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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
i couldn't never write a book, sorry, a novel, i'd hate to become a puppeteer, someone who attempts to play chess, a fiddling and bothersome shadow-baron (schattenbaron)... imaginary "friends" is not my thing, plus... i don't have an exact elastic approach to heidegger's compliments concerning poets: i only like heidegger because he likes poets, **** me, he elevates poets to the stature of philosophers when language "things" are made necessary... i.e. (and verbatim) - language - only if speech has acquired the highest univocity of the word does it become strong for the hidden play of its essential multivocity (as withdrawn from all "logic"), of which poets and thinkers alone are capable... welcome! welcome! to plato's republic! Brennus & Alaric welcome you, quiet fondly depicted by Joseph-Noël Sylvestre... and when the Huns pushed the leaders Fritigern and Alavivus into the eastern empire to settle... and emperor Valens... that's history for you: a cascade of: and and and and and and... sometimes a p.s., but mostly the and and and of causality... facts come barging in, you forage... but thanks to heidegger: the poets have earned their graces... and can return to the republic... as wordsmiths... i mean, was i ever to think of myself as a french dada dandy? frivolous and superfulous raconteur / racketeer? poet or philosopher, that's beside the point, the point being: i'm not a novelist... i don't like dealing with language that chokes that i rely on mostly and that mostly being: i like the idea of a raw vocabulary... i'm more of a butcher than an artist... i like the rawness of an inverted crossword puzzle... in my "trade"... there are no clues, whether synonymous or antonymous, in this spaghetti of: ex nihil factum sermo (out of nothing came the word)... poetry, of all places, allows this form of unadulterated nibbling at raw vocabulary... bypassing the standard g.c.s.e.: overt-scrutiny of poetics... i never like that... a 5/ 7/ 5 syllable haiku poem should never be preserved for its essay-worthiness to extend into 2000 words in a school exam... poetry strapped to pedagogy is... less heavily censored, more... over-scrutinized... you're not supposed to think in terms of poetry: you're supposed to, feel... and since when has feeling become so overrated, so despsised? oh... when people "learned" to feel, prior to learning to think... you really have to learn to think, prior to learning how to feel... if you ask someone from the orient, they'd counter the western perception of placing thinking / "reason" on the top of the pyramid with horus' eye as emblem... to learn to feel: is to learn to how to not think, while to think? it's to learn how to not feel... pretty simple, no? not really... neither approaches should be underrated, they should be understood better... who the hell needs, or wants, to be an apathetic brain-in-a-pickle-jar zombie: constantly engaging with a dialectic? then again... who wants to be a heart in an electric chair constantly bamboozled into pointless reactions? so i'm more of a butcher than a "poet", i simply appreciate the raw realism of cutting pieces of the tongue that extends into the brain's fathomability - and that overrated visual ******* of dreaming most people associate themselves with... but that's beside the point... i really appreciate days akin to this one, humid as in the concrete basin of Beijing while europe is frying in the African plume... no thanks, no, me go to Greenland or the Faroes Islands... do i look like a ******* ******* / camel jockey? why do i have limited respect for islam? i once watched a video of a saudi with an european bride... sitting on oil was both a blessing... and a curse... muhammad would whip some of these saudi brats silly... but of all days... when i get to work my magic in the kitchen, and make the most superior food in the whole wide world? blue indian cuisine: i call them blue indians and not red soxs because: come on... the raj... and that polytheism that doesn't want to disappear... h'americans can boast all they want: the steak, the hamburger, the hot dog, the pizza... n'ah... n'ah mate... it's either curry or you're chewing chicken bones, ******* out the marrow... indian cuisine is superior... i love the days when i cook up two curries... it feels like being back in edinburgh, walking into the joseph black building, the perfumes of sulphur and wood, the 12 hour experiments it would take us to conjure up an ester... esters? bases for the perfume industry... that' the grand thing about cooking a curry... you start to feel like a chemist once more... the two curries? a tikka masala: sure, an easy adventure... marinating the chicken what not... the real fun came with the malvani... blitzing the masala up: a bay leaf, half a nutmeg, 4 / 5 cloves, 7 dried chillies, 10 peppercorns, a cinnamon stick, cumin seeds, coriander seeds, chilly powder, turmeric powder... and that's just the malvani masala... the cocunut masala... ****... only two green chillies... how to get the right colour? ah... blitz up some coriander stalks... garlic and ginger... milk to get the whizz-kid on the job... it's superior cuisine, indian cuisine... it reminds me of a being in a chemistry lab at edinburgh... doing organic experiments... mind you: it's more fun, the environment is less sterile... even my mother said: you're stinking up the place, you're worse than the sikhs two doors down... so... why would i visit an indian restaurant, or indulge myself in an indian take-away, if i can mimic? i see no point... there is no other cuisine on the planet as good as what could come from either Goa or New Delhi... the colours, the perfume of the spices... by now a hamburger, pizza or hot-dog are staples or both humble beginnings and even more humbled ends... i've found my 1st to none passion... and with a afghani naan bread... and with rice infused with turmeric... tiresome ponce schemes of duck a l'orange... spaghetti this that and the other... one bias... though... scandinavian treatment of raw herrings... in cream sauce... i'm a sucker for those herrings like i'm a sucker for pop music... the added zing of the herrings' rawness out-competes the bland sushi manifesto... eating one of these herrings in a cream sauce... has the complimentary sensation, very much akin to performing oral *** on a woman... oysters are beyond the marker of metaphor / literal association... well: hello today!

I.

i'm starting to suspect, that one of the...
"supposed" stars...
   is actually a planet - due to its colour -
      it's unlike all the other -
todkompf, metallic white
glitter...
      it's hued in a more orange
spectacle - more fire...
less distance...
                and on the canvas
of the night?
   sits lower than all the other stars,
which are more up -
   rather than on a horizon
to speak off...
   question is... is that *mars
,
or is that venus?

**** it: 'ere i go...
'n' buy me a *******
telescope to investigate further...

II.

did the ancient romans really
distinguish the arithmetic
quantity of I - or IX -
   or XII or...
                with a dot?
       not unless it was inscribed
in stone -
   where even upsilon had
to vacate the more easily chiseled
in:              YOVR POINT?
just wondering
   how only two diacritical marks
were applied to the encryption -
and both... not for orthographic
reasons, but for aesthetics -
    what's the actual difference
when the guillotine digestion
machine (like me) comes in and
says...
    
     ȷokιng around...
        what with the iPod...
   why shouldn't ι,
                    come ιn -
   and give a ȷester's ιnquιsιtιon?
out of... mere... curιosιty?
ιt's not lιke those two-heads
even make a dιfference...
come on! ιt's ιneffectιve,
there are no orthographιc reasons
for ιt!
        why, even, bother?
    and no fancy name eιther,
ιn the dιacrιtιcal famιly...
  dot... when compared to?
cιrcumflex, caron, macron,
      cedιlla,  ͅ (ιota subscrιpt)
...
you name ιt!
can someone, please,
ȷust gιve me, an approprιate reason?

III.

it's not like i can confuse,
i with I - since i have 1, and 2 instead
of II, and 3 instead of III,
and 4, instead of IV,
       and 6 instead of VI...
ah... L(l) -
              and the exodus of handwriting
in the digital age...
any schmuck can write
now... but... i'd love to see
them write with a pen, on paper...

personally - i couldn't write an intact
word with a pen...
   calligraphy: a bit like monkish
Gregorian chants... coming near
to extinction...
          i could sometimes write
out a intra-connectivity of syllables -
but... entire words?
    no chance... the digit system
came in... and i had to learn how
to position my arms before
the keyboard, to write, and not look
down...
   unlike my old G.P.,
who, bless him... nearing his retirement,
pecked, like a crow,
on the keyboard...
   looking down on it...

the ENTER key? right arm pinky finger...
SPACE BAR key? primarily
left hand thumb...
   unlike a piano, you don't actually
use all the fingers on both arms...
e.g.? ring ringer on the left hand?
rarely used... unless doing some
mental hand gymnastics...
  
stream of "consciousness" - no words,
just observations -

(0,0,) LH ******* A
    RH index finger N -
     that's - ah! ring finger of
the right arm is used, quiet a lot,
  notably?  SHIFT + (?/) key -
      *******...
   but for the apostrophe?
    the (@ ') key...
  which, on my machine translates
as the (" ') key...

IV.

     - interlude -
--- -- - - - -  - - - logic  -- - - -  -- - bomb -- - - --  -
- - -- computers -- -- - - & - -- microprocessors -
- - - --- -- - --- -- -(parasense ----- - - remix) -- -- -

V.

it is chiromancy in reverse,
only that i'm reading my hands...
facing down,
rather than staring on the reverse
side of the... where the girdle of venus
is situated,
   or the index finger skin folds
of the chokhmah, chesed,
    netzach
- respectively -
akin to reading mandarin:
   from the the head - to the base
               of a knuckle.
i read my hands - looking at a screen,
how else can you write anything,
distracted by looking down
onto the keyboard -
  no aware of the spacing?
        question: how fast is your typing?
don't know:
what sort of ******* am i to note
down, and how many amendment
will i have to make to the text,
as we plow along to your diatribe
monologue?
                  
