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Nash Wolfe Dec 2014
A dedication to a Lost Love.

If only my simple words could captivate every emotion that I am trying to convey. To summarize an illustrious story which I hold close to my dearest heart; then I would give you the entire world and then even more. From the deepest skies I would soar, just to bestow a higher power that you deserve; I would revive our love and mark every ocean shore for all to glance upon. My heart sets on fire and burns in blazing flames every time I hear you say “I love you”. I lose control, my nerves kick in and I am frozen within time; with you everything seems endless. The taste of your sensational kiss halts my heart; for when we depart, I hold on to that very last kiss and cleanse to it compassionately; the thought of you ponders everlasting.




The night is glorious; as they lay beneath Earth’s stars and galaxy. He comforts her and clings to her compassionately. He rolls his love on her back, as he blankets her in his arms; he glances through her glamorous eyes and finally spoke with a smile. “I see everything through your eyes. I see all that’s dark and brutal, to all that’s beautiful and filled with light. I see my whole world through your eyes.”
    
       She looks at him with silence as she tries to find the words to speak; then in a moment the words filter out like a waterfall. “For years I could only wonder how your kiss tasted, your lips against mine. Your smell eluded me, like I was knocking on Heaven’s door, just waiting to see the angels fluttering, an exquisite sight to see, an incredible beauty, to love unconditionally; a romance that is endless. Through your soul I can read an illustrious story.”

     He pulls her close; where he can hear every breath that circulates through her lungs. Then he gives her a soft kiss and a flutter of butterflies pours out of his stomach. “Our lips touch and it’s like a surge of electricity between our bodies.”

     “Gravity stops existing. We float through mid air. Flying through Heaven, our lips are still connected.”

     Kevin’s heart skips a beat as it starts to pulse rapidly; pondering over the love of his life, he only wishes to freeze time. “We float through space and time, an infinite dream, free to create our own reality; just you and me.”

She turns away from Kevin as she looks out in the wilderness. A cold breeze shifts towards her, as brisk bumps crawl up her spine. Everything shifts away; the open sky becomes more transparent. The moon still beams overhead; echo of howls vibrate through the wind. The silence between them leaves them both helpless and inert. She stands underneath a tree; the shadow it caste conceals her image. The leaves ruffle the peaceful atmosphere, with each crinkle and niche. The grass swiftly moves under Kevin’s body as he remains on the ground alone.

She glances at him persist, as his eyes connect with hers. They exchange each other’s worlds. Then she starts to dream off in an oblivious state of mind. She quietly speaks to Kevin. “As we drift together through the bewilder reality, we are bound by vines weaving around one another. Correlating a sense of compassion, as we endeavor this sensation, I get lost forever.”

Kevin stands up as he reaches for her soft hand and pulls it close to his chest; every beat of his heart she felt through the palm of her hand, then he began to speak softly. “Forever lost in your eyes like an infinite dream, the most amazing fantasy, our bodies weaving together, our lives intertwine like vines on a building.”

As she grasps his hands she stands bold; her eyes become cloudy, the night manifest deeper. Eagerly she speaks. “I pledge to this raven that stalks the night and watches over our bound vines, preying on its victim, not wanting to lose sight of this *******. It lingers with emotion. For our vibes are so strong that it paralyzes every eye.” She glares directly into Kevin’s eyes. “They choke because they need air to breathe.  We memorize them with our feelings’.
    
     Kevin’s eyes shift as they change from gray to a deep green; he becomes weak as his knees break beneath him. Slowly he loses balance, but before he falls his love catches him; closely they stand together, their strength is upheld by each other. Kevin lightly touches his love’s face and deeply speaks. “We steal breaths from those around us to feed our imaginable love growing ever longer day by day”.
  
     Nearly out of breath, she tenaciously speaks to him. “Unstoppable, undefeatable, I’m breathing slowly as I get closer to a man that sustains a capacity that is like no other”. She grabs onto his chest tightly not wanting to ever let go. “Our love burns hotter than fire and can freeze your heart like ice. What we share with each other you can only seek it once in a life time”.

       A light breeze fills the atmosphere around them; the dark starry night still covers the sky. He stands up, leaving her side. She remains inert on the ground as he stands by a tree grasping for the words to rebut. “It burns ever hotter and freezes ever colder. Growing ever stronger, able to stop an army and break the strongest barriers, never faltering jolts of lightening across the blue sky, able to conquer all in the path of this love”.

She rises to him, as they share a kiss. Their life changes, the sun finally peeks over the horizon creating a new day.

They go their separate ways; as Kevin let’s go of his love’s hand and kisses it one more time. He walks alone with tension in his mind. Finally he reaches home and immediately goes straight to his room.
    
The window in Kevin’s room blows a cold breeze; curtains flutter as his door slams shut. Kevin only hears silence; a pin drops to his floor and lingers through his chamber. The moon’s light is the only source that shines for his sight. Kevin lays in his prison, alone pondering over his life.

“So much going through my mind, my head is spinning in circles; I am losing my balance and I am about to break. Circumstances are not where they should be; my life is slowly crashing. Everything is changing so fast, I don’t know where to catch a grasp. My strength is going down the drain and I don’t know how much longer I can hang on. My paths are caving in; every road feels block. I toss and turn through out the night, just to escape my oblivious mind. I take one step forward to fall three steps back”.

Kevin rolls over on his back, as his mind and heart contemplates over his emotion that tears him apart inch by inch. His insides are ripping out and he holds them in his hands. Kevin’s stomach turns as his heart explodes. His blood pressure rises; then he sinks into a deep inner thought.

      
“When I break, when I fall, when I lose myself and tumble, if I give all I am, when I’m ready to take, will I be strong enough to fight, as I wait? If I search will I find the answers that are hidden? All that I have forsaken, when I am expose to the openness, expose to the brokenness.”

       Kevin’s eyes grow tighter as he shields them shut. Complete darkness surrounds him; Hell burning up in flames touches his skin, red marks crosses his flesh. The heat rises, Kevin’s walls begin to melt; as his life crumbles beneath his feet. He still searches for a higher power to relieve his despair. Kevin’s mind is screaming out and silence falls to the ground. He lays on his casket alone; as he murmurs to himself.

“Here I am it feels like I am not breathing, like I am only dreaming! When I sacrifice, in order to let go, when I lose at every battle, my heart gets fainter as you get closer. I lose control, my body in despair, shaky and scared. I tremble with each step, afraid to fail, to make a mistake. Make me feel like you did when I first gazed through your eyes, I was seeing through Heaven’s gate. The angels flying based upon fate, I get lost in them for days, like pain doesn’t exist on the prosperity of serenity.”

     Kevin falls dead, as he drifts away in a dream. Clouds fill his mind, and then draw blank. Through a far distant Kevin hears a faint voice. The sound of an angel intervenes in his head. She creeps closer and her image starts to become clearer. Her skins like a smooth mocha cream; her eyes cleanses with the night, beauty that he has never seen. Kevin’s eyes become focuses on the angel; as she draws nearer. She opens her arms and softly speaks. “Fall into my arms gently, let me take control. M arms will be your security; your protection to keep you safe in this world. Let me guide and lead the way, a new beginning to another chapter. We can create a life together, fast or slow. I will ease your oblivious mind and erase all of your pain.” The angel comes closer to Kevin, as her hair blows in front of her face. She stares at him then softly conveys. “I will show you a form of love that you desired for so long; there are no limits to this sensation. We are free to take it and run, together we unit as one.”

     Kevin sits in polarization as her glances at the angel. He trembles with each word. “I want to wrap you in my arms and keep you in my warm embrace; to hold you there till the morning light breaks through the window. I will blanket you in my warmth that is my everlasting love”.

     She lays in Kevin's arms as his body intertwines around hers. The atmosphere gets cooler; the clouds are still flying through mid-air. She grabs his hand tightly. “Let’s keep each other company and share a deep compassion, traveling through countries marking territories. Let the moon be the only light, it beams softly on your face. I'm allowed to see your mystical eyes; they tell a long story”.

     Kevin falls back, and the angel follows too. “I will take you through the highest mountains, the lowest valleys, across the coldest tundra’s and the hottest deserts. We will go through the deepest jungles, and the furthest reaches of the ocean, from the rings of Saturn, back to the grass of Iowa, without leaving our room”.

  “Through the great valley we will go; I will follow you till the end of time. You are worth fighting, let all the pain and heart ache subside. Our love is much greater than a storm that roars thunder and strikes lightening.” The angel slides her hand across Kevin’s face; he feels her warm embrace through the palm of her hand.

     Kevin closes his eyes and words unravel within time. “Our love reaches farther than the longest roads; it’s deeper than the deepest ocean. It is greater than the greatest features of human history, more amazing than the pyramids, and larger than life of the greatest man.” He pauses and takes in a deep breath and allows it to circulate deep within.

     The angel flutters her beauty to Kevin, as his eyes widen with every movement to makes. She solemnly floats away, but she still remains within Kevin’s sight. She quietly murmurs. “Let’s unravel this story and see how great this love really is, unlock every bind that once trapped our hearts. It can finally be released and freed. Lets forget about the past and the pain it once caused, for nothing else matters. We pulled through this far; still happy as a child’s laughter, withering deeper to a place like no other”. She takes a quick pause as she grasps for air. “The rivers flow much deeper, waterfalls flow much heavier, and affection growing greater. For it never decays as it ages; it just becomes more valuable through every night and day.”

     Memorized by every word she conveys, Kevin expresses his love like never before. He shifts to his left side and holds on to his treasure tighter. “I am ready to explore the love we have like the tombs of the ancient kings. I’m ready to take the twist and turns, never knowing what is yet to come, only knowing we’ll be side by side the whole way through, till the end of time, just you and I, on our road of love” Kevin’s heart aches with  prosperity, explosion that is within his soul. His body shakes and quivers every time his heart makes a beat. He looks at this creation as if she is all he could ever see. Kevin kisses her gently; his heart races more. Their lips disconnect and a light surrounds them. He stands behind the angel and whispers in her ears. “My soul is yours, along with my heart for you to take, to do what you wish. My love for you can not be measured. I hope to be in your heart for the rest of days”.

