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marianne Jan 2019
Sometimes I am ether.
Sometimes I am aria in full voice,
focussed breath from deep within, no, deeper—
from the centre of creation itself—
my truest self expressed,
I am full to bursting.
Then, transformed again,
as surely as night follows day
I am ether and together we are the breath
of everything, rolling through mighty lungs
in symphony with the stars.
Me, then we,
always breath.
not separate
Eryri Nov 2018
Night's aria plays 'til morning's chorus.

Sunlight's stretching fingers
touches and illuminates all for us.

With such speed does morning arrive,
the calm of night seems but a distant playful dream.
patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind expose ghostly hues.
all around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
patty m Sep 2015
The woofers and tweeters
stood ready to commence
the cool cats stage center
had sounds to dispense.
A hot dog up front was ready to wail,
but the crowd closed in and someone
stepped on his tail.

A basso profundo swept out of the bog,
while a haunting aria was performed
by a frog.  

An eerie mist hovered, but the moon
tried to peek
as a mother bird warbled her babies to sleep.

A huge shaggy dog, a lumbering brute
serenaded the moon with his magical flute.
A cow in the field uttered a refrain,
while a horse in the paddock sang a
chorus from Mame.

There were dancers and singers
an acrobat or two, a cowboy cat
and a dog named Blue.
They jived and jammed
gave a hoot and a howl,
driving critters wild and waking
the old owl.  

There were rock groups
and folk singers
musicians and bell ringers

The grass was eaten they preferred it that way
because animals aren't people
so they munched the night away

The show was a success
it received great acclaim
the performers though amateurs
enjoyed their moment of fame.  
I'm here to tell you in this final summation
that the audience gave them
standing ovation.
Let me write you a symphony.
Let my words ring with
The intricate sound of my beating heart.
While my soul resonates in your ears,
As my music fills you up
Til’ you overflow.

No shame if you hear my soliloquy.
I’ll confess my love to the gods in the sky,
And they will lift me up-
Your hands in mine,
And return the piece of you
That thought I had lost forever

My tears will attest for my love.
My cry will be my shield
Against the truth-
And the pain will linger
On the tips of my fingers
As I gently close my eyes.

Let my song reach the top of the heavens,
And the last note shake the gates of hell
May my aria give solace to the lost souls
So that you may find me
Somewhere between C major
And eternity.
Evan Stephens May 2019
You were
long asleep
when I was
walking into
the beer garden.

I drank long
and deep
from a plastic
cup. The highest
alcohol content
I could find.
My blood was
a choir -

I thought
of you
My blood was
a mountain.
My blood was
a red crescent,
a ruby falling.

You sober up
with a mix of
& bread.
I don't make
any efforts,
letting the
blood drift
away on its
own accord.

I'm on your
page. Fifteen
year plans
& we want
the same
things. My
blood is
singing to
you, aria
after aria.
Aquilla Dec 2019
Starlight casts it’s fingers upon the pale rose that blooms in winters chill

The moon is thy sun

Unbidden thou wander through my sleep
A spectre playing hide and seek

Slow dancing across the surface of a silent pool
Siring ripples that mimic a hearts beat

There are words
Thine aria fills the air

You gave me sweetness in sentence
Each a tendril that silenced lips and caressed my face

To her they were wanting and plain
Weighed as meagre exhalations

Whence they fell upon my thirsty heart
A hidden wall was breached
Waterfalls of silver light descended as frantic eyes consumed each gentle expression

Led blindly through untraveled paths
From empty shores
They took my heart and kept it beating to the rhythm of the script

You threw yourself into the fire and wrought lines in ink born of tears and ashes

