my entrails seaping crimson blackness into my heart
Bitten by the rotting incisors you force into my flesh
My body seeking your gaping void
mere mortals describe as a mouth

Your dark hollow soul blackening Cutting my thin cold skin i let you in. Feeling our flesh merging in this torturing oneness,
Filling the cavities of endlessness.

i yearn to feel you feasting upon my clammy cold covering desiring for the essence of your inner being to take me whole devouring my crescent moon in undertones of a wild demonic frenzy

Extracting dark passion from your soul Staring into darkest nights of your mind's cavity.
Through your soul, a black gaping hole. Darklights seeping through my sanity.

searching for a searing flame
it matters not that my etheral love is a force from another plain
i can only believe in the feeling of you

Perpetual fear of being hurt long i went through.
This torturing love you wrung me through.

my cold dead heart lingers in a state of confusion
serving only to terrorize my mind
forever playing tricks on me
for a soul ive left behind

etheral combination..
you and the sky..
wings of salvation..
and the way our light dies..

slowly fade away bright moon..
light of the night..
enter the this world again soon..
my bright little light..

away with your pale shine..
the sun is coming..
its light is unkind..
while yours is stunning..

oh moon high above..
you shine for us all..
with silver shine and love..
from borrowed light from the sun..

And since you're not by my side
the pages remain as blank as my stare.

There's something majestic, yet also extremely gloomy, about a streetlight at night in the rain. Something, some unplaced dimension within the echoing cars and within the particles of water, as they spray...into oblivion*

Mother, do you recall that rainy day?
The day my gumboots soaked through,
I beleive we were waiting for a bus. It was one of those city rains, when all you could dream of was home or the warmth and comfort. When all you wanted was a bath and hot-chocolate or another item of food, steaming with love. Mother, I remember holding to you're body for warmth as we sat under that old wooden bus shelter.
I clung to you're body and melted into you're lingering scent, you're falling breath and you're human form.
You held me, you hid you're shivers so as to warm mine.
We watched the cars spray etheral mist into the orange lights of the city.
We watched lovers rush by under umbrellas, we watched rain curve down the cement like a snake on it's own journey.
We listened,
oh did we ever listen, we ate up the noise, the stories within the rain, we cuddled until we felt the warmth from our bellies rise out of us like smoke or a dragons breath, tainting the air.

I, you're daughter. You, my mother.

You're long hair curling down your breast. Me, like a little berry scrunched up as close to you as I could get. Like our bodies would drip into each other as one, our breath the same. Only my gulps of air came much sooner and you silently resisted my subtle games. When the huddling was done you reached out to me with you're strong hands and you led me along the night of echoes. I can't remeber much else, asides from sitting with you in the empty pizza shop as we both savoured and satisfied our cravings for comfort. Cold-handed laughter as we danced over the most delectable pizza.
Then we caught the bus home, you sat on the red leather, grabbing the creamy yellow bar, I jumped onto the ratty blue seat beside you and leaned once again into you're body, melting into sweet harmonies.
Eating in the sounds of humans and the sound of the bus, splashing through water
and journeying on through the deep
and endless city night.

we are the refined
the delicate, the rarefied
the genteel, whose words
are etheral and our thoughts
exclude all things physical

for us the ideals, the pure
the clean and the pristine
conventions suit us best
and the unquestioned
fits us like custom-made gloves

our lives are regulated
there's something in it
for each of us
we have all the answers
and for sure, we are the ones
going to Heaven

couretsy marks our birth
and everyone walks about
with the Dictionary
of Respectable Words
when we kiss
we don't exchange fluids
and when we have ***
we are dispassionate


we bring civilisation to the world
and we sunbathe in idyllic beaches
and we plan to tour the moon soon
we are tourists really all our lives
and when we are not, we polish our cars
and bemoan the State of the  Environment


we are the refined
the delicate, the rarefied
the genteel, whose words
are etheral and our thoughts
exclude all things physical

Black carbon soot
Yellow, blue flames
Like a thief, the night took
Our fair sunlight away
Green etheral gases
Red burning star
Like a dog, the earth shook
Spewing fire and tar
Pink pedaled roses
White fallen snow
Like an axe, striking wood
Our minds reel from the blow
Lavendar mists
Gray cloudy seas
Like an angel, forsaken
We’ll be brought to our knees.

