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bulletcookie Aug 2018
Where footling trees do grow
nature, apologies need not know
vistas look back at you with eyes of snow
stones, high meadows, and silver timber knots

purple lupines and fire-**** that blush pink
held firm in gravel hands meet lichened erratics
where mountain's complexion in eon's blink
altered antonym of greens and browns chromatic

Where footling trees do grow
clouds shoot over passes round
to sprinkle, clap showers or to plow flows
marmots don down and burrow to ground

seeds and feathers take to their wing
branches' memories bend to storm's prowl
with constancy of change born on this wind
brutes in caverns and caves utter growls

Where footling trees do grow
a precipice of nascent springs leap
into; pine, spruce, ericaceous woodland below,
to gush as creeks, washout to river's slow keep

dappled light and streaming ray divides
fall forest floor with lulling murmur flutters
there bridge a span in wood knock strides
where clinging moss rolls bread and butter

-cec
There is a person that I once knew.
Like a masterpiece in a museum
She hung on the walls of a good mans heart.

But back behind
The steady red velvet ropes,
there was not the proper light,
And her smile became shadowed and blurred.

The curator noticed the change
and in an effort to free her
Started washing her canvas with spirits,
a bottle shaped like escape.

It started changing her hue
And it freightened me
I knew she would not be here much longer
And that freightened me more.

I knew I would miss the
Endless eon skies
When her eyes met mine.
But she had to go and
I was left Gemini of heart

I still remember to this day
The soaring cobalt towers,
The little soul echos,
The stardust whisps that wished
Someone could comprehend
The poems
in her endless eon skies.
About an old friend, a person on a diferent time line who effortlessly caught everyone around her in a unicorn web of games, music, sci fi, and starwars everything :) i wish you well.
SG Holter Apr 2014
Caught in a blizzardlike
Blaze of feathers; tickled
Beyond hysteria.
Cheeks strained from smiles
Wide as wingspans of
Windborne
Angels.

Chin sore from gaping
Laughter, heart from racing
Rollercoasterly.
Each step a leap.
Each breath a moan.
Each second grounded,
An eon in flight.

All the drugs in the world
In an IV bag the
Size of a city, tapped to
My soul's veins

Would only bring me
Down from this.

It is morning.
I get to awake.
Es tan fácil nacer en sitios que no existen
y sin embargo fueron brumosos y reales
por ejemplo m¡ sitio mi marmita de vida
mi suelta de palomas conservaba
una niebla capaz de confundir las brújulas
y atravesar de tarde los postigos
todo en el territorio de aquella infancia breve
con la casa en la loma cuyo dueño
cara un tal valentín del escobar
y el nombre era sonoro me atraían
las paredes tan blancas y rugosas
ahí descubrí el lápiz como colón su américa
sin saber que era lápiz y mientras lo empuñaba
alguien hacía muecas al costado de un biombo
para que yo comiera pero yo no comía

después es la estación y es el ferrocarril
me envuelven en la manta de viaje y de calor
y había unas mangueras largas ágiles
que lavaban la noche en los andenes

las imágenes quedan como en un incunable
que sólo yo podría descifrar
puesto que soy el único especialista en mí
y sin embargo cuando regresé
apenas treinta y dos años más tarde
no había andén ni manta ni paredes rugosas
ya nadie recordaba la casa en la lomita
tampoco a valentín del escobar
quizá sea por eso que no puedo creer
en pueblo tan ceñido tan variable
sin bruma que atraviese los postigos
y confunda las brújulas
un paso de los toros enmendado
que no tiene ni biombo ni mangueras

el espejo tampoco sabe nada
con torpeza y herrumbre ese necio repite
mi pescuezo mi nuez y mis arrugas
debe haber pocas cosas en el mundo
con menos osadía que un espejo

en mis ojos amén de cataratas
y lentes de contacto con su neblina propia
hay rehenes y brujas
espesas telarañas sin arañas
hay fiscales y jueces
disculpen me quedé sin defensores
hay fiscales que tiemblan frente a los acusados
y jueces majaderos como tías
o deshumanizados como atentos verdugos
hay rostros arduos y fugaces
otros triviales pero permanentes
hay criaturas y perros y gorriones
que van garúa arriba ensimismados
y un sosías de dios que pone cielos
sobre nuestra mejor abolladura
y tampoco el espejo sabe nada
de por qué lo contemplo sin rencor y aburrido

y así de noche en noche
así de nacimiento en nacimiento
de espanto en espantajo
van o vamos o voy con las uñas partidas
de arañar y arañar la infiníta corteza

más allá del orgullo los árboles quedaron
quedaron los presagios las fogatas
allá atrás allá atrás
quién es tan memorioso
ah pero la inocencia ese búfalo herido
interrumpe o reanuda
la fuga o cacería
de oscuro desenlace

todos mis domicilios me abandonan
y el botín que he ganado con esas deserciones
es un largo monólogo en hiladas
turbado peregrino garrafal
contrito y al final desmesurado
para mi humilde aguante

Me desquito clavándole mi agüero
me vengo espolvoreándolo de culpas
pero la soledad
                            esa guitarra
esa botella al mar
esa pancarta sin muchedumbrita
esa efemérides para el olvido
oasis que ha perdido su desierto
flojo tormento en espiral
cúpula rota y que se llueve
ese engendro del prójimo que soy
tierno rebuzno de la angustia
farola miope

tímpano
ceniza
nido de águila para torcazas
escobajo sin uvas
borde de algo importante que se ignora
esa insignificante libertad de gemir
ese carnal vacío
ese naipe sin mazo
ese adiós a ninguna
esa espiga de suerte
ese hueco en la almohada
esa impericia
ese sabor grisáceo
esa tapa sin libro
ese ombligo inservible
la soledad en fin
                              esa guitarra
de pronto un día suena repentina y llamante
inventa prójimas de mi costilla
y hasta asombra la sombra
qué me cuentan

