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"expansive" poems
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of you are great light borrowers. Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected, And your first gift is making stone out of everything. I wake to a mausoleum; you are here, Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes, Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous, And dying to say something unanswerable. The moon, too, abuses her subjects, But in the daytime she is ridiculous. Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity, White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide. No day is safe from news of you, Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
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53.9k
The Rival
The distant park Was a graveyard of dead stars. Each streetlight a system of worlds, So many lives between each mote of light, Indistinguishable in their unique love, Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age. Drunk laughter behind transparent Double doors. Another hotel balcony, Another cloud behind the canopy Of marijuana eyes To unsettle me from the crowd. She points out, when you look closely You can see the disorder Amongst all constellations Of life and love and litter; Of discarded Coke cans And temporary highs. She says this is not a scene To imbue the ****** of a present mind, More to baulk at the incompletion Of one thousand to-do lists; A million reasons why You should just stay inside. She says you can see the human swell Of ignorance, our city lights Blotting out the stars In a black ocean of broken politic And irretrievable fault lines- Divisions between us all. Lives twisted with professional smiles And eyes lit with stunning indifference. Still, I have felt charity and warmth On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists. I have read the love of life In faces of those who gave up. I have recounted countless artists Who saw beauty In moments that precisely lacked it. I have spent too many nights In anaesthesia, Fleeing each instance of feeling And terror; all the tremors That tell me I am still alive. Continued to stare at the lights Long after her voice And the laughter inside had gone. Heard waves in the traffic. A world so large, so expansive, It can never truly sleep. Every broken heart, Every war-torn land, Every promotion, Every one-night stand. I wonder what would happen If we all stood still. If we all took one moment To observe the motion That unfolds beneath Our static windowsill. If we all took one moment To recover our loss. The wars that we won, The feelings, forgot. The hell we retain; Our paradise, lost.
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Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Windowsill
The distant park Was a graveyard of dead stars. Each streetlight a system of worlds, So many lives between each mote of light, Indistinguishable in their unique love, Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age. Drunk laughter behind transparent Double doors. Another hotel balcony, Another cloud behind the canopy Of marijuana eyes To unsettle me from the crowd. She points out, when you look closely You can see the disorder Amongst all constellations Of life and love and litter; Of discarded Coke cans And temporary highs. She says this is not a scene To imbue the ****** of a present mind, More to baulk at the incompletion Of one thousand to-do lists; A million reasons why You should just stay inside. She says you can see the human swell Of ignorance, our city lights Blotting out the stars In a black ocean of broken politic And irretrievable fault lines- Divisions between us all. Lives twisted with professional smiles And eyes lit with stunning indifference. Still, I have felt charity and warmth On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists. I have read the love of life In faces of those who gave up. I have recounted countless artists Who saw beauty In moments that precisely lacked it. I have spent too many nights In anaesthesia, Fleeing each instance of feeling And terror; all the tremors That tell me I am still alive. Continued to stare at the lights Long after her voice And the laughter inside had gone. Heard waves in the traffic. A world so large, so expansive, It can never truly sleep. Every broken heart, Every war-torn land, Every promotion, Every one-night stand. I wonder what would happen If we all stood still. If we all took one moment To observe the motion That unfolds beneath Our static windowsill. If we all took one moment To recover our loss. The wars that we won, The feelings, forgot. The hell we retain; Our paradise, lost.
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65
look at me i'm growing & blooming my mind is expansive encompassing the light the dark converting them to energy to fuel my dreams through a process called "Photosynthesis"
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Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 4:11 PM UTC
Photosynthesis
• will you take me into your space...•cradle me upon       the sultry limbs      of your        nebulous grace•the expansive arms of the universe, where            peaceful slumber awaits•your poetry    laden comets, bore      abundant love, all towed     in freights• gingerly drinking in the depth of your face•seemingly blindfolded, i'll tread each dark  crater•my head in a swirl        of your  majestic         trace• where        I would stumble         upon V              a love ever so...             V /     |    |   || \ (                              ) (   INTERSTELLAR   ) (                                    )
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Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Interstellar
Stuck at this game, In what seemed like forever. Stuck at a stage where... Experience points don't matter. A game set in an expansive universe, Rife with problems that arise to haunt. You can't pass and can't concede defeat. Troubles' only function is to mock and taunt. I've chafed my thumbs raw... Manipulating the knobs on my controller. My mind is a mess... In search of a happily ever after. Puzzled by puzzles, There are no cheat codes... Can't blast my way through, There are no god modes... Neither are there any hints, Nor is there a walkthrough... I'm just running in perpetual circles, In this game of me and you.
