Greenish hills and alice blue skies
whimsical faeries wander along the timberlands
play hide and seek around pine groves
brimming the atmosphere with liquid of blithe.

a pair of cerulean eyes glitter under a lucid sun,
and reflected a thousand rainbows.
the feet you danced, headed forth to the ethereal grounds.
in those fleecy palms held a bouquet of fresh peonies.
as the wind huffs and grins, the fruit trees leafs begin to compose
as if in an orchestra house.
around my body flew a rabble of butterflies, your psyche is surreal.

"You came back"
I grasp to his muscular limbs, to fracture and to feel with seraphic love.

By the night the archaic moon hangs, all my dreamless night pulverized.
gory scenarios in my brain surrendered for an escape.

My heart pumps, my collarbones shrieks,
on our old bed, up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out....
"ah." the hue of a merry-go-round.


As the summer reborn, the reality seizes..
                    our love is immortal without a fullstop

-l.r

Even if I sleep forever my soul still gonna be so tired I'm sorry I just wanna be whole again the grasp of your fingers kissing hard my skin leaving marks everywhere I can hear your heart beating through the broken ribs and I swear nothing more peaceful than the death of this feeling and his friends set me free from loneliness I wanna be the reason you smile and sleep at night not awake at 3am and dreaming of evil who took the light in your eyes that keep the darkest secrets full of lies and hatred I am sorry I wish I can make you happy

Zeus was the king of gods,
The god of sky and weather,
Law, order and fate.
A regal man,
                      Mature,
Sturdy figure,
                      Dark beard..
Royal sceptre,
                      Eagle..
O, how can I ever forget his passion for his Lightning Bolt,
No one dare touch?
Then again,
                                                                ­                                              I seek..
the power of lightning.
the cackle of thunder.
the massive electrostatic discharge.
                                                      ­    AWAKENS MY SENSES
For years I have longed..
For your beloved bolt
But when I accepted that it could not be mine
And shall stand faithfully by your side..
M Y W A N D E R I N G S ended..fullstop
Another bolt greeted me...
No intention had I of embracing a new love...
For your bolt has been sown to my heart..
Sealed forever..
Inaccesible...
The keys are lost in my crimson pool of despair..
No one shall ever find it.
You have ruined the recesses of my heart.
                                                          ­                                                       But, let me tell you something.
the key was unearthed.
found by true love.
brought a sparkle in my eyes
a glimmer in my sunshine
a power arose that beat                                                   *the daylight out of..
dark and daunting thoughts.
I beamed that 1000-watt smile once again.
Thank you Mr. Lighting Bolt of Hello Poetry
For when you turn yellow, the electrons in me sizzle..Feel the spark, Zeus?

My words are merely insects
Chewing at the pulp
                look at the last one

It's ******* the fu.llstop

Fingers touch
eyes dilating

he moves closer.

One last kiss
long but sweet.

I move away
with memories.

I want to write for you
But the words they flee me
And as I keep writing, keep forcing it,
it only gets worse and worse

If only you knew
how many of these 'poems' of mine,
mere bits of language mashed forcefully together,
are resting in my draft box,
resting there for ever,
barely never to be revisited again

And yet I don't stop
sitting here when I should long since
be fast asleep
Because I fear that I'm leaving you here
with all of these unexpressed, never said sound-things
I fear I dread I worry I am afraid
When I should be embracing you

Some days I go from top speed to a dead halt in the same amount of time it takes to unlock a door or flip a light switch.

And when I'm standing still, it's hard not to feel like everything around me is crashing down and shattering. And it's loud. It's in my face. Etched onto my skin. Burned into my memory.

But somehow, I'm still here. After the thundering collision and the screeching of tires. I'm still here. In the middle of the crossroads. Still breathing. Still standing. Still here.

Because there are a few strings keeping me from crumbling. And here and there an iron rod that will not let me fall. Small truths and sentiments that shout louder and whisper sweeter than any of my thoughts ever could:

"someone cares" "you matter to me"

"don't walk alone" "careful" "would you like a hand?" "how was your day?" "you're smart too" "I like your face"

It brings me back. Back to that crossroads: my past behind me. A vast future ahead. Calling, beckoning the same way you do with that smile on your lips, your hand outstretched. And even in my clumsy fingers I will grasp it.

And follow.

From 0 to 5, to 10. To 20. To 30. To 40.

Slowly propelled forward yet again, out of the darkness my mind pulls up and around my shoulders like a shroud. Out of the ******* currents that pull me down. Out of the shadows where my bones grow cold.

Into the light and glow of countless stars. Each perfect, each warm. Each far away and watching from their perch upon your shoulders, your arms, your cheeks. Each inviting in the way a warm bed calls on rainy days.

