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Johnson Oct 2018
ASH
To live is to die
To die is to live
What is the point of it all
If it all contradicts

Too much I have seen
And not enough I have known
Watching the atlas spin around
As this fable becomes my own

So much I have wanted for
Any yet soul less I have tried
For this motivation to live
I have yet to find

And wasted away again
As another romance blooms
Crushed under the weight
The affixed clench of this gloom

Like a sailor in the night
Searching for land
No plunder to be found upon me
So alone I must stand

No more do I ever want
To be in such state
However much this world gives
Your defiled as it slowly rapes

However ever much are you to be
All the more you are contrived
Fantasy the only escape
On a plane of exilic defile

Muffled are your breaths unto
Another catatonic night
While you patiently wait for something
Something you will never find
Data Jan 2018
I’m watching a live Youtube feed
of people leaving tributes to David Bowie
at a mural in Brixton; I’m listening to his song
Lets Dance and I’m fixated in a kind of trance
wondering if I still have the vinyl original…

I’m thinking, ‘How close the world seems just now!
How it feels like I can reach out and touch it all…’

( Grief is palpable. Soft skin comes briefly to daylight )

I remember how Bowie dated that local Chinese girl
a lifetime ago when there was just empty space between us,
before the digital connected and the succubus started ******* data…
                                                           ­       
endlessly, never satiated:

Was that pride I felt for her? Yet, I feigned scandal for my mother’s benefit,
Ain’t that just like us all back then?
In those days,
a circumspect politic was the see-thru veil I strung between extravagant androgynies
and the presentation of a public but inauthentic self;

God in a white suit, The Thin White Duke sings Low, hypnotising,
Lazarus rising, singing like a saintly bluebird:
In heaven, I’ll be whatever you like, Mother, out here… where starlight does not reach,
I’ll be whatever I want to be… out here… I’ll be free.

Already, Bowie’s last frame
is ten million miles away —a man falling from Earth,

[If feels like] Something’s missing, but it doesn’t stop the world spinning
—And on screen, a passing siren screams.

It’s morning here and evening there, I watch
my grey day materialising from the dark; steady rain tap-tapping
against the aluminium window frame like a lone djembe
celebrating rhythms, heart beats, faces in a crowd;
colourful flowers bound in clear plastic… windows in other-worlds,
faces against the glass, disconsolate voyeurs praying for resurrection.

I’ve been up all night watching, connected, mesmerised, mediated events streaming in:
Just now, no rain falling on Ol’ London Town but cold breath steaming and strangers with a reason
to talk to the other…
                                  
                       ­            That bearded guy in the black wooly cap looks cute,
Weirdly, the camera zooms in for a closer view,
but it wasn’t me who pushed the button;
I always wonder, ‘Who has their hands on the controls?’
Or maybe, it’s just that we think the same things simultaneously:
No matter, as the song ends and I hear the chatter
of the small crowd rise against my silence,
I recall that the zeitgeist is ever full of changing hosts
and the black night’s gorged with its ever rising ghosts…

( Somewhere, someone’s playing Heroes on an harmonica; the Subway sign behind the crowd’s beckoning
                 —Breakfast!
                                     As the feed cuts
                                                                ­to a screen of vertical coloured bars,
a mid-tone hum sets in as a dissonant thrum
and everything disconnects [again] )


___________________­___________________

By Data © Jan, 2016
On watching a digital stream of a vigil in Brixton following the death of David Bowie from the other side of the world
Kewayne Wadley Apr 2018
And like incense our scent takes to the air.
Ascending before we fall.
Her and I.
We burst into fire.
Our eyes a gaseous mixture. 
Ignited by the touch of skin.
Kindling the many thoughts we keep of each other.
A crackle blown out.
Accented in desire,
Our yearning ignites.
We hold ourselves unselfish,
Keeping warm.
Separate stems bonded as one. 
Our inner voice visible. 
Bypassing worry, our doubt.
A piece of us both, dissipating in a slow burning.
To give more than we've taken in unspoken communication.
We fell in ash.
Our scent a prayer sent to heaven. 
To always remain this way. 
Even after our extinguishing.
May we linger.
Forever more.
Falling fast asleep in each other's arms.
Leading each other to a place we call love.
Until the last ash drops
Umi May 2018
A phoenix is...
Extended ash, through unending life,
Darkness clouds the happiness of distant days, as eternal life
might be cursed by the flames of ****, yet she is always resurrecting,
Like a spectator, she watches life rise and fall, alike day and night,
Comparable to the smoke which thins it's trail as it travels into the distant sky, yet never truly dying never truly disappearing, living on.
Such is the fate of one who is imperishable, it is alonely existence,
Scared to bond but filled with hope she keeps her head up high,
Because the majestic, azure sky is always a source of hope and bliss,
This makes her fight on, although this battle will never end,
Believing there is a future, in which she someday will rest happily,
Misery and hatred burn up in her flames, which then fall into the darkness of a deep sin which has found its occurance in the long past,
As her body scorches into a blaze of immortality, recurring memories soar, illuminating the land and guiding her through the long night,
Even if all what is lost can be found again, it will perish, transiently.
For now all what is left, is but immortal smoke.

