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Äŧül Apr 2017
Angel?
In That Moonlit Night Standing In The Abaft,
Watching The Towed Flaccid Wooden Raft,
I Thought That I Saw An Angel Resting,
Lying Exhausted There In That Craft.

I Called The Girl Out Without Knowing Her Name,
"Hey Young Lady!" To Which She Didn't Much Respond,
She Looked Up Towards Me Once In Anguish & Collapsed,
I Thought I Saw Despair In Her Amber Eyes & Must Help Her.

The Crewmen Had Now Been Doing The Paddles After Resting,
I Called My Captain & Asked, "Do You See A Girl In That Raft?"
The Captain Just Replied Kindly, "Commodore, Get Married,"
I Looked Apprehensive And He Just Said, "There's No Girl."

True He Was As She Had Simply Disappeared,
I Started Thinking Of My Sleep Needs That Day,
Looked Around Again In A Hope To Find The Girl,
I Had Compromised My Routine As The Commodore.

Then I Immediately Realized It Was My Wild Phantasm,
Now This Was Just A Plain Illusion Of A Tired Sailor's Mind,
No Mermaids Could Have Ever Existed In Reality & Were Fake,
I Turned Towards The Deck To Go Back To My Bunk For Sleeping.

As I Enter My Room Down The Stairs Amazed & Confused,
She Floated There As She Waited By The Side Of My Bunk,
I Accepted That Delusion Of Hers And Start To Lie Down,
She Said, "I'm As Real As Your Thoughts, Don't Fear Me."

She & I-Me & Her, Had The Best Time That Night,
In The Morning She Was Gone & Was Just Gone,
Disappeared Into Thin Air While I Was Asleep,
Each Day I So Dearly Long For Her To Return.

7 Paragraphs of a Beautiful Open-Eyed Dream

Angel Again?
Now I reached the lands again,
Still dazzled and confused I was,
From encounter with that Angel,
Oh how she had filled my twilight,
Unable to forget her divinely touch.

Magical touch had enchanted me,
Able to recall it from the voyage,
I stumbled when disembarking,
Oh it was the first time for me,
My thoughts would last along.

After so many days at the sea,
I planned of bathing properly,
Her illusion tricked me thereto,
Oh how her traces remained on,
Facing mirror, I stood perplexed.

Still unable to accept the reality,
I longed for that night to repeat,
Heart beats Angel in each beat,
Life staged a drama too crazy,
Unwilling to take the reality.

My body carries the vestiges,
I turn crazier with each bath,
Her lips' traces keep appearing,
Driving me mad is her memory,
God! Bring her to life once more.

I had my powers as a commodore,
I sent for the captain of my ship,
"What bothers you, my commodore,"
And so he asked of me kindly,
Then I told him of her traces.

Smiling he told me yet again,
"I had told you to get married,"
I agreed this time and nodded,
"Alright, search for me a bride,"
Going outside, he smiled plainly.

Angel Surely?
Till Few Months Of Reaching Back,
I Kept Seeing Her Images All Over,
It Drove Me Crazy Her Presence...

Taking Time Out To Search Her Out,
I Went For The Mountainous Path,
It May Cease I Hope These Dreams.

The Horse Made Me Look A Knight,
I Set Out Solo For The Dark Creeks,
It Helped Me Realize My Solo Aim...

Then She Came Into My View Again,
I Prepared For Tackling My Illusion,
It Started Snowing Out Of Nowhere.

Took Me To A Safer Place She Then,
I Was Bewildered Again Once More,
It Was Clearing But She Vanished...

Then On My Way I Stopped To Rest,
I Looked Around For A Place To Sit,
It Came To My View A Huge Tavern.

Tavern On A Mountain Was Weird,
I Still Went To It Hoping Some Rest,
It Had Appeared Out Of Nowhere...

Angel Illusion?
I Peered Out Of The Room Windows,
I Was In This Desolate Guesthouse,
It Was A Comfortable Rest House,
And Here I Was In Anticipation,
Angel Or Whosoever Was Awaited,
Will She Pop Into My Vision Here Too,
Was It Only A Seasick Mind's Illusion?

Was All That Really Just An Illusion,
Thinking This I Prepared For Bed,
Then I Felt A Flute Was Playing,
Looked Into Sound's Direction,
All I Saw Then Was Foggy Night,
My Own Reflection Was Also Visible,
Slightly If Not Entirely Can Be Seen.

I Recalled The First Night At The Sea,
She Did Appear On The Towed Raft,
A Beautiful Mermaid I Had Seen,
Now I Did Remember It Clearly,
My Face Was No Longer Mine,
Yes It Was The Beautiful face of hers,
She Wasn't Sad As I Did Remember.

She Was Smiling So Very Divinely,
Her Brown Eyes Stared So Cutely,
More Divine Felt She Was Really,
I Thought That It Was So Early,
My Pocket Watch Showed Three,
I Took My Eyes Off And Went To Bed,
Then & There She Was Lying For Me.