Let me follow. Let me fall. Let me sink into your embrace and tell you how afraid I was today. Let me bare my soul, and make me strong. So that one day. If you should hear the collision and smell the smoke, I will be there to lift you out of the wreckage and hold you to my chest. The way you do now.

That one day I won't need saving from myself. But love fearlessly instead.

Being a writer
Is not a part-time job,
Like being a nurse
Or a teacher:
Where clocking in
And out
Is as simple
As lifting and putting down
A pen.

No,
Writers have words
Flowing though their veins;
Poignant thoughts and emotions
Shape and reshape themselves
Into poems in the writer's mind
Almost by instinct.

But
Do not be fooled:
The writer's world
Is no paradise:
Thoughts tug at our brains
In the middle of the night,
Like a child pulling
At its mother's coat
Beckoning us to the page
Where finally we free the thoughts
That have been held captive.

And finally with sleepy,
Satisfied eyes,
We place the final fullstop
On our latest masterpiece
.

Here come the Irishmen,kilted up and celted out,
about to to take the mic away and throw a smack into your mouth,
think they're ready lads?(nah I don't think so man)

No-one really wants a ****** sleeper hold from Sandman,
that's a pity cos your ****** rhymes are out of time,
cutting your umbilical-severing your lifeline,
save the fairytales skitz is reading grimms books,
looked into your future it was two words "you're ******"!
so **** the atmosphere,biosphere,feel the fear,
Grim Reaper in your sleep,lullabyes in your ear
like an earwig earworm but positive,
even though half the time the time things say are negative,
never mind blood type,rip the bag drink it off,
A Celt vampire,not sparkly with me shirt off
If I get me shirt off I'm Skyclad painted blue,
howlin'cross the battlefield to stick an axe in you!

A haon, a do. The only way to go is
a belt of the Celt and we're here to let ya know.
Me word is me bond and me eyes don't lie.
And I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night.

A haon, a do. The only way to go is
a belt of the Celt and we're here to let ya know.
Speak truths clearly,me head held high.
And I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night

See your guts drop,fullstop flip flop
just like 99% of all new Hip Hop,
what a mockery,you **** your pants in fear a me,
you're all the epitome of me me me me me!,
did me best to to help you out back in the day,
you spat it in me face so now I love your blood spray,
all brats,all backstabbers,not Celts,
if I take me belt off,the buckle leaves a welt,
across your facebones,skull+bones smashed bones,
are all's left if you step into the thunderdome,
to take a one on one,**** it bring your mates too
dental records-only way to ID you,
ICU will be your last place last breath,
you're literally starin' in the face of grim death
cause all your hatred is fuel for the fire-man,
its just like Thor shooting lightning bolts at Ironman.

A haon, a do. The only way to go is
a belt of the Celt and we're here to let ya know.
Me word is me bond and me eyes don't lie.
And I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night.

A haon, a do. The only way to go is
a belt of the Celt and we're here to let ya know.
Speak truths clearly,me head held high.
And I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night

You're so illiterate,words are illegitimate,
the Old ***** ******* Skitz still spits raw ****,
try try cry,cause you'll never reach the top,
best sounds like you're throwing alphabet spaghetti up,
*******,philosophy-horrorcore-got em all,
the length and the breadth of my mind is immeasurable,
so while you're miserable,wishing for some company,
I'm x'ing off the names on the list of who's dissin' me,
keep ******' me off if you want to,
I don't need a glock to blow a hole right through you,
use my skill set hackin' you old school,
modem in my left hand,right holds a power tool,
run,run,fool 'fore I let the dogs loose,
hip hop strangle hold,Sandman with a noose,
take a lesson in,kid you got your cards dealt,
whipcrack,smack!-you got a belt of the Celt.

*A haon, a do. The only way to go is
a belt of the Celt and we're here to let ya know.
Me word is me bond and me eyes don't lie.
And I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night.

