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Merry Feb 2018
At the world’s edge,
Upon a steep ledge,
I must ask the everchanging blue:
Why must I fall in love with them?

Whereupon, I break bread
With my enemies
I must ask the everchanging red:
Why must I fall in love with them?

Again, and again,
It is a dinner that ever ends
It’s the common place of disaster
A comedy of manners
Drenched in sinister designs
Beyond the grinds
Of my understanding
Of the world

It’s the Theatre of the Deranged
Laughter
So much laughter
And I don’t know what they’re after
I’m the jester
Without a wry disguise
Cleverness beneath comedic idiocy
I’m the fool
In this Theatre of the Deranged

Discussions at a lopsided table
Where only those who obey the master
May talk – all else must listen
To her, to her, to her!
Gorged on foods
I never wanted
There is nothing sweet
Left for me to eat

Mouth sealed shut
Except to laugh
But there’s nothing funny
When you’re the joke
That’s gone on too long
But the party is far from over
When you’re the court jester
To the Queen who rules the world
To the King who rules the world
To the Jack who rules the world
To the Ace who rules the world
To the suit who rules the world
To the world who rules the world

To the monarchs who uphold
The declarations of entertainment
And attend the gathering
At the edge of the world
Adorned with velvet curtains
And velvet lies
In a swirling and everchanging
Red and blue
Known only as
The Theatre of the Deranged
Kagami Nov 2013
Senses explode, WWII,
Nuclear warfare on this expanse of bare
Skin supposed to be closed at my age separates,
I let the saltwater seep into this,
Slick. Time passes, hardly passing,
But, oh, how well we move.  Dance
Around our icy fire, escape from the pain
Constantly eating, feeding.
We are a buffet of things to harm
Come for another plate, fate.
Do us more harm? No. We will not stand, we can't
When we are in this state of mind. We have no state of mind,
Lust driven creatures, but we can speak. Command, tell me what
You want. You want a simple thing, but so complex.
And I want it, too, but simpler for me. A simple thing, unless thought of.
Believed in, felt deeply in ways not physical.
Arching and deepening, we will not be broken down by a measly
War outside of our windows.
Fire scorching the wooden figures, but we are sheltered by stone.
We have escaped and we are left with a heavy air and the smell
Only we can concoct. Nonexistent fabric leaving traces on my skin and yours, indent.
And your eyes are all I see, even in the dark. I know their color by heart, greenbluegrey-everchanging. But I can figure it out.
Your pupils dilate you know. You look at me and I see them. You seem drugged, dear.
Let me feed your addiction. There are many nuclear weapons left, buried
Throughout the world. We can travel and love,
Never ending.
Don't worry it's not what you think
Another tale of woe
Of Tiny Tim and all the rest
And the ending we all know
Scrooge and ghosts and la de da
They do it in one night
But, that was Charles Dickens way
It's time we got it right
Nobody works the way they did
The poorhouses done and dusted
If Scrooge was here and lived today
You know he would be busted

So, I'll bring you up to date on this
And Scrooge can come on too
It's been a couple hundred years
Let's make this carol new