       Kevin’s arms remain blanket around the angel, the night that covers the starry sky. They both look out in the clouds where peace is found. She turns around in Kevin’s barrier and gently the crisp of her fingertips glides through his hair, the lips of the angel moves like calmness of an ocean. “Time can’t capture every split moment. I deprive your touch, your love, never wanting to let go. I still held on waiting for the day. Years passed over and we reunited; we picked up where we left off as if we never lived years without each other”.

     Kevin reminisces for a moment and draws himself back to the past. He stands by the angel as the memories play over in his head. “Days came and went and still I thought of you; the months came and gone and still I thought about you; the years rolled by and by and still I thought about you. Then I thought of you no more because you were in my arms again. You and I entangle like vines climbing up the wall, wrapping around each other”. The angel gives Kevin a light kiss and says her goodbye. He watches her leave his presents then says, “Wait, my love when I will see you again?” The silence answer Kevin’s question
The clouds wither away; the bright sky turns dark and gray. Everything around Kevin vanishes, then a cloud of smoke appears and a whisper conveys “Open your eyes and you will see me soon”. Kevin immediately opens his eyes and there his love was lying next to him. They both lay there sleepless and inert, as they fall asleep together. Their dreams intertwine with one another creating serenity.

         The waves collide as the ocean breaks to sonority then to calmness. A crack in which divides Heaven and Hell, with all the immoral things some how beauty is still found. There is a place where there is peace known as serenity. It helps people see everything; as the ocean departs and a new wave deprives the collision roars till the end of time.

      Kevin took a deep breath and let it lingered in the wind; then took a glance at the love of his life and spoke alluring words. "Walk through the veil from reality, to make believe. Allow your mind to drift into serenity pieces of you and me, together to keep in your heart and in your mind. I will show you the path to serenity."

       The love of his life pondered over Kevin’s words then responded back: "Will you drift with me to a place where there is serenity? A sacred piece that lets us be together, where there is no pain or suffering. Only the monuments that represent all that is make believe, a separation from reality.” She pushed her hair aside. “Where dreams guide the way, saving a memory to capture and remember. Will you grant me this serenity? Walk with me to this place that is unknown."

     Kevin took a few steps forward, and then paused. "This place is known to me. It’s anywhere that you’re with me and anyplace that I am with you, in the darkest dark or the brightest bright, the highest high or the lowest low. Serenity is you with me; happiness is me with you."

     She tightly closed her eyes and drifted away to a paradise in her oblivious mind. "I search for serenity when I reach my darkest hour. When the sun sets and ends another day. It’s never too dark when you’re with me. You’re the greatest light source that I will ever need.” She smiled at Kevin. “Happiness is a term that portrays an emotion where at times it’s inde
1
I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body
were not the soul, what is the soul?

2
The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself
     balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of
     his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist
     and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the
     folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the
     contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through
     the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls
     silently to and from the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the
     horse-man in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open
     dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or
     cow-yard,
The young fellow hosing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six
     horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, *****,
     good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown
     after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine
     muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes
     suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d
     neck and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s
     breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with
     the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

3
I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and
     beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness
     and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were
     massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal
     love,
He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the
     clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he
     had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
     fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,
     you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of
     the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit
     by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

4
I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round
     his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I
     swim in it as in a sea.
There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them,
     and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

5
This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
     all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what
     was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
     likewise ungovernable,
Hair, *****, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all
     diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
     and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
     love, white-blow and delirious nice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the
     prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born
     of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the
     outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the
     exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as
     daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
     sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

6
The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is
     utmost become him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to
     the test of himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes
     soundings at last only here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the
     laborers’ gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as
     much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has
     no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and
     the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

7
A man’s body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.
Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized
     arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings,
     aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in
     parlors and lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers
     in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring
     through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace
     back through the centuries?)

8
A woman’s body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and
     times all over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful
     than the most beautiful face.
Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool
     that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

9
O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women,
     nor the likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the
     soul, (and that they are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and
     that they are my poems,
Man’s, woman’s, child, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s,
     father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or
     sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the
     jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the
    ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger,
     finger-joints, finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-*****, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body
     or of any one’s body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, *******, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping,
     love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and
     tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked
     meat of the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward
     toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the
     marrow in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of
     the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!
Pierson Pflieger Apr 2012
A bright light annoys my eyes.    I can’t get away from it- I don’t like it.  
Tired and overwhelmed with obligations and requirements,
I’d rather not complete or even think of-
I’d rather they did not exist.  

What do they prove?  

I am comfortable and lazy.  
I would like to sleep, but the smallest agitations are an unbearable annoyance.  
Obnoxious voices speaking a tongue I don’t know, laughing at my condition-
I’d rather be asleep-
quiet and asleep.  

I want a cigarette.  I hate cigarettes.  
I don’t hate cigarettes; I rather like them, especially with coffee,
but I hate how they manipulate me.  
I want one, but I’d rather sleep.  
I wish I could smoke in bed.  
I should have showered before bed.

Self-confidence comes and goes.  
Sometimes I don’t care what people think; other times it’s all I think about.  
It’s judgmental; it’s worry of acceptance, worry of not belonging, worry of standing out.  
People- including me- want to be individuals, but are not brave enough.  
Society does not accept true individuals, it kills them.  
How can I be unique or allow true self to be and true identity to exist when there is fear?

When I see her, I wonder what might have been.  
There was a connection, or maybe just an attraction.  
We lead different lives.  
She is pure and good in the church sense; I am pure and good in my own way.  
But, these two lifestyles could never intertwine.  
I must admire what she is from a far.  
I should not dwell on it too much because it is unfair to the present.  
We always want to know.  
We want to know the future, but I will get there at my own pace.

Lying in bed, I don’t remember most days.  
I only remember lying in bed the prior night, trying to remember the previous day.  
Sometimes I hate my body- not enough muscle, skinny legs, blah hair.  
Against society's standards I am mediocre.  
They know what a man should look like; I am not him.  
We are all not the portrayed he or she.  
Those people only exist on screens.  

This is the last place I want to be.  
Stuck in a class I couldn’t give a **** about,
listening to a Professor I can’t understand drone on and on in his sing-song,
marbled-mouth accent.  
Occasionally trying my patience with a drawn out, “You noh wah I main?”  
No.
I don’t know what you mean.  
I can’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth.

Apparently, the only way to be a good teacher is to jump through hoops and
dance for the cloudy heads of a department.  
If I play their games, I will have blisters on my lips from having to kiss too much ***.  
I do not need to be validated, approved, passed, accepted, or liked by them to be a good teacher.  
I know I will be a good teacher- they have no influence on that.  
They only have the ability to stall me and help steal my money.

The worst is when the pain sinks into your eyes, dull and deep.  
The pressure tunnels around your temples and tries to bore a whole through your forehead.  
Six Advil cover up the pain- only for an hour.  
Everything within your skull pushes out like a balloon on the brink of bursting.

The worst is the restless anxiety experienced lying in bed right before sleep.  
It is the empty churning of stomach, half shots of adrenaline that tickle your veins,
while the mind races like prey trying to evade predatory jaws.  
Your heart flits, skips, and stops,
as your mind obsesses about the seemingly infinite list of things you have to get done.  
That only adds to the stress- since you’re not sleeping, something could be accomplished.  
The worry heightens, the obsession increases until- sleep.

An instant of eye contact can be rare and intriguing.  
Instants too small to have time, can convey so much.  
Eye line meets eyes, eyes lock- message of vast information conveyed.  
A minute moment, an insignificant second, so monumental.  
This blip exchange ignites an internal fire of emotion or ruins your day.  
The messages that can be exchanged in the smallest,
feasible time frame are vastly unique to each experience.  
Polar and extreme: Love me - I nothing you.  
Eye contact conveys an incredible amount of information, but perhaps to be keen to it-
is to be vulnerable.  

What if it were acceptable to give into every desire or want?  
What would the world be?  
Would it be that much different or would the internal, human morale still enforce invisible boundaries?  
What would we do?  
Would the private become public?  
Would others see our lowest animal drive?  
Humans are the only being capable of acting above or below their nature.  
Rough.
Raw.  
Human animals.

It is ironic when something is built up to high expectations, but turns out anticlimactic.  
Was that it?  
That is what we waited for?  
When something does not meet expectations, it creates hollowness, an emptiness, or unfilled hole.
  
What do you do?  
What can you do?  
You can learn from it or you can let it bring you down.  
It is better to look for the positives
than dwell on and become disheartened by the negatives.  
Learn and Grow.

I am a poor student.  
I have been loaned money I will never be able to pay back.  
I am paying for a degree, to get a job that will never return the favor.  
I am strangling myself financially for a “higher education”, but am I getting it?  
Perhaps it is not the institution’s fault; perhaps, it’s my own?  

so much depends
upon

a green dollar
bill

glazed with American
greed

beside the fabricated
dream

I am poor and will be poor, but I will be happy.  
Everything costs.  Everything has a price.  Life is expensive.  
How can I save?  What can I afford to put away?  
When forty dollars in your bank account is a pleasant surprise-
surprises are cheap.
This is a piece I wrote for a class while in school.  The goal of the assignment was to capture "agitated consciousness" (write the moment you wake up, experience high or low emotions, right before falling asleep).  First thought, best thought.  I recently found this and have only made minor changes.  It is not my favorite piece I have ever written, but there are moments I enjoy.  If you have never tried to write like this, I would encourage it.  It's challenging, fun, frustrating, and revealing.  Thanks for reading.
Megan Oct 2018
Early Sunday morning.
Brisk wind, no jacket.
Waiting for a taxi,
shivers in my bones.
Shameful looks from my mother -
she thinks I stopped out last night.