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Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
The Game
how it descends parachuting an expansive heart, soft whose arrows are... to get drenched is our choice, not the sky's victory or defeat; bliss... a bridge betwixt ether, earth, of a peacock's throat, dripping song...
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May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC
soft whose arrows are
Persephone runs amok, her hair caught on tendrils of wind, eyes lucid as emeralds; aware, alive. Hope is sketched on her face as if drawn by whoever paints the sunset, pulsating with the reflection of neon cities, rolling countryside, the adrenaline-pumping moment before a rollercoaster’s descent. She is high on happiness, running across her plane of existence with only her converse sneakers and extraordinary ambitions. Persephone knows she owes her unbridled youthfulness to Demeter. Demeter, who is stern but unconditionally loving, selfless, for when she hears her daughter’s plea for food she stops her spoon midway through a bite. When Persephone struggles with the perpetual torture of arithmetics, Demeter’s sheer intelligence is astonishing, the iridescent reflection of Persephone’s aspirations, for a problem to Demeter is merely a hidden solution, a failure only a victory in waiting. If only Demeter knew how her words are of the highest value, her pleased smile the only affirmation to a job well done. Her love cradled in the nook of Persephone memories, every moment she is infinitely grateful to co-exist, grateful for the Universe to award her the simple pleasure of loving her parent with purity and stripped of conditions. As Persephone runs, she glances back for a mere second, in her smile is the mirror of her naivety, she still believes that her Gods will save her from being a slave to the inevitable corruption on Earth and Olympus, for she is sure her untarnishable love for Demeter is her protector. Yet, you know how the story goes. In an instant, Persephone is falling into the Underworld, on the back of a beautiful monster into inescapable darkness. But even then, she holds on to Demeter in thought and in prayer. After adulthood, marriage, queenship, a childhood gone in a flash, after her hands become worn with calluses, her face a series of rivers, her mind expansive, her goals reached, Persephone knows she owes her unbridled youthfulness to the first person she ever loved. I love you Dad, Happy Father’s Day.
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Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
Gods and Monsters - for Dad
Persephone runs amok, her hair caught on tendrils of wind, eyes lucid as emeralds; aware, alive. Hope is sketched on her face as if drawn by whoever paints the sunset, pulsating with the reflection of neon cities, rolling countryside, the adrenaline-pumping moment before a rollercoaster’s descent. She is high on happiness, running across her plane of existence with only her converse sneakers and extraordinary ambitions. Persephone knows she owes her unbridled youthfulness to Demeter. Demeter, who is stern but unconditionally loving, selfless, for when she hears her daughter’s plea for food she stops her spoon midway through a bite. When Persephone struggles with the perpetual torture of arithmetics, Demeter’s sheer intelligence is astonishing, the iridescent reflection of Persephone’s aspirations, for a problem to Demeter is merely a hidden solution, a failure only a victory in waiting. If only Demeter knew how her words are of the highest value, her pleased smile the only affirmation to a job well done. Her love cradled in the nook of Persephone memories, every moment she is infinitely grateful to co-exist, grateful for the Universe to award her the simple pleasure of loving her parent with purity and stripped of conditions. As Persephone runs, she glances back for a mere second, in her smile is the mirror of her naivety, she still believes that her Gods will save her from being a slave to the inevitable corruption on Earth and Olympus, for she is sure her untarnishable love for Demeter is her protector. Yet, you know how the story goes. In an instant, Persephone is falling into the Underworld, on the back of a beautiful monster into inescapable darkness. But even then, she holds on to Demeter in thought and in prayer. After adulthood, marriage, queenship, a childhood gone in a flash, after her hands become worn with calluses, her face a series of rivers, her mind expansive, her goals reached, Persephone knows she owes her unbridled youthfulness to the first person she ever loved. I love you Dad, Happy Father’s Day.
