Bidding farewell to the warmth,
The bells of a spring path ring, to the sound of the wind,
Which has once again, crossed the stream of time, as it usually does,
The transience of the day, already lost due time, the sun remains as a traveler, whom appears to have crossed the Zenith again,
It's scorching heat is to be felt, exposed to it almost as if it was to be to set the skin ablaze, truly these sunrays, are unforgiving at this time,
Sorrow and misery, are to burn into ash by this heat, a purifying flame of affectionate happiness, embracing those who have found themselves to be in love with the natural, decending, light,
Beyond the boundaries, the mystery of our living power remains unknown, all what is left is a spark in the dark, beyond the sunshine,
The evening welcoming this world is soon to be radiating in joyful light, wandering aimlessly the time for the sunset draws near,
Beyond the Zenith, lies the transience of the passing time.


~ Umi

Coming to a conclusion in mid-flight,
Falling is and has always been my destination,
How I can understand my family's frustration,
I've been a terrorist on familiar grounds,
Only to jeoprodize the well-being of thier well-being
Making an easier outcome,
Falling has always been my destination from the start.

Thinking while I sit here alone,
Incisions deep enough to feel my bones,
Shades of vermillion paint my clothes
and thoughts of cessation brings me close to home.

Down the rabbit whole dear Alice
With all your bobs and lace
Take heed fair beauty the fruminous peril at hand
Beyond in this rational land
Dont fear sweet maiden in the world of pomp and paradox
You'll find you truely thrive
For what is living if you dont feel alive!
Where Cheshire smiles and cat call lads
Label and obtuse
You are uniquely you
Unruley hair and all
Just becareful my love on how hard you fall.

Love, a flame that burns in water,
When the ice melts, it but freezes,
The hottest day departs, but it gets hotter;
Leaving behind a husk, autumn deceases,
But Love descends from the Heavenly Sky,
To wake who died and perish all who ask, "Why?"

What is it if not love?
That is born when two hearts rhyme,
What is it if not love?
That lives between Death and Time.

Ah! And Love never says the petty “good-bye”,
‘Cause it certainly returns, when say I, "Good-bye".

I Sleep ;
I Slip
In Doze, I Seep out into the Scenes ;

In Potions Deep
In Notions Cold and Preasuring
I Fit and Knit my Crown
I Coral
I Knot and Concrete a Frown
But though I Invite my Efforts
My Thoughting is Leaks and Tearing *

Over Whale but Underwater
I Recover Nothing Reassuring
Slowing to a Pale
In Ocean Cold
My Feedings are Slurring to a Drown
My Motions ; Enwombed and Collected
An Unfoetal, my Body Undertakes a Vulnerable Mould

Above
The Surface
The Ship Blinks, on Fire
And Gifts from the Broken Hold Sink to me
It's all a Wink Directed at me
A Humour

But I am become Prepared Still
For the Next Life
I Discard, Decending Still
A Treat Sunk Below
A Monsterous Breakfast

                                                 *note­ : as in, secreting saline, watery fluid

What am I, a man you may say
but you don't know me.
Have you spoken with God? I have
and he says he's ashamed.
What have I become, what have I done.
What am I, a man you may say
but you don't know me.
Have you spoken with the Devil? I have
and he swears he's not to blame and I
understood cuz I feel the same.
You come at me with arms wide open
but I stand alone.
We're no heroes, and we're not made of stone.
Right or wrong I can hardly tell.
What am I, brave you may say
but you don't know me.
Have you heard from God? I have
and he sounds just like me.
"What have I done, and who have I become".
What am I, normal you may say
but you don't know me.
Have you seen the Devil? I have
and he looked a lot like me. (turns away)
I'm not defending our downward decending
that's falling further and further away,
Getting closer everyday.
You come at me with arms wide open
but I'm not their anymore.
Their is no heroes, and no one is made
out of stone.
Their is no more wright or wrong that
I can honestly say.
I'm on the wrong side of Heaven and
the righteous side, the righteous side
of Hell.
So what am I now that you
know me ?
I'm dead.