Monday afternoon.
The whole school knows.
Taunts, laughter, names
as I walk through the corridors -
isn't school supposed to be safe?
I see the boys
- I hate them, I hate them, I hate them -
feel ***** rise through my throat
and the blood in my brain thicken.
Hear words that cut like knives:
"****", "*****",
"I can't believe she had a foursome".
I cannot walk into the canteen,
it's full of piercing lion eyes
searching for their prey;
me.
I am called into the head of years office,
heavy footsteps echoing with sorrow
as I enter.
Concerned eyes break through my skin
creating bullet holes in my fragility.
The words I couldn't face
finally enter the wind.
"Was it consensual?"
No, no, no, no.
Cheeks wet with cascading tears.
The truth finally said,
spoken aloud like an oracle.
I wait for fifty minutes.
Fluorescent police uniforms march the halls.
And my mother.
She's crying, she knows,
she hugs me.
Tells me she's sorry.
In the small back office
surrounded by teachers and police and my mum,
words are exchanged.
I see moving lips but cannot hear the words.
My senses are drowned by the event leading up to this.
They gave me a name
in the bedroom that night.
"It", like an object.
Unhuman, unfeeling.

The same Monday evening.
Next thing I know I'm at home.
Brought back to consciousness
with an assertive knock at the front door.
More uniforms, more police.
Mum explains that they have to take my statement.
I panic, cry -
I've done a lot of that today.
I hide some things from them;
I'm too ashamed.
They have cameras on their vests,
tiny eyes watching me,
recording the moment I recall my trauma.
My body hurts,
but my brain and my heart are in agony.
They ask me to take my clothes off.
How can they ask me that?
Explanations are given to my mother,
her face conveys the emotions that I'm too numb to feel.
It's protocol,
they need evidence of any injuries, they say.
Choked sobs escape my mother's mouth
as I take my clothes off.
Shades of black and blue litter my body.
*******, thighs, stomach, *** -
my skin edited by violent hands.
My most intimate areas a part of a police file forever.
They take my ****** jeans, underwear, top all into evidence.
They leave.

Tuesday morning.
I am told not to go into school
by the head of year.
The boys are still allowed.
Motionless body lying in bed,
I stare at the wall for hours.
All of my energy put towards breathing.
Mum skipped work,
sitting outside my bedroom door
like a prison guard -
terrified I would hurt myself.
I can't speak.
How do you tell the woman who raised you
that you don't want to be alive anymore?

About a week later.
I still haven't been to school.
I've barely moved from my bed.
The physical marks have almost vanished,
but the sadness cripples me still.
I have to go to a police station today,
a forty minute trip.
My best friend comes.
I'm numb, I cannot feel the car moving.
I have been numb for over a week.
Isolation caves in on me -
I'm in an interview room with a policewoman and man.
They say three's a crowd,
but I still feel completely alone.
Just over six hours.
Recounting the event took over six hours.
The walls of the interview room painted grey,
or maybe that's just the only colour I can see now.
I didn't cry.
I haven't cried since the Monday that everything became real.
Fragments of the night flash through my mind,
it's becoming difficult to close my eyes.
I went into the interview room while it was light outside,
I leave and it's pitch black.
When I check the time on my phone before I hand it in as evidence,
it's almost 11pm.

Another week passes.
I'm still not allowed into school.
Most of my friends have given up on me.
They don't want to be associated with the girl who cried **** because she was embarrassed of her foursome.
But no-one knows what happened behind that door.
The horrors that occurred,
the venom in the insults they spat at me,
using my body as a human rag doll.
The police call, the detective assigned to my case.
My heart drops
as my mum tells me what he says.
"They're treating two of the boys as witnesses,
only one as a suspect."
I go to my bedroom as I feel my heart strings sever.
Try to sleep,
but I cannot close my eyes.
I see the room,
the darkness,
their eyes.
I smell sweat and shame.
I hear them calling me "it" -
a worthless victim.
I feel the poison on their fingertips.
Dead the second they touched me.

Months pass.
Less contact with the police.
I go back to school.
Adjust to life as 'that girl'.
Learn to sleep again.
Deal with the nightmares and flashbacks.
Stop panicking every time someone touches me.
Open up about the pain I feel every day.

It's February.
Ten months later.
I haven't heard from the police since December.
When I ring
they tell me my case has been dropped.
They say there's a lack of evidence.
What they really mean is that no-one in court will believe
my story against the three of there's.
I expected this.
The blood on my underwear
does not count.
The pictures of my body painted with bruises
do not count.
The six hour recording where I describe every soul breaking ******
does not count.
The countless therapy sessions trying to fix the flashbacks and panic attacks
do not count.
The nights I planned how to die
do not count.
I used to be a person.
Now I'm just another **** case,
unsolved,
at the bottom of the pile.
What's more powerful??
Words or silence??

Silence of course

Because

Words only conveys what is said
Silence conveys what's not

Words conveys what is meant
Silence  conveys what's not meant too

Words ceases your liberty
Silence lets you free

Words creates bonds
Silence develops those

Only until I realised

Silence can ****,
If its from you!!

Utter a word at the least
And set my soul at peace!!

I take back what's all said
Silence may be powerful
But
Definitely
Not
Beautiful

Tell me,
"I love you"
Cné Nov 2017
With stolen moments, I could get lost in you,
with the ease of walking into a silent room.
Everything in the world fading away,
when I feel your lips on mine and what it conveys.
A kiss, a smile, your touch on my face
a treasured sight, this secret place,
where we connect and share our art,
tenderly sharing bleeding hearts.
Tori Hayes Jun 2015
:)
In a world full of more complex emojis
The simple smiley face stands alone
The one that adorned shirts and other paraphernalia long before the iPhone
It conveys a simple message too
Happiness
Something we all want, and need
But in the digital age, it's hard to tell by this colon and apostrophe
When someone is truly happy
After all
It's not our chosen punctuation that conveys how we feel inside
It's our actions
And you can't understand those through the phone
Andrew Parker Jul 2018
Bones for Breakfast
July 2014

Bones are like peanut brittle.
Gnawed on til toothless,
by us old mangy mutts.
Tastes sweet tender as a drop 'o dew,
Feels soft in a bride's whisper, "I do."
But speaks crunchy crackles of Tic-Tac language,
instead of ******* out bad breath breathe shards in.

Although bones may break,
become buried under archaeologists' noses,
slip through crevices cracked and crumbled.
They were once anything but brittle,
covered only by skin yet to be bruised,
backs yet to be battered,
blood yet to be spilled,
faces yet to witness the history yet to be written.

I do not believe we are supposed to eat bones,
but we break them down into shreds of paper-back tidbits,
consumable by children during the snack time called 'history class.'
Our teachers are creating cannibals,
consuming culture on textbook platters,
but pay no mind while wearing bone bibs,
they leave out the thickest cuts of meat and just eat the ribs.

History is a living thing, dressed to deceive those who blindly believe.
I remember reading George Washington's claim to fame,
"I did not chop down that cherry tree."
But Mr. President, what about your enemies?
Because every revolution needs people to die for the revolutionaries.
Ain't that a sweet piece of cherry lie pie?

I learned Genghis Khan sure got it on with many women,
but didn't read about Alexander the Great's great ***,
much of it involving a same-gendered mate.
Wait, was that a mixture of patriarchy and hetero-normativity?
Words that weren't worth the pennies to print?
Who hired these fact checkers for the publishing industries?
I'll give you a hint,
Learn who has the most to gain from condemning intellectual content and corrupting it with a corrosive lack of social conscience.
As textbook reps tell professors, "Buy our books with cute new features."  But since when was that what made good teachers?
And so, these chapters get served to us on poo poo platters,
passed off to be refreshing as fresh mint pours in for corporations like Pearson Education.

I surveyed the lay of the land in Egypt,
purveying the literature of pharaohs.
Pyramids meant to portray a portrait of powerful people,
not a foolish riddle.
"Who built them," we ask.
But not of curiosity for whose backs broke building.
Its whose bones mummified beneath are made into mythological creatures along with Sphinx features.

I was taught the Holocaust was a unique horror story,
along with the catch phrase "never again."
Yet those 600 pages neglected to educate about the "re-education campaign" against the Cambodians.
Where was I to learn of the Rwanda civilization's tensions and exterminations?
Perhaps those pages were buried in the mass graves and dirt ditches, deserted and desecrated like the indigenous individuals we now call Native Americans.

