Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Becky Littmann Jun 2017
He let them win
Somehow their repetitive chatter & noise crept right in
Quietly & unseen they anchored their lies & fabrications
Truths were quickly fading into arguments & altercations
In his head their noise just echos & echos in a shout
He battled & fought, but it wasn't well enough to keep them out
The echos only got louder & louder
More & more he began to doubt her
Thoughts began dwelling
The echos were now just yelling
Hoping truth he'd soon forget
& Trusting was something he'd always just regret

Proud of what they've done
The echos thought they've won
But his thoughts weren't able to convince his heart & soul
He knew without her, he would never be whole
Feelings, really now, this time they were true & real... truly not a chance to break
& As for the echos.....well they were just a silented mistake
Phoenix Oct 2015
I hate this house
I hate this town
I hate this school
Echos
So many echos
Echos in the halls
In my living room
On the street
I'm plagued by the echos
Of you and me
The touch of your lips
The strongness of your hugs
The echos of your so called love
Memories
Echos
I hate this house
I hate this town
I hate this school
I hate these echos
NaNi Mar 2016
i scream "HELLO"
as it echos from the walls
hoping it will reach you
reach your heart & mind
i scream "ARE YOU THERE?"
echos moving quickly until they disappear
are they even reaching you?
i guess if they were i wouldnt be searching for you
so as i sit here making echos hoping you could hear
my life is passing me by
ill never get this time back
so i realized you will never be anything more than an ECHO
an echo against the walls i have now built against you
NaNi
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.
The echos of Chi
reverberate off the walls:
The Chi of my friends.

The echos of Chi:
After the vessel has passed,
the wake is still felt.

The echos of Chi
are as ripples in water.
Ricochet, Echo.
A series of Haiku style poems inspired by the echos of chi of my friends the day after hanging out with them.
Jenna Cozart Jan 2015
"You aren't good enough" echos in my head, I can't silence it. I try to convince myself I am but the voice in my head echos louder "YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH". I try to build myself up but there is always something there to knock me back down. I feel so lost.
Ana Sophia Aug 2018
it's like all the pain
and numbness
in you,
echos through me,
and I absorb all that,
until my heart
can't take it anymore
then I overflow
Keith W Fletcher Jan 2016
As I came through the door
Taps the cat  meowed at me
As she crisscrossed the floor space
Staying a foot ahead of me
Glancing into the big closet or tiny room
Whichever ... Dad called it his study
"Hey dad " I yelled at the back of his head
" His quick glance meant "hey buddy"
I noticed moms face on the computer screen
'Oh!"I snapped " mom ... Hey we miss you "
"I'm not talking to your crotch "she laughingly barked
"Sit down ... Move the camera or move your *** Trent"
I compromised by doing all three as dad took a break
The face of someone I truly loved sat there
Looking at me
From over  three thousand miles away.
Three thousand miles away!
"Hey baby " she said in her cooing voice " How are you?"
"Got a job at Dannerlans ... Part time" I proudly engaged
"Don't let it interfere with" ...she couldn't stop and she knew...
I guess my stupid grin finally clued her in as she trailed off
"Half a world away and I'm still mom I guess. Dad musta.."
"He did ... Same thing.. And I won't. But what are you...."
"Don't you dare Trent " mock rage crossed her  face
As a few octaves fell out of her voice and I already knew
Here it comes.....a tsunami all the way from Japan
Putting my nose right to the camera and pushing on
I repeated "tsunami mommy  tsunami mommy  san
What can you do about it . you're way over there and I'm..."
" Gonna get it so bad .. When I get home mister "
:You're gonna look end up looking just like your sister"
"Oh ....Kay...  "I haltingly bounced her words round my mind
"I DONT HAVE A SISTER."
"Exactly"
Then I saw it... Set up and now....
Confusion and pride had my ammunition... just the facts
Dad arrived at that second with a coke for me and his beer
"Did you hear her ?" I asked him
" threating to make me a girl"
As I gave up the chair I heard that cooing soft voice sorta ....
..........GR OO ooowl ?!? While still softly cooing  "oh no no no...
Too good for you Bud...Buuud...Buddy?   You'll just disa..pear!"
Dad laughed first - drawing me in as I reluctantly let go.
"Nice try dear.... but you lost it coming round the outside corner"
What do you mean outside corner ..it was right over but too low
"Bye mom"  I said "got some homework to do " they were merged
Gone now for three month and three more to go .poor dad
His staunch had wilted within forty eight hours of her departure
But let's all pretend that you
never noticed the droop -a bit sad
Poor poor  dad ... Poor poor dad  I chimed as I climbed the stairs
He won't make it another three months . .. Very easy
I  haltingly caught my words as the downer that they were
As I scooped the elegant Taps  from the floor " but they'll make it "
I whispered into her ear. "Won't they girl? "Her answer was a purr

I'm thinking of joining the red cross
That's good...gets you out and about....
In the ...nei..bor....
"Okay .. Whats yet to be told ...spill
"They asked me to run the admin office" She
So you'll have to travel for a while  that's ok" (He)
"The whole admin office for foreign.... "  She let it trail......
Allright so you come back weekends
Ain't that far....to... (He)
      .......... ...Japan ....(She)
Dad........didn't  have any words to say
And the staunch started peeling away...right then and there
The love they shared
Might be compared
To historic qualities
Romeo and Juliet  sans tragedy
Bogie and Bacall  for longevity
Tracy and Hepburn for loyalty
Burns and Allen for ..for the comedy
So I knew.. as..  anyone else who  
Saw him day to day decline
That she was on her way home
By seeing the force of nature
He suddenly became
A human dynamo in preparation
For the reunification.

I walked through the front door
Sharon at my side and lacey in tow
"Go tell your brother to get in here "
So she yelled out the front door
"Trenton Dean Robertson get in here!"
Sharon and I met eye to eye
Bossiest little Seven year old....
"TRENTON now!"  I  yelled  out
"You better do what sis said"
He was now ten and tended to wander about
"I'm here "he said as he appeared
"Come on sis I'll beat you in...."
The last bit muffled
As they closed the basement door
And descending down the stairs

We both glanced into the closet
For that's what it really was
Dad sitting at the computer
And mom was on the screen
So I toted my load of groceries
As Sharon leaned in to say" hi "
And once we had supper going
I went to mix a drink and as I passed by
Dad said "son come here
Your mom wants to talk to you "
Besides we've been chatting  forever!
Then he whispered "I gotta go to the loo"
"Hi mom "I said as he departed
Leaving me to warm the seat
I'm not talking to your crotch
She said for at least the millionth time
There on the screen was the face
Of someone that I loved
Who never made it home that year
The flight was destined for history
Crashing into the Himalayas
Taking everyone on board
And the staunch became so rigid
And reality was simply ignored
He handed me a coke and opened his beer
Before resuming his vigil at the computer screen
That was his reality....his fantasy... and his hex
Some might say an old adage to sum it up
"IS IT LIVE.....OR IS IT MEMOREX?"

