Words can convey so much more than most know.
A poet can make someone smile, laugh, or cry, and weep
All in the same collection of syllables forming words

A poet can push a person's mind until the heart bursts with happiness, breaks from deep sadness, and dies down right frightened.  All from words formed into sentences

Poets can create a scene of great disdain or nothing but frivolous faire in one sentence turning it to deep concentration hunting for resolution from sentences creating stanzas.

Poets paint a picture that can't be seen by a passerby or displayed in a window case.   It can be placed in plain site something of ******* nature yet unless looked into deeply will never be seen.  As stanzas form a poem that paints that picture

Poets sometimes can only paint basic emotion with words yet some can pull raw lustful emotion from deep in the soul.  Syllables to words bring excitement and desire.  Excitement, need, and release like two bodies locked together in sweaty heated embraces

Poets bringing syllables to words to sentences can capture ones longing carrying along to paragraphs that feel, hear, taste, smell, and see the burning need that the stanzas envoke the basics of carnal lust to break free like a caged lion whose food lay just outside the cage

Poets bring to close the paragraphs that wrap it all together Can you feel the sunlight against naked flesh so warm reflecting off beads of perspiration?  Can you taste the deliciousness of her desire upon ruby lips?  Or from the moisture that coats his fingers as they glide easily through silken petals?  

Poets continue painting with words, stanzas and paragraphs moving to hearing.  Can you hear the cries and pleas begging as desire builds to uncontrollable heights? Feeling. Hearing. Tasting. What is left the poet thinks. Ahhhhh to see and to smell

Poets syllables to words, stanzas, to paragraphs moving towards the pinnacle of rapture their every desire for the reader to see. Hius tongue lavishes the sweet flesh, tasting the musky desire as hands caress and pull upon tender buds of pleasure, the pants, moans, mews, cries, grunts, screams, mix together to form to a crescendoing of music

Continuing as pools of deep blue suffocate emeralds that look back. A growl followed by a almost hedonistic finale as the beings are rocked to their core. The syllables, words, stanzas, paragraphs almost to the picture seeing as the golden dagger of despair is plunged into the innocent heart.  Mixture of musky sweetness glistening upon flesh as red rivers flow to meet and mingle, swirling against the pale white.  The punget rust mixed with essence of bliss finishes the painting.

Poet started with syllables to words on to stanzas then paragraphs drawing from happiness, love to desire, need, release, slammed into the abyss of pain, despair and a private hell only each person viewing the poet's work can explain to themselves and perhaps share with another.

Bashfulness, Happiness, eagerness, apprehension, desire, need, fire, pleasure, release, pain, excruciating pain, lonely, despair, abysmal sadness, depression

The picture painted yet not with colors on canvas but with words on paper.  The mind fills in the forms, colors, and lives the sentence of taste, touch, sight, noise, and of course the smell.  If the poet is truly good one might find they actually do get a whiff of what is writen caressing their nasal pathways.

Written by Niyahlove.  :-)  All rights reserved please be respectful November 2, 2014

I.
I lift my eyelids.
plipliplip.
The rain invites me to play.
Her cold fingers curl around the doorframe,
"Come on, come sing again! Sing, just like you used to!"
She burbles gleefully.
"Come on, old friend.
We used to be ballerinas, whirling and laughing.
We used to be one
one and the same."
Her fingertips inch through my solid oak door.
I frown and shove the door closed
throw down the lock
yank my curtains closed
Closed to the scent of moss
to the wail of the wind
to the percussion of the weather.
(I prefer the smell of coffee
the sound of silence
of security.)
"I used to be a lot of things," I call.
"But then I grew up."

II.
She knocks at my door.
Again. (memories are persistent.)
Teasing me with her calm voice
whispering lofty and cool.
I sigh
begrudgingly I follow
sliding into my raincoat
tugging up the hood
drawing the string tight around my jaw.
She dances in watery windchimes
sluicing across the slick sidewalk,
she pirouettes
leaps
beckons for me to follow.
My galoshes are not as forgiving as toe shoes; I trip.
I reach out my hand tentatively
curiously
feel a cold ***** of water slide down my index finger.
Icy. Biting.
I gasp and flick it off.
The world is a box of watercolors
but all smeared together in shades of earth.
Shadow, cornflower, lilac, mud
muddy colors I identify straight away.
They bring a smudgy comfort
a hesitant nostalgia.
I feel a note catch in my throat
like trapping a dragonfly in a glass jar.
It flits violently to escape,
but I dare not let it out.
It is sunny under my umbrella.

