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"blazed" poems
The memory of you emerges from the night around me. The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea. Deserted like the dwarves at dawn. It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! Cold flower heads are raining over my heart. Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked. In you the wars and the flights accumulated. From you the wings of the song birds rose. You swallowed everything, like distance. Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank! It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss. The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse. Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver, turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank! In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded. Lost discoverer, in you everything sank! You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire, sadness stunned you, in you everything sank! I made the wall of shadow draw back, beyond desire and act, I walked on. Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost, I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you. Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness. and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar. There was the black solitude of the islands, and there, woman of love, your arms took me in. There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle. Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms! How terrible and brief my desire was to you! How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid. Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs, still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds. Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs, oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies. Oh the mad coupling of hope and force in which we merged and despaired. And the tenderness, light as water and as flour. And the word scarcely begun on the lips. This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing, and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank! Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you, what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned! From billow to billow you still called and sang. Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel. You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents. Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well. Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank! It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour which the night fastens to all the timetables. The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore. Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate. Deserted like the wharves at dawn. Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands. Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything. It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
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14.2k
A Song Of Despair
The memory of you emerges from the night around me. The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea. Deserted like the dwarves at dawn. It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! Cold flower heads are raining over my heart. Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked. In you the wars and the flights accumulated. From you the wings of the song birds rose. You swallowed everything, like distance. Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank! It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss. The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse. Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver, turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank! In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded. Lost discoverer, in you everything sank! You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire, sadness stunned you, in you everything sank! I made the wall of shadow draw back, beyond desire and act, I walked on. Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost, I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you. Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness. and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar. There was the black solitude of the islands, and there, woman of love, your arms took me in. There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle. Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms! How terrible and brief my desire was to you! How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid. Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs, still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds. Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs, oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies. Oh the mad coupling of hope and force in which we merged and despaired. And the tenderness, light as water and as flour. And the word scarcely begun on the lips. This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing, and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank! Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you, what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned! From billow to billow you still called and sang. Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel. You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents. Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well. Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank! It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour which the night fastens to all the timetables. The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore. Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate. Deserted like the wharves at dawn. Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands. Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything. It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
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58
I thought I saw him, Standing so elegant, No single expressed whim, His skin and body vents Can't smell what he sees, Only the breeze through the leaves, A forest fire blazed, But the tree always stayed Yeah, I've felt the wind, And I've heard the birds, Through the flowers I grinned, I tasted the words
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
The Hippie Tree
You wanted only rain today And clouds from far anon. I watched their fingers smudge the sky And cast away the sun I brought upon the downpour And trembled as it fell. Chilling every molecule And drenching every cell. I could not wish this rain to cease; It was necessity To end the all-consuming flame That blazed through you and me Still I felt the damage Of burns beneath the skin The outside seemed undamaged Though truth lie deep within.
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Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
You Wanted Rain.
Highland Park is the stoner park, everybody knows that. You go to Highland Park to smoke **** you don't take your kids to Highland Park. Well, you might if your kids are total potheads but then you'd have to buy a lot more **** -Belle B. Blazed
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May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Quote
Moons fall, Eggshell snow, Blurred illumination, Dreary lights, Twinkles disintegrate, Blazed sparks fade, Faint complexion, Awkward tree, Ornament shadows, Fuses burn out, Connection lost, Spirit dies out, Yuletide lie, Imperfection. My eyes are dark as Halloween night. Suns shine, White angel, Luminous site, Multicolored pigments, Rosy cheeks glow, Rays seep through, Vivid hue, Elegant she, Majestic gleams, Beams strike around, Fascination found, Neon dyes around, Joyful cry, Pulchritude. Her eyes are bright as Christmas morning.
