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Hooflip Jan 2013
Seeking a reality,
bridges, boats, and canopies.
Calamity surrounds and swarms
my skin of wicked tragedy.
A cavalcade of traveling;
a taste of fleeting sanity.
Settle with the is or question off into the can it be.

Bridges, boats, and canopies,
Bridges, boats, and canopies,
Ripples in the water always fade but follow straggling.
Bridges, boats, and canopies,
Vistas, view or craft the scene,
Settle with the is or question off into the can it be.
https://soundcloud.com/thehumbleloud
It's mwe Aug 2018
We are just two canopies
Rowing in the calm waves.
As the sea loves us,
I love you.

But once the hurricane comes
We change into the small fragments
Tossing around in the middle of its big waves.
I know that
the sea loves us,
as i love you.

And now,
We finally drowning
Into the deep dark blue sea
I can feel this fragment decayed
I know you too.

As the sea wants us in the seabed,
We are stunted
I know we are just two canopies
That split up into pieces.
On my skin I wear the bands of shielded sun.
Commitment to the heart makes this skin colour run.
With one liberal hand, I tear down these branches being hung,
to shower in yellowed leaf confetti.

These forest roots ran like hair line skull fractures,
under canopies blooming red from the sunlight rapture
and now these trees leave their taller brothers to fall as ashes,
with ivy on my ankles, stifling hope up to my chin.

Living memories, my forest sheltered, scrambled for home;
small pretty beasts, unrefined, breathing caricatures with bones.
Screaming they beg for attention, inattentive to this situation as a whole.
Our own view is all we can consider.

This house of cards built on paper-cuts, from the trees before.
I'm now growing wiser to my winter freeze and your summer thaw.
I need all of these things I hate about me, and they can never be ignored;
a psychological pre-disposition, the only one I can afford.
Mason Nov 2014
I want to ride the streams,
the canopies, of light.
like a curious passenger
on a speeding motorcar
down the runway from everywhere   
to your eyes
Plain Jane Glory May 2013
Sour thoughts, broken glass and
A thin veil of cigarette smoke

"I have no regrets" she whispered
"Pardon?" his eyes met hers
"Nothing" she said, intertwining her fingers
Caleb Eli Price Nov 2010
The shivering eyeglasses lazily coating the ground
Break way to the budding of the season.
To reincarnate is to live the anomaly,
The evergreen boughs bend in the wind.

Coalescing crystals form dew on our morn
To leave a fresh taste, on lips, on tongue.
The time is imminent, but the dawn is young,
My white Orchid, born to the sun.

Simply, optically, it's to weak to touch
Unworthy digits, to blind to see.
My scarlet levees, to right to feel.
The ivory blossom, to right to be real.

Under the canopies, the shimmering outline
Moves closer until the mirror cracks
And our reflections are polymorphicly one,
Our hearts still polyamorously two.

I yearn to dream of lucid lavender,
The aroma surrounds the dream, still dreamed
The scent so real, or so it seemed
Encapsulating this moment in amber.

Until we sleep, until we fly
Together. Our wings open to embrace the quilted high.
Our mouths embrace to fill the void,
Unleash the magic, bathing us in light

Bricks and mortar overlap my thoughts
But time alone is not a wall.
Time alone, it cannot fall
And it still ticks with the beat of my pendulum.

Oh flower, oh life, vitality aplenty.
Your hideousness, a secret untold,
Withers to your beauty, yet to unmold.
Le voyage fantasme is here for me now.

And now the grains slip between my toes.
The sandcastles caress the glass of our hour.
It's never too late, but always on time,
So before the light fades, kiss me and say

"I'll sleep tonight,
I'll dream of you."
Orchid, my Orchid, love, my love
I'll dream with you forever.
© 2010 Caleb Elijah Price. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.
there's a guy
sequestered
someplace in a
secret location

his job is to keep
****** alive

since the purported
death of mein Fuhrer
this has become the
most important job
in the world

with ****** alive
and well, we know
what evil looks like
and it sports a
funny mustache

compared to ******’s
lip growth even
old Beelzebub’s
goatee looks
kinda cute

with ****** alive
nations churn out
industrial strength
collateral damage
on the scale of a
Fortune 500
sausage maker
wholly blessed
with the
moral impunity
of profiting on
the war on
terror

assembly lines
manufacturing
the stewed vats
of pink slime
soylent green
lays a wide grin on
Henry Ford’s face
watching happy
Chinese proles
grind through
the day’s
bleating stocks
grateful to have
a wage paying job

we are
the righteous
dudes,

hanging ten on
Malibu pipes
water boarding
the terrorists

pouring waves of
umbrellaed  
Coolattas down
the desert thirsty
gullets of
dead enders

and they don’t
even have
the decency
lay a tip on
their earnest
servers

freakin
barbarians

we are the
empowered
heavies
licensed to
dispatch
immediate
fast food
have it your way
justice,
with
drone strikes
on reprobate
Americans who
spent their last
bill of rights on
a Happy Meal
of Freedom Fries
leaving the
executioner
begging for nickel
change so he
can pick up
a dime bag
of the best
Afghan horse
after laying a
bullet between
old Osama’s
cross crooked
eyes

when civilized men
begin to wonder
if the modus operandi
of intelligence
gathering could be
construed as torture,
we point northward
to scurrying Koreans
sneaking briefcase
nukes over the the
southern border
cleverly disguised
as Chicano grape
pickers heading
for Napa.

in national
tantrums of
undulating
shock and awe
we launch
cruise missiles
to deliver the
news of a well
considered
Bush Doctrine
self conferring the
sweet liberty
to detonate
bunker busters
in noble strikes
of preemptive
interventionism

we hate war
so much
we initiate
warfare before
a war breaks out

we reserve
first strike
blitzkrieg
prerogatives
as an exalted
strength to
alleviate the pain
of enduring
the weakness of
protracted peace

we are firm in the
belief that the blasted
dust from our bombs
form the cornerstones
of future democracies

to serve the greater
global good, America
has dispatched a
humanitarian team of
Navy Seals to East
Africa to get Kony

we’re rooting out this
bad guy whose
trying to implement
his twisted version
of a Santorumish
10 Commandment
based paradise

Kony is living proof that
Islamo Fascists don’t
hold a monopoly on
terror and though
Kony’s got some
powerful supernatural juju
Seals got motion sensors
that can spot a
cantankerous poltergeist
through the darkest jungle
canopies

it also will minimize
the risk of friendly fire
casualties

they’ll have to be careful
not to wander into
the disputed oil fields
of southern Sudan
and they’ll need to
be mindful of Chinese
engineers building
pipelines and refineries

But thank goodness
that guy has kept
the touchstone of evil
alive and well.

