Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Carter Ginter Nov 2013
.                                                        I'm sorry.
                                                         ­                                      Sorry to you first
and sorry to her.
                                                            ­                               Sorry I wasn't able to
                                                              ­                           help you at your worst
but also to her for showing up in a blur.
                                                           ­                                                    I'm sorry,
                                                          ­                                         don't think I just
                                                            ­                                  chose her over you:
                                                            ­                                          It's much more
                                                            ­                                            than that too.
I'm sorry you don't know me yet
and won't know what to expect.
                                                         ­                                         Sorry I won't say
                                                             ­                                                   goodbye
      ­                                                                 ­                              I know too well
                                                            ­                 that you're always at my side
Forgive me if I lose my mind,
if in the end,
I'm not what you'd thought you'd find.
                                           *I promise I will stay strong
                                               No matter what it takes
                                     On my own it may not last for long
                                       But with you I will for your sake.
An apology to my girlfriend and suicidal best friend. Structurally, the right is for him, the left for her, and the middle for both.
(Revised Aug. 26th 2014)
ryn Oct 2014
Collab, collab! Oh thoughtful collabs!
Amalgamation of two unique minds,
Merging of dual thinking labs!
Cerebral workshop of life's diverse grinds!

Collab, collab! Reinforced true!
Melding of minds and honed crafts,
Mounted up with bolt and *****!
Assembled solid in monochromed poetic drafts.

Collab, collab! A trend that's trending!
A fad that now seems ever growing...
Each other's style we will be wearing.
Matching ensembles, yours for the liking.

Collab, collab! More of it please!
Ocean of creativity, pearls ripe for picking,
Journey for two across artistic seas.
Wonder who with next I'll be swimming...
Tribute to all collab attempts!
Keep it up people!!! :)
A presence
presenting
a continuous torment
torturing
incessantly
until, even with cessation
only a tenuous self
is present
leaving only the resin

The maniacal
manifestation
is an infestation
festering around in my head
Its existence,
a creation
created at inception,
hacking my brain
Forever a trap
creating a
maniac

Acrimonious
to all mankind
Not acting
like a man
Not one word
that's kind
Committing crimes
and getting oneself
committed
A deviation
creating a deviant
Shifted values
due to a devalued
self

An esoteric
essence
seemingly sentenced
on this journey
by judge and jury,
not by one's peers
because the many
not able
to peer
into this individuality
The duplicity
of duality
that is my reality

Challenging myself
to a dual
One in which
I both
win and lose
But in the end
not breaking even
or coming out ahead
Always ending
further back
instead

Its back breaking
and always aching
Pain from which
not capable of
faking
Effort I’m taking
Of myself making
Time for a new king
For kinsmanship
is aloof
And this man’s ship
has sailed away
Sipping a port
at a shipping port
And yet
slipping away

Deeper still
In the depth
of still water
Sinking
into the abyss
Lost and gone
But not missed
Is this the end
of our fable?
Or will our “hero”
enable himself
and in the end
be able
Deciding who to be?
Cain or Abel?
For the hurricane
is hurrying along
Its aim always the same
Constant pain
A payment he feels
for the displaced
placement
which just in case
is placed
same place
he went

Ink in the face
A disgrace
When suddenly
encased in his brain
are racing thoughts
of a plan
he’s ace’n

A label of insanity
given by those
who claim sanity
when the reality
is their thoughts are free
and optimize
a sanitized
and homogenized
batter
And in the end
it doesn’t matter

Offering suggestions
in which they
feel threatened
Pathways congested
and protested
Testing them
Even worse,
bested
A problem beset
upon them
Time to steady
the flock
Roll n’ Rock
Inoculations we’re getting
Start the injections

“It’s been an honor”
Mounting my Lipizzaner
A disarmer
A charmer
The armor
‘mi amor’
Leaving me
wanting more
But as they keep score
the task is daunting
A life that’s haunting
with such splendid decor
-
Yet, can’t take any more
Their taunting
is leaving me sore
So to the atmosphere
I open that door
and flying up above
I soar

Forever more
Feel pain no more...
Written: August 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
Lyn-Purcell Oct 2018