AS I drifted from the room they were merged.







..
Crystal lived alone in the cabin Ray had built for her. Ray had left long ago but she thought of him often and sometimes went to see him in the city. She was an artist and a dabbler in many fields. Her house was a kaleidoscope of stained glass windows and half finished art projects. It was built almost entirely of wood with a beautiful stairway to a loft bedroom replete with a skylight window on the stars. Set in the mouth of a valley next to a clear stream the cabin looked almost as if it had grown there.

Crystal spent most of her time on her art projects, in fact she made her living that way. She was well known for the macabre nature of her works and they sold well at the local art fairs. Most of the scenes she painted could not possibly have existed on earth. Take for example the orange sky and purple mountains of Mariners Delight or the river of blood in Cosmic Conception.

Often Crystal would meet Ray at the art shows and they would discuss his books or her latest works. It was just such an occasion that preceded the first of her dreams.

Although Crystal had often dreamt of playing in a large meadow surrounded by reflections of her art work this dream had been different. She awoke from a scene in the woods where she had been the object of a grotesque conclave of creatures almost beyond description. There had been a huge goat like creature leading a chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba", for a group of creatures that resembled animals. There was a black toad sitting on a rock of seemingly impossible crystalline form, while an agile spider danced on the spokes of its luminous web above her. The smell of blood, the heat of the fire, and the constant and oppressive chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba" with all eyes directed at her. She woke with a start, it was early morning, her bed was a tangled mess, and she was covered with sweat. She felt she could almost smell wood smoke, and somewhere in her mind she could still hear the echos of the horrible chant.

It wasn't until almost a year later that the dream repeated itself. She had just completed what she considered her greatest work, a large mural like painting called Id Conclusion. It was a matrix of human forms in contorted and deformed conditions against a backdrop of misty images of human holocaust, war machines, and atomic clouds. She had gone to bed in a storm of thoughts on human depravation and greed. The scene was the same, the spider, the goat, the half human animals, all seemed the same, except for the chant, it was different. "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Raga mantra nestos reale, Yreba Yreba Shiva kommt da." Lightening cracked and a creature appeared. He seemed a man but was built more like a large monkey. Light seemed to follow him like an aura. He was the obvious master of the conclave and all stood back at his approach.

Crystal was lying on the stone altar in the center of the glade and although not bound she was incapable of motion while held in Yreba's gaze. That this creature was Yreba was obvious since all had bowed down now and the chant had changed, "Yreba Yreba teach us to grow." Crystals eyes were glazed and her naked body shown in Yreba's light. All her past works were floating across her mind like a collage. Lost in ecstasy she responded to his aggression like a wanton beast, screaming and writhing in the flow of his energy.

She woke to find her cabin in shambles and she was lying in the center of the living room on the floor, she panicked and ran to her car, slammed it into gear, and sped off down the road.

Ray was sitting in his office at the University that morning when Crystal burst into the room. "Ray, Ray, I've had a dream, a horrible dream, it was, I was!" "Slow down Crystal! You've had a what?" said Ray. Crystal sat down in a ball of frenzy and continued.

About an hour later Crystal had finished her story. Ray spoke, "So you say this is only the second time you've had this dream. Tell me more about Yreba. Does he resemble any of your art works?" "No", she said, "He seemed a lot more like that creature you told me about that day we were discussing witchcraft. The one who was supposed to be the personification of ****** desire evoked for the *** ****** of the ancient Persians."

Ray walked to his bookshelves (he was a professor of ancient mythology and religions) and pulled out a book called Necromancer by Abdule Azerod. "As I recall" he said "that creature was also a god of fertility." He thumbed slowly through the book, "yes, here it is. What did you say this creatures name was? Yreba? Very strange that's almost exactly this Persian deities name, Youruba. It seems he was evoked every year on the vernal equinox to assure ****** reproductivity and if you think that's frightening, feature this, last night was the vernal equinox." Crystal was stunned. "Do you think there's a connection" she stammered? "Don't be silly girl, this was three thousand years ago. Why don't we drive out to your cabin and see if we can find some clues."

Twenty minutes later they were standing in Crystal's cabin. What had seemed so disorderly to Crystal in the morning was now clearly a purposeful state of order. All of her sculptures were arranged neatly on the stairs to the loft, and her pictures were arranged so as to face the spot on the floor where she had awakened. On the floor where she had lain was a large five pointed star. "What does it mean Ray?" "I think it's a pentagram" he stated. "Is anything missing?" "Not that I can see" she said. "I don't think we had better stay" he said, "Find what you need and we'll go back to my house. You can stay there until we figure it out."

Crystal never returned to the cabin. Ray sold it for her and bought her a new house in the city.

Crystal got sick a few months later. She was sitting in the doctors office now awaiting his return. "I have good news" he said. "Good news" Crystal groaned. "Yes" he said, "Your pregnant."
Aliens can make you pregnant of mind, it's the hawkowl facts.
I named my bird dog Yreba.......I'm in so much trouble!!
Keith J Collard Jan 2013
Resident Facebook by Keith Collard

{remnants of a blood and ice coffee stained diary}


23april1996,

Been working at this mansion for at least four months now. Fellow co-workers are friendly enough. The pharmeceutical researchers are very pompous with their exact demands. Im in charge of the food storage and refridgeration for the mansion. It is the only modernly powered facet of this mansion. Besides the labs in the basement(from which I only heard).


26april1996,

This mansion is too creepy, the architect designed the living quarter and main facade of the mansion in a 1920 neo gothic fashion--with gas lamps and gothic paintings. Every device, even the typewriters in the mansion are old fashioned mechanical. A top researcher told me in casual conversation that these doors and clocks are more durable than current electronic means, built in the same fashion as the pyramids and stonehenge--he was pointing out all the clocks and engraved doors in the dining hall as he was speaking,while I was putting out the food. He's the usual eccentric for as these researchers go, he told me the company president paid him to design classical mantraps along the mansion and guardhouse to keep workers from straying, encrypted with runes and riddles as keys(some odd ducks).


2may1996,

Mansion workers were given each a laptop today by the head researcher Albert Wesker. This guy is like the James Bond of scientists, dashing and suave with a 9mm berreta at his side(wish we were allowed guns). He wears sunglasses--even at night. He said they experimented with a comunications app the scientists have been using to communicate expeiremental data. The only app available on there is something called Facebook, which the scientists call "fbproto."


5may1996,

The f.bproto is neat, we can watch movies , talk to eachother, and to workers at the pharmaceutical's sister facilities. Everything is monitored by the companies security admins Ive heard. The company will be holding raffles via f.bproto for staffers who could win a chance to participate in "beneficial lab trials" from ***** extension treatment to magnetic wave reducing therapy. Sounds unappealing to me...I put my name down on the site just in case.


6 may1996,Been talking to girl who works in sanitation department underneath the guardhouse, her name is Ada, she said there was an important goverment official flying in to the helipad today. She is pretty cute, and one bright light in this shadowy mansion. message from company, we should join democratic party on fbproto. whatever they say,they're the scientists.


