"assigns" poems
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight
Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape
Summer again
I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening
For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….
She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…
The queen will be safe here
from the rabble
The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
Among these lofty cliffs
Between the raging circuit of the tide
Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
Here lovers learn
the debt of love’s bad timing
“Drink ye all of it!”
--the potion that assigns our sorrow….
She will not sleep—
while I chew this gum-- GUM?
Roll down the window!
Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings
As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity
…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly
Their hands steady the wheel
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Homework, oh homework,
I hate you! You Stink!
I wish I could wash you away in the sink.
If only a bomb would explode you to bits.
Homework, oh homework,
You're giving me fits!
I'd rather take baths with a man eating shark,
Or wrestle a lion alone in the dark.
Eat spinach and liver, pet ten porcupines,
Then tackle the homework my teacher assigns.
I get more and more angry as I turn the next page,
Homework, oh homework,
You fill me with rage!
Homework, oh homework,
You're last on my list,
I simply can't see why you even exist.
If you just disappeared, it would tickle me pink.
Homework, oh homework,
I hate you! You stink!
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
1336
Nature assigns the Sun—
That—is Astronomy—
Nature cannot enact a Friend—
That—is Astrology.
4.6k
My brother finds comfort in calculators.
He assigns every number a name.
He believes that they add up to certainty and he is upset with fractions that remain.
So I examine these maps with my eyes, and at best I can trace with my finger
all the way to that town where she went in an attempt to forget the cracks and the lines of my face.
So Jetsabel cleaned out the closets for me and she piled up the boxes in the hall.
Tomorrow when she wakes she'll come take them away and they'll never haunt me again;
but it is still hard to sleep with the moon's heavy beams.
I run barefoot to the backyard, just to freeze in my place by the rod iron gate;
too afraid and ashamed to advance.
Today I walked through the snow and found a field of headstones.
They were in rows like the weeks in calendars where each box is a day you can never escape
without pills or the poison of sleep.
These memories leak from these faucets that weep.
Hot tears splash against the shower floor and I stand in the steam as if inside a dream--
I can see her again by the sink.
From behind the bathroom mirror she pulls a thermometer and places it under my tongue.
She said, "You're as pale as a sheet. You look awful, my sweet. Lay down and wait for the sun."
So I stayed in that bed. She brought me water and read each night from a volume out loud.
She whispered soft poetry. Her favorite was Anabel Lee.
And those words, like these drugs, comforted me.
But the clocks kept waving their hands
and she couldn't understand why temperature would never drop.
And though she promised with tears that she would always be here,
I heard truth like the sounding sea.
I said, "My Arienette, how soon you forget this house will never be your home,
and you will leave in the fall when the trees become graves and their colors lie dead in the grass."
Gold and green torture me like the lies I believe too easily.
Oh my Jetsabel, look at this hell that I have made.
If you want, maybe drop by sometime-- put some flowers on my grave
so that I will look beautiful in my silent sepulchre.
Yeah, that's fine. Throw some dresses away. I don't want anything of hers.
For the moon never shines and the stars never rise without bringing me dreams,
haunted by the ghosts of those bright eyes.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
1
Peter's been in the job
nine months
He's got the hang of it
He's really good;
Customers ask for him
Colleagues rely on him
The boss assigns him tough jobs
Peter's wife says at home:
*"My, you've become irreplaceable
Time for a promotion;
and time for my makeover"*
2
And so Peter speaks to his Boss
about a promotion
and runs through what he's done
in nine months:
*"I've got the hang of it
I'm really good;
Customers ask for me
Colleagues rely on me
You trust me with the tough jobs
I'm irreplaceable"*
"Agreed, " says the Boss
"But you are irreplaceable"
…pause…pause…pause…
*"So no one can take your
current position; so
you'll have to stay there,
I'm afraid"*
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 4:12 AM UTC
Deuteronomy 21:15-17
“If a man has two wives, the one loved and the other unloved, and both the loved and the unloved have borne him children, and if the firstborn son belongs to the unloved, then on the day when he assigns his possessions as an inheritance to his sons, he may not treat the son of the loved as the firstborn in preference to the son of the unloved, who is the firstborn, but he shall acknowledge the firstborn, the son of the unloved, by giving him a double portion of all that he has, for he is the first fruits of his strength. The right of the firstborn is his.
It not a good thing to play a hero!!
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC
Each mind is situated on the spectrum of belief and reality.
