Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There is beneath us the progenitor and we call it “Mother”. Above us is the progenitor and we call it “Net” for it takes us and tosses us into the known and the unknown.

Our home star is not as bright as yours. We prefer your temperate lands when we visit, where the vegetation is lush and green. Those of us who remain inhabit your deserts and open spaces.

We are your brothers and sisters. Our development has been to grow in awareness and the development of our power. You have the potential to develop as we have, but your instincts are of a social group who need dominant members. You develop your material reality and your physical world. Your anchor is fixed and you grip the familiar and reject the unknown. There is a comfortable point where you feel the fullness, that is the anchor. In order to maintain this as a static point you develop belief systems to support it. This is your weakness, you are innocent children.

We grew and developed along another pathway, our anchor is not  rigid. We use Net for our anchor and so are able to change our perceptual reality. We move in ways that you do not understand and in any direction. We draw the fibers of Net around us and jump and fly. You see us only from your anchor point so that you see us change shape, appear and disappear.

Our voices and languages are barely accessible to you. You hear deep sounds and high pitched chirruping and whistling. Very few among you have remnants of language incorporating any of these. Those remaining are as clicks and whistles. We prefer direct communication.

We are masters of illusion. Our survival has depended on it and it is our instinct.
Our power developed so that when we pull around us the fibers of Net we create a shield and throw an illusion before those who depend on vision. It is one of our protections and also our hunting technique. We are hidden from your material probes and instruments of increased sight in this way.

Although we have been close neighbours for aeons, you have hardly seen us, except for the Few. Your interpretations have created problems for you. Your reliance on the anchor is so great that some among you do go to great lengths to maintain it. There are those among you who will silence the Few rather than lose the fixed anchor.

You are infants only, a seeding coming to fruition, and you play with dangerous toys. Your anchor is geocentric. You are in danger as is any youngster who plays with fire. If we showed you ourselves openly your rulers would not be gentle in their curiosity. We have technology and use material tools but we have had less to restrict us. We held back your development as much as we were able to enable you to develop power of the mind and independent thought.

Your grasp of Net is strong but you are rigid and anchored. You have learned to stand up and hold on. Now is the time to let go and walk, let go and run, let go and fly.

Around what you name “body” and believe to be “All” is more that you do not perceive with your restricted vision sense. You are aware of this. If you will learn acceptance and filter less from your senses, you will find the beauty of the universe of energy around you and available. A small perceptual shift would show you how you appear to those of us outside your narrow sphere.

Your body has filaments, which when translated to sight, appear as small moving threads which shine with rainbows. They move and ripple inside an energy body of light. This is your true body. It has abilities and senses that are dormant as you do not access them. They are accessible but as your anchor renders you blind to this you do not use them without intense effort or instinctively in extremity. The filaments are drawn together and pass through the anchor. Depending upon your ability to select filaments of the Net, your habitual plane and reality is selected and determined.
Those among you with abilities in your energy senses you ostracise and even ******. You succumb to misinformation to treat them as fools or freaks. This may be instinctive but it is a control mechanism to perpetuate the anchor and maintain the hive of your artificial society. So due to this, you have even less sense of true reality as it could be to you, by breeding out and suppressing your gifts. We have attempted to rectify this with limited effect in successive seedings.

You may notice that our words to you have reference to sight. Your terminology is geared to vision. You rely on visual information  so much that you have neglected physical senses of taste and smell, hearing, touch and proximity. Compared with our perceptions you are as blind as a mole is compared to to your visual abilities.

Your construction of reality is so anchored that your dangerous inclination to gather around you artifacts gives to you a sense of permanence. You are anchoring yourselves in time, yet to you it is dead because your senses are dead. There is an opportunity for your predators to use this to enforce your perception of, and control you within, your anchor's limitations. In this way, producing written or pictorial and symbolic records in permanent form is beneficial only so far as understanding continues to exist of the conditions under which these records were left. By changing current understanding and language to suit their purposes, your enforcers are able to manipulate your branch of humanity on a large scale.

You seal yourselves into the rejuvenation plane of the Mother progenitor where you feed and breed. It is so pleasurable to you to stay within this cocoon of reality that you fail to open your cast and therefore fail to fly into the spaces of Net outside where your true inheritance lies. The end result of this is greed and unrest. Your greed is paramount to you as you seek ever more pleasurable gratification. You enslave one another, buy and sell time and forget what you are. You are allowing the destruction of your home world. Without the home world you will have no place of rejuvenation, and worse neither will the myriads of others who share this progenitor.

There is a song from each mother progenitor within Net. It is a combined song and made up of the host progenitor together with silent voices of each and every life form. Together from each home world, the inhabitants send out a pulse. This is not a song from one species of a world but rather it is a song from all species, in fact every particle of every organism that lives.