10may1996,

Been stayin up too late posting on f.bproto,the company is posting alot of links, of visual images and sentences I don't quite understand. Ben from mansion cleanin services keeps hitting on Ada,I want to defriend him but want to know what he's doing. I put my cat in fbproto company pic contest,with everyone else who was given lab pets by the scientists, I put little gloves on her paws--Im sure to win.


11may1996,

Karl sent me a message on fbproto that he saw a researcher go into his room, and never saw him leave, and when he went to clean his room the researcher was not in there. This mansion is creepy, I mean a statue of a woman cutting her own throat with the inscription "only death shall set you free,"is that a little gloomy or what. fan of smiley faces on fbproto.;)


12 may 1996

man, the doors are like eight inches thick, solid wood, I locked myself out of my room and tried to shoulder the door in. Well, the door with its inlaid wood carving just laughed at me, it resembles a dragon or snake or someshit with two fern looking wings, red and blue. Spooooky stuff. I had to go get the security admin for the mansion staff living quarters. He unlocked the door, and told me that all the doors are solid oak. I asked him what the words at the bottom of serpent meant, he said it says in latin “ the two wings of the beast are red and blue.” I asked him what the hell that means, he says he didn’t know, but that it has to do with the research the scientists are doing.

I stayed up almost all night on fbproto, at first because my shoulder was killing me, but then it went away, and I kept finding myslelf with a ciqerette in my fingers all the way burnt down and my skin charred, geez, fbproto really takes your mind off things, especially this mansion which reminds me of a sepulcre. That Dan thinks he’s hot stuff, posting himself in his living quarters in the guard house, which is better than the mansion staffs. He get’s to go to the guardhouse recreation room, his profile pic is a bottle of Johnny Walker Red in it’s high end package that looks like a coffin, that him and the guards won at dart’s. It’s not hard to win that when Albert Wesker is on your team, that guy sunk three darts WilliamTell style into the bull’s eye. He tagged me in the picture of the Johnny Walker, *******.


13 may 1996

Locked myself in the walk in freezer today by accident, forgot the code….a researcher let me out finally, and asked if I was alright, I said I was fine, he just looked at me curiously. I was in there to clean out these blue vines, that kept on growing into the ducts and stuff, kept on turning the temperature down. But I won’t lie, I had my laptop with me to pass time, but after a while I couldn’t scroll down because my fingers stopped working , so I pressed the keyboard with my tongue. Ada’s pictures kept me warm, oh how I love her…..I want her so bad.


13may1996

Had a dream about the helicopter ride in and how the dense forest resembled a corpse’s face as we flew past it fast overhead. We touched down on the helipad, and there were dead bodies in the razor wire, they were shaking as if they were in a laughing frenzy from the rotor wash of the helicopter. Then as I entered the main façade (my footstep's echos on the tile seemed to walk away and disapear into the mansion)and stepped on the black and white checkered hall floor, Albert Wesker was there, and he was nicely dressed as a bartender or sumthin, and he asked if " I wanted a ****** mary," and he was squeezing a heart into the glass, then I looked down and there was a hole in my chest where my heart was supposed to be. Then there was a giant ice coffee and dancing with a mirror to moonlight sonata….****** stuff, this mansion is getting to me.


14may1996

dan is such a ****, keeps posting pics of himself shirtless, he was given some experimental hormone from a researcher and is relleshing in it It was some form of energy drink called Red Bull.

Him and Ada are talking more. Message from company to like republican party page(whatever)Daves three eyed frog won fbproto pic contest,grrrr.


15may1996,

there's been more accidents in the mansion and in the labs below. Fred from the kitchen staff cut off his fingers today,and Ive heard through Chris' post that someone fell into the live feed area where they feed animals to their experiments. Bob put his fbproto password(instead of mansioncode) into the mechanical lock at the observatory springing a trap of spikes that spiked his hand to his head and his head to the wall, the featherduster was still in his hand(or face).;(


16may1996,

the scientist with the always grave look has disapeared, the guards said he transferred,but a fellow researcher said he was fired, shame, I liked him.

There is a plant living in my radiator, keeps growing vine-like tendrils, and is turning up the heat...230 friends on f.bproto,woot woot.


17may1996,

the company is handing out promotional ice coffee that they created in the labs to staffers via f.bproto,I wasn't picked, dang,its said to give you "10x human energy and vitality".I became a fan of Backstreet Boys on f.bproto.


18may1996,

karl found a memo from the missing researcher under his bed when he was cleaning out his room, sent me a message via f.bproto,it read that the researcher concluded that the f.b proto had negative effects on living tissue, decreased brain function,increased tendencies for violence,and not worth the sublimal control contract with the goverment, and that both pre-cambrian ferns pose to much liability for a biohazard and show signs of sentience.........hmm,im up to 300 friends now.


19 may 1996,

more accidents in mansion, Albert Wesker sent message to staffers that he was just promoted to Head of Security,and that if anybody is caught leaving the premises they will be shot. I wouldn't even dare to go out in the surrounding forest, I hear the wild dogs howlin all night amid those dense woods.just became a fan of Ace of base, they are awesome.


20may 1996,

my roomate looks like a hot messs, his skin looks pale with black blotches and he has pitch black circles underneath eyes, he's been taking the labs new painkillers, man he should change his profile pic. I poked Ada.


21 may 1996

message from f.bproto, "outside guards replaced by Hunters.".....man, def would not go out there now, I fed one of those ape reptile thingy's live feed the other day( Phil went missing, I had to do his job, always doing other peoples work), and the feed for that day was a cow, and this thing just poked the cow to death with its razor claws.

Everyone of those brute raptor things have a skeleton key has their middle razor claw, a researcher said they can hear every door open and shut in the mansion, " If you see one, turn around and go out the door you came, if you enter a door your not supposed to, well....." he didn't finish what he was saying, only walked off muttering "what have I done....".....I friend requested him on fbproto, his last post was "god forgive me." His profile pic was his mansion room, with replicas of insects and a fishtank(that is rumoured to be a model of a giant one in the basement). He disapeared soon after and his fbproto was deactivated.

Joined Labville on fbproto.;)


22may1996,

message from company, the labs are combining expieramental ice coffee,painkillers,and steroids,anyone on f.bproto can partake, and we should document how we feel and what we do on fbproto multiple times a day. Took a pic of myself shirtless, can see spine coming thru skin, and I keep catching the red plant from the radiator posing in the background, or giving me bunny ears......grrrrrrrr.;(


23may1996

went to smoke a spleef on the stone balcony, near the greeen house over looking the forest the other night, they grow all kinds of red and blue marjiauna there.....but there was one of those reptile hunter things, standing guard there, blocking the path, it screamed and almost blew my eardrums out, " okey dokie" I said, and slowly backed away and left......friggin nazis these pharmaceutical people are.