Tell me more about art again.
It conveys a message about the historical humans experience,
but I think that message got lost sometime in the Renaissance Period.
When men had beards and wore colorful clothing,
but now that is either unprofessional or deemed gay as a bad thing.
When women were depicted full-bodied as that meant social status,
but now they are painted in photo shop with air brushes and slimmed slick.
We've created a glorious new empire of gastrointestinal bypass Groupons, and have either **** out or surgically removed all the bones we swallowed to get here... So, who's ready for lunch?
Jonathan Pizarro Sep 2011
Words and letters are written on walls
Some as vandalization others as messages
Words and letters are written on walls

Words and sentences are written on billboards
Some serve as advertising others to arouse awareness
Words and sentences are written on billboards

Words and paragraphs are written on my brain
Some serve as inspiration others to support guidance
Words and paragraphs are written on my brain

Words are the weapons I use in a society that controls my image
Words are the only thing that can divide me from being ghetto or educated
My words are the only thing that I can vouch for like my *****
My words are the root of the intelligence that propels this sentence
Letters in my words stand close to each other eager to make a statement
If I do not show my words, my letters of cheerfulness begin to fade away

Sentences are the compound of the mind that begs to be understood
Sentences are made up of a tyranny chained down by a trendsetters mood
My sentences contain verbs, nouns, adjectives and subjects that explain a lost purpose
My sentences define the meaning of an ironical imagery that leads me to dream
Sentences paint a picture that any blind character can see
If I do not paint my sentences how will I ever show my brains art gallery

Picasso used the paint brush to express his moods and feelings on a canvas
Shakespeare and Allan Poe used ink to utter their thoughts on a sheet of paper
Somewhere in my mind the collision of words and paint occurred
Where I fused the essence of writing with the masterfulness of painting
My words and sentences have met a significant other called paint
Paint and words are my new best friend

Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls
Some are called vandalization while they represent artistic skills
Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls

Paint and words are written on subways
So the eyes of the young and old can see the traveling message
Paint and words are written on subways

Paint and words smack up at my face
So that the world sees who conveys this message
Paint and words smack up at my face

Paint gives visual to what words cannot picture
My Paint serves as a method of expressing the mind’s tears and smiles
My Paint becomes a tour guide through the loops of divine wonders
Paint is just a stepping stone to the magnificent path of beauty

A brush is just a brush depending on who holds it
A brush is like the keyboard I constantly battle with to unleash my mind
A brush can combine negativity and positivity and make peace
A brush unites celibate beliefs with those whom are perverse
Words and sentences along with paint and brushes help explain my motive

Jonathan Pizarro
Lost Cause © 2011
April 17th, 2011
EgoFeeder May 2013
To prolong such an absence of vexatious jove
Denying the will of instinct to arouse elation
Self-inflicted desolation in which we all strove
To create an empty shell like a fronted castration
All the while being comforted by a depressing superiority
As the uniqueness of our struggle blends in with conformity

Yearning for our relations to meet with a tragic end
Anticipating the consequence of a self-appointed woe
Glorifying our character as we passionately pretend
To endure an exclusive emotion that we all undergo
This proclamation of individuality through insipid gloom
Conveys nothing but the relative depiction of what I assume
jeremy wyatt Feb 2011
Phelisa was a fairy child
of bluebell stock so meek and mild
but in her heart burned flames and fire
fly into danger her desire

once old enough to learn her trade
an uneasy truce with her queen was made
ten years of duty then she is free
to choose her own true destiny

Phelisa born with eyes of fire
outflies the wind no bird flies higher
bravest of all none can compare
Phelisa you must have a care

Be careful watch your little ones
take every day just as it comes
one day the call will come to you
till then protect as we all do

Sweet human children in their beds
hover at their little heads
watching waiting keep them safe
every little human waif

What dreams a Fairy keeps within her flower-soul
and when a warrior small but splendid fair
does not hold watching weans a noble goal
spends hours adding feathers to her hair
so when she flies to battle forces grim
her visage such a terrifying sight
her countenance conveys the chances slim
that any evil will survive the fight

Phelisa where do you go?

Dreams on noble strife and deeds
draw you away to the woods,
but the child you watch is threatened
by a man who means no good


Phelisa drifted to the nursery window, tired from swinging her wee silver sword all day.
Practising her craft with the agile birds and fencing with her friends the falcons.
She was puzzled at the windows edge, she could not understand why the cot was tumbled to the floor, and why the dog howled so.
Then she smelled them, baby cries in the air, hot and sweet and frightened.
And something else Mother was cold afraid.
She cast desperately around the cottage, no sight or sound, but the smell led into the summer evening, mixed with car-smell.
Follow then, if you can little one and help you wee charge.

"I get what I want, or the baby gets hurt..."
Evil swine, all these years hiding and he found her still,
dragged them to the little Austin Seven and drove them to the middle of nowhere.
A quiet wood where noone will disturb them.
Stood there now, screaming baby in his foul fists, eyes full of lust and excitement.
He pulled them towards a small cliff, do what He wants and the child may live, all she could think off, don't and he throws the baby over the edge.
He runs on with them, but frowning, what is this at his feet,the  brown of animals, small warm things keeping pace?
As they run they crush in, making him stumble, making him afraid.
He quickens his pace, strikes out, God they are everywhere get away!
He drops the child and throws the mother to the ground.
Running for his life now, running as  hares and rabbits and foxes swarm around his legs and make him fall over the drop, to his death.

Phelisa comes as the Austin drives  away
Too late to help her features pale and grey
She understands the debt she owes this wood
And makes a vow for its eternal good

Whatever good you did today
I will a thousand times repay
nothing will enter in this wood
that does not come with dreams of good

No beasts each other here will slay
tooth and claw you each will stay
within the confines of these trees
all will live in care and ease

And I will stay with you all here
keep you free from strife and fear
to guard you for the deed of grace
when I was slow and failed the chase

In the rocks at the foot of the drop
evil dwelt
torn faced weasel, twisted and old
Mad man's spirit drawn inside
growing together in their poisoned hate
the loathing of life and love pure
biding its time

For nigh-on thirty years or more
peace reigned upon the woodland floor
beasts walked in fearless glades and rides
no need from tooth and claw to hide
but on one spring day all was fear
Phelisa why are you not near?
Flying out too far this day
following falcons she wants to play
The evil weasel it takes its chance
will lead phelisa a hellish dance

Running into the wood so sweet
pattering horde of weasel feet
heading to hunt and drag away
something small and sweet today
a baby hare they corner at last
he tries to run but cant get past
The Beast with relish starts to whet
his appetite on this leveret
Carry him back then to your lair
frightened meat will taste so fair
down with us among the stones
all we leave will be his bones

Our fairy comes and sees the scene
the fright and fear where they have been
Her vow she has to still uphold
or die as she tries it to uphold

Racing to the weasel's den
at the dark place of the glen
sees the last one running in
sees the hatred and their sin

But at the entrance of the burrow
her fire eyes dim and smooth brows furrow
the weasel entrance is so slim
her Fairy wings won't let her in
But in her burns a fire so bright
nothing will deter her fight
so kneeling in pain she softly sings
as mother -hare bits off her wings

In the deep dark dread is there
terror of the little hare
evil circles all around
forcing it down to the ground
but as the teeth are reaching out
hear the smallest hero shout

"No blood will spill of this sweet thing
my spear and sword and heart I bring
I gladly give my life today
to see this young hare run away"

srtiking silver blade of light
held with all her strength and might
Arthur himself or Great Glyndwr
would not have swung their blades the truer
battles hard and battles dread
blood and bites and screeching dead
all the time she fights them back
not one gets past with its attack
then only one is waiting still
the evil spirit hard to ****
her fairy blood runs down her hair
blurs the fairy face so fair
" You tire and I will **** you soon,"
the weasel spoke an evil tune
But fairy strength is hard judge
and this wee one did bear a grudge
"You took my baby in the past
I failed to reach him flying fast
was not enough but creatures here
they rescued him from pain and fear.
Now I repay them with this life
and cut you with my silver knife
my spear of dandelion form
I plunge into your deadly form
my wings I lost to pay this debt
the ****** back I feel the wet
The pain I carry will all pale
as your foul heart I do impale!"

Her deed was done her battle won
returned the frightened hare's wee son
so proud and fierce a Fairy Queen
The bravest one the world has seen

Epilogue

The terrier and the Rotteweiler were in a frenzy
running wild, tearing at the sheep in a passion of hate
Then the scent of fresh young blood a child
racing over towards the sleeping parents and the wandering baby
the terrier got ahead straining for first blood
Then whispering voices
Tumbling sky flowers pain and blood stillness
Puzzled as it died fairies small and winged crowded its corpse
Blood dripped from their spears.
The Rottweiler drew close, ready to tear them all apart.
Behind them was a hare, armoured with wood and gold, spikes of silver armour, a Fairy Queens gift.
Astride it, scarred-faced and wingless, the old wise fairy sat smiling.
" Stand aside ladies, this one is mine...."
I
Thy trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;
Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader's art,
Nor ****** of piano strings,
Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs.
The kingly bard
Must smile the chords rudely and hard,
As with hammer or with mace;
That they may render back
Artful thunder, which conveys
Secrets of the solar track,
Sparks of the supersolar blaze.
Merlin's blows are strokes of fate,
Chiming with the forest tone,
When boughs buffet boughs in the wood;
Chiming with the gasp and moan
Of the ice-imprisoned hood;
With the pulse of manly hearts;
With the voice of orators;
With the din of city arts;
With the cannonade of wars;
With the marches of the brave;
And prayers of might from martyrs' cave.

Great is the art,
Great be the manners, of the bard.
He shall not his brain encumber
With the coil of rhythm and number;
But, leaving rule and pale forethought,
He shall aye climb
For his rhyme.
"Pass in, pass in," the angels say,
"In to the upper doors,
Nor count compartments of the floors,
But mount to paradise
By the stairway of surprise."

Blameless master of the games,
King of sport that never shames,
He shall daily joy dispense
Hid in song's sweet influence.
Forms more cheerly live and go,
What time the subtle mind
Sings aloud the tune whereto
Their pulses beat,
And march their feet,
And their members are combined.

By Sybarites beguiled,
He shall no task decline;
Merlin's mighty line
Extremes of nature reconciled,
Bereaved a tyrant of his will,
And made the lion mild.
Songs can the tempest still,
Scattered on the stormy air,
Mold the year to fair increase,
And bring in poetic peace.
He shall nor seek to weave,
In weak, unhappy times,
Efficacious rhymes;
Wait his returning strength.
Bird that from the nadir's floor
To the zenith's top can soar,
The roaring orbit of the muse exceeds that journey's length.
Nor profane affect to hit
Or compass that, by meddling wit,
Which only the propitious mind
Publishes when 'tis inclined.
There are open hours
When the God's will sallies free,
And the dull idiot might see
The flowing fortunes of a thousand years;
Sudden, at unawares,
Self-moved, fly-to the doors,
Nor sword of angels could reveal
What they conceal.