en verdad en verdad os digo que
nada existe en el mundo como la soledad
para buscarnos tierna compañía
cohorte escolta gente caravana

y el espejo ese apático supone
que uno está solo sólo porque rumia
en cambio una mujer cuando nos mira sabe
que uno nunca está solo aunque lo crea
ah por eso hijos míos si debéis elegir
entre una muchacha y un espejo
elegid la muchacha

cómo cambian los tiempos y el azogue
los espejos ahora vienen antinarcisos
hace cuarenta años la gente los compraba
para sentirse hermosa para saberse joven
eran lindos testigos ovalados
hoy en cambio son duros enemigos
cuadrados de rencor bruñidos por la inquina
nos agravian mortifican zahieren
y como si tal cosa pronuncian su chispazo
mencionan lustros y colesterol
pero no las silvestres bondades de estraperlo
la lenta madurez esa sabiduría
la colección completa de delirios
nada de eso         solamente
exhuman
las averías del pellejo añejo
el desconsuelo y sus ojeras verde
la calvicie que empieza o que concluye
los párpados vencidos siniestrados
las orejas mollejas la chatura nasal
las vacantes molares las islas del eczema

pero no hay que huir despavorido
ni llevarle el apunte a ese reflejo
nadie mejor que yo
para saber que miente

no caben en su estanque vertical
los que fui los que soy los que seré
siempre soy varios en parejos rumbos
el que quiere asomarse al precipicio
el que quiere vibrar inmóvil como un trompo
el que quiere respirar simplemente

será que nada de eso está en mis ojos
nadie sale a pedir el vistobueno
de los otros que acaso y sin acaso
también son otros y en diversos rumbos
el que aspira a encontrarse con su euforia
el que intenta ser flecha sin el arco
el que quiere respirar simplemente
será que nada de eso está en mi ceño
en mis hombros mi boca mis orejas
será que ya no exporto dudas ni minerales
no genera divisas mi conducta
tiene desequilibrios mi balanza de pagos
la caridad me cobra intereses leoninos
y acaparo dolor para el mercado interno

será que nada de eso llega al prójimo
pero yo estoy hablando del y con el espejo
y en su Iuna no hay prójima y si hay
será tina entrometida que mira sobre mi hombro

los prójimos y prójimas no están el el luciente
sencillamente son habitantes de mi
y bueno se establecen en mi como pamperos
como arroyos o como burbujas

por ejemplo las dudas no están en el espejo
las dudas que son meras preconfianzas
por ejemplo los miércoles no están
ya que el espejo es un profesional
de noches sabatinas y tardes domingueras
los miércoles de miércoles quien se le va a arrimar
pedestre o jadeante
inhumano y cansado
con la semana a medio resolver
las tardes gordas de preocupaciones
el ómnibus oliendo a axila de campeón

los insomnios no caben por ejemplo
no son frecuentes pero si poblados
de canciones a trozos
de miradas que no eran para uno
y alguna que otra bronco no del todo prevista
de ésas clue consumen la bilis del trimestre

tampoco aquellos tangos en Ios que uno sujeta
en suave diagonal la humanidad contigua
y un magnetismo cálido y a la vez transitorio
consterna los gametos sus ene cromosomas
y entre corte y cortina se esparcen monosílabos
y tanto las pavadas aleluya
como las intuiciones aleluya aleluya
derriban las fronteras ideológicas

verbigracia qué puede rescatar el espejo
de una ausencia tajante
una de esas ausencias que concurren
que numeran sus cartas
y escriben besos ay de amor remoto

qué puede qué podría reconocer carajo
de las vidas y vidas que ya se me murieron
esos acribillados esos acriborrados
del abrazo y el mapa y los boliches
o los que obedecieron a su corazonada
hasta que el corazón les explotó en la mano
sea en el supermarket de la mala noticia
o en algún pobre rancho de un paisaje sin chau

poco puede conocer de los rostros
que no fueron mi rostro y sin embargo
siguen estando en mí
y menos todavía
de los desesperantes terraplenes
que traté de subir o de bajar
esos riesgos minúsculos que parecen montañas
y los otros los graves que salvé como un sordo
así hasta que la vida quedó sin intervalos
y la muerte quedó sin vacaciones
y mi piel se quedó sin otras pieles
y mis brazos vacíos como mangas
declamaron socorro para el mundo

en la esquina del triste no hay espejo
y lo que es
                  más
austero
                                        no
hay auxilio
por qué será que cunden fas alarmas
y no huy manera ya de descundirlas

el país tiene heridas grandes como provincias
y hay que aprender a andar sobre sus bordes
sin vomitar en ellas ni caer como bolos
ni volverse suicida u miserable
ni decir no va más
porque está yendo
y exportamos los huérfanos y viudas
como antes la lana o el tasajo

en el muelle del pobre no hay espejo
y lo que es
                   más
sencillo
                                        no
hay adioses

los tratemos que estaban en el límite
las muchachas que estaban en los poemas
asaltaron de pronto el minuto perdido
y se desparramaron como tinta escarlata
sobre las ínfulas y los sobornos
metieron sus urgencias que eran gatos
en bolsas de arpillera
y cuando las abrieron aquello fue un escándalo
la fiesta prematura
igual que si se abre una alcancía

hacía tanto que éramos comedidos y cuerdos
que no nos vino mal este asedio a la suerte

los obreros en cambio no estaban en los poemas
estaban en sus manos nada más
que animan estructuras telas fibras
y cuidan de su máquina oh madre inoxidable
y velan su garganta buje a buje
y le toman el pulso
y le vigilan la temperatura
y le controlan la respiración
y aquí atornillan y desatornillan
y allí mitigan ayes y chirridos y ecos
o escuchar sus maltrechas confidencias
y por fin cuando suena el pito de las cinco
la atienden la consuelan y la apagan