I got rid of the Labville app on fbproto, that game is too hard, I keep running out of butlers to feed my experiments, and my humans keep escaping into the woods. But mostly, Im sick of seeing

Albert Wesker's name with the highest score everytime I play......



25may1996,

Ben said he saw a handfull of scientists and guards on the helipad taking a chopper out. There is more plants decorating the halls, no one knows who put them there, some rooms are blazing hot, others are ice cold. Ben said to not go to the library, everyone who went upstairs to that room has not returned, that the blue ones have took over the cobblestone path to the courtyard where the armory is. Said he saw Kevin in the tangles running up the stone wall on the side, he had a vine going in his mouth and coming out his eye; and he said that the researchers call the red ones "evaginates," for how they trap and slowly eat you(sounds ******). Im not on Ada's top friends list anymore, angry.


26may1996,

the mansion is awash in accidents and fighting, roomate looks like zombie, others look like reptilian muscled gorillaz, others just a blur they move so fast.eyes hurt from staring at f.b proto. Moaning alot. everyone is playing "I Saw the sign" from Ace of Base. Vines keep stealing my hat, and eating people.


25...,

no food, ate cat,mittens and both hearts,gas lights out, dark,everyone walking around with laptops to see,blue fbproto reflections on walls.fml.


2aprol

took chris' ice cofee and killed ben before he took steroids,lol,ate steroids,no one cooking food, getting hungry,guards came,ate em.....bullet hole in my chest......chaaange f.bproto profile pic to facee....my quote is mooohaha... just. saying


23...,

feel strong, fast,gruntin alot, hungry, no food, ate carl, ate red plant, carved him with my skeleton clah....I hate mondays was post on f.bproto,yum ice cofee.


43

oooohhhh, lol,lol, top ada friend list, ,ate benny...b.esisde armpits....he stink.....roarrrrr......oohhh....bullel wond in cheeek....see benny in thar......moving quick......hunman bones everyware....stain carpits....helicupter....mur guards......no.....pulice.....wesker is wit em....ace of base now.....bed of blud..I wit...fur em.....fbproto sez **** starssss ......


2..........rooooooahhhhh,yum, ohhhhhhh,lol,raohh.fml............[rest of transcript unintelligible]
teresa nicastro Oct 2017
Echos of silence throughout the night
Sleeplessness puts up a fight
Billions of stars blanket the sky
So far away I wish I could fly
The face of the moon watching the night
Peacefulness waiting for morning light
Crickets sing their night time song
Powerful voices loud and strong
Echos of silence as I close my eyes
My imagination begins to fly
Takes me to a place no one has been
Distant lands with battles to win
Castles and unicorns in my world
Dreams since I was a little girl
Echos of silence drift away
Daylight comes to begin the day
Daylight 4U2C Dec 2014
Maybe I don't have a mind,
but at least I'm not crazy.

I fallen so many times,
so I'm so experienced.

I've been cheated and left behind;
I know my friends and enemies.

I hear the echos of memories;
they see how far I've come.
So I know I've come so far.

Don't have a lot of friends,
so music's number 1.

Would **** for solitude,
but then where is the fun.

Maybe it's complicated,
but that makes an adventure.

Sometimes the darkest times,
are ones we gladly venture.

Optimist living for a life we understand. We were never idiots; we have the upper-hand. Notice their all falling down the depths of agony, but we optimist live strong, proud, and free.
Karijinbba Jul 2018
I STILL EXIST- I STILL EXIST
My pen writes
I still Exist

and an empty feeling engulfs me
I am painting a purple tree
I tell my family counselor
That the paint reminds me
Of arsenic Greek cheese dust
That a human predator
two faced fiancee
placed on my green salad in 1976
He said he would teach me how Greeks killed with love at sea
Then kindly offered
To bring
breakfast and lunch
for me in bed
(Ladden with poison)
While I ate it he danced Zorba the Greek!
His jealous raicist medeas mistresses knew his past crimes
I didn't I was very naive
his superstitious ignorant parents twelve people  asked him to Get rid of me baby and all

Overdosed with pitocin for a cow
giving birth was a torture
then blood thinners
were added to slowly
end my life
A hate crime because I a sub human born in Mexico not Greece
The poisons caused
a chest malformation of my daughter requiring surgery
later in life was mis-diagnosed
as pectus scavatum
but I knew better it was
attempted ******
a chilling secret I was so ashamed to reveal

I did escape my kids and me
we survived  the memory
of my true love's loving ways
In America saved me from certain death there I was 75 lbs
When I escaped Hell
Greece
But salads gave me
Nausea through the years
I could never recall why

Painting gets my mind
Off painful memories
resurficing examining my life understanding me and others

I have many regrets unwittingly
my loving innermost feelings
remained trapped inside
and I lost my true love
in my dead calm silence of pain
Foolish online Ink
One involuntary bad deed
In Veracruz
Two SAD songs

My shrink says I have a beautiful
Soul a relentles spirit
That I managed to do better then
Most despite hellish adversity
A childhood marred with
heartbreak a trail of
Graves tree stumps
Coffin and treassures
Spirit breath of life and death
  
My hybrid race was secret
Poverty lack of Rhogam
My father the Apocalyto
Hero killed by MEX Feds
Who stole my Land
We are indigenous
Purhepecha tribe
The enemy of the Aztecs
So me my father's little queen of the forest his STAR could
Fly high and zoar
He was the love of my life
My dad David

A few days of effexor RX can bring about amnesia to block old kidnapping memories of turture resurficing unsolicited
Effexor to stop tears
regulating serotonin disrupted
After a car accident with traumatic head injury concoussion brain swelling so much that falling asleep for three months was impossible

MD prescribed just a trial
few warp eight mind bending Effexsors serotonin reuptakers
For only fifteen days
Half of thirty seven mg
Tears stopped immediatly a calmnesss
self assured old me demeanor
re-emerged I remember the arsenic and blood thiner injections the faces of sadistic jealous women but it didn't hurt

But soon my heart began to speed up so fast I could hear it beating in my ears at lowest dose

so the higher dose was not allowed.
Side effects if used longer than six months could make the
face to twich! who needs that!