II
The rhyme of the poet
Modulates the king's affairs;
Balance-loving Nature
Made all things in pairs.
To every foot its antipode;
Each color with its counter glowed:
To every tone beat answering tones,
Higher or graver;
Flavor gladly blends with flavor;
Leaf answers leaf upon the bough;
And match the paired cotyledons.
Hands to hands, and feet to feet,
In one body grooms and brides;
Eldest rite, two married sides
In every mortal meet.
Light's far furnace shines,
Smelting ***** and bars,
Forging double stars,
Glittering twins and trines.
The animals are sick with love,
Lovesick with rhyme;
Each with all propitious Time
Into chorus wove.

Like the dancers' ordered band,
Thoughts come also hand in hand;
In equal couples mated,
Or else alternated;
Adding by their mutual gage,
One to other, health and age.
Solitary fancies go
Short-lived wandering to and ire,
Most like to bachelors,
Or an ungiven maid,
Nor ancestors,
With no posterity to make the lie afraid,
Or keep truth undecayed.
Perfect-paired as eagle's wings,
Justice is the rhyme of things;
Trade and counting use
The self-same tuneful muse;
And Nemesis,
Who with even matches odd,
Who athwart space redresses
The partial wrong,
Fills the just period,
And finishes the song.

Subtle rhymes, with ruin rife
Murmur in the hour of life,
Sung by the Sisters as they spin;
In perfect time and measure they
Build and unbuild our echoing clay.
As the two twilights of the day
Fold us music-drunken in.
Liam Aug 2013
Inspiring is
  the perfection of her approaching form
By every measure
  the epitome of classic beauty

Beguiling is
  her countenance so fair
Thousands of ships
  launch in her wake

Captivating is
  the outline of her femininity
Every line and curve
  arousing in me unquenchable desires

Overwhelming is
  the appearance of one so lovely
My senses and spirit
  soar to her grace

For when my eyes behold her physical image
  it conveys to me the essence I recognize to be her
anastasiad Jan 2017
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Commonly your personal computer motherboard features micro-processor, primary ram along with vital factors, mounted on this. Other parts including training video plus noise remotes, outside storage area in addition to peripheral devices usually are linked with motherboards via plug-in charge cards. In the most recent motherboards, every one of these elements will be attached straight.

Mother board Chipset
Essentially the most crucial piece of motherboard will be chipset. Them settings your data movement throughout the details tour bus of your motherboard. Channelizing the info to the accurate ingredient would be the principal purpose of the actual chipset.

System board Factors
This system board includes ties for those pieces. Growth slot machine games regarding PCI,ISA,AGP,DIMM as well as exterior cable connections pertaining to serial as well as multiple locations,Universal serial bus slots,seem minute card,mouse and keyboard tend to be attached to them.

Key pad & Computer mouse button Connectors
Many occupation key board locations linked to the motherboard. A couple of most frequently employed plug sorts are usually DIN and AT. At present smaller Noise PS/2types with band are generally swapping ST kinds of band. PS/2 model sockets could be utilized on From types simply using a air compressor. Universal serial bus fittings also are located in several Desktops.

Concurrent Interface
Multiple locations are utilized simply by photo printers. On multiple slot, various wiring can be used carrying details information. Any 20 flag feminine DB plug is utilized within concurrent slot. Motherboards straight help parallel plug-ins via immediate link or dongle.

Cpu
The actual ingredient can also be often known as Pc. The item settings most businesses that happen to be conducted in a very computer system. CPUs are just massive scale incorporated tour in block small packages with various relating pins. Central processing unit consists of generally 2 pieces,specifically Maths Plausible Product(ALU) and Control Component(CU). ALU executes math as well as realistic surgical procedures in addition to CU brings information via memory space in addition to carry out these folks.

Browse
Hardware or Universal serial bus is definitely an field regular association pertaining to Personal computer. The velocity of Hardware 3.2, up to date standard involving Hardware, is definitely Five Gbits/second.

Standard Suggestions Production System- Study Merely Storage(BIOS ROM)
A BIOS Range of motion processor, the industry long term memory space,delivers the software program which usually functions the fundamental procedures if your pc is started. In the event the computer system is power upward, the micro-processor seeks fundamental analytical facts within BIOS ROM., for example, what amount ram can be acquired, whether virtually all add-ons operate properly, now of course external drive will be related,and many others. Any time diagnostic information is found to be Alright, in that case only the personal computer commences the operation.

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Slot machines
Normally 2 types of video poker machines can be found with motherboard, specifically AGP slot machines along with PCI spots. AGP slots are utilized for illustrations or photos cards, while devices like locations, circle credit cards as well as noise charge cards work with PCI slot machine games.

IDE Connector
This connection is needed in order to connect devices, CD and DVD.

Weak Connection
The computer's floppy commute is linked by that connection.

Laptop Support
Since system board is made up of countless components, any kind of bad element can make laptop computer nonfunctional. Many on the net network support services are generally portrayal round the clock aid pertaining to motherboards. When the customer faces any issue related to system board, immediately help from PC service suppliers must be needed to be able to abate the issue.

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Brother Jimmy Jul 2015
Maybe you’re mistaken when you think about what’s out there,
You attribute ev’ry stimulus to winged things from books,

Mistaking accidental circumstances for essential causes,
There isn’t really anything that God conveys with looks.

Perhaps it is hard to face the truth we’re just meat bags with will,
Which slowly rot away until the day when we’re forgotten

Needlessly dissecting every move and every inner thought,
Attempting to discover what makes us all so very rotten.


Take a deep breath

And hold it in

Until you feel it all

Fading away



Slowly toward death

All of us fall

Someday we’ll feel it all

Fading away



Through my goat mouth, it’s true, you can hear me bleating,
Like a little lamb who’s lambier than lamby-lambs can be,

But yes in fact it’s bike tires, and tin cans that I’m eating,
And I feel my goat heart beating and... I want to flee.
JK Cabresos Mar 2012
Why is this night different
from every other night?
Is it because you are now
here lying in my arms?
The mirage of you conveys beauty
which I have longed for,
you did make me weak
that moment you walked through that door,
and I thought you were not coming back.
The wind serenades us,
trying to elude and forget
the war we had,
leaving every tearful fight,
nonsense arguments,
never-ending quarrels
for the paradise, we yet to have.
I do love you, and I am so sorry,
now I have in my mind
that for every Superman
there is always his kryptonite.
© 2012
Sally A Bayan Oct 2014
~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~
The life we live each day is a spiritual journey;
we find our places, we sit,
then we sail meditatively
on waters where the past and present play.
a chance to reflect on what to think, what to do,
a place where raging thoughts are purified,
all worries and fears are washed away.
soothing words gently rise and fall
with the waves that fill the sea,
thoughts that dwell in the steerer's mind,
a message he conveys to us, his passengers,
like a wind blowing, caressing our unsettled hearts
as crystal waters, calm and still us deep within.

At journey's end, we rise and leave the vessel, enlightened.
with endless thanksgiving, we gift our captain,
a Soul Whisperer,
his name is
Amitav Radiance.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Amitav, this is just a dot, a brief way of saying  how your gentle words can calm a restless soul...***
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
Conjunction:
a small class of words distinguished in many languages by their function as connectors between words, phrases, clauses, sentences

- the act of conjoining; combination; the state of being conjoined; union; association:

- a compound proposition that is true if and only if all of its component propositions are true.

- the coincidence of two or more heavenly bodies at the same celestial longitude.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am in a relationship.

a colorless word
a word of no clarity
a good one? a bad one?
a professional deal,
or one that makes you squeal
with pleasure or despair

without context or content,
a description of a status,
not a state,
but a quid pro quo

I prefer
I am in a conjunction

well recall the day
our orbits
more than crossed,
but synchronized,
when two bodies
began to travel
upon the same longitude
one direction
in conjunction

t'was the day we coordinated
on our mobile phone,
co-configured our future,
our calendars


nowadays,
I answer her questions
while she is commencing to think,
when her foolishness prevails,
she questions, "did you remember to..."
my answer, a question returned,
connected, constant and conjunctive,

"and what's my name?"
an answer conveying constancy

relationship
oft the farthest place from logical,
but you know that,
say I am in a conjunction
and the logicians will celebrate
the end of your lonely celibacy,
well they understand the truth
inherent in and of and about
your compounded proposition


what unimaginative creatures we be,
dispensing with beauty for factuality,
but facts are easily misread,
your fact and my fact, relationship,
the exact same fact, conveys neither
an agreement as to what that means

are we unionized, associated, or conjoined
what is the quality of
our related ships?


so
Dear Mr. Zuckerberg,
amend my status please,
post me
as being in a state of:
a) conductivity b) connectivity c) concoctive

no, none of those
capture
what we have
captured,
so let create a new state,
a new world,
using a very old world word
post us as follows,
"Nat is in a conjunction"
No swooning allowed
MissMalice Feb 2015
Quite admirable , awe-inspiring , a divine piece of manufacture
It’s capriciousness is an equivalent of swooning of rapture

This carpet conveys itself as flawless , the fragrance is pleasant

The glossy finish generates a yearning to have it present

The blissful texture is mesmerizing , subject to perfect knitting

Not to mention it’s size is perfectly fitting

~

Though the alternative side seems worn and tattered

And the fabric surrounding is scattered

There are pockets and splits

There are strewed fiber bits

Along the edges are multicolored spots

And the yarn had formed knots

~

At that point the onlooker would become flustered helplessly

Were they to take it into their tenancy ?