~ Umi
I had to write this twice
Because hello poetry was down when I wanted to publish it and the draft disappeared almost completely =)
I hate my life
Parker May 2018
ash
I found the noose you created out of bible verses
The soft pillow's feathers drenched in tears
Their use to be a mountain behind that hill
Now just bones and fears

Your lipstick still on the glass
The ash from you smokes laid waste
and that angel you painted out of pain
She finally flew away

Your fingerprints on the widow
Your hair clogged the drain
When I left I chipped piece of my heart
Forever will remain

The empty space in my dreams
Im forced to close my eyes
You're not obligated to smile
In a mile we'll see the light
day by day
night by night
morning by morning
I find nothing new
all has been done
all has been forgotten
bring back the journey
forget about the future
demolish what we have
burn it to the ground
thy shall begin again
Juhlhaus Mar 7
Before my doctor's visit Wednesday after work
I smoked two just to see whether I remembered
The taste of ash, mint and tobacco leaf
The stuff of life and death, the bitter and the sweet
Hurrying across the busy street
I looked up to see Mother Mary there
With dark eyes, olive skin, and wind-tossed hair
She seemed tired and a little sad
But her face was kind and she had God on the line
And ash on her brow, which reminded me of the day
I repented and gave the rest of the cigarettes away
to be determined May 2018
cigarette smoke clogs her arteries
twelve packs a week
bleeding teeth and nails dawdle in her broken hallucinations
the cloud of harsh chemicals mask the iron in dust
it coats her tongue and hands and feet
the minerals latch onto the crevasses of her flesh
refusing to relinquish their rightful territory
she knows all of this
all it took was ages in a bathtub
overcome with mildew
for their stubborn tendencies to become evident
she's since abandoned attempting to scrub the brine away
this poem has been published in The Gifted Penman's Poetry Collection: Volume One
mollie Nov 2018
when my father smoked,
i was a child.
terrified by every inhale.
the thought of his tar riddened lungs was unbearable.
but he was a lost cause,
long lost to the tar stained tobacco on a stick.
I would clutch my teddy in the back seat of the car,
fearful that my lungs may ingest such vile and villainous fumes.

when I smoked I was a teen,
dragging on the stick I once feared so much.
inhaling and exhaling as if my life depended on it.
I recalled the fear of a child's eyes, myself.
so afraid of death and toxicity
but now, seventeen,
I had long forgotten my childhood wish to stay alive,
to grow up
because I had.
and while doing so had learned that life is bleak.
my tar stained lungs don't horrify me like my father's did,
they push me further,
smoking faster and harder until I may become a small pile of grey and cremated ash kept carefully within a decorated vase upon a mantle piece,
an ash tray of sorts.
the scent of her sweat
cigarette ash on my skin
she says, "don't forget."
as she whispers to my ear
the story of how we met
CK Baker Jan 2017
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  .
~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

what about the gull
                          with a wayward splash
or the balanced blend
of cirrus and ash

foghorns throw
the pock wave
sewell stragglers
and bonny boats
earn their keep
ghazal Sep 2018
heartbroken and tired,
my short breaths can start a fire.
smoke and ash,
i brush it all away but the dust settles and stays.
allergies arise, two in a row i sneeze and you cry.
hold me close, i pray you don’t let go.
love me so, i pray you don’t yet know.
wait and grow, we fell apart well before the snow.
winter comes and degrees fall below.
dark skies i fill my head with dark lies.
a temporary safe haven,
i throw up words till it all caves in.
colored bruise on pale skin-
bluesh hues from hellish sins.
i pray for forgiveness, i pray for gin.
https://www.instagram.com/faithpoetrybook/
zebra Apr 2017
i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication

seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth  
glamors that excite

cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards

wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice

your supplication
love pangs

i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your  limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life  

I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death  
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous  
waiting humbly in the wings

i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules

your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops  
as it echoes through oblivion
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, and yes  i admit to my paraphilias.
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
My floating state of mind
As skipping stones and
Making notes

Wandering about,
Keeping this boat afloat

I wish to have company,
For I have been stranded for far too long

Accompany me please,
Let's light this ocean of dust

Reminiscing of waves that were,
The tides of love that made us burn

For together we danced
In a state of trance

Under this Ash filled sky,
And we merged together,
Our love into amber.

