What I am,
Is not what you are,
Because unlike you, I never was human.
Never was able to really feel emotions, which you all adore,
Been called a demon for that reason, a monster which was deserted,
Emptiness, calm and drenched in the sorrow of never fitting in is what embellishes me, an ornament of true, cruel sadness, undetected.
And yes, I don't understand you, perhaps I don't even want to, knowing what humans are like, I accepted my fate of being alone,
I let my fingernails grow long and sharp to at least fit into the picture of a monster you have put me, because what else do I have left ?
A heart, perhaps which desires to take those under its wing whom suffered the same tragity, orphans with no place or rejected, abused.
And a body, carrying a thousand marks done by a knife, or these nails, in a cold desperate wishing to be normal at least for a day, to not be alone and deserted, with no one left to talk but a silly pen, a pocket watch which is about to stop ticking calmly, gently very soon.
An ember of light, triggers some emotions at rare occasions, which fade into nothingness as the day begins to face it's end, ah, phantoms
So, what I am,
Is not what you are,
Because I am...
A demon.

~ Umi

Scintillating stars infinitely descend
Lambent soot embellishes the radius
Regimens purely exist to bend
Scintillating stars infinitely descend
An occult memorandum impends
Doctrines make not amends
Scintillating stars infinitely descend
Lambent soot embellishes the radius

Hazy Day
————-

rose at 3:30am, anticipating an aria of glorious
thoughts needy of capture, encryption, preservation,
three hours later, an empty vessel rides high on the empty
white screen waters of the Bay of Zero, fed by Nada River,
emptying into the Atlantic Ocean, where microscopic is ordinary,
my, my, not~noteworthy contribution, noted for its worthlessness.

delivered the coffee at 7:00am, put on the music,
climbed onto a fresh sheeted mattress, yawning, yearning,
seeking to recover the lost hours and instantly tumbler-in,
inundating random notions, hazardous thoughts,
dispatched to keep me awake, as I trajectory into sleepyville,
each one an angel, coming down Jacob’s ladder for to wrestle
me home, even as the daylight reveled~reveals that a newborn
baby, will be new hot, dangerous, burning hazy day.


                                                    <!>

Hazardous Thoughts
—————————-

                                
“It is easier to give love than to accept it.” (Walter W Hoelbling)

Walter, Walter, what an accursed blessing you’ve given me!

This simple declarative is a racking, wrecking, symphonic
synopsis of this man’s life, crying out for une écriture monumental,
that somewhere in a hidden recess has commenced composition,
know not the where or when of it, but the why is a tightening noose,
squeezing my brain, choking my neck, impounding the heart beating,
because with succinct brevity betrayed out loud, my essential secret.


                                                     <!>

Every night I sleep with a woman and a man; the woman, you need
not know, nameless is what you shall call her, but the man, instantly
recognizable as just Leonard, descendant of the priests in the Temple. Me and the baffled King composing our hallelujahs.

                                                  ­    <!>

Art doesn’t not imitate life. It plagiarizes, embellishes, improves, with
tinkered recombinant DNA, shamelessly swiped, for which we forgive the audacity of its thievery, for with each attempt comes a Confession, remorse, nobody cares, whatever. Art supersedes, supplanting and superimposing, by grafting new branches upon old works, even occasionally improving what was once brilliantly original.

                                                     ­ <!>

Note to self: Do not forget to wake ‘n take the garbage, the recycling, and the corrugated cardboard and all previous poems to the Town Dump, before they stink up the garage. Post Office, Pharmacy for local weekly newspaper, no candy.

                                                     <!>

Dozy, sleepy. Sarcastic “great.”  I’ll never remember this poem;
**** these hazardous thoughts on a hot, dangerous, burning,
innocent hazy day.

1.
*Her bleary red eyes
tired from carrying heavy load on her head-
all day long, while harsh sun was beating down,
still looks  beautiful like a doe's, in the soft light of dusk;
with wonder they peer, at the glinting necklace,
extending down the night's blue black *******.