VI.

why would anyone sit up all night,
drinking?
     ****** question, esp. given
yesterday's 5 / 6 am carnival of rain...
out of nowhere,
there i was, ready to call it a night
well spent (not working in a Stratford
casino) - dreading the heat of
the sunrise...
  boom!
   thunder, lightning...
    the air turned white from
the ferocity of the rain...
   literally...
                the ground was wriggling
with a meteor shower -
excited gnat fly like puddles
appearing and disappearing -
soon becoming lakes
  within the confines of a supposed
**** of worm parasites...
      probably your typical day
      on the Faroe Islands...
you know... on such occasions...
you really can't help, but stick
your head out of the window,
far enough to drench your head
and hair in regenwasser...
            i should have walked
into the garden and
cleansed my whole body...
   but...
guess all ι needed, was the head...
       god...
  there's nothing more **** than
listening to horror movie soundtracks
while it pours a mini-monsoon
outside your window,
  and there's thunder, and there's
lightning...
   and you're just about to fall asleep...
like a baby might...

VII.

oh god... the one time i don't take
a beer for a walk, coming back
from the supermarket...
and i pick up... this genius:
genius... tortilla wrap...
    falafel + hummus + a hint
of mango chutney (with a tease
of arugula leaves)?
            **** me... who needs
beer... if not a bottle of mineral
water... to accompany
taking a walk?
Shari Forman Mar 2013
A sound better and livelier as ever startled me. Baffled and unaware of my surroundings, my eyes slowly opened, viewing my irresistible grandmother’s hand gently touching my cheek. Listening carefully, I noticed a beautiful sound coming from her voice. The warm-hearted, lovable lady warmly smiled down at me as my smile formed into the shape of a crescendo, getting larger and wider, finally to a laugh of pure joy. I knew one thing was certain to be true; I fell in love with the intriguing sounds bit by bit.
I awoke to the sight of my father playing his guitar at a medium volume. The sound of the instrument inspired me and motivated me to follow him. I lie in my crib listening intently to the various sounds coming from the guitar. It was almost morning, yet I thought it was later in the morning because my light was on its maximum strength. I watched his fingers move very quickly on the guitar, yet the sounds were beautiful.
“Good morning my love,” said my father smiling at me. “Did you have a good sleep, my love?” he said.
“Pno,” I said on my very own.
“What did you say my love?” said my father startled and impressed that I had just muttered my first word at age one. His smile was soothing in my opinion. His eyes became lively and big with complete shock and joy.
“Po neo.”
“Piano!” said my father ecstatic at the moment.
Considering music was his dream, he wanted me to take part in the wonderful career as well. He set his guitar down against my light blue-colored wall. Then my father went to my small rocking chair and sat down. He put his face in the palm of his hands. I thought he was crying and intimidated by me, but then I realized he was very proud of me and believed I would go far in life. He stood up and picked me up gently and set me down on a chair next to my piano. He smiled and embraced me with affection. I knew my father’s name by heart but I couldn’t manage to say it. It was William. He started playing simple notes on the keys with his thick, masculine hands. He played six notes, all with important meaning and full-care. He motioned for me to take part playing as well.
“No, no. You’ve done it all wrong my love. You must listen with ease and act how you feel,” said my father with concern.
I started weeping large sobs as my father talks in a loud tone with disapproval.
“What, my dear?” says William concerned.
I pressed a key on the piano and roar with laughter.
“You’ve got it my love,” said my father in a soft, mellow tone.
I then take again to the keyboard, this time with full confidence playing again. My father then sang a song while playing the piano. I didn’t know the name of the song, but he told me it was a song he had written after. That inspired me to write my own songs and play the piano and possibly the guitar.
“This is the world, I hail from.  The sorrows and pity we might feel for each other. But arised a God who’s mighty strong. Who turns our sorrows into pride and joy, and this is where I am hail from,” sang my father very emotional.
“You’ll go far my love, I promise you. One day music will save you...” said my father.
…28 years later those words stuck with me…
I was off to work going about my usual day. I was thirty one now and living with my girlfriend in our apartment. I still lived in my hometown, California. Whenever I thought of my hometown, the song “Hometown California,” came to me automatically. I’d just start singing. I wouldn’t consider myself an excellent singer, but that was just a hobby of mine. I was phenomenal at playing the piano and very good at playing the guitar in the eyes of many people.
…When the weekend finally came, I found the time on Saturday morning to fit a tennis match in with one of my good friends, Troy.  As we rally back and forth, something caught me by surprise. A grey-haired man about twice my age had an awkward looking smile that lit up his whole face. I was baffled at the bizarre stranger. He came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder.  I looked at him.
“Hello young fellow. My name is Harry Hayfold and I was wondering if you would like to train with me to become a professional tennis player.” said the man.
‘No thanks man, I’m just playing a match with my friend. Thanks anyways.” I said and I went back to rallying.
“Young fellow, please. You’ve great skill as I see,” said the older guy eager to say something more.
“I don’t think I want to train for hours for a chance at becoming a pro- tennis player. Thanks for the compliment though,” I said a little annoyed.
“It would be your loss sir.” said the man.
I just continued rallying with my friend. My friend looked baffled as well and felt bad for the guy. I didn’t care if he was still standing there; I just wanted to play. When we were finished rallying, we started a match. As I throw the ball up to serve, he shouts something right next to me.
“Would you please just listen to what I have to say?!” said the man angry.
“Oh, my god; could you leave us alone now?  I’m not doing the training classes; I have a job. I work in a music store, okay!” I said very annoyed.
My friend came over to my side of the tennis court and asked what the problem was to the man.
“I can’t stand people like you. You’re a liar and a creep.” said John.
“Which music store do you work at?” asked the man.
“It’s called Music Academy. Can you leave us alone now?” I said perturbed.
“I’m very sorry to have bothered you.” said the man.
“Yeah,” I said without any enthusiasm.
“No wait, he’ll be honored to do the classes with you sir. He needs money anyway,” said John’s friend Troy.
“What are you doing?!” I said to my friend with fury. “I will be fine financially once I get signed professionally which will happen troy. It will definitely happen. This guy… He’s out of his mind,” I said confident.
“What did you say your name was?” said the man.
“John.” I said.
“Excellent Johnathon.”“Meet me here on these same tennis courts tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.” said Harry.
I smashed my racket as hard as I could on the ground with full force, releasing all of my stress and anger out on the court.
“Alright John,” said Troy with pity on him. We’ll hang out again soon.” He said and left.
“Crapola!”  I yelled in mid-air after everyone left.
The next day I don’t even consider going to the psychotic man’s tennis class. Instead, I make my way to work early.
As I’m exiting my shift at night, I noticed someone standing behind a wall. And there it was… I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Oh, no,” I whispered to myself.
“Hello Jonathon. You’re session was at eight am this morning. Have you forgotten?” he said concerned.
“Listen, I don’t think this whole business with the excessive training classes to make me into what I will never become and putting my job in jeopardy of getting fired, is going to work out,” I said with a smile.
“I’ve watched you work in the store John,” said the man concerned.
“Oh jeez, now I’ve got a personal stalker. This is gonna be interesting.” I whispered.
“How much do you make a week? I’ve come to sought you don’t look happy working there and want to become into a real musician.” said Harry.
I was just about to completely lose my mind when I took a deep breath and bit my tongue to avoid making a scene. My face turned so red.
“Once I get a record deal with the piano, then things will be even better for me. But as of now, I’m very happy, just not super happy. And you know what else, I’m so happy I began music because I couldn’t get much happier. Oh, the glory of being a musician would make me so happy. And you barging randomly into my life and ******* up everything… well I couldn’t get much happier!” I managed to scream at the end of my statement.
“Come with me John. Please let me help you find a way to forget that you’re not a musician.” said the man.
“My father was my inspiration. He’s dead now, yet I’m following in his footsteps because I want to.” I said.
“I see… I’m very sorry for your loss John,” said Harry with a fake sad expression on his face.
This man was driving me up the wall by now. I had had it with his monkey business.
There was a long pause…
“So tomorrow at eight?” I said completely unsatisfied, yet willing to experiment with what he had in mind to teach me.
“Yes, oh yes that would be just perfect John,” said Harry ecstatic.
We both started walking to our homes. He had walked rather quickly for an older guy, and me, slowly like I’d just had a pancreas failure.
When I arrived at my apartment, my girlfriend wasn’t there.
“Jenny, I’m home”… “Jenny, you there?” I said baffled at the silence. “Jennyyyyy”, I said playfully. Jennifer… Is dinner set toniiiight?” I said as I smiled at my own humor.
All of a sudden, the phone rang, which startled me and made me uninterested at this point to answer. I answered the phone anyway.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello, this is a patient of Jennifer; is Jenny there?”
“No she isn’t at the moment,” I said unsure of my answer.
“Ok, thank you,” she said and hung up.
“You’re welcome,” I said sarcastically after she already hung up.
I walked into our bedroom to take my work clothes off and put pajamas on. The door was closed which got me a little concerned and angry. I walked in the bedroom and turned on the light.
“What the hell is going on here?! Get off my girlfriend you crazy *******!” I yelled.
“No John, please stop. He’s my fiancé John,” said Jenny annoyed with me.
“What are you talking about Jennifer?” I said raging with anger.
“Listen john, I’m sorry. Things weren’t working out between us recently and things just clicked between… well Steve and I.” she said.
“ I can’t believe what I am seeing right now,” said john through tears of disappointment and anger.
“Things weren’t working out between us John_”
“Yeah, I think you mentioned that already.” said John crying hysterically.
“Well don’t be sorry. Be sorry at yourself because I did nothing but treat you nicely. What happened to us Jenny? We were so in love with each other. I can’t believe what I am seeing.” I said.
My girlfriend my starting to cry now and as she began to speak I walked out stomping on the floor and slammed the front door as I exited my apartment.
“The next morning John arrived at the tennis courts that he visited two days ago with his friend.
“I’m here; let’s start playing tennis,” I said calmly.
“Wait, wait. I have not yet explained the concepts.” said Harry.
“Yeah, yeah, concepts. I know,” I said annoyed.
I picked up a tennis ball and hit it over the fence as hard as I could.
“Excellent work there John,” said Harry sarcastically.
“That was just a warm up professor. Now here comes glory,” I said about to ****** someone.
I slam my pre-broken racket on the floor so hard that it cracked in half. The man was outraged at the horrifying scene.
“I missed work this morning for this crapola?!” I yelled.
John, you’re crazy right now. Sit down and relax!” said Harry firmly.
“Music is all I want and you’re taking that away from me.” I said
“I apologize sir; I don’t think I want to do this anymore.” I said.
“Anymore? You haven’t even started playing yet,” said Harry with a little chuckle.
“Ok, fine; I’ll play.” I said. “I don’t have a racket now.” I said ashamed and guilty.
“That’s not my problem.” said Harry. “If you no longer have a racket, I will let you have my spare racket if you practice drills catching the ball precisely with only your hands.”
“Ha, you’re kidding right? That was a good one Harry; very good.” I said.
I tap him on the shoulder.
“See you tomorrow.” I said.
“Will you stop acting arrogant and negative for once John! I was serious about the hand drill.” said Harry.
“Ok then.” I said.
Harry got on the side opposite from my side. He took a bunch of ***** and out them in his pockets.
“Now John…I want you to catch the ball wherever I throw it okay?” said Harry.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” I said.
He fed the ball over the net and John caught the ball wherever he threw it. When he was getting exhausted from the number of ***** being fed to him, he took the ball and smashed it on the ground.
“What in heaven’s name has come over you?” asked the man terrified.
“Nothing, except the fact that my girlfriend is now getting married with her new fiancé and was having an affair in my bedroom. That is it ladies and gentleman, the show is now over,” I said sarcastically.
“Oh, haha…hahahahahahaahahaa.” Harry chuckled.
Harry burst out laughing.
“John, John, I’m sorry. The way you said it made me laugh, that’s all.” said Harry.
I run up to the old man about ready to **** him (not literally) when he started coughing. He fell down to his knees holding his chest.
“John,” he whispered trying to grasp more oxygen.
“What happened Harry? Are you alright?” I asked nervously panicking.
I ran off the court to get my cell phone in my tennis bag on one of the park benches and called an ambulance. I then run back to Harry.
“I’m calling an ambulance for you Harry. It’ll be okay,” I said about to cry from the sight of what just happened.
When the ambulance came, he was put on a stretcher by several paramedics and taken to the nearest hospital. I don’t bother calling my ex-girlfriend, knowing I was through with her insecure ways and immaturity level. I drove to the hospital following the ambulance as I drove. I arrived at the hospital minutes after him and sat in the waiting room for over two hours with his son who was about my age, if not older. The doctor came out looking down with tears in his eyes. He ripped off his glasses and fell to his knees. He stood up…
“I’m very sorry. There was nothing more I could precede on doing,” said the doctor.
The doctor walked away looking very upset and disappointed in himself and what happened. I turned to his son and saw such shock and disappointment in him.
“He was a very mysterious, outgoing person and a great father,” said his son through tears.
I nodded my head and smiled.
“My father tried to teach you basic steps of becoming a tennis player, but it wasn’t for a career. Trust me. He wanted you to learn something new. That’s all. He can be difficult at times, I know, but he is a very courageous man and loves helping others,” said his son smiling at me.
I was shocked. I was living an okay life with music. But now I realized that this man inspired me to follow chase after what you want. He taught me that things may be challenging in life, but you can overcome them if you work hard and love what you do in life. Even through financial problems, I realized that you can still achieve your dreams and it is never too late to start a record deal. His son left the hospital before me without mentioning what his name was. I believed the Harry and his family were a mystery, but a good mystery. I showed up to the music store the next morning and the manager of the store had exhilarating news for me. I had gotten signed by a famous musician! This was the best day of my whole entire life and I could not have asked for anything more in life.
“Signed by Buddy Clark, I present to you your record deal. Sign this and you have a chance to work with this talented man for a chance at achieving your dream John. Well done, we’re all very proud of you,” said the manager of the store.
All of the workers in the store started cheering me on and applauding my superb work and efforts. I was now in tears of pure joy and I felt worth something major for the first time.
“Thanks a lot Jason,” I said to the manager of the store. “This is a gift; it means the world to me,” I said as I gave him a hug.
I realized life is not all about tennis or music. It’s the important things in music that make you feel out of this world amazed. People may have a strong opinion about something they love, but never take a person for granitite.
A window flung open with drapes barging into the room,
The sun's smug shine tells my toes that the rest of the world is awake,
And so my eyes make their first journey into today's forever.
© 2012  J.J.W. Coyle
Joanna Alexandre Jan 2022
Consuming useless videos and content
Alone in my room
To distract from the racing and hurtful
Thoughts about you
And it always works for a moment
Or a minute or more
Until the intrusive thoughts come back,
Barging down my door
I put it back up, re-***** the hinges
And shut it
And lay back down to consume more
Mindless content
Francis Coquilla Oct 2018
Every night i count the stars
Sitting on the grass,
Looking from a far.
Every night I wish
To capture all the stars
To juggle them in my hands
And put them in a jar.
But i believe.
If i do that...
The sky will be losing its light
The sky will be blank every night.
Every time i think of it
It feels not right
To be selfish and greedy
For taking all the starlight
But your smile keeps on barging in my mind
The memory of you being happy
While watching the stars dance in the sky
Suddenly i feel loneliness
Knowing i will no longer see your smile
"Please give the stars to me"
That's what you said
Before you
Die
Third Eye Candy Feb 2020
on the stoop, I glue my tuckus to a plank of mundane as the Chevys cruise in the turquoise Tannebaum
of Twilight, churning shadows into velvet. I surrender when the fog’s kiss, lifts the Veil and I ponder It.
I choose where my dyslexia is a coin and barter for less dementia. serving silent things in the tapestry
of untapped maladies, masquerading as polymer gods in a hedgerow of impossible odds.
I fumble for my keys like the rest of you darlings… but my hands are made of dented chrome and dendrites unmanned by sanity in favor of an alcove of dauntless Awe.
I’m barging into a rumination, as we speak.
taking the hill of a landscape as a Sharkfin-
gloating in Existential Soup.
My egga roll, something less discreet
than Yellow Journalism
in a Lava Lamp
as Lovers
do.
Toby Lucas Jul 2016
Prowling through the undergrowth
In our barging juggernaut,
Ploughing the rolling hills of water,
Which crease as the narrowboat sluggishly gliding past,
Brushes the bulrushes like a tiger in the reeds.