They were love without hope
Forged in a true heart

They were Love without hope
No debt to repay

Things I had waited to hear since forever

Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
it would seem,
   a maine **** cat, male, is best appeased
by a shoelace...
     hardly a comparison
aligned to the master mikhail bulgakov...
this cat doesn't drink *****,
or play chess...
nor does it drink wine...
      it prefers sushi shrimps and
       sushi trout eyes...
and... shoelaces... for a game...
as i too might, imagining being infested
by a tapeworm...
shoelaces: but no shoes
   do women really keep cats for
replacement company therapy sessions?
i just keep cats as the last
resort format of a curiosity
learning curvature... they're just weird,
or rather, of all the petted animal,
so subtly idiosyncratic...
  i have too many nicknames for them...
the male? quarus? osama bind laden:
the terrorist... the aria king...
   bodzio when he's wanting
to cling to head-butting you as a greeting...
          he meows to the point of howling
come 4am...
   the female? veroniya?
            tyson fury when she's trying
to hide her "oopsie" of a ****'s worth...
jaws... since her tail is always upright...
like a shark's fin when she's strutting...
oh but animals have their character...
   less visible in dogs...
    give it enough time:
you're bound to spot it among / in cats...
even a cow was a character dynamic
proding suss... however subtle...
most people don't encompass a capacity
to encompass this sort of

.and some would claim that there exists, a contradictory-"******" related to the psyche of suicides... it would appear the mere thought of suicide is a "disgruntled" variation of arousal, nay, the mere thought is more potent than a ****** arousal... it's less the ultimate taboo, but the ultimate fetish... why blame those, who have managed to satisfy this urge? my father never complained about suicides, he had a story, where his friend committed suicide, becausde his father was ******* his girlfriend, and he, simply, reached the threshold of what was acceptable, for his psyche to manifest a will inclined to entertain life, rather than that omniscient lover, death... i've come to realise that death, is... as ****** as whatever harlequin / de sade ******* allows, nay, more... how mere thinking can create an arousal, of goosebump testicles, imitating a ***** dynamic, without really achieving a hard-on, rather, a protruding tongue, silenced, which gives the hands momentum, to doodle, something, akin to this; suicide is forever going to be, the exacted limit of passing a free will judgement, however wrong... if the argument goes: humans are without free will, a suicide will always provide the antithesis; i've had a fwend (" ") once, who wanted to shame michael hutchence for his suicide... one brave ******* in all honesty... to experience that sort of a metaphysical ******, well... don't know what it would feel like... any science is contrary to the details, given that... all your "proof" is ascribed to the dead... but at least a philosophical mind-set provides, some groundwork, for imagining a counter-argument, and... the justification for the most "abhorrent" expression of free will... it feels good, to be left without the shackles of the free will argument, that excludes the act of suicide; that's the 1st step: if someone can't commit themselves to suicide, then... man has no free will... there's nothing quiet like engaging with a conscious choice, freed from conscience, whatever post mortem arguments come after, don't even matter... flimsy ******* sparrows, scheming and fluttering of wings! fly! fly! be free! be free!

                           tim pool:
being gay is not a choice,
being religious is,

except the whole
bureucratic fiasco
of the catholic church

the whole pro-life
and pro-baptism...

   i made it blatantly clear
that i didn't want
to be baptißed,
when i dissented from
having to be

mind you:
one great aspect of a catholic

yeah... i guess you don't
get to create a group
dynamic borrowed
from clothing,
there's no high-school "culture"
that later translates itself
into a resentment culture
that lends the high-school
years as blueprint,
for "extracurricular" activities
of: the motivational life

i can't remember being
asked whether
i wanted to be baptißed
or not...
i do remember being
asked to be confirmed...
i declined...

so... i am an apostate,
but for that to have any
you'd need catholic
bureucracy to imply
nothing protestant:
*****-nilly on the side...

   an uncircumcised man
succumbs to the allure
of hebrew mysticism
and (g)nosticism...
   namely the qabbalah...

oh sure, sure,
i was going to side with
the younger devil
(islam) on matters
of my, "christianity"...
i was going straight
to the jews to find
reasonable answers...