I Again Let My Mind Play Games,
Never Did Imagine Turning Mad,
Now I Was Not Feeling As Bad,
Neither I Wanted To Break It,
Nor It Felt Like One Anymore,
This Was The Dream I Loved To Live,
As If The Boon Was Presented To Me.

She Smiled As I Sat On The Bed,
I Asked Her, "Are You Real?"
"Yes, Just As Your Thoughts,"
I Then Stared At Her Lips,
She Then Touched Me Again,
Hands As Soft As That Night At Sea,
I Just Felt Like Opposing Her Touch.

I Blankly Smiled And Thought,
'My Thoughts Are Surely Real,'
Then I Just Let Her Guide Me,
The Moon Shone So Bright,
It Just Felt Really So Very Right,
Resigning I Just Let My Illusion Win,
It's Love We Were Sharing, Not A Sin.

Angel Not Again!!!
I recovered from the night again,
She had disappeared once more,
Was she using me as a ******???

I was frustrated & also saddened,
My self-control got strengthened,
For I was not a tissue to be used!!!

I have my feelings & my emotions,
Presence and absence torture me,
Ego I had tamed got hurt by now...

I won't let that elusive Angel come,
Questioning I must be her realities,
Illusions will end this time finally!!!

I'll establish an identity of my own,
Dependent I'll not be on the angel,
Was she only a dream & no more???

I had duly asked the aged captain,
To search a lovely bride very soon,
Oh, so sure I am about afterwards...

I was tailed by the spirit-like angel,
So irritated by her dreary dreams,
On-off, came-gone, again & again!!!

I now would learn to catch angels,
With the plan, I went to the mage,
Should I now learn some spells???

I entered through a dark alleyway,
Was told to visit this strange place,
What comes across - I wondered...

I knocked the door & she appeared,
Very young she seemed to me now,
Just the age of the angel of dreams!!!

I noticed that she wore a long robe,
So shiny it was silvery like her hair,
Just like the angel of dreams wore...

I rubbed my tired eyes in disbelief,
"Who're you?" I asked very loudly,
"Are you the mage's daughter???"

I wondered for long & she replied,
"Your guess is correct, kind Sailor,"
She beckoned me into the shack...

I set my foot on the wooden floor,
I looked for any sign of the mage,
I want to be set free of the cage!!!

I just thought & thought about it,
But the witch was not to be seen,
Curious I asked, "Where is she???"

"I am my mother," she said calmly,
Perplexed I couldn't say a thing,
My mouth opened once & shut...

I was now about to rise & go away,
But she stopped me with her arms,
"I must show you," so she did say!!!

I did not believe what my eyes saw,
How she changed into the old mage,
Then back into her own daughter???

O I had become confused a lot now,
Why would she transform like this,
I feared if it was actually the angel...

Angel Forever?
Seeing me anxious more than a lot,
The old witch relented a little,
She let me breathe freely,
Back transformed into her daughter,
She touched my forehead,
Then I realized it was sweaty,
Seeing her lovely care I smiled a bit.

So she now lit up a fragrant incense,
The incense seemed so soothing,
She then edged closer to me,
Transcendental wings were visible,
She came even closer to me,
Then the wings simply vanished,
So traceless as if never been there.

It must have been another illusion,
The very day I had set sail to sea,
It was probably carrying over,
Troubling me each non and then,
In my wild dreams I had seen,
True she could not be & was not,
In my life the torment was written.

Soon I was pleading to her teary-eyed,
"Please don't torment me, it hurts!"
She looked at me with affection,
And said, "But I truly love you, sailor,"
She advanced forwards further,
"Have you forgotten all those nights?
Did you even forget the night at sea?"

I first remembered that night at sea,
The night back at home came next,
I had been seduced by her magic,
This was the real picture every time,
I was weak but I still felt warmer,
The night ship feels like yesterday,
I was in confusion about what to do.

Her face was transitioning rapidly,
The old mother to her daughter,
Her daughter to that very angel,
And back to the old mother witch,
Her smile turned into laughter,
The witch laughing at my cries,
Her face here was contorted a lot.

She seemed to be struggling a lot,
As though fight ensued within,
Soon I figured it out by myself,
First I must **** the witch to help,
So I looked around & grabbed,
Axe that I did spot lying there,
Spot on I killed the witch right then.

Angel Ultimately?
The saga in her eyes converts into a constant downpour soon after she realized her freedom from the spell of the dark witch, the curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body.

"Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me."
Her words reverberating throughout,
What wind - what land - what sea,
Everywhere is her presence as I can see,
The wind whispers her name in my ear,
Since a long long time now all I wear,
Is her scent in my immortalized memory.

"Will you stay with me forever, or,
Will you go back to the heavens?"
Though I really wanted her to stay,
I love her and realize what she felt,
I offered her freedom and a choice,
I was not binding her to me in turn,
Everything was instinctive from me.

She seemed in a serious dilemma,
Struggling hard she was in herself,
I again offered & insisted this time,
"It's better you went back to your world,"
But I knew that she loved me a lot,
She tried hard controlling but said,
"I am in love with you since long."