Scrooge had let Bob Cratchit go
Due to labour laws and stuff
He didn't have a union
But old Scrooge had heard enough
Every year the same old thing
And every year he cries
It's only for one day each year
At least till his kid dies
So, Scrooge was sitting home alone
Checking files on his screen
Debtors owing money and
Re runs of Mister Bean
Scrooge kept his accounts on line
So he could work on them at home
He got more done here anyway
He felt more comfortable  alone
While surfing through his evict notes
A pop up screen appeared
It said "I am The Marley Virus"
And Sir Scooge, I should be feared
Scrooge cursed the interruption
He thought the virus was a joke
But, when he tried to clear the screen
A face appeared and spoke
Right there before his rheumy eyes
His partner showed his face
Ebeneezer hit delete
But Marley held his place
I'm not a ghost like olden days
I'm a virus now you see
I've moved into the future
And Scrooge you must hear me
You will not get a visit
From three ghost like stories old
We've gone hi tech, it's apps you'll get
And your story will be told
Three icons will be on your screen
Once I have told my tale
You'll click on each of them in turn
And you'll ignore all your mail
Each application will come forth
And will take you back in time
Remember Scrooge, the end result
Could be the same as mine
But, Jacob, I'll delete them
I'll run a scan and then reboot
The reason for your being here
Will then be surely moot
Marley let a piercing howl
And he left Scrooge with his screen
The were just three icons there
Where his desktop once had been
Scrooge clicked one, it opened up
It was Christmas past for sure
A video of Scrooges life
Was playing now, and more
The background everchanging
Showing Scrooge in younger days
When greed and avarice were not
The ruler of his ways
Remember now, we're modernized
No ghosts, so all went well
Scrooge remembered all the good times
As far as I can tell
The video ran on and on
It showed Scooge when he was nice
He thought you know when all is done
I might just watch this twice
The screen went black, the music stopped
And two icons took their place
He clicked on icon number two
And he opened up it's case
Donation links appeared at first
To charities galore
But Scrooge just passed on over them
In fact he showed them to the door
He saw the files of eviction notes
And of receivables and charts
He knew that he would lose one day
And the next, would need to start
To work on all this quickly
Year end would be here soon
He'd evict all of the deadbeats
And then they'd sing a different tune
He saw pictures of Bob Cratchit
Of his family and his brood
Of their meager Christmas Dinner
And the apparent lack of food
He saw how they were happy
How just together meant so much
And beside their electric fire
He saw a tiny crutch
He watched the clip and saw the pics
And in the end it warmed his heart
But there was still another icon
And this app must play it's part
You know where this is going
So, I would drag out the tale
But, in the end all his possessions
Went on line for a huge sale
He clicked upon the icon
And all his files reappeared
And then ...right before him
Each account slowly disappeared
Written off, deleted gone
No money did they owe
The ledger had been vanquished
No balance did it show
This took almost two hours
Each entry in the wind
All accounts forgotten
All eviction notes were binned
Scrooge, we know was changed then
We heard he was a better man
But, in truth he only changed one thing
A new virus protection plan
Remember, it's the future
And corporate greed is still around
And no accounts will be forgotten
Till Scrooge is six feet in the ground
I know you know the story
You want him nicer in the end
But, if that's the way you want it
Go watch the movie once again!!!
betterdays Sep 2014
i see today,
the first glimmering
of summer,
in the curl of green nails,
on the deadman fingers
of the frangipani.

i see today,
the last sighs of winter
in the dessicatted, crumbling, leaves being,
blown ever which way
by the gusting, September winds.

i see today spring,
coming up,
in shoots of green,
sprung from the rain softened soil.
all different hues,
of potential and expectation
rising from the ground.

i see today, the the last glimpse of autumn,
in that pallette of a leaf,
stubborn throughout the winter now finally,
come to grief and floating, serene in silent submission, on the pond of koi.
the oranges and browns
blending into the watered background.

i see today,
all the seasons,
in the sky
and all around me,
time moves forward
and every moment,
counted as precious
and noted by this poets eye...
first day of spring, here...
and it is a glorious day!
Onoma May 2019
heel to toe--

on walk.

mindful.

waters curling

toes.

as it was along

side her bayed

pranam.

almost toppled

over from bliss

several times.

watching birds

fly over everchanging

water.
Ryan Frisby Jun 2015
I wonder if the ocean
ever gets tired of being pulled by the tides
if there are days
she just doesn't want to rise
and instead,
wallow in the abyss of her cries?

What about when
her feet are ripped from the shore
though she wanted to stay
a little bit more?

Caught in the fishing line
of time
barely stepping into a moment to play
before it's washed away.

Ever changing are the tides
her heart rides
and it's really no surprise
that's where the magic lies;
in a place hard to find
when she's sinking down blind
but when her face reaches the sun
you'll know it has really begun.
Here now by many paths convoluted,
Ever trying the thoughts new, acted on.
Heeding just,streams conscious flowing,
Changed and morphed in an instant blinking.

Hair long,then shaved, now streaked orange grey
Suits to jeans,tore them,robes spiritual,now **** pray!
Was straight,turned metro,for all open,but curious still,
Body clean,got pierced, now adorning pasts tattooed!
Gurus, philosophies many, still a fool ever journeying.

Heard Bach,reggaed to Marley,wood-stocked,now fused.
Loved intense,let go easy,Kama sutras experimented on.
Traveled afar,lived as a local,now a foreigner everywhere,
Hip-pied from smoke to grass,yoga to parties raved hard.