Are they white diamonds or moon drops,
falling from the clear part of the sky
just now freed from the hold of clouds?
Like an eagle, sudden lightening swoops down,
exposing  trees hiding  in darkness,
reminding ogres, that come chasing her in nightmares.
But the flash embellishes the cloud, the shy moon takes cover;
the cloud in that moment, transforms to a sheer silvery dress-
for the moon to wear proudly,  at any temple fair.
2.
The celestial dance  of light and darkness
is stunning; makes her wonder aloud:
"Such beauty! I only need this to forget my pains"
with sweet power, it hits her, bringing to her mind,
the waves of pleasure erupted from her *****,
that she felt once, just once,  with her man.

She couldn't understand,  how it happened, life still hides some secrets.
It was like a randy male goat, barging in to her home compound,
opening the closed gate swiftly, hitting softly with its head,
for a brief moment, she didn't know what happened, and how
the waves of pleasure, swept her off her feet, she floated, like a cloud,
in her sun scorched life, that never  happened again.
3.
Existing  as a cacophony as long as it is awake, the village,
is still, went to sleep, except moon and a  few like her,
the chattering of women in the market had died down
dogs do not bark, the drunks aren't cursing dogs
or clashing with others who come their way.
Late at this hour, a lone  night owl stirs,
his urgent hoots, resound making him more egregious.
She would go to sleep, if the owl stops,
then, to his snores she would turn a deaf ear as usual,
and let him slither like a snake,
in his part of the  bed till morning breaks,
When--
it's again time for her to trek to the well too far,
to fetch water, before the women of next village,
come flocking with pots and pails.

I was a stranger but he began to speak as we set in a shop it was with sorrowed heart he spoke
His daughter Ashley had returned from Albuquerque earlier in the year she had been there
After her father and mother divorced years before she chose to reconnect with her father it
Hadn’t taken a long time but a special someone entered her life a marriage date was set he
Asked her how did that move back here work out this was after the marriage took place in the
Beginning of May she told him I’m living the dream I always envisioned this was middle may at
The end of May he softly said we had her funeral in the same church she was married in blood
Clots moved to her lungs and suffocated her his beautiful Ashley was gone he continued to tell
Me that he visits her grave every weekend he installed lights that are always on dream felt foot
Falls evenly draw near the dark knight of death cut asunder their physical ties but her spirit is
Laden with heavenly mist she has the heavier spray of the crystal sea in her hair her face is
Grace filled she wears a bright glowing flowing gown it is hooded it has the finest texture that is
As immortal gold it embellishes her face her twenty three years are shown in startling detail
Birthdays of her family holidays every tender care that was shared is told by fetching silver
Moonlight slow motion reveals secret thoughts that were born in shadows that emerged with
Such power trees and their limbs and branches were drenched in tender reflection even the
Individual blades of grass spoke such rich history of magnificence and delight they ran up to the
Entry way of the home they shared when she skipped and ran and played when she grew tired
She would crawl up in daddy’s lap put her arms around his neck put her head against his
Shoulder and drift away listening to his assuring voice and shortly feel herself being gently laid
In her bed of dreams now the light of this world has been trimmed daddy still comes as he
Always has now more somber his voice but a whisper she too would be sad but she sees and
Hears the heavenly Fathers words and truths of a soon to be great reunion day for all who are
Separated will be united for ever in joyful peace and bliss we will be free to know each other
More than we ever could be in life she believes this passes to her father as he faithfully visits
Because she sees the beginning of a smile rise in his sad face before he leaves love never dies a
Treasure once created never diminishes only grows richer

Along with the last moment to complete any homework,
one was instructed to etch name, number and form
upon the tag that lurked within the rim of each new polo shirt,
every pair of trousers and that stretched, sleeved jumper
(better than any other in the house that were just the same).
Without those legal details properly stated you’d run the risk of losing them to lost property,
that orchestrated tub, dead sea stench, of pre-pubescent potpourri.

Now, all we wear is the earned income of a bestowed cognomen
and it embellishes the backs of our necks
and we mustn’t forget it’s all we have;
that, and our teachers.