III.
Late late night
midnight and a half (to be exact.)
I hear her call
frosting my windows with condensation.
I etch into my foggy breath,
feeling the panes hard against my pale skin.
"Come." says her voice.
"Listen--" I protest.
"Live." urges her whisper.
So I fling back the door
let the coolness trickle down my head.
Silver bullets sparkle in the moonlight
I tilt my face towards the crystal beads,
watch them pour across my face.
I shake my flimsy nightgown
sodden with tears never shed.
I twirl, laughing across the yard.
"Old friend, how I have missed you!"
The rain calls to me.
My tears melt with hers
tumbling down my neck.
My words burst forth, a crescendoing horn
swelling across the rooftops
resounding to the deepest roots of the trees.
"I don't want to grow up."

Silk blocks my ability to see
Soft pads circle my ears shutting me into silence
Music begins to flow coursing through my body
Jumping as hands grasp slender ankles
Fur circles one then the other
Turned around and around so disoriented
A hard bump knocks at the back of my knees
Buckling and graze the chilled feeling they land upon
Gasps escape parted lips
Melodic music seems to beat forcefully with each movement
Chills flow through naked flesh

A voice reverbs in my ears
"Are you nervous ****?"
"Y-y-eees" trembles out thinking it had to have sounded like some little girl instead of the mature woman kneeling here
Morose tones begin to play
Calloused palms greet soft ones
Pulling quick and efficient succulent flesh lays across
a thick padded cushion

The drums beat frantically, I realize it is my heart beat
No music playing last the time, my breathing comes through rushed paniced
Inhaling deeply filling lungs then blowing out forcefully
Soothing frazzled nerves, repeating the breath
Hands separate, one wrapped in something unsure what
then the other, they are pulled straight out
Allowing ample globes of blush coated tips to reveal to any that watch

Crying out at the forceful pulling,  rearranging of limbs
Thoughts run rampant scrambling calm with slight fear and confusion
Body jerks as the apparatus moves beneath my spread flesh
I feel my belly tight as muscles **** and pull tight and repeats
Crying out as booming dark music explodes in my mind
The movement jerking beneath again
Unable to fathom how I look I feel a breeze slither over pale half moons
Finger run along the inside of the restraint as something pulls it further away from the other, then repeated
Chill air hits my heated moist ***** sending goosebumps all over

My body fully supported arms up with back arched exposing glorious flesh
Legs parted wide as waist is supported by the bench
"Who do you belong to"? He asks.
" No Ones"
A slice of fire then a second close by erupts pain across the backside
Teeth sink deep into my lower lip as the same words come through the headset
Senses impaired heighten every syllable
Still ******* air from the first blows as four reign down upon my  
arched back, tasting blood as teeth cut through plump skin

Thick fingers grasp the hairs upon nether lips yanking
Digits knead the skin of my *** soothing the first marks
Feeling the tug on hairs again, squirming as the moisture flows the cavern, body begins to move
Yet again "Who do you belong to?"
"Myself" I say proudly
Again heat, white hot, kisses thee skin
One, two, three, four, five
Labored breathing panics me
Fingers grtip and knead the marks, it is not pleasurable but it hurts not either

Thin pieces dance across my body
I figured out it had to be as flogger
He was an expert, especially with this contraption leaving everything but my stomach bottom of thighs urtterly exposed to the wicked implement
The tongues begin touching all over as I strain to hear and see
Nothing but blackness and morrocan drums playing tribal beats
Lightly stroking, followed by searing bolts of lightening touch silk flesh,
Breathing raggedly, gasping for air, pressure building in the pit of my stomach

As the flogger hits every piece of exposed white
Fingers massage puffy lips that swell to protect the golden pearl
Not hearing him he chuckles knowing he has me
Thump goes the flogger, chains clank as I squirm
Pressing towards his hand wanting to be touched that special way
Pleading escapes, I cringe knowing I have made that mistake
Something slides into my throbbing center, stretching my walls
I know I am soaked as I feel pinches against flogged streaked skin
"Please" I cry
Again he asks "Who do you belong to?"
I form the y sound suddenly changing to once again "Myself"

The implement is left inside my love tunnel
Vaginal walls gripping and releasing
My breath catches hard in my throat as something cool
bites hardened peak,
Breath let's out with a loud moan as the other peak is trapped in the vice grip
Hair is cinched tight pulling the upper body up more
The clamps bite harder
He turned my head towards his as lips touch I feel an excruciating heat soar through my succulent peaks
Tears flow across cheeks gliding down until we both taster the salt

His teeth sink into my lip as the hand twists the chasing, the other the chain to the clips torturing my *******
My velvet reaches out to run across the teeth
He releases the bite as our tongues clash like symbols
***** throbs as it struggles to not drop the object
Pressure still building, traitor body plays to his tune
Rejecting nothing
Balking not at all
Wanting, needing, yearning for this
Our tongues dance as he pulls and releases that murderous pleasure wreaking havoc over the numbing rosebuds
Fiery locks are released
Fingers remove the implement deeply embedded in my sweet honey
Digits slide deeply into my well
Pushing against them yearning for deeper