Sure it was depleted

And maybe it was slightly untreated

Though it was equally handsome

Despite it’s opposing filthy expansion


~


Then the beholder would ponder a tad

And realize the flaws weren't so bad

They were to be contemplated abnormally

Though as well stood out morbidly

The allotment seemed now suitable

And each side was mutable
Designed to stand metaphoric for point of view among society
Thy trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;
Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader's art,
Nor ****** of piano strings,
Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs.
The kingly bard
Must smite the chords rudely and hard,
As with hammer or with mace,
That they may render back
Artful thunder that conveys
Secrets of the solar track,
Sparks of the supersolar blaze.
Merlin's blows are strokes of fate,
Chiming with the forest-tone,
When boughs buffet boughs in the wood;
Chiming with the gasp and moan
Of the ice-imprisoned flood;
With the pulse of manly hearts,
With the voice of orators,
With the din of city arts,
With the cannonade of wars.
With the marches of the brave,
And prayers of might from martyrs' cave.

Great is the art,
Great be the manners of the bard!
He shall not his brain encumber
With the coil of rhythm and number,
But, leaving rule and pale forethought,
He shall aye climb
For his rhyme:
Pass in, pass in, the angels say,
In to the upper doors;
Nor count compartments of the floors,
But mount to Paradise
By the stairway of surprise.

Blameless master of the games,
King of sport that never shames;
He shall daily joy dispense
Hid in song's sweet influence.
Things more cheerly live and go,
What time the subtle mind
Plays aloud the tune whereto
Their pulses beat,
And march their feet,
And their members are combined.

By Sybarites beguiled
He shall no task decline;
Merlin's mighty line,
Extremes of nature reconciled,
Bereaved a tyrant of his will,
And made the lion mild.
Songs can the tempest still,
Scattered on the stormy air,
Mould the year to fair increase,
And bring in poetic peace.

He shall not seek to weave,
In weak unhappy times,
Efficacious rhymes;
Wait his returning strength,
Bird, that from the nadir's floor,
To the zenith's top could soar,
The soaring orbit of the muse exceeds that journey's length!

Nor, profane, affect to hit
Or compass that by meddling wit,
Which only the propitious mind
Publishes when 'tis inclined.
There are open hours
When the god's will sallies free,
And the dull idiot might see
The flowing fortunes of a thousand years;
Sudden, at unawares,
Self-moved fly-to the doors,
Nor sword of angels could reveal
What they conceal.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
unseen, sans wings
alone above an unknown wind

unsung, no throat swells
no tongue conveys, nor eyes contain

no flesh burns here
no doubt, no alibi

suns race silent far below
planets swing, comets chase

qui vive? la liberté
qui vive? freedom
.
Qui vive means, loosely, Who goes there? A sentry's challenge.
Sans means without. An old word stolen from the French centuries ago.
Katelyn Rew May 2014
I see my soul dancing naked in a pit of burning embers.
She is on fire, and she is laughing and twirling engulfed in beautiful flame.
She dances mostly alone.
Sometimes another soul will come along and dance with her.
They will stay for a while, and then they will leave.
The fire is too hot for them, and they tire easily.
Then one day a soul comes along who is made entirely of water.
He is her opposite in every way.
He dances with her and enjoys the heat of her fire, for he has the power to keep himself cool.
He never tires of their dancing for she is so different to him, and he is transfixed by her uniqueness.
She in turn is in awe of his fluid motion, and the coolness he conveys.
One day they decide to embrace each other.
A merging of fire and water.
They touch each other for the first time.
They fill each other and synchronise in perfect harmony.
They both wonder aloud how they had ever been separate, for now that they were together, they would never dance alone again.
Kurt Carman Apr 2016
As the blue moon climbs over the Potomac River,
I lay my tired body down next to the planted field.
Momma tells me that I’ll turn 13 tomorrow; my birthday wish….to be free
Like brail, the scars on my back speak to the humility in my life.
My dog Jip lays beside me and with a warm tongue conveys everything will be fine.

It’s the early fall here at Georgetown University
My name is Cornelius, Cornelius Hawkins and I write these words so you know my plight.
Here with me are my father, mother and 2 yr old sister.
We toil the field from dawn to dusk…the salt herring and cornmeal give us strength.
And my hands are forever clinging to this rosary and I pray God will hear my prayers.

I can’t begin to tell how afraid I am each and every day.
I try not to dwell on our strife and struggles, but day dream of downright happiness.
My family and our ancestors before us have been confined to slavery for 200 years.
Momma always says “There is no slavery, just ignorance”.
I hold her words near and dear to my heart and I never give up hope for a better life.
Unfortunately, Cornelius Hawkins never got the life he prayed for. Cornelius was one of the 272 slaves at Georgetown University and all were sold off to keep the school running. I read a recent article in the NY Times about GU272 and felt compelled to try and convey some of Cornelius Hawkins thoughts. I labored over this for days. Spent a fair amount time researching as much information about GU272 that I could find. Although I know I'll never come close to knowing the entire story, what I do know is that Cornelius is in a better place today and I can't wait to meet him in the by and by. RIP Mr. Hawkins!
Soulace Apr 2017
I hate you.
I hate so many things about you i cannot recall a single word in my vocabulary that can even begin to grasp the amount of hatred i have for you.
I hate the way you walk. The way you talk. The way you dress I hate all of it. Why? Let me explain.

I hate the way you walk. The way your body sulks forward as if the entire world was on your shoulders and not a soul on this planet would lift even a finger to help carry your burdens.

I hate the way you talk. Not about others but about yourself. The way the pain in your words seems to seep out even as you try to mask it with the I'm alright or I'll be fine.

I hate the way you dress. How beautiful your clothes look on you. How every shade of green blue and red seem to be just enough to hide all the little bits of insecurity you harbour underneath. I hate how much time you put into shopping for clothes, thinking about how gorgeous the material is. The softness of the fabric. Thinking that while you wear such amazing, stunning clothing, the body beneath is will never be enough for anyone. Never be enough for you. I hate the way you dress because every piece of clothing you buy, you don’t buy to accent you. You buy it as armour to shield away your beautiful heart that you think is ugly.

I hate your eyes. The way every time I stare at them I see someone who's lost all hope. I hate the way you look into the world as if it was made of black and white. I hate that I have the unfortunate privilege to stare into the eyes of one so broken and so blind to the beauty that is you.

I hate your lips. I hate the way they seem to curve down at the edges, as if any semblance of happiness has been ****** out of your once beautiful shining lips. I hate how every time I look at them I'm reminded that your blind eyes don't realize that those lips are the missing puzzle piece to someone else's.

I hate your ears. Yes. Even your ears. I hate how every time someone speaks to you all you hear are your mistakes. I hate how your ears mangle and twist words of praise and love into indistinguishable words that amount to nothing more than babble or a language unbeknownst to you.

I hate your smile. I hate the way your teeth shine perfectly in the light but your eyes betray that smile as fake. I hate how your smile never conveys a true happiness. I hate how your smile though so beautiful at face value, has never comes from the bottom of your heart.

I hate your laugh I hate how even when you laugh, the forcefulness of your laugh is subtle, but to me its existence is as obvious as a red smudge on a white shirt. I hear it. Every time. You think nobody hears it, but i hear the pain in your laugh.

I hate your body. I hate the way your body curves. How every hair and every odd mark on your skin is suddenly a sin that needs to be atoned for. I hate how your body is so beautiful and perfect the way that it is, and I hate how even if you want to change it, you never find the courage to even though you're highly capable of it.

I hate your hands. I hate how when you look into your hands even if they may be small or big, you truly believe that nobody on this Earth would dare hold them. That somehow, someway you've contracted some sort of disease that has made your hands untouchable to anyone else. That just like your lips you truly believe nobody would dare lock their hands in yours.

I hate you. I hate how beautiful you are. I hate how you can't see it. I hate your loneliness. I hate how every day I need to watch as little bits of you float away and dissolve into nothing. I hate that I ultimately can't do anything for you to make you see any of this. I hate how all I can do is write this stupid poem at 3 17 in the morning and hope and pray that by some ******* miracle maybe I can ignite some sort of light in your heart. That maybe for a second, just one second, you can look away from this poem and realize one color in your black and white world. Maybe you realize the blue of your wall. Maybe you realize the color of your skin. Maybe you realize the green of the grass outside.
Maybe you realize the small pond of blue in an endless horizon of grey clouds.

Maybe in the end I hate you so much because you hate yourself so much.
Maybe in the end I hate you so much because you don't believe

How much I love you.
David Barr Feb 2014
Shall we drown together in deep lagoons of forensic cognitions, my seductress of medieval echelons?
As your mouth is already full, I strongly recommend that you masticate that which you initially intended to ingest.
We could become spellbound by the moon. What do you think my Vedic chant of austere arrhythmias?
I suggest that we simply need to interact without reserve amidst this toxicity of inhibition. The sound of the violin is hauntingly beautiful as it conveys literary intensity.
Benjamin Adams Feb 2014
How word conveys thine yonder form
is winter’s ice upon my ear,
No mouth can so describe the warmth
lay hous’d inside my heart endeared.

Despite all speech that one might find,
though vastly far it always spans,
your essence will lay undefined,
far beyond all ink-spotted hands.

But here I stay ever toiling,
grasping my pen yet unprepared,
Cursive paper onward coiling,
My crumpled sheets lay uncompared.

So know my love you’re all to me
beyond that which our words can see.
Wanted to write a sonnet, but broke the rules and made it 8 syllables per line.
In a lavatory a pink transvestite

Applies ruby and rouge

To my cosmetic mask

Hoping for a wished encounter

A fiction overcomes us

Conveys us as strangers

Into an unknown territory

Leaves us there

The two of us, stranded

Our location inaccessible

As intuitive yet unpredictable

Thoughts cluster

In constellated

Images around

The rehearsed persona

Of myself
Vicki Kralapp Sep 2018
My friends ask me why, I no longer take time,
to take pencil in hand, to draw what’s in my mind,
or to put it on canvas, with paintbrush in hand,
though I’ve tried to explain, they just don’t understand.

So I simply reply, “I now paint on a screen,
or I paint on computer, with words and a theme,
and I use what’s inside me, to bring words to life”.
with a spectrum of colors, they are just as precise.