We have dinner two weeks later after the phone call at a place called Spencers. It's a hole in the wall with 50 cent oysters, cheap drinks, and a single waitress that isn't hard to look at. She tells us her name is Olivia, that she grew up around town, and went to school in Boston to study something. We both nod when she tells us this, but we don't say anything, nothing like a congratulations or feign of interest. We've both had this conversation too many times to show genuine interest anymore. I think about this when I order the hamburger with no cheese and avocado on the side and it makes me sad.
"How would you like the burger cooked, then?" Olivia asks me.
"Medium rare, please. Thank you." I hand her the menu and smile.
"And for you?"
"Fish and chips," he says, "With a small cob salad on."
"Great," she says, "And it was great talking with you guys."
"Yep," I nod, wanting her to leave.
"And those drinks will be right up."
"Fantastic," he grins, his eyes lazy and looking away from her.
Something in me tells me that maybe it wasn't a good idea to order drinks this early. It's only 10am and I haven't even had any coffee yet. Perhaps a ****** Mary will do us some good? A kick to the nervous system with tomato juice and ***** and a little hot sauce may be a better way to wake oneself up rather than liquid brown *******. He didn't show any signs of hesitation, so all seems to be well...keep it to two, maybe three if conversation is easy. Above us, the sky is light blue and clear. Trees line the sidewalk with seven feet of distance separating them, birds filling their branches, chirping wildly.
"How are things, my friend?" I ask.
"Things are," he pauses and looks at a passing dog and their owner," Good. Been working a little bit as well as working on some other projects."
"What kind of projects?" I know he's been making movies and I've seen his latest, which I liked, but he rarely embellishes on anything else.
"Scripts and movie stuff. Some music. Working on a website."
"I'd love to see it if you would be comfortable with that sort of thing."
"Yeah," he says, watching the waitress as she puts our two drinks on the table, smiling as she does it," I'll have to send some finished stuff your way." I know he won't. I know that he'll forget, either on purpose or by accident, but I nod and say that that would be great.
"I'll have to send you some my stuff. See what you think." I've been working on some small writing projects, trying to piece a book together of short fiction. It's been coming along, but I get distracted, things come up, more "important" things that I feel guilty for doing later. Normal pains.
He nods his head, digging his straw into the tomato juice and ice, swirling it around a bit, forcing the pepper to the bottom.
"They put too much ****** pepper in this thing."
"Yeah," I agree, "I might say something. These ******'s are expensive."
"Don't bother," he tells me, "They're fine. Let the ***** work her magic for a minute. Olivia seems to like us. I wouldn't want to upset her."
I look over at her behind the bar. She's making a large tray of mimosas for a table of women at the back of the restaurant. From the pink banners scotch taped to the wall and mound of presents, someone is having a baby shower. A baby...good God...how would I survive that? Good thing I'm single. Olivia struggles to pick up the tray and for an instant, I have the urge to get up and help her with it. He sees me staring at her and kicks me under the table.
"You like her?" he asks.
"What?" I laugh, "Who?"
"Olivia, you goon."
"I was watching her try and pick up that flight of mimosas. I was sure she was gonna' drop the thing. She's so tiny."
"Why don't you go help her out?" He teases, looking up at me as he takes a sip of the Mary from his straw. "She's alright." One of his eyebrows inches up.
"Nah," I say, "It's too early."
"I just read somewhere that no one is ever actually living in the present. The reason I say that is because I was just about to say something cheesy like "YOLO" or "Live in the Now", but then I remembered that article and it stopped me dead."
"Why can't we?" I ask him. He seems suddenly perky and intrigued by his own memory of the article.
"Something like every human being is living at least 80 milliseconds in the past. David Eagleman believes that our consciousness lags behind actual events and that when you think an event occurs, it has already happened before your brain has a chance to create a cohesive picture of the world."
"So what we're seeing right now has already happened in the natural world 80 milliseconds ago?"
"Something like that. I guess you could equate it to looking in a mirror that reflects an image that's always slightly behind."
"But the time is so small, one would never notice or really know anything was lagging behind in the first place. Everything seems present right now, right?"
"Yeah," he says, "It does, but I can see the argument that we are all slightly behind our brains and our eyes and the world outside. It's all just too much."
"Overwhelming," I mutter, taking a large pull from my drink."
"Let's get another round. You want another round?" He picks up the drink menu that was hanging off the edge of table.
"Yeah," I nod, looking out on the street, "I'm good to go."
"I'll get her." He raises his hand and Olivia sees it. She comes over, smiling, grinning like mad as usual. We order two more drinks and wait for our food.

The unimpeachable glasses are fogging,
as they tentatively ignore the premonition,
while ignoring the suppressive partition,
that defends themselves from submission.