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Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
Blindness
I am the love killer, I am murdering the music we thought so special, that blazed between us, over and over. I am murdering me, where I kneeled at your kiss. I am pushing knives through the hands that created two into one. Our hands do not bleed at this, they lie still in their dishonor. I am taking the boats of our beds and swamping them, letting them cough on the sea and choke on it and go down into nothing. I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you ***** them out upon my face. The Camp we directed? I have gassed the campers. Now I am alone with the dead, flying off bridges, hurling myself like a beer can into the wastebasket. I am flying like a single red rose, leaving a jet stream of solitude and yet I feel nothing, though I fly and hurl, my insides are empty and my face is as blank as a wall. Shall I call the funeral director? He could put our two bodies into one pink casket, those bodies from before, and someone might send flowers, and someone might come to mourn and it would be in the obits, and people would know that something died, is no more, speaks no more, won't even drive a car again and all of that. When a life is over, the one you were living for, where do you go? I'll work nights. I'll dance in the city. I'll wear red for a burning. I'll look at the Charles very carefully, weraing its long legs of neon. And the cars will go by. The cars will go by. And there'll be no scream from the lady in the red dress dancing on her own Ellis Island, who turns in circles, dancing alone as the cars go by.
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5.5k
Killing The Love
I am the love killer, I am murdering the music we thought so special, that blazed between us, over and over. I am murdering me, where I kneeled at your kiss. I am pushing knives through the hands that created two into one. Our hands do not bleed at this, they lie still in their dishonor. I am taking the boats of our beds and swamping them, letting them cough on the sea and choke on it and go down into nothing. I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you ***** them out upon my face. The Camp we directed? I have gassed the campers. Now I am alone with the dead, flying off bridges, hurling myself like a beer can into the wastebasket. I am flying like a single red rose, leaving a jet stream of solitude and yet I feel nothing, though I fly and hurl, my insides are empty and my face is as blank as a wall. Shall I call the funeral director? He could put our two bodies into one pink casket, those bodies from before, and someone might send flowers, and someone might come to mourn and it would be in the obits, and people would know that something died, is no more, speaks no more, won't even drive a car again and all of that. When a life is over, the one you were living for, where do you go? I'll work nights. I'll dance in the city. I'll wear red for a burning. I'll look at the Charles very carefully, weraing its long legs of neon. And the cars will go by. The cars will go by. And there'll be no scream from the lady in the red dress dancing on her own Ellis Island, who turns in circles, dancing alone as the cars go by.
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51
"As the sun and moon aligned in the sky, they illuminated each other's shine. And the closer to each other they moved, the brighter they shined, and the higher the fire inside of us grew. As we raced through the days on that fling, each footprint we laid blazed away that piece of the earth's entire lifetime of beauty in the brief second it touched our feet, leaving nothing but ashes beneath us. Until we had no ground left to stand on and nowhere left to flee. And now that we've turned away from our fire to face the days that remained unburned by the flames, and learn to gaze at them through sane eyes one day at a time. We can look back at our book with clear sight and give it the ending that we never got the chance to write. And while I know it's too late to pick up the ripped-up pages, I will admit, I still think of our little prince. And sometimes I go outside and look up at the sky and think about what planet he might've gone back to after he died. Then I imagine the three of us living up there as a family in another lifetime. But for now, you have your own life, and I have mine. And we have to live them the way we would have if we could go back to the day we conceived our child and were able to see what our manic eyes were blind to at the time. When the sun and moon finally came as close as they could be and the fire inside us rose to its highest peak, it leaped past the fading ashes of our flesh to burn our love into eternity, through our baby. That eternal flame that could blaze brighter than our manic one ever could on its brightest mania days, but that would also sustain. "
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Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Touched with fire