los obreros no estaban en los poemas
pero a menudo estaban en las calles
eon su rojo proyecto y eon su puño
sus alpargatas y su humor de lija
y su beligerancia su paz y su paciencia
sus cojones de clase
qué clase de cojones
sus olas populares
su modestia y su orgullo
que son casi lo mismo

las muchachas que estaban en los poemas
los obreros que estaban en las mulos
hoy están duros en la cárcel firmes
como las cuatro barras que interrumpen el cielo

pero habrá otro tiempo
es claro que habrá otro
habrá otro ticnlpo porque el tiempo vuela
no importa que ellas y ellos no estén en el espejo
el tiempo volará
                             no
como el cóndor
ni como el buitre ni como el albatros
ni como el churrinche ni como el venteveo
el tiempo volara como la historia
esa ave migratoria de atlas fuertes
que cuando Ilega es para quedarse

y por fin las muchachas estarán en las mulos
y por fin los obreros estarán en los poemas
ay espejo ignorás tanta vida posible
tenés mi soledad
vaya conquista
en qué mago atolón te obligaste a varar
hay un mundo de amor que te es ajeno
así chic no te. quedes mirando má mirada
la modorra no escucha campanas ni promesas
tras de mi sigue habiendo un pedazo do historia
y yo tengo la llave de ese cobre barato
pero atrás más atrás
o adelante mucho más adelante
hay una historia plena
una patria en andamios con banderas posibles
y todo sin oráculo y sin ritos
y sin cofre y sin llave
simplemente una patria

ay espejo las sombras que te cruzan
son mucho más corpóreas que mi cuerpo depósito
el tiempo inagotable hace sus propios cálculos
y yo tengo pulmones y recuerdos y nuca
y otras abreviaturas de lo frágil
quizá una vez, te quiebres
dicen que es mala suerte
pero ningún espejo pudo con el destino
o yo mismo me rompa sin que vos te destruyas
y sea así otra sombra que te cruce

pero espejo ya tuve como dieciocho camas
en los tres años últimos de este gran desparramo
como todas las sombras pasadas o futuras
soy nómada y testigo y mirasol
dentro de tres semanas tal vez me vaya y duerma
en ml cama vacía número diecinueve
no estarás para verlo
no estaré para verte

en otro cuarto neutro mengano y transitorio
también habrá un espejo que empezará a
   escrutarme
tan desprolijamente como vos
y aquí en este rincón duramente tranquilo
se instalará otro huesped temporal como yo
o acaso dos amantes recién homologados
absortos en su canje de verguenzas
con fragores de anule e isócronos vaivenes

no podrás ignorarlos
egos le ignorarán
no lograrás desprestigiar su piel
porque será de estreno y maravilla
ni siquiera podr á vituperar mi rostro
porque ya estaré fuera de tu alcance
diciéndole a otra luna de impersonal herrumbre
lo que una vez te dije con jactancia y recelo

he venido con toldos mis enigmas
he venido con todos mis fantasmas
he venido con lerdees mis amores

y antes de que me mire
como vos me miraste
con ojos que eran sello parodia de mis ojos
soltaré de una vez el desafío

ay espejo cuadrado
nuevo espejo de hotel y lejanía
aquí estoy
                  ya podés
empezar a ignorarme.
NA Sep 2018
And so, I awoke
Where no sorrows are awakened.
Distant galaxies sang, pranced, and danced in the glee of the night
Eon long, lost constellations realigned and with joyous relief
Whispered beneath the chill of the autumn air,
“Oh, sweet child o’ mine,
He has moved your soul to happiness.
He has given life a new understanding,
Love a new meaning.”

Undoubtedly, that was true;
For thine words are so sweet,
So kind,
And so pure.

And though the future is uncertain,
To awaken to your bliss…
I cannot imagine more heavenly than that
And in those moments of realization
My heart,
I promised to you.
To my forever.
Michael W Noland Dec 2012
Null is the void, as the void is the lull, lull is the stoic, as the stoic is the soul.

Soul of an eon, as an eon of not, not in the ions, as the ions are lost.

Lost is the sphere, as the sphere is sedition, sedition is fear, as fear is the mission.

Mission of silence, as silence is the crowd, the crowd is the silent, and the silent are loud.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Dec 2019
Introduction:
The Young Poet’s Dreams:

I often dream of the ocean
Dream of the sea
I've been waking up to a longing
Longing for the land
The land of my birth
South of the Clouds
North of the sea
Not bordering either
But close and very near
To the heavens and the world

Overlooked by progress
But not by history
Nature, and life
I was ungrateful of having fallen behind
Though I was still deeply moved
By the primitive nature and land
Still fully alive,
Green as the winding rivers
Firm as its sheltering boulders
This must be a proximity to
The truth I seek
The timelessness I seek


Chorus of Epiphany:


Yes,
There must be Truth
In the unchanged and unchanging
Evergreen, and restlessly flowing
Rituals and rites kept alive
Thousands of years despite
Time, and the forsaken everything

Were the Truth and the eternal
Timeless, and the Faraway
Always so close
To home?


The Eternalist Dream:


Is this the source and origin of
My nightly and whimsical nautical dreams
The fact that I was born near the land
Of ancient and now lost shallow seas

Am I called by the truth, unchanged
In giant columns of limestone
Still marked by waves from near-eon ago
Though we can no longer see them
In Eternalism, the ocean still wavers
As truly as my footprints curved by
The flow of all objects of time and space
As truly as the countless unseeable me
Navigating through life and existence
Bearing all that is forever timeless
Unacknowledged for it is unseen
Through each step taken and each
Subtle yet unmistakable movement
Create a new and continuous ‘to be’
With all of me floating along the unseen

Yet
Fully alive and eternal shallow sea


Chorus of Epiphany:


Yes,
There must be Truth
In the unchanged and unchanging
Evergreen, and restlessly flowing
Rituals and rites kept alive
Thousands of years despite
Time, and the forsaken everything

Were the Truth and the eternal
Timeless, and the Faraway
Always so close
To home?