we’ll always
recognize it
when we see it
and get hot
on the trail of
******’s latest
incarnations
when they
show their
ungodly face

civilized people
demand justice

and we will not rest until
Kony’s head is displayed
atop a spike on YouTube
buzzing with the hum
of ecstatic flies joining
the chorus of happy
tribesmen singing
kumbaya with
stirring gratitude
from the aboriginal
comfort of their
mud and
grass huts

****** lives
Osama is dead
Lets get Kony

Music selection:

Smash Mouth,
Walking on the Sun

Oakland
May Day
5/1/12
jbm
Sarina Oct 2012
your forest’s architecture
verdant in spots, and then a stump
did the dead leaves ever have a heart beat
what made the ballad stop, was it sun?

little larva squirming towards a moon
and their mama maggots weep –
to lose a child, to lose a child

when death-creatures want to be
an astronaut, the green canopies are bars
prosper in the centipede teeth munch
fertilizer for a final seed

without vertebrae they climb over stars
& leave your forest’s architecture
crumbling for buzzards.
On the cold solstice
the velvet magnet
of Luna's magic
pulls

quietly urges

whispering
gentle spells
into dreamy ears

compelling
her lover
to rise
quixotically
coaxing
him from
the warm sleep
of winters
first night slumber

she summons
a willing lover
inviting him
to follow
her stark
alluring light
illuminating
the lonely blackness
of a bleak universe

her
seductive powers
transcends distances of
a thousand solstices

her
resounding light
a sure mark
braces any weakness
emboldens desire
guiding the bidden
to unforeseen
destinations

standing
in your presence
my face is flush
reflected by your
resplendent light

my heart
broiled
by your
vexing
radiance

the roiling tide
of a midnight reverie
ebbs
as my
earthen shadow
begins to pass
over your
indelible
whiteness

I witness
my dark countenance
eclipse your light

defiling you
fearing
to forever
mark your
effervescent silver
with the baseness of me

without shame
your smile
allays my fear

you understand
you anticipated
the expression
of my
coy reticence

a sweet chant
sings
unencumbered
reveries
gently
reassures
you've danced
through many
moonlit nights
with eager lovers
only to return again
in virginal whiteness
across the
endless cycles
of time

released
relieved
abandoning
all restraint
now
I
summon you

my blackness
your whiteness
breeds a
sensuous
orange
sweeter
then an
open mango

she rules the sky
a celestial monarch
forcing Mars into
a sheepish retreat
commanding
mighty Orion
to sheave his sword
while
Venus
seethes
with envy

my form
begins to swallow
your lines
and
soft curves

my blackness
disappears
into
inviting cracks

falling into
dark creases
the soft billows
sweet mounds
voluptuous craters
gay playgrounds
for my mouth
mysterious hillocks
eagerly explored
with hands and
limbered fingers

a quixotic Eros
the scent of spice
swells in my head

everything
enveloped
like a
holy ghost
playfully gaming
hide and seek
radiantly moving
through
darkened canopies
of a lush forest

nostrils fill
with
tang of spice
a scent
of Caribe

face buried
in thick tresses
of maddening blackness

becoming unhinged
by eyes speaking
a thousand languages
as lips whisper
joyous whimpers

a silent kiss
of an orange lit night
writhing bodies
splayed together

ravenous tendrils
shape sloping
cloud pillows

quivering lips
unveil smiles of
alabaster pearls

mocha darkness
sambas through
the night

she exhales
her lovers name

Luna bathes
her cinnamon curves
in delicious
mango light
offers generous
dollops
of ******

peeking
baying
drifting
I cast off
onto a sea
of lucid dreams

drinking from
a dark aureole
as the tresses
of her
sweetened nest
moistened my member
in a sacred communion
to a hungry lovers mouth

her dancers legs
slim, supple
unbounded
and open
sweet to taste
smooth
so soft
to touch

the fullness
of our rumba
se los tango
con cha cha cha

light steps
close caress
kinetic commotion
wild laughter
fills the sails
of bold schooners

Luna's smile
commands
the seas
to heave

un poco loco
ola de feliz
los hablamos
un contrara
la estas
la esta

the lavender sky
of the mornings
twilight
inspire
Meadowlarks
to herald
the emerging day

still
drunkenly swigging
loves nectar
sleep creeps closer

confessing
small regrets
she fell
victim
to passion again

Luna
comes back
to her lover
pets his chest
with delicate fingers

in a voice
as light as air
she sings
a poem
into his ear
of passionate nights
beauteous art
longing to express
heartfelt truths

The mango consumed
Luna's whiteness returns

my shadow recedes
into inconsequential
nothingness

naked
I stood
sadly witnessing
the dark horizon
overtaking
my fleeing lover
swallowing her
in tiny bits
as morning drops
a final veil
over the face
of a now
vanished love

Music Selection
Grant Green, Moon River

jbm
Oakland
1/19/11
harlon rivers Oct 2017
Penned on watermarked cotton paper
Cursive letters script the words
of a surrendering rhythmic rhyme.
The ardent sonata was written
by the light of a Blue Moon’s shine.

The blood red ink bled through
the white wrinkled cotton pages;
musical notes dried by the warmth
of glowing Moon Beams radiance
in the subtle pollination breeze...

The maestro Coyote’s howl cried out!

Instinctively rousing the stillness of the night;
       a feral essence echoed
       through the eerie silence
       of the distant horizon,
bringing helpless lovers to their knees.

The words to the Cabernet Sauvignon
       stained midnight  lullaby,
       were emotions quilled,
       blending an aura accenting
       organic warmth of tones...

       The native maple trees'
flowering canopies of Spring
released a dusty yellow pollen
onto the watermarked cotton sheets.

In a moment of rapturous intimacy,
       an elixir of intoxicating bliss
illumined the achingly euphoric moments.
A natural untamed wildness was exhaled;
       savored ecstasy released
       into a passionate song of love …

That poignant melody forever lingers,
       like hieroglyphics on the walls
of some long lost abandoned cave.

Engraved, etched, brushed and stroked
       onto the brattice canvas
       of a musical Minstrel’s
            melodic montage ...

       Watch the artiste’s fingers
       prancing graceful ballet
       Worn down catgut strings

                                *
moan
          
     ­                  weep

              purr
**

       crying out lustfully.
     as if it were
    enraptured lovers'
  breathless sighs

  the rhythm’s cadence
whispers a masterpiece
       in an infinite
       harmonious time...

       The tempo’s lines
                Phrasing…

                 ...hush...!

             ♪♫♪ ~ ♫  ♪♪

        Listen to the pictures flow...
Listen to the weeping guitar strings
      of the passionate troubadour
stroking the metaphorical canvas scene.

       The ebb and flow
       of the musical rhythm's throb
arouse the Blue Moon’s hypnotic  allure,
    throwing incandescent shadows
    that dance around Moonbeams.

Joyfully twirling, blissfully embracing
in the blossoming Forget-me-not fields;
            Bluebonnet Lupine
               swirl and tango
       with the moonlit breeze.