Against wars, sat in for peace elusive,fought all,now stoic,
Never shocked or surprised,took all as came,now strong.
The set mind,everchanging,the physical a compliment cosy,
Unrecognizable now,existing totally, being happy, normally?
Many shout, freak! I smile,walk on to my home in Bohemia!
Adam S Mar 2015
POO.

IT COMES BUT ONCE A DAY, UNLESS IVE ALTERED MY EATING, THEN TWO, MAYBE THREE TIMES I SHALL GIVE MY BOG A GREETING. ITS CONSISTENCY IS ALWAYS UNIQUE, WITH EGGS IT BECOMES QUITE TOUGH, AND IT TENDS TO EXPLODE LIKE SHRAPNEL ON THEM MORNINGS WHEN FEELING ROUGH.

POO.
Marissa Burts Jan 2013
~Everchanging~

       Love binds us all
In agony,
the joy
the pain
the fear
         The greatest taste
    Of holy things-
Suddenly so
Clear
              Hate smothers us all
Darkness,
The indifference,
The despair,
           The uncontrollable rage
The darting glances
        From knowing enemies
Feeling like a
Cage
Rachel Mary May 2013
sometimes,
happiness arrives,
in your ever bleak life,
and you like it
and you desire for it to stay,

but then you are alone,
and your usual thoughts return
and you sigh;
**why am i so fickle?
There's no straight lines from A to B

No compass does it show

It shows my life as it has been

It doesn't show me where to go

As time goes by the pages fade

Just memories of past times

At times the present's blurry too

There's just so many criss crossed lines

No pages show my future

Just blank, unfilled, unset

You can not have a road map

To things that have not happened yet

Some roads it shows are darker

Roads you'll want to use once more

And on other pages, blankness

You don't know what they were for

The map is everchanging

It's not always the same

You can blame the old mapmaker

It's your mind that is to blame

You trigger things with songs and sounds

And others you might lose

It's a map that should show where you've been

But it's no good without clues

A compass in the corner

Doesn't point which way to go

It's your life, there is no answers

You get to choose which row you ***.

It's not an easy map to follow

Hills and valleys all around

But, somewhere there's a spot that

Is where your best can be found

A page that now sits empty

Tomorrow, will be mapped and show the way

But, it won't show you where you're off to

It'll show where you were today

So, enjoy the roads you've travelled

And the experience so far

For this is not a map you'll ever

Find inside of any car

As I said, it changes daily

There's only so much room for stuff to stay

So, remember just what's important

And make the bad stuff go away

It's not a map that can be folded

It doesn't show you where to start

But when you go and look back at it

You'll see your life was full of heart.
.
Meghan Doan Dec 2015
i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs.
i could feel the ocean wrapping careful hands around my limbs,
caressing my thighs with soft seaweed,
my hands with gentle current.

i could taste salt on my lip,
the way a first kiss with a new lover settles and stains on the skin above your tongue,
i could taste the care the water was taking in taking my life.

taking it's time, the ebbing ocean snaked across my midriff,
hands on waist, wasting away at skin with salty touch as sandpaper
scraping away at my sense of self

i dreamt the water changing pace from calm glass coffee table top,
held flowers and coffees and your feet and mine,
overlapped and intertwined
and into
undertow,
pulling your hand from my waist
and your salt from my mouth

i dreamt that i saw nothing,
felt nothing
but your salty sandpaper hand scraping skin across my collar bones
as you pulled your coral reef body away.
the glassy water turned to pavement
and you left me in rapids under black ice.

i had a dream that i was trapped under ice,
with children skating on top
and i couldn't hear or breathe or scream
but i could feel their skates on my insides
they cut my hair with their blades
and as they spun in circles above me
i spiraled further into the depths of an ocean
that felt more like a fire.

i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs,
and it hurt less to breathe then
than it does now that you're gone.

i never thought about how it would feel to cough the water back up,
until i realized how much it hurt going down.
and i was never scared of the ocean
until i saw it's vastness unescapable
it's arms
unrelenting
and it's love
everchanging
and i realized nothing's everlasting.