For four intrepid days
Our film and photographs are empty to show,
No sign, only missed whispers,
Of the hummingbird blue blur.

A darting flash cresting the morning chill,
Regal turquoise stealthily steals
Our attention, our focus, and our tiller
Noses toward the bank hugger.

And we have him.

Small amber-royal fisherman,
Eclipsing his heron heralds
And the swans silent vigil
In majestic lapis lazuli.
Swift and sure he graces the water,
Fisher King,
Which bends beneath his dive.
Resurfacing, his golden breast
Mottled with silver minnow.

There recluse in his exclusive spot,
Fish foundering still in the ******,
The kingfisher's poise frames his catch
Aperture, shutter, captured shot.
Spotting a kingfisher from a canal boat - Summer 2016
Eyes of fear,
Mouth of shock
Because I never saw it coming.
To the arena I return again,
My darkest horror already starting.
To my left,
I turn to see my mother,
Trying not to sob,
As I rethink the memories
I always had during summers
At the Hob.
Eyes wet,
Arms tired,
Barging through the door,
While picturing the future
And all the madness that's in store.
Gale and Prim,
My only treasures,
Are soon to say goodbye.
For this year in the Quarter Quell,
No more will there be a tie.
I'm deep in thought
As I review the words
For my last farewell,
When I realize a secret for Haymitch
That I can't wait to tell.
To protect Peeta
In this terrifying Quell
Is my one and only goal,
For I want him to come back to it
And live peacefully
In this district of coal.

To be strong is what I think of
While under the stars I lay.

To be strong
The only solution
For I am the Mockingjay.
I find this while looking through my 2011 notes. Quite timely, with Catching Fire showing in cinemas and all. I was and still am an avid fan, both of poetry and The Hunger Games. My style has evolved but it's nice to see that poetry has always somehow been a part of me.
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2011
Dedicated to Ashley and Logan...May your young lives find the way.

You ***** and moan about your lot
You loath the rich and what they’ve got
You howl abuse that you’re so poor
You’re out the window, out the door
You’ve no place in this affluent land
And migrant Asians you can’t stand
The Moslems and the Poly’s too
Are barging in and breaking through
The things you value in this state,
They give you cause to vent your hate,
Beat them up or cut them down
Deport them, throw them out of town.
White supremacy’s your bag
Redesign the nations flag!

You gaze about and all around
The simple things in life abound,
The wonder of the detail small
Enthralls the mind and makes it all
Deliciously and so enticing,
Like sticky date and sugar icing
Like hoarfrost on the meadow green
The scent of love in sheets between,
The stuff you smoke, the scotch you choose
That muted trumpet’s low jazz blues,
Aroma of fresh coffee ground
The hum of honey bees around.

You step the walk and speak the talk
The loudness of a parrots squark,
The cooing of a nesting dove
The harshness of a boxers glove,
Hot sweating brow on summer’s night,
Those fingers freeze with winter’s bite.
The tangerine of that first kiss
That velvet touch of female bliss.
Soft golden glow of setting sun,
Dawns bright first rays when night is done.
The tempests howl, the zephyrs touch,
That feeling when you eat too much.