So therapy ended slowly redusing small to smallest dosages for fifteen days
treatment ended
Don't like messing with my brain

Today I enjoy simple pleasures
echos born like me in
In the atlantic mystery

family time my lifetime best
best lover best Mother
nest friend to me myself
Remembering those few
Souls
Who deared greatly
their wisdom and foresigh to bet
On my future my light myself!
my father's little
Queen of the forest tribute to
My Once Upon A Time
True love his love songs
His poems quickening me
Awaking me
He was the love
Of my life my true love JPC/RC

He showed me he loved me
But he never could "tell me"
He loved me all my fault
Thinking back not ever
any other man told me
he loved me one or two boys wanted something from me freely given or taken by force from me
I didn't want them at all
No person growing up
Ever
Told me they loved me and most showed me my life didn't matter
many of my civil rights were violated throughout my life by thugs hainas had more charm
Only my father David San chez
and later my adoptive Mother mommy dearest told me once she loved me showed me she cared.
My children tell me and show me
They love me
Sometimes they hate me too
sadly they are under the spell of deadly sterile drug user enemies who assassinate my character lie and slander me to my grown daughters and I have now become estranged until they figure all out on their own so they learn to fight woolves in sheeps clothing and understand treason
and ungratefulness towards their own mother
There was only one man I loved
The MOST on this whole wide world
His ink scripted love remained the good intermigled with evil
Forever a part of me
My Lord Shiva my first teacher
My sage my guru
My Lancelott
Me  first love my last love
my tree of life he was
The only man I ever loved
and lost
Looking back
I thank G** King Jesus
King Arthur
And few other men who
Traveled in and out my door
Only one had my lock's key
I am glad you came along
I sing this last song
In memory of all the good
The bad and very bad
The few nefarious vipers I kissed
I forgive you all forgive you me for NOT
Understanding you
For loving those fellowmen
Who didn't know how to love me back
I wave my last
Good bye
I
Will
In your light and my own
Pray for you and me

As for the love of my life
"You are like a prayer
In church to God"
"I remembet you,
as someone something
VERY DEAR and precious"
You were the Best
You touched my STAR
And my starry skies sparkle
With your light remember me
in the same light my love
Look me up with your telescope
When you watch the stars
From your sun roof
In your bedroom

Find my Aries Constelation
For there is
My home
Without
You
I've taken with me a piece
Of Veracruz
A Mothers Day surprise
at the Hilton
raised in your arms on a warm June at a  bar
Where i felt like a bride
your bride