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33
You are the town and we are the clock. We are the guardians of the gate in the rock. The Two. On your left and on your right In the day and in the night, We are watching you. Wiser not to ask just what has occurred To them who disobeyed our word; To those We were the whirlpool, we were the reef, We were the formal nightmare, grief And the unlucky rose. Climb up the crane, learn the sailor's words When the ships from the islands laden with birds Come in. Tell your stories of fishing and other men's wives: The expansive moments of constricted lives In the lighted inn. But do not imagine we do not know Nor that what you hide with such care won't show At a glance. Nothing is done, nothing is said, But don't make the mistake of believing us dead: I shouldn't dance. We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall. We've been watching you over the garden wall For hours. The sky is darkening like a stain, Something is going to fall like rain And it won't be flowers. When the green field comes off like a lid Revealing what was much better hid: Unpleasant. And look, behind you without a sound The woods have come up and are standing round In deadly crescent. The bolt is sliding in its groove, Outside the window is the black removers' van. And now with sudden swift emergence Come the woman in dark glasses and humpbacked surgeons And the scissors man. This might happen any day So be careful what you say Or do. Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock, Trim the garden, wind the clock, Remember the Two.
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6.7k
The Two
You are the town and we are the clock. We are the guardians of the gate in the rock. The Two. On your left and on your right In the day and in the night, We are watching you. Wiser not to ask just what has occurred To them who disobeyed our word; To those We were the whirlpool, we were the reef, We were the formal nightmare, grief And the unlucky rose. Climb up the crane, learn the sailor's words When the ships from the islands laden with birds Come in. Tell your stories of fishing and other men's wives: The expansive moments of constricted lives In the lighted inn. But do not imagine we do not know Nor that what you hide with such care won't show At a glance. Nothing is done, nothing is said, But don't make the mistake of believing us dead: I shouldn't dance. We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall. We've been watching you over the garden wall For hours. The sky is darkening like a stain, Something is going to fall like rain And it won't be flowers. When the green field comes off like a lid Revealing what was much better hid: Unpleasant. And look, behind you without a sound The woods have come up and are standing round In deadly crescent. The bolt is sliding in its groove, Outside the window is the black removers' van. And now with sudden swift emergence Come the woman in dark glasses and humpbacked surgeons And the scissors man. This might happen any day So be careful what you say Or do. Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock, Trim the garden, wind the clock, Remember the Two.
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47
My body burns to rove far from man-made buildings, prisons for the modern soul. I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole from those who made it their home. I've been down to the Everglades of Florida. Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of Washington where fog descended on the shoreline and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs. I must experience America's coast to coast beauty. Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the sun, thinking of all the places untouched. My list of desires grows as the glaciers of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks. Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies. Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges. from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at the tops of time-layered sandstone towers. Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand dunes whisper my name with every hot breath. The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam. California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all. I ache to explore the terrain that bears my name, the country I call home.
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Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
Ansel Adams
My body burns to rove far from man-made buildings, prisons for the modern soul. I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole from those who made it their home. I've been down to the Everglades of Florida. Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of Washington where fog descended on the shoreline and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs. I must experience America's coast to coast beauty. Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the sun, thinking of all the places untouched. My list of desires grows as the glaciers of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks. Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies. Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges. from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at the tops of time-layered sandstone towers. Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand dunes whisper my name with every hot breath. The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam. California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all. I ache to explore the terrain that bears my name, the country I call home.
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32
I sat down to draw a picture of you. It grew so expansive, so beautifully, colossal; I fell in love all over again.