Their only reply is, “But you are far too good!”
You can’t put your art down!  If only I could…”
Still they can’t understand, nor could I in their place,
that the freshness of art, has since gone with no trace.

To make art with pastel, no longer conveys,
what I felt was important, what I wanted to say.
I no longer enjoy, art’s gestation and birth,
it no longer brings joy, only pain for its worth.

But the pen gives us strength, just as mighty as all
of the art that we see, on the gallery walls.
Each image on paper, with the picture complete,
is boundlessly infinite; each image unique.

There may come a time, when I’ll take up my brush,
to paint what I see, to the canvas I’ll touch.
But for now, I’m contented, to write how I feel,
to paint with my writing, and to share all I see.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Terry O'Leary Jan 2019
.             <Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss>
              <for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.>
              <With trenchant wit he reaps the dross>
              <when seeking sense in applesauce.>

              <But to his aid flies FactoidMan>
              <who always has a Fact at hand;>
              <with him, who needs a whether-man>
              <to answer “if?” or “but?” or “and?”?>

“Oh ShallowMan, let me explain
the Facts of life to you, so plain,
yet flush with truthful thoughts arcane.
When understood, you won’t maintain
that callowness you think urbane.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, give benedictions,
                              save me from all contradictions
                              with your knowledge, no restrictions
                              finding Facts, avoiding fictions.”

“Well, when in doubt, you always may
request my help to find your way
through shades of black and white and gray,
and from the Facts you’ll never stray.
Yes, ShallowMan, I’ll make your day.”

                              “Since yesteryear I’ve wondered why
                              I’m served a piece of humble pie
                              whene’er attempting to descry
                              just what’s a Fact, and what’s a lie,
                              and which be Facts one can’t deny.
                              With candor, can you edify
                              me with some recondite reply?”

“Well, as you know, my Facts are Facts
which naught nor nothing counteracts
and things that do, mere artifacts
in dim myopic cataracts.”

“A lie’s a thing which disagrees
with Facts I utter, if you please,
and hides the forest from the trees
ignoring all my verities.”

“And this reminds me of my youth,
with axioms defined as truth
which I selected as a sleuth
(abetted by a sweet vermouth);
I being now so long of tooth,
to contradict me’s hardly couth.”

                              “That certainly helps me clarify
                              whom I can trust: yeah, you’re the guy!  
                              Now, furthermore I’ve wondered why
                              the moon can’t fall and clouds can fly.  
                              What’s called that law those facts defy?
                              And mightn’t I just give a try
                              to make a guess to verify?”

“If you link your facts to law
(ah, please excuse a gruff guffaw)
you’ll certainly flaunt a flimsy flaw
that strains belief and breaks the straw
of what you’ve heard and thought you saw.
(I‘ll leave you with some bones to gnaw
that leave you holding me in awe
when once you’ve grasped and gasped ‘aha’).
So tell me now your ideas, raw,
but keep it short, your blah, blah, blah.”

                              “Umm, could it be just gravity
                              (well, something like a theory
                              that some call Relativity)
                              which pulls the apple from the tree
                              and puts a strain upon my knee;
                              or is that fact absurdity?”

“Ahem, a theory’s just a theory,
not a Fact, it’s all so eerie,
something which should make you leery
as explained until I’m weary.”

                              “If Relativity’s a theory,
                              and a theory’s not a Fact,
                              is it a fiction I can query
                              when I’m falling, ere I’m whacked?”

“Though theories might be based on Fact,
a theory is, in fact, not backed
by any cause, effect or act
which might be salvaged when attacked.
For you, this Fact may seem abstract,
plumb depths where shallow thoughts distract.”

“Yes, what goes up must soon come down
is quite a Fact of world renown.
But theory’s just a heathen gown
to deck the naked King in town,
and when he falls, he breaks his crown
which leaves him wearing but a frown.”

“It surely should be obvious,
the property of Heaviness
(like Godliness and Heaven-ness)
defines the cosmic edifice,
refuting Newton’s flakiness
and Einstein’s spooky emphasis  
on space-time’s 4-D flimsiness.
Yes, Facts like these are copious
(I count them with my abacus);
to argue would be blasphemous
displaying mental barrenness
about the push and pulling stress
when bouncing ***** rebound, unless
one views elastic laziness
as evil Satan’s stubbornness.”

                              “Well now I think I understand,
                              that gravity seems somewhat grand,
                              but’s just, in fact, a rubber band
                              that stretches through our earth-bound-land
                              constricting us when we expand.”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you finally got it,
just as I’ve long preached and taught it.
I’m so happy that you’ve bought it.
(Not a question nor an audit -
you’re so shallow, who’d have thought it?)”

              <Once ShallowMan dipped into science>
              <seeking FactoidMan’s alliance>
              <gaining, hence, a strong reliance>
              <on the Facts and their appliance,>
              <justifying strong compliance,>
              <turning down those in defiance.>

                              “Hey, FactoidMan, another topic
                              leaves me reeling, gyroscopic,
                              dealing with the microscopic
                              in a world kaleidoscopic.”

                              “Within the realm of vacuum loops
                              Dark Energy in quantum soups
                              of anti-matter sometimes swoops
                              across inflation’s Big Bang stoops
                              where space-time ends and matter droops.
                              Do you believe, or just the dupes?

“It’s nothing but a passing phase,
(a theory that in fact betrays
obscure occult communiqués
that fevered fantasy conveys)
of those who thump creation days.
Just check! The vacuum state portrays
perfection in your shallow ways
reflected in that vacant gaze
you cast upon the dossiers
of all my Facts that so amaze.”

                              “And what about the quantum theory?
                              Particles not hard but smeary,
                              just like waves? It’s kinda eerie!
                              Facts could not be quite so bleary
                              leaving Bohr, well, sad and teary.
                              FactoidMan, just tell me, dearie,
                              what the Facts are, bright or dreary.”

                              “And then again what are those holes
                              (as black as ravens bathed in coals)
                              wherein the past and future strolls
                              exploiting fields that Higgs controls
                              beneath the shady shallow shoals
                              between magnetic monopoles.”

“The science lab’s a ‘fact’ory
concocting stuff that cannot be
(like unknown realms and notably
those tiny things NoMan can see
with naked eye on bended knee
neath microscopic scrutiny)
and claim they’ve found reality;
they call their god a ‘Theo’ry
(a fig-ment of the Yum-Yum tree)
that leads them to hyperbole
about the singularity
that’s dipped in dazed duplicity
denying all eternity.”

“Here’s my advice that seems to work:
ignore the ones with ‘facts’ that lurk
behind their ‘proofs’ (which always irk),
and being challenged have the quirk
of stepping back within the murk
(indulged, I chuckle, smile or smirk).”

              <Now ShallowMan is quite content>
              <receiving FactoidMan’s consent>
              <to quibble and express dissent>
              <as long as keeping covenant>
              <with fingers crossed and belfry bent>
              <when viewing Facts in sealed cement:>

                               “The Facts you give me circumvent
                               those ‘truths’ your chuckles supplement;
                               although they might disorient
                               they can’t be wrong, I won’t dissent,
                               just using ones which you invent.“
“(No need of source in that event).”

                               “Your wise advice is simply sound
                               in cases where a game is bound
                               to parcel points out round by round
                               or else on verbal battleground
                              where know-it-alls are duly crowned.”

              <Though ShallowMan is kinda slow>
              <he still takes time to learn and throw>
              <his facts and theories to and fro,>
              <amazing facts which seem to show>
              <that theories sometimes come and go,>
              <returning strengthened with the glow>
              <of new found facts (for which to crow)>
              <that fill the gaps of long ago.>

                               “Oh FactoidMan, just tip your cap!
                               I’ve found a piece to fill the gap
                               that simplifies a mouse’s trap:
                               if triggerless, it still will clap
                               to give the mouse a mighty zap
                               that makes its tiny back bone snap.”

                               “With mousetrap type simplexity,
                               reducible complexity
                               helps arguments’ duplexity
                               with twists of crude convexity.”

“Ha-ha! That serves to prove my case:
for each gap filled, two in its place,
each growing at the doubled pace;
for unfilled gaps, I’m saying grace
(they help, indeed, for saving face)
Trying to get out of neutral....
don't know whether I'm in first or reverse...
JK Cabresos Nov 2011
Eftsoons, thee would fain depart and chasten thy chance
Meseems to be fond of thou beloved with fears:
Harken thy anacreontic jovial at once,
For whosoever conveys love shall drown on tears.
Thee may not ratify affections I bestowed;
Each morn may bring no reasons to behold the sun.
Yon enigmatic events has come and winnowed
Beseech, to cease the fires, afore thy love has gone.
Somehow, blossoms will wither, as rivers will dry
Mayhap, thy heart I own shall be shattered in twain,
Welkin rings, pearls cannot retrieve ev'ry goodby
Maimed and futile; whence, no one can withstand the pain.
If these velvet ropes would seize thine eyne twixt the thrill,
Utter prayers, for Heaven would burn me in hell.
© 2011
Relax, begin to Imagine you are in the proximity
to immerse yourself into a precious moment.
It is that needed time you have brought into being, and is intrinsic
to experience composure, equanimity.
Smooth - melodic - ambient music with simple cause,
low and soft will, in its incipiency invalidate
trending previous troublesome thoughts,
silkily, sauntering, lingeringly pauses,
to softly embrace your audible senses
with silence which conveys complete assurance,
that the here and now is yours, no-one elses,
ataraxia created by you, for your true inner self,
It continues; envelops remaining unsettled interruption
embraces the heart, and encourages serenity,
all the remaining negative, solicitous intellection
are temporarily, tipped out of your consciousness,
you are experiencing them leave, then transcended
with blissful tranquillity for your indulgence.
You are asleep with your eyes open, it feels so benefic,
the mind is calm and clear no longer confused.
Melodious sound continues to provide atmospheric
momentum to this sensibility folding into the soul.
Joyfully you are enduring moments of pure inner solitude and
wrapped in perfect peace, consciousness uncommitted.
There is no expectation of time, not at all
just the psyche drifting, changing shape, density, profundity.
You feel wonderfully restituted, calmed; uplifted.
You sense it, knowing, this absence of tension you sought,
this, your perfect you, is transient and will slowly begin to regress, reluctantly,
relinquishing this blissfully serene, conditioned emotional stillness, to be restored.