I almost asked you then and there to throw a big party
for you and me
But the monastery's dead silence
Growing up isolated
Silenced the spontaniety
Of thought you required of me
yet again!You regressed me you
tried in so many ways for me to
tell you  "I love you I am sorry
I'll marry you!"
All over again
I adored you remember this
Always.
Look me up with your telescope I AM
in The Aries Constelation I am Aprils daisy Aries diamond a
Yelow Self Existing Star says the Tzolkin Star Seed
Galactic seed always flowering....Enter me
Yours Always.
~~~~~~~
Revised 11-29th-2018
Excerpt from my memoir
auto biography
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Tyler Soth Jul 2018
your voice
fills empty spaces
these spaces
belong to me
they echo
filling up
every room
Tammy Boehm Oct 2014
Cigarette ashes
Dun smudges of nicotine
the jaundice bits of addiction
I place the pieces
folding echos into epithets
dog earred memories that curl
brittle around my fingers
squeeze another beat from my heart
an exhaled dirge
the rasp breath timbrel
above the roar of life in my ears

I pan for gold
sifting splintered bones
for moments lost with you
Searching my haggard face
for your spectred resonance
I've become that thing I loathe
folding echos into paper chains
capture only damp impressions
of tears wasted
Am I just an echo
of your terminal refrain?

TL Boehm
12/7/10
for my dad....who died due to complications from emphysema
Umi Mar 2018
To its mistresses wish, the blade dances through till she has been pleased, leaving a mess by engraving the scars of death as a mark, Alike a shadow she does not crack, cavorting a masacre of cruelty,
Berserking she follows the orders, shedding blood in fountains of death and misery without chance for this rage to stop without order,
Emotionless, cold, time is for her to stop moving when her ****** devotion consumes her entirely, swaying in the dark, destroying,
Tortured with true or false everyone disappears, time flows again,
A phantom glides over the sea of blood, in a mist, scarlet red,
Observing this would cause a riot of emotions to rage in pure fury,
Her name already burnt away, as a new one was given to her after this rumpus had found its peak, leaving the mistress in bliss, joy,
Watching their attemps to flee as they reach their dying moments,
Until those who get to close have perished, nobody and nothing left,
Cricling karma surely will catch them, after this sacrifice is done,
Warm blood melts the left over snow, laughter echos and reverbrates through the unending seeming night, bells ring, it is only midnight.
In the end her loyalty and efforts, her energy and love for her mistress
Are but a ****** devotion

~ Umi
The Ripper Mar 2016
Thrashed interminably
to find a Death
like this,
Death like this;
digs d
          e
            e
               p
                 ,
to make      room,      for you:
that
obdurate;
                    swart;
                  ­             gelid;
                               merry-go-round.
In the centre of
                    maelstrom;
tranquility lives,
as 393 echos evaporate
                                 amid Amaranth
                                 & Hibiscus,
                                 Amen.
voyager Aug 2015
I can smell the rains
dark skys can tell too
to cease and ease the pain
and count on the coming gains

the swaying of the trees could be seen
cool tones of droplets settled on my skin
seated under my usual tree

I hear the chirping of birds next to their nest
I noticed the dancing of the calves and lambs
my mind on the coming treasure
to end these echos of doom

echos of doom

worst of a season
dry streams dusty field and clear skys
will be a thing of the past
should I judge a book by its cover?/

I countlessly count on the rewards of rain
the seasons will be as usual as my conscience tell me
sooner than later the echos of doom appear again
no rains,no gain but more pain
I shouldn't  have counted my chicks before being hatched

echos of doom are at it again
John B Jul 2019
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands

The minstrels bello and promenade
Causing youths to parody
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands

Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day meh paramour our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call

I will burn it into meh mind
The energy of your shape across the horizon
And the heavens beyond
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands

Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day mah paramore our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call

Flowing with nimbus a bird of pray scours midgaurd
Caught in torrents a mariner catches fleeting glimpses of midgaurd
Bird of prey stiring air the torrents becomes untenable

Inch toward shore and grasp it to understand it's only soil
With the potential of our end millenarian revelations come within our grasp
However faced with dread nightmares and the vastness of time

I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul

Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness

I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands
Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day meh paramour our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call
Yes
Umi Mar 2018
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper,
A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink,
Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused,
The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy,
Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident,
There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls,
Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help,
And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy
Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created,
As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest,
Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him,
After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember;
You don't have to die in a dream

~ Umi
for there to be a total and complete utopia that benefits all it would be an equal and bland life.
life without emotions that could potentially start conflict.
life without diversity to avoid the confrontations of opinions.
life without memories so we cant compare the past to the present.
life where no rules are ever broken.


life where love is treated just as pain so they exclude them from our lives.
life where music wasn't used to express ourselves.
life where your opinion is forbidden.
a life of mystery , more than there are today.

so a utopia that would be settle for everyone to be equal, and fair would be no utopia at all.
*we would all be faint echos of life.
I understand that everyone has their own personal perception of a utopia. but if you think about it . if we were to live in the same utopia, it would have to be a bland and emotionless life to avoid conflict and keep peace.
Jerry Desbrow Nov 2013
OLD HOUSE

They retain precious memories,
intimate feelings of inhabitants
passing through its sagging doors.

Romantic are seekers of forgotten times
memories encased in hard wood floors;
as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a
history while we; when inclined listen.

We don't go very often, to abandon houses,
perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween.
Are we passed enjoying extremes into this
another world, musty energy a curious child.

That was the yesterday
which now waits behind
musty, dusty, derelict halls.

I stand I stand at paint chipped banister,
a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet,
children playing before they sleep. The
broken coat tree on the floor.

From the third floor murmuring,
a wind storm jars
loose fears, of time
once lost to dreams.

Echos billow from
each room, curtains hanging
yellowed by a sun where
dancing light through holes in damask lace.

Mice gremlin's artful droppings,
tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor.
Broken shards from window
panes, confetti after New Years day.

Branches scratched
etched paths, tracks like graffiti
on sill its unread words, a glif
eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past.

Jagged memories protrude from every corner
mixing with new, enriching our fantasies
bringing us closer renewed;
these musty memories long forgotten.

Like waves rushing back;
flooding a mind like broken
dikes they crash into our world,
Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading.

Silent footsteps outside a door,
we hear laughter from bedroom walls;
a smell a whiff of hot butter ***, silent
conversation coming our way.

Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as
I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories
or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or
Othello; all masters in the past.

A Grandfather clock
stands silent, keeping time,
lost its tick yet still striking,
it stands tall, upon a clueless floor.

Knowledge lost to a past
in a house so worn,
births, deaths, wars, wrapped
forgotten, encased by neglect,

I visited a house besotted,
neglected waiting to be
remodeled into another century
moving it to present times.

Ajerry
Archival Jan 5, 2011
Edited and rewritten Nov 1 2013 / ajanon/ Jerry
SG Holter Jan 2015
Going home to the country side for
The weekend, where
The snow is twice as
Deep and prestine.

I've promised my girl we'll put
Winter clothes on and trek through
The woods; play children.
Lay flat on our backs

On soft whiteness between naked
Trees, just listening to
Winds like the ghosts of whales
Swimming the skies singing;

Calling to the echos of
Their echos' echos.
Then, red cheeked and sniffling,
Brush January from ourselves,

Stump snow from boots, and head
Inside for hot showers.
Her wet hair slowly drying
By an open fire. Wine, and either

Music or just the whispers of
Winter playing with the ancient
Wood in the walls between
Silences.

Candle light catching the white
Flashes of flakes falling outside
Ice cornered window glass
In complete, quiet darkness.

She calls it camping in the cabin.
To me, it will
Always be
*Home.
dj Apr 2012
clanking clank slurp, ka-boom
the slop runs down a throat
merrily merrily terribly chilled
the gunk rolls down a throat.

the
forks spoons knives
plates salts salads
and wines
ding and echo like