The Mythical Dream:


It lives on in familiar words and songs
And not just silently carved in stones
To be felt by the more sentient and aware
And ignored by those occupied by more
Present and timely tangible indulgences
Guided by the elders' tales and melodies
The distant dream of purer lives and love
Manifests in this child's untamed heart
Yet searching for a world different to
This mundane and subdued reality
Each stone shadowed with the spirit
Suggestive of a more petrified golem
Granted by even a hint of heads and torsos
Were given a name from myths not stranger
To a young soul lured by the allure of fables
And so an Eastern Stone metamorphosis
Of the Yi Legend of Ashima who turned into
The famed stone still standing proudly
Among the stone forest after being forbidden
A loyal union with her most unbetraying love
Burst into life full of every sung voice and color
Leading the way for the lithic pilgrimage
Of the mythical monk of the "Journey to the West"
They too live on unchanged and unchanging
Through every weathered stone yet standing

Through every named word kept repeating
Through every ancient myth ever recalling
Kept alive and from disappearing
In every child’s
Dreams


Chorus of Epiphany:


Yes,
There must be Truth
In the unchanged and unchanging
Evergreen, and restlessly flowing
Rituals and rites kept alive
Thousands of years despite
Time, and the forsaken everything

Were the Truth and the eternal
Timeless, and the Faraway
Always so close
To home?


The Human Dream:


Ancient tongues often remain unwritten
And even those like the pictographic Dongba
Though befriending my childlike curiosity
Still remain stranger to my understanding
So only vaguely am I acquainted with
The varied rites, rituals, celebrations
Of the people keeping alive the unchanged
Words, traditions, dresses, and mythology
Ever one with nature, the elements, universal
Some dance in the darkness with torches
Others duel playfully with water under tropic sun
Like my childhood dreams of a too optimistic world
Their dresses and symbols, from ox to peacocks
Remain ever hopeful, and full of living colors
Truly, what comprehension do I really need?
When the earth’s heart beats in unison with
Their thundering dance sung with bare feet
When they hand you horns of sweet rice wine
Inviting you to a far more intoxicating dream
You only need to understand and accept
What you can evidently feel and surely see
The unchanging and unchangeable joy
So pure and kind, that will forever,
Perhaps thankfully overlooked by progress,
Timelessly remain.


Chorus of Epiphany:


Yes,
There must be Truth
In the unchanged and unchanging
Evergreen, and restlessly flowing
Rituals and rites kept alive
Thousands of years despite
Time, and the forsaken everything

Were the Truth and the eternal
Timeless, and the Faraway
Always so close
To home?


Conclusion:


It must be,
For in my nautical
Waking and asleep
Eternalist, Mythic, Human Dreams

It calls restlessly to me
From my birth, through its continuation
I’ve risen and gazed upon the violently
Violet obscure and cloudy night sky
And felt a great fear crushing down
Upon this child of an ever searching soul

I was afraid,
I will never KNOW
And know what,
I did not know

I have felt something stirring
Yet, all greatness seemed
Unreachable, unseeable
Undreamable like the hidden stars

I loved the winding rivers between earthen boulders
I loved the rainforest sacred as its wild elephants
I love the stalagmites caves and the dormant volcanoes

Yet, always longing for an unfamiliar faraway
More moved by progress and not overlooked
I was never aware, until now
The truth timeless and unchanging
Though now slow uncovering
That was always
At
HOME
The Timeless Dream of Home
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel ****
Sunday, November 24, 2019
5:53 PM
Left to these eon days.
Welcome to wonderland, I say.
An ethereal eternity in a moments gaze,
To ponder beyond the barriers of time and space.

For a split-second reality flickers;
Beautiful in it's deliverance,
Sublime/oblivious:
Nocturnal firelight on shamanic sands,
Mescaline transcendent communion with the land.
Some daze inspiration takes me.

Suspended here in this celestial haze,
A clairvoyant glance into the eye of the maze.
The cleansing radiance of our empyreal ways;
Left in this aeon daze.
Black Swan Mar 2010
Blue-grayish waves lap summer's sun-drenched beaches,
eternal, soothing rhythm, an enduring melody, into the soul it reaches.
Neighboring celestial bodies, conductors of the tides, creating eon's symphony,
        embracing, pacifying music: a choral harmony.

Placid, glistening lake with fall moon's luminescent splendor,  
silvery, reflective mirror, still and serene, lying quietly in slumber.
Bright, streaming rays, upon the surface, become as two entwined eternally,
        brilliantly flowing: a beacon of tranquility.

White, pristine snow upon the meadow on a winter's early morning,
softly sown, caressing Mother Earth, pure and alluring.
Sol's rays shimmering on crystal flakes, a mosaic luminosity,
        sparkling diamond facets: a blanket of serenity.

Dew-covered fields patched with spring's wild flowers,
dazzling array, vibrant and alive, displaying rainbow's colors.  
A zephyr stirs bouquets of aromatic splendor, emerging reality,
       a living portrait masterpiece--a canvas of vitality.

Nature, an ageless composer, conceiving kaleidoscope showcases,
perennial seasons casting actors on scores of different stages.
Wise is it, from time to time, to pause in awe and humble reverence,
      and view a master artist's majestic, grand performance.
Black Swan © 2006
B Woods Dec 2009
Antsy aardvarks all
accept ants accordingly
as an addiction

Bamboo bayonets
bought by barbaric, beastly
barons bite beatniks

Cloistered cobblers can
color candy-cane conches
concealing crooners

Daffodils doodle
daydreams down, debauchery
demons deafening

Every eon each
electric elephant eats
eleven elk eggs

For fun fantasies
file films filosophic'ly
filling filaments

Go get greens
Get grass grayer gal
goonie ghoul

Hello high hammock
how hooligans heave haddocks
heathenly hecklers

Igloos ixist in
icy islands interning
internationally

Jello jam jizzy
Jacks jostling jewels juney
jump jump joop jail
More to come....
brandon nagley Nov 2015
i.