To our developed senses the song of a world is brighter than the star it orbits. They are filaments of Net. The varied forms of life all send out their unique song. Many of us interact, harmonise, visit, commune and combine. You feel isolation only because you fail to harmonise and join your own song.

In your past and present we have felt the song of your world. Those of us belonging are part of that song. It is the song of being from the many. It does not end at the perimeters which you imagine. You have a problem in that, for the majority, you do not join your voices to the song. Mainly it is in dreaming, in childhood and in old age that we hear you.

We attempted to observe and commune and found many of you receptive to us. We have taught to you methods of development and given you gifts and tools. You have kept and preserved some of this knowledge only for a select few. Fears and distrust among others has caused destruction of a great proportion of the gifts that we have given to you. We found many lines of breeding where potential for development was possible. Your greed and your predator class destroyed many of them due to the competitive desire to have power over others.

In past seedings upon your progenitor and in the oldest times of your present incarnation, we have been known well and respected. Acknowledged for our seniority and loved as cousins. You did call us gods to distinguish our abilities. Then what did you do? Your control mechanisms changed the meanings of your language, whole languages were lost in wars over territory. You developed power structures and religions. Powerful rulers accumulated and isolated your shared knowledge.

You reduced your development by selective education in the Way. Territorial disputes and greed over resources divided you. You ceased to listen to the Mother. Instead of harmonious living which you had managed in agreement with each other already, you were divided by hormonal impulses, insecurity, violence and greed. The natural openness of the female within it's central domain became enclosed, imprisoned and the natural desire of the male to outwardly discover and interact was turned inwards until it became a sedentary desire for dominance within the female domain. You lost the harmonics of the song. Your religions underestimate the power of borrowed tools. Your ruling classes made deals that they didn't understand, with predators they didn't recognise, in order to save themselves.

We stood on ground over ground and were called Immortals. We gave you wisdom and were called Kings. We moved and played among you and were called Jinn. We moved among the small folk and were called Faerie. We appeared in light and were called Angels. We wandered in places where you too did once wander and were called Ghosts and Demons. Those who spoke to us and attempted to impart to your hive our knowledge, you raised as prophets or slandered and ridiculed. You stole their words to make them your own words of power, changing them to your own ends or you murdered the messengers because you feared the changes that increased understanding brings.

You incorporated the experiences of your murdered victims into a celebration of your own power structures, twisted and out of synchronisation with the song. There are some among you who are in communion with the Great Spirit of life. We seek to heal your song, your complete home world song for the benefit of the myriad sentient beings who rejuvenate here, including yourselves. We seek to set you free to wander the threads of Net. It is within your reach but not in the ways that you  are taught.

Your world is about to change and you must change with it as you are a small part of it. Holding the threads into your own anchor point will break them. You have reached inertia, entropy. The movement has to come, it is inevitable. Imagine one of your large machines of cogs and wheels and bars. Your insistence upon a rigid anchor is like a bar within the machine that doesn't move. A point of inertia in a moving system will be removed. This has happened over and over among your kind and our kind in many places and worlds. You do not remember when worlds underwent cataclysm, forgetful of trauma you have followed a similar path.

We travel along pathways of energy, both upon worlds and in the Net. Moving bodies follow these paths. We follow comets and small bodies able to move freely within Net. Net permeates your mother progenitor.

Survivors mapped the movements of Net after the slate was wiped clean and you were reseeded. There is a secret that your rulers are aware of and you are not. The secret is that there are no rulers within Net. You all have the freedom and capability to access true harmony of the song. You allow a faction, to call themselves an elite class. You fear this as a hidden power, a predator. It's aim is to amass Time: a power based on material wealth. They take this power easily as they have taken and twisted truth and history. The gifts are shared among you equally and these few know this. Resources are plentiful and yet you succumb to their restrictions. A predator cannot survive without it's prey. We are not your predators although we move among you. Your predator is within and feeds upon your fear.

You are not in the tribes now, you have no shaman, no guide to take you in and out of the gate and this role cannot be allocated to parasitic Blind Time Hoarders. These whip up your passions and lead you into war and destruction to further their material wealth. It leads you away from the song, as these think to enhance their own survival which it may do but never can as they understand it. They seek to steal your dreams and make them their own, they are helpless without you. They care nothing for the song because they are aware of successive seedings.

Net is a dream reality, changing, immeasurable, boundless, filled with infinite possibilities and you are creators. Blind time hoarders drive you by combining the minds and dreams and belief systems of many to focus onto what they themselves desire, in order to bring it to fruition. They employ dream stealers to prevent your development. They believe that their own song can exist independently and they guide you only to anchor yourselves into your own prison.