I feel the pumping in and out
Each ****** grows harder and goes deeper
My hair being used as an anchor
Burning the scalp as it pulls
He must be able to hear the music as each move is punctuated with the caressing noise
The headphones are removed relief flows over as I can hear

He whispers "Who do you belong to?"  He asks again
I feel his fingers pull out causing a sense of loss
Something presses sat my entrance pushing lightly
Trying to glide over the honey
Lifting on tip toes pushing back
Feeling the thick mushroom push into their tight entrance
Gasping for air as he growls loudly trying to fight plundering
Needing my answer first
The tip teasing me without mercy
Pulls and releases my hair

I feel something strange being smeared in my thick juice
The warm presses against my clenched puckered hole
Crying out as he teases both orifices
My body strains tight like a bow drawn for firing
"Please oh please **** me, take me"  
I feel both openings being pushed against more
Knowing he won't do much more unless I give in
He pushes the egg deep into my tight ***
Cries of pleasure float over the music still playing in the room
His hard length still teasing the slippery tunnel
Leaning over pressing my body hard against the contraption
Growling out "Who do you belong to?"
You! You! You!
His **** rams home plundering my overly taut well
Buried to the hilt my cries louder than the night

He begins to move in Ernest
Taking and consuming His
My body being played like a well oiled machine
Slamming into me, our bodies slapping
Skin to skin
Pressure building faster as I was already close to exploding
He knows I am close
Salt from the sweat drips into my mouth
His hand yanks the egg from my *** starting the spasms
Rippling over his rock hard length
His growl rumbles within vibrating upon my back

Pace grows faster, frenzied
I feel juices dripping down my thigh
My love tunnel overflowing with essence
Crying in frustration I scream harder
The machine moves as he pumps in and out
Loud moans flow out as the movement let's him go deeper

The music is crescendoing cannons errupt
As he plunders the chain is suddenly ****** based
A reaction like dominmos begins
Hips buck against his as sdpasms caress his ****
Floods of honey burst free coating his implement
Flowing down my thighs as the explosion rocks through my body
Riding every ****** as his teeth sink into my neck
The shooting **** hits my wall spewing until empty
Laying against my body, his sweat mixing with mine

Both breathless and satiated for a spell
Blindfold and restraints removed
Lifting me up as my legs give out like they were jello
Cradling my head to his chest
He lays me upon silk
Eyes close as lethargy begins to settle
Soothing ointment is rubbed into red stripes
"Sleep Mine". He whispered
" Yes Master" she says sleepily

A smile crosses his rugged features
Finally he had pushed past that wall
She is Mine he thinks
I won't let her forget, took way to long for her to admit
Next time perhaps he would try a cane
Moving her on through
The joys of pleasure and pain

Shadows thrive upon complexity
Vague and nonsensical
The untrained, without resolve
Welcome all to cast their shades
Deeper inside they oft reside
Wilting, transfiguring
Til the field they presume to preside
Flourishes with roses black
as obsidian

Yet the seed may still be planted
Yielding a flower tall, light and bright
Consuming those beneath until vacancy remains

High is the Sun, white is the Orchid
Tempered radiance, gradual growth
More shall fill the newfound garden
While Day brings its gifts
Crescendoing by the simplest
of cool Spring breezes
Coming and going through
The end of another season
Promising its constant return.

Through the eyes of heathens
Dancing altars made of poppies and ash
Coat jaded tongues in bittersweet memory
We are eternal yet our spark is on the verge of annihilation
Government needs a turnicate
Big heads bloated, filled with ego
Defiled our homeland
Seemingly snuffing forever the bright flame of freedom
A sea of distraught bodies marching onward into the night
Their chants of "HELL NO TO GMO" crescendoing as it passes by into the packed square
Those in power so easily comforted by their AKs and steel walls
Dia de Los Muertos masks hide determination
As the bombs ignite setting fire to the sky
Comprehension of our purpose is realized
We are not here to ask nicely
We will not be obedient to our peers as masters
Behind our smiling sugar skull masks
**We grin as they burn

Millions of specks
Millions of people
Scattering
Scampering
Ever moving towards the light
Is there light at the end
Or is there only dark
Hearts keep beat
Breath keeps time
Our body
A finely tuned orchestration
Ever crescendoing towards the finale

I woke one morning feeling like
I didn’t belong in my own
        body—
that the skin I saw was not my own
but the flesh of a cadaver;
I thought that the bones within me
must be made of balsa wood and
the deteriorating muscles were surely
thin strips of fabric with
no actual value.

I decided that it was not me on the inside,
but someone else.

The sky outside my window was only
a meager, pale shade of grey, like the ashes
of what her body used to be, and I
watched as the pale pink ribbon of
the horizon began to bleed with the birth
of a new day and I thought about how
all those words you said to me
were actually time bombs because when
you first said them, I brushed them off
but now all I can think about is them and
my brain has been blown
        to kingdom come.