So I am quite right that she loves me,
I am sure even she can forget me not,
Beading all our memories together,
I now know how I can gain salvation,
Not being another self-centric tantric,
"But you don't belong here dear,
So you shouldn't restrict yourself."

After this, she now looks comfortable & composed,
Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone,
Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile,
Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness,
Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good,
"You can't make me stay away because you love me too,
I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."

But I wanted her in my real world now,
I prevented her from vanishing again,
I said, "Please stay, now do not go away,
Because I really can not bear that pain,"
She had almost vanished by then,
Listening to my words she chose to wait,
She said, "Even I want forever to stay."

Continuing with her divine dialog she said,
"Say those golden words to make me stay,"
I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel,"
"Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel,"
She didn't wait for anything more to say it,
"I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor,"
Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
On public demand I clubbed The "Angel?" Series into one poem.
Not in a mood to write new poems as I have just lost my inspiration to live.
But I will still write some more poems till the day I say goodbye.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 23
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand,
all are product of criminal mischief, and Lord, I know,
I’m one of the most thieving, most mischiefing ones

when no one was about, I scribbled many notes,
transplanted from my eyes, for a bottled voyage
to fallow beaches for sandy seeding

no matter IF these poems are from your womb ripped,
****** red concoctions of life’s cute cutting edge inscriptions,
no one cares re your titanic love’s labors, your children’s betrayal

no one cares from whence and wherefore they birthed,
all words, low class and progeny, not prodigy, of demeaning circumstances, best tossed back without much foolish hesitation

writ with pen tip of broken green glass from a parking lot,
the point I broke once more before my commencement,
inked from a wicked witch’s melted green spittle pooling alongside

poets of no way, falsely prophesying falsehoods most singularly bad,
waste not-want not, time better spent than reading rhymes of stolen disrepute and cloudy ownership and ignoble authorship

unless you among a blessed few, who see a full blown poem in glassine clarity, birthed fully formed Elton songs in a mouth full of amniotic fund, you, put down thy laboring eleven instruments

if words you claim of new parentage, you as the mother dear,
know there is nothing new under the sun, even these very words,
scripted by Israelite king whose tomb gone, he, too, poet forgotten

join me in a needle park of junkies who tried and failed, nickel bag
smoking budget dope words, in cigarettes of mostly discarded seeds and twigs, hallucinatory inhaling the same vision again & again

you refuse, naturally, glamming in notional newness, your arrogance, a plentiful commodity of wood-be writers by thousands buried in wooden caskets, under wooden inscription-less crosses

and of the trillion readers possible, to coloring picture books and instant grams, all have gone to the labor-free glancing look-see
of a seconds-short, lengthy meme, 10 second videos, 140 limitations

of the greatest, of Shakespeare and Coleridge, reader’s fast-dying, sunburned neurons reply; “free ***** of his Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the Ancient Mariner, overdue, free him too!”

ancients mock you aware that there be no verbal combination yet to foretell, what Lear said, that’s the the idea, “When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools.”^

fools we are, for there be no fore, the tale already told, once before & more, vaingloriously does this poet’s false vanity speak, so, so boisterously,
  
“why my tale, why my tail, is as new as the oldest fossil”
^ King Lear, Shakespeare
‘The Problem to be explored: The Problem of Abundance:’


Nothing lasts anymore, nothing seems meaningful anymore, nothing feels wanted anymore,

Except for the already lost and gone, and can’t be retrieved.

It seems everything is given without being asked for.

You’ll only notice something when it's not there:


Perhaps:


“My cup must be empty once again in order to receive.”


I have suddenly forgotten where I have just heard

This being said in a prayer but I think it is the key, the answer

To the needless and senseless suffering of our herd

But, its truth stuck with me, and I too wonder


I too think I must be silent again to allow the singing once more

I too think I must become the void to welcome the replenishing wave

Of excitement

Of the need to climb while weighed down by life’s

Various impossibilities, and mystery

And not float thus, away

Fallen to the what Milan Kundera

Described perfectly in his title:

“The Unbearable Lightness of Being”


Our cup runneth over, and we are left to wander

With the grains of time, and consciousness

Escaping through our desperate fingers

As we rush towards a mirage of permanence

While scorching our feet on the sand and deserts  

Burnt by an ever more present sun

And the tedium of golden overabundance


Ancient wisdom dictates that:


“What is useful is not the cup,

But the void that’s ready to receive

The already full need no more

And its further worth deceives”


“Reunion of too long must not last

Separation is inevitable

Separation will always be short-lived

Reunion is unavoidable”


Now, that’s some wisdom to heed

The Union of Lovers will need




‘The Problem of Too Much Goodness’




We are always questioning the Problem of Evil

While too few words lend to the Terror of Good


Everything is living longer and longer

Yet

Everything is dying quicker and quicker


It really is “the best of times”

It really is “the worst of times”

While

Our flesh savours a never before longevity

Our soul is aging rapidly at an alarming rate


This is A Tale of Two Realities:


Where Time is both a child

With an almost non-existent attention span

And the world its vast endless sandbox

A toy is too quickly loved and so immediately

Discarded

Where Time is also senile

With an almost non-existent memory reserve

With the ancient past constantly retold in nostalgia

And the immediate events of rapid currents

Dissipated


There are still so much hunger and terror in

The modern world

Of course, the well-fed, warless, and unmarked

are being overlooked


But there is a hidden, yet imminent gloom

A spectre hanging above the peaceful and full:




‘The Problem of the Need to be Desired’




We are beings made with one innate desire

To climb, to reach a height ever higher

And one day

Above all


Throughout history,

There has always been way too much

Obstacles

For the mass to reach the summit

And now,

It seems that the summit itself is built

By a stack of the masses

So many of us are great

That none of us is great

Therefore, so quickly forgotten

And replaced by others in

Time


Speaking of time,

Or rather, our conscious

Awareness of change

It seems to be overused,

Weary and

DYING

As a dying old man in mind

Resembles a stubborn child

Our Collective Temporal Consciousness

Is thus

So forgetful like a senile being

And

Losing interest so quickly like an infant


Our cup, our mind is so full

That not only our flesh has become

That of gluttons complaining the

Blandness of an abundance of food

Our soul is also yearning for the

Quiet performance and desirability

Only a lack of supply could supply


So, in effect, GOODNESS

Or WELLNESS

Have somehow oversupplied

Itself till

It is almost worthless to

Some



What is there to reach

If so many have already found

The Summit of Everything?

That we are among the masses

Again?

And, what about those that have

Risen above THE MASS

So early in their life

That to them, there is only space

To fall?


In the past,

We were all so close to the pit

The Pit of Darkness

The Pit of Death

In our climb

That we hold on to every branch

For dear life

No matter how many stones

Fall on us

We look down upon the void

And the black

Abyss

And will always

Sink our nails deeper

Into the earth

Just to stay alive

And still,

To no avail

So quickly,

We all fall

To pitied, and

Dearly treasured and mourned

Demise


And,

Now,

For the hurt

And the healed

And the unmarked

Life marches on mercilessly

Indifferent to us

The bodies crawling and crouching

Upon the desert of abundance

Row upon row

Chased by the sandstorm

That will soon catch up to us

And sweep over all


Where will it take us,

And what before then?


What would cure and stop

This perpetual climb that will

Always place those on top

At the bottom of this crushing hill




The Possible Solutions:




‘How will we quench the thirst of Height?’


We did not witness THE BIRTH OF TIME

We cannot halt THE AGING OF TIME

We cannot know what comes after

THE DEATH OF TIME

But we desperately need a constant climb


Here, we see the Gates to Two Routes


One leading towards the Tangible

Garden of Men

One leading towards the Unseeable

Temple of Worship


There is no right or wrong way to either

However, how you spend your time

Within each

Will determine your plight during  

The time before the True Flight


Pace yourself in your walk through

The Garden of Men

Though there is an abundance of fruits

You must calculate and ration

Your own sustainable share of

Good and Evil

Enjoyment and Suffering

So you don’t exhaust the reserve

Or become weary till nausea

Of the sweetness of being


If you must seek to rise up above all

Your climb must be timed till the very end

Where you will never be crushed by the fall

On the Rota Fortunae, before you inevitably land


The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

Must be balanced even if by the hands of men

Lest the world turn to well-rested upheaval

When even gold is as abundant as sand


Then, there is the Pave to the Promised Land

Where lost souls of ****** hunger find

Their means to an end, their helping hand

Where fulfilled bodies of lost souls and minds

Pleads to have their invisible suffering end


I used to think that Grace lives in humility

But I see even the Truth appeals to the nature,

Foolish frailty and vanity of all women and men

How do you tell the beings of imminent demises

That this earthly supply and demand of status

Is worthless in the end in a paradise without ends

Where there is no fall for a fear to plummet and land

But to say the weakest of earth

Must be the strongest of heavens

The least of the timely and impermanent possessions

Will be the most in the place after the ultimate ascension


Not to imprison our desire for greatness

But to set it free and follow the lofty dove and olive branch

Knowing that the great height is achieved by humility

To take the fall and suffering and rise in the Eternal Land




Conclusion:




The painful truth is,

And truth must hurt through the bones,

And ache seasonally to not be forgotten

There must be a Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

By our humble minds or divine hands

For honesty to be wanted, and prized

And not worthless like the ocean sand

Lest we become weary of virtue and crave for its end


There are solutions for all,

For those who put faith in life

And

For those who put faith in an afterlife


Simply, though,

It is ever difficult

Just to pace your climb

Either to reach the summit at the end of your life

Or just to leave the height to the ever lofty place without time.

Where you’ll never fall to a late demise

And be crushed by the Rota Fortunae

Where even the stars would envy

The brilliance of your

Light
Another stream of consciousness that poured itself out of my unkempt mind. I started with a very vague idea and the title and thesis only came in the midst of this essay, or trial of thought. It is again, pages long. And special thanks to Lawrence Hall to help me proofread this mess of my mind.