The eyes detect,
with unreasonable rest,
the hazy, shadowy terrain,
that prevents them from pain.

If the mugginess stays,
and the heart embellishes the fade,
then the glasses maintain,
their authoritarian reign.

Eyes huddled in fear,

That paralyzing fear  in front of bullets mercilessly sprayed,

Deep sprayed by the cruelty, which  must be fed

With victims,

Those defenseless victims of hate,

That dreadful hate ,which  is fed  with love  

As well as

Pleasure is fed with pain,

That extreme pain ,which embellishes the madness,

That round madness like a cold moisturized rosy-red,

A rosy-red ring-shaped patches and giant  Quincke swelling

And a boisterous cooling noisy  breathing,

Snorting breath like groaning a song ,

A love song for the dance of death,

A painful death for the warm puppets,

Beautiful puppets becoming cold wax mannequins,

Bleak mannequins  screaming in their red rain

Of feelings,


Red feelings coloring their sad moments,

Cool moments  of winter fires

In caves of shadows.

My breath is stolen...
In this moment of perfection.

Comfortably seated at the base of this tree.
But, you are missing.

As I look up-
The brilliant sun's light
piercing through the limbs and leaves

As they sway gently with the breeze
Oh how I wish you could see this...
My spirit embellishes in this..

The sounds-
The warmth-
This moment...
is God.

The highest power...
Strong enough to make a strong woman
such as myself-
melt.

Into the helpless seduction
of such pure peace.

Wood.
Metal.
A flower petal.
Power settles,
for nothing less
than to always press
to the point of stress
fractures, where it relishes
in the pain, and embellishes
its grandiosity, builds trellises
over rivers of fire
over hills of barbed wire,
where flowers do quote
metal's eternal gloat
over wood's rickety boat
which burns in the river
and births but a sliver
to the man upon its bow
while metal does plow
along much further
and flowers do wither
but grow soon again
where wood is burnin'
and grows all too slow
to counter river's flow.
Metal a tool,
eternal fool,
denying the flower,
a taste so sour,
Tree is fuel,
fire so cruel.

The wind is rushing thru the willows
they arch and bend but do not break
the gusts of air are strong with power
unanchored on the porch,  things shake.
The green carpet rolls itself into a ball
the chairs around a table fold and fall
large big stuff holds solidly in place
things that go in motion are mostly small,
I feel some drops of rain but not too much
no thunder and no lightning do appear
the torrent of the wind is hard and steady
my dog takes caution - into the house
he won't return outside until he's ready.
I stand, let the hurried breezes hit my face
like a sea captain , most assured, would do
bracing myself alone - against the storm
happy and contented, to see it through.
In grudging, humble admiration, I submit
to nature's sudden,  wild and wacky ways
it's rare and scarce and quite bewildering
it livens up and and embellishes my days.

The rudiments of love are vested deep within the soul. Like the bleeding sands of time, our feelings can't control--An aggregation of desire, filled by many things. The light that fuels our fire, embellishes our surroundings.

We shut our eyes but cannot sleep,

we hold our breath,

clinch our teeth.

We tremble at the slightest brush, our hearts awaken from this rush! & just when we expect the flame to yield, it torches the entire battlefield!

This leaves behind a humble scene, of ash, & smoke, & broken dreams... At which point only time can heal, but merely to form another battlefield?

I believe that we were made for more, that pain is something we should endure, that life is more than a half-filled glass, but a powerful teacher of poise & class! & I, for one, will never mistake the advantages of a lost-love fate!

Human beings are reckless developments.
Our minds are to destroy.
Let me explain, you see human beings are the only species with the concept of self-destruction without a real purpose.
Do you comprehend?
Let me clarify by giving you a scenario.
Close your eyes.
Well, figuratively you need to read this first.

You just moved into the most beautiful house you could ever imagine.
The one you’ve been envisioning since you were a wee child.
Now, you sit on your comfy couch and just relax in your beautiful new house.
You have everything you could possibly want, but now you’re bored.
Getting used to the décor you once thought unique and beautiful.
You decide you want more, something different, something better.
You go into the kitchen and notice there is something not quite right.
I should smash that wall, you think to yourself. Create an open concept.
So, that is exactly what you do, tear up that wall.