       Lilacs fragrant aroma drifts
with spring’s churning romantic haze;
rekindling this fleeting memories recital.
The Minstrel and the Minstrel’s song
         now yearn to be set free ~

      Timbre without reverberation …
The twilight serenade was never penned
  to be hidden from the Nightingale

A romantic moment’s sorrowful lament
to be abandoned like a broken dream;
   fading unnoticed into forevermore ―
      Unsung,  unsaid, unreleased,
                     unrequited
                through eternity…

              The maestro Coyote
       is a wilderness troubadour
       illumined under the gloaming
               full moon’s spell.

                Howling soulfully...
               wailing impulsively ~
              ... crying hopefully
             pleading mournfully
                     lamenting
the Minstrel’s breathless cadenza ...

A bitter sweet musical embryo of love
                 found and lost
                       below
           the full Blue Moon’s
               glistening light…



©  H.  Rivers ... 2012, 2013
           all rights reserved
Notes (optional)

"It's a marvelous night for a moon dance"
from the written pages of a hopeless romantic

Post Script:

An attempt to blow the dust off  the hidden archives and the aging tomes to bring my unpublished writing portfolio back into the light.

A friend from my musical past ask me to publish this once again and LEAVE IT published...how could I say no to one who uplifts the low (?)!
Heather Mirassou Jul 2010
In sunny solitude
The swelling seas
Erase the bank of haze
Birds begin to sing
A skylark soars in the air

Purple hills of paradise
No longer dampened souls
Tossing and turning in the night
Pearl white peaks
Hypnotize across the planet

The color of strength
Of a rainbow myriad
Green cascading canopies
No longer drinking
Nature’s tears away

With fluorescent green
Humming birds
Under the turquoise sky
The vintage rustic vines
Are revived to a new life

Rejoicing hearts
Of amethysts and emeralds
Are awakened from
The breeze of heaven
Vines whisper in awe

Her sun
Sky sweet bliss
Fountain overflows
To twilight shade
Robed fields of gold

Her young berries
Plump and iridescent
Until harvest comes
She will say goodbye
And again renew
Heather Mirassou Copyright 2010
Kai Mar 2019
The phoenix burned, once more returned, from fiery pyre aflame
With wings outstretched, soared o’er land wretch’d, seen, by the bird, as the same
old forests of past, which never could last 'gainst nature’s violent outlashes
Yet in dreams surviving, defiant, and thriving; though the air still reeked of ashes

The scorching sunset cast its melting gold net o’er the equally smoldering earth
Night's moon and day's star hung above the earth's scar as two eyes that weighed the wasteland's worth
They deemed it as decent, though the charring of recent corrupted their judgement in part
And through the cloud's pain, the celestial rain cascaded down to the wood's heart

The tears of the sky rinsed the aching dirt dry, and quenched its desperate dreams
The caked floor, satiated, filled up and inflated with life bursting at its seams
Beneath vanished leaves, under wire canopies, green shoots had begun to grow
The Phoenix, all-seeing, saw the passionate being of the plants sprouting below.

The forest will burn as time’s wheels turn, evermore reaching its end
Everything dies, yet The Phoenix still flies, watching all birthed again.
This is sort of a first draft...? I might rewrite the poem and make it better one day but at the moment it's also technically a finished poem.

It’s about the resilience of nature in the face of inevitable and cyclic death (i.e. the phoenix).

I liked the idea of the sun and the moon acting as eyes which weep when it rains, so I kept it in- for now, at least.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
This was written a few Septembers ago.  Walking on the streets of a now deserted beach island, only the leaves, in various states, to keep me company.

September,
walk with me,
under bridges of wedding tree canopies,
still green aplenty,
tho subtle marked for change,
making summer illusions,
environmentally unsustainable.

September,
stroll on pathways
of lesser, off the track, shaded lanes,
the sun blocker trees wear new necklaces,
brown and yellow diamonds,
a coming attraction of
their denouement,
their denudement.

The September trees are:

Ever so slightly stooped,
bent with weight of a surety,
knowing with high certainty,
their future, bleak,
bowed and drooped,
discouraged by the
cold travails soon to arrive.

Living in the recent past,
I am dressed inappropriately,
white tee and shorts,
past pretender,
still dressed in my
Gap issue summer uniform,
summer suspended animation.

Island streets are de-humanized,
gone home are the children,
newly fallen leaves have,
their place, taken.

The leaves are:

magically organized along
the sidelines of empty streets,
quiet stadiums of would be
kid's touch football fields.  

browned, crisp and soulless,
first greet this solitary stroller,
like a cheering throng of ghosts,
celebrating a sighting -
man, as a seasonal fossil,
one that still is living
and worth reminding, yet
human too shall pass when
his fall arrives.

the leave's cheers make over
into jeers and mocking laughs:

Oh humans, they say,
your summer songs naive,
mais tres charmant.

On Crescent Beach,
the driftwood sadly forlorn,
looking more adrift than ever,
for no one passes to express
admiration at the past seasons
Nouveau Expressionism,
an objet d'art lonely,
for the beach gallery shuttered,  
raising questions existential.

Is driftwood on the beach sans
human admiration,
art, truth or refuse?

I am looking backwards as the
Earth moves forward.

My own axis, my eyes,
conscientious objectors
refuse to be pressed
into service of the seasons.

No, no,
to involuntary servitude,
to rotation and revolution.

Nature's witnesses,
trees and leaves write
their own poem,
of foolish men who:

Bow and droop,
discouraged by the
travails soon to arrive,

Delaying their own fall,
finally shed summer delusions
like leaves upon the ground,
summer poetry silenced,
summer suspended, no more.
an old summer~fall poem, revived, out of season, like me. See August 25
I am a Summer-Man
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
On a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an island,

had a layover in Dubai,
so I decided to visit a friend,
a beautiful traveler such as myself,
in Dubai the Hyatt was her residence,

I got off my flight,
and cleared customs,
took the Metro to Palm Deira,
then emerged into the thick Emirates air,

felt like I’d emerged into a tide pool,
the air was damp and salty,
as if I’d submerged my whole body,
into summer sun heated waters,

walked a long short walk to the hotel,
and entered the oversized lobby,
Dubai lives off of air conditioning,
and the climate control was welcoming,

my friend came down to meet me,
dressed as beautiful as ever,
a flight attendant she was very attentive,
we hugged and she invited me to the rooftop pool,

on the rooftop I changed into my swimming trunks,
because even though it was just I layover,
I bring my trunks with me everywhere,
because you never know when you’re gonna swim,

she stayed poolside,
gazed at me apparently amused,
after a quick dip I emerged refreshed,
toweled off and we talked,

she asked me why I write,
she asked me what my goal was,
I told her I didn’t know why I write,
or really what my goal was,

she pressed on,
and insisted there must be a reason,
so I answered her question,
with the following reasoning,

“I guess I write,
so that our collective humanity,
has some sort of documentation,
of our emotional history.
But I don’t have a goal,
and I am not flattered when people compliment my work,
because I don’t really consider my writings mine,
I consider them the world’s.
So when some says my writing saved their life,
I feel awkward because God wrote it not me,
still I say thank you because I don’t know what else to say.
The books I’ve written are bigger than me,
millions of people have read the poems I’ve penned,
but most people that that have read my poems,
wouldn’t recognize me on the street if they walked past me,
see it’s not me they know it’s the writing I’ve written,
which means readers think they know me,
but they don’t know me at all.”