i was never scared of drowning
until i woke up puking the water i drank before bed.
and realized there was nothing more in my stomach
but salt.
eileen Feb 2022
we're all so worthless
you know it

you're everchanging
not so everlasting

throwing cigarettes on your bedroom floor
you're so numb you can't feel the cold

where's the ceiling
always falling to the floor

there's just something
special about you

can't figure it out
I get chills

I want to look like you
move like you do

visions and side effects
I know you will break my heart first
but I can break it twice
lex hughes Jan 2019
in the glow of the moon she shines
her silhouette everchanging as she moves

the lights reflect her eyes
her skirt flows in the wind

in the shadows of the forest she shines
her body so still as she looks back at me

there's beauty in her smile, and danger
a flicker of something unknown

in the abyss of space she shines
her claws outstretched to meet me

her eyes are so different now
in her cold grip i still feel her warmth

on unfamiliar ground she shines
her silhouette unrecognisable to me now

feathers and tentacles, claws and fangs
my heart is still hers
yes i'm gay and i like surrealism/monsters. what more do you want from me
Cadence Apr 2018
12/15/2017

Maybe a woman. Definitely not a lady.
Always fluid, everchanging
Transient, human, waxing and waning
Dust to dust, the earth is waiting

Skin deviously separating
Lips and eyes and breath recreating the truth
Impermanence, interrelationships between the two of you
Between the hundreds of thousands of beings surrounding and breathing with you
Being with you
Being me
Being this inexorable mix of light and twisted, my fight is rising, round 2 has been gifted
Moving, shifting, intermixed
Lifting my voice to try to fix the never-ending brokenness
The *******, hoes, the tokenness

My ecosystem intertwined
Roots supporting, climbing vines, climbing high
Rise and rise, the end is nigh, lest we fight this beast beside
These children fighting over limbs
Ripping flesh and slicing skin
Removing organs from the breathing earth within

Ive spoken this truth before
But from a shattered soul
I speak now from a podium
Breathing deep and whole
Lotus May 2012
Evergreen ponds of mint,
Circulating everchanging scents of space.

The busy-bustling bees of the scorching sun,
Their ebony and mustard bodies catching the eye,
The sweet-seeping smell of fresh honey harvest.

Tangible scent of spring touched grass and moss,
Carried on the arms of wise wind,
To encrust the mind and body's senses.

Continuous dance of trickling-trickles,
Born from that same stream,
Of August warmed water,
Clear as your gray eye's shadow.

Do you remember...
That night of an August full moon?
When we bathed in that same stream,
Our naked bodies silver under the moon's touch.
That August moon,
We shared our dreams and desires,
My fingerips wrote poetry on your skin,
Your lips spun silk against my cheeks.

That night,
So long ago,
Now feels like only yesterday...

Can you still remember that night?
My fingertips?
Your lips?

Though the deep ocean is your new home,
The jelly and dolphins your new companions,
The growing coral your new body,
Can you still remember?

I believe you can,
I hope you can,
But just incase,
The undulate movement of the ocean,
Has washed away your memory...
This flower is for you!
It is a wild scotchbroom,
Mustard yellow, like the bees of the scorching sun.
It is my wish that the ripples of the flower,
Once touching the water's surface,
Will reach your ears,
And echo the memory to you.

That night of the August full moon,
When we bathed in that same stream,
Our naked bodies silver under the moon's touch...
z Jun 2018
don't gain weight, they say
do you want to look like a pig?
but it's ugly if you're too skinny,
no ***** and no ***, what are you so proud of?

society's standards, everchanging and everflowing
from the desireableness of being just bone and skin to having ******* and an ***
our society that can't decide what it wants
our society that thinks it can control what is perfect

perhaps i shouldn't conform to society's standards after all
I have prayed for you before,
I treasure you right now,
And I can only hope I won't forget you
In the days to come.

You have longed for me yesterday,
Welcomed me today,
But I don't know what or how you'll feel
For me tomorrow.

Yet these feelings we have may change
As days go by.
Written on May 23, 2015, when I visited my second home, Baguio City.
Palcion and Ratisbon stood amidst eachother forever-
the father of being and the bringer of non-being stood
And as they stood, time and her efforts in vain, they she could not weather
Palcion and Retisbon looked upon the first to move between them
named the consequence of being and unbeing- Abro, meaning passage
Abro could topple walls and reduce mountains, all while light as a feather

Abro was not the mother of peace, nor the maiden of chaos-
The former was Ritacene- daughter of Palcion, whom he named after his brother
The latter was Phalgacene, daughter of Retisbon, who named her after the other
Abro was the steed of Phalgacene, who pulled her chariots and made her spears fly
Abro was also the bull of Ritacene, who plowed her fields and grew her wheat
And when the sisters argued, Abro would sit between them and wait, and stare at the sky