      oh ****...
    i should have done that
protestant "thing"
of borrowing from
either buddhist or hindu...
must have slipped my

i still don't understand how h'american
adult life translates itself from
a resentment of the h'american high-school,
if it does not lend itself to
the critique associated with faith schools,
and uniforms...
                 at least in english,
catholic high-schools...
everyone was made uniform,
akin to joining the army...
an army of jesuits...
         h'american public schools,
and their non-uniform policies...
bad idea...
       we had about 3 non-uniform days
in school, we were allowed to not wear uniforms,
as long as we gave money to a charity cause...

i hate the notion of the genesis
of culture, being excavated from h'american
public schools, where uniforms were deemed:

i liked the uniform,
it's the closest i ever came to my father's
stint in the ****** army...
           being the most handsome,
recruited for the "royal guard" equivalent...
i.e. the republican guard...
pretending soldier status...
shooting blanks, at state funerals in
a "bargain" of the salvo...

thank god i never attended a public
school, i liked my catholic school uniform...
i never dressed to impress...
i never made a cultural backdrop out
of it... there was never a piggy-bank's
worth of a twilight saga to bank on...
     thank god not all of h'america
left the shores of america...
  thank god some of it: stayed in its place;

      i live in england...
  why wouldn't i whistle the le marseillaise
alongside the british grenadiers' fife and drum,
rather than... oh god... god save the queen / king?
the most ****** national anthem in
world history...

  sorry, i can't...
                it's a ****** anthem...
              at least the russians and the scots have
the grounds for an anthem covered...
****... beside vaughan williams...
    elgar?! that's it?! no wonder.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
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Your kisses are like colors to the blind,
Your touch like an aria for the mute,
As elusive as passion to the mind,
As beyond the grasp as an absolute.

Your kisses like a full moon in the day,
Your touch is like a rainbow’s harmony,
Like language that the angels use to pray,
Or the dreams that wide open eyes can see.

Your kisses are like clouds held in a palm,
Your touch like a silent cacophony,
Embracing the ferociousness of calm,
Embracing the constraints of being free.

Your perfect kisses defy description.
Your touch is a sublime contradiction.
Instagram @insightshurt
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
****** the neo-feminist
   the comerady
for the hetrosexual male...
the thai-surprise
having encountered
a bisexual in the park...
sure... my
white maggoty ****
was nothing
to be envious of...
bue: miles davis'
                trumpet was...
i no longer belong to
the world that attempts
to make sense,
in the "world"
that would ever consecrate
itself upon
a necessity of: furthering
the scope of dialogue...
i, punk oblivion,
Korean neon
                   Asia fetish?
whenever i have a desire
to ****...
i start imagining teeth
on oysters...
i've ****** one with
tattoos on her body,
one will do...
thank you...
any more?
thank you, no.
being read "pedantic"
backward in finding a seat
in an opera house?
like it was...
something difficult to do?
you know what...
       how about trying
that pedantic lineage
argument in a football stadium?
how's that?

yeah: it's ******* dark...
do i look like
a ******* batman
or something?
           i came here to watch
the ******* bolshoi theatre...
not for some *******
english smurks...

******* scittle-half-crafts
of what deserves a
social-media frenzy...
and all of them women...

opera: yes...
and i was told by some
god-forbid russian
prized frenzy to stop leaning...
you're in the wrong seat...
and she was!
i was leaning into her
but she was sitting
in the wrong seat...
i thought everyone was
sorted in being primmed
when exposed
to such: "high" culture?

oh.. well...
no... see...
i like the opera,
i love the ballet...
but being told
that i haven't faced
my *** to coincide with
my face,
to sit in the allocate
of an put-into-place?

i become...
  by some...
that cannot stomach
killing someone,
a squat of pork
for a hungry cat...
at that point?
i become bothered...
i don't like being
the ******-splain
of sitting
allocation in an opera...

it's, *******, dark...
   next time:
stop bellowing at
the opera singer
like a *******
needing the ordeal
for the encore of senseless
or i'll ******* sling around
skinning you...