There’s a moment of silence,
on that rooftop,
all the lights of Dubai,
reflecting in her dark molasses eyes,

and I ask this,

“Do you ever feel trapped?”

She seems a bit perplexed by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,
here you are,
in The Emirates.
You are constantly on call for an airline,
you could be called to go any minute,
so you’re in a constant state of defense.
Plus,
this whether,
I mean,
it’s unbearably hot here,
and people here are completely dependent on A/C,
plus there are cameras everywhere always watching,
and to open almost any door here you need a key,

it seems there’s so much security that nothing and no one is free.”

“No I don’t feel trapped.”

Her answer comes too fast,
as if she doesn’t want to take the time to think about it,
and speaking of time,
my flight to Thailand is quickly approaching.

I change out of my shorts,
put my ‘normal’ clothes back on,
khaki shorts and navy shirt,
so that I can cruise through without being bothered,

but I am bothered,
because I can’t even touch her,
this is Dubai and despite the pretty lights,
this place is not Liberal it’s Conservative Islam,

and everything is forbidden.

We make our way across the rooftop poolside,
walking on plastic grass under canvas canopies,
we get to the outside door she slides her plastic key card,
and we enter back into the climate controlled insides,

we reach the elevator,
she taps her key card again,
the elevator opens,
and we start to descend,

inside the lift I can’t help myself,
she’s too attractive,
so I try to place a kiss on her shoulder,
she pulls away.

“Aaron no!”

“What?”

“We can’t,
not here,
I can get in trouble,
seriously.”

She nods discretely to the close captioned camera,
recording our every movement in the corner,
I guess the only thing we can exchange here is glances,
the system still hasn’t found a way to stop us from making eye contact,

and eye contact is the only contact we’re allowed to make,
everything else is forbidden,
heck they’d probably even outlaw looks if they could,
the elevator opens,

we’re back in the lobby,
she offers to walk me to the metro,
I obviously accept her offer,
I would accept any offer she ever gave me,

We emerge back into that thick Emirate air,
that damp and salty tide pool,
back into that traffic and incessant noise,
back into the smell of the fruits of the sea,

I ask her why it smells so much like fish out there,
she tells me there’s a fish market across the street,
she tells me the Pakistanis shove fish in her face during the say,
and have absolutely no respect for personal space.

we reach the doors of the metro station,
already we can feel the cool artificial A/C breeze,
and I’m again reminded how fake this city is,
fake people fake air fake grass fake plastic trees,

seems she’s the only thing real here,
and we are about to say goodbye,
we hug quickly before we depart,
don’t want to catch the attention of the camera’s eye,

she waives goodbye,
as I descend back down the escalator,
I want to tell her that I don’t like goodbye waives,
because that’s exactly what I saw before I lost my sister,

in other words the last time I ever saw my little sister,
was when she waived goodbye to me,
before she drowned in the fish pond,
actually that’s the only memory I have of my sister,

but that’s another story for another day,
that’s a different trip entirely,
that’s something that happened long ago,
something that now’s a distant memory,

anyways that’s why I wanted to tell the girl in Dubai,
“Please don’t waive goodbye,
because that makes me worried,
that we’ll never see each other again.”,

but it was too late,
the hands of time had already pushed us away,
the escalator was already creating too much space between us,
I guess I can hope that we’ll see each other again in another time and place,

but for now,

I’m on a trip,
to Thailand,
from Egypt,
to an Island,

and the planes coming,
and it’s almost time to board,
and you can’t go back to a passed moment,
because the only constant is change and the only direction is forward,

so be forewarned,
if you love someone tell them right then,
because even when things are just beginning,
everything and every one is only a moment from the very end…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
A lesson in Time and a Reminder to Love
Isha Maini Oct 2009
I sipped upon your creative juices,
and drowned, another finger,
into that gory darkness
of thought;

these canopies breathe softly,
as I curl my fingers
and straighten my eyelids
to take another nap;

Yet that dying fetus haunts me-
it’s misted face still echoes
as an unwanted ultrasound,
of bubbling cysts;

I tried ******,
yet the spirals scream:
in this pregnant mind-
and refuse;

So deal with me-
You’re mine.

Yet,
You’re born
...and never alive;
kk May 2012
The sun is shining
but it's raining

on your face,
down your neck,
through your socks,
through your skin.

It chills your heart
and makes you glad.

You look up.
The sun,
the clouds,
the snowflake rain.

Pink gumboots,
striped jackets,
dull canopies.

People stare
as you stop and wonder
how people could hide

from this pleasure
which makes them cold,
makes them see
the amazement
of sun and rain
together

creating beauty
in a sunshower.
Red Robregado Jun 2022
In hollow valleys, off the distant peaks
Down in the dim woods, braiding canopies

In the quietude of slow-dancing leaves
Through the howling and raging of the winds

Across plateau of no growth or decline
along blind, chiseled cliff, a cul-de-sac

In the triumphant reach of high summit
Between the rocky canyons of defeat

Grace at every gaze despite long travails,
dazed in wonder, never cease to amaze

In the bone-parched deserts, devoid of life
Out of flowing streams, rivers without strife

At the depth where lights dwindle to nothing
On familiar shore radiant weathering

In jubilant rejoicing when love wins
Even through the painful cuts as it stings

At the plain of anxious waiting and doubt,  
In tiresome striving to glorious thriving

As it always has, Mercy will carry
Crushed, it wont let me be; though tears may tarry
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!

Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
Jack Apr 2015
~

Precious is the light of every distant star we see
For they are the passageway that brings your love to me
Tiny points a’ sparkling upon the evening sky
Perfect constellations that we both see passing by
~
Miles lie between us as we stand upon this ground
Only in the evening when we can not hear a sound
Do we see the shimmering of heavens up above
Bringing to our very hearts our long desired love
~
Darkness now we find that it shall always be our friend
So that we may use the stars upon our love to send
Silent is the evening that our eyes do come to meet
Whispering affection over nighttime skies we greet
~
Beauty comes in many forms to lighten up our day
Only when the twilight smiles and sends the sun away
Will the stars come shining down from canopies of night
And we find the love we seek now glowing in their light
~
Stand with me this evening even if the clouds exist
Shower me within your love for it I surely miss
Here beneath the galaxies and their most precious view
*So that we may once again embrace our love so true
water streams from between your eyes
puddles fill the cracked streets
my rage is pure like angel fire
a love which nothing can defile
she wets the world with her dampness
thunder cries out for warmth
her shivering shoulders bare witness
to the sun and what was lost
the windy day kept me inside
holding onto this fright
feelings pressed against my chest
i tremble with delight
youthful arrows
morning sparrows
stargazing at night
just because you can do it
doesn’t mean that its right
streets of cobblestones are being shown
the pavement is our throne
home against the cement
dilapidated boxcars
and temples of respect
remove your shoes before you enter
yurts and cabins made of clay
barely resurrect
sustainable ways are coming back
give thanks and respect
to ancestors who deserve our praise
for they never did neglect
their duties to the earthly mother
her love they sought to honor
children of the wilderness at home beneath her cover
canopies of trees
line feline forests with her love
because our dreams of leaf-canopies and lignin
arrive at a certain variety of green, we will zither
anew with song

here in Bulacan; all the leaves are capsized
brandishing inflorescences as naked as
  the scent of petrichor girdled
on the cobblestones: they are forsaken not by
trees but by seasons only, a twofold deliberation
of caprice: there is only two of what is spoken.
   such is the warmth and coldness,
missing their obvious targets, hesitant and abstruse,
  scattered and at long last, never collected

deftly camouflaged in the familiar drapery,
“Tantusan mo!” as they cry for marks to remember,
we touch the cicatrix to measure with our jagged hands
how much we have forgotten.

what we cease to remember descends deep, as wash-hand basins
concur such depth,
into the well of ourselves, later to discover such
perilous foundling in the squall of either morning or evening,
   still devoid of sense: still arguing whether there is much
to reconcile with what has been found and what has been pictured
   now, altered by such loss: this is danger, and so is nothing,

swollen and tender, the waters of the estero reek of such
remembering – we cannot ignore its perfume, oddly taking the shape
of the next dagger slowly making its way towards the back
of the skull to pare with river-run precision, what we all
try to hold back inside; so as if to say,
             “Tantusan mo!” to remember
where     we last    took  off,  like a heron,
   or a  bird, wary of distances.
"Tantusan mo!" is a tagalog phrase which means "put a mark on it".
POSSIBLE May 2022
God is spoken
From a potent Thing
we smoking Trees

Gaia birthed the bloom
breathed the boom
in the canopies,

In the wind flew the bees
and grew the pleasantries

Prana pushing
thunder through

sQuishing lemon trees  
like a hundred new

Whisps of mists
and heavy deeds
Sit with honeydew

The gist of this
the lemon breeze
(We) Going tunnel view

Fits and Shakes,
seeking remedies
digging under you

Might be
dicking under you

Might be
Torn asunder true

Pirate borne to plunder you....
Sweat means gold,

what's been found
with lemon -ease?

I've been told
What in our eyes
is what we ever see's

7 seas,
more like 7 deeds,
filled with deadly feeds

Demons like to pleade
with ready rease,

Virus, the life that
spread disease

(it alters our sense
and what we please)

~Ahem,  

no te comas
la verdad
del diablo,
  

today to trust
Might feel bad, but
none brought low

There's an easy in
WE  Strong Standin',
N0ne brought low

and now we win
amen, a man
none start south

Its begun...

Light as
Potent as my prayers
**** the make-believe
I can't wear it, ah

Dark is
Ever reaching
What do you receive?
What you carrying hah?

Balance
(Is) an even preaching :
What we choose to be
*I can bear it ; hah

Come  and help me unweave
those who have been so deceived

Those stuck in in the mud of ...
sputtering " how can it be ?"

**** the you or me, mentality
When Neurons Fire free
and Serotonins drained in me

You Might find Saraswati
sweetly swathing me

In glowing rivers,

poured off the moon
With Omens looming soon

With Omens looming soon
I been choking on my doom.

Dreaming
with Both eyes open

and a heart awoken ,
poorly stoking gloom

Too blind to see hope
but stoked, still
mocking roving

Vroom : im off to tokin soon.
****t this blunt be totaled soon

I Might be total loon
an inverted magic man

who most often enwomb
those caught on the moon

Those stuck in the tune
For those who hear
this earworm, this tea room sloom.

This is for Those muted in zoom:

I've found traction in heaps
Breaking as hard and often

As the risen yeast
When you pass on the least

My Passion is to find
the passion of peace

its Stuck In the  grasp
Fashioned with the sap

of my last energies...
This is for the wynd
O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty’s eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy—
O! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill—
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy’s voice so peacefully departed
That like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell—
O! nothing of the dross of ours—
Yet all the beauty—all the flowers
That list our Love, and deck our bowers—
Adorn yon world afar, afar—
The wandering star.

’Twas a sweet time for Nesace—for there
Her world lay lolling on the golden air,
Near four bright suns—a temporary rest—
An oasis in desert of the blest.
Away away—’mid seas of rays that roll
Empyrean splendor o’er th’ unchained soul—
The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense)
Can struggle to its destin’d eminence—
To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,
And late to ours, the favour’d one of God—
But, now, the ruler of an anchor’d realm,
She throws aside the sceptre—leaves the helm,
And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,
Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth,
Whence sprang the “Idea of Beauty” into birth,
(Falling in wreaths thro’ many a startled star,
Like woman’s hair ’mid pearls, until, afar,
It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt),
She look’d into Infinity—and knelt.
Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled—
Fit emblems of the model of her world—
Seen but in beauty—not impeding sight—
Of other beauty glittering thro’ the light—
A wreath that twined each starry form around,
And all the opal’d air in color bound.

All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed
Of flowers: of lilies such as rear’d the head
On the fair Capo Deucato, and sprang
So eagerly around about to hang
Upon the flying footsteps of—deep pride—
Of her who lov’d a mortal—and so died.
The Sephalica, budding with young bees,
Uprear’d its purple stem around her knees:
And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam’d—
Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham’d
All other loveliness: its honied dew
(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew)
Deliriously sweet, was dropp’d from Heaven,
And fell on gardens of the unforgiven
In Trebizond—and on a sunny flower
So like its own above that, to this hour,
It still remaineth, torturing the bee
With madness, and unwonted reverie:
In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf
And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief
Disconsolate linger—grief that hangs her head,
Repenting follies that full long have fled,
Heaving her white breast to the balmy air,
Like guilty beauty, chasten’d, and more fair:
Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light
She fears to perfume, perfuming the night:
And Clytia pondering between many a sun,
While pettish tears adown her petals run:
And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth—
And died, ere scarce exalted into birth,
Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing
Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king:
And Valisnerian lotus thither flown
From struggling with the waters of the Rhone:
And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!
Isola d’oro!—Fior di Levante!
And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever
With Indian Cupid down the holy river—
Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given
To bear the Goddess’ song, in odors, up to Heaven:

  “Spirit! that dwellest where,
    In the deep sky,
  The terrible and fair,
    In beauty vie!
  Beyond the line of blue—
    The boundary of the star
  Which turneth at the view
    Of thy barrier and thy bar—
  Of the barrier overgone
    By the comets who were cast
  From their pride, and from their throne
    To be drudges till the last—
  To be carriers of fire
    (The red fire of their heart)
  With speed that may not tire
    And with pain that shall not part—
  Who livest—that we know—
    In Eternity—we feel—
  But the shadow of whose brow
    What spirit shall reveal?
  Tho’ the beings whom thy Nesace,
    Thy messenger hath known
  Have dream’d for thy Infinity
    A model of their own—
  Thy will is done, O God!
    The star hath ridden high
  Thro’ many a tempest, but she rode
    Beneath thy burning eye;
  And here, in thought, to thee—
    In thought that can alone
  Ascend thy empire and so be
    A partner of thy throne—
  By winged Fantasy,
     My embassy is given,
  Till secrecy shall knowledge be
    In the environs of Heaven.”