Abro would count the faces of the sky, and found the sky to be beautiful
‘I am Chazan- servant of Palcion and Retisbon,'’ the sky said. ‘I carry the weight of them both”
‘I am Abro- the eldest of the goddesses Ritacene and Phalgacene’ she told him
‘You are such a strong and fair woman,’ Chazan said. ‘To keep your youngers from conflict’
‘I do no such thing’ said Abro. ‘They are twins, and as above, they are as two as they are one’
‘They, like their fathers, are two faces of one disk-’ she went on ‘and so conflict they do not risk’

‘And you Chazan?’ Abro asked him. ‘What of you, and why above all made but below makers?’
‘I am the throne of the creator of creators and destroyer of destroyers’ he said to Abro.
‘I conceal the made from their maker and the maker from what they’ve made’ he went on
‘I hide the destruction from their destroyer- I herald the light of being and death’s shade.’
‘I find you beautiful-’ said Abro. ‘What say you to be my groom? What say you I be your bride?’
And in that, the swords of Phalgacene glowed bright, and Ritacene’s crops began to die

Chazan’s hair began to grow short and loose, and the face of the sky burst into flames
The air began to heat and the sky’s blue began to lighten- Chazan’s skin became like glass
Abro saw Chazan- his skin pink, orange, green, and cerulean- his two eyes, the sun and moon
‘You lie to me, Abro-’ he said aloud. ‘How can you say I'm beautiful when this is what I am?’
‘Everchanging, ever new- I will shed a thousand skins, but you will still be you’ he told Abro.
‘How can you have a husband, whose faces change, and whose memory of you with it fades?’

And so, Abro stood, and faced the sky. Her legs began to grow tired, and so she went away.
Chazan, seeing this, fell into misery. The sky darkened and the the winds blew strong
The fields of Ritacene were reduced to lakes of mud, while rust grew on Phalgacen’s wheels
Chazan was in tears. His hair grew long and wispy and from them- water crashed into the earth
Then Abro returned, with the beast Malzaphaiatan- whom she borrowed from her sisters
Malzaphaiatan was a beast that plowed fields and pulled chariots and on it, Abro sat and waited

Abro’s sisters made more of these beasts, and soon their numbers would become the land
They’re backs fertile and their stampedes would causes quakes, but upon them Abro sat
Abro sat and waited for Chazan to calm down- and upon Malzaphaiatan she would wait
Chazan, upon seeing Abro, lightened and was delighted. “You have returned! I am elated!‘
He ran through the sky and to the ground at such speed, which created lighting and thunder
He ran to hold Abor and lay with her on Malzaphaiatan- and in their bliss was born Spring.

Chazan would soon change face again- and the air began to heat and the sky would lighten
The glow of Phalgacene’s metal and the drooping of Ritacene’s plants all heralded one thing-
“Abro’s lover was angry.” in his rage, he remembered Abro not, and so Abro stood and went.
She borrowed Zapharagaz from her sisters- a steed of of great speed- delicate and deadly
Zapharagaz carried Phalgacene’s navy, and fed the fields and water wheels of Ritacene
Abro drove Zapharagaz across the herds of Malzaphaiatan so that Chazan may drink

Across the backs of the herds, she carved waterways, canals, and cisterns with Zapharagaz
The tracks of Zapharagaz made rivers and from the places it rested, were oceans and lakes
Abro made a chalice from clouds and gave it to her lover Chazan to drink- and he was calmed
This face of Chazan knew Abro not- but found her beautiful. ‘Be my bride, oh Lady of Time!’
‘Be my bride and this entire kingdom of fire and light shall be as yours as it is mine!’
‘I shall be your bride, and you shall be my groom!’ and so they lay together and bore Summer

Chazan would not change face again, and his memory of Abro would persist, yet he was sad.
‘Abro, my love- Queen of the Sky as I am its King; does it not hurt when I forget you at times?’
‘Chazan, my love- King of the sky who made me its queen; I love you and all your faces.’
‘How could you? What if I forget you in those faces? What would become of us and of life?’
‘I will still love you’ she said. ‘And each of your faces, what face may come, will call me its wife’
And so in a gentle breeze and lingering warmth, Chazan used the sun and breeze on the land

