Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear
The warning whirr and burring of the bird
Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard
Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.
Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer
Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered
By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,
Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.

So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight
In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,
Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,
Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death
And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset--
Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.

swishers aren’t so sweet when
our teeth are banging together
tongues fighting for dominance
gin burning our lips
hungrily seeking
an escape from ourselves
selfishly burring our stingers into the back of the other
******* are aptly named
La petite mort
because i want to die and be reborn
& i was foolish
for ever thinking that you could be
different

If you look deep into the high dry sky,
You might be able to catch time fly by.
The sands of the hour glass slowly decay away.
The future you were longing for already is today.
Right now,
Has already,
Become then.
What you thought was in the present,
Has just gone to the past.
What you think is in the future,
Has just gone to the past.
You know its going to happen, just not when,
Your pain hurts now, but it won’t hurt then.
Time soars, not fly’s,
Doesn’t fall, but glides.
As time goes adrift, it is forever no more,
Washed out to sea, to never see another shore.
Every single second the time will change,
Shift and rearrange, slowly to derange.
Like a burring candle, the flame melts us down,
Were stuck in a never ending ocean, trying not to drown.

Each puff infuses poison and serenity.
Clouds drift off, combine with the air.
Slowly burring away years off time.
Disgust or desire,
The distant smell of the once infamous beauty.
The cancer stick, the deathly hits.
The denial of mortality caused from deadly attraction.
A single hit they say will dig you a grave,
But what’s the point if you will get one anyways.
A torch of liberty.
For the ones who find peace,
Within each calming puff.

Every time a sentence is spoke,
It can never be taken back,
Its out now for the whole world to hear.

Once someone opens their mouth and lets words drip out,
Those words are imprinted onto the world,
And time cannot be re-winded.

"So speak wisely," Everyone says,
But no one can seem to follow this small simple rule.
Why is it so difficult to think before speak?

Arguments can leave scars,
Lies and rumors can hold such damage.

Words have an impact, but many seem to forget,
As the letters dance out of their mouths and into thin air,
Already turning into a wild tornado storm and destroying who every is in its way.

Words seep deep within ones skin, burring in deep,
And burning that victim, as tears soon slip out and begin to fall.

"Words hurt," They told me,
But I never knew that they would make a tare in one's heart,
Damaging for a long time, and placing it in deep into one's memory.

Words have affect, words do hurt,
And words have a lasting effect,
So choose carefully before you let out a sentence that is filled with hurt.

The silence of this place, this spot where I
find myself hiding, is all around me. Denial

of the sky becomes my position as I trap
the bubbles of rare soil in my heart. I stop

the doubt by creating a new dwelling where
I shall hide away in my dreams. The silence

keeps me company in the every growing
growl of early surrender. The winds of change

flip around me, for they cannot reach me in
my sorrowful abode. I am counting the minutes

until I can safely reach distance with my
wavering breast of trust. I cry out but the silence

is too fulfilling, nothing shall be heard ever more
from my lips by any other living organism. Trusting

only myself I force my mind to concentrate on what
needs to be growing and the flowing of the wind

does not tamper with my view. I am immersed in
this place. I am trapped by my own decision, which

creates a bond with bared heart. I am drifting through
frosted lawns where the grass has been sown but

as yet is not growing. My flavoured tongue whispers
in the pulsating glare of brightly burring wood which

I had collected to start a fire. The flames entertain
and I wonder how much longer I shall have to stay

here in this hiding place where silence is the master
of all that I am. Gazing past myself I can only imagine

the cloak of fog that will surround me as I barricade
the doors of my vision. I am what I am; I am what

I was. My question is "will I truly ever be what
I must be?" Silence. Hope. Words of revival. These

sounds must be firm. These pockets of helpless clouds
must be lifted. I sigh. The sunlight is blinding me.

A man screams in his sleep.
Her features all aligned into a perfect order
Just because I'm hungry doesn't mean I have to eat.
A low hum
Burring  into my mind
Drives me into vicious fits of obsession
She stirs me

I look at her but cannot see her.
I try so hard to drink her in.
Every feature I want to drown in.
The vision is only a drop to a dying thirst

I stare so uncomfortably at her soft skin.
Guilty I lust for her.
She exemplified feminine strength

She stings me with her beauty
And Instills in me a sadness I can't understand

Consciously torn between being a dog and a man.
Stuffed my shame into my belly and moved on.

long after you’ve logged off,
the screen, now, just room temperature,
no longer warming plate hot, a good feeling lingers,
the glowing, slowing remains of our days first visitation,
reducing to a single dot, fading gunshot message, but unstated:

”I was here, but moved on,
I am your first, yet you, are not mine...”

the Dylanesque mystique, mystifying, mind-burring,
in the air hanging, those words sticky stuck in your craw,
ear worm ya, until, you utter rush, desperate to return,
shoot, what was that poem, its title, the author, ****,
on what-was-that-poetry-site’s-name?

