shards suicide note
ending in
i don't mind
and precise instructions
please chew slowly while I **** on your teeth
stuck rot
while still kissing you
better bring a napkin and floss

you know I would get hot,
seeing my one way ticket next to your return one

wish we could
**** candy
pastel chew
blood bubblegum
melts in my mouth like quicksand
hissing fruity drops looping
you go down like squid
clawing your way back up half chewed with that hurt look
making wet mud holes blink
dark vapors tear my eyes

you wont need a head stone
your feet will look good sticking out of the ground
with anklets
a fashionista
except upside down
your funeral; a foot kissing ritual
religion; follow dead feet, to paradise

head down *** up
you know; the position of power

your the new aeon
grave stone arches with toe ring twinkles
rectitude striving
hot head buried in dirt
antagonizing worms
because your to hot to chew
like molten core
a zombie ******
velvet tabernacle
smooth leg art
and pretty pointy toes
ascending
where glitter lights shine
pickle brine
green
in a
Promethean ******* ballet
phantasmagorias dark embrace

this is no ordinary love
dialog of paraphilias
surreal horror subversive
a poem about the non-rational sacred
untethered poetry
song of a shattered world


Across the spectrum of religious experiences—from the archaic and chthonic experience of sacred power to organized religion—surrealism arises in that elusive threshold between the sacred and the profane, between the illuminations and of everyday life and the more formal expressions of the sacred. The mysterious, contradictory nature of this liminal zone is embodied in surrealist literature and art: matter becomes metaphor; the ordinary object becomes extraordinary; and images evoke emotional disturbance and ambiguity rather than specific ideas. The ambivalent force of the surreal resists conventional rational categories of intellectual discourse. Behind its elusive potency of mood and charged associations lie the fundamental ambivalence and non rational power of the sacred.
—Celia Rabinovitch, Surrealism and the Sacred
Carter Ginter Dec 2017
There's electric energy between us
And all I want to do is kiss you
Short-circuiting my heart
As our hands intertwine
I can feel your body tense
As my fingers grace your hips
I want to touch you everywhere
From your fingertips
To your lips
My hands dance across your skin
And I wonder if you feel it too
The immense craving
Driven by this intimacy
Every touch feels like the first
Intense and exciting
I've never felt this much emotion before
Especially through physical contact
As your body arches against mine
I feel it through every nerve
But I also feel it in my soul
I am undeniably in love with you
And this is more than just physical
CK Baker Feb 2017
buffalo head cloud
rawhide drum
saline rollers at tantalus cross
ominous light
forms a short mile away
head lice
and peckers
tap the metal track

shovel train pings
the night quiet
moonlight
shines in
geometric form
arches and skiddles
and skirting reflections
a vast connection of
grand design

7 horns
at the passing
(oh that cold metal joy!)
stirring the blade
and ground cover
you better not turn old friend
just nod
and cut what you need

it’s a bitter run
on the winter line
(with the finest
of wheels
and runners)
hold tight
on the pulley
the canyon wires
are clipping

there’s a gateway
to the copper town
with a key held
by coveted few

you can spot the
riders in their
box cars
watching closely
at the chunnel’s
dark turn

we’d walk
the lines often
(and put an ear to the ground)
the mine town still
and tin barren
hidden treasures
and pocket *******
settled deep
in a stolid place
Angela Moreno Oct 2016
She was gone before the sun arose.
I don't know when she left my bed,
But I know that she was here.
For though her imprint on my mattress
Has cooled and faded,
Her lipstick stains show bright on my pillow,
Two ******, mirroring arches
On a field of snow
I clearly recall
Her icy, cold fingertips on my spine
Waking me up twice in the night
Before I found the morning
Without her there.
Eden Quinn Feb 25
I can´t breathe.
Feel a pressure
so strong
right beneath my chest.

I can´t breathe.
Three sport bras,
three elastics,
right on top of each other.

My back arches,
I can´t breathe.
I´m suffocating
but I would always
add another layer.