Elated, I'm afar from the aqua sphere beneath mine toe's,
I've been taken up by flight, an angel in the night;
A woman, a queen, a mystical paranormal beam,
God heard mine weeping, and with her he sent,
She dried mine Tear's clean.

ii.

I sniveled for eon's, with none hopeful lover's future
Mine joint's were weak, from the lack of nutritional feature's;
At mine lowest point, after imploring mine lord for help,
He sent me mine other half, Earl Jane Nagley, an Asiatic path,
Mine beloved, mine darling, mine seraphic helper.

iii.

I found wholeness, the other purpose to mine sustenance,
She's not for sale, she's not a slave, she's a cherub; not some anecdotal tale. She's not one to taketh man's bribery, she's not a peasant sold and payed for rent: tis she's heavensent- the answer to mine prayer's, she's delicate, she's an empress doth thou seeith, I was birthed for her, as she for me, both made for another, to cherish each other, on cloud nine we shalt be seen.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose
vircapio gale Sep 2013
(history)

Quell the bard was silken-clad and ever young.
her flute connected earth and sky,
tamed lightning in the higher notes..
her ancient horse would winnie to her song
of endless breath she blew her story even into stone.
having borne the stigmas of a *****
her martial prowess struck,
trampled disrespect to cacophonic dust
while over hills and vales he carried her--
a love-sick equine heart at peace at last upon the road
between her thighs, commanded loyalty of beasts and men.
none claimed her for their own,
though some risked instant death to try

..stirge beaks tap on bones and rock
to seek corrupted blood of elven kings,
who having reigned and fallen
to a royal troglodyte of dragon times,
paint each eon with ambivalence...
i conjure what my heritage beholds
--reclusive double-tongue to hoard all words,
reinvent religions for a lark

what legend am i privy to the making of
that hasn't had its underwires stripped,
hung about a square in lewd display of Fact
to purge a sense of mystery awry?

i am alone within my fantasy.
its symbols still mythologize my i.
i will not bare it here, or anywhere--
concealment is its freedom, and its boon--
in which a frame of tenuous material appears

where antidote addictions cycle musically,
the timeline's summoning
a game of recompense, compensating wanderlust
won by whim and licorice for thought;
it finds familiarity untamed--
adolescent anchorage aweigh--
adventures into wildernesses lost




.
*stirge: a bird, bat or mosquito-like monster with a long proboscis which ***** blood from its prey
M P Hill Jan 2018
Flames of my responsibilities
Under the me inside

I lean on
A real demon

This is the perfect lullaby
Where anxiety lays close to me

Says "Dream on"
"That's Freedom"

You are a thought bubble that
Floats by when the time was;
Is right

LED neon
Black type eons

I can close my eyes goodnight
And love this mess

For no other reason

Another day gone by
A me I can belive in
Lexie Jul 2018
I matched the look in his steel colored eyes with my own gaze of determination

The angel Uriel descended in but a thousand broken moments woven together with the distinction of bliss

And he bade unto me in my slipping consciousness...

I could not tear my eyes way even for an eon, the sight to my eyes was a breathe to my lungs - as is a beat is to my heart, to be everything at once,in turn to the nothing I was but a lifetime ago

Could you kiss my soul?
In the way music breaks my heart
Could you sing a song at the footsteps of the eternal himself

His ways
, higher

I think I take too much, you say I take too little, still you give as generously as you have before

What is this
That I would bare
My soul to you
With solemness, your eyes
Find me in the dark
Still you see me as I am
But a child
A fragile candle wish
Blown among the known
And wretches of night
To weep with the mindless

How can I return unchanged
To that which bore me
It leaves me in anguish
That which knew me
It let's me go
To those who see, but know too little
Reach with tendrils of hope and fire

Further still you lead me
Through loneliness I am not alone
James M Boyer Nov 2010
My leaves have begun to turn
from the green of photosynthesis
to that pumpkin Autumn orange
descending below October skies
landing on the lush lawn of November.

Flat grey skies of overcast.
Of rain filled clouds - stretching-
as far as the horizon line
bursting at their rolling seems
to see this season’s first thunderstorm.

Once I am bare, naked, & exposed
the snow will come in blankets
covering all signs of my yearly decay
the malignancy of once being a sapling
who sprouted an eon of Springs ago.

My arms extended in every direction
inching and reaching for a sun
that has been masked and dimmed
in acceptance of this cycle of life
this years seasonal downtime.

The first rays of a new Spring
stimulate my entire being
sprouting new buds to leaf in quantity
giving momentary hope from knowing
that I am only living for the Fall.
Written. November 10, 2010- From Through Our Hands We Speak From The Heart
Universal Thrum Sep 2013
Awakening to the infinite of every possibilities end
All the stories that ever could be told
Are accessed once again
Detached from the material
Suddenly the imagination roars
Aequo animo, stillness in the ken
Every lifetime in the nowevermore accounted
Visually, without eyes, the plots are traced
Like wind-borne dandelions in the cosmic meadow
Innumerable beauty, intricate as lace
Understanding George Lucas
And the Galaxy Far Far Away
Imagination plays it out
A second’s eon burning mind forged in sacred space
Traveler of the spirit
Unraveling the theory of strings
The Book of Life within us all
doppia elica
Split the Stream
Opening up all channels
Realities manifesting within the folds
Of Time’s hidden fore-edge paintings
Smiling at the Bold
Honoring the awareness of the peaceful seeker
Before deeper slumber takes hold
One toe before the dream door
There are no walls
There is no floor
Eroshu Homaj Mar 2018
In the Harshness of Light,
Or in Hearths of intense Heat,
I will have You look at It.

Most of One can burn away,
In a Breath, and yet,
The Breadths of Time, still turn.