Hello Poetry! and now it’s too late, you’re not entranced,
no darling, you’re entrapped, fly glued to my sticky heart,
you, served raw, with the hook, line and sinker still attached,
you, my friend, are now my poet ******, my belonging, for
fourscore and evermore there is no cure, no cutoff, no resisting.
fresh meat for the poets beat, and you still have not even tasted
the salt water words, the rhymes that will tie up, and prolapse
your heart ******* in the love poems, ha, so when they ask what’s
the name of your new friend, the one that you are keeping so secret, tell them, shyly, bravely, whispering outstandingly, upright, shouting forthrightly: it’s me, Brandy Channing, and your soul is now mine to keep...for as long as deemed necessary to extract my ****** poems essence, so be my parasite and I will be you mistress, the mutual infection meaning but one thing! we, you and I, will live always apart, always together, yes darling, be distressed, you’re oh so blessed now, and
f o r e v e r....but tattoo these words upon your bicep lest one forget,


I am your first, you, are not mine

A tick and a click are rhyming up in a lame flame,
A thick stick of dry herb is the flame's aim,
That starts to burn and blatter in a burring pain,
Framed by a grey fog, hiding its disdain.


The mere pain of life urges this hateful act,
Looking for more pain pack by pack,
Claiming if there's no stop, I want more of that,
Waiting and feeling and waiting and feeling,
The sniff-by-sniff approaching Death.

i tried to tell my sadness to my friend once
they laughed it off
as if it were merely a scrape
that could be healed
with a bright colored Band-Aid and time
i thought about telling how it really was
tell how the scrape traveled into my bloodstream
into my liver
kidneys
brain
heart
and slowly my sadness began to pump through me
until it became me
like a bear burring in its den for the winter
only my winter shows no signs of passing

Find me a place where heartache ends
And when you find it, mark it with an “X”
But instead of burring gold there
Bury you’re betrayal, bury it deep
In a wooden box with a padlock
So that even over the years
When the salty air and crashing waves
Erode that sandy grave
And that pain surfaces again
I’ll have had enough time
To wash in the tide
The smell of you from my clothes
To baptize myself in the sea
From your sinful touches
To let the waves beat down
On my ears so loud
They’ll forget how your name sounds
When that wooden box floats
Back to me on the opposite side of the shore
Then I’ll know when it’s safe to come back to that place
And I’ll brush off the “X” you put there
Because that’s where the heartache ends.

Wood smoke on a frosty February air,
Let it drift through my window and
interrupt my thoughts,
Tinted with the frozen taste of forest mildew—where you once held my hand when we stepped over a fallen log.
Red wine head ache beat my temples raw,
And the heater rattles in the walls so I
toss and turn.
I do not think of you often; but now I do, wrapped up in yellow blankets and breathing deep the snow falling air.
The ping, ping, ping
of an over fulled drain,
it beats a metronome against the aluminum roof next door.
I sleep with the window open to catch the sent of burring birch,
or hardened pine,
I warm my senses and drift away
to a time before February froze the air.

While grating gusts and gales of Winter’s winds
Mourn with a deaf’ning dirge till Spring begins,
Intently and contentiously they’ll look
For that moral compass found in the book
of such lovingly constructed wording
Of whose heart’s thoughts in our minds are painting
Their reflection to grow within our hearts;
Like wisdom to child, their parent imparts.
He transcends any cultural chasm
To reach all hearts before his phantasm.
Clarity of faith by which we can walk
Decanting the love but keeping the cork
As a stopper to stop the willing draining
To those wilfully closed eyes rejecting.

The burring and whirring takes us to task
In battle, futile for the facile mask;
The mask to mask the vacuous content
With razzle-dazzle detracting repent.
Low weaponry the opposition draws
On his ***, so preys on our many flaws.
The things at which he cannot be the best,
Hopeless to attempt, so drags down the rest.
The strength from these words is for us to draw
To fortify the truth and shroud our flaw
From the eyes and lies of the wicked one;
Weakening us ‘till easily undone.

Never must we, so never shall we yield
Lest we gamble that love that we all wield.
The love that is him, not given by whim,
Can and will be found in amongst this din
Of the towns and cities keeping alive
The corrupt, capital world of the lies.
Dangling the bogus carrot of pleasure;
Misdirecting us all from the treasure
Of something more real spiritually
than anything that’s found posthumously.