He took the Clouds away, but stunted the heat of the sun. He dried the leaves of Ritacene-
He put the soldiers of Phalgacene to rest and told them to return to their wives and families
He blew across the sea and into land to create the first wind and waves, and so he began
And so with a gentle breeze and lingering warmth, the harvest began and produce came
Upon the backs of the herd- Chazan painted a golden portrait of Abro, and it was beautiful
And so in a gentle breeze and lingering warmth, the two lay once more and bore Autumn

As Abro awoke, she found her husband away from her embrace. Chazan was not away though.
Chazan could simply not be seen. Droplets of hard, cold water fell on Abro’s hands. They spelt:
‘Who are you? I am Chazan, king of the sky. Who are you, why are you here?’ said the snow.
‘I am Abro, Lady of Time, first daughter of the twin Kings of Creation and Destruction’ she said.
‘I am the eldest child of Palcion and Retisbon. I am the eldest to Ritacene- goddess of order’
‘And of Phalgacene- goddess of chaos.’ she boasted. ‘You are in the presence of the gods’

‘You were drunk, and in your stupor, took me to your bed.’ Abro wanted to know what he’d say.
‘Forgive me! I am king of the sky, but humble servant first to the Twin Kings- how do I repent? ’
‘You shall have to wed me! For we shall both be punished if the Twins find out!’ Abro told him.
Abro, despite her love for Chazan, wanted to be wed. And so, the king of the sky wed her.
Chazan froze the waters for them to walk on and donned the land white in snow- as did Abro
Ordained as husband and wife by the twin gods, Chazan and Abro were wed- and bore Winter.

The children of Chazan and Abro would be the essence of the seasons who played together-
Spring, the fastest and most beautiful of the siblings, ran ahead of her brothers and sisters-
Summer, the strongest but largest, ran behind Spring, but could not catch up to her however
Autumn came next and often called for Winter, and came to soothe Summer of his blisters
Winter- however, walked and did not run. He carried with him coal, which he marked with.
Soon, he would not run at all. He would sit and wait like Abro, and forget to run like Chazan

This is why the Spring is so well loved, yet feels as if it passes too fast and too quickly at times
And why Summer is so hot, yet most of the work must be done under its heat and weather
And why Autumn brings peace, and in its golden banquet bring good food, harvests, and wine
And why Winter and all its snow, darkness, coldness and blight seems to drag on forever
And yet in Winter, the only well that does not freeze over is the well that draws forth black ink
And so the myth of seasons finds its Author in the hands of the cold. Behold- the Song of Winter
the myth of the seasons, the story of the lady of time and the king of the sky, and the twin goddesses of order and chaos found the Epic of Ioleksa

this is the second part of the first analects of winter
John Wayne Gacy Sep 2010
I drift listlessy through the murky waters and think, not about life
and the menial and trivial diffficulties that we all face. I think not
about the struggles and battles that some fight everyday. It does not
even cross my mind that some must fight to survive in a war against
not just nature but humanity aswell. No! As I slowly float further and
further away from the rivers shore, as does my mind from the problem
of the shore dwellers and towards that which means the most to me. My
possessions? Replaceable. My friends? Expendable. My feelings? Ever-
changing. Everchanging that is aside from one, a feeling of a
connection, a bond, a pure unbridled passionate presence that
overwhelms the senses and turns rationality into a mere subconscious
annoyance, like the nagging feeling that a light has been left on in
the back room.

It's this love feeling, inexplicable, indescribable,
unbelieveable yet here it is, staring me right in the eyes with it's
huge hazel orbs telling me that nothing is important but this one
feeling and that this feeling must be cherished and protected, cuddled
close to the heart and fresh in the mind constantly. It's there when I
sleep, converting my once nightmarish visions of half sleeping
delusions into something much more blissful, with a soothing Voice it
lulls me into that state of sweet inebriation

This feeling cradles me, and reminds me constantly that it is to be
preserved and you know what, when I look at it, into the huge hazel
orbs, the mystifying shapes take hold of a much more feminine human
shape and gains the voice of an angel. And when that feeling takes the
perfect form it speaks to me. She speaks to me and I don't have to ask
what to call her.