I've been thinking lately
about tumbling into space.
Spinning heel over head
through the cosmos
in intergalactic freefall
for the rest of always
and how familiar that
would feel to me.
I've been thinking that
if I could change the entire
fundamental makeup of
the slowly migrating universe,
to warp space and time, would it
be to my benefit to do so?
Small changes ripple outward
having profound consequence
on things we cannot even
fathom the connections between
and is it right?
Is it Good, capital g,
to make those changes?
Is it worth the risk of
losing this to illustrate
the profundity of it?
If I could move stars
would I do so for you?
If I could compress gravity
enough to warp time
would it even matter
that, from a
specific perspective,
we'd technically have
more time together?
I've been thinking lately
about forever
because it doesn't exisit,
it's an abstraction,
a thought given etheral form,
but it is also the only unit of
measurement that feels
consistent with what
I feel for you.

The poem formerly known as 'First taste of bitter' has been rewritten to reflect the lovely people who inhabit this etheral poetic wonderland that is home to many and a refuge to many - inspired by HP's own Elsa
- thank you Elsa  :))

My first taste of HP

I was welcomed right away
Day one I had three friends
Peter Hamilton, Cecil and Ana
Is where my HP journey began

From another site I'd arrived
Not seeking fortunes or fame
Just a place to share poems
With people who feel the same

I've always been so welcome here
~ always made to feel at home
Thats down to the friendly poets
Who you all are, you know.

So many, many friendly souls
My, how that list has grown
Thank you HP - I glad I came...
I no longer feel alone



Special thank also to - Poetessa Diabolica, Niamh, Coleen, Shanna, Wolf, Brandon, Evie, ridicule, Beryl Dov, Donna and Sleeping Bag. Much love to everyone who knows me. X

Could you spare my blood?

Etheral lust scattered all around us like dust
Couldn't bare to keep my eyes open so I must
Tell my tale the way it was intended
The way I let my soul dependent
On you

Crack the veil of tired souls
cloaked in lonely sorrows,
broken by faithless wanderings,
and feel the strings course through your veins,
the horns echo your heart.
Hold music close in mind and heart;
it makes hearing more bliss than sense,
makes truth as gorgeous as fiction
and fuel for love and dance.
Grip the hands of the etheral,
hold immortality close,
keep it all within and simply
close your eyes and listen.
Everything in song takes a life of its own,
be it lyrics or the simple voice
untested by use, yet strong.
Choirs echo through the heavens,
forcing clouds to yield,
yet holding them in wavering winds
that carry lovely song.

Crack the veil of tired souls
cloaked in lonely sorrows,
broken by faithless wanderings,
and feel the strings course through your veins,
the horns echo your heart.
Hold music close in mind and heart;
it makes hearing more bliss than sense,
makes truth as gorgeous as fiction
and fuel for love and dance.
Grip the hands of the etheral,
hold immortality close,
keep it all within and simply
close your eyes and listen.
Everything in song takes a life of its own,
be it lyrics or the simple voice
untested by use, yet strong.
Choirs echo through the heavens,
forcing clouds to yield,
yet holding them in wavering winds
that carry lovely song.

I am one with sensibilities of an adagio. There are few things
I cannot describe with words. A beautiful adagio, I think, is one
of them. Its beauty is ineffable. All are musical poems, but one
is tinged with sorrow. I am thinking of Barber's ADAGIO FOR
STRINGS. PACHELBEL'S CANON, on the other hand,
is gentle and evocative, as is Albioni's adagio. You're sitting on
the sofa holding your sweetheart in your arms listening to
Bach's AIR ON THE G STRING as you give her a sweet kiss
on her neck. You dim the lights. Vivaldi's GUITAR CONCERTO
begins to play followed by Marcello's ADAGIO IN D MINOR
and then you give her another kiss, this one on her lips. It's
getting late, but there's still time to absorb the exquisite PAS DE
DEUX by Tchaikovsky from the NUTCRACKER. Now she
kisses you, not once, but many times. You slip in Beethoven's
MOONLIGHT SONATA, Debussy's CLAIR DE LUNE, Satie's
elegant TROIS GYMNOPEDIES, and Chopin's PRELUDE,
OP. 28, even though they are not adagios, but because they are
etheral. And before you and she go to bed to make love, you listen
to Rodrigo's CONCIERTO DE ARANJUEZ FOR GUITAR AND ORCHESTRA. No better foreplay exists.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

The zone, is another world, another state
Not zoned-out, zoned-in
It's deep -- the words flow from a source like a never-ending waterfall
It's etheral -- the subject matter comes from everywhere
It's outlandish -- some of the things you write may seem... odd... but that's fine, they are odd, you are odd, you're zoned.
It's death-defyingly wild.
It's right -- because when the words flow, when the topics abound, when your writing is freeky – it means you’re expressing
Being in the zone is pure expression
Like a factory line - the poems just churn out.
Not processed pieces, works of art.
The zone is a private Italian workshop located in your mind where suits and sportscars are replaced by words and stanzas.