they can have their go...
but being...
           made scrutiny of...
in an opera house...
by social-climbers?

it's like.... an itch...
  i'm itching...
to bite, slap, stab the living's
worth of said, "unsaid"

               white-trash drama...

oh i don't fear...
the incarcerated and the obese
are never behind bars...

but that smirk remark
at the opera?
like i'm, somehow... "minor"?
i could **** for that...
mind you:
all the worth for the world's worth
of killing,
is a summary of
the most banal loss
of compnesation,
      being made a comparison of.

i could **** for that opera statement...
i was watching
the ******* bolshoi theatre...
what i was given...
was an antagonist...
something worth
a camel i'd pat on the head
for...  imitating:
poiting forward,
with its "oasis" of phlegm
to scoop, for a worth
of coordinate to scrap
the heaving breath
of, all life, from:
and subsequently regurgitate...

such a belittling scrutiny...
kick a ******* ball
toward an aria while you're at
a scissor-kick mid-air
via a baritone tone
beside the...

   ad capricio (capricious paedo:
****** the testicles,
grab and twist them...
but never cut them off,
or attempt ****)...

   or the piedmont: sanctity...
beatified: ad ****, und -ini...
always, counter culture cited,
the Iberian Muslim counter...
a harem of missing testicles
for no blacksmith...
a escape route worth
                            72 virgins...
but there are,
  who... do what
war implores of them...
to no end...
  for a predicament's
worth of peace...
yes... the Muslims were here,
the Muslims were there...
modern Muslims
in modern Kenya...
             a ******* giraffe
on the stripes
up a zebra's ***...
and i'm all, like:
a ******* clapping
coconut army...
because... Elvis Costello...
was... just as much
fun as Simon & Garfield...

      pop up:
all is for basic scrutiny...
   a few people
might remember
the championing
of coal miners...
in the form variety
of edvard gierek:
but me...
citing him?
am stupid steward...

but someone telling me
i'm not sitting in
the right place...
while trying to rummage
in the dark
for a "place of origin"...
being told
"it's not that hard" /
"anyone could
make such a mistake"...

and to think...
that so little became the basis
for the most horrendous
acts of man...
a man can be burdened
by a broken arm...
a hybrid of
an over-inflated
negation of ease...
but men...
when people become them...
when people become
or purposively
and not semi-acknowledging
in an exaggeration?

i too want to implenet

   since what remains,
leaves to remnant
of a redeemable
quality's worth
of either crux: or beyond
to say say:
i am no sadist,
to ingest a hard-on
from the moaning-&-groaning
of a person
on a plate of:
that most, tiresome ingestion
of... what...
should have never been
the circumstance
for the comparison
                  of caro: qua verbum.
Keith Frantz Dec 2019
Dogs will save us.
Dogs will save us from ourselves.
They will save our souls 
and lick us until we giggle.
Dogs will cure cancer 
and end our suffering.
They will teach us to appreciate art 
and guard us from the monster 
under the bed.

Dogs will be our best friends.
They will save our marriages 
and emancipate our embittered youth. 
Dogs will champion us 
against the inhumane atrocities 
and tragic sadness 
of our battered world.

They will regulate the cat,
announce the mailman, 
and keep your neighbors honest.
Dogs will wake us 
with their breath 
and melt us with their eyes.
Their expressions alone 
will tell us tales as old as time. 

Each dog is a brilliant magician 
and will perform extraordinary miracles 
in an accidental moment.
Every dog is also an empath 
and all dogs remind us to care.
Dogs instinctively know 
what you're thinking 
and feel what you're feeling.
Dogs will train us in love, 
expose us to death, 
and make glorious our lives in between.

Dogs will forever anticipate your return.
Your turn of the doorknob 
remains their obsession.
They will always appreciate your cooking 
and approve of your outfit. 
Dogs will share their fur 
on your coats and gowns 
which will immediately admit you
to random strangers 
as one of their doghaired tribes.