soft butterfly tea parties
all gone rabid.
throughout the walls of pictures of food
and the butterfly echos echo
and dinging cups splash
and forks click and clock
(and and,..and!)

hold my breath.

clanking cubes of ice
bing against one another
Gluttonous Pig slobs them down with
a spoonful of spicy French soup
Pigman talks to Pigwoman; spittle flying out of
his piggy chops.
he stares at my forehead
they see my odd selection
she's laughing insanely at a joke
I'm holding my eyes inside my head
while

all on my plate sit the legs
of baby spiders
all on my dish are darting
sow eyeballs
pitcher plant garnish
and frozen grey custard for dessert; (echos still in the restaurant)
I gag outloud
the Fat Pigman scoffs at this
my heart pops inside its cage
and the waiter rolls his eyes at the mess.
sometimes I will zone out and start listening to all the noises during my time at eateries. it's not enjoyable. this poem is about that.
Sister Sinister Jul 2014
The world around me keeps
spinning on,
it is
    fast
         paced,
smells become
                                                 indistinguishable.
The air stands still
                                                    it tastes stale.
different colours  b-l-u-r
                                                        to grey
A windowpane of
                                                           rainy
                                                           ­                                                    patience.


Voices
                                                          scre­ech
                                                         painfully
noises w~h~i~r~l
                                                       ­  to echos
                                                           ­                                     not unlike sanity
                                                         fleeing to
                                                              ­                           a place inside myself.
                                               An eye of the storm

Next destination
                                                              cool
                                                            ­                                                   solitary,
time­lessness-
                                                       ­                                                              calm.
                                        
                  ­                                     *s e r e n i t y
I love and dread the daily train rides.
Kevin Aug 2018
An empty boat glides through a tide-less sea
Echos of thunderous silence reminisces the rowdy sailors once on board
Without fear they sailed across the dark waters
Without the knowledge of forthcoming doom they kept the spirits high
Navigation impaired by the wrath of silence, their abominable gaiety and preposterous hopes were muted for eternity
Life drained, flesh rotted, bones crumbled to dust, and the boat was filled with peaceful death
Though without an inhabitant it still continues to drift towards a predesitned chaos
Its calm trail behind disrupted by an impatient tranquility
Its still path ahead disallows all animations with an unfluent time
Yet it moves forward
Ranger Apr 2015
Screaming in the dark
But no one here's
Then a sound
Heart beating fast
Is there hope
Waiting
Watching
Nothing
But the dying echos
Falling Silent
I am alone
In the dark
Waiting
Watching
But nothing
Except dying echos
I left this town in 75
a dumb drunk ****

or as a friend once
poetically observed
"a beer quaffing linebacker"

but tonight I return
an enlightened poet
ready to recite
a stack of poems
eight years and two days
removed from my last drink

now relishing
the sweet intoxication
of drinking in
seas of words and letters,
brading a life's narrative with
solitary lifelines of truth

This town knew me

I know this town

The pomp and circumstance
of my high school commencement
occurred in this very place

I know the exact spot
near St. Mary
where Moose was killed
that awful
Good Friday evening.

After enjoying
the team revelry
at a Saturday Night
victory party;
I ran my hand across
the scarred Poplar
on West Passaic Avenue
that abruptly ended
Fic's life.

I slink past the house
filled with heinous memories
of my youth, cringing
through relived nightmares
of my father brutalizing
my naked mother in
an alcoholic rage;
and remain busy
trying to lick the still
raw sting of running wounds
inflicted by a mother
consumed with a
raging bitterness of
self righteous resentments.

Beer, *****,
Strawberry
Boone's Farm
and lotsa rolled bones
destroyed my family home,
murdered childhood
friends and greased
the wheels of
getaway cars in
fruitless attempts
to escape emotional
nightmares.

From where I stand
I can throw a stone
in any direction to mark
the scenes of
a hundred stories
that authored
the constitution
of me.

Across
the street
I can see
the lights burning
in the apartment where
Weehawken Joe
once lived.

Take a look.

He was crazier than
Tony Montana and
like Scarface not a
single lie could
be found in him;
he also possessed
the gift of
the best jump-shot
the Bulldogs ever had.

Years after I left town
I burst into tears
when Buns Hines
broke the news that
Weehawken  Joe
died of throat cancer.

Mortality is a
bitter truth
to swallow.

All along
Park Avenue
old commercial haunts,
save Varrelmann's Bakery
long gone.

Further up the street
my pilgrimage ends at the
WCW homestead.

In the fading light
of a glorious
autumn afternoon
the house appears
rundown, empty,
mournfully shabby.

On an upper floor
a lace curtain gently
flits and darts out an
open window.

I ponder
the words
still dwelling in
the dark closets
haunting the rooms
of this distressed edifice.

I wonder
how they now
sound?

The faint noises
hidden in
dusty corners
moaning a
ghostly presence,
creeping the halls,
clattering about
the kitchen,
bounding through
the living room
in an old beat-up
Red Wheelbarrow;
rolling along
moving to manifest
faintly whispered echos
into fully formed phrases;
liberating expressive sentiments
of a very blue house...

Eight years, two days
removed from a drink,
I'm grasping for letters
fumbling for the words
listening for sounds
churning within me
seeking to release
the revelations
of my truth.

Crosby, Stills Nash & Young
On the Way Home

William Carlos Williams Center
Rutherford NJ
10/02/13
tread Mar 2013
hangover anxieties where the world melds
waiting for insanity all I need to do is sleep
cuddle my lover, be with the angel of my soul
and stop working off prior expectation as to what and where and why and who.

I'm gonna be completely fine.

next combination won't include MDMA, beer, and coffee in the morning.
Kewayne Wadley Jun 2021
Real love lives in your eyes,
It lives in your smile.
It's even shared through the extension
Of your hand.
Real love is exceptional & phenomenal,
Much like a cassette tape wound up
In emotion.
Real love is realistic & finds a way
to communicate, no matter
How hard the emotion.
Real love travels with you.
Real love lives & breathes the same
Breath as you.
The beat of your heart divine &
Echos mine.
Real love remembers the day
my heart met yours,
Although it's been quite a while,
Real love still remembers your name
& Although cassette tapes are a bit
Outdated.
I still remember staying up all night
Listening to the sound of your
Voice.
No matter the instrument,
Real love finds a way
And on the day when
He shall gather them all together:
O assembly of jinn!
you took away a great part of mankind.
And their friends from among the men shall say:
Our Lord! some of us profited by others
and we have reached our appointed term
which Thou didst appoint for us.
He shall say:
The fire is your abode,
to abide in it, except as Allah is pleased;
surely your Lord is Wise, Knowing.

Holy Quran
The Cattle
6:128

Do you build on every height a monument? Vain is it that you do:
And you make strong fortresses that perhaps you may
And when you lay hands (on men) you lay hands (like) tyrants;

Holy Quran
The Poets
26: 128-130


The desert Jinn of Cairo
flit and dance
upon the burning waters
of the Nile.

The midnight streets gasp
with the turgid fragrance
of tear gas and jasmine

The stink of the
ungrateful dead
riles the nostrils
of indifferent gods
laughing
at the litter of corpses
strewn along
torpid boulevards
in this city of lament

Unbounded crowds dash
amongst fleeting shadows
the agitated ghosts
of undead generations
refusing to stay buried
blink to life
in epileptic frenzy

The timeless city
civilizations
fertile floodplain
authored
western cultures
opening chapters
housed mythic libraries
erected mysterious
stone tributes
esteemed
monarchical opulence
now yields
frenetic outbursts
of Arab fury
writing
an epilogue
to a despots rule
the blessed end
to an imperial age

Rampant corruption
asphyxiating bureaucracy
malicious suppression
syphilitic exploitation
rabid oppression
enforced ignorance
human defilement
are the bitter
sediments
of degradation
layered in crushing piles
upon the lowly masses
on this delta of sorrows
breeding revolution
to unravel a tyrants
specious claim
to perpetual rule

The city
streets
flood with
militant
insistence.

Emboldening
a peoples will
to rise up
beating hearts
pounding
a sonic drum
resonating
through
this age
foretelling
a turn
in history's
creaking wheel.

Allah Allah
Allah Akbar!
bleats
from parsed lips
from underground
brotherhoods
the rising words
sharper then
Saladin's Sword

The Holy Quran
flows like boiling blood
in agitated hearts
dissidents pound
bloodied fists
against intractable walls
of monolithic power

Visions of liberation
a democratic paradise
an infinite harem
of compliant virgins
swim in the heads
of dissidents in motion
as baying throats
exhort comrades
shouting brave
seditious slogans
to engage
bullets
batons
water cannons
and unsure outcomes.

I heard a young woman say
"I have faith in my people
and faith in my country."
Never a more foolhardy sentiment been expressed,
nor braver words have I ever heard.

As the laughing Jinn of Cairo
flit and dance
atop the burning waters
of the Nile.

A city
self immolating
atop a pyre
of blood stained stones
dry constricting fables
passed down along
marching epochs
hieroglyphic puzzles
recorded on
crumbling papyrus
wrapped in
holy legends
of mystical pharaohs
receiving an exiled
