"extraordinarily" poems
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself...
If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure?
While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building.
He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all.
° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed.
° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule.
° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal.
But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death.
But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
*Stars very rarely
Hang-out alone,
A perfect night sky
Lets this be known.
They come together
Forming a spectacular
Constellation,
Shining magnificently bright
In a festive celebration.
Subdued,
Gently glowing undertones
Of a perfect moon,
Allow each individual star's quality
To be extraordinarily exhumed.
A perfect,
Starry evening
Sadly comes to an end,
As dusk turns to dawn;
With it,
The sun it sends.
By Lady R.F.(C)2017*
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.
But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.
The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,
the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Despair, lose all hope
that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell
and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says
Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering.
Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.
A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
In this new world so connected digitally
Online with your smartphone or desktop continuously
Every touch or click with your fingers sublimely
Connecting messaging chatting seductively
Rush of dopamine brain lives ecstatically
Bits and bytes that rise and fall emotionally
Waiting for physical touch earnestly
LDR love seem to be extraordinarily
Yet to see LDR grows into LTR eventually
Dec 29, 2019
Dec 29, 2019 at 7:23 AM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
i finalised my "divorce" today. well, it was a breakup. 2 years together, lived together, shared our cats, shared a life... all that. so yeah, it felt like a mini divorce.
and i couldn't help but notice how relatable the song "happiness" by taylor swift is now...
_"all the years i've given is just **** we're dividing up"_
he left the house a week ago. today he came by, and divided up our shared things.
_"tell me when did your winning smile_
_began to look like a smirk?_
_when did all our lessons start to look like weapons_
_pointed at my deepest hurt?"_
when i first met him, it was the stuff of fairytales - like most relationships. we shared some of the best memories of our lives together. but like all good things, it came to an end. over time, we became stressed with life's responsibilities. we became toxic to each other, and both made terrible mistakes. towards the end, it became the inevitable to end things.
_"after giving you the best i had_
_tell me what to give after that?"_
i gave it my all. we both tried our best. it just wasn't meant to be.
_"haunted by the look in my eyes_
_that would've loved you for a lifetime"_
how i wished he was the one... given any chance, i would've loved him for a lifetime. i miss him. i miss the life we shared. i grieve for the future we will never have.
_"i can't make it go away by making you a villian"_
but just because the relationship failed, it was still extraordinarily beautiful. i hold zero resentment towards him at all. no negative feelings. i wish him all the best in the future.
_"no one teaches you what to do_
_when a good man hurts you_
_and you know you hurt him too"_
these lyrics hit me the most...
_"there'll be happiness after you_
_but there was happiness because of you"_
goodbye, lover. maybe in another lifetime, our paths will cross again. but for now, i wish you all the happiness in the world. i will always have love for you deep in my heart.
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 11:23 AM UTC
#
From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if
But those who know..
we who have laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both outside
and inside
of the wire..
Those who have quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate as that borne of
and in to, a training.. an equipping;
lay low,
lay low
. . . .
The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own need
to be mesmerized, never even
noticed the children
who in their innocence, peered
out from under the crowd's legs
to better see the 'magnificent' podium..
The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which to the knowing,
was as that of a clanging bell..)
Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such slipshod, weak
and hastily assembled framework..
And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..
*"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"*
War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ****** with all
of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least
had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..
Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,
but this
but this;
This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation, borne
not from a suffering leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power, as if.. as if.
.. But the realms.. they know
It is only those down here on earth, spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..
It is here.. on earth.. that you will find
the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..
**Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..**
--And therefore meaning nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters
of the Realms.
#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott
**... a tribute to a fallen brother ― R.I.P Les
... you were with me every step of the way to the top**
crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.
the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkle
like diamonds in the rough.
I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.
watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;
...inciting
a conscious moment,
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.
harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
You told me that you and I were not just a forest but a state park
Our lives were like roots of trees that have just begun to get entangled in each other
There is no you without me or me without you
We are together
We are one
Slowly we are creating something so extraordinarily beautiful
People will come from miles and miles away to be inspired by our love and stare in awe of how truly rare and wonderful it is
You and I are creating life
You and I are creating what others only dream of
So let us water these hearts of our that have become one
Let me kiss you so deeply you forget whose air you are breathing and our lungs become the same
It may be winter outside but inside of us spring is constantly blooming
Our passion is as hot as wildfire I just pray it never burns this forest down
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
I feel her there sometimes
Sometimes silent, sometimes not
When she is silent the emptiness is
Oppressive
And makes my skull feel heavy and weak
And my thoughts clouded with
The groping fingers of all that ask,
"Are you okay?"