She ceas’d—and buried then her burning cheek
Abash’d, amid the lilies there, to seek
A shelter from the fervor of His eye;
For the stars trembled at the Deity.
She stirr’d not—breath’d not—for a voice was there
How solemnly pervading the calm air!
A sound of silence on the startled ear
Which dreamy poets name “the music of the sphere.”
Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call
“Silence”—which is the merest word of all.

All Nature speaks, and ev’n ideal things
Flap shadowy sounds from the visionary wings—
But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high
The eternal voice of God is passing by,
And the red winds are withering in the sky!
“What tho’ in worlds which sightless cycles run,
Link’d to a little system, and one sun—
Where all my love is folly, and the crowd
Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud,
The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath
(Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?)
What tho’ in worlds which own a single sun
The sands of time grow dimmer as they run,
Yet thine is my resplendency, so given
To bear my secrets thro’ the upper Heaven.
Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly,
With all thy train, athwart the moony sky—
Apart—like fire-flies in Sicilian night,
And wing to other worlds another light!
Divulge the secrets of thy embassy
To the proud orbs that twinkle—and so be
To ev’ry heart a barrier and a ban
Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!”

Up rose the maiden in the yellow night,
The single-mooned eve!-on earth we plight
Our faith to one love—and one moon adore—
The birth-place of young Beauty had no more.
As sprang that yellow star from downy hours,
Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers,
And bent o’er sheeny mountain and dim plain
Her way—but left not yet her Therasaean reign.
STLR Nov 2016
I say ******* to society

I've given up sobriety

Iron man with Iron feet

I will run with no defeat


You don't know the half of it


**** the negativity

I am positivity

This is my nativity


You can't even tell it's me

The future & the past will meet

Everything is obsolete

I travel in infinity


That's why I hit the alt delete

You can check my Windows

No one is controlling me


I do what I *******, please

Apple Fruit and Mac & Cheese

That's how it's supposed to be


As easy as a notice to evict

You're supposed to leave


As easy as a punch to the stomach

Don't expect breath


As easy as can be

Don't expect to be a friend to me


My inner intense sneeze

Rhyme schemes & remedies



I cascade into cadence

of sounds created from synergy


I make friends not enemies

those who refuse will

never hear the end of me


I connect thoughts

Like physical human centipedes


I dissect words like

frog legs & vasectomy


Perpendicular is my literature

Therefore you can't get to me


No gravity

my styles wild

It's outlandish


My sanity is inbound

Like planes landing


You're plain jane

I'm James cameron


I make waves

Then face cameras


I make change

and then hand it


I'd still **** if I was one handed


I'm still ill, I got skills


I'm a digital bandit, lyrically rampant  


spiritually sanctioned


my riddles are of mental chemicals unbalanced

because of Ritalin i spit ballads


how will this shooting effect our generation, public perception

government deception

and of course the voting ballet


tables have turned all is madness

what will the democrats and republicans say about fifty something bodies laying down a decade

It will all sound the same

public & social media hate

what stand will you take?

its crazy how all we do is debate


I stand for humanity, human lives unified not by destruction nor vanity

but the construction of

beliefs higher than religious crosses, Tall Buildings & Canopies


It's classism

Just subtract the can of beans

A ripple of mass ignorance is a brand you see


It's hate

no marketers

Hate is self-marked

We hate the unknown & don't accept

People's accomplishments


It's comfort

Drink your coffee slow

Do you know where a target is?


The same amount of a coffee

equals a meal for starving kids


It's marvelous how important

The stain on that carpet is


When most people don't have a place

Nor know what comfort is


This substance

is brought to you by A sober mind

one that is under the influence

Of motivation injected into the brain

Via increments


My sentences
are a result of elements

Past present & prevalent

I've learned the benefits

of being an optimus

Optimism is key I'm just looking up


I universally believe

that we are capable of being one


just smile when you see Sun

This journey has just begun

- stellarhero
There's a girl from Loyang in the door across the street,
She looks fifteen, she may be a little older.
...While her master rides his rapid horse with jade bit an bridle,
Her handmaid brings her cod-fish in a golden plate.
On her painted pavilions, facing red towers,
Cornices are pink and green with peach-bloom and with willow,
Canopies of silk awn her seven-scented chair,
And rare fans shade her, home to her nine-flowered curtains.
Her lord, with rank and wealth and in the bud of life,
Exceeds in munificence the richest men of old.
He favours this girl of lowly birth, he has her taught to dance;
And he gives away his coral-trees to almost anyone.
The wind of dawn just stirs when his nine soft lights go out,
Those nine soft lights like petals in a flying chain of flowers.
Between dances she has barely time for singing over the songs;
No sooner is she dressed again than incense burns before her.
Those she knows in town are only the rich and the lavish,
And day and night she is visiting the hosts of the gayest mansions.
...Who notices the girl from Yue with a face of white jade,
Humble, poor, alone, by the river, washing silk?
Nitin Raikar Sep 2020
Shade giving Sentinels
Custodians of the environment
Infusing oxygenated life
Extending canopies of bliss!

A fine interplay of synthesising solar photons
Food factories to the plant
Self sustainable gifts from the Almighty God!

Bemoan Human apathy
Fragile relations with humankind
Exponential signs of human induced Ecocide!

Oh Humankind!
Oh Humankind!
Wake up to a Nature’s clarion call
Embrace Mother Earths Sentinels

Tree Huggers of the World
Unite in Unison and Eco harmony
Save Trees!
Save Trees!
Cherish God’s Nature
Permeate Environmental Euphony
Demolish reckless Infrastructural Cacophony !!!