I think my mind is finally taking a break from forming words, phrases, and sentences, and I for once, welcome this quietness, thought I always fear my silence, fearing I'll never write again.
---
The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Monday, October 14, 2019, Canadian Thanksgiving
15:03-17:22(Finished Writing First Draft)
CK Baker Oct 2017
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in hell's hole

Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus

Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss

Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand

Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared

Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down

Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand

Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
crack pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float

Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void

Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
Gabriel burnS Sep 2018
she said she was broken
needed fixing
came for the fix
I said “look honey,
I don’t do clockwork”
Time to be in Tune with my own Best Dad
Much would it take to cause Celebration
Sermons apart, yet Insights I just had
Took me some Yards taped for Inspiration
Rarely such Species can just Understand
The Skirted *** most Males eliminate
Still most Sires force their Sons on Demand
To spout their Seeds for Pride to propagate
If you can recall those Sales-Slips within
How Footed and Devote your Presence was
Tri-Dimed Corporate; Or Sea-Tigers therein
Is just the Greeting Card I'll Love at last.
Senior come hither; In Prime Deposit
Father my Mentor; In Wisdom ask it.
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
Imagine that
I could write a salve,
compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal,
even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh,
just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our
fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far
another bruise joining the cast like a  floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability

imagine that

where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction,
borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years
from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters,
children,
return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain

imagine that

the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be

imagine that

a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in,
in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up
and the stony chest is breathing lungs free

imagine that

and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing,
knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken,
they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver
sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed

imagine that

you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical,
cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret

I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins
when

we imagine that

for this how new healthy cells  are born

quiet-now,  go, imagine-that, now
if you recognize yourself within, it is no accident!
thank u all for the love and appreciation. one writes many poems in many disguises, so it is hard to believe  that an 8 month old poem, sent to you for safekeeping, is shortly thereafter barely recalled.
and then is rebirthed, and wouldn’t change a word...
imagine that!
karin naude Mar 2013
freedom in art
freedom in heart
freedom in expression
freedom of soul
deep understanding of expression
nourishing the mind
ever challenging
forward, keep moving, forward
freedom lived
freedom experienced
no words needed
the body moves, demand visible power
painful endurance for tender moment
graceful beyond delicate
captured in time, echoes for ever
what time, what space, its an illusion
eyes surrounded by deep dimples
flowing hair, expressing mouth
ooh how elegant the wine has become, well aged
the body demand respect in movement
the heart resilient
the mind always moving, wanderer
oh how beautiful the art of freedom
Hunter Taylor Feb 14
I saw a sign that read,
"Poems On Demand"
I thought a thought
and quickly quietly said

can you write me a ballad of broken hearts
I'm without a claim to know
I search this wide and foreign land
in hopes to find my home

the river's wide but the drought is near
there's a staleness in the air
I can feel the sun soak through my skin
to warn what was once warm there

and before I could start to turn away
the poet took his pen
he wrote just a simple sentence
to calm the storm within

"I cannot bring her back my friend,
but time is the gift of gods."
I took the paper and read the verse
and transcended into thought.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Chorus, 3 voices
Icarus

Act 1

Chorus
We/we/we, chorus of three.
& Icarus

Chorus–1st voice
Lived once a father and a son

Chorus–2nd voice
Daedalus, the carpenter

Chorus–3rd voice
Icarus, the son

Chorus–1st voice
Banished, both, for the sin of one, to an island on the sea.

Chorus–1st & 2nd voice
They walked the eastern cliffs. White seabirds wheeling over them.

Chorus–3rd voice
Thus Icarus dreamed.

Chorus–2nd voice
And so four wings were formed of wood and wax and feather.

Chorus–1st voice
Daedalus, the father, to Icarus, his son, said, “If you disobey me and fly too near the sun the wax will melt. The feathers will fall. The wings will fail. And you will tumble like Phaethon into the sea and die.“

Chorus–All
O Icarus!

Chorus–All–silence

Chorus–3rd voice
Hear him!

Icarus
I

Chorus –All
Icarus!

Icarus
Demand! Deny my father’s lies,
Sin-born, sung in fear, of men hidden under darkened skies–

Chorus–3rd voice
Fists clenched, and down

Icarus
Or die!

Chorus–2nd voice
Like flies, wings torn and every eye to heaven

Icarus
Die as Daedalus! Who, having slipped too near this rock to fall but down,
Praised the gods!

Chorus–1st voice, whispering
Care, Icarus!

Icarus
Hell–a lesser man, for having tasted heaven once, he turned,
Chose this Earth and green Aegean sod.

Chorus–one voice
Amend these lies!

Chorus–another voice
And end to night’s deep dark

Chorus–another voice
And oily skin!

Chorus–All–whispering
O Icarus!

Icarus
Command! Ascend!

Chorus–one dancing, arms wide

Icarus
And dance as I
Above the gods and boundless starry winds.

Chorus–All dancing

Icarus–soaring

The End
.