A haon, a do. The only way to go is
a belt of the Celt and we're here to let ya know.
Speak truths clearly,me head held high.
And I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night.
Yes I've danced with the Seidh in the dead of the night...

symbols, some just say zodiac, with Gemini at my lowest ebb - ebb, funny word, unravelling nouns from the cauldron of onomatopoeias, say knock on wood precipitated into a privacy of owning a door - whereas the Irish and the Poles encoded dialogue (like in Ulysses) with hyphen for snappy convo; in a pub, Charlie and Harry spoke:
- pint's on me.
- aye, on you the one and no more.
- why not more on me?
- i won the lottery, i'm goonah buy half of Cork.
- so who's this Yorrick fella'h?
- apparently a resurrected maxim.
- travesty...
- indee- doodley oh.
which beckons the question why the un-imaginative encoding of sounds gave English narrators too much power... the supposed ditto / invert comma wasn't expression of approx., nuanced, why wasn't the interpretation that of nuance? we can all use the unit Sartre chose to nuance, instead of "ego" the ref. point of conduct ~ego, i.e. approximately me, living with my mother but nonetheless womanising... unimaginative narrator, speeding, never gave his characters a chance, "i went to the market today", he said; that's the narrator masquerading - call this a dubbing mechanism? i would... like i'd hope for the centimetres and miles and nanometres of pause differentiating a comma from a hyphen, a hyphen from a colon, a colon from a semi-colon... and a semi-colon from a fullstop (exampled a germanic word with missing hyphen not authorised by the Oxbridge dictionary of couture, disassembling a navy sweater and toad-green jeans)... i mean, **** me, give me the precision tactics to read without invoking an αsθmαtιc imitation of a sailor's last breath; are those dots above i and j really necessary? it just rained down y y y y y y y y y y on top of them, enzyme activity? yep, ιoτα; otherwise just inert *******; and no, it's not a language these days, English has been reduced to pixel graffiti.

well... mandrakes and sparrows
aren't exactly androgynous...
maybe a mascara advert went missing
along the way... maybe.
here the piano... here the broken
fingers of Liszt... you poker me,
it's worth the gamble...
well ontologically *sprechen what
the hell is a natural appropriation
of waiting for water to boil,
or an egg to be poached in shell
for a runny yoke? me neither,
i'm as dumb as a doughnut concerning
such affairs... i said there's no androgynous
behavioural patterns in sparrow and mandrakes,
you choose you adaptability whenever you
choose to stress a chequered flag...
parasitically i'll march with telescope
ants and flies of what alienation did
to the food-chain - yeah, aliens with an
enlargement syndrome -
bathtub of hydrochloric acid -
i just imagine the newly beloved painting
unseen, a squid cleaving fat and muscles
off a skeleton in the same light
as seeing a ******* - artist or pervert?
i guess both go hand-in-hand;
the hyphen, equal parallel usage with the inverted
coma / well... it used to be known as a ditto
                                                           ­            "
                                                               ­        "
                                                               ­        "
but mind you, before Oxford accepts a german
sounding word compound it requires a hyphen
in english - pistachio shells and shrapnel -
yep, as the above - unravelling of fictive tactics
of the bothersome nature for the narrator not only
loßing the plot but also the characters;
hey, english is perfect, i can apply whatever stresses
of φoνo i want... it's stark naked Adam & Eve...
i can put a ballerina's leotard on this encoding,
and no one will truly mind.

Words in rows with
Fullstop beat,
Iambic heart and
Couplet feet
Pursued my pen with
Stately rage--
They chased it straight across the page!

Now their quarry's quit and done
They slouch off sulking, one by one.
The brave remain, by choice or chance:
Words in rows to turn and dance.

My case is cracked
You've ruined me
You are the only one
With whom I want to be

Our song was short
Our words were poetry
I don't want to dance alone
Who will dance with me?

Our story isn't done
The fullstop isn't writ
Till our hair's grey and long
I am sure of it

There's to much to explore
Too much to be seen
And even if we're far
Will you still dance with me?

Our files are downloaded
There's nothing to unpack
We've come this far my dear
No way we can go back

So many things entwined
Such complexities
I'll keep it simple darling
Will you still dance with me?

Will you still dance with me?
Will you still dance with me?

It matters not your intent nor will for a molehill is a mountain in the hiding.
To rise suddenly by a millimeter or two.
Surprises.

All is written some profess.

The pages rustle freely in the Autum breezes to rest and suggest with majesty.

But the story is amorphous.
Till final chapter and fullstop.

Who else finds a pause an irritating absence of speech?
like  every single Fullstop. is an area that is to far away to reach?
that every single absence of sound is a wall so high its impenatrable to breach
dependable scenarios are ones which are riddled with noise
chaotic and invaluable noise
because without noise and sound,
songs from lips and barks from hounds
our lives are cut too short,
because no longer am i able to retort

When matter is Immiscible
Words cannot be the binding agent

When matter is immiscible
Words can be the cohesive agent

When matter is immiscible
Words add fuel to the fire

When matter is immiscible
Words have the power , wield wise

When matter is immiscible
Words can confuse , less is more

When matter is immiscible
Words can go on endlessly FULLSTOP

Chisel a poem out
for the hell of it
Scratch one out of sandy beach brush
watch the waves attempt
to destroy
you
fullstop.

Feel your lungs explode

Saw you for the last time 2 months ago
in a picture on my wall
and now I know
I will see you no more
pennies, dimes, happy rhymes
a nickle for a copper thought
brew me on home on damnation's
doorstep

You're the end to all
  words to express my love.
              (fullstop)

But do we ever talk,
  with eyes so set on-
        one another?
    (we must see the words)

Do we strongly love the other,
    as the other thinks of-
            themselves?
I often see a chance for more,
          (just add a comma)

You're not one to take my
      breath, or steal my heart,
But how could I not exclaim-
    at my ears hearing your voice!
  (setting myself as an exclamation mark)

So I'd only question-
  whether the words and
          expressions,
  Are far too much?
      (I'm open to your suggestions)

I visited a Marriage Bureau,
They showed me photos of three beaus.
The first one was top,
A complete sentence with a fullstop,
A C.E.O, beautiful, intelligent,
successful,
About her,I found nothing exciting or cool,
I said no to her,
And closed the chapter.
The second was nearer the mark,
A complete sentence with a question mark?
She started asking too many questions,
I found her a nag and tension,
So it was thank you, bye, no mention.
The third was a sensation,
A complete sentence with a mark of exclamation!
She made my heart soar to heaven,
Full of surprises, awesome!
She and I ,twosome,
A handsome pair,
For each other deep love and care.
Our love blossomed,
A bud to a flower,wholesome,
Soon to be signed with I do,
Sealed and delivered too.

An open book,
A feathered pen.
An inkwell? No, a vein instead.



A spider crawled across my page:
Just look at all the mess it made!



Words in rows of
Fullstop beat,
Iambic hearts and
Couplet feet
Pursued my pen with stately rage:
They chased it straight across the page!

But now their quarry's quit and done, they
Slouch off sulking, one by one.
The brave remain, by choice or chance:
Words in rows to turn and dance!



*Crumpled words and jumbled wire
Catch askance and ****** afire--
Burst in terse and tumbled flame,
Cursed, my verses burn today.

Burst in terse and tumbled flame,
Verses never heard again
Return their words, inert and tame.
Cursed, my verses burn today.

"Physically" flawless,
makes people be so shameless.
Mentally madness,
because love is the craziest.
Through the sky and the moon,
There are so many beautiful things,
Some of it I couldn't understand,
and some of it not even "shine".

When the night cover the blue sky,
Billions of stars are "blooming",
Billions of thoughts are coming,
And makes me thinking,

"Wish i could count all the stars and all my scars".

Its just at the end of the day,
Let's just put a fullstop for the day cause tomorrow is waiting,
Till the eyes close,
May all the thoughts be my "lullaby".

I just cannot engage my self anywhere else other than you!!
I want you all day long .. while day along.!!
Crossing my mind. . making me blind..
I still can't stop.. & can't approve this statement a fullstop..
You find your self .. beneath me, & from bottom to top..
Better stop coming all the time.. on my Mind!!
Time long.. while time along.
Just U who's always in me and all along.

chasing his tail
to the point of dizziness
before running the race track
defined only in his head

streaking past in a doppler like blur
all scrabble and drift on the hallway turn
ending with a clumping thumping fullstop
into his bed/sack/bed....and then two blinks
and asleep,  limp like a ragdoll.

this is the nightly ritual

My words have vanished
So I called the CIA
Who took my fingerprints
And my photo!
I said all this
Because my words
Have vanished!
Maybe I just cannot
Be bothered to write anymore
Maybe my words
Have finally ceased
Into a fullstop
Maybe just maybe
I'm off to sunny Spain
Where the sun may inspire me
Instead of falling leaves
Or cold chilly days
I want to wear my flipflops
And sit in my garden
And watch butterflies flutter
Under the warm sun
I want to see my washing
Swaying gently on washing line
Making shadows dance
On patio
Bringing them to life!
I want to see my swimming pool
Glisten like shooting stars
Traveling along the sweet
Surface of soft waters
O I miss the summer
And it's beauty today
Today I feel old
All of my forty nines years
My eyes are droopy tired
And my body is weak
But I do love the magnolia walls
And pretty photos!
And even the ceiling shades
Look like see-through flowers
Laced in specks of silvery moon
And the radiators
Are comfy warm
Cheering up my inspiration
To go and make myself
A nice warm cup of coffee
And maybe a few nice biscuits  x

Please let me open my heart
Sharing my feelings through my art
I look at you whenever you pass by me
With a small hope that you will smile at me
It okay to me that you don't like me
But it hurts that you don't even want to see me
I dont know if you ever listen to my feelings
Without you my life has no meanings
I stop my activities when you appear
Your ignorance make my confidence disapear
I don't know with whom I will cry
Make plans to have moments with you n try
I live with people still feel alone without you
Even in your absence I always feel you
Me wants to put comma after every feelings
your boyfriend act as fullstop against my healings
I am happy to see you smiling with your love
Still I love you as am you one sided lover
I wish if I could say you that I love you
May be your boyfriend loves you more than I do

At level best; degress, it's a little more stress
Swallowed my words into an opinionated self digest
Throwing out my heart, throwing pride off my chest
I'm about to throw up—ugh I'm so depressed

My usual visual suicide; thoughts about dying young
I could never afford the cost, from the tears of my mom
And the fears of my dad thinking he never did enough
Searching deep in my insides, for the guts to commit
to that first cut. My fingers ticking from anxiety;
at random times of a pendulum clock
Swinging, and swinging, in deep thoughts swimming
And I wasn't that holy type; not as much as my mom
—unless you consider the holes in my socks
Social degenerate; a little too generous: careless giving
Seasoned professional of a winter heart, with a homely
fire place of love

But let me check my mental state,
Territory of all my made up states,
Stating an expression of his face; or so he said
So many questions on my mental state:

How is your mental state,
             "oh not so great"

Thinking about suicide today,
 "yeah; it's basically everyday"

Do you trust yourself around a knife,
  "a sharp pen makes me think twice"

Did their joking words hurt you again,
    "always; especially my close friends"

Is it all green emeralds, or a pink diamond life,
         "just the envy, and blushing over suicide"

Had you cut yourself at least once before,
"close I got, was scraping myself with a
                                bathroom stone"

Yeah that's not right...

But the words cut me to explain this pain,
I have a ****** tongue; stuck at just another fullstop
Round the corner of a fool's stop; perhaps on the run
Heading nowhere, from places I never knew I'd come
—to these terms of agreement; writing realistically
of feeling fearless. Might of misjudged my feelings

Drinking over until the night is over,
Alcohol bravery to say things I can never say being sober
At home going all out with friends; woke up naked in my bed
Couldn't remember a thing, still it feels good to pretend.
Prayed a hot sweat; couldn't asked for forgiveness out of breath
Not as good as having ***—I wouldn't know how, trying to explain
those kind of past events. Still it feels good to pretend

Lord don't save me from myself,
Save those around me, from dealing with another
version of myself. My secret multiple personality traits
                                  ...Jesus; forgive my mental state

THE NOT-DEATH OF THE AUTHOR

It was the day
of my funeral.

And already I
was late.

"Com'on! Com'on!"
I told myself

eager not to miss
my own wake.

I still had an ounce or two
of living yet

and the onus was on me
to use it up.

There was still that
unfinished poem to finish.

But I couldn't
for the life of me

bring it about so that
I could be properly  dead.

"Com'on! Com'on!"
I begged the words.

But they weren't having
any of it.

I tinkered with
a syllable or two

but the words were
adamant...stayed schtum.

They pointed out that
they belonged to

a living poem
and if they were so to speak

to fall into place
at my behest

they would be actining
posthumously.

But they hadn't banked on]
the wiles of a dead man.

Didn't realise I had been
writing it all down.

And that their reluctance
to obey me

would do
very nicely thank you,

They felt they had been
betrayed...tricked.

And they refused
to attend my funeral.

Alas for me
I hadn't fullstop'd the poem

and am now obliged
to return in ghostly form

to do so
but all to no avail

as putting  a living full stop
is an impossible thing

for a ghost 
to do.

I can still hear
the words laughing.

THE NOT-DEATH OF THE AUTHOR

day
of my funeral
already I was late

"Com'on!
Com'on!"
I told myself

eager
not to miss
my own wake

still
had an ounce or two
of living yet

and the onus
was on me
to use it up

still that
unfinished
poem to finish

but I couldn't
for the life of me
bring it about so that

I could be
properly  
dead

"Com'on!
Com'on!"
I begged the words

but
they weren't having
any of it

I tinkered with
a syllable or two
but the words were

adamant
stayed shtum
as anything

they pointed out that
they belonged to
a living poem

and if they were so to speak
to fall into place
at my behest

they would be
acting
posthumously

but they hadn't banked on
the wiles
of a dead man

didn't realise
I had been
writing it all down

and that their reluctance
to obey me would do
very nicely thank you

they felt they had been
betrayed...tricked
refused to attend my funeral.

alas for me
I hadn't fullstop'd
the poem

and am now obliged
to return in ghostly form
to do so

but all to no avail
as putting  a living full stop
is an impossible thing

for a ghost to do
I can still hear
the words laughing