From the jagged peaks of my warrior mouth
a voice comes, it's screaming out
Abolish those old woes  and leave behind
the stones you never turned,
hold onto what made you strong,
feel fire within you burn.

Theres and ancient warrior within me, a goddess of strength, her flames taint me, her truth woven deeply within. She is with me when I am alone in the forest, the deep serene misty green, or the ocean, the calm sea foamy oblivion.
Etheral wispy spirits.
This warrior, she prevents my fear.
I can feel her wrath inside of me.
I feel her when I run, like buffalo, through plains of unstained soil.
I feel her roots branch from my toes trailing up and through to my soul,
she holds me, she kisses me, and she moves me, moves me like water streaming from the mountains top.

If spiritual longing comes deep within,
Then let my spirit soar on heavenly wings,
For there is more to living here and now,
Than just what we can touch and see.

Let monumental hurt and sorrow here,
Come tumbling down with words of love,
While we can still appreciate the moments,
That God has granted graciously to all.

Cleanse all my darkness days that came,
Let live my heart to hold another near,
Hurl hope into my aching mind and soul,
Let me sing heartedly for all to hear and know.

For since my birth into this swirling world did come,
I knew that He had meant for me to show the world,
That I can feel the hurt that others do unto another,
With still the capacity to forgive and love abundantly.

Who says that our paths are set in stone and steel,
While we can still be molded into something  etheral?
I look with a child's eyes toward the clouds and know,
That someday all who are sad will feel the endless joy.

Oh sweet, beloved Mercury
Where lucid liquid logic's rise
Who's silver molten vapoured sphere
Doth surge and crackle
fractaled lights.
Her breath ignites, excites, entice
The fevered frantic frightful men
With clustered cluttered clouded  thoughts
Where rabitts, worms and loop-holes blend.
An etheral itch commands her call
Crawling 'cross the rainbowed wires
Wordly winding  waves of mind
Embed upon her violet spiral.

Only the sweetest souls get called home to hold court with the seraphim in the Heavenly realm of the Gods

The purity and joy of their etheral songs resounding throughout the castle halls

Beautiful, bright eyed babies fluttering unsteadily amongst the green gardens on golden gossamer wings

Giggles and grins of sheer wonder erupt as the silvery, sunlit wings of the dragonflies dart playfully away from chubby little outstretched hands

Rainbow feathered robins nestle among the willows while  hummingbirds traverse the towering lillies, stirring up the fullness of their delicate perfume

The gentle eyes of our grandmother's watch over of us as they tend to our little ones, their glittering irises shining brighter than the stars from whence they came

My tears fall like rain as I search the sky for your shimmer, a fleeting glimpse of your emerald green soul at the edge of this rosy pink horizon

I see your colors play on the surface of the water, a kaleidoscope of light dancing on the crystal currents of this great river we call life

One day I too will be but a drop of water returned unto the ocean, after my inevitable fall from the clouded, unknown skies of grace

One day I too will have earned my set of wings, and into your waiting arms I am free to finally fly, free again to shower your fuzzy little forehead with a hundred thousand kissies...

Until we meet again...
I love you with every beat of my broken heart, my omnipresent little Angel

My precious tiny baby man,
Mine Grumble Grumble,

There are no words to even express how much I truly miss you

My little Squishee Squishee Squish <3

I am shaking
Fearful, as the shouts grow louder
Every breath leaves me aching
The hourglass has begun to fall slower and slower by the hour

Reality has crumbled into mere dust sliding through my fingers
Wordless, soundless, screaming
Avoiding the empty, shattered mirrors
Left to pace between thoughts, as my hands do the cleaning

I cut my arms on glass, but I'm not seeing the bleeding
Dripping down my arms from my veins are jokes gone wrong
Sitting, in the glass poured over me, I'm leaping
It won't be too long