You mustn't wander too far
You're the only thing keeping this boat together

For my heavy heart, it seems
Will only sink it deeper

But you will leave if you may,
These dreams of mine can only pray

Of an ending,
That leaves this heart depending,
On more.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
a  flawless poem
if such there were,
will always be,
the next one

my poor soul,
my rag tag heart
has no censor,
so careless, reckless,
as if words were but
frivolous treasures,
easy spent, easy get

if only, how I wish I
could harvest my best,
with golden cutlery excise
the single flawless poem,
that I know in my possess

lay down this hand so weary
from cupping tears,
be satisfied at long last,
so much so,
that my casket lowered,
hands in repose companioned,
clutching his best, easing the rest,
a paper record to join his ash,
his flawless poem,
at long last
Written in ten minutes when Frivolous Treasure, Ingrid, and SE Reimer
excised it from with me, a triage performed and a poem delivered, fluid and tear wet,  while Mozart's Serenade No. 13 for Strings harmonized what ever music the man has left.

flawless? Perhaps one slightly less flawed.

give us all your names and I will write someday
what my heart knows exists

Words are hopeless, poor substitutes for what they in vain,and we too, we call the heart's decay but this poem give unto me a deeper satisfaction than most...
CK Baker Dec 2016
The napalan man in a violet cape  
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession; subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew  

sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors  

stepping stones and iron bells
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour

castle turret,  archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo  

ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified  

battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war  
gargoyles flock the terrace *****
pearly gates to bring on hope  

serpents, snakes and burning ash
the lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
MicMag Aug 2018
.
              (  (  growing gray cloud of smoke and ash  ) )
              (  (  expanding mass of poisonous gas  ) )
                         (  ( billowing upwards into the air ) )           a
                            (  (    dark    omen    of    )  ) ­                   s
                                 (  (      despair      )   )                         h
      (    \           //    )  
                                       (   \        //   )                                 g
                                           (  \     //  )                                     e
                                              \\\  /////                                        n
                       ­                         \\\/////                                           t
                                         the                                                     l
                                    peak's        top           ­                         y
exploding     right off
                       glacial snows melting down                       f
                     lava flows heading for the town                     a
                   terror! destruction! fright erupting out                   l
               extinct beast awakens, roaring primal shout                  l
           mountain trembling, earth shaking, people quaking           s
       in fear and wonder, transfixed by summit torn asunder       
fire and fury blend with the sky as we flee and ponder why
we await this rage from the earth but the beauty makes it worth
all the deadly risks we know we face in living at this volcano's base
I recently visited some stunning towns
sitting at the base of active volcanoes.

I was left contemplating this tension
between the beauty and potential carnage.

(This one doesn't seem to look quite right on a phone.
Try it with a rotated screen.)
Dominique Feb 25
Love, I hope the drugs that hold you
Keep you high as you had me
‘Cause I’m dealing with the freefall
If it lands me at your feet
Then I’ll wrap around your legs and
Stumble off my battered knees
Rip a bouquet from my lungs
And wipe my blood across your cheek
And when I’m done, I’ll whisper “please”

Please
Please
Please
You unwind me
Don’t remind me of what I lost
Please
Please
Please
Leave me alone
Shatter my bones if that’s the cost

I watched a sports car choke a rose
Found I longed to be the ash
And drowned it in a line of prose
Opened up a surface ****
But you found your way inside my mind
Left me blind to all of life
I vowed to leave you behind but
All my evergreen trees died
And I sat and bled and cried, “Please”

Please
Please
Please
You unwind me
Don’t remind me of what I lost
Please
Please
Please
Leave me alone
Shatter my bones if that’s the cost
unfinished for now~
Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
Tiiiiinngg!!!((())))))
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
Through
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Stagnant,
Filthy with earth and
Hours,
their
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Open
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.
"duck"
    "DUck"
              .........."DUCK
"GOOSE!!!­"

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
Aloof
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
climbing,
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
watch
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
everlasting,
Where
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Quietly,
wander
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
Violently,
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
people,
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
Nothing/
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
Everything,
All that I can hold in my eyes,
There
Where there is life everlasting-
Fingerprints,
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
Hovering,
Softly
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
years
And hours
Of days that dripping
minutes
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
David R Jun 2018
Round about is deep black darkness,
Darker than the blackest night,
Whispering deep 'n dreadful murmurs.
Bird dropped dead in midflight.

Blind and weeping, lifeless attle,
What you see is your own soul,
Burnt and weary from the battle.
Disenchanted from its goal.

In the ash, a spark she smoulders,
Crackling, rasping, wounded warrior,
Briars squeeze her neck and shoulders,
Suffocating in smog-fill'd air.

Deep within stagnating water,
Crystal-clear elixir tear,
Rippling movement, life astir,
Phoenix rises from the slaughter.

Still she rises, Golden Daughter,
Fears no longer yonder fright,
Strength within from those who fought Her,
Blackest night turned brightest light.
Celso Moskowitz Sep 2018
Encountering
by chance
a past
flame
is muck akin to
the aftermath
of the habit
of setting aside
half-smoked joints
on the ashtray
to save for later
and then
promptly forgetting
about them:
sometimes you are surprised
to find
more
than you remembered,
but,
more often than
not,
the opposite
occurs.
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