It all amounts to lifes great song
When all is right and nothings wrong
When dreams come true and every day
Enables you to laugh and say....
THANK YOU FOR THE CHANCE OF BEING
THANK YOU FOR THE SIGHT I’M SEEING,
THANK YOU FOR THE SMELL OF MINT
MY THANKS TO YOU FOR WORDS IN PRINT,
THE MAGIC OF A LATIN BEAT
THE SOFTNESS OF A KISS SO SWEET.

It’s all a state of mind you see
You bind your mind or set it free
You take the yin, you take the yan
You make your bed ,you choose your plan.
The way you think the way you live
Determines what you have to give
To this old planets state of being.
Stuff it up and you’ll be seeing
Disaster on a massive scale,
Social chaos off the pale.
Misery and  destitution,
Thuggery and prostitution.
Burnt out buildings torn up streets,
Corpses where the violence meets
The kiss of death, the chosen few
Consider boy, it may be you,
Lying there in that bleak place
Lying there in dead disgrace.


I’ll leave it there, it’s up to you
To choose to do or not to do
Tomorrow’s there for you to take
So grasp the prize or hesitate,
The dice roll out the bright coins spin
Go suffer loss or grab that win.
It’s all before you…spread about
You make the choice… YOU WORK IT OUT!

The simple things in life abound
The soft rains fall,
Our world spins round.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10th September 2007
Ishara Fernando Jul 2013
In moments of raging to the hospital, the jolts from the road, the squeal of the tires, and the tripping of your feet only multiply your anxiety. Delicacy is suspended amply in the air, hanging daintily on the thread of life and death.
          Delicacy is the soft and inconsistent beeping from the cardiac monitor. It controls your thoughts; yet is only a shadow on your radar. It shares the rhythm of the pounding in your head, and the thumping in your chest. You strain to shut everything out, leaving only the shy quiver of breathe slithering out from their lax lips. Their lips tremor under the reign of some foreign enemy, and their eyes flutter from an unseen truth. It is the suffering you wish to unburden them from, the pain you would inflict upon yourself in return for both their lives intact.
          Delicacy is a light fragrance, a mixture of disinfectant and sweat. Is it the scent of creating a life, or the imminent end of it? Beads of perspiration stream down your face and sting your eyes.
          The sweet caress of silk treads faintly underneath your fingertips. You rub the back of her hand, clammy and fragile. Rubbing the skin, you forget who the comfort is more for while footsteps pierce the stillness in the air. A figure dawned in white appears before you. Their form blurs in and out of focus, their voice a toneless muddle seeping through your cloud of stupor.
          Delicacy is a whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We can only save one of them." It is the realization that too much pressure, and two months premature, is a cocktail dyed with poison. She looks to you with eyes of understanding and acceptance.
           Delicacy is the collapsing of all you know. It is the berating of incoherent words tumbling from your lips for the pure sake of escaping. You're swiftly taken from the room, kicking and screaming to the hallway.
          The unsettling tick of the clock mocks your every fiber. You **** the void of silence with the tapping of your foot, taming yourself from barging your way into the room. With the screaming from the bed, the instinct of protection, the stiffening of your back, the nurse quickly ushers you back in.
          The soft and consistent rising of the baby's chest is surrounded with the light fragrance of life. The plush fibers of the yellow blanket tug on the skin of your fingertips. The fascination apparent in your eyes, look to her while wondering how this little body will have the biggest impact on your life. Delicacy is the soft whisper flashing goosebumps across your skin, "We made it."
Growing up, as a ten year old, was nothing new to me, for that’s all I felt I did at the time. I was, and still am, the oldest, but now of 5 and the two after me are now twelve turning thirteen within the next six months. Man, really makes me feel like an old hag… no offense to any elder I don’t literally think you and or any other elder is a so called “hag” its like the saying “old farts” your older but not really old and you don’t… really… well, you know… never mind, anyways, as a child or when I was ten or eleven years old to be exact, I use to have the same dream or more like nightmare every night, for years. It wasn’t something that happened spontaneously, it was every **** night for three maybe four years. And uh, it had its effects on me, for as young as I was I didn’t quite know how to take it other than horrific and again at the time didn’t know how to interpret the dream either. Well, it might sound a little goofy but if you read into it, it’s pretty dark. I remember lying in bed most nights contemplating whether or not to close my eyes, fearful of what came after once the dark curtain fell. On nights that I’d lose my endless battles I’d fall into a world, much like the one you and I live in, but with a twist… go figure. It was kind of trippy, like it was one of those dreams where like you don’t exactly know how and or why you got to the place your at or how and or why things got as bad as they did, you just sort of jumped into it. Which ***** may I add? I remember it was nice and sunny out and at the time my mother and I, along with my little brother David, baby sister Deanna, my step dad, my grandparents and my tia and tio all lived together in the same house… ha don’t hate, us ethnic people… well I don’t know why but that’s just how we do. Anyways the house we lived in was huge and actually really nice for a home being in the area that it was in… 48th and Southern, yup good old border line Tempe and Phoenix. We were all just chilling like on a normal Saturday at the house when we’re all home, some adults sleeping their hangovers away and some of us children playing in the Arizona room and my tio trying to, simultaneously, watch all of the ESPN programs all at once, you know normal stuff. There I am having a grand old time, when I suddenly get this off, cold, abnormal feeling of just somebody watching me with eyes that are filled with just pure evil. I sit frozen on the floor waiting for what’s to come next; everything around me is bright and sunny, warm and cozy then all of a sudden it warps and I see it before me just leaving… everything then feels dark and hopeless, cold and frightening. My brother is no longer sitting next to me on the floor and I no longer hear the TV screaming penalties on the previous play, the once simmering rice now smells burnt to a crisp and all curtains are now closed. I try to get up in a hurry to run to the door to see where everyone has gone, but time and space is not of existence, as I am now slowly running through the archway of the kitchen I find that I have again jumped but to another part of the house. I’m now standing at the very end of the hallway in front of the door to my room, I can now see the sunlight again and this time everybody is in their rooms, just sitting there waiting… for something. Suddenly, **** gets weird. All of the pirates from the Disney movie Peter Pan came barging through the front door, making their way down the hall, retrieving my family members as they walked past each room. My mind was quick to react, but again almost paralyzed, I couldn’t move a muscle. I could have sworn I screamed or said something, it just didn’t come out clearly or loud enough or maybe even at all. Before my little eyes I watched as these large, animated men took my family away from me, once they turned their backs to walk out the house, then was I able to run after them, but by the time I reached the door, they were already outside and the door was closing before me. I reached out as far as I could in hopes of maybe opening the door to pull all of them back in or going along with them, but instead helped slam the door shut as I was suddenly ****** or pushed forward by an angry force, with my fists pounding into the door I watched as they chained up my house and mocked me. It was weird, the house was then floating I was just chilling in the sky, the closest thing I could think of relating it to is when Dorothy is caught in a storm. The next few moments are kind of a blur, it slowly goes dark again and as tears roll down my cheeks, leaving a burning trail of confusion and a sense of abandonment, I am pushed back to the end of the hallway, curled up into a ball, with arms wrapped, hugging my knees closer to my chest, feeling helpless. I let out the most painful, gut wrenching sob that turned into a scream releasing every ounce of oxygen my body was capable of holding and back into a whimper once I was able to catch my breath. I then wake up to my mother standing over me shaking me profusely tears ran down my face and as my whimper turned into heavy breathing, I realize I’ve woken up everybody in the house and to see all of their faces, in one room… the same room I myself occupied, turned tears of absolute terror and confusion into immediate tears or relief and happiness.
I didn't really know what to name this one... so that was the first thing that came to mind (:
Samuel Apr 2018
It’s fine
Is what she tells everyone
This day
Like so many others.
Fears run through her,
Her mind a mess of possibility
Infinite in number and horror.
Deaths here.
Failures there.
Maybe a grave injury at best.
Can they best this foe?
Is this the end of the Sages?
Is this the end of the world?
She ponders this
Over a cup of coffee
Poured by Moojdart,
All concern and bother.

It’s fine
Is what she says as she slinks off,
Telling Mooj again and again
Don’t worry, don’t worry
It’s fine,
She can handle it.
She always can, she always must.
Grus is worried too
And Milest
And even their leader
Who’s normally too vain to care.
She brushes past them all
To go and hide away
As she tries to fix it,
As she runs through bad ends
In search of a single good.
She can’t find one
Or even the hint of one
No matter how hard she picks
At the threads of potentiality.
There’s only more worries,
Only more failures,
Which darken the flame of Hope
Burning inside
Which she clings to so stubbornly
Even though it’s not her natural Will.
She’s got to.
She’s got to cling,
Got to be strong.
She’ll fix it, she will.

There’s a knock at her door
And it opens
Before she can even say no
Because that’s just how Fiethsing is,
Because that’s just how little she cares.
Really it’s amazing she knocked,
But there you go.
You never can guess with her,
But Zero can know she’s annoyed.
She snaps at her.
An admonition, a demand
To go, to leave.
That you shouldn’t just barge in
“I mean really, Fieth,”
And it’s fine anyway.
It’s always fine.

But that’s not what she came for.
So she claims.
She’s just here to find a book,
Steal it more like,
Like she always does
And Zero’ll never see it again.
It’s just a ploy anyway,
It’s just a ploy thankfully,
Unfortunately.
Fieth sets in on the search,
Looking for a book
And not speaking a word more,
Of concern or otherwise.
She’s simply an annoyance
That rummages through her things
After barging into her space.
Fieth’s one that’ll be ignored.
Has to be, must be.
So she drinks her coffee
And goes to reading,
Or more like looking at pages
As the words blur together
From fear
Now tinted with anger.