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Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
Illustration
I hate your stupid face Those squinty eyes, them closed lips Your expression so emotionless Flat and stagnant is what it drips Those masculine eyebrows, your expansive hair That skin void of blemishes and scars Complexion of espresso dancing with milk Leaving the beholder seeing stars Empty of smiles and feelings Your visage the definition of dry I go seeking for some semblance of life Through your dark mysterious eyes So I hate your stupid face For it is the one that leaves me breathless Casting the root on my heart Rendering me into a state of restless
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Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
Stupid Face
the dark limb splits the moon from the expansive, pitch-black sky. at a distance, we paint it as a glowing, surface level circle that we place our wishes onto. we never listen to it in return, so the limb fiercely protects the whispers of the moon.
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Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 10:17 PM UTC
whispers of the moon.
to-day I sat in a slim line chair in which I was made aware of the size of my posterior's pear it drooped over the sides of the seat and it didn't look orderly or neat a not so subtle message my buns have relayed to me they've said that they are a little too hefty I'm making a belated New Years resolution which is to seek an answer to my tails expansive evolution being unable to place my posterior in a chair is truly a most wretched affair
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
Wretched Affair
Within the Eternal Sea of Light Stands the Tree of Life Of seven branches, seven roots Each a mated pair Crowned in white Light My Spirit rests Along the shore. Where the flowers sing their songs Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before. Tazim, Tsum All flowers sing their songs. Oscillating Undertones and overtones A rainbow of petals in "Om" Sounding Multitudes of Love. Elohim, Jah-Jah! Yahweh Hashem! Creator Father Mother The First Trinity Now, in Unity Stands. I give you my raging canyons Wind torn spirit, haggard body Broken heart & soul. Stepping into courage Hand in hand. Lengthening inhalation Slowing it's release   Breath of Life! Moving into the expansive Show me the Light. Sweet mercy! I am weightless In the green fields and rolling valleys Tumbling among the rocks into still waters Ashes of past pain Afloat in silence. All is white within Light's embrace Traveling 90 degrees to the right Flow into the Sacred Heart. Within the Holy of Holies Is a rainbow Where thousands upon thousands of colors Each root within the seven Stands the Tree of Life Of Seven branches, seven roots Each a mated pair Along the shore Where the flowers sing their songs Listening to a symphony I have not heard before. Within the Eternal Sea of Light Crowned in white Light My Spirit rests In Harmony's rhythm In Unity Divine. I am In Unity Divine. Enfolded in Harmony's rhythm My Spirit rests Crowned in white Light. Within the Eternal Sea of Light Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before. Where the flowers singing their songs Along the shore. Each a mated pair. Of seven branches, seven roots Stands the Tree of Life Where thousands upon thousands of colors Is a rainbow Within the Holy of Holies. Flow into the Sacred Heart Traveling  90 degrees to the right within Light's embrace All is White. Afloat in silence. Ashes of past pain Tumbling among the rocks into still waters. In the green fields and rolling valleys I am weightless. Sweet mercy! Show me the Light. Moving into the expansive Breath of Life! Slowing it's release   Lengthening inhalation Hand in hand. Stepping into courage Broken heart & soul. Wind torn spirit, haggard body I give to you my raging canyons Now, in Unity Stands The First Trinity Father Mother Creator! Yahweh Hashem! Elohim, Jah-Jah! Sounding Multitudes of Love. A rainbow of petals in "Om" Undertones and overtones Oscillating All flowers sing their songs. Tazim, Tsum Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before. Where the flowers singing their songs Along the shore. My Spirit rests Crowned in white Light. Each mated pair. Seven branches, seven roots Stands the Tree of Life Within the  Eternal Sea of Light
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Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 8:42 PM UTC
Ascension