Both ends suffer in their search for the truth.
The man who spends his life navigating the spiritual realm.
He attempts to find the greater purpose for everything.
Every blade of grass, each eroded stone a symbol of something bigger.
The nuances of life analysed and expanded upon to their very limit.
Given meaning in the name of God or the foreshadowing omen of an individual.
The man who traverses reality, grounded in science and logistics.
His mind filled with hypotheses.
Observing outcomes to explain the inexplicable.
He fits his grass and stones into the puzzle of a greater system.
In doing so he is God and the purpose for all things he assigns.
Both men strive to be the voice heard by the masses.
Their findings recorded, read, believed.
In the end does it truly matter.
Two lives spent.
Kneeling, yearning for some kind of affirmation that their time was spent correctly.
That they added anything to the greater scheme.
Pages upon pages filled with every detail in a grain of sand.
The end comes, the ink runs, the pages wither to dust, knowledge lost, purpose forgotten.
The world keeps turning.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Then said Almitra, “Speak to us of Love.”
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, it directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
-----Kahlil Gibran
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.
The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.
So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?
Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?
Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.
And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...
... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Kahlil Gibran
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
Along the valleys of Llandegfan
Fluorescent lavish she glimmers
Battling arousal unyielding I strain
As the sweltering blood simmers
Fervid quivering she assigns
Peaking atop the apex of my spine
With each stroke swift I succumb
For this moment forever I've pined
Forgive my heightening appetite
Supplementary to my avid lust
Quite the unbearable sensation
Equally as hazardous to trust
In vivid colours may we flaunt
Fornicate to lecherous taunts
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 7:15 AM UTC
I remember your lips and your sonnet
and a perfect sunrise alive early hour
I remember our nights
and the long hours kept
glances here and over the shoulder
I remember you reaching over
gently grasping my hand
The hold of strong iron
with the sweat of my land
It was like a fast train
a transparent boxer with a heavy hit
I try to keep my footing through its mighty solid fit
I love you
and I have loved you
for so long dear
Come to my side and be my witness
Days speed
and all of my pain, another tattoo
a reminder of when I was with you
I blanket myself with dreams
it was rich for awhile
Days slept too long
and the threads became undone
A nightmare followed
close by as a spy
I've walked around this place a thousand times
prison steps from yesterday
the wood has softened
I bow my head
to see your face
another tear
my eyes trace
outline to shadow
I close my eyes
and hope for sound
to pull from you
to heal from you
We never part with words
just hunger
Today, I will tell you that I'm lucky
I've got an angel on my right
and you on my left
I see your eyes, like diamonds,
follow through the white-hot steam on tenuous glass
I place my finger on the same line you started
repeat the movement
and trace back my name
Your breath is heavy
your pulse of heart rhythmic with mine
In unison we are alive
"In Sympathy In Existence"
(c)April 18, 2008, Bellabloom,
and its affiliates and assigns and licencors
All rights reserved
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
-
Behind the thick crimson and gold thread curtains
he stands listening to the din of the audience
searching their seats for popcorn crumbs
while roaming hands brush against the legs
of those sitting closest
The young girls get the winks
and free drinks as the old men
vie for position, straightening their hair
and flashing thick wallets
from stretched out back pockets
He peeks through the slit in the
fancy brocade drapes to find a full house,
everyone is here, the self imposed mayor
wearing a handmade campaign button
shakes hands and seeks signatures
Mrs. Broadmore assigns seats in her row
as the little people gather around, telling her
how beautiful she is while hoping for a glimpse
of the diamond crusted gin filled flask she keeps
tucked away in her left garter
The lights dim as the depressed sulk to their seats in the balcony,
broken hearts fill the back rows closest to the bar,
cheerleaders in pink lipstick and short skirts, the football team
all ****** out of their minds and the debate club collect in the center
while the pretty people, the wealthy pose in the front rows
He gets the signal as the curtain slowly lifts
to the ceiling on well oiled pulleys
There is not a sound as he makes his way
to the microphone at center stage, dead silence
but he reads his poem anyway
It is obvious he is no Leonard Cohen
but he does his best as he recites the verses
he has penned especially for this evening
Upon finishing he stares out as two people
clap their approval and the others whisper and look away
His shoulders drop as he leaves the stage,
head hung low, crumbling the paper he had read from
and tossing it in the trash as he wonders aloud, “why, why do I do it?”