Amend has an old meaning– to put right.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Jaxey Nov 22
You watch helpless
as a burn
and demand to know
who did it
but how can I say

It was you
who lit the match
i cant
Fullfreddo May 2015
~

a strange place to start
having not truly begun,
already beat down by the
lowdown

own a million rose colored words,
but some assembly required,
that's when the foreknowledge truth~rules
burns brain holes

easy is never
free,
poetry writing is
cussing hard work

~
spring rains cloaking warmth,
summer's stunning sunsets
demand submissive awed silence,
autumnal leave drops anointing
your refreshed humanity,
and yet,
one more time,
it is only within winter's white bitterness
lip tasting,
million tear-shaped snowflaked words,
is the crowning visible
of the head of
a newborn babe poet

                                        ~                  ­                            

hard.

Capital Hard.

in the beginning,
there was one,
a first work

and the knowing,
if it wasn't hard,
it could not be
any good,
makes it possible
to ease on
down
this fearful
revelationary road
trip
Born May 22, 2015
My first poem.
From whence we tip to toast the Cocktail new
Too pricey for a Sip, if you ask me
Still, those Pubbers demand your Freshest Brew
Either for Show or Truest Cheers that be
Now who composed the Price which I complain
May rob my Wages on half-month's budget?
You have Defense, though: Is that my Domain
To liver that Sign out of my Pocket?
I suppose either way Purchased or not
Those Senses concerned will take no Notice
With Baskets fare, Bread and Butter forgot
Mix the Lager still Best Friends acquiesce.
The Currant still topped, which to Celebrate
Ignore the Side-Bugs; Light the Good Debate.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Have you been searching for that perfect gift?
Want to say something special, give someone a lift?

Are you popping the question?  Is it someone's birthday
But you're just not quite sure of the right words to say?

Is the one that you love feeling lonely or sick?
If a card or a letter just won't do the trick...

Pick up the phone call Poetically Correct
With our help, you'll achieve the desired effect

Just give us some details, and in a short time
You can send someone special, a gift that's sublime

Anniversaries ~ Apologies ~ Any Occasion ~ Baby Dedications ~ Bachelor/Bachelorette Party ~ Birth Announcements ~ Condolences ~ Congratulations ~ Eulogies ~ Father's Day ~ Get Well ~ Graduation ~ Holidays ~ Love ~ Proposals ~Reunions ~ Roasts ~ Secret Admirer ~ Special Friend ~ Surprise ~ Tell 'Em Off ~ Told U So ~ Valentines ~ You Name It
Anyone else interested in this kind of work, writing for the paying public, please let me know. I'd love to work with you.

So many people have the desire to send something deeply personal, but lack the ability or inclination to write for themselves.

It's a niche market that's under served.

I am disabled and looking for work I can do with my physical limitations.



This is what I propose.
On his Screen the Three Milk Brothers display
Decision his only motive for Heart
But which the Upturned Hero gives away
That Love which Matters; And never Apart
Now see, where all this Comedy began
And Brothers the Trine Unity bepraise
This a Great Deed; No High-Chins in demand
That shows you are now but Human in base
Friend. If Fashion un-nominates you as one
Since Form the only thing they advertise
True Offer is Substance. Then I am done
And Motive the only Imposter precise.
Those Memories return. And now they Heal
That is Joy for you. That is Joy you Feel.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
What is a Father?
Is he a Person?
A Thing?
Or a Feather?
What is his Life?
Is it Carefree and Spontaneous
Or Tormenting and Strife?

Who is he in which a Person could know?
What are his Abilities which only he could show?
Does he Work, for the sake of a Family?
Or sleeps and pigs around, being a Menace and Lazy?

Who could this man be, to the Eyes of Children,
A Hard Rock or a Soft Leaven?

Does he Pile over Everyone
And takes Control?

Is he the Eagle, the Head of the Nest,
Playing a very important Role?

Does he impersonate Father Christmas
With all his Treats and Gifts?

Is he a Lover, with a Strong Heart for *******
Hugging greatly and giving Love-Lifts?

Does he Pray,
Or Face-Religious?

Or a Braver,
Or Spontaneous?

Is he a Disciplinarian
Wherewithin all Members under him
Are tuned to his Command?

Or a Freester,
Who gives his Kids their darling Freedom
Without any Demand?

Does he care,
For the People and Loved Ones around him?

Is he Provocative,
Uncaring for Anyone behind his Dim?

Mostly, he is the Grass,
Herding the Future for his Offspring?

Or the Lamb,
Stubborn and very Unwilling?

And so, whatever he is,
Or does,
A Father is a Father,
Anonymous or Specific
I wouldn't mind.

Just as long as he has
HEART, STRENGTH, FREEDOM and PROSPERITY,
KINDNESS, BRAVE, PROTECTIVE
And RELIABILITY.