Then you turn the telly on!     All gone.

Michael C Crowder        March 5th 2019
the power of clearing one's mind, so reality erases the experiences

Your melancholic memories come every second
You are invisibly floating all around me
My breathe plays your melody
My heartbeat plays your love-poem
My soul listens to my own LOVE longing
The breeze swirling your scent around me
I walk amidst your fresh jardine

When my eyes are traversed by YOUR eyes
Then the weather drenches me with your colors
And YOU pour all colors of LOVE on me

My numerous sleepless nights
I stand and see you in the stars
I count every sparkle you've left behind
In those million heart beats within

In that nighty silence I wait to hear
Your silence footsteps walking around me
I look up and see the reflection of
YOU nudging & hugging me from behind
In the mirror of that bright BIG moon

Each passing breathe conveys your arrival
The one, who is revered & adored all the time
My heart-beats showers cascades of blossoms
All along the places YOU- my BELOVED exists
And I render the whole world in my BELOVED's colors


Lappel du vide Dec 2013
Sometimes I am so sick of this town.
I am tired of the way the young people twist and pull time to make it seem that they are years older than what their life conveys, and use large words that they only know half the meaning of,
and oh, "darling" "lovely"
we'll maybe I want to be called *******
"Wild" "untouchable" "agressive"
         "Manipulative" "weird"
                "Fire filled crazy eyed brown haired ***** footed mess of a girl"
          I don't want to be "lovely"
I want you to tell me I am insane, and say it to my face.
I am bored of everyone buying so many large books that they will never read, only look at with some false, faraway nostalgia when their friend comes over with their favorite vinyl.
I don't want to be "sunny"
I am not "happy"
Or "a nice girl"
I am a confusing like a labyrinth of contradiction,
And my emotions move inside me like a hurricane.
I have no time for big words anymore, or long poetic musings.
I want you to scream profanities at the top of your voice, filling your lungs with every bad word in the book.
I want you to etch bold letters in illegal places, I want your words to be direct, quick like fire. Tell me exactly how you feel.
I want you to be clear, straightforward, I have no ******* time to be called "lovely" and asked if I want a cup of tea.
I want *****.
and I want it now.
I don't want to be asked if I am awake at two a.m.,
I want to be asked if I am alive.
If I'm being rude, I want somebody to hold my face still and talk to me while looking at my eyes and say
"You're being a real ******* *****, quit it."
Instead of some *****, with hurt rotting inside of them, digging an early grave due to the inner decay of unspoken words.
I'm tired of people feeling obliged to say Bukowsi was an ***, but a good writer, "but oooh Nerudas good"
I'm sure Neruda could have been a **** too.
Stop pretending to like Shakespeare and really strong coffee and stop trying to force yourself to read really long confusing poetry.
Life isn't supposed to be a metaphor,
It's a ******* moment,
So seize it,
You don't have time to be complicated and fake.
Be raw and real. Be vulnerable and strong.

You are young,
                       You are at the prime of your life,
                      So yell off the ******* rooftops,
And scrape your knees a little bit,
And rebel a little bit,
And get a black eye sometimes,
And get angry a little,
And kiss people with soft lips sometimes,
And tell people exactly what you feel when you feel it,
And make mistakes,
And get drunk,
And do weird things sometimes,
               You are ******* young,
            Stop pretending.
Harsh Oct 2015
Listen.

Let’s just strip down to the skin and warm each other up under these covers. I want to lay down atop you and let my head rest on your waist, snug between those lovely hips of yours, just above your ***. I want my hands to waltz around your thighs and listen to your gentle breathing synchronize with mine. I want to feel you giving in to this moment, I want to feel your body let go and your muscles unclench.

I want it to be completely quiet around us, not the dead kind of silence, the kind that’s comforting and warm. We don’t need words, our touch conveys what our hearts beat for.

Don’t think.

I don’t want you thinking about what’s happening tomorrow, what time the game is on, don’t think about what’s for dinner. Don’t think about that argument we had last week that still sits in your heart. Let it go dear, just for now. Don’t think.

Run your hands through my hair and think of all the memories we’ve made since the last time I cut it. Caress my face and look into my eyes, darling.

Now close yours. Close your eyes and open yourself up to me. I want to take my time in taking you in. I want to spend eternities on your lips, darling. I want to cup your face in these hands of mine and kiss you; I don’t want that kiss to lead to anything, it doesn’t need to. I want it to convince you of my undying love for you. Drink in the right-now of this moment, of me. I want to sit back and admire every inch of you, my dear, from your flowing tresses down to your toes, and everything in between. I want my hands to run down your valleys and hills and let my lips paint your landscape.

I want you to smile at me from under my touch and let out a laugh as I cover your face with happy kisses. Not the kind of laugh you’d give someone telling a joke, not the kind of laugh you force when someone says something mean. This is my laugh, you’ve saved it just for me, it’s sweet and soft and vulnerable and that’s okay because that’s how we feel right now.

I want to roll you over and let your body lay atop mine and simply hold you, caressing your every curve and warming your heart and your soul.

And then I want to do it again the next day, and every day afterwards until our bones are brittle and our days are at an end.
Inspired by http://thoughtcatalog.com/karyn-spencer/2011/09/i-want-to-snuggle-with-you/
Amitav Radiance Apr 2015
The soul never speaks
Conveys much sans words
Many things run though
Leaving a trail of feelings
Take a plunge within
Swim with the flow
Towards the confluence
Buoyed feeling keeps you afloat
You are the lotus, about to bloom
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
sweet waters with mint fragrant hints,
memories flood me,
"walking back in time"
he describes it

of my early days of discovery,
this voyage upon the poetry ship,
with me, mere stowaway,
unfit by compare,
sailed to lands unimaginable,
friendships seeded in words,
sprouted like a field of summer sunflowers,
water weeping, for joy so joyous,
the mastery of his words
elevates, levitates,
the ashes of sadness now dispossessed,
floating on the Ganges

the drumming of my dreams,
of treasures of golden words,
in lungs undiscovered, unspoken,
leads me back to you,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram

April 10, 2016

~~~

Jun 1, 2013

Balachandran


How I love to say your name,
Rolling waves over my tongue,
It is must be said out loud
Two or three times to feel its rhythm,
Two or three more just for the
Spiced pleasure it conveys.
Bala chan dran!

My name harsh, Germanic,
Like the Black Forest,
Where my ancestors dwelled,
Until a harsher people drove them away.

Balachandran!

Under the ground beneath the temple
Padmanabha Swamy,
A temple dedicated to
Vishnu,
In the state of
Kerala,
the original spice country.
South Western sea board of India,
where miracles never cease to happen,
A billion dollar treasure discovered.

A treasure of words and sounds,
A language musical, every word a poem
Of incroyable elegance.

I am so glad that you were not born in France.

Perhaps someday I will courage summon,
To spicy lands, explore, and even come to
Thiruvananthapuram.

For now, I must be satisfied with the
Poetical musicale program I attend,
When I say over and over again,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram!
Dedicated to K Balachandran
cd Mar 2015
the grapefruit i ate this morning was entirely too sweet.  there was too much sugar in the cells of its meat and each one hugged and dripped down my throat as if i were swallowing pieces of honeycomb minus the bees.  oddly enough, as i sit here recalling the events of the day, of my eating a grapefruit this morning that was entirely too sweet, entirely too sweet for its own good, might i add, i am met with the fear that my use of 'minus' in the context of this recollection conveys my intention in an improper, imprecise manner, for it was not used to suggest an elimination or a deletion of the bees, rather, a relocation of them to some other part of the body maybe, like the nose post a sneeze, or to a field somewhere else all together, existing as integral parts of a network of cells and cycles upon which life's delicate frame hinges upon.  i suppose it makes no difference where the bees relocated to in the larger context of my eating a grapefruit that was entirely too sweet this morning, but i feel obliged to address the matter nevertheless.
third piece inspired by the writing style of Ror Wolf....
Megan Galema Aug 2013
Go for it.
Don't hesitate.
You'll soon unveil what the world conveys.

A tad frightening.
Yes, I know.
You'll soon unmask the things not shown.

Smell the air.
Feel the cold.
Explore the journeys that remain unknown.

Go for it.
Don't hesitate.
You'll soon unveil what the world conveys.
Eudora Dec 2014
Breath* whisper,
*"He is in every single one of me."

Heart murmurs,
"He is tucked cozily in me ,as long as I am beating."
Hope utters,
"Never lose me, this man,one day you'll get to see."
Smile comforts,
"So put me on young lady, get ready for the.  
   meeting."


Heartbeat reveals,
"He brings a new meaning to each thump of mine."
Mind affirms,
"I'm telling you,you can't take him off me."
Eyes mime,
"When you close me, he'll send chills down your
   spine."

Love expresses,
"Trust him, I'm true, he would go down on his.    
   knee."


Test conveys,
"I'm sent down from above, but both of you will
   pass."

Miss admits,
"You feel me so much, you pray so hard for him to be
   closer."

Tears confess,
"I trickle down your cheeks like drops of crystal clear
   glass."

Faith assures, *"Have me, these tough days will
   soon be over."
#you #love #miss #test #faith #voices #speakto me
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
    I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
    Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
    And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion

    For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
    I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
    Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
    And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions

    From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics  
    I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
    Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
    And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic

    Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
    I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
    Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
    And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics

    By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
    I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
   Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
   And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology

— The End —