~
I trust yet I'm suspicious
I love yet I'm hateful
I laugh loud but I cry
I observe, I'm not blind
I try so hard by confidence
shakes
Try harder, esteem breaks
I stand strong with laughter
aimed
Locked deep, my ferno rage
I clam up
Guards up
Shields up
Inside, the shards of my bones
break
Laughter to me is a sword
with two faces
I see the argent lighthearted face,
but my eye is locked on its
shadowed edge
Malicious, cruel, sharp and swift
Sheathed ever so deep into my heart
I can hear the echoes more than feeling the pain
I pick so blindly at an open wound
My mind is a riot, a murked brew
of emotions
Time will heal the wounds,
but it's a scar I'll always remember
Anger screams
Sadness cries
Frustation seethes
A joke, am I?
The sun is dead
Blocked out by echoes
Ink
So disoriented
Heart pulses
I cannot think...
~


Trying to calm a turbulent sea that currently is my mind...
Lyn x
Livaille Oct 2017
flowing river, crashing rain
together troubles sow,
       yet do not mend.

a silent sorrow,
sullens sour solitude.

light mist envelopes autumn,
west wind waves the water,

wind follows blade,
blade follows rain,
rain follows clouds.

soundless slashes scatter clouds,
blossoms fall on flowing water.

memory of spring dazes gaze,
alters flow as whirlwind dashes,

summer's sunlight sets,
dual waltz of lotus leaves,
in memory of cherry blossoms.

blurred shadow forms a phantom,
menacing mist chases hurtling haze,
snow sinks deeper than a dream of snowy winds.
Tammy M Darby Dec 2013
A pill for my nerves in the morning
To stifle my broken hearts yearning
A pill to get me through my day
Allowing my mind to somewhat maintain
At night a pill to sleep
So into my soft pillow
I do not weep

A  little pill so I cannot feel
Then another
To wash away the pain
I cannot imagine
My life without a pill
To color the world rosy
As I stand in blue rain

So I reach in the bottle for another
Hiding the person I am
With reality
I no longer bother
As someone emerges I do not know
That lives my life in times ebb and flow
I coexist as one and the other

Its a pill for me in the morning
To stifle my broken hearts yearning
A pill to maintain my twisted sanity
And get me through the day
While I bathe in the enveloping deluge
Of the soothing blue rain


I think all poets have dual personalities. The one they keep hidden and the person they share with the world.

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby  Dec 28, 2013
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
There are times in life
when a man needs change,
And I don't mean,
dimes and quarters.

Remember when you
were just sixteen,
Driving all alone, solo,
in your old man's Buick?
All the windows down,
radio music blaring,
Your bare arm draped
out over the side of the door.
to better exhibit your bicep.

Hell mister, no doubt,
you were ten feet tall,
the king of the road.
Ever wish you had,
that feeling back again?

Cars were always my thing.
I owned some Detroit
Muscle, Full blown Chevy,
Firebird 400, Chrysler Hemi.
Smoked some tires and
went to Court a time or two.
Of course all that was long
ago in my fitter youth.

When I became a Yuppie
I acquired a Poodle Puppy,
a Porsche and a MGB.

But the ***** does turn.
and so then, did I,
And my road got,
a little bumpy.

Along came marriage,
then a baby carriage.
And a big house
In the Burbs.

Then came a progression
Of Volvo Station Wagons,
to Soccer Dad Mini Vans,
to large SUV's.
All for hauling,
any number of things.
Kids and dogs, strollers,
bikes, kites and scooters,
Fellow car poolers,

And less we forget,
"Pulling" things too.
Boats, RV's, Utility trailers,
and all nature of landscape,
gardening, and general
shopping paraphernalia.
Little League Teams,
Drooling big dogs,
Papier Mache Volcanos.
Home Coming Floats,
Once even a Goat
You name it, I hauled it,
Or pulled it!

Years rolled by,
eventually the Kids
flew the nest, got married.
And low and behold,
The wife and I split,
Each going our separate way.
No one's fault, just grew apart.
The thinly veiled allegorical
Previous Patriarchal
arrangement became,
A whole new start,
A workable self allegiance
to just one.

Soon once more, I was the MAN.
I ran out, bought a **** boat
But not having the kids around,
Soon sold it, having found out,
that alone, I was not a water sport.

I caroused around, dated women,
got my pockets picked,
learned a few lessons.
Fell in love, fell out again,
Took a few pretty good blows,
Right on the chin,
Even some down lower.