"As the sun and moon aligned in the sky, they illuminated each other's shine. And the closer to each other they moved, the brighter they shined, and the higher the fire inside of us grew. As we raced through the days on that fling, each footprint we laid blazed away that piece of the earth's entire lifetime of beauty in the brief second it touched our feet, leaving nothing but ashes beneath us. Until we had no ground left to stand on and nowhere left to flee. And now that we've turned away from our fire to face the days that remained unburned by the flames, and learn to gaze at them through sane eyes one day at a time. We can look back at our book with clear sight and give it the ending that we never got the chance to write. And while I know it's too late to pick up the ripped-up pages, I will admit, I still think of our little prince. And sometimes I go outside and look up at the sky and think about what planet he might've gone back to after he died. Then I imagine the three of us living up there as a family in another lifetime. But for now, you have your own life, and I have mine. And we have to live them the way we would have if we could go back to the day we conceived our child and were able to see what our manic eyes were blind to at the time. When the sun and moon finally came as close as they could be and the fire inside us rose to its highest peak, it leaped past the fading ashes of our flesh to burn our love into eternity, through our baby. That eternal flame that could blaze brighter than our manic one ever could on its brightest mania days, but that would also sustain. "
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59
Every inch of my body is screaming, blazed with fire There's lightning between my shoulder blades Rain dripping from my dewy greens And electricity weaving between my tendons There is a chainsaw cutting my bones There are needles piercing through my chest There is lava rushing through my veins There is a hurricane in my head I can feel my cells shrinking I can feel my branches breaking I can feel my leaves crumbling Everything hurts and there is no remedy This is the life of inevitable misery
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May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
my body rebels
I grew up in South Auckland, Takanini the only Pakeha in the caravan park, I learnt how to be tall, smart and skinny how to raise the end of my sentences in an arc. At school, we were told words held power; but for teachers words were flowers, and my friend Cruz had two brothers Harley and Davidson - they belonged to Black Power, their fists tattooed with something like “Smother”. But there was never violence on our street, gang was family; I usually never felt more at home around Bourbon, loud Reggae, bags of **** and men so manly they’d cry over love, and I wouldn’t get a word in. Though my Father votes National and thinks Michael Laws is right so moves us to Dunedin where it’s ninety percent white. I stopped reading Lenin and picked up Rousseau became a vegetarian, thought it was so cool you know, even wrote a blog that discussed rise from below. But I’ll never know below again until I’m drunk in an old shed at 3am on a school night singing along to Bob Marley in Maori, sunk deep into the mattress propped against the Harley, the one you and I would cruise on until dawn together as police took to the streets in riot gear - we’d get lost in the country and learn to smother our thoughts in starlight then stagger over, listen in to the darkness, and just slowly breathe the crisp, cool air of the kiwi tundra. They say New Zealand has two flags, but in the country, when you’re blazed on the benefit, ****** on the disdain for positive discrimination, you can pick out all the small bright koru unfurling in the stars.
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Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
A privileged upbringing
I grew up in South Auckland, Takanini the only Pakeha in the caravan park, I learnt how to be tall, smart and skinny how to raise the end of my sentences in an arc. At school, we were told words held power; but for teachers words were flowers, and my friend Cruz had two brothers Harley and Davidson - they belonged to Black Power, their fists tattooed with something like “Smother”. But there was never violence on our street, gang was family; I usually never felt more at home around Bourbon, loud Reggae, bags of **** and men so manly they’d cry over love, and I wouldn’t get a word in. Though my Father votes National and thinks Michael Laws is right so moves us to Dunedin where it’s ninety percent white. I stopped reading Lenin and picked up Rousseau became a vegetarian, thought it was so cool you know, even wrote a blog that discussed rise from below. But I’ll never know below again until I’m drunk in an old shed at 3am on a school night singing along to Bob Marley in Maori, sunk deep into the mattress propped against the Harley, the one you and I would cruise on until dawn together as police took to the streets in riot gear - we’d get lost in the country and learn to smother our thoughts in starlight then stagger over, listen in to the darkness, and just slowly breathe the crisp, cool air of the kiwi tundra. They say New Zealand has two flags, but in the country, when you’re blazed on the benefit, ****** on the disdain for positive discrimination, you can pick out all the small bright koru unfurling in the stars.
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34
She was a raging inferno, Touch her and perish, A roaring inferno, Burns your soul to ashes. As she raged against the dying light, Crazy, I craved only for her, Praying she would go gentle in the night, My eyes blazed for her like a meteor. Within me, her anger raised sensual  emotions, With my gentle love, I desired to tame her, That was my firm resolution, And one day,on her lava soil would bloom our little flower.