I think I might be brain dead.

But your school picture is still on my
bedside table and when I look at it
a fist grips down on my heart and
I wonder how you are and if you’ve grown,
I wonder if you’re even still alive anymore;
my anxiety is a yew tree bending in a
new formation influenced by the passing
of time and minimal communication—
I become someone I don’t know.

I think that we’re all born with
a different destiny to follow but
when you get right down to it,
no matter how much you’ve changed, or
how much I’ve changed,
on the inside, we’re all the same—
        skeletons.

Except for the fact that I think I might be a
barely surviving Hiroshima victim;
a charred skeleton with no other
contributing human element.

Sometimes I compare you to
        Chernobyl
and I wonder if you ever
draw that connection
too.

I wonder what it’s like to be nuclear.

I wonder what it’s like to burn alive.

There are dark clouds churning in the
early morning sky and I wonder if it
might storm again like it did on that
night when I drove home alone and
that one song was playing on the radio
over and
                over and
                                over again
and I couldn’t possibly shut it off because
who was I to end the life of a beautiful,
(highly relatable),
song when it was just growing out of its
babbling infancy and into its
crescendoing teenage years?  

If I were to write you a letter now
I wonder what I would say,
what I would tell you that I haven’t already,
(accidentally), spilled to you in those
rushed visits we had every blue moon—

I think I would tell you how you
        broke my heart;
I think I would tell you how he
        shattered what was left;
I think I would tell you how
I don’t believe I have a
soul
                        anymore.

in my mind,
i work at a third world convention,
bleeding saliva and avocado paint
behind a mule's *** like
seeking coverage was difficult
or something.

now it's past
the pillaging of painted americans,
valleys once rolled with corn and feather's weight,
but seized by nation's serious fathers.

the table creaks as sister
literally screams, "Grace!"
and the cotton tablecloth even
bows its head in poultry's spicy scent.

i said it was past,
un-remembered after a
murderer (more than)
antagonized another's HDTV
(bold, high, pronounces, and shrieks
more shivering-ly
than when a spider stepped on my toe).

now there are halos
beginning to blush,
vibratos crescendoing to
the last of leaf's sultry breath.

Noel was large-eyed,
carols twirling lighter than snow.

they made the Lord
wonderous, because o,
my baby king,

the manger was not a velvet cushion,
and neither will his
(or your)
days to come.

Encapsulated;

Pin drop atom bomb sparks

an incise, rasping raw hiss.
the instantaneous buzz ignites a crescendoing, numbed fuzz belonging to no known octave

A belly of butterflies
Danced to the sound  
Of harmonica trees  
And the violin leaves
Synesthesia bound

To the whispering winds
Of the sweet nothing skies
Playing fungi Fall fiddles
To tempos of riddles  
Sensational melodies made in her eyes

Resonant love
In a breath of fresh air
These orchestra waves
In my deepest sea caves
Drifted away to the shores of nowhere

Then bottled-up notes
In time-signature sands
Wrote ballads of blisses
From strawberry kisses
Plucked from the tunes of our heartstring commands

And each nymph and faun
Composed of the Earth
Out of many songs one
And our voice was the sun  
Crescendoing to a symphonic rebirth

Pulse after Pulse,
Wave after wave,
Ethereal Blue-- silver and misty, violently real yet entrancingly True-- collides, creates, reverberates, spreads like warfare as it envigorates the endless Sea of Diamond Comets that refract, reflect and beautifully protect a, delicately cradled and elegantly undone, Celestial Symphony-- whose conductor is a wise Blue Sun.

Volcanic moons spew molten streams of pure gold on to their eternally glittering surfaces-- mountains topped with Emeralds of green and Rubies of red-- existence is their only purpose.

Suddenly, a wisp of lightning from Under the Blue Sun, makes its way into Life just for a little fun.

Coiled up like a spring-- its journey cusping to begin-- it spontaneously releases, gracefully whole not in pieces, from its creator and its captor with a wiggle, push and squeeze. And with this dance it now does sing, every burst crescendoing faster in tempo not in speed. Becoming rainbows, becoming glass. Becoming kinetic energy with every passing moon, every passing meteor, every asteroid and comet-- beyond the gold, beyond the shine, beyond space and all time--

A wisp of Lightning, under a Blue Sun, leaves its home to create Life where there is none.

There is Presence.  Presence....and there is Light.

“Where am I?  What and Who am I?  Am I alive or dead?"  

