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"coalesce" poems
He wrote of the light of the world, a testament, a lamp to illuminate the place from which he came —     I saw his lighthouse coalesce     out of the cloaking mist, its blade     shearing the sheath of darkness.     I inhaled the dusk bloom scent     - Four O’Clock Flower, Poinsettia, Frangipani -     beguiled by a road, undeterred     by calls in the night, the rain, the unknown way.     I sang with one thousand night-drunk tree frogs     proclaiming an equatorial cycle to the stars,     choristers intoning a chant of existence.     I rode balanced between     the cycling engine's torque and the     reflective cast of my foreign skin.     I felt the grip of ignominy constrict the stir     of my drink, amongst hands toasting     the crush of entitlement’s bearing.     I walked where people dwell, and stop     to greet and tell news of the market     or of their nets, bearing the sea’s returns.     I savored the song in his speech,     a seasoned stew, unshackling the tongue     to ring like the steel of a drum — a tapestry unfurled: a world paced by sirens of wind and wave, embroidered on the earthbound side of heaven's abiding blanket. Copyright © 2017 Gary Brocks
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
CARIBBEAN IDYLL with REVERENCE for DEREK WALCOTT
I: In which I amid the whirring lights and emerald felt drift through a raucous flashing casino searching for a table with an open chair so I can finally start to play the game II: In which all of us are together again at last for a family gathering— Thanksgiving supper, perhaps— and, as we greet each other, I happen to glance skyward, unthinking, and notice that clouds of a turbid cumulonimbus gray are beginning to coalesce overhead. I look up again and notice that they have spun into dozens of funnel shapes, each of them starting to reach down for us like the ashen fingers of Death. We huddle down in the cellar, praying the storm will pass.
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Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 7:00 AM UTC
Two Recurring Dreams
Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight, languid lips coalesce like a tessellation, the vexing vines wilder the incandescent- glimmer but the burning impression remains. Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst- a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic- episode. Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of- sentiments stinging on the mellifluous lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs- the euphonious recital of a sonnet that- is unacquainted to the mind. Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire- behind the myriad of evergreen forest as the insouciance wildflower approach. Precocious primrose locked from the scorching sensation of a wildflower exhibited a lassitude facade like a - waning lantern fiery on its final residues. In the distant a wildflower and in the presence, an idyllic primrose: so scarce and so strange.
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Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
Exuberance Aflamed
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gelato Nation There is a place, location secret, mine to keep, mine with which you to tease, make you envious, a back room 'office' jealous guarded by a barkeep, whose chosen invites sweeps you into a reality that is what you will it to be. But nota bene, note well, remembrances of things swell from your past be the only tongue spoken here.   Code word entry only, a shared whisper. Perhaps One Woman, may reveal its pleasures, if she so chooses, which are: gelato laughs, poetry snaps, Beatle songs sung ensemble, by rag tag strangers self-collected accidentally, sung de rigeur off key by voices lubricated by cognac, laughter, and the coldest of white wines, issue of the very soil upon which we sit.   Words to value properly, not in my possess to capture the few moments in time when; Strangers transform themselves into a triple A nation united, that will never be S&P; downgraded. A holy alliance celebrating July 4th all night long, all participants signatory witnesses to its gelato conception, as well as pallbearers to its last drink dissolution, the fullness of its lifetime a vintage of a few hours extant, a vintage, once drunk, is a history, forever gone. Mixologists please record: One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist with a dash of museum director, and do not forget the Hundred Year Old Woman, whose Dowager Princess Daughter (she, a mere eighty)' from Central Park West clarifies all of life dilemmas with the singular analytical tool of: But is it good for the Jews? **But t'is the barkeep who is the leavening in this evenings human pastry-petrie dish.** He makes the pastiche,         the ions of personalities, coalesce best, guitar strummer, singer of songs that were our multiple national anthems when we were pseudo-rebels starting out on our long and winding roads.   Long the King of the Keep! Long live the memory of our Gelato Nation, may it stay sweet in our antique collection of the best moments of our intersecting lives. July 2011
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Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
Gelato Nation (July 4th, 2011)
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gelato Nation There is a place, location secret, mine to keep, mine with which you to tease, make you envious, a back room 'office' jealous guarded by a barkeep, whose chosen invites sweeps you into a reality that is what you will it to be. But nota bene, note well, remembrances of things swell from your past be the only tongue spoken here.   Code word entry only, a shared whisper. Perhaps One Woman, may reveal its pleasures, if she so chooses, which are: gelato laughs, poetry snaps, Beatle songs sung ensemble, by rag tag strangers self-collected accidentally, sung de rigeur off key by voices lubricated by cognac, laughter, and the coldest of white wines, issue of the very soil upon which we sit.   Words to value properly, not in my possess to capture the few moments in time when; Strangers transform themselves into a triple A nation united, that will never be S&P; downgraded. A holy alliance celebrating July 4th all night long, all participants signatory witnesses to its gelato conception, as well as pallbearers to its last drink dissolution, the fullness of its lifetime a vintage of a few hours extant, a vintage, once drunk, is a history, forever gone. Mixologists please record: One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist with a dash of museum director, and do not forget the Hundred Year Old Woman, whose Dowager Princess Daughter (she, a mere eighty)' from Central Park West clarifies all of life dilemmas with the singular analytical tool of: But is it good for the Jews? **But t'is the barkeep who is the leavening in this evenings human pastry-petrie dish.** He makes the pastiche,         the ions of personalities, coalesce best, guitar strummer, singer of songs that were our multiple national anthems when we were pseudo-rebels starting out on our long and winding roads.   Long the King of the Keep! Long live the memory of our Gelato Nation, may it stay sweet in our antique collection of the best moments of our intersecting lives. July 2011