Within the Eternal Sea of Light Stands the Tree of Life Of seven branches, seven roots Each a mated pair Crowned in white Light My Spirit rests Along the shore. Where the flowers sing their songs Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before. Tazim, Tsum All flowers sing their songs. Oscillating Undertones and overtones A rainbow of petals in "Om" Sounding Multitudes of Love. Elohim, Jah-Jah! Yahweh Hashem! Creator Father Mother The First Trinity Now, in Unity Stands. I give you my raging canyons Wind torn spirit, haggard body Broken heart & soul. Stepping into courage Hand in hand. Lengthening inhalation Slowing it's release   Breath of Life! Moving into the expansive Show me the Light. Sweet mercy! I am weightless In the green fields and rolling valleys Tumbling among the rocks into still waters Ashes of past pain Afloat in silence. All is white within Light's embrace Traveling 90 degrees to the right Flow into the Sacred Heart. Within the Holy of Holies Is a rainbow Where thousands upon thousands of colors Each root within the seven Stands the Tree of Life Of Seven branches, seven roots Each a mated pair Along the shore Where the flowers sing their songs Listening to a symphony I have not heard before. Within the Eternal Sea of Light Crowned in white Light My Spirit rests In Harmony's rhythm In Unity Divine. I am In Unity Divine. Enfolded in Harmony's rhythm My Spirit rests Crowned in white Light. Within the Eternal Sea of Light Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before. Where the flowers singing their songs Along the shore. Each a mated pair. Of seven branches, seven roots Stands the Tree of Life Where thousands upon thousands of colors Is a rainbow Within the Holy of Holies. Flow into the Sacred Heart Traveling  90 degrees to the right within Light's embrace All is White. Afloat in silence. Ashes of past pain Tumbling among the rocks into still waters. In the green fields and rolling valleys I am weightless. Sweet mercy! Show me the Light. Moving into the expansive Breath of Life! Slowing it's release   Lengthening inhalation Hand in hand. Stepping into courage Broken heart & soul. Wind torn spirit, haggard body I give to you my raging canyons Now, in Unity Stands The First Trinity Father Mother Creator! Yahweh Hashem! Elohim, Jah-Jah! Sounding Multitudes of Love. A rainbow of petals in "Om" Undertones and overtones Oscillating All flowers sing their songs. Tazim, Tsum Listening to a Symphony I have not heard before. Where the flowers singing their songs Along the shore. My Spirit rests Crowned in white Light. Each mated pair. Seven branches, seven roots Stands the Tree of Life Within the  Eternal Sea of Light
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112
Softly and steadily we munch A roller motion action As we gently pass over Living in a contented silence Randomly we each call Hollow pipes we are played By the holy organist As life plays its tune Understood be very few As we submit to the herd And spiral around a oneness Mooing and mooing With a great gusto We send out O's circles spiraling Softly blowing bubbles With an oily shine We are carried forward In these bulbs of light Air filled with vibration Caressing and holding Our community with An invisible film As we all feel this Light headed embrace And the golden ring of community Is placed on our finger We say "YES YES YES " For we love her very much   Living free of hierarchy As everyone is equal Servant and master Divorced from the conflicting Ties of politics We are as level and free as The planes from which we graze Living a freedom faraway from Rank and power And enjoy the vast out stretching Places where our hearts unburdened By mountains unfold into unlimited spaces Collapsing within each breath We spread our Love with the ease Of melting butter in the African sun Far and wide In the mating season We may bumble around Like bumper cars As you can not underestimate The force of each individual As we bang and bang our way   Through life until opportunity knocks Until life says yes As our our stubbornness Is not just the perfect No But the perfect Yes to And mothers reward our newborns With her loving milk The perfect colostrum A silky bliss In the expansive community Of wildebeest and cattle Where endless love Can spread like water We can learn so very much
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Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
THE WILDEBEEST COMMUNITY
Softly and steadily we munch A roller motion action As we gently pass over Living in a contented silence Randomly we each call Hollow pipes we are played By the holy organist As life plays its tune Understood be very few As we submit to the herd And spiral around a oneness Mooing and mooing With a great gusto We send out O's circles spiraling Softly blowing bubbles With an oily shine We are carried forward In these bulbs of light Air filled with vibration Caressing and holding Our community with An invisible film As we all feel this Light headed embrace And the golden ring of community Is placed on our finger We say "YES YES YES " For we love her very much   Living free of hierarchy As everyone is equal Servant and master Divorced from the conflicting Ties of politics We are as level and free as The planes from which we graze Living a freedom faraway from Rank and power And enjoy the vast out stretching Places where our hearts unburdened By mountains unfold into unlimited spaces Collapsing within each breath We spread our Love with the ease Of melting butter in the African sun Far and wide In the mating season We may bumble around Like bumper cars As you can not underestimate The force of each individual As we bang and bang our way   Through life until opportunity knocks Until life says yes As our our stubbornness Is not just the perfect No But the perfect Yes to And mothers reward our newborns With her loving milk The perfect colostrum A silky bliss In the expansive community Of wildebeest and cattle Where endless love Can spread like water We can learn so very much