What once was beautiful is now gone.
What you once held as a goal is now your past.
But you have that open concept you never wanted now.
That my friend is how the human mind works we destroy to create.
Yet, what we don’t realize is that we hardly appreciate the goodness of which is given to us.
The goodness of which we have always dreamt.

We become comfortable.
We become bored.
And the vicious cycle for more embellishes and plagues our keen minds.
We destroy to become.
We destroy for it.
It being us, our species.
Us being our brain.
The brain being our end.
Because one day, it will become so powerful that we, our own species, will become too dull for our own senses and we will push our own mortality, our own meaning to the point of abolishment.
And that folks will the culmination of our reckless development to extinction.

The image of a woman stuns me -
My fiver year old daughter’s flower,
Left in green thin wrap to wilt

Now stuck through the water
In the giant plastic glass
I keep by my sink, opening,

Vibrant, in the incandescent light
As I brush my teeth and tongue
Spitting dreams one instant, then

Studying tooth stain and belly
Overlapping the new day
And my naked soul diffused.

A pink carnation spreads across the bath
As much aware of me as the effort
Needed to crush the moist petals

Isolates intent from joy
And fragile insights blossom
Into observation nearly lost.

Now, I delight; though, only now
A giant plastic glass filled
Sustains a few moments: embellishes

Simple life almost lost unnoticed
In the crisp and folded expectations
Of foregone conclusions.

Her mother stands naked too, her hand
Touching her soft skin wilting softer
And her soft *******, softer still – and desire

Crumbles unnoticed in a delicate heap -
Yet an unearthed Flower ***** the air and
Blooms easily through its final hours.

It somehow makes sense that
My daughter’s flower blooms
While the image of a woman stuns me,

And the water and light infuse my soul
Tightly aware that confounded and confused
I comfort her like a stem.

it reminds me of the mid August heat
of his old decaying teeth
it reminds me of the smell of paint
and music that makes me happy
of ukuleles
and faint bird chirps
of sumptuous velvet by my bare toes
and icing on cake
of cereal and sunday mornings
and mom’s freckles in the sun
of thunder and lightning
and mattresses pressed against my back
of the gold he embellishes me with
and old recordings on tape
of ee cummings and maya angelou
and a time were it was easier to live, but harder to survive
of Cleopatra and reigning women
of God and answered prayers.

yellow reminds me of elation and euphoria
and a field of sunflowers aching for me to dive in.

Them leaving my life or I walking out of their lives was not the end,
You entering it was just another
Beginning,

Your kindness heals me,
Your caring soothes me,
You making one with me embellishes me....

My healing!

For you my love the river bends,
and monsoon rain abruptly ends

Trees one sagging, lean toward sky
in case, per chance,  you happen by

For you my dear,
the babbling brook quiets itself
in hopes you mistake it for a majestic stream

while dandelions stand on end
to appear as sunflowers
in the oft chance
that your gaze will fall upon petals

For you my sweet,
even the crescent moon embellishes
so as to seem nearly full
to attract your momentary glance

while winter waves
warm themselves
to tempt you
to dance
and splash among them

But you, my love, notice only me,
and I my love, only you
for in our world,
there are only two
No matter what the
world will do

Once, when my garden lay bare, I stood and stared, so sad
So sad inside, where loves resides, and needs to flourish glad

I found the good, then understood, the whole is built of parts
And, if so true, then something new, was needed in this heart

Around the soil I gently toiled, and saw the wasted rain
The empty sight of black and white, where no colours remain

And set my mind, to try to find, the undiscovered whole
That secret thing, that gives man wings, and completion for his soul

I would tend, this garden friend, and cultivate with zeal
To craft anew, and see it through, make something that is real

So set about, with cry and shout, and prepared my heart and ground
Gave strength to earth, and joy to birth, and planted all around

And soon my seeds were growing free, and pushing up to light
Their little tops, a wondrous crop, were dazzling to my sight

Oh there was pain, when in cruel rain, my flesh was bruised and hurt
And the heat of day did I dismay, yet did remain alert

And while they grew, I hacked and hewed, at weeds that tried to choke
Laboured and fought, till my flesh was taught, until I almost broke

For all new plants have needs, demands, and must the shade soon seek
I stretched and leaned, so they could glean, in my shadow, but left me weak