Father Ibrahim
fresh from
the destruction
of *****
cedes to the
Lord of Fear
spawns a lie
and gives
Sister Sarai
over to the
unholy whims
of profane
magistrates

Abe's skin saved
soul preserved
the generations
multiply
more numerous
then the countable stars
in a known universe
not vast enough
to find room for
Hagar's cursed progeny
-call him Ishmael-
a wild ***
exiled to
Desert of Paran
siring many
lesser Semites
becoming
a strong archer
in the vast legions
in timeless
service to
an uninterrupted line
of deranged Pharaohs

This scorned land
grew the
grievous reeds
swaddling
Baby Mussa
who turned
the river of
his arrival
into a flood
of gushing blood
who split the waters
to consume
the raging armies
of marauding charioteers
bent on the annihilation
of their chosen
Semitic half brothers

The shame
agitates
the simmering
rage of ambivalence
gladly sacrificing
these historic
treasures
on angry
bonfires
tipping
the glories
of Alexandria
into the sea
once again

Up stairways
down dark alleys
the Jinn of Cairo
dance
haunting ruins
hurling stones
burning buildings
looting stores
smashing artifacts
cursing the bitter bread
of tyrants
chasing
the black echos
of deadly gunfire

Nasser's
dead soldiers
gather in corporeal legions
a proud nations
undead generation
mythic heroes
dashed in Six Days
rise from
shallow graves
of Sinai
shame is loosed
to stalk targets
heated enemies
setting aflame
the burning waters of
a very blue
unsettled Nile

The unholy platoons
Sadat's assassins
hurl grenades
like thunderbolts
from jealous Zeus
implores Mars
to join the fray
rousting the specter
of dead kings
and a terrorized
President
living in the black days
of his final nights

Tell Ole Pharaoh
to go back to the hell
from whence he came
as the laughing
Jinn of Cairo
dance on  the
burning waters
of the Nile.


Music Selection:
Randy Weston: Blue Moses
(WIP)
1/31/11
Leal Knowone Apr 2016
The house that wind, and time tear down  
Watch the stories fall down
It changes every time we come around
Echos
Rich dirt buried our memories
We were once  the seed
were we once laid down
little toys for something sweet
and then beaten down to her knees
Invoke the spirit onto this place
Running in just to run away
Beauty hidden in a shattered display
This hole were the stoners play
Casa Dela Morte
The farmers dark secret is crippling
the sadness left by the offspring
Dancing with your ***** doll
Every structure soon will fall
Bringing out your demons within
Question this was created from what sin

Farmers shattered dark secret demons question crippling sin
Invoke sweet toys. Rich dirt seed laid down. Echos every time we come around. memories sadness left by offspring. Every structure soon will fall. ****** to death against the wall.

The shadows dance to distract from malevolent beast.
To think  this place is no more
The'll be No more morbid rituals and stoner feast.

The house that wind, and time tear down  
Watch the stories fall down
It changes every time we come around
Echos
house dead houseofthedead Casa Morte CasaDelaMorte farmers shattered dark secret demons question crippling sin invoke sweet toys rich dirt seed laid down echos every time we come around memories sadness left by offspring every structure soon will fall ****** to death against the wall shadows wind malevolent rituals
Mary K Feb 2018
morning light shines through the heavy canopy,
i know it because the ground is pink in places it should be brown
even though i can't actually see the light for myself.
i swear i heard your voice call out to me
from the other side of the clearing
but when i looked there was nothing but the trees and the wind.
today i woke up and your cologne was caught in my nose
i don't know how you do it,
how even the most physical, real things
are still able to haunt me
even though you're not here.

yesterday was a harder day than today
somehow i'm getting though it all, laughing, smiling
the tears are no longer because of you
i think that i've moved on,
or at least processed it all enough to try.
and yet i'll let my guard down for a moment
this life in the forest is nothing close to boring
but there are moments when all i have to do is sit and stare up into the leaves
wait for the light to poke it's way through in the slight way that it does
when i space out
and always come back to the way that your hands felt on my body
in every place i never wanted you to be able to reach
that look in your eyes
the things that you said.
it takes a moment for me to forge my way out again,
to focus back on the bark of the tree in front of me
instead of the whispers that transport me to the memories i don't want to see
and remind myself that they're only echos
and echos can't actually breathe.
Eliza Fairchild May 2016
The pitter patter of rain echos through the soil,
sending a message in morse code.

Biological clocks begin to turn as fungi wake from their slumber.
Hyphae radiate outward, mapping the skin of the earth,
a living neural network woven into the soil of the forest.
John Mahoney Dec 2011
i.
no love songs, now...no lost, no forlorn
no love songs to the mourn
awake (too late) mind racing,
words floating images roiling...
a poet's heart made empty,
boxing shadows in the dark,

a broken dreams club
a bell echoes


ii.
(like a boxer past his prime
sitting in his corner head hung, bowed,
slips his gloves and examines taped knuckles
as though they, too, have defeated him)

a bell echos
a broken dreams club


iii.
the muse abides, and, perhaps, at least
the poet may regain his voice but for now -
no love songs, now...
no laments, no elegy

a bell echos
a broken dreams club


iv.
every poets' muse -
fall in love, absolutely, true love is, for him,
the embodiment of his muse, indistinguishable,
the goddess, manifest in her absolute glory
and the woman, made her instrument -

a bell echos
a broken dreams club


v.
*what do i see?
a bowl with a quarter and a pocketknife
a lamp
a clock with dull red numbers glowing
a book of verse
and in the distance

a bell echoes
a broken dreams club
Jacob Traver May 2013
Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest

Our clang of metal forming metal
Our  laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying lanterns for our light

A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone

Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires

Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen

The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
For a way of  escape will never be
Cronedrome Jul 2018
I stare into the space outside of you
Is it now
Will you give me the excuse Im always waiting for
Will you give me the excuse
Will you take all you've learned from these long nights
And longer days that float
Then wizz past like the eternity of a skydrop
Where the heart pounds faster than the sound of blood
And time stops

Too fast
So addictive
Full body shocking echos of sensation invade at random
Chemical flashback still-frames
Stir ancient Bonobo DNA into frenzied tool construction
So that I can have some more
Always more
I want more

Is it now
Will you take all you've learned from this telepathic dance
Of  fire fighting fire
will you give me the reason Im always hoping for
A secret I pretend to keep hidden from myself
Will you give me the excuse
Is it now

What are you
Who do you think you are
You read me so well with your body
Help manifest prophecies of pleasure in my pain
We take only what we need of each other's language
Syllables distorted by fresh intakes of breath
Newborn grammar crackles in the impulse of our mingled sweat
And in the chaos of sparkplug cell explosion
I am home

How human of me to decide
That I might just about be able to grasp infinity
In a few sharp moments of oblivion
But what can I do
My memory like yours is bloodcode
Millenia of dancing kept vague is a mercy
When fears longevity demands a louder voice

So what can I do
What do I know anyway
What am I
Who do you think I am
Is it now

Beauty
So much pleasure
Dizzy illusion that this motion
Is all the poetry I'll ever need
We sanctify the pain that brought us here
Without it we would never know
I am a seasoned devotee
And now hungrily I carve your separate pain into the scripture
This is power
Electricity that can never be destroyed

But now I stare into the space outside of you
The wave of shock in my blood
This time runs cold
Fist in my diaphragm
Breath labours in my chest
And I am home

In the old language I am so ******* sick of hearing
Declarations of war are never accidental
So please, let's not bother to pretend that we don't know
This mythology has nothing left now to enchant
Nothing to offer but the same cowering, mean spirited
Petrified and shrivelled desperation
That is the battle cry of every war
Everwhere
Every single ******* time

The root of so much evil
Lack
Of Imagination.

Control is always illusion
Betrayal always an insult to intelligence
And that is why
You can't look me in the face now
You betray yourself in this role
A waste of masochistic potential that you expend
On making yourself small in my eyes

And for what
I understand too well
This language is old
But not as ancient as they
And You
Would have us believe

I understand too well
This story is tired and hollow
This story is flat
A mythology so corrupt that even the old dears
With sinister, insipid eyes
Barely manage to keep a straight face

You join their ranks
With just a few short words
You join their ranks
With just a few short words that cloud your eyes
And widen mine to a horror
You try to convince me I have no right to
To a horror
You try to convince yourself that you don't see

Is it now
Is it an excuse that I've been waiting for
Or was it this
Dreadful feeling of inevitability
Did I forget?
Do I sleep with my enemy
Or is this just an accident of time in this geography
Too slow
Too dead for me
Yes
This is now
Mark Lecuona Mar 2015
On side of mountain down
or washed upon idol shore
Armed with kingly crown
and book by which they swore
No matter how long ago
they remember their dreams
because of reflective echos
from saddened streams
Some may float
while others sink
but no matter your coat
we thirst the same drink
Those who slept in the hold
covered by prayers that weep
wondered why they were sold
and who would their souls keep
I see what you see
though we are not agreed
I will forever set them free
and love no matter their seed

— The End —