For when time grows old, all corners explored,
All things have been sold and all has been bought.
When all has been said and all has been done
With nothing unpainted, ev’rything sung,
All’s been invented, no lines left to write,
No mountain to climb, no evil to fight,
No path left untried, no words left to talk,
No niche unoccupied, no roads to walk.
To surpass anything, where is the hope?
Upon past achievements we will still dote.

All religions, legions and ligaments
Feel full force of their own eradicant.
Once blinded by their own faithful binding
They’ll begin to prove its own unwinding.
Then reluctant eyes open up to see
Their stubbornness was based on fallacy.
By this time now all chances will be spent.
Choices made by those who will now regret
Not seeing what’s evident for all sight
But those whose hearts and eyes they kept shut tight.
Regret will abound for the truth not found.
Eternity in Hades and the ground
Is the only future for the many
Who chase that carrot dangling for jenny.

Ambiguity of a single word
Begs contextual study of the broad.
Only then can a justification
Substantiate their stubborn rejection.
What will fill the void where once there was truth?
Ostensibly only eternal ruth,
Curtailed by the one whose ultimatum
Can be found in that book of verbatim.
The book written to escape the scapegrace
Our only grace and our only solace.

Those grating gusts part, exposing a path
A path enough wide for many a rath,
But the wind which once blew for all idols
Has changed its direction toward idylls.
Softly but certainly the air makes change.
With grating now gone, systems rearrange.
Where one and one equal much more than two,
Longer is forever if it’s just you.
Love is the only, the all, and ever,
The one currency we’ll grow together.

Amen.

She used to come to me in whispers, hushed under the calm of the early morning.
"Just like her, just like her, you know you are"
I ignored the noise for years.
I had almost forgot to listen, he made me forget.

A fairy tale prince, riding in on a steed to slay my whispered monster
It starts that way, like a story book or a poem.
the weight of words lift
kisses on my forehead
Whispers can't be heard over a heartbeat next to mine.

It starts that way, all beauty and shine
somewhere, at some point, things grey
Whispers return, a little different this time
"He'll see, just like her. You know he'll leave. Just you see"
They devour the peace.

I remember now, as the monster comes scratching, rapping
her tired song
I remember now the lyrics to her curse
the endlessness that gathers, pouring dirt and sand
burring me slowly under

Just like her

Tessellation & Interstices


”A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface,
often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes,
called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps…In mathematics, tessellation can be generalized to higher dimensions and a variety of geometries.”

the insistent need to be distinguished
means many are not,  
indeed,
this hunger
to be an influencer
and never just an influencé.

creeply creates a linear surface,
a flooring to be trod upon,
a tessellated plane,
were we each fit in
right-tight juxtaposition
and we are noticeable for our
uniformity and

the scuff marks of having been trod upon,
well used.

it is in the chips of irregularities,
the overlaps and the gaps
where we touch and connect
with our individual Ah Ha’s,
where our Venn Diagram Lives
intersect, infect, interfere, inject,
in the tiny
interstices
tween us,
the jagged, irritatingly edgy
rubbings
that the friction of creativity
is comedically inseminated.

I love a good tense sweat,
that invasive, deep boring burring,
that demands
instant creative solutions lest the angst of
an unwritten-in-the-moment-poem
is even more annoying,
before it is annoyingly,
befogged, lost forever.

that is why with old age,
fearsome fast
short term memory loss,
some turn to the speedy freedom of
free verse,
unconstrained by socks
and well fitting shoes,
and the slip on sneakers
of rhyming,
so insistent on perfection,
that the
burr is absorbed,
the irritant rubbing is creamed away,
and that loss of
a pouring of the soul’s ******* of
Done!
is
our exclamatory mutual curse

The sky's covered with a dark black beast, like a thick smoke it moved in from the east. The sun once shining, now hidden behind his back. A roar can be heard, its ready to attack. Streaks of fire branch outwards across the darkness. Screams can be heard as it's fire touches down, burring all to the ground.

You are in my arms comfortably folded
While burring your face in my chest
By nodding your head like a small kid
For which ever question I ask
I hold my hand around your waist
To lean you on bed and give you some rest
We woke up on sunny morning
As curtains of my window playing with shadows
I could hear the pleasant music birds singing for us
Setting on a branch of tree
Like lover’s gaze at each other during moments when hand holding is still sweet
Or the sparrow beings to tweet
The day changes into night or the hot summers into winter
But i know you will be always in my arms……

theirs a girl in the back of the classroom, shes always quiet.