A suppressed thought makes itself known, “You were once Enkidu....” The simultaneous recognition and brilliance of the place kept Enkidu awestruck and unable to act.  Suddenly, sounds. As if they were coming from somewhere inside Enkidu rather than off in the distance.  They funneled into each other, a chorus of voices both alien and familiar crescendoing finally into an empty silence from which the most clear whisper he had ever heard trickled forth.  Its reverberations vibrating his form as it spoke:

*“This is the Kingdom of light, as it is, which no city on earth can equal.  See how its network of light points provide the foundation for the most masterful of physical world’s architecture.  Climb the undulating, gyre staircase, built of alternating circuits of thought and emptiness.  Go! And approach the dwelling of your true Self, sacred to the all that is, and equalled by no earthly aspect that could ever be.  Make your way through the kingdom of light and follow it through to the end.

Realize the equanimity of its presence, examine the truth that creates this platform of existence and see how it pours itself constantly into the construction of the physical world; its palm trees, gardens, orchards, the glorious palaces and temples, the shops and marketplaces, the houses, and the public squares.  This is the dwelling of the infinite presence pervading the universe as an imperishable and unchanging force.  Welcome to that which is beyond both is and is not...."

time flows like an uninterrupted stream
building steam and crescendoing into
a raging river

instead of flowing against it, I try to be
like a leaf flowing with it instead of
fighting the current

sometimes I am caught in an eddy and
time stands still as I wind in circles
until I'm off again

I can't always see the larger picture,
but when I am centered in a loving Divine Presence
then I remember I am flowing to the Great Ocean

Each hour is precious and a chance to open up,
so I may move closer to the greater whole
a destination I can't even imagine

By Steven L Herring

If I were a poet,
I'd be damaged goods
and all the world would whisper
as I sought beauty in the woods

If I were a poet,
a peculiar one I'd be
Robust in every single way
morning, noon, and end of day
all I am is me

If I were a poet,
an oddity in fact,
I'd start my days with gasoline
and the brightness of a match

If I were a poet,
I'd bleed on every page
Silence,
sadness,
laughter,
love;
crescendoing in rage

I am a poet!
A wordsmith if you will
But even if you won't,
a poet I am still!

He cannot hear
I just now realized
He's deaf to it, it's all disguised
Everything, all of it, is crystal unclear
What's up is down and what's far is near

The radio boils
The microwave sings
The telephone listens, while his ear rings
But he hasn't noticed, his ignorance is loyal
To his strange world of backwards turmoil

His eyes tear up
At the toasters dull ding
Oblivious though, to orchestral strings
Crescendoing, divinus, in joyous buildup
An Ode only heard as a course hiccup

Puts books to his ear
But hears no voice
Thumbs through jibberish, but his hands hold Joyce
The steak tastes like spam and the wine of beer
He's deaf to it, all of it, everything I fear

He runs in squares
And lounges in circles
Tears down hopes, and builds up hurdles
Will flail in shallow water and fall up stairs
Then write love letters to hate-affairs

Has two left feet
And no right moves
His rhythm and soul have lost their groove
It's tragic, greek, a heart that offbeat
Might mistake victory and chance for fate and defeat.

He's wrong. What's more?
He's oxymoronic
His light-hearted prose are mostly sardonic
Wouldn't know an apple from an adonic core
Or discordant beats from euphonic score.

He's deaf to it,
Yes ears and all.
Despite what words I might here scrawl.
It will never get through to that dumb misfit
He's deaf and blind and full of ****.

Soft curtains a drawn
A mist set forth on the stage
Down from the ceiling fell a cage
Elegant in beauty
The crowd watched in silence
For the show to begin
A soft melody fell from her lips
And crescendoing into loud folds of words
The opra began
She draped her body along the bars
And sang about how she wished to be set free
About her soul dying in the clutches of containment
A tear fell down her face
The crowd in awe leaned into the stage
Grasping her sides with a forlorn frown
Lying there
She let out the last of her show
It flew through the room like electricity
And the curtains where once again drawn to hide her face
She fell  against the cool metal
Waiting to be set free
But the room dimmed to dark
And her body ebbed in and out of reality
Phantom of the ... Opera
Inside my mind

The night slightly hushed by the nocturnal lullaby
The ground wet from the remains of rain
The slanted hills that roll along the land
I sleep there with eyes wide open
I weep to the flowers that drop their heads in pity
I weep to the grass that ebbs in the breeze
A death of someone close, so close to me
That death was me
I died
And now I've lost my way home
Stuck between the world I knew and the one I learn
The girl I used to be
A phantom in a frosted mirror
Asleep inside this imposter
Chained inside a disguise
A nightmare all to real
The trees bow before my tears
The songs grow louder
Crescendoing
Until I lay still

She is the sound of the rain
Soft tapping on the rooftops
An inexplicably calm feeling that you cannot stop

She floods your senses
Rushing gently while you can only float
Who are you, atop the ocean of her gaze?

She is the longing for sunlight
Overwhelmingly beautiful on the brow of a new day
An incredibly powerful feeling that breeds bliss

She alters your heartbeat
Shining intensely while you can only stare
What are you, worthy of being the object of her desire?