Biospherically Yours Forever 🙏🏻

@Nitin Raikar
ryn May 2017
lush cornucopia of greens
and overlapping canopies.
rays filtered through
somewhat a broken lens.

an arbour found
which carelessly took root.
calling out,
inviting,
offering sanctuary
from the shrill calls
of the turbulent outside.

a harbour
to which my heart
had taken to.
and had intended to stay.

but such is the nature
of man.

     no other man's peace
          can be left unruffled.
     no other man's cocoon
          can be left unravelled.
     no other man's haven
          can be left uninvaded.
     and no other man's trove
          can be left unraided.


like before I'll have to go.
and just like man's exploratory nature,
I leave seeking another
unfound recluse.
inadvertently,
paving the way for more to come.
Marti Jan 2014
Passion  hot like fire
Life is the razors edge and the dance to keep it
skin close beyond skin
Into blood and flesh and red inside
rivulets in streams down my face and the curves of my *******
your eyes don't translate
and I scream, I cry
you don't hear me darling
my love my beautiful fantasy made flesh
killer of dreams when your eyes
turn away from me
because I ******* swear a moment ago we were somewhere else
life wasn't ****** over and things shined from the inside
strings cut dead puppets slump and dangle into space and its
the close of my fingers over nothing in the dark
it's the nothing
it's the void
it's the screams and the hatred and the blindness reflected
in your eyes once so green now bruised up from the inside
from the dead side and the rip tide
I want to drown myself at sea
because the waves never stop crashing and they never let me down but to drag me
deep down into the cold that I can feel as vivid as the fire
the fire I felt in you once felt but you don't feel it now
you never ******* did, did you?
was it ever real?
I built a world around me and I let you in, didn't I?
Play a leading role in the cabaret, dance and make the world ok
because everything is fighting with itself and threes nothing I can do
so yes
pretend
toss me in the waves
let the rocks hit me and drown away the screams of the voices in my head with the roar of the titans in the current of the sea
for never can I find what was never going to be
never again can I believe in that dammed spark I saw in you
I saw that spark die and when you looked at me there was nothing but sorrow
and over the vibrant forest I once envisioned in your depths and the sheltering dreams I once cultivated
into canopies and rich jungles
there have grown not just clouds, but death
and the death is grey and it suffocates me through the memory
of seeing it when you stood in the doorway of my room
and I gave you back your things because they made me cry
so as not to let you see me cry I slammed the door.
But my love my darling, my aching heart and soul
would that you could feel
feel me as you once did in the dark of the night when there was trust in between us and nothing else
bare skin on the sheets and Goosebumps in the dark
I knew your every outline
every whisper in the dark
I want to scream
and howl
and cry
and shake with the fury of the fundamental brokenness of the ****** up world
because I let you in
I let you seem my diamonds in the dew drops, my sparkling canopies through verdant leaves and the warm flutter of a heart beating through the night as it runs and its soft and beautiful and hard and terrifying
and yet it became so broken
smash it with a baseball bat
me and you and we stumbled around through the dark
and we said things we didn't mean
and we let the whispers of other people change what we thought to say
those who never went where we were
and I don't know what happened
it was like that one surprisingly quick and painful moment when everything goes to hell in a blink
I open my eyes
and I'm left wondering how it all got ****** so fast
like a car crash
and waking up after in the emergency room
and darling I still do love you
I could say it still from the depths of my lungs
and scrape it out with a spoon like the pumpkins on Halloween and choke it up with the pain
But you can't because you left me
And I broke my promise never to give up on you
I told myself I was a fool
and that ******* someone cant mean that much if you could break me so
My darling;
you broke my world when you said goodbye
and I don't need you, or need you to need me
But I miss the feeling of seeing your smile, and hearing your particular laugh
I catch myself wanting to share things with you
I miss your eyes and perhaps I am a fool
but I could swear I once saw them as an oasis
I miss the way you smell
and they way we had our inside jokes and
most of all
I miss the dreams we never got
and I sit and cry
wracked, red raw, broken and completely illogical
curved spine in the shower face down
and the water plinks off my shoulder blades
fingertips on the still cool tiles
I shake with the sobs I can't drown
I mourn you
But darling it's not your fault for making me cry
it's not your fault
It's my fault
Because I never could forgive you
And I never could trust you to love me
Not after the first time you left
But I loved you anyways and I was so selfish
I would not accept the love you gave me back
so now I am once more alone
and I cry because I failed you
I failed myself
And that is the truth
My darling, my heart, my everything..
my nothing at all anymore.
Without you my skies are less blue.
I'm so sorry.
At least you'll probably never know my pain.
This is stream of thought and I've only checked it over a couple times. I apologize for any awkwardness in the writing.
It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk
The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
There is no rustling in the lofty elm
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
And interrupted murmur of the bee,
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again
Instantly on the wing. The plants around
Feel the too potent fervours: the tall maize
Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,
With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light
Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,--
Their bases on the mountains--their white tops
Shining in the far ether--fire the air
With a reflected radiance, and make turn
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,
Yet ****** from the kisses of the sun,
Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind
That still delays its coming. Why so slow,
Gentle and voluble spirit of the air?
Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth
Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves
He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,
The pine is bending his proud top, and now
Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak
Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes!
Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves!
The deep distressful silence of the scene
Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds
And universal motion. He is come,
Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,
And bearing on their fragrance; and he brings
Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs,
And sound of swaying branches, and the voice
Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs
Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers,
By the road-side and the borders of the brook,
Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew
Were on them yet, and silver waters break
Into small waves and sparkle as he comes.
Sam Clemens Apr 2014
I think
If people were fire
Your flames would rise a little higher
Than most
I think you would fill the cracks
Of the sidewalk
with wandering wisps of smoke
The dexterity of your flaming fingers
As they reached for strangers faces
Would burn through glacial gazes
Your aura would engulf these **** cold streets
In canopies of heat
You would stretch your ruby wings
To coast the earth
A body forged by nature
Emblazoned with raw truths
And I
I would bask in your glow
And fly a little too close
st64 Jul 2013
oh.have.the.heart.to.welcome.a.stranded.soul

1.
If you’re given the jolly gift of a green ribbon
Would you use it as a link to answers
Or to hang your pretty neck?

2.
If a tree has been yearning to the sky for more than sixty years
Would you now stub out your ciggie in its folds
Or embrace its giving energy?

3.
If such books have been written many millennia ago – saying a multitude
Would you shut your ears to debate and follow blindly
Or respectfully ask bold questions?

4.
If a man kneels repentant in the dust to wipe your shoes
Would you offer a hand up
Or trample on his fingers and spit on his bent head?

5.
If the insipid cashier annoys your sensibilities
Do you leave it unattended
And later sickeningly vent and shout at the wrong one at home?

6.
If a once-beautiful cat lies dead in the road
Would you let your rapid wheels contribute to its *messy mince

Or do the ***** job of humanely scooping away its remains?

7.
If a powerful dream comes mayhap to honour you
Would you ignore its seemingly-confusing message
Or follow its signals (in a maze)  to certain life-enhancing enrichment?

8.
If constant calamity touches your being on stretched resources
Would you keep popping those three sublinguals with alarming ease
Or try to surrender and accept the pain under arborescent canopies?

9.
If an old woman suffers a stroke in the heart of festivity
Would you refrain from visits while sending easy bouquets and fruit-baskets
Or take the time to help her struggling steps to the toilet?