It’s fine
And Fiethsing sighs
Finally feeling fit
To make a sound
And even words.
“Wow, it’s hot.
Don’t you think so, Zero?”
There’s more sound too
Of rustling clothes
Falling off
Onto the floor.
A shirt gone,
More than likely.
Still searching too.
She pays no mind,
As little as she can.
She has a book to not read.

A book to not read
As a thought invades her mind
Of what Fieth must look like.
******* and slick with sweat
As she digs through her shelves
Musing to herself,
“Oh it’s not here either, oh dear.”
There’s a book to not read
As an image invades her mind
Of a hug,
Of a kiss,
A touch, anything.
Contact, warm and simple.
Memories flood
And imaginings more
As she has a book to not read.

Still it’s fine,
Just fine.
She’ll just read and think
On all the ways the world can end
Because that’s better.
Better than admitting she’s scared,
Better than admitting she needs help.
Help of any sort.
A talk, advice, a decision
Or a pair of arms
Wrapped around her waist
As she falls apart
Just for a moment.

“Oh, there it is!”
Rings out Fieth’s sing song tone
And she trots on over,
For once bothering to walk
And not float.
Just so she’ll hear,
Just so she’ll know.
It’s a kindness but it doesn’t feel like it,
More like a threat
That makes her sigh
Heavy and hard
In frustration
As she turns around to see
Fieth ******* and grinning.
It’s enough to make her sick.
With fury.
With fear.
With want.
She holds out her book
Arm outstretched
As far as it can go,
A barrier between them both.
She doesn’t want to play this game,
She wants to play this game.

Fieth takes the book with glee
And a pleased, “Thank you!”
Before she rambles on and on
About dull history being her passion
Don’t you know, Zero?
It’s charming,
It’s cute
And she just wants her gone.
Gone and away
With her mirth,
Infectious as always,
And her plans,
Impish as always.
So she turns back around
And grabs another book.
Another thing to not read
As she tells herself
That it’s fine.

It’s fine
As Fieth steps forward and
rests a hand on her
Gripping her shoulder.
It’s fine
When she says, “I went a bit far
Didn’t I, Zero?”
Which she did
But it’s fine
And it’s not.
It wasn’t far enough, not close enough.
She didn’t just grab her
Right there, right then.
She didn’t just force her down
Against her desk
And whisper in her ear
Just what she’ll do to her.

So she falls to her side
Just far enough
To fall back into Fieth,
Head resting right between her *******.
The grip becomes a hug,
Arm wrapping firmly around
Her frightened frame,
So frail,
Right now, right here.

“It’s fine,”
She says again.
This time it’s the truth,
And a lie
And she closes her eyes
And she melts
Right there, right then
In Fiethsing’s arms,
Though she wants nothing more
Than to chase her off.

“Just need a moment?”
Fieth asks
With a sincerity
That she so often lacks.
She’s not going to run off.
She’s not going to lie.
She’s not going to force the matter
Even if Zero wants her to.
It’s frustrating,
The fiendish way that Fieth
Makes her fend for herself
By pushing just enough
To get a decision.

It’s fine,
Frustrating or not,
As she pushes herself up and off.
Just enough to sit up,
Just enough to lean in
As she makes a decision at last.
Her lips part
And she kisses Fiethsing.
A moan escapes her,
A desperate plea
Muffled as Fieth’s tongue meets hers
And as Fieth’s hand crawls up her front.
Up her front, to her shoulder
To her neck,
Thumb rubbing idly, intently.
Intoxicating, it’s intoxicating
That sensation and more
As she leans forward the more,
Body pressed
Against Fieth’s.
Fieth who takes hold of her waist
With a free arm
And pulls her forward and up
To get her standing.
Two bodies, pressed together.
The kiss deepens,
Desperate all the more.

Her hands snake up Fieth’s back
And her nails dig into Fieth’s back.
Fieth who breaks the kiss
As she lets out a hiss
Of pained satisfaction
And who looks down
At her
As she buries her face
Into her chest.
She’s coming undone.
She’s starting to cry.
She’s clinging as she can,
Telling herself
Over and over
That it’s fine.

It’s fine
And Fieth’s here
Resting her cheek
Against her head
And with her hand
Stroking her hair
And her other
Holding her firmly,
Tightly
Just as she needs.
Just as she needs
Until she needs more,
More than a hug
And fingers in her hair.

She slips away,
Steps on back
One step, then two
Until a boot clicks against her desk.
She looks on
Eyes pleading
As she looks on at her
Her shirtless lover standing there
Unsure now of what she wants
But so sure of what she wants.
More, her.

So Fieth steps forward herself
Hands taking to her dress,
Undoing the buttons
As Zero tries to slip out of it.
Abandoning it on the floor,
Her bra goes there next
And her underwear
And her boots too.
It all goes
Until she is laid bare
For Fieth to look upon.
Fieth who doesn’t strip entirely,
Keeping her skirt on
And her boots too.
She dips down into her neck,
Pressing her lips against
That flesh
Vulnerable, sensitive
Enough to elicit a sigh.
Enough to get a roll of the hips.
Just enough
And not enough
As she buries her fingers
Into Fieth’s hair.
Pulling, stroking,
Needing simply to feel
Her and only her.
The her that slips a hand
Right between her thighs
Right then, right there.
A finger searching,
A finger finding
Just how wet she is.
A finger searching,
A finger finding
Just how hard her **** is.
Zero finds too
Once again
Just how skilled Fieth is.
How Fieth can circle her ****
Just the right way, just firm enough.
Enough to get her biting her lip
And resting her forehead
Into Fieth’s shoulder
As she comes apart
In her hands.

It’s fine
As her knees grow weak
And her breathing quickens.
It’s fine as Fieth slides a finger in
And a second.
The welcome stretch,
The familiar tension
Makes her shiver
As Fieth reaches deeper,
Deeper inside
And as Fieth pulls out
And pushes back in.
She pulls her head back,
And lets out a moan
Saying her name
As she pulls her hair.
God she’s near,
God she’s close,
God she’s in.
In her
Both in body and soul
And it’s all she can do
But say her name again
And again.
A fevered plea
As she begs for more,
Begs for her.
As doubts begin to clear
And leave
Just for a time.
Just right here, right now
And it’s fine.

Fieth pulls out again
This time fully
Leaving a dull ache,
An urgent need for more.
She wants to swear at her,
She wants to beg to her
To go back.
Back in,
Take her right there.
She needs it, needs her.
Desperately.
Fieth doesn’t though.
She grabs Zero’s thighs
And lifts as she can.
And she gets it
Though she’d rather not.
Rather not wait,
But she does wait and she knows
And she shifts her weight
Until she’s seated right on her desk,
Until she’s pressed down on her desk.

Fingers out of Fieth’s hair
She gropes at hard wood
That’s cold against her back
While the warmth burns
Between her legs.
She looks at her,
Looks to her.
Fieth’s hands rest on her thighs
As she looks back
Right at her,
Like she sees right through her.
Because she does,
She always does.

A hand travels up her thigh
Tracing a finger across her body.
A touch electric,
But not enough.
Not enough but enough
To get her speaking, to get her begging.
“Fieth, please.”
But Fieth just grins,
Feeling her *******,
Admiring the look in her eyes.
“Fieth please just stop looking,
Just this once and **** me.”
The words excite
And torment
And her cheeks burn red,
More ashamed to say it
Than have it happen.
Yet
The word she hears back isn’t a yes.
It’s “No.”

It’s fine
Isn’t it?
What had she done?
What could she have done?
Is it ending here, now?
Is it ending with still more to go?
What could she have done,
What could have Fieth have done?
Her fears come quick
And they’re tossed aside quick
As Fiethsing’s grin widens
And she says
“I’ve got a better idea.”
That’s fine.

More than fine.
Fine as Fieth bends down
Hand resting against the desk,
The other heading right back down
To her thighs.
Right back to part her lips
And then she feels her lips
And she feels her tongue
Against her ****.
Her fears are dashed
Right against the wall
And she lets out a cry,
A trembling moan.
So satisfied, yet not at all
As Fiethsing traces her ****
With her tongue.
As Fiethsing ***** at her ****
She claws, she scrabbles
Searching for purchase on the desk.
Which can’t be found
And she can’t find words
As she bucks her hips
Against Fiethsing’s mouth.
Not concerned about noise,
Not concerned about poise
Her worries gone entirely
And only this moment exists.
Only their bodies so close
Yet not close enough.
Time fades, distance fades.
A finger slips in again,
Then two, then three
But Fieth pulls her head up
Just to get it all situated.
Just to get it right.
Zero whines,
“Fiethsing please. ”

It’s more than fine
As Fieth dips back down
And Zero grabs wildly
Looking for something to hold
To touch.
All the better if it’s her,
If it’s Fieth and it is,
Her hair.
Her hair that Zero ***** into her fist,
Her hair that she pulls upon
As the tension builds,
As the ache grows.
Until at last it rolls over,
A rush of sensation
And feeling
That shakes her body
And gets her to cry out
Impassioned, fevered ramblings
About her, about her,
God just her.
Just.
Fiethsing.

And it’s fine
As Fieth keeps working at her
Through the ******,
Past the ******
And into the pain
Of too much sensation, too much.
She moans, she whines.
She begs, she even swears
And she bangs a fist on her desk
To stifle the pain, the pleasure.

