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ryn Feb 2015
.
•...mouth
wide  op-
en, glis-
tening...
in the li-
ght•aw-
aiting to
swallow
this lone
piece of parch-
ment•on it i've scribbled
all my heart could write•bea-
ring sweet nothings, sure and si-
lent•now... take this scroll•down
your neck... it'll effortlessly slide...
•to the core of your very soul•my
message would  follow your gui-
de•your opening i'd then gladly
seal •so your contents would...
remain guarded • time is now
to set adrift all i feel...•....now
ride the waves through jour-
ney uncharted•let the curr-
ents take you• let the tides
and winds be your friends
• ...  my quiet well wishes
would see you through •
in hopes that you would
be received by my love's
deserving... and...  open



*hands•
JV Beaupre May 2016
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
It's a learning painting. I want to see if I can handle all those layers of transparency and quirky reflections.

"But she has a set of phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle.

"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings symbolize things?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? I had an idea: Can I really do justice to an absurd, but challenging situation?

"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise.

"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality and interpreting, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'?

"I don't like your message."*
OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.
On the other hand, I once painted an agricultural scene based on a photo from the 1930s that I thought carried a social message. Most people wanted to know what kind of tractor it was.
Seducing you away from me.
Stealing what our future could be.
I try so hard, but I just can't compete.
When you'll do anything for your whiskey.

I can dress really **** and fix my hair.
I can do my makeup and put on heels, my highest pair.
But when you start sweating and your hands are shaking,
She's calling to you, and only she can stop your aching.

You'll make excuses and tell me lies.
To have her near, right by your side.
She's your mistress in a bottle, she tastes so sweet.
It doesn't matter what I do, with her you'll always cheat.
The cricket's  rhythmic chivalry
slows to Autumn's droning crawl
like an unwound eight-day clock
unconsciously neglected by time

The Sounds of summer that fall silent
are never really noticed until gone
things we often take for granite,
a mistake rendering life benign

Dreams living only in our minds
beheld within, the love that keeps us alive
never caring, never needing to know,
"fifty ways to leave your lover" behind

So many miles spinning faster,
so much weight to weigh you down
it never really was a simpler time
just a window with a different view

Fleeting time may shine like shooting star
an irreverent kind of blinding light come to pass
a different hue of colours cast and sown
an  eerie silence may befall unprovoked

As if you found an urgent message
in a bottle drifting through your tides
you can spend the rest a lifetime trying
to catch lightening in that bottle thence

Don't look away from a moment
      too long ... in the blink of an eye
             it'll all be gone


someone you used to know ... September 16, 2017
Notes: "fifty ways to leave your lover"...Paul Simon
Patrick Apr 2
I wish I could look you in the eyes and spill this heart through parted lips.
I wish I could hold you tight and heal your wounds, even if it took a thousand of the Sun's dips.
But these thoughts are not allowed to breath,
So I slowly suffocate them beneath this mask, deeper than any sea.

I call to you from beneath the waves,
I try to hold on alone and to be brave.
But this heart feels love, until it goes dark.
And that is what has scared me from the start.

If I lose this feeling we call love
Who will I become?
Love defines my every thought,
But painful corruption stops me abrupt.

My one goal, again, just to be clear. . .
Was to one day hold you, call you, "My dear."
But love is not universal,
Some feelings will never survive love's extraordinary traversal.

So now I sit alone, beneath the weight of these feelings.
Till my body collapses with this heart done bleeding.

I've no more emotion to spew from this hollow life,
I'm a broken bottle in water,
A message that will never reach the one I hoped to call "Wife".
A M Ryder Sep 20
Coke on my gums makes the whiskey go down like water
And so I feel nothing

I'll destroy myself alone so nothing can hold me back
So no one says "Enough."
I won't blame you for not saying something
I won't blame you for not "saving me"
How I can't be happy that you're happy

My ancestors are all angels up way too high and probably disappointed in what and who've I become
But still I don't care, they're all dead
Those lucky *****

Daylight breaks and the dawn has come
So I guess I've been up all night

These words are the very breath of my demons
And I haven't heard from an angel in ages
Through the eyes of the beast in me, I've become friends with the abyss and it has politely invited me in

So another for the writer
Another bottle all by myself
To soak my soul
And drench any dream or hope of a happy life
I might have had left
Working piece that needs feedback, I found this in an old journal and I really see a gem in it.
Madison Aug 17
Staying still
I try to drain
Every last
Little drop.
Tilting back, I
Grip the neck but
Don't break it, *** forbid
I'm in no shape to clean up a mess
Though I'm an expert at making them,
I tell you what, I hate the television, all
those shiny happy people like in that
song I don't know the words to, but it's
obviously true, watching these shiny
happy lives with all of these beautiful
people who are probably **** on the
inside, just like me, going home to sit
in their expensive new recliners and
grip the neck but don't break it, don't
make a mess that you can't clean up
drain every last drop even if you don't
really want it, 'cause it used to make
you feel much better, and now it's just
routine, like brushing your teeth and
trying to sleep and telling old friends
that you're fine, fine, just tired, so very
tired and I'm trying to stare through the
television to see these ****** phonies at
home in their own chairs, drinking from
a bottle like this one as if it might save
their sorry lives, like I'm trying to do
right now, tilting it back for just one
more drop, ****** there is no more
and I'm not done drinking but the neck
is slipping from my hands and I'm trying
to drink it down, **** it up when I let go
of the neck and drop it and there is a mess
for me to clean up, I tell you what, all that
broken glass and those elusive little drops
that could've made everything so much better,
could've fixed me but oh well, guess I can't
watch TV anymore, 'cause I've got a mess to
try to clean up right now, yes siree, guess
that even the shiny happy people have to
**** it up and fix it every now and then
just like me and you and everyone else.
My first attempt at shape poetry. Probably messed up a bit, but oh well.
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