I've done a bad thing and I can't be forgiven
I am smiling at the spots in my vision that look like stars
I'm dancing, swaying, to an unknown etheral rthym
The whispers are seeping through my gray walls

Words have become a mush of meaningless *******
I hear the floors loosen and soon I am falling through
Ego tandem videre stellas
Ad astra per aspera

She was
forever

Her lips
Bled lipstick

Dark hair
Stormed

Hearts wine
throbbed

Castled beauty
etheral

Ghostly
girl

Woolen
scarf

Returned
all love

Smoky
*****

Those stars above,
are lovers who lost
Some had and lost,
some never had

Timeless is their glory,
blinding their glow
With burning fire of God,
******, untouched
and unearthly kept so

Shining on,
I will speak,
words and acts etheral
Coz your no,
didn't just **** me
it made me join them,
till sweet end of eternity,
and made my soul immortal

She is me, my mind is myself, a passion unto flame
there is no separation, no glorious difference
between shake and stem, emotion and logic
I have the fire of my soul, and it burns
everyone it touches

The twin of my self, my reflection of soul
watches from that small, cold place,
locked away in my mind; she cries
not screams of rage, but pity
she knows my enslavement
emotionally wounded
perpetually lost

Niether really knows the other; I don't know myself
Rage floods my veins, my mind quickens to hurt
words pour forth before I can stop them
filthy, terrible things that amaze me
If I know it hurts, I say it

He stands there too calm, he takes my bits of wraith
Pauses before speaking; I know my tongue cuts deep
he takes a breathe, speaks again, so calm
this only make my anger worse, fuels it
how can he be so terribly heartless?
how can he not see my pain?

The knife goes in again, sarcasm punches through; I have him
his exterior is shaken; he pauses again: close, so close
He patronizes me; trying to be soothing. I know his lies
I claim torture, cruelity, and punishment on his part
he is, after all enslaving, binding me
punishing all women everywhere; I give him argument,
my spittle; he uses logic, reason

I hate him; his words expose my hyprocracy, a reflective self can see
He turns what I say to nothing, insulting me: fuleing anger
he turns what I say I am against who I know I am
Pointing out my actions as childish,a betrayal
only makes me more angry

I know he loved me, but only now
one last letter, never sent
I found today; I think he
planned this, cruelty
the last word
his last, only
in death

Years have past, I remember this place
in my head, in a memory, in the past
where I was, if I had only known
If I might not have been
If I could have done

Questions drive me to write again, revistit, open unhealed wounds
Years and years, years and years, an almost enlightenment for me
So much time has passed, faded, bleached; I've changed so much
my bitter, tireless resentment, festoned, anchored reality
for making him leave, I created this world for myself
but in one small letter, he made me remember
how much I loved him; he loved me
simply because

He made me remember, how much he cared, loved, cherished & hurt
and let me see all our fights in new, shiney, bright light
by letting me remember something he would never do
let me make choices that would hurt me later
I was too selfish, too much pride

That letter he sent, I found far too, too late
reminded me of pride, our first, sweet night
how I wanted and he denied, he kissed, he waited
for just and only for me, he made me wait
and now he waits again, etheral

Sweet sunflower, never set your gaze to the ground

Always keep your golden joy to the blue eternity

You are something of magic, an etheral miracle of the natural order

Never take those moments of sadness as permanent

For you are radiating, somehow the sun planted to the earth

What diety made you I do not know

But you are something beyond special

Beyond the mortal definition of tremendous

You are something more

to me, it's very hard to explain something to a woman, without having to invoke the concept, prior, and subsequently dwindle in what's actually being explained; personally? i think that the grand genuis of woman conceptualised the idea of money, after all, if man is the tribal facet to the whole story, the inventive spirit of group-mentality, of ethnicity, of nationalism, of whatever propels the vector of history toward its never seemingly ending agitation, well... only a woman could have conjured the concept of money, what with prostitution being the base profession requiring money... if ever there be an alchemy of the transvaluation of "values", then the commoner's stone is the idea of money... why is it that in his living wake, van gogh was a pauper, but as history states, he's by now a ******* millionaire? money can even transcend death, and evaluate a second glance in its post-mortem stare: worthless as alive, glorified as dead; in times of war, money becomes rationing, in times of peace, an unfair dispensation of values / worth.