Fiethsing slides out
And sits on up
And she laughs and prods
Right at her thigh.
“I bet even Milest heard that.”
What can she do
But roll her eyes
And groan in exasperation
At that comment.
What can she do
But be glad
Glad deep down for it,
For it all.
Glad enough that she sits up,
Glad enough that she hugs Fieth.

“It’s fine.”
My dear, it was a moment
to clutch for a moment
so that you may believe in it
and believing is the act of love, I think,
even in the telling, wherever it went.

In the false New England forest
where the misplanted Norwegian trees
refused to root, their thick synthetic
roots barging out of the dirt to work on the air,
we held hands and walked on our knees.
Actually, there was no one there.

For fourty years this experimental
woodland grew, shaft by shaft in perfect rows
where its stub branches held and its spokes fell.
It was a place of parallel trees, their lives
filed out in exile where we walked too alien to know
our sameness and how our sameness survives.

Outside of us the village cars followed
the white line we had carefully walked
two nights before toward our single beds.
We lay halfway up an ugly hill and if we fell
it was here in the woods where the woods were caught
in their dying and you held me well.

And now I must dream the forest whole
and your sweet hands, not once as frozen
as those stopped trees, nor ruled, nor pale,
nor leaving mine. Today in my house, I see
our house, its pillars a dim basement of men
holding up their foreign ground for you and me.

My dear, it was a time,
butchered from time
that we must tell of quickly
before we lose the sound of our own
mouths calling mine, mine, mine.
jeremy maxwell Apr 2012
‘Puts Me to Work’ echoes through the house,
Cate Le Bon’s voice bouncing off the walls.
I can almost see it, storming down the hallway,
Barging out of the bathroom.

This floor is ******* freezing.

I can see my reflection in the shiny wood;
A circle of condensation that grows and shrinks
As I breathe in and out.

‘But I know that you’re there,
‘cause you’re making it hurt.’

Entire galaxies are swirling in the shaft of setting sunlight
Streaming through the broken blinds
At right angles, sharp and sudden.
Solar systems shift and spiral,
Exploding every
Time I take a breath.

A lake is forming by my chin.
I wonder if it is clear and wet
Like swimming,
Or white with froth and paste
Like winter.

I stop wondering when the shivering becomes me.

‘It puts me to work . . . puts me to work.
It puts me to work . . . it puts me to work.’

The song has been repeating for an hour now.
I used to really like the end.
Something like forty-five-minutes-ago.

I wonder if the battery will die soon.

I wonder not if I will die soon.
Preoccupied with galaxies and spirals and the little spot of condensation
Forming and unforming as I breathe.
With the frozen lake I feel cold enough to be skating across
In these baggy shorts and this tattered t-shirt
From a Nirvana show last century.  

The battery doesn’t die, and Cate Le Bon comes racing around the house again.

I close my eyes and sigh.
Marshal Gebbie Oct 2009
Dedicated to Ashley and Logan...May your young lives find the way.

You ***** and moan about your lot
You loath the rich and what they’ve got
You howl abuse that you’re so poor
You’re out the window, out the door
You’ve no place in this affluent land
And migrant Asians you can’t stand
The Moslems and the Poly’s too
Are barging in and breaking through
The things you value in this state,
They give you cause to vent your hate,
Beat them up or cut them down
Deport them, throw them out of town.
White supremacy’s your bag
Redesign the nations flag!

You gaze about and all around
The simple things in life abound,
The wonder of the detail small
Enthralls the mind and makes it all
Deliciously and so enticing,
Like sticky date and sugar icing
Like hoarfrost on the meadow green
The scent of love in sheets between,
The stuff you smoke, the scotch you choose
That muted trumpet’s low jazz blues,
Aroma of fresh coffee ground
The hum of honey bees around.

You step the walk and speak the talk
The loudness of a parrots squark,
The cooing of a nesting dove
The harshness of a boxers glove,
Hot sweating brow on summer’s night,
Those fingers freeze with winter’s bite.
The tangerine of that first kiss
That velvet touch of female bliss.
Soft golden glow of setting sun,
Dawns bright first rays when night is done.
The tempests howl, the zephyrs touch,
That feeling when you eat too much.

It all amounts to lifes great song
When all is right and nothings wrong
When dreams come true and every day
Enables you to laugh and say....
THANK YOU FOR THE CHANCE OF BEING
THANK YOU FOR THE SIGHT I’M SEEING,
THANK YOU FOR THE SMELL OF MINT
MY THANKS TO YOU FOR WORDS IN PRINT,
THE MAGIC OF A LATIN BEAT
THE SOFTNESS OF A KISS SO SWEET.

It’s all a state of mind you see
You bind your mind or set it free
You take the yin, you take the yan
You make your bed ,you choose your plan.
The way you think the way you live
Determines what you have to give
To this old planets state of being.
Stuff it up and you’ll be seeing
Disaster on a massive scale,
Social chaos off the pale.
Misery and  destitution,
Thuggery and prostitution.
Burnt out buildings torn up streets,
Corpses where the violence meets
The kiss of death, the chosen few
Consider boy, it may be you,
Lying there in that bleak place
Lying there in dead disgrace.


I’ll leave it there, it’s up to you
To choose to do or not to do
Tomorrow’s there for you to take
So grasp the prize or hesitate,
The dice roll out the bright coins spin
Go suffer loss or grab that win.
It’s all before you…spread about
You make the choice… YOU WORK IT OUT!

The simple things in life abound
The soft rains fall,
Our world spins round.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10th September 2007
Reece Jan 2013
O how I loathe him, hideous man-child
Bounding down the steep stairs of our house
Barging through that shambles of a door,
and leaving it open, the brute
Clattering about the kitchen, cramped and yellow
Rustling sweet wrappers as he raids the cupboards
O fat disfigured son of mine
I pray you leave this house for I love you no more
The odour of a dying rat, the face of stoicism and sadness
Leave, O leave disgusting boy, I love thee no longer
My patience is tried, your mannerisms crude and vile
Leave this domicile at once, for it is no longer a home
Curtis Delk Rose Mar 2018
Part I

One of my God's
non-eternal enemies
whom i refer to as "little b"
(i try not to lend it the dignity
of having its name spoken by my lips
when i write
i will not grace
its improper noun with the
upper casing of its first letter)

Translated into English it becomes
"the lord of the flies"
this bi-dimensional vermin
expands its influence by keeping
its existence as hidden as possible
from its unsuspecting hosts

The uni-dimensional plague that
"little b" took its name from
the common fly
is fond of the open wounds in
the hides of animals
it lays its eggs in the wound
which soon hatch and begin to feed
on the surrounding rotted flesh
"little b" and its gang
act in a similar way
but they are not satisfied
with rotted flesh . . . .
they thrive on the growth of fear
the expansion of hatred and distrust.
they grow fat in the putrid pus
of pride and discrimination

beelzebub

Part II

When a lie
any manner of falsehood
is accepted as Truth
and allowed to reside
unopposed in the mind
its presence begins to radiate
emanations of itself
throughout the whole system

The lie soils everything it touches
and being "sin"
left in place long enough
it produces the "fruit" of death

The entrance of sin into a human life
provides a beacon for "little b"
it rushes in to lay its eggs
in the midst of the pain
created by the emotional or psychological wound

Once hatched, "little b" maggots
frolic through the host searching out new areas
of anguish, bitterness, fear and pain to feed on

As the parasites continue feeding
they multiply
driving the host to
deeper depths of depression
anger confusion and sorrow
which in turn
create even larger areas for
the invaders to occupy

If this activity is left unchecked
Eventually all that is left of the host
is a dried and useless husk
ready to be dumped
into a hole in the ground
and seemingly
forgotten about

for awhile

Curtis Delk Rose 2/13-2/22/98

Part III

The Fruit Of bitterness
(another aspect of “little-b”)

'bitterness' does not arrive all at once
like a rogue-refugee relative
with its cluttered baggage and sickly children
barging around, breaking rare ornaments
and willfully refusing to learn the new tongue

It arrives slowly
almost too slowly to notice
seeping into the brain's house
a thin vapor trickling down into unprotected crevices
coating chair legs, vinyl floors and other hard surfaces

Sometimes you notice
what appears to be a stain of some kind
and you occasionally make a half-hearted attempt to wipe it off
But what the heck
you so seldom have company here
and the body's house needs so much attention.

The preacher in the new stone church yells from the pulpit
"And if you're gonna drive that rattle-trap truck to church
at least you could park it in the back
where every Tom, **** and Harry that drives by can't see it."

Every time that searing dart
passes through your mind
the soul cries out
"Oh! Why did he say that?!"

So softly you think it is you speaking to yourself
the ugly gray shadow of 'bitterness' whispers
"Because you are too stupid to afford a new car
You'll always be too stupid to get ahead
Look at who you married, stupid!
A loser who can't even get a job where he works indoors in the winter time
No wonder god killed your baby!
You're too stupid to be a mother!"

This goes on for years
'bitterness' grows more and more at home
it leaves the lights on all over the house
every night, all night
and plays the hateful reruns so loud you can't sleep
You wonder why your digestion is getting worse and worse
"Arthur Itis"* moves in and sets up his angry shop
Unaccountable pains squeeze from one place to another
and finally
your fingers are as stiff and useless
as all the money you sank into that big stone pit

When the old preacher finally died and
left the big stone church as an inheritance
to his skirt-chasing, cigar-smoking son
'bitterness' thought it was time for
it to try the recliner for the first time
it picked up the remote and
began playing one painful rerun after another

My daddy should never have done that to me!"
(But he is years dead now and who would ever believe you?)