Limitation is my only Freedom.
But within the Endlessness of that Time
I can find Constant Beginnings.
that gurgling brown hunger you feel deep down it wasn’t you
god knows who put it there no it’s only natural it was she
who planted the initial seed grown up into a succulent leaf
frowning nature abhors a vacuum and she wouldn’t couldn’t
endear herself any more if you sustained such a saddeningly
blank space she’s given you the device for devising wickedly
clever ways of consuming it would be a godless shame
to leave the engine idling now what you eat doesn’t mean
as much as the act of eating itself actively naming god’s
creatures great small may not give you dominion or merit
ownership but ingesting them sure does dainty fingered
sentimentality lost her privileged place when steely
eyed invention serendipitously shoved a ****** cushion
throne up to your table’s edge it’s a divine and kingly right
to take your fill with hands nimbly fashioned for taking
all that’s managed eon after eon to crawl out of a world
engendering slime until there’s nothing left but the awful
runny pallid mucous you’ll sneak back to sated at last
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License
Piper Nov 2013
Yellow beam of light circles
My face
Momentarily blinding me again
And again and again
One night like an eon
As the tiny celestial bodies
Above the clouds revolve around
The black night sky
My shadow scaled the spire
To the crown of the beaming
Watchtower gazing over a
Restless sea
To find me floating away
With the tenacious waves.
anastasiad Dec 2016
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the gentle touch
of the moon's light
lifted her encumbered
soul
of its plight
her inner harmony
bound in unrelenting tears
she'd wept
for an eon
the solace of the moon
steeped her in its
healing grace
to bring
unto her
a serene embrace
ShamusDeyo May 2015
Of Ancient Mushrooms you'll find
Growing in the wilds of every eon
And if you Find yourself lost in them
Amongst Faeries, Lizards, Elves, and Snakes
And the Forest Glows a Phosphorescent Green
Catch your Breath amid the Giggles let free
And hear the Elven Harps among the trees
Under giddy Spells of Mirth and Laughter
Soft thrum of Faerie Wings and Elven Chatter
The rising Sun Disolves the Mists of Mirth
And all the Magic drifts off from the Earth
Ah, having tread the trails among the Mushrooms I recall the journey of Fantasy's Wandering
Sayer Mar 2013
(I)
the white light calls me from beyond
the thunder screams across the sky
                                                           (it's not raining out)
I'm right behind you hey look listen listen to me

I'm yearning for something more
and echo a dream a life a team
a team I already own whether they know it or not
(I'm tired of being viewed not as significant I am the one the only one bow down and respect me)

No- -
Taking this too slow
Bird flies through my window- -
Stop death stop

winding staircase stops suddenly
without a sound without a voice
               all of this is inside my head
                                                            ­                                     I'm here, I'm here
I do think I'm not getting the respect I deserve
loathing every practice there is
oh I work, I work for this writing words that no one really knows about
very very very much I wish in the general population this could work, this could work my love
every every every tie every rhyme

it's all for you
It's all for You

(II)
back broken tied twisted stuff my face(with your embrace)
comma me comma you comma her comma him
back it off the spring is cool and frightens my body
as the shadow swims I look in your eye

forever fleeting against the cold wind
the rain has stopped(it never began)
no wall...no wall....
there's no wall
everything I could do
get up sing and dance
my blood boils at a temperature unfathomable

burning turning yearning
burning
I am Fire
No- -
I am light
Stop death stop

and when fear has faded and the damage is done
I sink and drink and think of You
beauty unmatched (touch me)
I love your warmth forever -hold me
-hold me for I am lonely

(III)
breath to your light to your fire to your beauty to your match to your explosion of light I am yes you are Yes I am two who are you everything beauty you look like a bird taking flight for the first time what a beautiful sight it is to take flight into the night sky words upon words upon words to the lighthouse to the beach have a picnic have a picnic with everything you can imagine this is what I work for some days some days I forget when you are gone I miss you more than anything i could imagine hold me hold me you know i am lonely are you lonely too because in that case we can live together in pitch
perfect
harmony
I am Harmony.
Kiss me.
I am Descended upon upstairs.

(IV)
connect me to the stars
I fall
apart
looking&searchingbeau;
ty
Yes
for what then?
love
dove
resemble Christ
tell me Live
I sing of Gold
old and tall
Remember me
burning and yearning and turning
Stop Death Stop
you no longer control me
Tolstoy
ohhhhhhh
yes
looking for....
what
look at me
my body’s turning
over a fire
I am fire
I am burning sorrow
No
not
ever
finished
this is what it will be then this is how I will Become I will become You are becoming Yes I am Becoming
wine and peace
Tolstoy
Body turning good bye, my love (come back to me)

(V)
Eon-

(VI)
My body’s turning
(look at me)
My body’s yearning
(look at me)
I am burning
Body turning (Alley oop)
I love You
Fire to
Fire You
                                                             ­                                                    I reconstruct myself on the other side
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                 This Time
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                 
                                                                ­                                                         I come together on the other side
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                          I win
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                           The other side
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                             the other side
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                            body burning
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                                body turning  
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                               body yearning
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                      hero gone
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                        everyone’s gone
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                            you
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                        you’re still here
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                          reconstruction
ontheotherside
body turning Au Revoir, Mon Amour (come back to Me)
I must be going mad,
I hope you guys like this one.
Chloe Muriel Jun 2016
eon
did you really miss me?
i do believe you're moving at a pace
a little bit too slow for my taste
we're wasting so much time
thinking of ways to break the silence.
from time to time you cross my mind
but when you called my name i started to cry