We followed the road for six hundred miles, there were no turnings off except one in all that length . The South Australian desert seemed endless.
We eventually landed at Maralinga on a newly constructed runway with new buildings and workshops, we were impressed to see it all, but we were not allowed to hang about, a peppery little sergeant directed us  to a waiting vehicle, and we were driven to the camp, there were quite a few buildings, offices and stores mostly. But there were three messes, an officers mess, a seargeants mess and an airmans mess, all of the buildings were temporary- corrugated iron roofs and walls, which could get hot enough to burn any unprotected skin. We reported for duty and were allocated a small two man tent each. My tent was located at the end of a long row, there were about three hundred tents I believe, Gordon's tent was located at the opposite side to mine, he was required to work in the decontamination unit, I was to work in the cookhouse- a humble cook's assistant. I grew to love cooking and still do! At that time all national sevice men were only allotted assistant trades, that was ok by me, I loved to eat as well as the next man! Working in the mess was unbearably hot during the day, but pleasant enough at night. The Australian food was excellent, and there was plenty of it. One thing that surprised me was the size of the potatoes, you only got about thirty to a hundred weight, and they were often hollow, caused by the rapid growing season and the sudden start of the dry season. I had the tent to myself. Almost! During the night, a large Iguana-which lived under the duckboards in my tent- would come out of his hole and climb up the side of my tent, between the actual tent and the fly sheet, then it would slide down the other side. this was repeated half a dozen times every night! Some times I used to drop pieces of meat down for it. Then I discovered that there were other less welcome guests! So I stopped feeding them. The first night that I slept there I was puzzled to see a great pile of blankets on the bed, thirteen in all, I thought that must be for two beds. That night when I lay down  to sleep, I only used one blanket, the night was reasonably warm at that time, I woke up later feeling cold, and added another blanket.  This process continued until I had all of the blankets on my bed. The night time temperature plummetted almost to freezing!  One morning when we were off duty after working all night, I and my friends climbed the one hundred foot high water tower to sunbathe. Big mistake, the silver painted tank grew hotter until by ten 'oclock it was too hot to touch, fortunately we had a blanket each, but decending a one hundred foot tower when all the metalwork, including the steel ladder is too hot to touch is a tricky and dangerous pastime!  More anon.

Someone is drowning in a sea of faces.
He never saw me but I sure saw him.
And he was cast away to far off places,
But where to bound, he'd never say.
I see him draw a shallow breath,
decending into the glassy oceans in his eyes.
With all the pressure he is barely breathing.
He seems as though he is barely alive.
Where have you been to get here today?
What have you done to become how you are?
What have you seen to make it seem this way?
You aren't here to catch the train at 8:15.
I wanted to ask but I did and said nothing.
And I became just another observer.
And when the questions were finally answered,
Before we could act, it was already over.
The train came at 8:15.
I never even knew his name.
I should have asked him how he'd been.
I never asked. We never do.

I miss her!
I miss the breath in my mouth!
I miss the fallen hair on floor!
I miss the smell in my bed!
Is it the begin of my fall!
Or am I in the middle of decending to inferno dark side of loneliness!
Here I will oblige my pen to step!
I will contain my heart beats within the chest that held years of secrets!
No further spell of words on those white tempting papers!
No more openness
No more me!
Sorry!

The sun decending in the west,
The evening star does shine,
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower,
In Heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.

William Blake  *1757--1827

The crimson leaves
Profilerate  the maples
Each breeze removing their
clinging fingers to the  beauty
of life.

Floating winding decending
to the fragrances of autumn.
That aroma of things to come
irresistible yet dangerous

They decend into
the the Maelstrom
of the season's.
As they always have.

No more the nightingale
Or the resting swallow
Shall adorn it's leafy conclave.

Only skeleton branches
Pointing like fingers
Into the breath of winter

Within its aincent tired roots.
Beating stronger
than any human heart.
It has a vision.

Of buds unfurled
A green that no other spring
has ever ever seen.
of renewal that lives
deep inside a knowledge.
Far stronger than human intellect.
Of a rebirth that
Perhaps lives in everything
Even creatures as temporary
and frail as us.

Once I soared with eagles
     my guardian angel by my side.
Walking tall with confidence
     caused my foes to run and hide.

I chose my battles carefully;
     I picked the place and time.
If any son dared cross me
     I knew his *** was mine.

I remember ocassional setbacks;
     times when the going got rough,
     but the things that should
     only helped to make me tough.

I guess I thought there was a God.
I prayed once in a while,
     but I knew I didn't need his help
     to go an extra mile.

I rebelled against authority;
     took all the freedom I could get.
I could not allow myself to lose a fight;
     my *** ain't been kicked yet.

Needing victory in every duel
     became my prison cell.
As I leaned hard against the wind
     my soul set sail for Hell.

I didn't know it left me;
     I didn't see it stray
Fighting one last battle,
     it would just get in my way.

This battle was the hardest;
     it took five years to win.
Revenge and anger were my weopens;
     I wore them like a grin.

When the fight was nearly over
     and victory was near,
I prayed to God," return my soul"
     but He didn't seem to hear.

I'd look for without Him;
     this heart that I had lost.
I'd win it back all by myself
     no matter what the cost.

Now standing on the pinnicle,
     I fearfully looked around.
My soul would not have come up here;
     it's too far from hallowed ground.

Starting back down along the path;
     frought with struggle and with strife,
     I found I was decending through the
     wreckage of my life.

While pawing through the ashes
     of the bridges I had burned,
     I found the charred remains
     of all the lessons I had learned.

Confused and battle weary;
     I could not tell wrong from right,
     but I prayed that at the freefalls end
     there might be truth and light.

Now I'm lying in the smoke and fire
     at the crash site of my soul
     peering out through Godless eyes
     as a snake peers from his hole.

I should have had some warning;
     a shot across my bow
     but my spirit spiraled down and down
     and look where I am now.

Like a marble in a funnel,
     my soul spun 'round and down.
With a lack of positive energy
     it finnaly hit the ground.

Now I'm at the bottom
     With no way to go but up.
God, please give me the strength to feed
     my soul;
     your sacred wine to fill my cup.