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86
. A whirlwind of stagnant breeze disturbs the warmest stillness. Solar rays shimmer and coalesce forming images of the Summer Girl. Fragrant scents in light colours float gently from her hair. Flowers laced with golden thread adorning her head like a wreath. Chasing the shadows of clouds across the heat haze so strange. Her body lithe and newly alive darting and flitting dragonfly style. Arriving at the painting of the dawn and here to nurse the day. Leaving at the doom of sunset, wisping images of the Summer Girl. ©Pagan Paul (07/06/14).
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Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC
Summer Girl
~ *solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice, the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward longer days; much like the journey our sun takes, love solstice then is that moment of arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel in life... and in this, the moment a Sagittarian and Capricornian separated on two sides of the solstice, turn, collide and coalesce.* ~ hers, the waning side, winter's reprise, calls to the night, at height of eventide. his, on ebbing turn, the sun's reverse, together rise to step as one at winter's ball. their dance across the sky 'neath moonlit nights. two in love, in lockstep of the stars above, collide and coalesce, their waltz amidst the delicate pearls of a Milky Way stage! no more his lonely path among the stars; his heart she's swept, to never dance alone; her arrow sent with bow, piercing to the marrow, holds his life, his very soul. bold and daring, her voice of caring, soothes his troubled heart. he, her promise, calls to her adven’trous heart, two stepping toward a rising warming sun, in birth that spans the space and time between, forever now as one; this their solstice of love! ~ post script. *she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress, he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.   mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be more varied.  their births under different signs; his in the wintry heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured, captivated each the other’s heart.  you’re not likely to see them separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one, but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
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Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
solstice of love
~ *solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice, the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward longer days; much like the journey our sun takes, love solstice then is that moment of arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel in life... and in this, the moment a Sagittarian and Capricornian separated on two sides of the solstice, turn, collide and coalesce.* ~ hers, the waning side, winter's reprise, calls to the night, at height of eventide. his, on ebbing turn, the sun's reverse, together rise to step as one at winter's ball. their dance across the sky 'neath moonlit nights. two in love, in lockstep of the stars above, collide and coalesce, their waltz amidst the delicate pearls of a Milky Way stage! no more his lonely path among the stars; his heart she's swept, to never dance alone; her arrow sent with bow, piercing to the marrow, holds his life, his very soul. bold and daring, her voice of caring, soothes his troubled heart. he, her promise, calls to her adven’trous heart, two stepping toward a rising warming sun, in birth that spans the space and time between, forever now as one; this their solstice of love! ~ post script. *she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress, he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.   mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be more varied.  their births under different signs; his in the wintry heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured, captivated each the other’s heart.  you’re not likely to see them separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one, but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
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62
Memories, memories, Demons destined to remind! Memories, memories, Extricate them from my mind! Alas! They echo toward me As ripples in the brain. Evoked by love and roses They prickle me insane. Oh, I remember… *The hour summons a restless, withered afternoon During which I succumbed to ravenous decay. I desperately chased feelings like an unhinged loon, Swifting through my pond in fear, panic, and dismay.* Impeccable beauty & fanciful expectation: I was thwarted by both. Each summoned its own Distinct, rolling shadow. Oh I remember… *I was washed forth by whistling tides of tomorrow, Clinging to a heart I could not own or borrow. My feelings, whisked in transit, dizzied by the fray, Yearned for second chances to conquer yesterday.* Gelid gloom would Permeate my heart, Tearing me apart. Haunted by a feeling I could not possess, I drowned in Darkness. Oh I remember... *Loneliness was chronic; slowly it tapped time; My life become a poem lacking voice and rhyme. As silent afternoons would coalesce into years, My dreams burst into smoke & hope thawed into tears.* Memories, memories, Are nothing more than that. Memories, memories, **** **** **** I do not wish to remember, But dare not to forget Moments that once plagued me: Moments I regret. *No matter how strong be my will, These memories will haunt me still.* Oh how I wish not to remember...
