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Advent Oct 2014
coffees are my one-way ticket to contemplation–
to realizations and dramas
it shapes my eyes
to view life like a panorama

coffee makes me think
about the world,
the people
and both combined

coffee connects me to the crowd
to their lives,
sometimes shared with mine

coffee gates to different events and realities
it awakens wishful thinking
and kicks curiosities

coffee, summed up
is a friend
of all those who've got their heads in their *****

it is a guru of life
and other life experiences

                                                   ­       a.t.
CK Baker Dec 2016
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed mural
and water stained tiles

covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
under clouded halogen light  

dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(throwing it off in a
drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
Marco Buschini Dec 2016
Lie within chaos, and create comfort
In visions of endless love.
Riding slowly on the crest of a morning fling, and flutter,
The body stutters
Like a street dancer.
Shine in different directions
And end the yearning
For a love of creativity
By stripping off
And darting
Into a sea of uncertainty,
with a sense of
Unimaginable lust for what keeps you
Ticking like a sturdy clock.
Find the rhymes that combine
With what lies inside the mind,
To stumble upon the future pleasure,
That you unearth with delight,
As you wonder.
Inspiration is born out of desire.
Fuel to fire the birth of creation.
The mind quakes for a taste
Of the cake, that is blessed with greatness.
Anastasia Feb 2018
Marinara is my favourite kind of pizza.
I mean, I can’t really have any others...
Yes, I am one of those ‘annoying vegans’
But I also don’t like the non-dairy cheeses.

I used to order the gluten-free version.
So, I guess I am even more annoying.
However, the dough was so dry and weird
I just could never enjoy it.

I’ve tolerated it though for maybe 4 times.
But seriously, it was quite nasty.
So, please, just get the normal Marinara,
Unless you've got celiac disease.

In which case,
I'm sorry,
You gotta have to get the gross pizza.
Arianna Oct 2018
"... I am old now, as the poets have warned.

The courtyard smiles still as in my youth,
Immune to the ravages of Time:

                     Pomegranate trees swaying
                     In perpetual motion,
                     Lush, and beautiful like flute girls
                     Unfettered by "the weight of years"*;

                     It laughs in garlands of ivy
                     And now, as then,
                     Sweetens my tears with roses."
* = "the weight of years", a term I have encountered several times in translations of Euripides' work; the phrase resonates. :)
Hush don't wake her, leave her in the quiet.
Hush don't wake her, it's the nightmares. Let her battle the internal riot.

Hush don't wake her, there is no longer any need.
Hush don't wake her, now she must take the lead.
Hush don't wake her, yes we have shown her this ledge.
Hush don't wake her, but, you see, she must be the one to walk over the edge.
(C) 2016
Arianna Oct 2018
Tenderly, I stroke your hair,
Caress the ridges,
          rugged hollows of your face;
Trace the grand canyons of your eyes,
          Lashes dusk-flitting lightning-flies;
Match inhale for exhale
The rose-soft breath of your repose.

More tenderly, your Heart
I turn over in my mind,
Unceasingly ⸺
Contemplating it next to mine.
Dozing off, about to fall asleep, when Eros struck me with one of his arrows, and with it: a poem... :-)
Madeline Harper Aug 2018
Faultless lines of an abject realm
Compose, ignite and overwhelm
My soul coarsely brined at the helm
Where devils dance and I am free-

If I am to lie at shallow breath
Sharper still, to a dull smoke of ****
Forsake, adjourn my rage in my death!
And heaven’s halt by false decree-

I know an ocean’s rage is a fire so rare
That these dreams stifle me only a prayer
An empty trespass of the ocean still flares
This realm: a door, my mind: a key-

There is no such soul as the sea
Where devils dance and I am free
And heaven’s halt by false decree
This realm: a door, my mind: a key
And the ocean’s rage as I flee-
Please let me know your thoughts and insight! I’ve been having repitive dreams and I’m writing to understand what I’ve been feeling through this constant dream setting.
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2017
In contemporary belief.
A archer went to a shaman for relief.
A answer to ease fear of thoughts.
Finding his way home, the trail of war became too much.
He struggled with the regret of building a life away from what he knew.
When he came to the shaman.
The shaman hung his head low.
Smelling the stinch of blood.
Still he could not turn his back to the archer.
When posed with the young archers question.
He sat puzzled. Summering the long winded statement to "a great change must be made. Else all will fade."
Knowing of the young archers longing for a maiden.
The archer looked puzzled.
Yet the shaman spoke nothing else.