I can already feel the perfect name. I call her emma
and she means to me, more than the plight of the world, more to me
than the shades of my nightmares. More to me than anything else. And
she's my one and only.
copyright JWG 2011

Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.
Gigi Tiji Jan 2015
waiting weightless
waitless
1/18/15
8:43am

' hand rest chest
thumpthump
thump ''

' that heartbeat is a
metronome of waxing and waning
rhythmic tides and it's an '
everchanging time signature
to my overture overture and '
hand off and unsettle and '
thrown into uncontrolled rubato~ ''

' fizzy brain
spinnin dizzy
spinnin circles
spiral spiral ''

' life over my shoulder
strapped to my back and
I'm flowing like a river
down the elevator ''

' opening down
the seam and out ''
I step and roll heel toe
heel toe '
eyes flick side and side
glass door push open and
box and glass door push open and
push open push open and
open... ''

' cold streets are
the downbeat to sleet '' — '

it's frozen roads going backwards
and I'm going backwards with all my lackwords ''

...slushroadslick. '

I'm returning and leaving
like a medicine wheel spinning
and there's a dead grackle soaking
next to the curb slippery
with toxic runoff... '

...crystal water
melting '

my shoes slide from left
to left and I've up and left and
I'm climbing down the
right side of a staircase
and it's a case and it's a way
that stairway

and that last step
is 9:13am last step flat
and platform dead and
sleepy benches waiting for
the listless waiting
for the waitless ''

' waiting , waiting ''
I hop on and hide... '

the silence is sacred ''
the eyes are averted
and it's one of the
thousand different silences '
it's one of the rumbling ones
but then it's broken and
it's broken by an angry one '
and we're all alone in a railcar
with seven others, we're all alone
and she breaks it, ' she breaks it by
spilling angry nothings into the phone
that she pushes tightly to her skull '
and she grips it and she breaks it and '
and she breaks it and '
I hop off and run...

and once again I'm a
thousand different faces waiting '
but right now we're two
watching watching the
hopping sparrow ' and
it is so alive with it's
warm fluffy feathers
soaked with life ''
'

and everyone is shuffle shuffle pacing ''
' but every body stands still with eyes saccading...
sweep sweep, '

stay where you are,
in your lateness ''
and your action
is in your inaction
weightless... '

waiting to
hop on
Porcelainwings Nov 2014
She
When he holds me,
I feel secure
A constant in this everchanging world
That allows me to exist –
But when she holds me,
My spirit flies high,
And she gives me all the inspiration
I need to be –

And when he kisses me,
I feel  unity and tender love,
But when she kisses me,
The caterpillars in my body
Break free and form something beautiful,
something new.

And when he’s gone,
I miss the constancy of being loved
Rather than I miss him,
But when she’s gone
I miss all the overwhelming feelings we shared
More than I miss her.

And when we make love,
He makes me experience
A great lust with a great desire
But when she makes love to me-
My imagination is running wild
An exciting fantasy
And  everything in this world
Seems to be designed only for us.

*I’m drunk on her while he tries to cure me
Nocturnal images explode
and implode as a fixated
date to date
prevalent
survey
of
my
adopted
deep slumber
The conscious

incongruent
purgatory
of a limbo
realm
calling
, lucrative,
The Subtle and The Sublime end
The everchanging Translucent
Glass, Chalice Filled
With Water
A Non
Firey
Borghes
Steppen             steps
Upon vibrant villa's grass
Soulful children let out
Finally—To play
In the Garden

For Grey-green eyes
Young maiden gathers
Pens and pencils to
Leave traces in Time
To draw a route where Thou
Travel
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic love
Joanna Oz Sep 2014
There is a calm center within me;
It flows from deep rivers of breath,
Spiraling up and out in every direction.

There is a calm center within me;
Grounding me with sturdy roots,
Soaking up the sweet soul beneath
My rocky hard surface
Through twisting tunnels, tumble torrents.

There is a calm center within me;
Laying soft and still under rushing currents,
Reflecting patience, serenity, consistency
To my mistaken misplaced preconceived perceptions,
Oh they appear to be everchanging,
While the truth is they're stuck going round and round and round
Over the same cyclical trap, making me dizzy.

There is a calm center within me;
It is my mountaintop of mercy,
Where my mind meditates and marvels
At the we of conscious connection,
Spreading from me, reaching out to other frequencies
Emanating from peaks which surround me,
Where the dichotomous
You-Me, ******, Us-They;
Melt into a spectrum of WE --
And oh, I am just beginning to see.

There is a calm center within me;
There is a calm center;
There is calm.....