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Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
Memories, Memories
Temples throb. Ears burn red hot. Myriad thoughts Collide, coalesce and split. Coalesce again. A dark sand storm of doubts Fear and panic brew In the charred barrens. Hands to my face. Distant melancholy themes. Overwhelmed. Violent conceptions Need release. Red flows Through graphite At Fahrenheit 4-5-1.
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Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Red
Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence Sweating long necks on a production conveyer The boardwalk Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce Ocean meets carnival Teen screams and seagull shrieks A multitude of color variation Red to black A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema To ease the pain of the vain and pale Summer at Happy Hampton Beach Arcade upon arcade Clinking bells and whirly sounds “You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year
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Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
Happy Hampton Beach
The lapping waves Knock around moonlight: Coalesce, ripple; Kestrels in their nests, Reflected faces; bodies still ring -ing
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Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
Kestrels
Hearing fogged drops of rain Precipitate violence in the Amazon, Against the placid Leaves; Left disheveled the unfiltered forest.   Dampness divorced from its thin vapor blur Plummeting memoirs retold, the cradled Past returns its own, splintered light Edging the threshold of infinitude, Axiomatic slippage each fell cold. Fallen moisture recovered, Once nourished the ancients; Correspondingly, we align. Lineal descendants, Tides of March, Sibilant waters flow through us. Hoary myths, now hallowed imminent. Ponderous, our torn skies cleft, clouds suffused in grey─ The emergent pour, casts a montage of Freighted silence, implicit tapestries Sewn seamless; our kindred froth ashore. Pedigreed continuum bound in common plight, Unseen flood of halcyon Dust and flesh coalesce beneath the torrent; Genetic lines merge ─ intersection of Time and eternity. From the same water we drink. Lineal descendants, Tides of March, Sibilant waters flow through us. ©2012 W.S. Warner
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Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
Tides of March
Control: Enticing me I am at your mercy My delicate nature in need Bewitching every facet of my being Command: Overtake me Demanding my rapture Leading me to my submission Freedom escaping me in this ******* Coalesce: Ensnaring me Obedience resolved Craving the softness of your flesh The grasp of these restrains enslaves me Complete: Liberate me Promises delivered This total wonder entangling Rescuing me with absolute fulfillment
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Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
Liberation
this facade has cost me damages beyond repair bridges to ashes glitter to sand i feel undeserving of looking up the sky how foolish of me to think i'd ever shine as bright my fear coalesce into a person and i am running running as fast as i can exhaustion sitting heavy on my back chains wrapping around my ankles i trip over the roots of the past and suddenly i am falling down a rabbit hole with no end in sight the stars, they are more stunning than i recall i have never seen as many as tonight oh, they twinkle, they wink at me as i fall down deeper into the earth dear stars, you must forgive me for my shameless mistake, okay? okay.
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Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 2:20 AM UTC
i want the ground to swallow me up
Are you alive? Tendrils tickle the surface And billows Bloom from the core, Ribboning thinner than those things which breach seawalls, Seeping impermeable To flirt with all sides of this vessel. I saw in him the beauty The same as I saw the beauty of suffused ink, mingling In delicate patterns of fluidity and filament. His release quivers momentarily, Hung in fluid stillness, and Flushed with a desire to saturate. In saturation, one may think it Possible to be falling Up through a falling surge. We two coalesce at the bottom.