This was the first poem I was ever able to
right. At age 56 it came to me in a dream and I got up and wrote it down.

it burns too deep within my sight, the silvery bitter blackness that hangs upon the night.and into your grasp i am decending,  into the deep ,is myself ,that im sending, upon your great bow i stand open mouthed and bracing your emptiness seek what i once found out off a land i knew that existed before the great night was so solomly twisted into the torrents that so painfully blisterd because of the vastness i knew i had missed it ..so into the belly of the heart that had found it now cutting the ropes that had circled and bound it ,feeling the freedom that had so carefully bound the light that the night had so silently found.

The crimson leaves
Profilerate  the maples
Each breeze removing their
clinging fingers of beauty
of life.

Floating winding decending
to the fragrances of autumn.
That aroma of things to come
irresistible yet dangerous

They decend into
the the Maelstrom
of the season's.
As they always have.

No more the nightingale
Or the resting swallow
Shall adorn it's leafy conclave.

Only skeleton branches
Pointing like fingers
Into the breath of winter

Within its aincent tired roots.
Beating stronger
than any human heart.
It has a vision.

Of buds unfurled
A green that no other spring
has ever ever seen.
of renewal that lives
deep inside a knowledge.
Far stronger than human intellect.
Of a rebirth that
Perhaps lives in everything
Even creatures as temporary
and frail as us.

Laying shallow in the darkness dept,
Wishing there were a final step to be leapt,
The Safety of her blankets near,
But she couldn't get away from this kind of fear.

Floating on this streamline bed,
Her only thoughts were filled with dread.
All the monsters knawed away
Any faith she still had to this day.

Submerged in this streamline bed,
A note for tomorrow to be read.

She once read in a book (or was it online)
Still to this moment she managed alone,
Because her parents were gone most of the time.
(Her life to be the same percentage as her phone)

"the morning is wiser than the evening"

And yet after all this time she was still focused on leaving

Decending in the streamline bed,
Her soul was tossed to the demons-they deserved to be fed.

A glimmer of peace,
In the final defeat,
Lost in this streamline bed,
Her wish was granted-she was finally dead.

Jake Giles: Jake Giles: i thought about,what i would find a flawless glass of water colour that would slowly fill my mind,can you fathom the depth of the deepness?my only love for dark and light left sweetly with a weakness,and only you who feels thevastness could only go on and feel the light that burns the day into stillness i hang on the worlds beautifull illness.i gaze upon this world of madness and into my eyes leaks coluors of sadness,,even tho i lose i think im winning open your eyes,the world is beggining,so take you now shadows decending the orange and red in itself it is blending is your head or your heart that im mendind,,,and listen as the story goes the sweet warm air of the irish wind blows,,,,and that is how my story goes ..life is fine like wine life is fine ***

Climbing up the mountain
The summit to behold
No holding to this moment
Soul will not be sold

Decending has it's lessons
The journey must be made

Mind must be free
Never made a slave

Ground level is for pondering
Many holes to walk around

Hold on to something half forgotten
Strong will must be found

One day on the horizon
A mountain can be seen

A calling to the summit, and everything
In-between.

For years he caught a fish
For his hymn
It was a game and thrill
From the ridge
And outskirts
He parked his car
Hiking thru the forest
Often whistling a tune
Surely enjoying the views
And the company
While singing Oh My Darling
Clemetine
To his goad
A wide open lake
His only refuge
Fishing brought him comfort
Like *** does
As often as a blue moon
When he caught one
Some say for effect
The fish would wiggle
His whistles pitching
Pitching
From the mound
To the batter's box
Sometimes high
More often low and bought
And to his demise the big ones
End up escaping
Why he would ask
A snap of fate, they say
Twice a month
Which was a good month
He tested the waters
He would dip his toe in
His manhood at bat
Always relishing
The aesthetics
From the outskirts
To the ridge
The walk thru the forest
Thru and thru
Back in forth
It never got old
Even for his whizzing heart
Stranger as it seems
A stranger in the dark
The years
The decades
The lost opportunities
Decending
To the whispers
And knowing sneers
From his peers
Life had fewer cast for him
And fewer blue moons
Where he is now resigned
To his hands of fate

Logan Robertson

1/04/2020

lavender lilac butter scotch blue flowers
aside the nothingness but open air
rummiging thorns down thickles
to its decending upwarding water

breathing upon its havoc
limber joyous not so joyous atmosphere
Always doing the same but not yet the same,
dying

like soil is its blood without its blood its earth its roots
have gone dissipade unlike me,
I am made from soil unto my own soil thickness
and breathing joyfully into Space

what are flowers for when we can use them for so much
other than its immediance question and answer of this such
"I don't know"
Taste, devour, smell, and beauty

nothing but its limber award
and pleasantry

of this sickle
rootless
tree

blending in so perfectly,
with water and what's death to be.

Saddening strickening the evolution of quick throw away plant;
Necessary; like a gift it is,
a quickness of sight,
an immediance of a throw away

To the salut!

© Clarissa C. van Vreden