She is the most beautiful music
Sending your mind to faraway places
A fantastical feeling that moves your entire being

She quickens your breath
Crescendoing endlessly while you can only listen
Where are you, in the symphony of her being?

She somehow seems to be everything

Your favorite color
Your muse
Your captor
Your love

Everything

She is.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
If harmony is what you’re looking for
I would compose a symphony for you

I’d create it out of the little things, usually carelessly overlooked
Writing the notes down as I go as if the pages of a book
Breaking form, strutting style
I’ll make it plain for you to see

We compliment each other well,
Regardless of the key

The sunlight burns into the trees but with the prevailing shade
The sunlight catches you in glances, as you walk away
But still I’d conduct a symphony, fingers riding every rift
Laying out a masterpiece, your own personal Fifth

I’d use my mittened hands, keeping the cadence stern
Smiling without saving face, I’m loving to relearn

My music floats atop the beat, crescendoing to the sky
The trees sway to and fro as nature joins in with a cry
Trumpet fanfare, chordal rounds, the most beautiful of sounds
If only, if only you could hear what I hear
And see these beautiful rounds

Venturing off across the medium, a tangent between right and wrong
An exhibit of choreography, justifying every wrong
You would find me smiling, artfully whirling my baton
A conductor at my finest, while trying to impress
As a romantic I expect the worst,
Without losing hope of finding the best
Continuing to break the mold, creation in rawest form
Discussion through composition, a shattering of the norms

As the piece draws to its close the conductor takes a bow
The lights dim with the curtain call as the cheers ring out
Then you’ll catch me beaming, an artificer plain to be
You’re the reason why I smile, it can’t be hard to see
Every time I see your face, all I hear

Is your symphony.

Build monuments for her.
High and prime,
with lustrous gold trimmings
and intricate pearl accents.
Surrounded by clouds of lavender,
like tufts of perfection
whispering into a beautiful stranger's ears,
gentle drops of sound.
Strong pillars protecting
a most-prized acquisition.
Love,
cementing every brick,
bridging every gap.
Tides of satin caress the nearby shoreline
in an infinite melody.
Crescendoing all prayers of light
and a mother's kind brow.
Diminuendoing unanswered
sighs of temptation.
Dawn kisses wide arcs,
turning immortal sadness into
her favorite raging affliction,
Home.

I sink deeper into the atmosphere we were responsible for,
in silence my eyelids and I fight the sunlight’s slow and crescendoing intrusion,
wondering if she is still asleep
or if she realized by now that every time she makes the slightest fidget
away from the center of the bed
I bite her

right where her lower abs meet her hip flexor
on the outside
I wanted to have her learn I am consistent.
she didn’t have to give consent,
degenerates like me don’t care

if I want the cake and proceed to eat it before day break
then so be it.
Nuzzling now
her lips press their frozen presence into the space under my jaw
and a warm gust of her pushes my sideburns up

my chest jumps
lumps in my veins snowball and create
the feel of cherry bombs popping
at every nerve ending I had forgotten

it rings me.
how could I let her trick me into jostling my babe awake?
and all before the alarm.
I grow the wings of a vicious pelican, expanding my span
using my featherish lips to attack her out of cryostasis
she curls up, afraid of more laughter and pushes her tongue through the gap she made
between her bottom and top rows of teeth.
she glows better than the bringer of days
the sun must find me insane.

He cannot hear
I just now realized
He's deaf to it, it's all disguised
Everything, all of it, is crystal unclear
What's up is down and what's far is near

The radio boils
The microwave sings
The telephone listens, while his ear rings
But he hasn't noticed, his ignorance is loyal
To his strange world of backwards turmoil

His eyes tear up
At the toasters dull ding
Oblivious though, to orchestral strings
Crescendoing, divinus, in joyous buildup
An ode only heard as a course hiccup

Puts books to his ear
But hears no voice
Thumbs through jibberish, but his hands hold Joyce
The steak tastes like spam and the wine of beer
He's deaf to it, all of it, everything I fear

He runs in circles
And sits in squares
Drowns in shallow waters and falls upstairs
Nothings left of romance when passion dulls
But crippled hopes and shattered hulls

He cannot hear
He just now realized
He's deaf to it, it's all disguised
Everything, all of it, is crystal clear
What's up is down and what's far is near