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Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 7:23 PM UTC
The Squid
that's all you have. Ive got words too but I don't use them to describe my "inner landscape". they just get in the way of "experiential knowingness" of my personal energy field of unconditional love, they just get in the way of being my beingness, for I am where there are no edges. For I am and equal  individual independent and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe, which you can immerse yourself in, merge into and become as one with me, like I am eternally one with you. if you can drop the Mind and Conditioned Identity in the head, of the body that you are incarnated in temporarily, just for this your latest lifetime, and it could be your last lifetime as a human being.. that's the only condition--drop the Mind--let it go--you don't need it-- but it needs you to deceive and manipulate. The Mind needs you to survive  but you don't need the Mind to survive for you are as I am and we all are eternal and self sufficient, beyond edges and dimensions. Just imagine the Universe and all that is in it inside your head, impossible you cry but that's truthfulness in action. I know who you really are even though Ive never met you and am unlikely to ever meet you,and when I say you I don't mean your body--. I don't mean your "name" or curriculum vitae or certificates on a wall--or photographs of a face among billions . I mean you--the individual Isness--that small part of me that you are--as I am that small part of you that I am. The body is just a vehicle made from mere flesh,to get you from point A--birth--to point B --death--. it has attributes and emotions and possibilities but it most definitely is not and never can be YOU or me--. Youre incarnated in it in order to realise your true nature as a small but equal independent individual and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe. You are,like me,the Isness of the Universe incarnated for this lifetime in the body that surrounds you  but unlike me you are in the grip of Mind permanently--unless you dissolve Mind consciously. Minds are the obstacle to union with the Isness of the Universe and I am the Isness of the Universe incarnated in this body-- just like you are--and so the mind in the head of that body is the obstacle to union with me. The only difference between you and I ,female or male, is that I am permanently Mindless by choice and you are struggling towards becoming permanently Mindless--unknowingly. My struggle to become Mindless and Conditioned Identityless is over thankfully,these last few years. I live in the body but the body is not me. I use the body for my many pleasures but no pleasures of the body can compare to the pleasure of being in union with the Isness of the Universe. One can only be in Union with the Isness of the Universe when one is Mindless. Words are absolutely useless for describing my inner state-- for my inner state is not of the body-- it is not made or nourished by the body-- my inner state can only be experienced. Words cannot set you free--they can only make you a lifelong prisoner of Mind--the controller of what should be your words--but arent. And individual Minds must coalesce into GroupMinds which are  families and relations and clans and tribes and races and nations and religions and politics and all the other groups that prevent you from becoming your true nature which is that of being a small but equal,individual,independant and autonomous  part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe. You have always that encompassing edge to your body--the skin. I have no edges--my skin is permeable and insubstantial. I am the Universe extant. I am the Isness of the Universe. www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
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Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
Its only words about the Isness of the Universe
that's all you have. Ive got words too but I don't use them to describe my "inner landscape". they just get in the way of "experiential knowingness" of my personal energy field of unconditional love, they just get in the way of being my beingness, for I am where there are no edges. For I am and equal  individual independent and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe, which you can immerse yourself in, merge into and become as one with me, like I am eternally one with you. if you can drop the Mind and Conditioned Identity in the head, of the body that you are incarnated in temporarily, just for this your latest lifetime, and it could be your last lifetime as a human being.. that's the only condition--drop the Mind--let it go--you don't need it-- but it needs you to deceive and manipulate. The Mind needs you to survive  but you don't need the Mind to survive for you are as I am and we all are eternal and self sufficient, beyond edges and dimensions. Just imagine the Universe and all that is in it inside your head, impossible you cry but that's truthfulness in action. I know who you really are even though Ive never met you and am unlikely to ever meet you,and when I say you I don't mean your body--. I don't mean your "name" or curriculum vitae or certificates on a wall--or photographs of a face among billions . I mean you--the individual Isness--that small part of me that you are--as I am that small part of you