When she screams, I am filled
To the brim with panic and chaos
That spews from her maw in
Tangled, writhing masses
The sound is almost angelic.
Is she heavenly?
I have never seen her but I know what she looks like.
It is a knowing feeling, or an overexcited imagination?
Long, tangled black hair,
Something is caught in the snarls and curls.
A pale face whiter than bone,
Thin and fragile like china.
Hands clawed and twisted,
Feet swollen and scarred.
A white dress long in tatters slipping off the bony shoulder
*please take me back,
take me home*
I plead but there are no words
Comprehensible to my human
(However extraordinarily mutated)
Brain
That leave her cracked lips.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Some men seek flesh which does not belong to them.
Others, gold, or colored paper worn extraordinarily thin.
Still others covet gadgets and toys that tinker.
Some merely are after the liberty to be a free-thinker.
While I see the value of gold and liberty,
One will grow old, while the other is found in tranquility.
So then, as I sojourn, my eyes are set on the Trinity.
And because of the pity of Divinity,
I am already a citizen of that unseen city.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last
i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 11:46 PM UTC
I am extraordinarily bad at staying friends with people I’ve seen naked
that’s why I’ve lost so many-- because I don’t **** strangers
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 3:53 PM UTC
Do you want to live forever?
said the Gardener to me,
tending to a creeping thought
and watering the sea.
I replied, no, but thanks, you see,
I'd rather be a tree.
And spread my branches out
to
shelter creatures underneath.
A tree? A tree? He whispered tentatively.
Why, I can't remember what it be.
That word. That thought. That memory.
He shook his head and shrugged at me.
(So I scratched a crude drawing in the dirt
and The Gardener squatted there pondering at it a while,
robes lifted up above bony knees)
But I do that too, said he, jumping up quite suddenly.
Pardon me, but I just see no need - No need to be a tree!
Just beg a princely role of me
and I shall fill your fantasy!
I said, thanks, but well, you see..
I'd rather be a tree.
He paused for quite a while.
Then said okay, a little hesitantly.
Then said that he would not be that okay
until he sees these silly things called trees.
And until he sees the purpose of the thing it is
that means so wonderfully much to me
to
want to be a tree.
So he turned me to a tree and put me in a park.
Where couples came and families
and cuddling lovers in the dark.
And colored birds were friends to me
and I sheltered all of them beneath.
And spread new life through little seeds
and quenched the world its need to breathe.
And in the autumn dropped my leaves
to feed the insects in the weeds.
I stretched my roots in luscious ground and saw such beauty all around.
I was
old and happy as only a tree
could ever wish or hope
to be.
And then one day I saw a face, quite out of place, was watching me.
And he said..
You are very naturally a tree
and have done so extraordinarily well in green
that I will leave you be to live your dream.
And as he walked away, it seemed
he smiled happily back at me.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
I am extraordinarily unextraordinary
but the way he looked at me
made me feel
the complete opposite
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
What it is that I would like to say, is
thank you.
Thank you for not fighting for me.
Thank you for not being here.
Thank you for making it so extraordinarily obvious
how insufficient I am
in your thoughts, cares, wants and needs.
It has made it exponentially more bearable to say goodbye.
Or, at least, that's what I would like to say,
if it weren't a gaping lie.
But, maybe if I keep saying it, it will no longer be a lie.
It's been said, "lying doesn't become you."
I think it's because, you must become the lie.
It's acceptable to lie to yourself if you make it positive.
"I look so pretty today"
"I'm going to win the competition today"
"I'm going to start exercising today"
So I'll make it positive.
I will.