I find that it's the little things that let you show you love someone.
It's rarely a huge light show- fireworks and crescendoing orchestras.
It's usually subtle as a birdsong,
And as constant.
Just something little, just something thoughtful.
Loving is an art, and you can always be more attentive, more tender, more detailed
About it.
I love that about love.
Love is never finished, just like art.
Never finished, only abandoned.
You can add the little flourishes all day long, down to the tiniest things,
And still it will have room to be even sweeter, even better.
If you really want someone to feel loved,
You can work and think and make every second another chance
To show it.
That's what I love about love.
There is always more to give, more to say.
I love to find the little throw-away things, things that are so subtle that the world doesn't even notice,
So small that they could easily be omitted and never be missed,
Those moments of "I just want to give you something, anything."
Because so many people let those things pass-
The thousands of chances they get each day to show love,
Things so simple and easy that they don't even seem to matter,
But oh, they do.
There is no better way to say I Love You
Than to notice when someone is sad and lend a comforting touch to the shoulder,
To take the time to know them well enough to know just what they need to hear and when,
Or to remember their favorite chocolate and buy it for them as a surprise,
Or to know, even, when to bow out and take the crowd with you.
I'll give you my hands,
I'll give you my time,
I'll give you my attention,
My affection,
My passions,
My secrets,
My absence and my constancy,
My humor and my understanding,
I'll give you my body and my mind,
I'll give you security,
Comfort,
Acceptance.
I will give you
As much or as little of me as you want.
And it is my art to know which.
It is my art to invest a bit of all of it
Into every silly little thing I do for you
So that you will feel loved always
But never know quite where it comes from.
It hides, see,
In the little bits of art I do for you,
In the way I might fold your clothes if they're on the bed, just so you won't have to.
In my eyes as I watch you play piano,
In the tips of my fingers whenever I touch you.
All of that is there, and more.
All of that is for you,
So that you can live with that kind of cushion between you and a cold hard world,
If you want it.
And all of that, also, is just hidden enough
So that you may leave it if you don't need it.
This is for you.
This and anything else you could ask of me.

This conversation dances on our tongues
Like a fire flickering endlessly at the end of a candle
Until it leaps from our mouths into the center of the room
Revealing to us why we could never extinguish it while swaying slowly to a tune

We watch silently as our words move
Gracefully flowing in and out of time and space,
Crescendoing to towering heights then coming back down with the finesse of feather fluttering flawlessly to the song’s pace

And for a moment,
we lose ourselves to the rhythm
allowing each beat to wash over us in waves of
elegant abstracts flowered with beautifully acute details

Where, or even when, we started is lost to us now
Discarded in favor of the wonderful wander

Our words separate,
Then come back together
Like two star crossed lovers eternally entangled in a tango
Crossing old paths with new shoes
While wondering aloud how they ever came to forget the dance’s moves

It’s so natural that we forgot to worry
Blissfully ignorant to the fact our fate is fleeting
So that the only things to exist were you, I, and our verbal exchange
In a perfect marriage of consistency and change

Our words retreat back into our tongues just as the morning light hits,
Jolting us back awake for another routine day
We smile knowing the rest of them could never understand the fierceness of our wits
These words were only ever meant for us anyway

The anthem ripped out from the Frontman, the Drummer, and the Bassist,
Making a sound larger than should be possible,
Their anthem ripped out through the old amps,
The music revitalizing the old speakers.

The Drummer hammered out powerfully yet precise.
His feet rattling off like machine gun fire,
His bandana tied around his brow.

The Bassist laying down a metronome-like effect to it all,
Notes swaying and dipping to the tune,
Flaring out occasionally to add more gravitas,
Showing he was still his own musician.

The Frontman declaring to the crowd of transgressions committed,
Of battles won and lost,
But also the views from the other side,
That the enemy may be man still.
A story of agony and anger,
Sorrow and Savagery,
With jubilance for the act of violence.
The Frontman's solo soaring high before axe kicking down upon the audience's heads.

The Agent was stunned,
His dropped drink forgotten,
As he reached for the payphone on the wall
The experience in front of him spurring him faster.

The Band continued,
Their sound crescendoing,
Coming to an almighty peak,
Only to begin it's decent to the earth,
Crashing down magnificently,
Down upon a dive bar in the run down part of town.

came and went like the storm overhead
rumbling as your lines were drawn
in curls and side-swept bangs,
sinister lips to sink your teeth into, and
******* more supple than my own.

came and went
flashing as your fingers twitched
to race up and down that spine,
back and forth across those hips, and
lower to that sacred place.

came and went
crescendoing as your lungs inflated
to let out a sigh,
a gasp, a shout
a shuddering name.

came and went
as 3 AM watched
me arrange my pillows
into your shape,
to curl with
to tangle with
and to whisper to when
you're a million miles
away.