that I am. The body is just a vehicle made from mere flesh,to get you from point A--birth--to point B --death--. it has attributes and emotions and possibilities but it most definitely is not and never can be YOU or me--. Youre incarnated in it in order to realise your true nature as a small but equal independent individual and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe. You are,like me,the Isness of the Universe incarnated for this lifetime in the body that surrounds you  but unlike me you are in the grip of Mind permanently--unless you dissolve Mind consciously. Minds are the obstacle to union with the Isness of the Universe and I am the Isness of the Universe incarnated in this body-- just like you are--and so the mind in the head of that body is the obstacle to union with me. The only difference between you and I ,female or male, is that I am permanently Mindless by choice and you are struggling towards becoming permanently Mindless--unknowingly. My struggle to become Mindless and Conditioned Identityless is over thankfully,these last few years. I live in the body but the body is not me. I use the body for my many pleasures but no pleasures of the body can compare to the pleasure of being in union with the Isness of the Universe. One can only be in Union with the Isness of the Universe when one is Mindless. Words are absolutely useless for describing my inner state-- for my inner state is not of the body-- it is not made or nourished by the body-- my inner state can only be experienced. Words cannot set you free--they can only make you a lifelong prisoner of Mind--the controller of what should be your words--but arent. And individual Minds must coalesce into GroupMinds which are  families and relations and clans and tribes and races and nations and religions and politics and all the other groups that prevent you from becoming your true nature which is that of being a small but equal,individual,independant and autonomous  part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe. You have always that encompassing edge to your body--the skin. I have no edges--my skin is permeable and insubstantial. I am the Universe extant. I am the Isness of the Universe. www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
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59
the tessellated tile floor of my existence, once alabaster white has sullied under the steps of a muddied life spent wading in the river bank attempting to coalesce a series of seemingly random events into a fabricated web spun of the finest thread. only to find the ephemeral now a fractious flowing river so violent and cold from the melting spring snow, whitewater breaks against primordial stone like titan thunder atop olympus, rattling our bones because legends follow entropy but chronos begets chaos in mythology.
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Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
Time|Chaos
Buzzing emerald jungle swoons—            hip kitty soul eyes embrace the red wanderer. It’s a tactical chess game,         both aware of the other’s presence. Nebulous black perched in shadows,      desert red fool skips like a rock.           when eyes eclipse each other an electric hummmmmmm buzzes as their hearts start glowing like a peridot ember the wind whizzes and twists through their perfect curly hirsute            rushing luscious aurora energy pulsing            to and fro like giddy hearts exchanging notes in class… Their blurry bodies bound forward     fox scorching ground while panther burns branches         lightning leg movements paws calls thunder           sun red hot fuzz lunges up            midnight cool moon goddess panther slams down               colors collide and crash and cling and clap             spines ignited in tye-dye holographic rainbows their claws singe each other’s skin their eyes swirl black holes holy howls and breath coalesce as one love as one sight, all encompassing mythical tail told to all through campfire gypsies and artists canvas panting the dancing fox and panther the bhavacakka.
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Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
Panther and Fox
Your sigh—flute’s trill upon my waiting neck, Awakens chords that hum beneath my breast. Melodies where naked spirits—erect, Notes wild and free, where passions seek their crest. Each touch, a whole note, bodies, andante, coalesce, A prelude to a symphony of our scents, Where songs of pleasure swell, we gently press, Our emotions we softly bare—no consent. Your skin, a sun-warmed drum—hands descend, We resonate in rhythms—smooth and deep. Exploring with you, lost in sweet desires, ageless spent. I taste the salt where gentle currents seek sleep. Our inner music flows, a tide without a name, In Gaia's Soothing Haven, our bodies, unashamed.
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Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 5:46 PM UTC
Our Baroque of Bare Breaths
*"Mere seconds in time and specks in space"* - Kristy Renae Dalton We are seconds and specks, you and I... We meet, crash into each other, mingle and coalesce. Not knowing where we'll be in the next. We exist in one another... But never together. A perpetual dance between time and matter. An eternal struggle to share a plane. You and I... We live as nothing but mere seconds in time and specks traipsing in space.