A janitor sweeping near the exit door hears him
and shaking his head replies, “Because you’re a poet, that’s why”
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
#
*When love beckons to you, follow him,
though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
though the sword, hidden among his pinions
may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him
though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses
your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
so shall he descend to your roots
and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge,
become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear, you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
into the seasonless world--
Where you shall laugh.. but not all of your laughter,
And weep.. but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught, but from itself.
Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart,"
but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires--
To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.*
~Kahlil Gibran#
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
The Largest Lie
The midnight shelter of time
Buried you bottomless somewhere
in the recesses of my mind.
Deep deep down
In the crevices of my spine
where vague sketches of yesterday
were all that I could find.
There, where the shadows and flashes
of memories reside
unleashed moments crawl to the surface -
begging for light.
Urging to make you real again
In this space and in this time.
I am reminded of the signs
I am re-minded of the signs
I remember though even without signs.
Because love is not blind but with stealth and slither she
Creeps from behind and buries the me that was me before she was…
Never mine,
But a mere image cut deeply into the layers of my mind and she carved time with ragged- razored lines.
I can not find.
I will not find her – the one to shine the broken edges the others left behind.
I am a catalyst for the crime, which is time spent cowered in my mind spinning tirelessly through eras of tragedy and romantic grime.
Will you please be mine?
Just one last time
Will you please be mine?
And help me to outshine my bloodline that tangles with the soulshine of these withered chimes!
My lifeline relies on the moon’s shrine that assigns your skyline to my shore line.
Watch me climb back into the sublime
roots of divine nothingness –
the grand design.
Nothingness is the grand design!
Riddled by centuries of symbols and rhyme.
Now is the time!
Now is the only time!
To reflect on and refine the largest lie!
Love is not real for she is loneliness in disguise.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
Generals and Admirals,
making the decisions
On squaddies lives and welfare
Creating the divisions
These combat explanations
The dictionary assigns
The following descriptions
Only the words benign.
A fight between armed forces,
Or, Take action to reduce;
The need for family losses?
Or more souls abuse?
Down among the soldiers
Is there anything more obtuse?
Stood by an adolescent shoulder,
Death in hands to use.
Brigadiers and Field Marshalls creed,
Battles must be won!
With no time for a private’s need
Or their families at home.
One day, with waiting over
Lovers may return,
Some that is, the others
Died in Hades, so listen, learn!
They died, and in their passing
Our freedom they allowed
Take heed, do not stop asking
Be heard and scream out loud,
To those we must make listen
To historical loud spoor
where fields of blood still glisten,
Please! Let peace endure….
Aduain
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
First
write
your heart
the mind will follow
like a golden puppy
floppy-eared
unsure of foot
its tail wagging
unknowingly
words will
flow in a dream
blurred ideas
come clear
on the page
meaning
assigns itself in time
the rest is all plodding
away dotted i's crossed t's
mental spell check release
let go
first
right
your
heart
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
Deuce Brother States, embrace your own Define
One which assigns your Profile to be Real
Another, by flip belongs to your Lime
Which in your Comfort does merrily Steal
Is this such Bulb, which you chose to Enjoy
Even though its Pockets carry a Plague
If, by Tempt's timing by reason deploy
Morning smoothes a Tan; Evening crumps an Ague
For a Coin as Janus begot is Enough
Even as it Matures your Chronology
Would better the Memoirs be Pure though Tough
Multiply this Peace your Anthology.
You're Ripe enough, at least in your own Crop
Whilst waiting for the Owl to perch its Drop.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
Stair-cased cascades of my life
Primed in compositions of oils
Blended on walls and artistic impressions
A touch of lies to make us believe
As we scream as high where the sky pipes
Tuning on the fabric of the universal ship
A drink and another, a mother of another
As we hear a song that sums the trance
Take me to a world far from this reality
where the pyramid extends above the puzzle
Take me to a place, escapism of the dimension
a destination where the triangle peaks and sums
Take me to a planet that is rooted in eternity
a precedence that assigns my nominated contract
Take me to a yesterday when the torrential rains fell
the replication of my mutilation and multiplication
Take me to a today, where cities are my travelled anthems
the adventure of the short-lived untamed trajectory
Take me to a tomorrow, where mystics rules in clues
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:38 AM UTC
Thoughts don't keep tormenting my head
I have a job to do to earn my bread
I have hours of dipping my hands in the muck
juggle with the assigns that simply ****
Poems don't come streaming in my head
let me not lose bread in your mesmeric thread
I have hours of pouring over dead files
wade in the mire in painted smiles!