Round about then,
An Epiphany kicked in.
Remembered my most,
ennobling, happy events,
behind the wheel,
driving Dad's Buick.

As I stepped on the lot.
There was never doubt,
There was only one choice,
I just had to have that,
Little VW Bug Red Racer.

Nothing like your Mother's
Beetle, the engine's up front,
Not stuck in the trunk,
And man it produces over,
200 Big Time Horsepower
Not to mention,
Lays rubber in three,
Of six gears.
Getting all the while,
33 miles per gallon.

Receiving additional help,
from a sweet Turbo Booster,
Just like a big, Indy Track Bruiser.

There's 19 inch racing
tires and alloy wheels,
They look so cool,
Spinning in motion.

Dual stainless steel exhausts,
And best of all,
a cool collapsible,
Convertible top.

Rack and Pinion steering,
Handles like a sports car,
Yet still offers a backseat
To take my Grandkids,
out for a spin.

Dude, it's got,
All the bows
and whistles!

Top Down Driving is such a thrill,
Makes me feel sixteen again.
The open road, the sky above,
The wind blowing thru my hair,
what there is of it.

Perhaps the only thing that
Could possibly make this
Driving experience greater,
Would be to speed down,
The road, going eighty,
Behind the wheel of my
Little Red Racer,
Completely **** naked,
And of course all the while,
Feel the wind in my hair.

I don't know, I'm too old,
To call this a mid life crisis.
But on the other hand,
Maybe the acquiring of
This little red sporty car,
Has something to do with,
Those Testosterone shots I'm taking.
I'm even thinking, of dying my hair,
naw, lets not get crazy!
Magdalyn Jul 2017
music heard through walls,
the smell of sweet grass in the dual air
clicking, snapping, laughing.
it gets worse at night.
i break things
just to prove that i have the strength to;
you should not let me hold you so closely.
colossal,
my teeth are bare
i
don't drink the water, paint this enamel gold,
don't think about the weight of particles on your scalp

the bathroom floor smells like cherries.
i color my scabs with purple pen
and pull on pink, warm skin.
I was already a mess,
i was just a different breed of mess after him.
but control over my own gods
may be the best kind of therapy.
#e
M-E Jul 2018
Guilty,
As well as being empty
Pain hurts so much
So much I can’t tell how much.
Innocent,
For a while, then ephemeral happiness
Hallucinations, not existing at all
Deadly, as a rogue tide, a fall.
Mistaken,
In a pit of regret fallen
Like being forced to
Something tied to
Or my point of view.
Rewind,
As a dual mind
Or a bipolar patient
Goals can’t be reached
A slippery thing can’t be grabbed
Eject the old cassette.
Where Shelter May 2018
trigger warning:
Hate long poems?  move on.
Love words?  pleasure your self

<=>

drought and famine of the spirit,
over-staying summer
house guests in an overly sun blanched,
voided, white outed, mental abode.

faculties parched,
overly starched,
compositions lost in transition,
why can't they make it ashore?

It's after 2 AM, and though
ferries have stopped running,
mainland hangover hangerons are
working overtime to prevent
"author"izations, so all I get
when I press send is a whole lot of
"permission to cross," denied!

causes of vexation undisguised,
dual natured and manifold,
luxuriating and drowning in home grown,
city organic insipid,
makes one quick to blame
nobody in particular,
but yourself, repeatedly.

reasons many, the distractions of
rustling contradictions populate,
another life road fork looming,
a track record for choosing badly,
colors the blacktop even blacker and
ramps up desires for a janitorial,
but first do no harm, status quo.

Need a beer.
Need a distraction.
Need a homework assignment,
which I buy at the IGA market:

obey the eleventh commandment
which every writer knows;
you think you're Mr. Bigshot,
so pudding prove it,
write it,
one true sentence,
let it be a constitution for all,
with the lengthy consistency,
of a Hemingwayesque,
one true sentence.

dearth to riches occurs
as fast as a basketball
three second violation,
inspiration dripping like
windshield condensation,
got so many true sentences,
how ya gonna choose,

O sinner man?

sadly you don't hear or feel
my background music,
stringed surf sounds playing
Perlman's Mozart low to
the thunderous, sweltering,
swells of applause of
90+ degree heat
w/o a Crescent Beach breeze
to console the disowned

these superheated thoughts
now focused,
emerges a bill of sight,
lading my heart's many heresies,
staccato thoughts now,
rapid fire rebel,
a pre-discourse insurrection,
voices of words lash out -

pick me - immortalize me,
I wanna be,
a constitution for one,
one true sentence.