Dogs will help you 
find the candles and the matches 
when the lights go out. 
Dogs will save you 
when your lover leaves you 
and dogs will mend your broken heart. 
They will pick up the sharp, painful pieces
of a shattered life.
Dogs will save you.

Dogs will pant you 
into soft, necessary naps.
Dogs will wag their tails
to find your lost keys 
and make it rain in your garden. 
Dogs will strike a global peace accord 
and defecate on the lawns 
of white collar criminals. 
Dogs will save us.

Dogs will save the world.
They will walk their humans 
and fertilize our soil. 
They will exercise us 
and make our world grow.
Dogs will change parks 
into open churches 
and turn pet stores 
into grand cathedrals. 
They will inspire 
epic poems
and celestial songs.
Dogs will forever remain
the canine aria
in our human opera.

Dogs will find you. 
They will find their way home, 
find their way home to you.
Dogs are happy to see you…
unless they've dug into the garbage can. 
Or countersurfed away your toast,
your egg rolls, 
or your chicken *** pie!
Even then, the dog will teach us
other valuable lessons. 
Dogs teach us every day.
They teach us humanity.
Dogs teach us 
to be our better selves.
They do this with 
very little expectation 
and not any pretentiousness whatsoever. 

Dogs offer happy drool, 
warm bellies, 
and cold noses.
They offer us 
immediate compassion 
and direct honesty.
Dogs will discover and expose 
the very best
and absolute worst 
of everything around them. 
Dogs will save us.

Dogs will open the cages. 
And save the whales 
and protect the forests. 
Dogs will watch over 
the battleless child
and dogs will eventually 
end the pointless wars
and our desire for us
to **** each other.
Dogs will sniff 
the crotches of corruption 
and lick the hands of liberty.

All our critical questions
and significant solutions
are accurately answered 
and obviously evident
by the love of a dog.
Dogs will save us.

If you don't have a dog,
go save a dog.
And it will certainly 
Save You.

October 25th, 2019
Muhammad Usama Mar 2019
I wish I could look into your eyes,
But Aphrodite won't let me;
For a mere mortal must not heavenly pleasures cherish.

I wish your majestic gait could attain the liquidity of a waltz,
And yet, lose not a scintilla of that grandeur,
That made modest a proud admirer.

I wish I could touch the hands I saw in a dream,
Bestowing spring upon the autumn-struck lilacs,
Lying keen, by the empty street.

I wish I could make you hear 'L'amour est un oiseaux rebelle',
That my earnest love for you, on 'festive' eves sings,
To commemorate grief, that days make me oblivious to.

Now! I call upon you!
Come here,
And be the harbinger to my bliss.

Come here, I pray,
And help catch every moment that dies,
Before we even know it existed.

O come here,and let's sing,
'Libiamo, libiamo'
Before death even knows we exist.
1-'L'amour est un oiseaux rebelle' (literally: Love is a rebellious bird) is an aria from an opera by Bizet.

2-'Libiamo,Libiamo' is from 'La Traviata' by Verdi,popularly known as 'The Drinking Song'.
She lifted her voice in song the greatest performance of her life
Lavished in delicate feathers a splendid delight
The voice of an angel with the body of a goddess
Diamonds and rubies embellished on her bodice
The curves of her frame were arrayed in blues
Royal and turquoise whispers of gold tinted hues
An aria this melody a love song with a plea
It resonated with the spectators their tears were flowing free
But far off in the corner adjacent to the stage
There sat the love of her life her song did not faze
His heart was stone cold an empty black hole
Piercing eyes as he watched this swindler of souls
While serenading the crowd she sought out his face
Their eyes fastened on each other similar to an embrace
But something was amiss about the love in his eyes
Passion smoldering in ashes as the fire dies
In the saddest of moments it utterly comes together
With just an inkling she ruffled her feathers
© 4/18/2019

— The End —