i don't know what i know anymore.
i know what i love and nothing more
Devyn Batchelder Jan 2012
A stone monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. It has seen many a eon, many civilizations fall and rise, many many years in it's cold position. Its face once that of a mighty god or a worshiped king, is all that remains. It's chiseled grimace forever juxtaposed on its stony countenance. Throughout its still existence, this grimace never disappears. All times will this grimace will endure.
The snow falls down over its impenetrable skull. It bears no notice, only surreal patience, as it slowly awaits oblivion. Oblivion! All its thoughtless mind are set on it, forever counting the days it does not know with numbers it does not know. There is no comfort here. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must.
Eternally till it is dust, it is counting with numbers it does not know the days it does not know. It reminiscences on past events it witnessed, but does not recall. The wars, the disasters and the plagues.... It has bared through all with the same grimace as the creatures subjected to the horrors kneeled before it in reverence, offering it sacrifices and soul. It towered above these pitiful creatures, it watched with eyes that do not see as they trembled in its wake, following orders it did not speak. Ignoring prayers it did not hear.
So obediently did these creatures obey what it did not say! Dutifully did they destroy their own and all around them. Faithfully did they create this ****** field of barren nothingness, thee circumspect watchers of the monolith's will. An empty scourge to what once was. Beautiful landscapes of yesteryear now turned from sprawling green to turn into frozen ash, forever recounting the final moments of misery on this lifeless realm, a misery that surrounded the monolith in its final days. Consistently reflecting off of its stone grimace before it all faded away with the last life.
As the eternal years past and the amaranthine smog lies overhead, the monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. There is no comfort here. The snow has turned to thermonuclear ash years ago. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must.
Quietly it does. Frozen in place, in a frozen field where nothing grows. The strong face of monolith is all that remains. The face surveys the empty landscape before it forevermore.
Universal Thrum Nov 2014
Dark sea wine,
send me to Brazil
Caracas, Venezuela,
the Coasts of Gold,
strung out on oblivion,
drowning in the sun,
each exhale an eon,
collapsing upon itself

Hail Mary, sweet ****** mother,
salty ginger, stellar space,  
answer a beggar's prayer,
somewhere let horses run wild,
and may a lion lie with a lamb's tail

Soaked in jazzy flow,
the white Apogaean tides
crash like a silver blade against bronze,
romance, the death of heroes,
Achille's spear,
penetrating this moment, ripping it bare,
slicing young flesh,
open wounds bleeding blessed red life to the world,
an amber glaze

Thrones pin peace to the wall,
a trophy pelt for all to see
with cool blazing eyes,
yet all look away
while I two step waltz like a jigging liquid light wave,
lithe feet raining down moves like a dog in the woods,
chasing deer through smokey paths hidden from human stained eyes
by thick brush

Stiff whiskey midnight,
gibbous moon hangs mellow yellow like half a wheel of cheese,
canonized in secret watching,
the pretty girl problems
thrown around like trash blown in the park
lovely day, where does this path lead?
the open road forever howls
life, death, birth, infinity
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
I am George the fisherman.
I have no use of my left foot.
The sky is dark; the air is cool,
and my good right shin
hurts from overuse.
I sleep in a hammock: stretched
between memories.
For I find myself hanging
from the one that is a second ago
and the one that is an eon ago
and they appear to be the same.
I say I sleep,
but really I just watch the night roll over me
as one point and the other converge
towards overlapping,
leaving me simply caught in a net.
When you're caught at night thinking about the past and what it means for the future.
As the sun comes up over the horizon
A new beginning is offered to all mankind
The same beginning that has been offered for eon's

How you chose to use the day is like a vision
Being created one long sequence in moments of that time
Each step taken is part of the one created caption

One wrong step leads you down a path to  collision
Colliding with all that is in the world unkind
That can be like going to hell's jail, just a dungeon

Of the smoke being breathed by the owner the dragon
Or you can choose to walk the path in a straight line
Remembering everyone falls, but is not done

Because the path keeps going like it is being chosen
And guiding like this has been given and assigned
Picking up, shaking off,  and healing you often

Just remember that you are not the only one
No matter the path walked because you have chosen
And there is room for change, the path is not defined
So consider the things that define your action
And live as if this beginning is your last one
I just wrote this on a whim
glenn martin Jun 2015
in time
our life forming rituals
when woman held man in common
gentle willing people a tribe conformed
by wisdom of woman thriving with women
these creators of humanity in frame work survival
of living on planet Earth the hours indifference
the east to the west the Earth rising east
into the new days Star the west darkness prevails
as the world turns east the hours given
for the Earth of the west to rise in east Star rays
as the world turns womb in and man
building life customs a living family the sexes
creation performing rituals
to hold power over both sexes in tribe
between them bringing water to the table
from the well of the forest primeval
we *** advancing the daily rituals in time
not knowing the outcome in survival
our knowledge is common of good or evil
our humanity or power of greed
our family bound to survival of our being
gentle people cast down mutts of power
gentle people up held by wisdom
the living as one wisdom of womb in and of man
not **** power greed a tribe of humanity
to continue the beginning dominate
the right of spirit beings to intellectualize
producing decisions a *** beginning nurturing
an utter speaking from the heart of woman
profound utterings these ******* of womb in
from her to eternity the ******* of woman uttering
the real Mc Coys in the darkness of time
a first uttered sound this life light hidden
a beginning of human soul the memory our utterings
thru power greed over humanity
we live off planet Earth held
in regions of space to incubate the humanity
movement of space life held by the darkness of man
unable to break the bonds of tyranny
to return Earth wisdom to light
for the stars utter humanity
a flower child hue being ultimate receptor life stance
giving off light as fragrance
available knowing life choices as flowers
of the Stars we are earth buds exposed
by the rays of creation an eon of time
standing swaying in earth winds our moment
of life becoming a chance   of a life time
to create form  flow of the Universe expansion
star light to build the uttering of time
humanity rise above  power greed
know all we can live and be   the one
Universe of love nurturing in utter harmony
Universe of creation this life realm
made from an utter in time
a being of humanity shines on this earth
let life shine back to the Stars
give the right of creation
the love of mind............gjmars 6/14/15
Martin Trahbeg Apr 2010
LOVE’S AN ENIGMA
NEVER FULLY SOLVED
LIFE’S GREAT CHALLENGE
A PASSION PLAY, WHEN EVOLVED