The Moment of Ownership.

Hillel did it,
standing on one leg,
a Sanskrit mantra,
not by me,
not for me,
not through me,
even more succinct.

full clarity unobtainable,
begin when fighting thru
the static of each nerve,
knowing that
each thought,
each emotion,
is a constitution
of sorts,
recognizing life is a series of
moments of ownership,
but that are truly ours
only when relinquished.

each one, a true sentence
when writ, spoke,
but only when disabused
of notions of possession
only true, when gifted away.

Lucian Freud painted those whom
he knew best, their portraits,
fully clothed but wholly naked,
a painter of revelation
thru the skin tones of the flesh.

exposeur of skins interior
displayer of old and ungainly,
left us eyesight more true
than an honest mirror,
with poetic brushstrokes overlay,
gained entry to what his
grandfather named id and ego,
artist's superego, his reflections,
a continuous judgment
on a pool of stretched canvas
that makes me despair that:

I will ere succeed
to cross the borderline
that modernity insists upon,
self preservation, neurotic fears,
impositions on my psyche and
that my moments of ownership
will be n'ere be stamped "transferred."

I take back my life,
by giving it away
this alphabetized self portrait,
a wrinkled sketch of me,
my ownings, undertakings
needs taking by you
so I can disown it.

these words are my own,
their conjunction is a
junction to you,
and a constitution for me.

once this expiation
is in your purview by the voted
election of Send,
bonded by a mutual
Moment of Ownership?

so net net,
bottom line,
these are my
one true sentences,
summarized, constitutionalized:
I am yours, for the taking,        
so come by, for and through me,
in many moments of ownership.


p.s. let us shelter together in place, an island growing
lost for many years; for Mary Winslow
Onoma Apr 30
no Shakti--

no Libertation.

beware these

feel good, non dual

Advaita teachers.

pawning just another

philosophy.
*First among that fake fat **** Mooji.
Najwa Kareem Feb 2017
A backdrop of gorgeous hues, tints, and shades peeking in from afar draw near, I on one side, it on the other, the two of us bidding for a glance at two white doves on center stage.  
 
Their eyes converging, their glance coinciding, a replica of the simplicity in which they were brought together, a dual recognition ignited by the burning of hearts and the lumination of souls. 
 
Affectionate hands coupled in an orbit of serenity, her passionately embracing his with a tug of excitement gushing I’m yours, his tenderly and securely supporting hers and in acceptance of gifts of admiration and approval, he is humbled whilst mesmerized by her captivating beauty and elatious smile.  
 
Two distinct bodies standing still between an air of transparency and vulnerability, they occupying an endearing space serenading to sweet melodies reminiscent of one exclusive life. A bit of haze lingers behind her, her ***** drumming to a cheerful step toward his, there she waits in an affirmative reply of what much he has to offer her, what much he has given her. He consumed by her presence, his face speaking something his mouth cannot. A yearning for each other unspoken, the romantic harmony of a moonstruck light and a synchronized kiss. Their bodies held captive by their souls set free. 
 
An impartial unfinished hallow sits as a canopy above, gracing its cascading rays on the couples’ faces creating unique shadows on each, one caressing the other in a playfully warm exchange. Overwhelmed by his serenade, emotions overflow and an innocent blush appears, his heart unburdened, skipping to a resounding beat and the words, I found my soulmate. With a slight rise of her jaw, she’s smitten with this king, the delicate skin of her countenance warmed by the glow of his, a pink dusting of her freshwater pearls.  
 
A love affair unconventional, a duo in adoration, a marriage of crisp airiness and a desire for discovery ringing true, a fondness between man and woman precious like a round cut diamond, weightless as dandelion fuzz blowing in the wind, beaming identical to that of a fluorescent night star, the twosome looking into one soul rejoices intimately at their romantic chemistry and unyielding bond. 
 
A gracious audience of ink, navy, and Prussian blue, antique and porcelain white, emerald green and scarlet pink in a pose of calm celebration, honors the mister and missus with an exuberant ovation. Entangled in a web of love with a sincerity stringing them in unison, the two in a trance cherishes a declaration so glamorous, a devotion so light.
This poem is dedicated to a soul's light romance of a recently married couple whose display of love moved and touched me.
JP May 24
Sometime good
Sometime bad
Why am dual
Where good came
Where bad came
Is am not one or
am two..

Walking
Walking on the shore
Yes
I came through
from father and mother
When I conceived
am born out of dual
and am dual

The dual in me
goes on dividing
the character and behaviour
How can I be good always
now the answer says
It's not possible

Now
Walking back to my home
How I going to explain
to my girlfriend
am neither good nor bad..
Chicken Dec 2018
Look here, to the East, the South, the West, the North....

Instruct:

Trust thy inner knowledge,
Power is placed within,
Take any which direction you choose,
For when you end, you will always begin.

And So,

Goodbye from the parts of you,
that do not know the soul,
They may choose to meddle a while,
though no longer can they control.

Your path unique, in divide dual,
an individual task,
Not one may interfere too long,
Not even those whom are masked.

So Forth,

Take some air and not hurry then,
Knowing you are on thy way,
Be eating foods just as mother Earth,
See the brake of dawn each day.

Take some water gradually, yet
steer clear of the water of fire,
firewater be the end of thee,
instrumental of setbacks, tis' dire.

Onwards,

Placing thy feet upon thine soil,
Souls of yours, not Nike,
Connect in self to the nature of hertz,
To calm a forlorn psyche.

When ye be ready, take flint and oil
Fuel your athanor fires,
Take the elixir sure to come, and,
be not afraid of the mires.
This is an epic by my standards. Enjoy, or not.

Firewater = High Proof Alcohol
Athanor = Furnace
Neville Johnson Oct 2018
They’re recruiting me
MI6
And the CIA
Land sakes alive
Dual citizenship
No hindrance to me
Helps to have a major in Slavic languages
And an Oxford degree
How they latched on to me
I don’t really know
That Dad worked at
Arlington might have put them in the know
Interesting life choices being offered
Investment banking has its rewards
That’s on the table
I’m inclined to VC
I could have a capital time
Avoid DC and endless bureaucracy
See the world
It’s nice to be wanted
I feel like the girl everyone wants to dance with
I’m still at the prom
I’ll ask my parents
I know they’ll have thoughts
A new secret agent poem
RhettlvScarlett Oct 2018
A Roman poem written before The birth of Christ, inspired the title Gone With The wind
with Scarlett and Rhett Butler

But here you see only old
confessions of a man's true love for his beloved who is all gone
-Or-
(Or a woman's true love for
her beloved runner wishing she could have chased.)
~~~
C
YNARA.
~~~~~
Last night yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
  Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
  When I awoke and found the dawn was grey:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! Gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
  Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! The night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
  Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
~~~~~~~

By:Ernest Dowson
For:RhettlvScarlet.
All rights reserved

Ernest Dowson (1867-1900) died of alcoholism at the age of 32. His downward spiral began at age 23 when he fell for an 11 year old girl who would spurn him at 14 when he proposed marriage.
The following year, in 1894 his father died from an overdose. Dowson's mother
hanged herself within a year of her husband's death.

Soon after this dual tragedy Dowson left for France before returning back to England in 1897. Curiously he lived with the family of his unrequited love. Penniless, heartbroken and filling the empty voids in his life with alcohol, Dowson would spend the last six weeks of his life in the cottage of the Oscar Wilde biographer Robert Sherard who had found him
drunk in a bar.

Speaking of Oscar Wilde, he wrote after Dowson's death of a,"Poor wounded wonderful fellow that he was, a tragic reproduction of all tragic poetry, like a symbol, or a scene.

I hope bay leaves will be laid on his tomb and rue and myrtle too for he knew what true love
unrequieted love was."
~~~~~
Rhett Buttler might have married other women but he never stopped loving Scarlett his true twin soul.
IN EVERY LIFETIME!
Graff1980 Jan 23
When I have time to think,
when the dark thoughts
are hailing me
like Starfleet academy
across the universe
of my undermine;

In the dark regions
of my dreams
where legions
of thought demons
come rumbling in,
there is a red wave,
a reservoir of pain
reserved for the perturbed
parts of my overactive brain.