And finally, the red and green, the gold and shades of blue
Oh breathless was my frame that day, as I beheld these buds anew

They changed and climbed, and painted time, and lit the soil below
And filled the air with song and prayer, and joy I'd never known

And the sun now shone down upon, my saplings bright and soft
I glanced at the dance of their spiral ascent, as they sought the sky aloft

Now my sun had cause to shine, my rain a need to fall
For in the soil of my love and toil, three flowers now stood tall

Three blooms of peace, were now released, to fill my life with hope
And enrich my days, and light my way, when meaning seemed remote

The first was gold, bright to behold, it stood against the sky
It's stem so proud, it's petals loud, they seemed like they could fly

As sunflower climbed, I felt it's sigh, as parasites tore it's flesh
Yet not in vain, it bent and swayed, and gave shelter to the rest

My strongest flower, this giant tower, reaches for the sun
It's face ablaze, yet still afraid, to search for the sowing one

And by it's side, I saw arrive, a different kind of bloom
One that grew, but then withdrew, then sprouted much too soon

A crimson rose, with zeal it grows, and soaks nutrients around
It rambles wild, yet trembles mild, when winter comes around

So full of glee, yet, solitary, it's thorns keep all at bay
Climbing alone, it's joy undone, beauty hidden in the day

Last of all, grown in the fall, a pretty white sweet pea
With slender leaves it grows and breathes, and needs some company

Soft right through, yet determined true, it's fragrance fills the air
And though subdued and unassumed, it's innocence it shares

This little sprite, rare and contrite, embellishes the scene
Yet craves no space, just embrace, to know it has been seen

As I stood still, in the Autumn chill, and surveyed this garden wide
I trembled deep, began to weep, at neglect I caused by pride

For here I see my beloved three, these flowers of my love
Their seeds anew, they now flung true, and caught the therms above

I watched them climb, and swirl in time, taken up with ease
And knew my hopes would gently float, with their seed upon the breeze

Now my garden is complete, and I can cease to till
Because my precious flowers three have now my life fulfilled

And I if I did hide regrets inside, 'twas that I stayed away
And lost the sight of seedlings flight, as they embraced the day

I could have, should have poured out more, more rain of love on them
Wish I had knelt and so near them dwelt, and learned to be their friend

For tree, sky and ocean blue, have not moved me so much
As my dearest blossoms, young and good, with their loving gentle touch

And though one day, they will fly away, I will be sad and yet
To have shared my life with them, I declare, no regrets, no regrets, no regrets

The root of my pain,
Every stretch of communication,
Breaking my own heart ten times over,
Drowning in misinformation.

Which story to believe,
He said this, she said that,
Some dice have many faces,
Who wears the true hat?

A storyteller spins many stories,
Embellishes to add flare,
Who is telling this story?
Should the reader be aware?

We come back cause its easy,
I know this to be true,
Alas, the road less taken calls me,
This chapter ends with you.

Just listen to how the winds whisper,
and feel how the air begins to change;
With springtime nearer to our hearts,
calming breezes shift as leaves rearrange.

Colors of jade from the trees above,
their robust fullness since aroused;
And when the sparkling rain arrives,
each leaf is engaged in subtle tosses.

While cool emerald grasses wave hello,
and greet us gently with their wonder;
Sweet are the winds from lilac bushes,
their scent strewn above and yonder.

We welcome the colors of blissful days,
as our hair flies softly toward the skies;
And May's sunlit beauty embellishes the scene,
when we capture each breeze through our eyes.

What you see is what you aren't,
But embellishes your soul,
Makes you help and grow,
Helps you make and grow
The life you wanted.
And if it's hatred that you need so be it!
Just, be careful what you do!
My friend.

A whisper of new dawns...
I wave my fingers through threads of sunlight,
it drenches veins of maple leaves in cascading streams of amber.

Gypsy's fiery color splashes Summer's face
and tangos the trees to shed their metamorphosing dress.

Chilled soil cradles a quilted palette of bronze and papaya hues,
a crispy carpet embellishes this path I walk upon.

My smiling voice sings and rides on Autumn Gypsy's air
and dances upon garnet painted foliage.

Chanting sweet embracing symphonies of hello
to Gypsy's nipping breath, cinnamon trees and apricot skies!




Written by D.Ann