I'll be Glad and Content. As any Son should be.
L B Aug 2018
Katydids and fireflies have the levee tonight
Swat team held the day

There is peace now
and peeping neighbors
emptying horror
among themselves in whispers
left to wonder
‘bout the screaming and the barking
of earlier that day

“Put down your weapon and come out
with your hands up”

Again and again
the demand of surrender
Total
There is no other way

“Let them go!
Come out! come out with your hands up!
It will be okay”

…and he argues in his mind with the shame and loss
…and the shame and "No…it will not be okay"
He had hit her! Hit her with the Gun
again and again…with the gun
Of his demands
The gun of his power
to make her!
The gun of his despair
He had hit her
the dog is barking
His children scream!

“Put down the gun and come out
with your hands up!”

How many more times will they say it!
for all the neighbors to hear
on a loud speaker
Surrender!
in front of his children
Had she cheated?
Had he lost his job?
Could he lose any more to the screaming?
to the "junk"?
to the flashing lights?
to the window's smashing?
Fence run down?
Lobbing
canisters of tear gas
into the room's stinging eyes
where there is no room
where there is no time

"I would never hurt them!
You!
You know!"
"Let them go!"
"You left me!"

“Put down your weapon and come out
with your hands up!”

It is all too loud
It is all too much
as you put the gun against your temple and…
pull the trigger
This happened today-- two houses away.  I could hear it all and sometimes I feel this way.
at your own peril!



dare to vex

provoke, antagonize, exasperate

that is what my words will do

they won't irritate or annoy,
bug or merely peeve,
a simple bother
insufficient

vex
your core,
demand
that you more
than mere question yourself
but riptide extracts the
elemental,
battery acid on the essence bared

learn the power of crafting words
for maximum effect

torment, infuriate,
expose yourself,
what has lain beneath the skin,
you will let me in,
to let you out

why play with poetry,
the most dangerous weapon
unless you nakedly intend to


!dare to vex!
Rama Krsna Apr 28
exacting in love
possessive by nature
volatile in temperament
and raging like flames
you are wild and untamed

nothing like docile padma!

the strategic placement
of each kiss on
your voluptuous body
you so unashamedly demand
is provocatively seductive

drawing out
from deep within the soul
of this simple flute-playing cowherd
a brazen but besotted lover


© 2019
padma: see my poem padma
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Hella business
Got hella *******
Poppin double bottles
With a couple of mistresses
Stellar mistreatment
Here's the key
Lock em in the cellar
Forever their memory lies
But a troubling mystery

Hysteria erupting
Like waves gushing
From the tip of my *****
My genius is better
I'm the King here's my scepter
Now watch the teeth
You worthless Queen
Or I'll stifle them screams

I **** ******* on trampolines
Motion sickness?
Overdose on Dramamine

Slave to the magnitude
Of my impressive **** munching
Exploring deplorable nether-regions galore;
Can't touch me you got nothing
Broke *******
Grind your brain like morning coffee beans

Shame is a word just outside the boundaries
of my fabulous vocabulary

Oh, am I contrite?
How trifling
Check my charm I'm enlightening
Enigmatic and igniting sporadically like lightning
Magically radical voyaging down
                                                           down
                                                  down the rabbit's hole
Inciting excited riots to light fires spark fuses and chew on live wires
You do not frighten me.
Delivering excruciating asphyxiation to every pwn'd n00b
Is my modus operandi
And this is my magnum opus

I have Tourette's

Conceive these merriments of abhorrent mental abortions
Precisely concise and incisive concocting incoherent comatose monstrosities to flatten your lifelines
Conduct these ensembles of debauchery and narcotics -
I'm fascinating;
Crippling your mind like a lobotomy and tripping the light fantastic through bombarding planes of consciousness
I'm on acid thraxXx'd the **** OUT and faded
Levitating fading and oscillating in time while inflating my ego

But lets be realistic
the caliber of my linguistics is intrinsically aesthetic
but none too altruistic
Untrue!
Be reasonable lest I demand be-headings on grounds of treason
Its not hard for me -
It's profound, the sound of suffering;
I'll swallow your soul
'Tis the season!

Inference for instance -
****-hand upturned to oceans of incessant peasants
Pestering to ****** and fluster your festering ****-hole
Exact my revenge; begin phase mayhem
initiating total brain annihilation
interring bodies posthaste with skilled persistence
And sporting in poor taste
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE

You who peers through eye of the pyramid-
Would you be so kind as to interpret my footprint at face-value?
Do you take me for a fool yet seek prophets reaping profits?
Listen to them sleep, baaah-ing away like flocks of little sheep
My hearts not on my sleeve but I have a trick or two up there;

Now bow before my marvelous flow
As I behold my throne whilst throwing bows and exposing hoes.
Sofia Von Oct 2013
Strangers are my best friends
Even feelings are for even people... Know anyone who matches that description?
I'd like to cuddle away the problems
**** someone while crying
No
I don't think so
I want to be felt and loved. And craved like fluent chocolate gushing
Down the corners of my mouth
Lapped up by your tongue
I wish

Scratched letters over a blank canvas
Make for messages of clarity.
Nails on a chalk board every time you etch, but its the promise of the next word that makes it tolerable.
These pick-up-stick letters are angry and depressed but fit together like bread on butter. creamy song lyrics you scribble but there’s no tune.
An obstacle foreseen and ignored.
The rhythm of voice catches, flame to syncopation, and feebly you grow with your words to become the song