Kid one: "whats worse than a truck load of dead babies? No? No? No one? Okay then, I'm Ann Frank, what do I smell? Its my parents burring!" and he breaks into laughter and makes a motion as if hes slashing his wrists "What kind of person am I?? EMO!" he yells and tumbles into another fit of laughter

Kid two: "That's terrible!! You shouldn't joke about that! I don't understand dark humor! Why do people joke about that stuff?"

The room goes quiet and the girl says "People always joke about things they cant comprehend, its a coping method." everyone stares at her but she just goes back to writing as if nothing had happened

there is someone that will always be your "hopeful second chance"
the one that got away
broke your heart
without even lifting a finger

these are the people we need to stay away from
because just because it was love didn't mean it was meant to be

just because he gave you a feeling in your chest that felt like the burring of 1,000 suns doesn't mean the two of you should be together

you need to remember how he wasn't there for you
both emotionally and physically

so please don't let a past love that broke you
break you again

let the love you have now flourish your soul
and turn you into the person you've always wanted to be

hold onto the love that makes you feel like you can change the world
love the man that loves you with the burning of 1,000 suns

Eclipse ….by Jessie


The sun it rises every day from the horizon on the east.
A shining star and heated orb, this galaxies burring beast.
The sun it burns so very bright for its love the celestial moon.
Which makes her grand appearance, eight hours after noon.
A ballet up in heavens sky, as they chase each other around.
Humans with our season tickets, watching from the ground.
The moon she waxes full of love and wanes when all depressed.
Every month she does the same, seemingly without distress.
They love each other with intensity; even though they rarely meet.
Waiting for the magical time, when the two will finely greet.
With love so gentle, we need no aid to see a lunar eclipse.
When sun and moon get the chance, to finely have a kiss.

Once upon a time…by chance a common girl met a common boy
after one night she told him that she knew
knew what would happen:
In a few weeks they'd be in love hopelessly and then as they grew together so would their love then they would get married

but thats not how this story ends

instead of growing together they grow apart
they break up but still care for each other
he tries to **** himself
then buries himself in drugs

she feels like the life is ****** out of her
then buries herself in solitude
ignoring and spurning all attempts to help

months pass

she finds someone to desperate or too stupid to see she's still in love
with someone else

Then once again they find themselves falling back in love but this time
this time…
everything is different

after burring themselves
they have changed
have built walls to cower behind

Neither of them see it
He was the fuse lying in wait
to be touched by her fire
the only possible result
was for everything
to explode
leaving nothing
but ruins of memories, and confidences
shared at the cost
of two lives once intertwined

A couple years go by, I never knew how fast time could fly. I continue to find myself, burring the past away in a box on my shelf.   I'm clouded by all these different thoughts my mind is overwrought.  Ideas diluted with reasoning, each one covered up by a different seasoning.  Maybe I'm better off living in a fantasy. Ok let me make believe.  So, let's play another song that goes with the melody and put it on repeat.  One song that could foretell my life and be complete.

Day by day, I wonder where I'd be.
If only I could foresee.  
If I cut my heart out with a knife.
If I did not have you in my life.
Where would the moon subside?
If you were not by my side.
Where would the sun rise?
If my life were to revise.  
Could I find peace?
Ease, without you there.
           OR
Would I be missing a piece?
Like a Breath without air.

So many questions.
Ones with no suggestions.  
So many times.
I stopped to wonder sometimes.
What would have happened if we never met?
If I put my life on reset.
Would I be happier then I am now?
If fate never intended to endow.
             OR
Would I fall to pieces from regret?
Because I have not found you yet.  

My mind keeps running away. All these thoughts I dismay. Oh sweet melody, within every touch you give me. Then I start to think, all the kisses I'd be without. Can't you see, we are too far to go back now? Too near to stop, this journey isn't over. We already defeated the impossible. Can't you see now, I'd be lost without you. You can save me from the storm and you can guide me when I lose my way. But as long as we have each other, are love they can't take away.