The young archer was called upon.
A war broke on the opposing side.
They needed his skill in fear that survival was utmost.
Without time to think the archer grabbed his bow. His arrows and darted quickly in the direction the war has taken place.
He quickly coiled arrow to bow. In repeated motion until none were left.
A field of arrows covered the small space.
War does something to a man.
A brief clarity after the slaughter of contemplation.
The shamans words dawned upon him like a snake.
He darted to the shamans place in great discoverly.
Finding that the shaman as well as his possessions were completely gone without trace.
He darted back to the field.
Searching through a forrest of arrow.
A heart wrenching feeling stuck on his face.
Guiding his way through the arrows he found a familar hand. Connected to a familar torso.
A face stuck in agonizing eternity.
The shamans words made more sense.
Backing away from the body.
Thinking deeply. Damning his hands.
The thing that came as habit.
He broke his bow in the reflection of his maiden's eyes.
This war gone astray inside of him
Markus Russin Aug 2018
made some point when i said
'this is it'
and wished for these to be my
most impactful words
Em Dy Feb 12
i have been in deep contemplation these past few days, trying to come up with reasons for what I’m feeling —

but there isn’t anything in particular, maybe i just like seeing you smile, hearing your contentment in laughters, and the tinge of annoyance that your stern voice exudes,

or it could just be you, in its simplest forn.

i miss you, i miss you, i miss you
maybe if i start repeating it over and over again, it’ll lose its meaning

but for now, i wait
in longing,
hoping that maybe one day, you’ll feel the same
Arianna Nov 2018
Shadows of wings
Fall, a fleeting night,
Over the forest;
Winged phantom
Dancing circles before the Sun.

Prowling along the mountainside
Ablaze with light and snow,
The Eagle climbs still higher
Through the blinding Vastness,

And I follow.

A speck emerges
From the twisting kaleidoscope of Morning's blank brightness
Spiraling towards earth

A feather

Alights at my feet in answer
To questions festering unasked beneath the surface,
Warm with the omniscience
Of high-above things:

          A sliver
          Borne hither
          On the breath of the Cosmos.  
* = the last line refers to Abbess Hildegard von Bingen's metaphor of herself as "a feather on the breath of God". It only came to mind as a conceptually appropriate parallel to the feather and to the symbolic significance of the Eagle with regards to this text.
Connor Dec 2018

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote


By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)

This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all its various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -

I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.
look where we are now,
for none envisaged her
fate.  how her alluring
vivacity, her
captivating warmth,
enticing others,
could in an instant
vanish leaving but a trace.
through this:
their thoughts abraded
layer by layer, peeled
raw to despondency.
where nostalgia of her gulps
the corridors,
through muffling rivulets,
melancholic laughs, and
stuttering cracks.
the palpitating enigmas,
talk of mindfulness,
and the swallow of silence
spoken between gaps—
leaves her presence resonating. ©
Copyright 8.17.2017
By Chanel Stevanovich
Arianna Oct 2018
Les étoiles s’étalent
Vers moi, et pendant
Un instant j’ai imaginé
Qu’elles m’auraient dévorée.
I was stargazing one night, and decided to crane my neck so that nothing but the sky was visible. I don't know how long it was, but after a while of staring at pure sky, I swear it swooped down straight AT me! Still remember the jolt of shock, and my heart dropping at whatever it was that seemed to bring those stars tumbling to earth. :-)
ok okay Dec 2018
If I **** myself
Does it make me a bad person?
Or does it make me a good person for realizing how bad the world is
just a thought, maybe i could help making the world better, but i don't believe in fairy tales.

I need an answer
Thinking to himself, he wondered, why it mattered so much? He is a loose cannon on his way to his destination, You see we are mortals to this world just as everyone else.

He always considered himself as an intellectual individual. Yet he simply couldn't put his finger on the point of addiction to intimacy, no night seems complete in lonesomeness.

Some say he is comfortable, others feel as if anywhere he is he doesn't fit in, a person lost in time. Trying so desperately to get ro that point.

The point where he can just forget that there isn't a signifant time or place to be, and at that second he deceived himself into understanding the fact that he is where he needs to be, in a loss.
Outside point of view
Ormond Dec 2018
Scurrilous birds fly by,
To nest in the little painted
Houses left clear for them,
In awkward circles they romp
Their peculiar dramas
With ****** wings.

Do they even witness
The skies revolving canvas,
New masterpieces each day,
How the light shimmers
In the sparkle rays of sun,
How the golden fields,
Of vales in sighted sweep
And dance, airy etudes,
By the windfall gusts
So suddenly arising?

These visions are marks
For but few, who hear time
As it plays in stepped quartets
Of the spiraling seasons song,
For the lone mercies, gifts,
To ones most gentle, merest,
Spirited eyes who gaze deftly,
Deep in sacred days,
From a window.
Louis Verata Apr 12
Hellken arrived at contemplation
What if he had sided with Heaven?
A few ****** wraiths stood among the flames
Yet they did not express pain.