Remind me when i am dead
how searing a day in the summer
feels on the back of your neck
being bent over a flower
from the earth up
with my nose
tasting it
slyly
Remind me when i am dead
how stings the frigid moss
of frost on the roof of car
when i have to get up
early and i forget my
gloves and barely
fingers over it
go and it
burns so
coldly
Remind me when i am dead
how electric your fuzz
blunders over my
thighs as you
kiss down
my chest
to root
my
Remind me when i am Dead
what the chords of music
taste like crescendoing
in a small quiet room
as the sun slinks
through the
slats in
darkness
Remind Dead when i am me

It is often claimed that the best of love is the sudden, unexpected kind
This love reveals itself recklessly like the storm after an almost peaceful stagnant calm.
But such a quick erratic love
Ruptures just as instantaneously as it comes
This love though so tempestuous
Deserts you with nothing but a memory sweet, yet impalpable and far-gone
An everlasting love is a drizzle crescendoing into a symphonic storm
A quiet infatuation, which like a blooming flower, harbors an innate need for nurturing
Infatuation can potentially be spun into love, which upon revelation, harbors a feeling so warm
Admiration always cradles the opportunity of this wild, consuming love
And the chance at this love knocks at everyone’s doors
But those who stroll through the drizzle differ from those who take shelter in familiar warmth
The hopeful, heartfull few, who don’t mind strolling through the light rain,
Possess the bounty of a doting and undying downpour.

**** the silent moon,
and all it's stark white beauty,
and the thundering ghost train's,
crescendoing symphonies,

I am ever so angry,
At the effortless night,
for try, try,
and try as I might,
I will never be quite as still as the moon,
all of my lines well end far too soon,
and all will be lost to the effortless night

Released from my physical form
I allow the tendrils of sleep
To conduct it's shadowed symphony
Crescendoing
Into a frenzy of cacophonous arousal, exhiliration and fear
My body soars in dream land
Shallow breaths become hurried
Bottomless pit free falling
Alice in Wonderland acid swirl
This crazy train is right on schedule
Each night whisking me off
To the exotic, horrific and depraved
My only respite...
The sticky sweet haze of Mary Jane
As she melts
Into the visceral underbelly
Of my subconscious
Only then do I wake well rested
Not aching from the memory of sleep

heavy hands pressed
into hot skin, slick running
down to escape
a heady, spun mind firing blanks.

find forbidden release -
slide, push, grasp, bite,
moan into open spaces,
to fill empty pauses
of hesitation to ease frustration
through undulations crescendoing,
and breaking into staggered breathing.

covered heartbeats thump, flip-flop, flounder
under oceans tide rolling up to shore,
ensuring the footprints will recede
with the pounding waves, erase
all evidence of pointless bliss
into layers of sand,
churned over & over by ruthless repetition,
over & over into thoughtless submission,
over & over & over & over to climb over
the cliffs of insanity, jump with me,
to infinite depths of jagged teeth
crouching low to cut the heat spilled
by dilated pupils twitching to the driving beat
of some over-worked melody.

painting a precise manifesto
of a knife singularly longing
for supple curves of backs to lunge into,
and carve it's home from bone & sinew,
to nest & fester - rotten refuse.
a bed made of metallic missteps
and unspoken truths
it's only home when your heart is
shredding to fragmented shards
that wish to sink into their own kind.

but beware of the shadows
lurking behind the door marked "escape",
you can run from your monsters,
but you cannot fool fate -
your dark thoughts will inevitably manifest one day.

Is it the red crescendoing of trees lining the icy lake?
Or the pebbles popping under the rubber wheels of my old car?
Is it the warmth of picking up wool scarves from their summer cocoons? Being shaken out and wrapped around cold necks?
Is it this lower state's familiar weather, blending brisk wind with bright sun? The way it heats the second-floor windows in the frigid mornings?
Is it the scents of sage and roasting meat floating through the door, welcoming me home?
Or the mismatched pairs of shoes kicked under the hallway bench?

It might be this last bit of Cabernet slowly tumbling to top my cup, or the ceaseless squeak of my childhood bed.
But yes, something calls me here, back to the beginning.
Back to the autumns of our home.

I grabbed her fawning hands to mine
And we danced on the dish of the moon
Serenaded by a loon's rollicking tune
That could not keep up with
Our loud passion cries
Echoing hill to hill
Back and forth In and out
Crescendoing into ecstatic shouts

Easing us finally to love's little death
Nearly out of breath
As we watched the jokey sun rising in the west
And how our tired kisses
Were flying off our lips
Into the clownish banditry of the wind's harsh riffs

Had I but waited
With eyes closed
I would have never tasted
The falling of your lips upon mine
Soft at first with gentle teeth
Crescendoing into passioned heart beats
Melting into the sacred shadows between our hips

cold sweat startled wake,
to blinding grey light
cutting through torn curtains,
splaying skeletal silhouettes on the floor.
squinting crusted-shut eyes,
trying to determine the ghostly hour
lost between fragmented fever dreams.
head twisting inside-out to wrap itself
around old virtues, stand true
true blue friend, I'll surely desert you in the end.
hand on my burnt Bible to swear
my oath of destruction,
on a war path to eradicate
everything i resurrected
as an effigy to home, love, and identity.
structural anarchy - from imposed symmetry,
to the empty abyss surrounding me
where a single whimper can bounce
off itself, into crescendoing agony.
gather all the rubbled remains
of the once sanctified temple,
but piling stones straight to the sky
won't build a shelter for the aftershock.