There is a calm center within me,
Let it flow out.
glassea Nov 2015
25
why do we speak to the moon?

we turn our secrets to
dark, shadowed, everchanging,
pulling the ocean's moods.

but then again -
i can't imagine telling this
to the sun.
Blissful Nobody May 2022
I have a tail from the past,
Some wings to the future,
A strong stomach for now,
My beauty is Chimerical,
I have changed and evolved,
Into an unworldly being,
Understood by none,
Misunderstood often,
I have lived on.

With memories of the past,
Oblivious smiles at the future ,
Curiously treading now,
I leave my footprints ,
Only to be erased,
So a different me ,
Shall walk the path again.
My nature is chimerical ,
Everchanging and Evolving.

“Give me a name?
So stereotypical of you!”
My being is an enigma,
An untamed beast ,
Expansive till I shall consume,
The infinite possibilities,
An identity is limiting,
For what I was ,
What I’ll be ,
And what I am.
In this limitless form,
Chimerical I have become.
Strong, limitless and powerful
Dansy Thomas Sep 2014
I’ve always loved the rain. Maybe because I found comfort in the way it clouded up my fears and worries and made the world seem so much smaller. I felt more at home amidst the misty downpour than I ever did in blinding sunlight. Rainy days seemed to match my mood so much better than most things and the sky has always has been something I can rely on. It’s everchanging qualities remind me that change is possible and often even necessary
Tuesday Pixie Oct 2011
I will write a story.
But it is not for you.
And nor is it for me,
but for the tide that goes in and out,
everchanging,
gaining and losing,
winning,
yet never reaching an end,
a ******, a finale,
spending its eternity just moving against the sand till its belly is rubbed raw,
but no pearls will be formed from this graize,
no beauty found in its torture,
only pain and sorrow and lost souls
and a mournful wind that sweeps and stirs the sea into a fit of emotion,
into a writhing curling mass which is lost to all and which all is lost to,
but nevermind, for we are on the land.

And so the sea is left,
forgotten by us,
as we live,
and thrive and jump and play,
left to its own ruin,
its own regretful demise,
maybe one day it will rise from the sand that rubs it bare,
in a wave of foam and fury,
to revenge upon us who turned our backs,
left it in neglect,
in disgust,
as we ran about in our wealth,
our bellies clean of wounds
hardly rubbed by sand,
who could have offered shelter from the winds fury,
or comfort from the abrasive grit,
and deliver unto the oceans wound
a pearl of comfort
so that it may enjoy the peace and health
which we take for granted

but then
what reason for us
of two legs
to interfere in such ruin
of a thing so different and seperate to our own
so far from us
and complete in its seperation
that we may forget
and by such slip of mind
enjoy our comforts
unperturbed
uncaring
for any suffering
or demise
other than our own.
so far it is, so far
and we would much rather stay in here
warm next to our open fire
than shift  to the rough stormy sea.
they will have to save themselves
it is not our cross to bear

But then perhaps I was mistaken.
It seems we are no longer on the land.
But emersed too in the ocean,
seemingly as endless as the pain with which it binds us
they are not so far or different as they seem
This story i tell, it is for you and me both,
but mostly for the tide, the pull, the current, the sea which has dragged us down,
and been dragged down by us
through our own lack of care and
our neglect,
is dragging us and together we sink,
drowning in our foolishness,
they are not so far from us
nor so different

We waited for them to be saved
as they drowned
if only we had stopped waiting,
waiting for the sun to rise,
to turn their water into air,
a mighty pearl to free them from the wrath of the waves
the wind which traps them in dispair
and now, in turn, us
we starve
stripped of our wealth
yearning to be back
by our fire
warm and safe
in ignorance
of their reality
and suffering,
Surely if we could go back, it would be different,
we would lend some wealth, our hand of glory
gift upon them a pearl
so they may not be so troubled
and we hear, as a whisper ripped from some time long ago,
on a far distant shore, in the haze of the sun;
*Nevermind, for we are on the land.
I am the sky: everchanging and temperamental
With the sun, I make a
Happy Picture
of clear thinking and endless opportunity.
When the sun leaves:
I am Dark;
a cover for violence and abuse.
But some part
of me
is always
RED.
Through rain, or wind, or sunlight,
the RED
of the sunset
runs through.
You might have already guessed, but just in case: this is a poem I wrote about *******, and the mood swings that come with it. I know, not exactly cheery. :')

— The End —