Sung now, in churches
Do they realize from whence their hymns originated? Deep down, long ago, in the valley of hidden emotional pangs
Your envy was too rich for your body
Yet big enough for this... congregational ritual.
Heart tears are beautiful for creation
To existence
They're treacherous

I smile and admire my work
Blow a smoke ring over the wet words not quite solidified on the page
Smudge
Better with a flaw
I don't smoke
Im a social stress smoker
Self diagnosed
Self medicated
So you see I'm an aspiring artist
Although most of my works are ****, I don't really give up.
Its just this part of me I can’t always explain
That happens
They’re my impulse of choice
A painting, a drawing, a poem, a song, dance, all music (save country).
Even little quick thoughts or plans I have are peaceful to record.
It's times like this night where I should really be fast in my REM cycle, dreaming of crazy scenarios to **** up and uncover a truth upon my waking.
But I'm on my notes
Typing away the babble of nonsense thats streaming on demand
Tonight
I'll exit with a line
Or so, I'm not sure
Breathe in the plant, puff out love hits and over expose the motion picture. Each passing present memory is precious to the cycle I don't really want to define.
But I'm in love with its inhabitants I can't get over them
And each day is another episode
But... Is this a sitcom, or a documentary?
These words, are time filled

Cold feet shouldn't be a thing.
Another Jul 2018
Today or should I say what was left of yesterday, the most important time during the day when the moon is in a modestly transient display, I would consider taking my life. It is early evening, I couldn’t hold onto what I thought I could live for, giving into intolerance too easily, was like life for me was cracking in two and I was unable to cause cohesion for the diverging halves. only the effect remains unhinged and hidden inside me, without notice I go on missing from society. I’ve greatly deteriorated over the past few months which felt to me like decades in a room resembling winter. I often open the window only to my dismay that the air out is uncomfortably thick and moist, enough to suffocate my concentration for concern to what lies around instead I retract into this niche I resent completely spectating this limited view found underneath monochromatic inverted shades, for something that might not be much greater than I had wished it to be, I let these ideals of mine run wild in an attempt to let them be real momentarily, to burn out eventually unseen. Nothing should be able to live in such a way, I’m as stagnant as the trees that lie ahead near the streets. They witness every passerby freely sauntering trails laid out for the day, perhaps they, these beings, take it for granted not giving much attention to anything else besides the very goal that keeps them afloat and moving toward for execution to whatever it is they have their minds eye simply on. I’ve known all too well that it is pointless to do the same, I can’t squander what I have right in front of me over a simple goal, although I might not live in life’s given moments pleading for the very attention I sometimes don’t give in to, nothing ever goes unnoticed, these impressions are all that I could ever ask for, the smallest of gifts for me to cherish. Anyways I was only wandering my sight around outside looking for a movement I could possibly run to for help, giving my ears away for barber’s melody to play out loud. Nothing more showed up, only a bitter heat wave, the trees left unshaken from vacant winds. Washing over me was the penetrative structure I felt his sorrowful life flash ahead of me wondering how misunderstood he must’ve felt in such a time where everything was unrightfully wasted from a society that never knew how normalized repression began to feel, so they went about it by going along with the feel other than freely being expressive about internal conflicting issues. Maybe to one or none at all. He deserved better as did all the others. Maybe I’m wrong and only being reflective of myself. For what reason I don’t know. I was telling myself on the car ride somewhere else that I won’t disclose, for it doesn’t matter. I imagined everything I was to do, or should I say that I was accepting of what was to come next reciting in my head that all the dreaming and envisioning I had done up to this point was my life possibly lived, the love I couldn’t help to resist myself from attaining, the opportunity to save the world from collision from and through a great work that could possibly impregnate every sensible mind with a broad spectrum of what an extra day of the week might feel like, more time to spend freely from life’s never ending demand of what is to be expected by and from each and every one of you. I daydreamed of everything I missed during my lifetime so far, I should’ve traveled but didn’t, I’m not filled with fear but that of insecurity always wins the day. I slipped on by to memories that never had the chance to be made, only the threading lies there on a timeless lot gravitating toward evaporation. I left no more hope for myself because I’ve chosen to give it to the others who could actually implement change, those of whom I know I can entrust the life that I wasn’t living to. I made a choice, to disperse this existing body from and to a place where time is stilted upon my departure outside the fields wherever that may be, music guiding me out of the overriding blur beyond the wilt— my memory subsided inside this symphony somewhere that is made up of very early mornings and the light that follows afterward, kindly implying, that maybe, they never existed. I’m without anymore words, Thank you
I’ve decided to lay this one out exactly how I intended it to look; in its most free format, untouched from editing. maybe to expose the half crumbled city that lies in the way.  

I have this thing to get carried away into needless thoughts. 4 am is the time when self-reflecting occurs.

It goes deeper than all this, this is but a simple opening to more uncovered doors.

0202, is when I will be leaving
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