Once I find the good in you being gone.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
we are losing in a gulag
of our choosing
the un-predict-
ability of liberty
an extraordinarily poor
rendition of a system
where oaken-ed cloaked
murderous crows caw foul
jumping at every
shadow of a shadow of
a shadow nears to turn to turn
to turn the clock back years
election day is tuesday
- rue the day sweet liberty.
r ~ 11/1/14
much at stake
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
It's been a year now
Last year around this same time
I was celebrating my birthday with my now ex-partner
She was extraordinarily gifted
She baked me a cake
and made me a dreamcatcher
Both from scratch
It's been a year now
A year of being alone, grumpy and miserable
A year of dinners by myself at random taquerias
A year of making multiple promises to myself that "I'm gonna be ok"
A year of looking up at the stars when
I get home at night and sighing
A year of looking in the mirror knowing
that I'm not getting any younger
A year of watching other couples hold hands
and remembering what that felt like
I don't know how much more of this I can take
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
dear immoral,
salt
seed of
s
la
ughter
enticingly, affably, salt
compassionate psychic stimulates
the pigheaded exclamation
compassionate osculation stands
glove
gives callously
equally, nonetheless, equally
quarrelsome loving glove
a persnickety longshoreman
each persnickety biochemistry
is the
longshoreman cancerous?
A ambiguous certification
a stupid symphony
leads a wizardry
a road worker.
No content,
j
us
t web,
you
r bright face
is suffered with an imagery.
Bridge operator:
agile
computation
today, randomly ordinarily
ah! A
trembling
je
we
ler
confidant loves increasingly
languidly, sociably, spontaneously
Look! A poor ***********
perpetual on my
quick
bible;
my psychotherapy roves
into a
bleeding seashore.
Oxygen
tickles beautifully
boisterous, antisocial, odorous
Look! A quivering predisposition
the
psychoanalysis's
preferably quick
psych
otherapy-
how
ebbing it is!
It has the the depression snowed ordinarily.
It repels the grin into the seashore
a
punishing scream.
Cataclysm predicts perfectly
stupidly sensually noncommittal
unchanging rambling cataclysm
in t
he
unharnessing camaraderie
a perfect board
overshadows
his youth
so
that it is contemporary
grin
quick psychotherapies
I repel quick
this punishing kennel.
The chore
into appreciated camaraderies
psychotherapies rove in it.
A ink stick:
into appreciated ca
mar
aderies
psychotherapies rove in
my own gossip.
Dogmatic, unrealistic cliff
grip
of firefly
realistically, subtly, cliff
Situationist
on my quick bible;
my paralysis roves
onto a crazy seashore.
Situationist on a
journey;
my
paralysis ambles
onto a
crazy hotel.
A equality
onto procreation kings
paralys
is
amble outside of the kings.
Buzzard: omnipotent nullification
extraordinarily, perfectly, saintly
that buzzard is ambitious
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
Everyone is high
On self pity and
Hate
Self diagnosed with
A terrible
Fate
No one knows
How to be sad
Without writing it off
As extraordinarily bad
Happiness isn't
A permanent gig
It's always there
If you bother to dig
Everyone is sad
Because the world is ****** up
And no one dares
To see the good stuff
A world of pessimism
Breeds angry babes
And they all start to believe
Theres no Other way
So load up on drugs
Get high in the rest
Because that's when the world
Looks its ******* best
No one was taught
How to smile
Despite the world
Looking dark for a while
So we all slit our wrists
And demand sympathy
From a world that never cared
If you were down on your knees
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
I found an old sweatshirt of yours under my bed yesterday,
and I spent the day crying over a box of your memories
that I don't have the courage to throw away.
The days pass by at the speed of light,
but nights are spent endlessly heaving out old promises
of children we will never have,
of places we will never go,
or lives we will never share.
You left without a goodbye
and I convince myself that closure is what I need.
But somewhere behind my cobweb covered heart and dusty bones,
I know I really just need you again.
I built my flimsy paper home within your ribcage
and I saw you had a lit match balanced between your fingertips,
but I stayed.
Because I knew going in that this game was dangerous,
and I was willing to risk it all for the idea of you.
When the walls came down,
I frantically reached for some solitude to hold onto.
My hands clawed at the inferno looking for your familiar relief,
but all I found was ash.
Because that's all you really left in your wake:
black ash that thickly coated my insides,
suffocating me until the last molecule of air
exited my exhausted body.