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65
Composed of the opposition, I am too afraid of the meanings within the reasoning and extremities of polar ends. Ex. steadfast vs. capricious sincere vs. contrived sadism vs. masochism expansive vs. nonexistent (circle one) Frankly, between my want to know every      cloud-breaking peak and sunless crevice of my animal, me,         on this circular search for a emotional enlightenment,            I am exhausted, from the in-between.
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Gemini
The Universe is our Kamasutra constellations, red tailed comets brilliant devas, divine horsemen prance through the galactic playground everywhere and in everything our eyes behold a starry courtship Romance impregnates the very air we breathe billowy breezes caress our bodies and the sun does not hesitate to shower us with burning kisses mysterious lady of the coven night cools the passions of the day with dreamy moonlight and soft melody Innocent, pristine we experience, explore and enjoy the sacred foreplay blooming in the garden of our chakras So vastly turned on feeling high expansive all inclusive How can we contain the bliss that courses through every particle and atom towards its ultimate collective consummation Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati locked forever in the throes of Love “Spirit and Nature dancing together”
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Gift of the Gods
Curiousity killed the cat, What of it? I am not a cat and neither am I curious, I think. I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest. Lately I crave being craved, Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work, Lately I’m waking up moody, Lately I’m grateful. Lately I need more sleep, Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be, Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury. I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge. Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons. Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up, And up, And up, And down so far below. Though it’s not down that I will go. It it through. And richly on the other side I will emerge. But for now that is not my concern. Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive. Quite Grand Indeed.
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Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
I am not a Cat
Staring into a bowl, filled with fruited o's I contemplate the cosmos The world, my place in it. And come to the conclusion that it will move on Prosper or not prosper based on determined and undetermined factors And even this bowl of cereal is a factor to that means Soon I grow tired of this expansive thought And decide what the hell Its only cereal....
0
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Cereal
Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan. Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country. Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts. The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.” Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited. We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond. According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
0
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Patricia Michaels' Line in NYC Sept 10 for Style Fashion Week
Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan. Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country. Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts. The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.” Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited. We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond. According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
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7
Isn't this strange? Two strangers touching strangers skin Your fingers glide over my expansive flesh Raising goosebumps where they left Doesn't this feel good? You say, Two strangers touching strangers skin Yes it does, I whisper As we try to wrap our bodies closer You cling to me Two strangers touching strangers skin We breathe together, gazes locked I love yous should be on our lips But we only just met Two strangers touching strangers skin Perhaps we simulate the stranger, The one we wish we were really with Your skin is a glow in warm yellow light Two strangers touching strangers skin Careful of the romantics of your body in candlight After all, we were strangers at the beginning of the night.
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Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Strangers Skin
before, questions lingered in the air. weary eyed nights were spent stuffing yourself into a small box for someone who only took you on long, winding, painful paths where the ends were shrouded by looming trees and bushes. now, the air is blissfully clear. someone smiles when you stretch. they walk right alongside you. there may be darkness along the way, but they will hold your hand through it. the end of this path is straight ahead - bright, expansive, and fruitful.
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Jan 12, 2022
Jan 12, 2022 at 12:58 AM UTC
then vs. now.