and is that not why there's this apparent
disgrace of woman
within the critique of feminism?
    it worked like magic,
the first original idea by a woman:
   money...
                    but how is modern woman
expecting an equally respectable idea
to be digested, when it stages
   itself via feminism -
              yes, woman conjured money,
man failed in his alchemy,
  so instead started pampering people
with shampoos, toothpaste and the likes...
it's enough that woman gave us
money, but it's another to congest
and sardine pack the philosophies ranging
from ancient greece to modern day,
in the sardine-can of feminism,
and every other -ism...
                          sure, aristotle was ******
when it came to arithmetic and ivory -
but then again: maybe that was just
a joke back in ancient greece,
                        regarding giving *******?
money i can understand, but feminism
and its attempt to allow itself a shortcut
into every aspect of masculine thinking?
ah! i heard this one before,
scientists call it: the theory of everything...
look! feminists already proprose that
feminism is: that grand theory of everything!

i can't stress it enough...
   how can you digest a book of philosophy?
i can't stress it enough:
   solve a sudoku while reading a book
of the apparent content...

and some do say, drifting between
the waking-hour, and the hours-of-nox -
well... if we call the former words,
we can call the latter numbers -
     and isn't that a great comparison -
it's like seeing colour in black & white -
what with how letters are arranged
and how numbers are arranged -

   we can even begin calling
equations                   words -
for example e = m c squared
           to imply arranging a, b, c, d, e, f...
   into the word relativity -
interchangeable properties of energy
and matter...

            while 0 - 9 stress an automaton
process of the body -
               the unconscious -
  letters a - z stress the sporadic eventualities
of speech mingling with thought -
      the conscious -
           and in between these two:
images, or the evolution of / disarming of
hieroglyphics - stripping said unsaid:
to mere bone...    to the skeletal now apparent.

how would one begin crafting an image
of thought?
            sooner than one might think to begin:
the soul is already portrayed as a breath
of etheral form, loosely matched to imply
a human body,
     as a monkey is: **** similis -
                          and sure enough:
   something out of disney tale -
   bound in the entranced eyes of hades,
          like blotches in a flux of a lava lamp.

i don't day dream,
           i hardly ever dream -
                       enough of the nonsense bound
to a single day, than to drag even more
nonsense into the depths of nox -
   ah, but the rivers of the underworld:
from the river of tongues,
   to the river of sleep -
     of the styx we known -
                   how the dead speak to the living
within the confines of sleep -
   how else? how else can we conjure light
in the cranium, where no light can enter?
   if dreams are not how the dead speak to
the living while asleep, how else the binding
contract of mourning, and the annual
celebration *in memorandum by the grave,
the laying of flowers, the candles that light
up the dark night of october eclipsed
that's all saint's day -
                  indeed, in memorandum
     of the stated born on & the died upon dates;
but the rivers of hades!
                    die zungefluss (the river of tongues) -
and indeed that mediating river
                        of nox -        die traumfluss...

ah, but if you want to see a literary bosphorus,
why didn't you ask?
                     you can see the hand of the west
(bertrand russell) shake hands with the east
     (władysław tatarkiewicz) -
   regarding the philosophy of history -
                    or interchanging: the history of -
probably the only pompous word in the english
language.

She was etheral
in her beauty.
everyone loved her
especially me.
She would mend
anything that was broken.
a vase, a childs toy ,a birds wing
and of course my heart..
she fixed the terrible wounds
and scars she saw in my heart.
fixed it as good as new.
and I loved her without limit.
But just as she
set the bird free
when its Wings
were repaired.
she set me free
and broke my heart.
in such a way
it could never be
repaired again.

Jesus Christ, somebody help
This is like literal hell
I sense the etheral smell
Of me going feral, ring the bell
I will jump and swing my tail
My life is so ******* stale

I'm so sad, I'm so lonely
Somebody please ******* hold me
And unfold me like a week old shirt
Help me hit a growing spurt
Cuz I'm a baby screaming for dessert

Help me help you hurt me
Help me ******* burn me
Help me ******* learn the
Gay *** lectures hoping
End it all desert me

My allergies are killing me
Stoping me from feeling free
Snot make me wish I never be
My eyes, they burn, they never see

*****, I am not happy
This is why I'm rapping
Scratching, clawing, scraping
But am never faking

Call me cringe, call me lame
But me personality I won't tame
I do this not for the fame
Though some would be quite nice
But at this moment it'll suffice
To finish spitting fly rhymes.