Quinn
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly **** things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched **** things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Berknau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Morning Rainbow

Myriad prismatic crystals,
     refract the morning sun-streams -
painting layers of spectral arches
     across the misted horizon.

Eyes turned to the western skies,
     we suspend our meteorological selves  
acquiescing to miracles unveiled before us -
     un-beckoned and scarcely earned,
proffering thanks for the radiant epistle
     of healing, hope and promise,
artfully encoded in transfigured light.

Synthetic Refractions

A luminary ballet takes center stage
    when synthetic refractors come to play:
crystal pendants bathe our foyers
      with dazzling swaths of color.
Hazy coronas encircle streetlamps
      discovered by headlights through the fog.
A science class prism slices light rays
     into pre-ordered spectral strata.

If the sky denies us a rainbow,
     we can always fashion one of our own
and we do!



Spectral Sound

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls
and the murmur of woodland streams
     held us captive by their banks.

Soon we learned to sing and tint the air
    With prisms of wood and wire and metal
and to color soundscapes in our spirits
     With songs of wonder, joy and longing.

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls.

Robert Charles Howard, 2019
This is a rewrite and expansion of a prior poem called Morning Rainbow. The poems are design to go with an original piece for solo flute also called Prisms.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
ᗩIᑎᕼᗩᖇᗩ
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Out of the Palace, into the Queen's
Garden. 'One that could rival King
Paul's Luciuscemian Gardens,'
she
thinks as she walks under the high
cream arches and Grecian columns
with ivy vines coiling around them.
She stands on the white marble
steps. 'Truly, this is the Queen
Mother's finest work yet...'


~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The young Queen Lyn spares no
expense in expanding her library,
filling it with leather-bound books
and scrolls, new and old. She spares
no expense when it comes to her
love for herbal teas, near and far...
But her mother?

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The Queen Mother is known for
her keen eye, fast wits, bladed
tongue and for her love for fashion,
gardening and a frugal nature.
'Like frugal mother, like bookish
daughter!'
Ainhara can not help
but to chuckle.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She watches as the gardeners trim
the mint-green grass, beech hedges
and shrubby. But what Ainhara
marvels most are the flowers.
Pots of lavender and roses,
rosemary and mint are placed
around carefully, by the white
lilies, orange lilies, yellow lilies,
flushing lilies.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She notices that green lilies and
blue lilies; the gifts from Queen Yidna;
plants native to her Puhan Kingdom,
are in full bloom. They remind her of the
colours of the Seas that she, Esshi and Lyn
had sailed when they visited Queen Yidna.
'Puhan has the calmest seas of the brightest
colours,'
She recalls how her Queen was
happy and relaxed then...
Part 2 completed! ^^
Lyn ***
CoolLen Jul 2018
I have a vision of you. Theres excitement in your eyes. Your toes are writhing in ecstasy to rhythmic cadence. The song you sing as I play your instrument makes for a sweet melody. Your back arches like radio waves with each note as I stroke the deepest cords. Playing your song to end, chin deep as I bathe in the applause.. I think it should go something like that.
Oli Apr 17
The cool wind cuts the arches of my ears with a sterile razor blade
its fingers act in delicate fashion
i'm spitting out
bits of my own nails, strands of my own hair
clumps of my own skin
apologies
thumbs pressed with kind intent into both of my cheeks, giving me direction

it was me, red heels stamped against some hangar doors, thirty feet above
pulling at a rope when they'd caught me
and it was you at the dock, among the others
eyes fixed on a particular cloud with little windows, like a slit to heaven
you just wanted to be home
and when you came home, as you would, you had that same blinding look in your eyes,
something you stole

and i woke up, as i always do
and found that my sleep wasn't over
and won't be over
until this ash buried beneath the surface of my skin
leaves me alone forever
just leaves me alone forever
GreenTrees Dec 2017
Swimming in the darkness of my thoughts

contemplation of what is good and what is naught.

Passing through the sullen arches of despair

cobbled together from the broken stones of my will.

I am the open air of the cold night that creeps in the window sill.