Dreams don't perch on my stooped eyelids
let me take care of my earthly needs
I have hours of works to pay for the meals
stuck in a rut that slowly kills!
Wishes don't freely on my heart land
let it not be lost in your quicksand
I have hours to cope with the burning
walk the fire on your singed wings!
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
The sun bores the light and the moon bores the dark
Some awaken at dawn, at night do others make their mark
The pure course their routine as the bee feeds off of the flower
The unnatural rise against nature's tradition with terrifying power
Abominations are born to destroy the balance as they are cursed
Coming together by wolf and man are a result among the worst
The human is a dweller of the light, and a sleeper of the nocturne
Full shining sun does it protect the human from the appalling turn
The full moon is the only eclipse to this haven of temporary peace
For the lunar cycle assigns the human to monster upon release
To stay in the light maintains the course of all normality to tell
For the one when light descends to shadow does Heaven turn to Hell
The growth of searing teeth, claws, and fur are terrors before the howl
Signalling no mere wolf but a humanoid beast to begin its nightly prowl
Pain induced by the exchange from man to beast is a tremendous flood
Upon the finish is granted a hungry taste for all things pure blood
The sleeper becomes the hunter of the night and the slasher of many
Tall does it stand with a gaze of death drawn to the prey plus twenty
A roar is the threat to scatter a lion pack and a predicate to destroy
Once in sight, escape is impossible for all are the werewolf's toy
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
I wake today
with the strength of heaven
at my bedside
with the light of the sunrise
tapping my window
and shattering out to colors
the dance of dusk and dawn
I wake with the pulse of nature
at my toes
Earth begins to soften
and seed begins to stir
My body is the depth of sea
heavy, steady and rooted
This fragile creation
a matriarch thrown
my gentle bed
Steadiness of soil
wet grass and burning leaves
over naked flesh
like spider webs on fish bones
The solidity of rock
where I lay my head
anchored and grounded
Outside the beast and the chattering crow
both alive with song
The spirits of the mountains
their roots are deep
I pierce the air
and watch them dance
from flat to peak
to a red and purple sunset
let my tired eyes seak
I arise today
Through God’s strength to fuel me
God’s wisdom to guide me
God’s hand to guard me
Alone or in a multitude
an armor to shield me from injury
"May Queen"
(c) Mar 17, 2008, Bellabloom
and its affiliates and assigns and licensors
All rights reserved
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
I once heard a man say “tomorrow is not your friend”
As smoke swirled around the room I pondered what that meant.
You must live every day as if it’s your last
Dwell not on the past
There are days when melancholy strikes like an assigns from the shadows
My heart grows darkness inside golden meadows
A tainted soul locked in an internal war
As dawn breaks my eyes feel heavy.
The bags under them dark like pools of oil.
We have come to another tipping point
Rally I must to turn the tide
For the soldiers in the golden side.
I’ll live to fight tomorrow.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
And when your day expose to test,
Come home to where your soul can rest
Darling come home
The night lit up by lovers yearn
wet lips taught
breathed an impassioned nocturne
The winds lament
swells the air
milk dampened with opaline tears
the sweat on flesh and fear
High as the rising tide
with might and main
with lust and claim
one slow kiss at a time
Fingers on flesh,
tracing my heart in hand
languished and bracing
In your eyes I am mirrored pallid
these naked gentle bones
back arched,
arms outstretched
innocense exposed
My lovers heart beats devoted
his pulse of heat is mine the same
two bodies embraced
my skin of silk his body drapes
This passionate heart,
his native drum
with every beat a roaring thunder runs
My eyes are of twilight and dawn
jewels your fingers give to me
flowering and brown
wild as the forest
calm as meadow
both dance,
my dearest fortune dances voluptuously on my belly
My body yearns
entranced with every breath
the rise and fall from his two iron gates
my fingers fleet to caress
Arms like veins up along my thighs
make me weak at the knees
as I fall into your sea
great body of beauty
wash over me
Come to my mouth
sweet, perfumed tongue
where my lips pour sweet wine
and drink my breath of infinite kisses
I am his queen
His body lapped over me
as if he was caressing his own white casket
Vagabonds enslaved to this beauty
Reckless creatures
"Your Gaze, Your Mouth, Your Foot, Opens Door",
(c) Jul 19, 2008 , Bellabloom, and its affiliates and assigns and licencors
All rights reserved
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC