Picked up a little spark
out the corner of my shut eyelid.

Such a weird emission in this charcoal dark.
It began a faint glow.
Slightly brighter than the black
above, beside and below.
Then the glow became a hum
of violet and gradually grew
into a blue.

That color, so serene,
became a green  and its vibrations
were quite intense. Just like in the earth
out of the green, with a little help from it's blue fellow,
sprouted a most glorious shade of yellow!

I became intoxicated by this colorful spectrum,
drinking deeply of each color as if on some
florescent binge. When I had my my fill of this bouquet
out sprouted the orange and red.

They all danced in a kaleidoscopic
shuffle, shifting about like lovers
in a masquerade ball.
They would collide and waltz
twirl about each other with excellent grace
and then, in search of their original partner,
separate. Once the couples were reunited,
they took flight from my eyelids and slowly
but surely, in a most marvelous display,
everything returned to black as the colors faded away.

I always knew about the ocean's calling, deep in my heart. It keeps me wandering to find what I yearn for — could it testify the animosity of being insatiable?

I wait on the shore like a lighthouse guiding your way back to me, as if I hold faith in it, like it is a perseverance that grew in my chest. I am certain to the florescence of my flowers and to its withering as I know the  durations of its life and death is when I could meet you again. And though, the inconstant desolateness of the ocean continues to wait.

For they complement moments of
happiness, affection, grief, praise,
in ceramic vases
as a simple centerpiece
in order to add beauty to a setting.

They seem to appear most beautiful
when tucked between the curve of your ear
or framing a crown on your head
in equated colors.

Beauty coordinating beauty
is quite breathtaking.
It is difficult to decipher
which ornament makes the other appear more alluring.

The sight of you
with hued florets laid neatly on your hair was
blooming. Florescence in clusters-
I have lost my train of thought
as each feature
leaves me at awe.

I usually fall asleep with the light on
Because in the morning it seems like the darkness never came
My body is a perpetual light switch
Always swept up in a rapid shift from darkness to florescence
Giving someone like me mania after long spells of depression
Is like giving an alcoholic a shot of whiskey
I need it to feel like I am worth something
I need it to feel like I can get anything done
Why did God, whoever the hell they are,
Decide I needed the super power
Of dragging myself out of the pit of my bed
Only to be blindsided with some sort of dangerous drug
See, most of the time I only reach an abridged version of that mania
But when it peaks it is just that:
Dangerous
It is my favorite brand of tequila
And the last drag of a cigarette
The one where the backlog from the filter gets lost in your throat
But it keeps you buzzed for a while
You see, mania sends you spinning
A trip only a certain kind of acid can take you on
You are constantly carnival
With lights and sound and fire
That no one can calm down
You are never quite at home in your body
Which might be why others can make it theirs so easily
Most days you binge on ***** and **** and ***
Are manic days
Manic depression is like losing control of the car
And other days, forgetting how to drive
Mania is like ****
You don't need to sleep when it's got you
Mania after depression is an abusive lover who knew you were coming home
Knew you would be back for more
It was only a matter of time
Before you collapsed into their arms

Just, thought I, to escape a while,
Mundane light in the desk at home
On these splintered, black-tar roads
Marching, festooned in leaf and in rock
Snapping and scattering from underfoot.
My heavy breaths are this odd meter
In-out, in-out on this pavement slap
The knees are strained, down, the stream
Of rheumy little beads—lines! (I sense
Conception of a rare cadence
In which earth finds its synchrony).

‘Round the walls of rustic homes and will
To this walking gallery of the ‘ville
Ancient oaks, they lift their head and grin
To a sky beyond the storm, what with plumes
Unearthly fronds, dark with salmon painted on
Softened, its oil, burnt carnal black
That loose-end feeling holding it back.

Furrowed brow, I run with now
Sweet winds and pirouette
The dancers go amidst the leaves
Hold Hell high ‘bove white hands
Turned in deference and o,’ Arbor!
Your threshold live and saturnine
Entire eternities unfold now, silk scarf on
Goddess Eve, her halo proud
Gold embraced by Pink and now
She strides in by the choral geese
Flown to sing her godhead to sleep
Her rest had blest pain to leave me now
At those gates loud, effervescent
Shimmering, shimmering
In calm disbelief
And on
And on.

Back at the source, that in-between
Bare **** of the Fasick bridge
Magmatic pallets, on faces two
One shared tear drop, a cosmic breadth.
I saw from there the garden of stone
Lonely tombs in blamy play
Fruits sprung in those past lives.
I shared their rest for moment still
And back it goes, the nameless past
Where they exists as dreams, beside me.

Two sides, met then so diverged
I saw their peace where night emerged
Where pink embraced the dark
Went to rest on low horizons.
The world closed its lips and lids
Its eyes and loving heart
Bathed, it all, in low florescence
And lullaby of cicadas.

She was as elegant as winds shadow.
In other words invisible
Her otter skin eyes pool in oak trees
Every ripple of leaves a whim. 
A tear.
She cries the dripping watercolors of fall
Her boughs dances the florescence of spring
Busy sprinters lick over her presented nuances
Passed by every moment
No one notices the silent hover of self made lush
Anymore.

Eyes, spotless prisms of
Refracting light.
Hands, immovable columns
Of ageless stone.
Soul, a simmering hearth
Of softly beaming heaven.
I make you out to be,
Something so eternal.
I love you yet to be,
Anything less than enthralled.
Your novel florescence
Is never ending intrigue
For a washed out girl
Like me.

Stoicism rules impetuously and as resonating as a thunder clap, self-preservation long fallen through and this cocksure apathy has assured me I’m justified in standing idly by. Time pools around my ankles like melted crayons, each individual tainted to the same docile brown you’ll find reflected meager and muddy in my eyes. My perceptions are skewed, I’ve accepted it. Somewhat idiosyncratic but I’ve learned to love living in and among my restless thoughts and delusions and I might be lost without them after all. I still find myself surprised that people notice I exist but if they stopped could I continue to claim this as an existence? The Chicken or The Egg; I try not to give it too much thought but that’s laughable because despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones I can’t seem to satisfy the florescence permanently burning behind my eyes.

A hard, stifled breath stumbled in
Like those cool summer mornings at the lake
When we'd cannonball into the water
The impact too shocking to the system
To let out a cry or even a whimper
But just to breathe was heaven
So alive in the gold of the sunrise
Cheered on by whistling birds and crickets

Yet now we stand here still as a ghost
Between linoleum and florescence
The impact too shocking to the system
To let out a cry or even a whimper
To hear aloud what we've always known
The cold water of our own lakes
Rippled by toes and flailing arms
In careening leaps from our own dock

Did we ever really choose to fly
Into the green mountain waters there?
We were together then, in a blanket of youth
Within the loosely written
loves of our days and imaginations
Pressing the simple edges of lakes and peaks
With ragged hair and ***** fingernails
We moved on, and on together we went

But now, in scorned breath we go.
Covered in our solitude and dark clouds
Too sheltered and alone
To let out a cry or even a whimper
Our aspirations silenced by just one
Too many falls into places unknown
Not feeling, not seeing
How we were really living.

The sun sets,
For the stars in my eyes to shine,
They'll start singing,
Shimmering with howls,
A mourning song bursting from these florescence and screens,
Hands reaching from my pulse to your heart strings,
But those vibrations will be silenced,
By asphalt, machines, and muted desperation

Passage departs every instant till death
I gratify to hold dear with earth's comeliness-
Oh! My darling red rose florescence's for you!
Is it the ease cadence of one else?
I have an err of passion while I will hit the road-
Oh! God how roses become fade!
Could you conceit?
Oh! God how much credence I grasp from you! !
Benevolence - Amour-Inspiration!
Time and tide hasten so zippy-
Thee devotion should be ended very soon.

@ Musfiq us shaleheen

You are walking through what seems to be a narrow hallway. Bodies stick to the walls, complacent with the space given, bumping shoulders, shaking hands, saying hi, saying goodbye.

You hold your school bag closer to your chest. There is a laptop in there-- pens and notebooks. Things you need. Things you cherish. And as time will not stretch, you make your way to class, do not worry, -- it will quickly pass.

The ceiling lights in the classroom are dull, dying, uninteresting. Bodies file in, breathing heavy, sighing heavy. As the florescence seems to keep you further away, it is dimming you as well, repressing, submitting-- only you cannot tell.

He speaks redundantly. Hands raise high-
do they even know what they are going to say?- you wonder this at every selection. He points to she and he and they. They who are chosen, loud and bold. He says "YES!- You are right ma'am. Let us begin to unfold."

i saw this glow
in the eyes nose

i could smell the throat
       of the light bulbed

             my site froze
as my scratched note

and phosphor coated
         the poems poet

Rose gold and agave tincture drops
laid to rest upon the serpents tongue
until the speakers shake
the tree from which the martyr
falls unto the cloud
that splats on impact

Oh marmalade sweetness!
to what do we owe this
trembling rotten-legged pleasure?


Surface now in overtime
the sirens screeching
at the child across the street
who sinks into the boiling malt

Bring with you the chalice
full of aerial photographs
to drink the spectators thoughts
stuffed within the temporal stone

Remembering to forget
this holy place of presence
draw the mighty bridge we cross
into enveloping florescence

The west is a lonely ritual...

Seeded in florescence,
Quiet but self-aware indifference.

Barely breathing,
Fireworks, gunshots, lightening,
Unrequiting.

Where dawn is bright and out of
place, and beneath it cardboard cutout estates.

Where eyes are fraught with glaring rejection,
And where we only cross paths at highway intersections.

And headlights echo deep wandering beams,
And shine palely into our uncrowded dreams.

Human warmth is replaced by electric heating
And people become cold, cold, cold and fleeting.

A curtain of pre-dawn darkness
hangs down on days opening act
as morning chill eases her
awake like a love song

Thoughts thicken into
slow motion moving landscapes
lost across the gloss of silvery seas,
the surge of them then merging
into a harp of sound

Syllables trickle in and drum
like raindrops, an artesian well of words
that follow her with florescence

Written by Sara Fielder © Apr 2015

Heart of blue florescence
The memory like moths,
Attracts the reminder
Unforeseen the pain
In the way I now sob your name
But there's no one meeting under here
Silence creeps in like the night
Confusion bites like mosquitoes,
Realization is the thump
In the surrounding woods, unseen
The dark consumes fast

The roads here,
*** tongued, black toothed
and pitted, lead somewhere.

I am sure that over the peak of it,
splayed out like toes in dry sand,
tractioned for tide, a florescence,
maybe, maybe down in the abalone towns,
the oyster shot towns - in The Mother of Pearl,
where I met a guy,
a guy named Reason,
slim fingered and wrung
out at last call.

But there it was, he said "if" first:
"nothing really closes,
I just exchange doors for
carpets, throwbacks and
occasional tables - leaf down
and close to the wall."

He said his name was Witness,
but I knew better, I knew better.
This cat was leather on tweed,
a pick-up line on a business card,
call me anytime. He had shacks
for eyes and his temples pulsed
like Patsy Cline.

He said he had a flounder's way of lying,
flat at the bottom of things - loose silted.
If I needed, he said, the skipjacks
split at dawn, but that's rarely the way
for land legs. And he grinned,
wide like a seiner.

They're always there - these ones -
slumped for a schmuck
dipped out for a just a thud away
from home, down the *** tongued
road to Blacktooth,
where the Water and Sand
shutters before The Mother of Pearl,
where the windows flicker like barbacks,
and a girl named Treason ticks...

The screech was unimaginable.
Forget fingernails on chalk,
this was far worse.
We hunkered down
behind concrete slabs
as skëūäįęßás screamed above us
as dïønš scanned with flickering florescence.
I glanced to Diego hoping he’d get it.
Chick-schlick-pa-pa-pa-pow!
He did.

Exhausted, I slid down,
as the spent clip clinged away.
We were safe for another day.

yes the gone sunset was special*
With a setting sunset.
Your breezed florescence stucked me.
Pardon this, but made me more closer .
That closeness ,when heart sounds were at their peak.
When those untold touch , sentenced with sensation.
Those backfoots, taking on a lil sweat with a grabbled waist goes with cuddled fingers . Yes the gone sunset was special.
When the closeness was not measured in numbers , when those eyes were searching for more . Their begins the want of love with the hate of lust .
The night itself don't want to sleep , when the couch itself don't want to rest. Everything with everyone in the room demanded me for more .
When on a simple neck kiss , she showered a heavy breath , on cuddling with hairs you shy on her sweetful lip taste . Yes the gone sunset was special.
the laughed cuddling was just fun ,when the strips just got untidy with a want , with this the sin was flourishing itself to come up to shower.
Yes the sunset was special.
The night was not going to sleep anymore. , The couch was not demanding of the rest . When being off clothes was not a shame, coz the two sins with a blushed darker night was covering the two . The closed room flooded with love, laughs and dreams for each other .
Yes the gone sunset was special

when our bold new era
first stood up
a painted face
on a makeshift stage
and flickered into life
with the rhythmic certainty
of stuttering florescence
we all applauded
enthusiastically
you recall
men of science
were there beside us
and soon our folk memories
of war and plague
scuttled off like rats
to hide inside the taboo
and now the interval bell
compels us back
but we've forgotten
what we're to do

The sun drenched daisy's supple arms
reached out to  morning light
Withered by merit an anointed yet verdant
faded tan native shrub relinquished its span
Reaching beyond clattered whips of tendrils
bespoken of gusts or natures belligerence
An announced starting of birth  florescence biting
the birds of paradise conquered the
gambits eschew reference
Flow sender of kith .. of sprite and
pollen  wings to devour
Amount starved glassy vale of
our star this morning hour