When the melancholia music plays,
switch flipped to repeat
as I listen to the beat
of my heart’s history,

I remember all that
was given to me,
the bits I took for granite
chipped rocks eroded
connections no longer
able to be loaded
because they are just
echoes of binary encoded
in my overloaded
grief molded
dual lobed
computing *****.
Claire Hanratty Aug 2018
I was travelling along a busy road-
Eyes opened and closed.
I had music in my ears so loud that
I could hear the sound of
Ringing with every note.
Way out of the window,
I raced the ****** train to Scotland
Up a dual carriageway and felt rapid
Time dispel all notions of
Going nowhere in life.

Then without a warning my world was jolted and
Came to a stand still.
The car was in motion but
I was trapped and uncomfortable as
I remembered that yesterday,
In your thoughtful, rash way,
You texted me from a tent in Leeds
Telling me that
It was over.

Grass looked so much greener on the other side
Of the glass, yet I was
Unable to let go of the past.
I thought to myself  
'This is not how I planned my life would turn out, at least not today'.
It then hit me that I can
Never plan to be happy because
On the days I plan to be happy I will Think of this moment and
Be sad.

Earth seems out of tune as
I lose the race through thoughts of you and
Begin to
Hate my favourite songs; I love you.
I should have known better; I can't decide whether to
Live my life and jump onto the train ahead or to
Jump in front of it.
I'm sorry I wasn't enough and
I could never be
No matter how hard
I tried- I know that God loves a trier but
Could you?

I'm in a traffic jam now.
I watch the sun become eclipsed by the clouds and
I wish you were
Here.
Romance isn't dead but I sure am
Nat Lipstadt Sep 19
~for she who will know~

the Mother of Muses came to me

on bended knee
come for to confess
a lie so grand it boggled
the heart

we bring you nothing more
than what you already possess,
the jewels of rose gold are emplaced
in your dual ventricles,
the veins stained with blue green sapphires to
feed the right and left hemispheres,
where the emerald heat and the yellow gold,
raw melt the alpha word-finery awaiting,
the pinpointed pinprick of an eyed glimpse

to release the oxidizing words atmospheric
we are not needed, just proceeders,
*** stirrers? no. *** watchers? oh yes.

all contained within,
this then, the art of the human heart,
where the external stains rest awaiting,
completing, complimenting, coming
to fruition in a reforged new birthing

see how the child looks with adoration,
perceiving the art of the mothers heart,
the spilling of time at the precise moment
when the exchange is as long as an eye wink
and as short as an entire lifetime

We the Muses, not teachers, nor inspirers,
just peddlers, collecting thimbles of words,
polished with hued syllables of tarnish,
experienced watchers discerning the exacting,
the interactive interactions of the cells,
the DNA concoctions of singers and sinners,
priests and the unforgivable, trying to tie
what deserves untying, which is an everlasting
poem that needs, laughing, an original act
of the art of the heart, yours, permission to say
The End


11:14pm
nyc
Sept. 18, 2019
there is almost always a poem in the simple, where true art awaits your
sculpting...
Mark Oct 19
If found my mermaid, then too found my eyes
By me she breathes and breathes the deepest seas
With dual fins that needn't rely the thighs
Nor need by lungs intake the taller trees.
My feet remand by sand in darkest blue
Her sparkle swims by night, or is it day?
Yes with her kiss has needed air so blew
Without, beneath the strain, my core's decay.
The salty squints does sting as brine does know
Yet how my love beside with love withstood!
I tread and tread the ocean's sandy low
And mermaid blesses on with loving good:

Tho' currents depth and vastness have me bound
By mermaid's heart gifts mine that I'm not drowned.
Michael Smit Dec 2018
Quod superius sicut inferius
As above so below
As within so without
On earth as it is in heaven
As the universe So the soul

All things are interconnected
The sky and the hell
The land and the sky
What is first shall be last

To accomplish the miracles of the one thing
We are the gods of the atoms that makes up ourselves
But we are also the atoms of the gods that makes up the universe
Man's spirit comes from the stars
His soul from the planets
His body from the elements
We're made of star stuff

All is mind
Everything flows out and in
The pendelum-swing manifests in everything
The measure of the swing to the right
Is the measure of the swing to the left
Everything is dual
Everything has a opposite
And opposites are identical in nature
But different in degree

Nothing rests everything moves
Everything vibrates
Every cause has it's effect
And every effect has it's cause

Infinitely,
The Cosmos
Next page