He awoke from his absurd folly
Went forth to the poor spirits
Therein one said:
"The ages to come no one knows but us wraiths!"

The second with a trace of solace stated:
"Life always coincides . . . you have to search and remember not to
   strain over a day. For what is a day since there is no freedom only

The third among them finally broke his silence:
"I was a just man, but let us not quibble in such matters.
   . . . Wanting to believe that I couldn't be deceived! But let me
   tell you Hellken, you wretched among devils, you a witness
   and participant to the first war ever conceived. Who like us three
   wraiths? Who among men in this dreadful place will stand tall like
   pagan gods and not cower at the very sight of eternal shade."

Hellken perplexed finally spoke:
"If only you three had taken up the pen even if it were at the end
   of thy mental decay, in the world today, you would be praised
   'but let us not quibble in such matters' as the third wraith just
   addressed. Many a man have been here, they elsewhere abide
   in a different labyrinth, their only consolation is their earthly
Inspired by The Inferno by Dante Alighieri, especially the ideal that the inhabitants of the Inferno know the future and the character Hellken.
Brad post Sep 2018
Looking back on these pages,
I can’t help but see,
this outlet I’m using,
is not helping me.

I used to use poetry,
to clear out my thoughts,
to “pour out the poison”,
when I was distraught.

Lately, however,
it’s changed in some way.
That feeling of peace,
has been replaced with dismay.

I would pour out a rhyme,
and the pain would recede,
but now the water grows deeper,
and I simply can’t breathe.

I look around lately,
and this feels like a dream.
It’s like nothing is real,
just “simulated reality”.

Going through the motions,
but there has to be more,
there has to be substance,
but where is the shore?

How do I stop from drowning,
when I’m creating the waves?
Fighting to stay afloat,
and trying to act brave.

I guess the simple answer is,
is it’s not simple at all.
I have to keep trying,
if I can’t walk then I’ll crawl.

**** all the whining,
the excuses too,
because I’m in this alone,
and I know what to do.

I won’t give up easy,
and if I should fail,
then at least I’ll know I tried,
to open my sail.

So here’s to the future,
and a heart I hope mends,
but even if it doesn’t,
we’re all just stories in the end.
The Sane:

“A madman would have done it better, I think. No doubt it takes the gall of a brain on the brink
to forge a broad banister upon the staircase of such a prideful pleasantry, and draw out a deep crimson from pink”

The Mad:

“Indeed, one must possess a certain degree of misanthropy, or be stagnantly steeped in iniquity, to wound the facade of poetry, and expose such intoxicating insecurity — Something the lost avoid at any cost to postpone the sting of complacency”

The Sane:

“I’m not sure I follow you”

The Mad:

I arouse myself from joyful slumber
and contemplate the assault
on all my senses
that I know will aggravate me
as I anticipate

the odour of freshly chopped onion
that assails my nose,
in contradistinction
to the aroma of freshly mown grass
that elevates my soul.

When politicians speak their lies
my nostrils twitch,
in complete contrast
to a metaphysical debate
that enchants my essence.

I consider the “gherkin” in London
that degrades my sight,
so divergent from
the view of the Parthenon in Greece
that arouses my spirit.

And as I make the best of it,
I grit my teeth
and hold my nose
and settle back to contemplate
my inner peace and calm.
Igor Goldkind Feb 27
If you love your mind just let it go.
If you lose your mind don't worry
It will find you again, eventually.
Trekking across the tundra;
Scaling the icy ridges 

Crossing a vale of tears.

At midnight, in the dead of the night,

Your mind will tap you on the shoulder

and say ‘Here you are’!

Sitting all alone in the last place I looked.

While you are merely moonlight, 

Pausing to reflect on still black waters:
Make sure your back gate is left unlocked,

The next time you set your mind free.
Arianna Jan 6
The nectar of fruit and flowers
Melts from the canvas,
Overflowing through the frame,
Spattering rich, honeyed rain
In bouquets

          Of burgundy and sky blue,
          Deep green blushed
          With rose pink and gold,
          Cherry red tempered
          With ivory and indigo

Oozing the savor
Of deep-timbred tones
Dripping with resonant flavors
Of color and chiaroscuro,
Painting a picture across my palette
As I feast with my eyes.
Got a thing for still life paintings :-)
Arianna Dec 2018
"... the earth trembles, and my soul swells

with all the frequencies of adoration

enraptured, a dove

          frail speck
          of dust


          weightless with exaltation..."
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