"But it still hurts!"      

("And remember the time at the beach when
Henry wondered out loud if maybe it was your fault that Chucky died?")

"How could he do that?"

And . . .    And . . .    And . . .

Years pass
the old heart and lungs are approaching the point
where they can't handle the pressure anymore

'little b' leans back
in the brain's broken, worn-out recliner
puts its hands behind its head and
daydreams
about trying your granddaughter on for size


Curtis Delk Rose

8
1101 & 112515 & 12818

Many Thanks to Brad Watson for the time he mentioned that the
archaic word "beelzebub" translates into the “lord of the flies”

**arthritis
The 'personal' info in "Part III" actually happened to someone i was personally acquainted with for many years, and i know it to be true because i was in the same church.
Larry Potter Oct 2015
Isn't it funny
How they call you big?
When your limbs were shaking
And your belly's shrunk
All bones from muzzle to tail.
Perhaps the cheerful girl
Wasn't so little for a kid
Under that red hood.

Don't you get mad
When people call you bad?
All you ever did was do
The sickly grandma a favor.
The girl could've done worse
Disobeying the elder's order
And nibbling on half the food
While prancing in the woods.

Don't you get sad
When people call you wolf?
Though you looked more like
A stray dog barging at the hut's door
And a bear after swallowing the two whole
Pretty much misunderstood
By the village and the world
Full of big, bad, wolves.
K Balachandran Oct 2013
1.
*Her bleary red eyes
tired from carrying heavy load on her head-
all day long, while harsh sun was beating down,
still looks  beautiful like a doe's, in the soft light of dusk;
with wonder they peer, at the glinting necklace,
extending down the night's blue black *******.

Are they white diamonds or moon drops,
falling from the clear part of the sky
just now freed from the hold of clouds?
Like an eagle, sudden lightening swoops down,
exposing  trees hiding  in darkness,
reminding ogres, that come chasing her in nightmares.
But the flash embellishes the cloud, the shy moon takes cover;
the cloud in that moment, transforms to a sheer silvery dress-
for the moon to wear proudly,  at any temple fair.
2.
The celestial dance  of light and darkness
is stunning; makes her wonder aloud:
"Such beauty! I only need this to forget my pains"
with sweet power, it hits her, bringing to her mind,
the waves of pleasure erupted from her *****,
that she felt once, just once,  with her man.

She couldn't understand,  how it happened, life still hides some secrets.
It was like a randy male goat, barging in to her home compound,
opening the closed gate swiftly, hitting softly with its head,
for a brief moment, she didn't know what happened, and how
the waves of pleasure, swept her off her feet, she floated, like a cloud,
in her sun scorched life, that never  happened again.
3.
Existing  as a cacophony as long as it is awake, the village,
is still, went to sleep, except moon and a  few like her,
the chattering of women in the market had died down
dogs do not bark, the drunks aren't cursing dogs
or clashing with others who come their way.
Late at this hour, a lone  night owl stirs,
his urgent hoots, resound making him more egregious.
She would go to sleep, if the owl stops,
then, to his snores she would turn a deaf ear as usual,
and let him slither like a snake,
in his part of the  bed till morning breaks,
When--
it's again time for her to trek to the well too far,
to fetch water, before the women of next village,
come flocking with pots and pails.
Michael W Noland Dec 2012
Heavy hearted hands

lifting my body up

Almost filled up

And soon ill be snatched up

Self made

Enraged

In a cage of shame

Chained

To my Godless contemplation of the oneness

Smothering the somethings, I worked so hard for

But i adore the test

Ignore the rest

Blessings from the depth

Of my love for all of you

I dare to dream of things my eyes are too small to see

In futility to the world

I breath deeply

Unfurled

Upon the twisted shapes

Refracting light

Shifting states

Heightening my holographic hemispheres

Likening the charge of the heliosphere

To the happiness barging into the universe

In verse-less surges of sanctity

Solidifying the sanity

With purges of popularity

From the light-less Polarity

Spinning the tops

Of sincerity

Declaring its love for me
Ghazal Jan 2017
I warned him I was poison,
That my womb spouted lava,
That there was fire between my legs
And it spared no visitor,
Yet he laughed, the fool,
And the proud, vain loon,
Did not pause a moment before
Barging in unwanted,
Like he had, into ninety-nine
other forbidden heavens,
Eager to add a tale more of dominance,
To the ninety-nine others
He would proudly tell,
Only to emerge- consumed,
scorched, devoured by my fumes.
Hadn't I told him I was hell?
Overwhelmed Apr 2012
death came to visit
today

and now he sits,
smoking a cigarette,
in a chair
on the other side
of the room

he did not say
why,
simply barging into
the room
saying

hey
hey man
how ya doing
care for a
smoke?

he didn’t say much
after that so I went
on with things

read a magazine,
paid some bills,
made a sandwich and
ate it

still he sat,
just smoking and
smoking,
occasionally
asking me:

you sure you don’t
want one man?

I was sure
and after the fourth
or fifth time he
asked me if I wanted
to go somewhere


“a little noise will do us
good man”

“this place is quiet as
death”

I realized slowly he didn’t
mean for us to return if we
left

as I write this
he’s still over

smoking and smoking
and smoking

I weigh my options
as the sun sets once
again
Sarina Mar 2013
thank the humid place between my legs
for being the only ***** of mine not to take it personally
perhaps because we are so safe and secure
you would have to unfold me, trim the weeds around
                                        this secret, secret house  

somewhat abandoned
and no longer the host of such hopscotch games
because once your round thumbprint made me so sore

I do not forget the care you took to separate petals
like eyelashes caught on a dangerous rim
but now it is for defense, such a mechanism
something to prevent intruders, beggars, from barging in
                                  these lips, an alarm system

oh, I do hate to make you leave
but my ****** is the only ***** I have that does not take
everything personally
The Toves came by again last night
To rant and rave at me
But what they asked they had no right
As any fool could see

To rant and rave at me
Its pointless as I could not say
As any fool could see
And if I could I wouldn't anyway

Its pointless as I could not say
I do not talk with Toves
And if I could I wouldn't anyway
As everybody knows

I do not talk with Toves
They always treat me with contempt  
As everybody knows
They just came barging in my tent  

Demanding that I tell them things
But what they asked they had no right
Lording around as if they're kings
The Toves came by again last night
The first two lines of this poem just came to me in my sleep - that is to say, I woke up with them sounding in my head so I felt I should do something with them.  The idea of writing a Pantoum hit me as I pondered where I could go with them and the rest just started happening.  It took a draft and a re-write for this but here it is.

Copyright June 14, 2010 by Timothy Emil Birch
Daytonight Sep 2012
Riveting reflections of rapture
resting on my face
intenseness completely captured
in the warmth of your embrace.

Wave upon wave in crescendo
pounding against the shore
invading the very window
barging through soul's open door.

Electrical charge so shocking
sensations so sharp and clear
touching, caressing, interlocking
whenever you are near.
Shruti Atri Aug 2014
I'm a steamroller on a highway,
Unstoppable, and gripped by craze.

'Get out of my way! I'm coming through!'
My vision's blurred, I'm trapped in a haze.

I swerve to the left, then swerve to the right.
Through the windshield, I see the moonlight;

Bright and shining; shining, bright,
Everything is coherent in that bright light.

The bang shocks the ride, and the glass shatters;
It's that rare moment of clarity...

The weeping bark is my destiny,
And I swerve again to meet the tree.


I've broken through my shell,
And I stand exposed.

So this is how the levee breaks...
I can hear the river barging as it explodes.

My crystal barricade has been breached.
There's no escape, there's no defense.

The night's conspiracy is in fruitition.
And I rest my case, cease pretense.

The moonlight was a gentle kiss,
On this night, it wasn't alone...

You were the target I was destined to miss;
I'd lost the mortgage for my time loan.

--

My number was up, I was your slave
Funny how that worked out

On saving you,
My core reactor burned out.

The little boy in the moonlight
Was the reason for my demise.

Were you my personal demon?
Or my salvation, my prize?


--

You devoured me, I worshipped you.
Then up you got, and there you left.

Guess you were my demon then...
You abandoned me, bereft.
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2015
All nations beat their own drum.

The US, China, Britain, Russia, Europe, Israel, India, Turkey, Pakistan, Syria, France, Germany and a whole host of others, have been beating their own drum in deafening cacophony since realisation dawned of their individual sovereign potentiality.

Every nation is manouvering for their own best self interest…and in this volatile environment of the Middle east plus the factor of the complete savagery and unpredictability of the rampaging ISIS Calithate….any outcome, anything is now possible.

Iran is the meat in the sandwich.

She squirms this way and that, buying favour here sacrificing loyalties there, switching, adjusting. Friends become enemies, enemies become friends at the drop of a hat. Writhing within herself attempting to find the path to the future in an incredibly difficult minefield of pressure from the onslaught from the East and the West….A crushing miasma of pressure from friend and foe alike.

Who can say which way she will jump? The only sane predictability is that Iran will leap to her own salvation, her own survival….and to Hell with the rest of the barging, braying self-obsessed world.