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Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 6:10 AM UTC
Roaring Volcano
He was pale as death, running down like an over-wound clock Beneath his eyes, dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams. The pale gold odor of his lips, Parted with a series of beginnings. He was confounded with wonder at her presence That voice held him most Swathed in rose and lavender silk The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light. His eyes, a deep tropical burn, on fire like the World’s Fair remotely possessed by intense life like a trembling match stained with creative passion He searched for her night and day The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain a deathless song a faint flow of thunder he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky. her well-loved eyes, smeared with tears, glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain Its fluctuating, feverish warmth, full of aching grieving beauty, told of unexpected joy Are you in love with me?
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Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
Smoking Rain
Have the trees all fallen? / In my absence, Did the lights turn out in Santa Fe? I’m walking in a shadow, Cast by who knows what because The skyline’s bare / Now the leaves are gone, And in their wake the branches Lie gutted on the pavement Stripped to shiny bones That smile and smile, The call to arms blares out So sickly sweet / A mind rang out across the room That blazed so hot we’ll never know And in one blazing human breath They breathed their last / to think they were children they were just children / I feel a great and quiet darkness Has snuffed out those sparks That could have ignited the world And so I wonder How many million seconds, meant to be, Now never will? / Do good men die so other men Might learn, or worse still, win? Will those sparks Snuffed out in Santa Fe Ignite this world of apathy To shame? / I ask again, Have the trees all fallen Down in Santa Fe?
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Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
21.5.18 - "The Lights in Santa Fe"
You know what the stories say About me. They call me silly, Foolish, disobedient. They say I should have listened to my Father. Now he was a guy Worth listening to: the one Who built the labyrinth -- the one That caged the bull-headed beast And sent virgins, hopelessly Lost, to their deaths. He made me a pair of wings And when he was finished told me to contemplate my mortality. And not to fly too close To the sun. For the feathers Were joined only by wax and days But the sun was made of molten fire and eternity. How could I listen though? When after so long Penned in the cool, dim labyrinthine Depths of his workshop, I was finally Free. A soft warm shaft of sunlight pierced me through and I was lost. On my ****** flight, I was ecstatically lost, rising madly to the shivering brink of infinity. Imagine me with my great white waxen feathered wings circling (Circling) (Circling) spiraling Higher and higher to a crisis. Oh I melted. Then I fell. I do wish they'd asked me how I'd have Liked to be remembered though: Not the merely foolish bull-headed kid who refused to obey, But the dreamer with wild eyes, The one who once flew too close to the Sun And briefly, (All too briefly) Blazed.
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Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Icarus
Breakup Letter to Route 34 Everyday you and me me and you we'd punch out for an hour, maybe two Only separated by obsidian rubber our toes kissed as the clock ticked Just a pair of bodies and the aqua sky the clouds will be our blanket as we sleep through the ride We didn’t even need the stars to be our guide, just the yellow line. The string connecting the seams of my double life Every year I watched your colors change I watched the buildings rearrange I watched people I loved become estranged But you, good old road, you stayed the same. Like an invisible diary I scratched my thoughts into your black skin, wrinkling with erosion And I shed my tears into your core, watering the tufts of grass protruding through your cracks And I whispered my secrets to you, to the barren bark lining your lanes. I have always been holy to you! but it seems like soon we won’t be seeing each other every day at four and noon. O, But don’t let your dam release too many drops from your lagoon I have blazed your path for too long, I need sometime new And just remember, good old road, its me- not you
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Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Breakup Letter to Route 34
A visit was due. It had been a while since our last one. I buttoned up my coat, for winter had come. The walk was short, my father at the lead. He held the bouquet and cake and he moved with speed. We came together to celebrate, Each of us bringing something to the feast. It was her day. Yet he sat in his seat, uncaring at the least. I had to be civil, so I walked on in, and shook his hand, I wished him well, though I think I lied. Was it a sin? No, then I realised I meant it. Not for him, but for her, to ease her worries and cares, because I cared for her, she was my grandmother. The room was full. We were together as planned. The fire blazed. Cake in our hands. Her favourite show came on, but he called for a change as his attention drifted. It was her day, I thought, and she deserved to do what she wanted, to do something different. It was getting late, and he wanted to go and rest. But as she helped him up, he produced something, A necklace of silver, pure and brilliant, and whispered, ''You're the best''. Then as he exited the room, I wished him well once again. He nodded. I nodded back with love this time, not disdain. I realised then they were from a different age, An age of hidden emotion, but it was theirs, and they loved each other through the quiet and the unwanted commotion.