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Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
Seconds & Specks
*Firelight Affairs & Atmospheric Starlight, Rainbow Instincts Enlightening Her Satellite Twilight, Quivering Symphonies & Colorful Voices, Lyrical Abstracts Of Her Monochrome Noises, Prismatic Rage In Her Eternal Sage, Resonances Whispering Her Voices Onstage, Vertical Ensembles Of Her Ecstatic Fashions, Witty Odes Enlightening Her Arrested Passions, Prancing Temptations & Provoked Mysteries, Entrancing Her Artistic Waves & Surging Tapestries, Storyteller Flares On A Perpetual Lease, Intoxicated Mirrors Of Her Spiritual Release, Lucid Memoirs & Condensed Revelations, Inquisitive Glances Of Her Cupid Flirtations, Crimson Armors & Her Reflective Scents, Illustrious Serenity Embossed In Her Scenic Ascents, Fluoresce Echoes & Her Scenic Prelude, Coalesce Spotlights Guiding Her Summer Nudes. - 01:24AM -*
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Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Firelight Affairs & Atmospheric Starlight
Plick, Pluck, the tiny little strings in my mind. dancing to a different tune each and every day, the world plays my songs. eyes wandering around the room while I play with my thoughts, like the child I never won't be. cross-legged and slumped over as the heated droplets dribble down my spine, and fall from my weary lips, that which are worn from the words I never got used to saying, singing the songs of my each and every day, coalesce the thinkings that have somehow let me dance to where I sit today, forlorn petals fall from my branches in beautiful pastels, cursed to live in the winding winds. Aday to each and every day that I sing and prance within my tiny little heart, washing my pains away. ill-weighed upon my shoulders, as yet i dance some more, beneath the turbid downpours engulfed in shades of red. i wish't to see the blue, the green, the steam, arising from my skin. narrowly weeping within my little box of horrors i keep by my side, in remembrance of each and every day i have and will yet shed a tear. haunted lullabies revel on and on, each and every day, i crave the pieces of the peaces i'd once known. to here, today, i shut my eyes, and into the blackness bursts forth colors i've never seen, and will never see again. to see that which i've never seen. silent shapes shaping away falling through my fields of vision, and inform themselves to the visions I write today, so here, i simply continue, to plick, and pluck, the tiny strings inside my mind, each, and every day. ~Robert van Lingen
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Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC
Each and Every Day
Plick, Pluck, the tiny little strings in my mind. dancing to a different tune each and every day, the world plays my songs. eyes wandering around the room while I play with my thoughts, like the child I never won't be. cross-legged and slumped over as the heated droplets dribble down my spine, and fall from my weary lips, that which are worn from the words I never got used to saying, singing the songs of my each and every day, coalesce the thinkings that have somehow let me dance to where I sit today, forlorn petals fall from my branches in beautiful pastels, cursed to live in the winding winds. Aday to each and every day that I sing and prance within my tiny little heart, washing my pains away. ill-weighed upon my shoulders, as yet i dance some more, beneath the turbid downpours engulfed in shades of red. i wish't to see the blue, the green, the steam, arising from my skin. narrowly weeping within my little box of horrors i keep by my side, in remembrance of each and every day i have and will yet shed a tear. haunted lullabies revel on and on, each and every day, i crave the pieces of the peaces i'd once known. to here, today, i shut my eyes, and into the blackness bursts forth colors i've never seen, and will never see again. to see that which i've never seen. silent shapes shaping away falling through my fields of vision, and inform themselves to the visions I write today, so here, i simply continue, to plick, and pluck, the tiny strings inside my mind, each, and every day. ~Robert van Lingen
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42
This wilderness, I aimlessly wander through. A deep breath The air, it holds a tangible primitivism I follow a beated path along the brook As it guides my directionless saunter Stillness of mind and habitat coalesce. Dragonflies dance with my eyes As I ponder their surreal spirits Loneliness is liberated from every definition Identity is lost in the harmonies of every root and leaf and songbird Begone to all the names and labels, Now It comes in the abstract waves of shades and colors, Now This wilderness, One organic tellurian phantasmagoria. This wilderness, A warm ablution for the cold comfort of my reality As it humbly sits Just beyond my backyard picket fence Waiting.
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Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
This wilderness,
There’s too much air to breathe here. A swirling mass of emptiness heaves through the crowd’s lungs. Stop. Won’t everyone just god **** Someone sings at the bus stop just outside my window. Wires hum, ignoring the melody that person has so carefully constructed. A hiss. Rising steam. An abrupt end. Another listless night. A beetle flies in through my open window. It takes me twenty minutes to help it back out. I think about wandering the forest. But am too scared to confront loneliness, and the frailty of human existence. There is a gap forming already. Here. A dialectic that seeks to sublate my very identity. Subsume those closest to me. Until I am completely alone. There is a bush down the street which is in bloom right now. I think the sun is too hot. The flowers are wilted. And the pavement is littered with dead bees. Voices. An exchange. A language game. Two horizons meet, merge, melt. ‘Wait--’ The horizons drop. If only for a moment. And the abyss is revealed. The only universal in this world is that we are all alone. Trapped in our own understanding. Forever interpreting one another. I am waiting for the day the wind carries me out the window. Perhaps it will never come. Perhaps I will live a long boring life amongst friends, family, and all those people I despise. Oh well. No point, either way.