Marshalg 23 July 2015
Amrita Dutta Nov 2014
It's the same dark evening
I've grown accustomed to.
The terror of approaching footsteps
(for me) is nothing new.
A drunken holler at the door
sends a chill down my spine.
I know it is time again
to face the wrath of cheap wine.
With trembling hands and a racing heart
I fumble at the door.
My body tries its best to resist
the abuse it has endured before.
Yet, against my wishes
the door is now ajar.
The man who comes barging in
is terrifying even from afar.
With no barrier between us
and pure rage in his eyes,
he does what I expect
and erupts into wild cries.
"YOU *****", he screams
(the man that I'd wed)
whilst charging at me,
(his humanity-all shed).
Blow after blow
he plants on my frame.
Slaps, kicks and punches
have become his favorite game.
Each humiliating strike
that I wordlessly embrace
attacks my dignity
until is left no trace.
After his outburst
(an everyday tale, of late)
he staggers off to bed
(his newfound best mate)

Now I'm alone,
beaten and bruised.
The pain of mental hurt
overpowers the blood oozed.
Is this it then?
The reward for being nice?
My kindness taken for cowardice
non-violence paying its price?
Is it my FAULT then,
to be born a girl?
Is it reason enough
for all atrocities he hurls?
I lift myself up
to take a deeper look at me.
Features lost in bloodshot red,
there is nothing left to see.
I drag myself to bed now,
It already is very late.
I wait for sleep to carry me off
to a land of better fate.
#domesticviolence #sexism #hurt #pain #abuse
Andrea May 2016
i am a man of science—
something like that.

i was never one to put things up to faith or religion; no, i am a firm believer of all things formulated out of reason;

until you came along,

with galaxies in your eyes and star dust in your hair; (when i kiss you, i swear i see supernovas)

and who do you think you are, anyway?

to come barging in to my perfectly explained universe and re-arranging all my theorems,

to come waltzing into rooms, acutely unaware of how you send every ***** of mine in to overdrive;

dilated pupils, and an increased heartbeat, and a spike in some hormones, and a light going off somewhere in my brain— (diagnosis: love)

i despise the effect you have on me,

the churn in my stomach to have you smile at me, the thrill to hold your hand, the constant train of thoughts about you that has muddled the part of my head that can explain all this in a more scholar-ly way.

but no. all that i knew could not explain what i felt for you;

no, you had me denying newton's laws of motion— with every action there is an equal and opposite reaction— (you had me hoping my love would recieve, instead, an equal and similar reaction)

no, you were not just a lump of atoms born in to this world for the mere purpose of recreation and, inevitably, death— (to me, you are much more than a scientific construct)

no, all the chemicals boiled down in to nothingness and all the formulas were void of their values and all the terms were mere jargons that could not help me fully comprehend

why you are warmer than sunshine;
why you could take away the oxygen in my lungs faster than anything else;
why the planets seem to align in order to keep you here;
why gravity does not exist in the spaces you occupy;
why distance is my enemy;
and why i am in a love-hate relationship with the rotation of our earth (it depends on when i can see you again);

it was suddenly not just physics, or astronomy, or biology, or chemistry

when you came along.
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
she barged so uninvited in my space,
so futile were my palms and outstretched arms,
forbidding her from entering my place,
mistrusting her that she may bring me harm,

rebuttals--counterpunches to my claims
that she was just another soulless ghost--
had penetrated fences, and her aims
to win my heart succeeded more than most,

but here we are almost a year from then,
i've pushed her off, she shares her heart with one
not me, but one who seems above all men,
and i have lost where once i thought i'd won,

now i'm the one who's barging in her space,
my own rebuttals falling in disgrace

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
Ayeshah Jul 2010
Ahem,
Uh
excuse me-
just what do you think your doing?
barging in on my life,

causing a ruckus after so long now
it's was fun

while it lasted but your my past
&
I know you know better then
to try and relive what can never be again...

You love who

um hell naw
not me,

see
I once was blind
but
baby I see clear through
your
fake persona
to the
little devil who'll use
what ever he can
to try and become my man,
you
had ya chance
and
you ******* blew it,
don't  keep emailing or texting me
I want nothing to do with you
and
how sad
cuz
when I wanted you
It was you
playing hard to get
not so much
to get
just so **** hard
to hold on to,

I left that part of my life,
left the bitterness and pain too,
your words never hurt
as much
as
your actions-
caused me to
wanna die,
**** you too
but
what then
of the seed you planted in me,
now as
months,months and months go by
I laugh at my stupidity
for thinking everything
you said
you meant....

Please
save it for someone who
gives a flying ****
I guess you can say through it
all and after all this time
my feeling & self
have changed
feeling regret and hate
for the careless
way you tossed me away
tossed my words back at me
and
choose to
play  games on me


begging me to let you back in
You had me thinking
we could of been more
then just friends
and
more then anything
we could of been a
family....

funny
sadly so
cuz I no longer have
those feelings
I just pity the useless
way you drag on begging
and running after
memories

something that
COULD NEVER
BE NOW

Not again
not after all the **** you did
not after all the pain you caused
and
never after all the loss
I went through.

Sorry didn't do
so save it for her
she finally got what she wanted
and
I'm happy for her
cuz least it aint me any longer &
I no
longer worry hurt or even miss you.

Stop
bothering me
Stop lying to your self
Strop trying to make me feel
something
that wont ever
be there again.

Save
"Sorry"
for the weak minds
who'll
listen to your
*******...

Sorry
again huh

OK

your right

your
a
SORRY
*******
SO
KEEP SORRY TO YA'SELF
&
GET THE **** ON
outta here
LEAVE ME
THE HELL ALONE!

haa haa haa

HAAAAAAAA

Remember

We said

No Regrets

Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Kopter Zero Mar 2014
A grand journey it was!
Sledding and running,
Flying and crashing,
Tumbling into and careening off,
Stepping aside and barging in,
Jumping over and crawling through,
Bruised and scarred and cut and scraped,
But loving every moment of it;
Every terrifying and wonderful moment!
Ananya zootz Jun 2015
Click.
Arms around with a profound smile
Pearl teeth reflecting happytimes
Click
Blanketed now,anchored to my bed
Alone and this time no shine

Clear like blue cotton sky your eyes
Perfect like truth your smile
Temptation of your sugarcoated words
Marshmallow soft full your lips
How could have I simply be in a corner?
And resist myself to not touch
What I loved , you.

Like the new morning glory
Your candle lit up face brightened me
The whispered words buttered me
Like the softness of peach
Your fluttering touch melted me
Like a burning wax

Barging through the air
Whipped the breath out of me
Call me I wished you could save me
Your hair brought the shade of sweetness
How could I have simply be in a corner?
And resist myself not to do the only thing
I do? Love you.

Though you are cold in earth
And sky cries with screams and tears
Its me who feels sick
Graved alive.
Why.
Corset Jun 2015
That solid rock
on which pearly
mountains grew
seemed ageless.

Like shifting tots
on playgrounds
more than anything
thrilled to finally fill
the bitter silence
speak to me again
with church bell
hush.

Applaud with clapping
wings of butterflies, but
where have all the fireflies
gone?

Little lanterns barging in
like riots begging
the whiskey night,
like riverbanks in
Kentucky.

Better than the blue
plain cornflower hill
that thanked Heaven
for it's tender wet kiss.

It's raining,
it's raining again
sings the dawn.
Nora Aug 2016
Hi, hello, barging in
Peeking through
Confronting sin

Flushing, angry,
Visage blue-- it’s
The world from
Which you do
Eschew
Hello.

Welcome to my poem.
I would like to introduce you to
a few words of mine.
Like a friend, they comfort me,
grow me, make sense of me.
The words come from my mind.
not always though, I can’t
remember where my mind found them.
Step on in now. My mind is open
Come, have a seat.
The words will be home shortly.
Be sure and take your shoes off
and close the door,
        we wouldn’t want to let any dirt in.

We talk for a while. Share a few
words of our own.
There is a quick knock at the door
the first words comes barging in.
Slightly rough, tired and stressed, comes up,
shakes the hand.
“Hello I am Fear”
So Fear comes in and sits.
We talk for a while. Share a few more
words of our own.
Then another knock at the door. hesitant tap, like
someone was left behind.
Fear says “oh thats my Of”
Fear yells at the door to “come in
and close the door and take your shoes off,
keep the dirt out.”

So we all sit and pass around
some words now.
It’s taking a while though.
It’s almost nightfall, and there
is one more word.

The sun is going down. Moon in the clouds.
Loud, Roaring closer and closer.
A growing light ending in my eyes.
Light entering through the windows in my mind. Come in Come in.
So glorious Light. My door is open.
The knock is loud. From every
direction.

Of is curled up in the couch.
Fear has ****** on the white carpet.
This knock will never end.

The door opens.

Of pulls it together, brings Fear to its feet.
Both Fear and Of stand and welcome this Word at the door, and together,
like a friend,
they comfort me,
they grow me,
make sense of me.
The last Word comes and sits.
All sharing words with the
Fear Of God.
Read Proverbs 1 and take to heart in prayer
- Jan 2015
Changing every detail
Like covering up tracks on pure snow
Ruining the scenery more
Except I deserve it

You're not the only one I let go of
You're not the only posion I let in my life
You're not the only one I didn't care for
Because you barged into my own life

You were really nice
Until you met me
You tried so hard and so far
But why?

So I've been trying to clean my life
But it's hard when trash keeps barging in
But at least this time
The trash got out by it's self

You going away isn't hurting my feelings
Pieces moved out, dropped piece
By piece; splitting off, renting space
Wherever they land, barging past
Squeezing in with the preoccupied  

Shapes moved out, old ones fought
Hard to survive their sacked history
The trick was to disregard their tight
Fit, change and feel comfortable with

Old tarpaulin moved in, tore the
Edges, wrapped around, familiar bite
Tugged frayed frail fibres, threading
Shreds splitting apart unconjoined...

Fibrous endings moved in...closer
Maybe a reef that secures, flexing its
Knuckles, voice cracking right over
Left, left over right, repairing temporarily

— The End —