War …by Jessie 6/05
I peered quite deep and far beyond, where any man should look

Into the eyes of tragedy, where fury can be took

What I saw, I can’t explain, there are no words to say

Suffice to say that what I saw, scared me on that day

Men as far as the eye can see, lay empty on the ground

Others running fast and hard, explosions all around

Mechanical devices, found burring in the fire, trying hard to stay alive the soldiers first desire

The smell so bad it chokes the throat, from chemicals and death

Heat so hot, it sears the lungs with every choking breath

Fear, in every eye, tells of what’s to come

Nights of panic for many, death will come to some

Cries poured out into the sky from those that have been hurt

While soldiers blood on each side, fill pools in the dirt

Pictures of their families, crumpled in a pocket near their chest

Memories of what they’ve lost, at their final rest

Some men break, the strains too much, from all that they have seen

Not retreating on the battlefield, only in the brain

Yes, I’ve peered quite deep and far beyond, where any man should look
Into the eyes of tragedy, where fury can be took

Do you see it?
Do you see them in my eyes?
Look deep, don't you see?
No?

Do you hear it?
Do you hear me?
Listen carefully, can't you hear?
No?

Well, do you see my fake smiles?
Do you see the tears I'm burring in my mind?
I thought so.

Do you hear the silent screams of pain inside me?
Do you hear me sobbing in my castle, forever alone?
Thought so.

Night Thoughts… by Jessie 6/05

Longing hearts and promises, to comfort in the night

Dreams of love, to caress the mind, and futures burring bright

Silky skin, and eyes of blue, cradles every thought

Experiences from younger days, the lessons all been taught

Time stands still when all alone; A man can barely think

Fill my cup to over flow; from it I take a drink

Written in the book of life; information shared

Intersecting pages; connections now compared

Possibilities endless; probabilities short

Plugging holes within the walls, protecting unmanned forts  

Options weighed and calculated; clutter every space

Endless opportunities; tails being chased

Close your eyes and slow the speed, of your beating chest

Focus all your energy; letting chaos rest  

A smiling face and open arms welcome and invite

Dreams of love caress the mind, sustain me in the night

While grating gusts and gales of Winter’s winds
Mourn with a deaf’ning dirge till Spring begins,
Intently and vindictively they’ll look
F’that moral compass found within the book
of such lovingly constructed wording
Of whose heart’s thoughts in our minds is painting
His reflection to grow within our hearts;
Like wisdom to child, their parent imparts.
He transcends any cultural chasm
To reach all hearts before his phantasm.
Clarity of faith by which we can walk
Decanting the love but keeping the cork
As a stopper to stop the willing draining
To those wilfully closed eyes rejecting.

The burring and whirring takes us to task
In battle, futile for the facile mask;
The mask to mask the vacuous content
With razzle-dazzle detracting repent.
Low weaponry the opposition draws
On his ***, so preys on our many flaws.
The things at which he cannot be the best,
Hopeless to attempt, so drags down the rest.
The strength from these words is for us to draw
To fortify the truth and shroud our flaw
From the eyes and lies of the wicked one;
Weakening us ‘till easily undone.

Never must we, so never shall we yield
Lest we gamble that love that we all wield.
The love that is him, not given by whim,
Can and will be found in amongst this din
Of the towns and cities keeping alive
The corrupt, capital world of the lies.
Dangling the bogus carrot of pleasure;
Misdirecting us all from the treasure
Of something more real spiritually
Than anything that’s found posthumously.

For when time grows old, all corners explored,
All things have been sold and all has been bought.
When all has been said and all has been done
With nothing unpainted, ev’rything sung,
All’s been invented, no lines left to write,
No mountain to climb, no evil to fight,
No path left untried, no words left to talk,
No niche unoccupied, no roads to walk.
To surpass anything, where is the hope?
Upon past achievements we will still dote.

All religions, legions and ligaments
Feel full force of their own eradicant.
Once blinded by their own faithful binding
They’ll begin to prove its own unwinding.
Then reluctant eyes open up to see
Their stubbornness was based on fallacy.
By this time now all chances will be spent.
Choices made by those who will now regret
Not seeing what’s evident for all sight
But those whose hearts and eyes they kept shut tight.
Regret will abound for the truth not found.
Eternity in Hades and the ground
Is the only future for the many
Who chase that carrot dangling for jenny.

Ambiguity of a single word
Begs contextual study of the broad.
Only then can a justification
Substantiate their stubborn rejection.
What will fill the void where once there was truth?
Ostensibly only eternal ruth,
Curtailed by the one whose ultimatum
Can be found in that book of verbatim.
The book written to escape the scapegrace
Our only grace and our only solace.

Those grating gusts part, exposing a path
A path enough wide for many a rath,
But the wind which once blew for all idols
Has changed its direction toward idylls.
Softly but certainly the air makes change.
With grating now gone, systems rearrange.
Where one and one equal much more than two,
Longer is forever if it’s just you.
Love is the only, the all, and ever,
The one currency we’ll grow together.

Amen.