0
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
my mind is a haze of indistinct thoughts that fail to coalesce into speech
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly over the perceived salience of his musings    It was as if there were a veiled mystique that left hopeful understanding ,                    ambiguously obscured ... His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale , like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,                    drowning acumen ; albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions , scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye                     Illusive accord ,                     beclouded by seeming stigmas                     borne of the flesh ;                     delicately sensitive nuances ,                     misunderstood imperfections ,                     bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ... In the hush of pensive repose , flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ; bequeathed as if darkness was magnetically drawn towards light , purging muted understanding ...                     Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,                     accepting , that all answers sought                     are not meant to be understood A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ; the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved , befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat , understanding a circle is vulnerable , only makes it stronger ―                     hence ,..                     it had been written                     in countless misunderstood ways ... Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ , tattooed on introspective walls far removed from the afterglow of light , where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;                     heart speak hushed , deft words avowed                     in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper                     soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow                     from unseen depths , permeating                     deeply within inner realms The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :                "Spell words that bind together passing strangers                    *Coalesce  thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone                  Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual                  hearts and minds with words of love and light.                    Conjure written  spells to bespeak sincerely ,                  a faith in unabated love*" and yet ,   he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words …words grasped from emerging thoughts                    drawn in to the light                    searching for other adept words                    to recite yet another way ,                    sketch another word-scape ,                    written with the relentless inexhaustibleness                    of an unstoppable awakening ...   Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light                    he will write it again and again ,                                           ... finding another way to be set free ...                                                                  Harlon Rivers
0
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
A fog that seemed to hover ...
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly over the perceived salience of his musings    It was as if there were a veiled mystique that left hopeful understanding ,                    ambiguously obscured ... His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale , like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,                    drowning acumen ; albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions , scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye                     Illusive accord ,                     beclouded by seeming stigmas                     borne of the flesh ;                     delicately sensitive nuances ,                     misunderstood imperfections ,                     bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ... In the hush of pensive repose , flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ; bequeathed as if darkness was magnetically drawn towards light , purging muted understanding ...                     Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,                     accepting , that all answers sought                     are not meant to be understood A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ; the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved , befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat , understanding a circle is vulnerable , only makes it stronger ―                     hence ,..                     it had been written                     in countless misunderstood ways ... Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ , tattooed on introspective walls far removed from the afterglow of light , where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;                     heart speak hushed , deft words avowed                     in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper                     soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow                     from unseen depths , permeating                     deeply within inner realms The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :                "Spell words that bind together passing strangers                    *Coalesce  thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone                  Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual                  hearts and minds with words of love and light.                    Conjure written  spells to bespeak sincerely ,                  a faith in unabated love*" and yet ,   he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words …words grasped from emerging thoughts                    drawn in to the light                    searching for other adept words                    to recite yet another way ,                    sketch another word-scape ,                    written with the relentless inexhaustibleness                    of an unstoppable awakening ...   Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light                    he will write it again and again ,                                           ... finding another way to be set free ...                                                                  Harlon Rivers
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It's when your stomach hurts and you dont remember why you were sad and nothing is really super important except yourself and you just laugh because you can and the sky is so pretty and you can feel sunshine's essence exuding from the holes in your skin and your bones are filled with electricity but it's rubber and you can do anything ANYTHING anything because you're you and nobody else can be you and the world is there to look at, so full of pretty things and it doesn't matter if there's somebody or nobody or everybody by your side because it's just that perfect moment when the love in you body is a droplet it hits the ground and wrenches itself into shapes patterns that coalesce you are enraptured, the sight is burning into your retinas the perfectional bliss that is being the will'o'the'wisp that is your soul entangles with the white light and branches the creature that is imagination and folly folly with soft ears and kawaii smirks ***** patches of grass the birds are landing in your branches now congregational hazards social anxiety disillusioned, giving in but you don't mind the flocking free-loaders YOU'RE A STAR stellar beings never slow down for a moment unless they are enjoying the view witness the retching as spectrum slideshow the colors spill out, tumbling across the sidewalk out of her veins she is god we are free be happy lift your arms be happy
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
what is this happy