As the cold air fills my bed chamber  it pulls me slowly into  a

winters nightmare.

A  dreadful dream that dances on the sharp edge of sentiment and loss.

And as my breath steams into the cold night air of my room.

I can see each bit of happiness leave me for ever lost into the
vapors of an early winters morn'.
mariamme May 2018
she comes to me unbidden
like salt tears after sadness
a pocketknife in her left hand
to carve her throne,
delicate arches of heartspace
and copper tang of blood beneath her painted toes
i cannot forgive her intrusion
it's akin to breathing,
unthinkingly natural for her
to smooth out the darkness in me
and hang her velvet drapes
around my love, just so
and i hand her some wildflowers
to decorate her hair, like neurons
now tingling and mingling
with the rest of me trailing after
taken over by the merest twitch
of her fingers on my heartstrings
there is nothing to forgive.
Master builder of hanging audio of the hearts,
Tapping and mapping
a
kind of music through the vocabulary of arts,
in
conducting  the harmonious sound of unique violin orchestra
a crowd of fiddlesticks rima …
up… and only ups…
never downs.
Audio
Audio…
I will go…true or false.  
That’s what you ask for it. If you ask me to stay, I would never say no.
Have you ever seen me on the occasion of disobeying you?
Neither yes, nor no…
Thirsty and aridity,  
Words dance glamorously in the silence of the mud of bricks
You will construct the magic towers of the world gust (crust).
On the apex
Trapper of heights
you
Shaking hand for all ant size human shape creatures
In down.
I’am member among.
Time flies and melts in icy doom of the word “why”… burning agitatedly on the white eyes.
Don’t look at me.
Whatever had been shaped, like thunder of emotional burst digs …digs in insomnia of rapid nightmares
of mine.
O' liberty…
Don’t be dubious of what you are going to do, Master architecture of heavenly domes of long treatise of eloquence and good sounds.
Hissing….sooozzzing….biippping ….buzzzing….moooppping….murmers….
Claps and shouts.
Ant shaped creatures gather under the grand dome and waiting for miraculous mesmerize.
No more I am among.
Master builder of raw materials
in vivid shape of “new oregano (m).”
Time runs and I am not “going to catch a falling star.”
Time of demise.
Heavy lock on mouths. Death of both of us in constructing the luxurious roads never ended in dead end of not being honest and neither being wise.
Master designer of unique arches…domes…abstruse stairs…
Audio…audio. I will go…for you and ours.
Derivations:
Master Builder:  a drama by Henrik  Ibsen
Go and Catch a Falling Star: a poetry by John Donne
Novum Organum: a philosophical book by Francis Bacon (16th century)
Onoma Mar 17
my dearest know

when to leave me

be--super intelligent

drifts establish real

relationships.

i heap that reciprocity--

upon a sky i call our own,

a rainbow whose arches

pout the smile of simultaneity.

one that

seems to leave us  agreed on the life

we share.
Logan Robertson Jun 2018
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.

Logan Robertson

6/6/2018
bythesea Nov 2017
how i spent two years without you
i will never know.

your kindness lowered
my shoulders
and i could finally breathe in freedom.
i could soak myself in your eyes,
and drench myself.

i dried flowers from my chest
until i bloomed violets
-and emerged as a meadow.

i crossed through your arches
where you held me
with your eyes,

suspended,
to float.

i climbed iron stairs
i hung thyme in doors
and cast shadows in your living room.

i hung branches from my wrists
because i wanted you to see me.
i told them:

“i see everything

all the time”.

they didn't believe me but
i know you see it
all too.

i slowed down my music
so they could hear it
but you heard it all so loud.
i wiped off my lips
and ate bitter
leaves of anise
just so i could feel a pulse on my tongue.

i hung branches from my arms
so i could feel the soil on me



i felt new again when you brought me there;


its like i went upstream
   like i fell through walls
   like i became a woman



i could only see my eyes
in yours,
and i don't think i can breathe again
normally.


(in your eyes i had forgotten
everything that i lost
and was brought home again).
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