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Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
The Comfort of Quiet.
Locked in your fiery eyes i submit naked, **** exposed to be exploited by Your will i lay before you awaiting.... to begin Our intimacy wanton to please Breathing in the anticipation i am frozen by Your hesitation for i crave                     Your touch,               Your lips,                                Your embrace in every rise of my ******* breathing deep my thoughts creep and time slows In Your soul, i wish to peek... Behind the lurking darkness in Your eyes Is it love or lust hidden in disguise i acquiesce my forbidden fruit i wish to bare the entrance to my sacred chambers ripe with carnal desire may it be Your pleasure To imprint Your sting forever seared upon my redden flesh so that it lingers in tenderness long after Our journey Your caress against my flesh in piercing pleasure resonates up the curvature of my spine releasing infinite electric butterflies i cannot hide You plunge deep below the surface infusing Our bodies as One rhythmically in motion edging each crest before plunging deeper into the next into the depths of brazen hunger i want to surrender though my growl cannot be hidden ‘neath the rumble of my heighten instinct to soar in expletive exclamation my animal within my pounded thighs spread wider below pulsating muscles beating louder, harder, deeper my cavity contracts howling in blazed heat i scream through my glare into Your eyes of consent again, release me in the allowance of your’s entwined Allow me to feel you as you fill me emotions untethered in Your mind Your body and spirit The rapture of Your release i capture in my mind my body and soul anchored to my memory Our journey In gaping breath We fall ... Entangled in blissful euphoria Your shivering body envelopes mine a sweet embrace a tender kiss long has it been since I’ve felt such passion i admit...
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May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
love.......................... (act III)
Locked in your fiery eyes i submit naked, **** exposed to be exploited by Your will i lay before you awaiting.... to begin Our intimacy wanton to please Breathing in the anticipation i am frozen by Your hesitation for i crave                     Your touch,               Your lips,                                Your embrace in every rise of my ******* breathing deep my thoughts creep and time slows In Your soul, i wish to peek... Behind the lurking darkness in Your eyes Is it love or lust hidden in disguise i acquiesce my forbidden fruit i wish to bare the entrance to my sacred chambers ripe with carnal desire may it be Your pleasure To imprint Your sting forever seared upon my redden flesh so that it lingers in tenderness long after Our journey Your caress against my flesh in piercing pleasure resonates up the curvature of my spine releasing infinite electric butterflies i cannot hide You plunge deep below the surface infusing Our bodies as One rhythmically in motion edging each crest before plunging deeper into the next into the depths of brazen hunger i want to surrender though my growl cannot be hidden ‘neath the rumble of my heighten instinct to soar in expletive exclamation my animal within my pounded thighs spread wider below pulsating muscles beating louder, harder, deeper my cavity contracts howling in blazed heat i scream through my glare into Your eyes of consent again, release me in the allowance of your’s entwined Allow me to feel you as you fill me emotions untethered in Your mind Your body and spirit The rapture of Your release i capture in my mind my body and soul anchored to my memory Our journey In gaping breath We fall ... Entangled in blissful euphoria Your shivering body envelopes mine a sweet embrace a tender kiss long has it been since I’ve felt such passion i admit...
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74
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gates Blazed open—suddenly— That in my awkward—gazing—face— The Angels—softly peered— And touched me with their fleeces, Almost as if they cared— I’m banished—now—you know it— How foreign that can be— You’ll know—Sir—when the Savior’s face Turns so—away from you—
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3.5k
If I’m lost—now
her lucid mind clouded as she felt nostalgic over the memories. In her hand, a cigarette blazed. Whilst she spoke she exhaled the smoke of which kept her sane.