10.
If the moon shines tonight on your wretched suffering
Would you hurl silent abuse and curse its half-light
Or glance up to catch perchance the echo of your deepest wishes in the air around ...?


you.can’t.honestly.say.that.it.matters.not
for.it.touches.you­.too




S T, 16 July 2013
something to be said for intrepid wayfarers out there ....rock on!

:)




sub-entry:  hide

face the wall
go
stand in the corner
don’t want to see your shame
hide your eyes

how do you hide a wall?
easy…. see right through

close the shutters
and hide light in the mind:
escape

but not so easy to protect
a floundering candle.
Xander Duncan Jul 2014
(This is a group poetry slam. The bolded lines are said in unison. I was in charge of the "yellow" sections)

A technicolor finish tainting paint on hate drenched signs
Alex: picketing picking away bits of lips, slicing silence into arms and hips
rainbows were not always so black and blue
Brigitte: yanked from the sky by a brood of vipers, dragged through mud and fire, pummeled until we see double.
Nicole: Poison placed on children’s tongues, “******” never tasted as sour as when describing
Audrey: translucent half circles shamed into not showing their true colors
Allie: We hide the private parts of ourselves, but what if our sheer existence clouds some sets of eyes with rage?
Even the speed of light can’t escape lids clenched tight like fists.  

Red
Brigitte: First crush is a hot sweat and perpetual throat lump
Molten shame gurgling beneath the tender flesh of your candy apple cheeks
Stains memory like spilled red wine
She was intoxicating
Red flecked rosacea readily recalls
Her name a cherry aftertaste, berry sweet yet crimson thirsty
red is the color of metamorphosis. of hormones misbehaving. of flushed ******* and a wish dancing on another girl’s lips.
Of bullseyes tattooed on wrists
Red is a warning of children’s taunts and old, wary eyes. It is the hue of thought blind hatred

Orange
Allie: The shade of autumn leaves slowly passing on
Grim reminders of slowly approaching school hallways that sneer taunts
Orange the color of names thrown into aching ears
******
Thrown into breaking hearts
Queer
Thrown into minds full of orange flickering bonfires of shame
Orange
The color of beautiful things slowly dying

Yellow
Alex: Like the caution signs on winding roads
Barely illuminated when the sky is too dark
Seen too late before a crash
Twisted metal ringing in our ears like
Twisted thoughts ringing in our ears like
When we recognize a crush that sets us apart
That tells us we're
Not normal, not right
Like fading bruises as we tell ourselves
That we're just yellow bellied cowards
As we tell ourselves
That on straight roads we wouldn't crash
And with straight hearts we wouldn't bleed

Green
Nicole: I feel sick
“A little green around the gills”
as I swim away is that why I’m drowning
in these murky waters of
“What if”s and “i don’t know”s
I have always been certain of the leafy canopies and garden inside of me
but this vine of uncertainty sprouted
and is choking me
I should not feel afraid for what I am because
this life is green and sprouting but there are
forest fires of hate spreading
We see the smoke signals all around us
our magnificent green fading to ashes

Blue and Purple
Audrey: Blue curtains block out the world that lurks just outside
Waiting to hurt me.
8 pm.
Purple dusk is gathering outside my walls
The same way the bruises on my heart threaten to eclipse the sun.
I'm scared.
I don't look at the veins  beneath my skin because they
Remind me too much of the purple-red blood
That spills too often from my arms,
Reminds me of my father's face
Purple with rage
When I told him
9 pm. Navy skies I will not see again
Purple pen writing apologies
Heart pumping blood too fast,
No time,
Can't breathe, face purple,
Can't breathe, face blue
Can't breathe.


They took away our rainbow. Let’s take it back.

Purple and Blue
Audrey: I love the way the sky turns lavender before the sun rises
I love the way your long hair and pale curves look
Against the blue sheets
I love not hiding who we are.
We should get Purple Hearts for all the times
The missiles of queer and butch have landed in
The midst of our embrace,
Launched by an unknown enemy before we were able
To twine our hands and hearts on small-town sidewalks
Laying under the lilac bushes,
Watching the day slip into purple dusk with firefly stars.
I love not hiding who we are.

Green
Nicole: once a cowering seed deep underground
Sprouting up through a crack in the slab of
concrete hate concrete rejection
because fresh life will destroy hate
even if it is slowly, one seed at a time
we are not weeds in your garden
green
a safe place the sun shining
fresh sprouting buds anticipating something beautiful
the prelude to a symphony of colors
green
sprouting from the earth
we do not need to prove that we are not unnatural
but grown from the same soil

Yellow
Alex: Somewhere in the middle of the rainbow like I'm
Somewhere in the middle of the spectrum
Associated with the sun and the stars but
Not with day and night
Because things are never quite as black and white as we make them out to be
Yellow, in the middle of pink and blue on the pansexual flag
Acknowledging that there are people out there
Who could love people like me
And yellow like dandelions
Changing daily into pieces drifting away
To end up regrown in dirt
Just like anything else

Orange
Allie: The shade of sunrise
A beautiful dawn of hope and opportunity
Peeking over the horizon
The passage of time and hopefully some ******* laws
Orange the warmth of a new day pouring some happiness into what once was a seemingly endless night
Orange the color of change

Red
Brigitte: sunshine ray burn cozy in your proud heart
blood rush, fire burst, lovesick intensity smoldering in your eyes
Red is a love fusion ignited inward and radiating out like a star
illuminating the night regardless of how dark the nothing is around it
Red is grown up, a rubicund shamelessness sewn with time into the marrow of your bones
Roll out the red carpet, paint roses on the town
Blood is not only death, it’s also life

Audrey: Acceptance!
Nicole: Life!
Alex: Hope!
Allie: Change!
Brigitte: Love!

**Pride comes in ALL colors
In the depths of verdant woods, whispers dwell,
Ancient trees stand tall, with stories to tell.
A tapestry woven with secrets untold,
The forest, a sanctuary for spirits of old.

Through dappled sunlight, gentle breezes stir,
As melodies of nature softly purr.
Moss-clad stones, witnesses of ages gone by,
Guarding the wisdom that time can't deny.

In the heart of the forest, silence is alive,
A hallowed hush, where wild creatures thrive.
The subtle rustle of leaves, a sacred hymn,
Echoing the harmony of nature's eternal whim.

Amidst towering pines and canopies above,
A place where the spirit finds solace and love.
The sunbeams, like leaves, gently cascade,
Inviting us to wander through nature, unafraid.

In the footsteps of our ancestors, we tread with care,
Respecting the balance, the fragile and rare.
For the forest is more than a mere collection of trees,
It's a sanctuary, a refuge, where the soul finds ease.

So let us venture forth, guided by poetic light,
Into the embrace of the forest, an ancient rite.
May we find inspiration in nature's embrace,
And honor its beauty, while we leave no trace.

— The End —