YEARS OF BLISS
AN EON OF PAIN
BEGINS WITH A KISS
OFT ENDS IN THE DRAIN

SOMETIMES EASILY FOUND
THEN SOMEHOW LOST
NO MATTER WHAT,
ALWAYS A COST

A MYSTERY TO MOST
PARADISE TO SOME
ONCE IT’S FOUND
LEAVES YOU SPEECHLESS AND NUMB

MEMORIES CHERISHED
OF TRUE LOVE’S MOMENT
LEAVES YOU WONDERING
WHERE THE TIME WENT

TIME’S A-WASTING
SEIZE IT IN ANY WAY
WHEN IT PASSES YOU BY
YOU’LL RUE THE DAY

LIFE AT IT’S FULLEST
IT’S A PLEASURE TO HOLD
NEVER SAY
NOT NOW, WE’RE TOO OLD

THE RIDDLE PLAYS OUT
THE JOKES ON YOU
TO LIVE IN HARMONY
ACHIEVED BY FEW
emeraldcity Sep 2013
She came barreling into the room,
riding the back of a burnt out star,
her energy crackled and flickered
like flint against steel.
Blue half moons
where her eyes should have been,
simple constellations marked across her face
like maps of emotions and the truth behind her
lazy smile. Her energy took the breath out of me,
and mingled with my own galaxy,
reaching wave lengths of unknown mathematics.
I wanted to say something,
I wanted to touch her,
lightly, a whisper of skin only our
hearts could translate.
I knew something would soar between us,
sparks or maybe even a shooting star.
But she was gone as soon as she came,
an eon of stars following her out the door,
and I was already ten light years behind,
I knew I would never reach her in this lifetime,

but maybe in the next.
TheWitheredSoul May 2019
My dear For eon's  
I searched for closure ,
Closure on  what blended us together ,
Closure on what melded us forever,
Closure on what made us care for each other up until this very moment,
But dear after so much time I had to realize the very truth,
Our closure , it was never out in the world keeping us far from each other.
It was here right here
infront of us the whole time.

It lied in us being closer in this moment than the last,
drawing each other's breath
Till the air will no longer be a concern,
Till our hearts consume each other's soul,
Till I become yours and you ,while you become mine and me that's exactly where our Closure lies.
Closure is necessary but for us closure never existed. For What's sinned shall always be redeemed and for what's lost could always be found,I will never have closure on acceptance of the thought that I lost you even if it consumes what's left of me. I suffer by my choice of choosing you against the whole world for my choice will remain the same no matter what.
He made love to me mid-day,
In passion I couldn’t replicate
If I wanted too, it happened
And like all original acts was great.
How come I can’t shake this feeling
That the earth shakes when I’m
Moving and my heads turning
But I still see straight, I’m smiling
But I wish desperately I could be crying
Relieve some pressure from my
Chest, a bomb about to detonate,
The haze is clearing why can’t I feel
Anything how it is, how I think it is,
How it was, does it count as insanity
If never breathing soul sees that side of me?
I mean inside of me, that’s a cloud lurking
Over what today ought to be,  
Considering all the ****** up insanity
In lives of those surrounding me, I think
I just need a little attention in a world
That doesn’t give a ****
About my day to day happenings,
That doesn’t give a **** about poetry,
That doesn’t really give a ****
About my feelings.
But at least
There is a caring, daring, strong man
In my gray shade life, who makes love like
Aurora makes me see colored lights
A nice contrast to a stark life.
I just wish
I could fix
Myself for
One *******
Good night.
So he could breathe easy and
Finally believe me when I say
He’s doing everything exactly
How he should be and I’ll be all right
He’ll never understand his kiss
Is magic but can’t just fix,
Nineteen years of brokenness.
And I’ll never feel right knowing
He never deserved any part of this.
It’s just a bad day , a hard one the one
You know the type that last an eon.
Breaks your hope that time goes on,
Keeps you up past one in the morning
Thinking about how
You can’t do it right, and you forgot to
Text the best part of everything
Goodnight.
Spenser Roper Mar 2014
chameleon eon
champion ion

!Chamber Berserk!

champagne pain
chamomile meal
P** eople all
Around the world,
Singing along to the radio;
Screaming along with WCYY!
I love how they play newer music mixed with the classics.
Only on 94.3fm you can hear
Neon Trees to Green Day to Metallica to

Passion Pit to The Lumineers and
Imagine Dragons! CYY is the station
That one needs for life. I am CYY!
Copyright; 2013
McNally, Inc.
I wrote this for my local radio station for a contest to see Passion Pit.
(1 of 2 poems I wrote; see WCYY 94.3FM)
P.S. It's been awhile since I posted a poem. I've been busy with work and now I am in between jobs.. It's hard. But I will get though it. <3 P.M.A.
Rumi Iqbal Oct 2018
I am on a street
I have to choose a path to take
I do not know if the roads will ever meet
This is a decision I do not think I can make

I am trying to make a choice
What do I do , I don’t know
From behind me I hear a voice
Telling me where to go
Now all I hear is noise

People shouting at me
Louder and louder
“This is what you should be”
Pushing me farther and farther

“Stop,” I yell “let me choose”
But my efforts were in vain
For I had already been pushed,
To the path that I must take

The path is steep
I am confident about the start
So to go forward, I take a leap
Only to find I want to depart

The next few steps were a struggle
For I did not read the map
All I heard was my confidence rumble
But I never left the path

I found some help along the way
They made my travels fun
But they did not stay to my dismay
I feel like this journey will never be done

I see it, it’s finally concluded
The road has ended
I no longer feel secluded
But I felt once again, that I was to be muted

For I had another road to take
I waited for the voices
But all I heard and saw was the morning wake
Now, it seemed I will make my own choices

This is now my choice to make
I feel bereft
For others always made the decision I had to take
I went left

The journey felt like it had been going on for an eon
I learned to enjoy the journey, not knowing where I was headed
Just kept going on and on
And to my luck the road never ended

— The End —