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Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
melancholic mind.
Twenty-five pigeons are doing **** rips in my living room. In the middle of my living room twenty-five pigeons are doing **** rips of **** that they bought off my next door neighbor who just happened to have some lying around. There are twenty-five pigeons doing **** rips in my living room, and they will not stop watching Battlestar Galactica. The twenty-five pigeons doing **** rips in my living room ate all of my Cheese Nips, and they drank the last of the RC Cola I bought. I try to get the twenty-five pigeons doing **** rips in my living room to leave, because I hate it when they do this, but they just coo at me and that shuts me up. One of the twenty-five pigeons doing **** rips in my living room accidentally knocks over the **** and spills bongwater all over my ******* carpet. The **** cracks. They start flapping their wings really hard and ******** everywhere, because they're pigeons and they're mad. But then, one of the twenty-five pigeons produces some hash wax from under his wings, and now there's twenty-five pigeons doing knife hits of hash wax over my stove, and quite frankly I'm ****** I run in and start waving my arms around, and scream, "Get the **** out of here, who let you in anyway?" And the head pigeon drops the knife on accident, and they all fly out of my living room and into the sky, all really blazed, leaving me here, mad, with a bunch of stains on my carpet.
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Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
The Pigeons
When I was a child I saw a burning bird in a tree. I see became I am, I am became I see. In winter dawns of frost the lamp swung in my hand. The battered moon on the slope lay like a dune of sand; and in the trap at my feet the rabbit leapt and prayed, weeping blood, and crouched when the light shone on the blade. The sudden sun lit up the webs from wire to wire; the white webs, the white dew, blazed with a holy fire.
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2.9k
To a Child
The surface of the water at Garrett Lake is a ballroom floor, the bluest of hardwoods. Hiding itself within its leafy forest green walls, which if looked upon closely, one would swear you can see the woods. We blazed a trail past a fallen trunk, presumably lightning struck whose roots had twisted into the shape of a moose fallen to sleep or endure breathe no more, past the row of trees split by the trail. One side Life, the other death. We found our way to an elder pine who wanted to be a pier and dove down so we could sit upon him, no longer on land, legs dangling like a chandelier above the ballroom.
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Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Moosehead Ballroom
Where we live it is no desert for the rains still fall. Where we live the cacti stand tall, proud and green Men and Women defending rocky slopes of heaven. Where we live the bat flies with the nighthawks, dog fights at twilight against hordes of insects. The lizard and snake fear a Greater Roadrunner who laughs at passing cars, for it shall outlive The Petrol Race centuries forward. The Sunrise seems like The Mountains' live birth to a bright blazed star. The Sunset bombs a horizon filmed with faraway layers of dust. The milk cloud of stars and cosmic debris. The Moon rising, a pale beacon beyond The Mesquite.
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Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
Sweltering Sonoran Desert
The pretty lass moved fawn-like behind the counter, her thin flowered sun dress grasped her sleek-form so delicately, grinning behind glasses, she mesmerized me completely. A bit sassy, with an air of confidence, her craft spoke volumes. She had a keen eye for detail, her quality was impeccable, burnished ancient coins, Apollo & Diana the huntress hung near iridescent colors, Macaws & Amazons blazed their vibrant hues. She sold me Roman glass wrapped in Sterling, handcrafted by her beautiful hands. If she only knew how much it truly touched me.
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Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
The Jewelry Maker
Come prisoned moon in steep cloud-fastnesses,— Throned queen and thralled; some dying sun whose pyre Blazed with momentous memorable fire;— Who hath not yearned and fed his heart with these? Who, sleepless, hath not anguished to appease Tragical shadow’s realm of sound and sight Conjectured in the lamentable night?… Lo! the soul’s sphere of infinite images! What sense shall count them? Whether it forecast The rose-winged hours that flutter in the van Of Love’s unquestioning unreveale’d span,— Visions of golden futures: or that last Wild pageant of the accumulated past That clangs and flashes for a drowning man.
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2.7k
The Soul’s Sphere