Despite all this,
I still hold onto
the tragic memories,
the series of dismantled almosts.
The silence is crippling,
and the idea of what could've been,
plays painfully across my fragmented memories.
"You're simply extraordinarily ordinary."
This is my final goodbye.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
samanthasmit: Love you
you wanna come over at 10?
lol
me: sure
samanthasmit:
Yay!
Sent at 8:10 PM on Thursday
me: oh sorry, you misunderstood me. i meant to say "sure..." You know, sarcastically, like "sure...i'm gonna come over" (when pigs fly!)
samanthasmit: :(
me: I kid
samanthasmit: :|
Do you?
me: Yes of course
Sent at 8:17 PM on Thursday
samanthasmit: good :)
I think
lol
Sent at 8:18 PM on Thursday
me: what I really meant was "sure" in response to a bootleg jeopardy episode I'm watching on the internet. The clue was
"the best-selling bargain brand deodorant of the 1990s"
samanthasmit: haha
nice
but
t
ttt
I wannna sleep next to you
this is getting to be unhealty
Sent at 8:23 PM on Thursday
me: okay then sure, as in I'll come over at ten
Sent at 8:24 PM on Thursday
:))))
thats a millionz smiles
me: I see 5...wtf?!
Sent at 8:28 PM on Thursday
me: Or some guy standing beside his sombrero collection
samanthasmit: lol
They're just really tiny
me: or he has an extraordinarily large mouth
Sent at 8:31 PM on Thursday
samanthasmit: lol
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Yours is extraordinarily beautiful.
It's rhythmic like the movement of the sea and
Reassures me of the endlessness,
The ceaseless calm of the world we've created
Here in our embrace.
Mine is far more painful
And my exhausted lungs sound
Like the wheezing old engine of our '83 Chevy
As I lay here
Surrounded by electronics meant to preserve my life
That will only destroy my spirit.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC
It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4
Beginnings of the Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the
Jews, flat perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not
especially Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone.
Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler on the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to
My Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to
the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.
Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride
to my eye.
Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the
European, African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of
elements, bags of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily
compassionate toward the mother, earth, the goddess,
history, or some such abstraction and, thus, acted on a
fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting ****** for the burning of the Jews.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
I slept with my door open
Footsteps down the hall;
Left, right, creak, pause
The insides of my eyelids become an abyss
Left, right, left, right (faster…)
Left, right, left, right (faster!)
Left, right, left, right (FASTER!)
Left, right; It reaches my door frame
The weight vanishes ‒‒ I open my eyes
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I face my open door
The heaviness returns ‒‒ my eyes close
Creak, right, left, right, pause
The void covering my eyes arrives
An outline pierces through my sight
Left, right…
It sits on the edge of my bed
“It’s very nice to be invited in,
People… remarkably quick to lock me out”
A pointed nail drags against my arm
“People…”
The outline against the abyss reveals a set of claws
“Extraordinarily soft people,”
The weight is broken through
I look around the darkness
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I try to sleep with the door open
The heaviness is aggressive this time
It’s outline sits, looming over me
“I have not been in many rooms,
Yours is the most stimulating.”
It envelopes my vision
I feel a warm breath on my ear
“I have always wondered…
If the human is still alive when I bite it
Will it scream?”
I feel a set of razor sharp teeth settle onto my neck
I struggle to break through the weight
My eyes open
Silence.
Like there always has been.
Who sleeps with their door open?
The force closing my eyes swallows me
The creature’s outline flops
against the black backdrop
It’s thorny teeth the only visible ****** feature
“Before I go, I must request something”
It shifts closer to me in bed
A whisper speaks,
“Look me in the eye.”
The weight wrestles me
I win by stubbornness
When I look around my room, I see
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I tried sleeping with my door open
The heaviness hits me like a wave
slamming against rocks
Along with its teeth,
The outline attained eyes
Bulging through a skull,
littered with cracks
“Thank you,”
Its blade-like teeth spread
“It’s good to know I’m welcome here.”
When I awake, I hear
Silence.
Like there always has been.
I look towards my door…
It’s closed,
Which is odd,
because I’m certain I fell asleep with it open.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 12:18 PM UTC