All is a dream, all is ephemeral, changing, dynamic. There is no death after death, no damnation on any particular plane. Reality is how you construct your song. Your rulers create inertia for you the many and profit for themselves using you as the tools of your own entrapment. There is no death and no damnation, they are constructs of your reality made by material anchor points and you are controlled by fear of the inevitable. It is a statecraft to use belief systems to control perceptions of reality in order to fix the anchor point to a rigid point of convenience. In this way you are farmed, you are a crop in each seeding. Who seeds you? You seed yourselves. Sentient beings are all naturally regenerated by the mechanisms of Net when conditions exist that are compatible, world after world, in each growth cycle of every celestial body. In the regeneration, holding to your rigid anchor point, you seed into your prison after each cataclysm, each breaking of the inertia.

If you would be open to the mechanisms of the place you inhabit with it's creative forces, it's sentience and it's dynamics you will learn to fly the progenitor Net's pathways and return home for rejuvenation to your progenitor Mother of the tribes.
I wrote this a few years ago. It's a bit long
Thia Jones Apr 2014
This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact

Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug

Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset

Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless

Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch

I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust

And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans

Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly

Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone

As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood

Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning

Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose

******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context

Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all

Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014
Umi Mar 2018
With a heavy sigh, I go to bed at night, laying down to finally rest,
Just to awake in my personal heaven, a realm of sweetness and bliss,
Flowers of all kinds, trees with angel trumpets bound to golden chain,
As the lilies are touched by a soft breeze, giving off their nice scent,
I spirit away to purely engage and sympathize with other but pure fury or the sadness which has been sealed within my heart since then,
Snowdrops and buttercups form a way to a single jasmine near a river of the purest water, which is alike a shining star, majesticly sparkling,
The sky is starlit, each in their orbit whilst the golden light of the sun still reaches through, warming my cold skin comfortingly, delicately,
Taking a seat I glance at what the table has presented before my eyes,
Sweets, with sour yet aromatised orange juice anda large cheesecake,
Then, suddenly, a single seagull draws near, weeping for affection,
Together with bunnies and bumblebees buzzing around the flowers,
Even now all the hummingbirds harmonise in a soft orchestra,
And no frightened creature cries, they draw together in happiness,
Yet I feel the absence of something which I hold very dear to me,
Because you my dear lover, remain as my sweetest dream

~ Umi
Declan Quinn Dec 2015
Yesterday’s thoughts like white-water crashing
These are fainter today, like a babbling brook
Not quite abated but more still.
Allowing thought and deed to harmonise,
Even for an hour, I’ll take it.

The image of my loved ones etched,
My child, now a woman, forefront always
The absolute best of us personified
Love is the unbreakable bond between us
Come feel, hear the quiet and smile with me.
Victoria Reese Jan 2010
Lying in the blues darkness,

Midnight hugging us,

Your soft touches,

Loving me tenderly,

Loving me sweet,

Loving me true.



I can hear your heart drumming,

My spine recording its vibrations

Of this melodic beating-

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.



Our breaths harmonise,

Enchants us into a dream,

Like lavender rhymes to concious minds-

I am not alone.

I am not alone.

I am not alone.



A midnight orchestra,

Playing a bed of graceful tunes,

Rose coloured harps play us a story

Of silent passion.

Of peaceful lust.

Quiet love be'twixt the sheets.



They sing,

They play,

They beat,

We harmonise together-

I love you.

You are not alone

lying in the blues darkness.
Megan Sherman Apr 2017
Is it thy scripture that my Heart cannot harmonise,
In its passion, its melody, with thine own?
For the girth of thine own, mine swells in size,
The tyrant of my inhibitions, overthrown.
Towards uncertain day we meandering go,
Afflicted by the bane of bitterness,
But I will be dreaming, rocking, to and fro,
Begetting my care with joy and tenderness.
My deeds betray my naivety, caprice,
It is my fickle Heart doth rule my actions,
That govern my wild, feral mouth,
And alienate my affections.
    For thee I have surged, and plummeted Hell,
    Did you rejoice the tallest tree to fell?
Harry Roberts Jul 2017
Discordant notes crescendo and Harmonise at the point of ******.

The music of gods, exquisite to ones ears. Yet quite maddening for their minds.

Discordant notes crescendo and Harmonise at the point of ******.

How this phenomenon occurs is a mystery. All things that oppose each other converge at the point of Life.

Discordant notes crescendo and Harmonise at the point of ******
Short, free written poem.
Beau Scorgie Apr 2016
I've been lost in time
these last few months -
with clocks that won't tock
and days that won't stop.
And I was happy.
Or maybe a little too comfortable.
It's all the same -
because the sun won't always shine
and you can't stop the rain.
But time will always find you
and I'm here now.
So where are you?
Are you hiding too?
Running from the monotonous chime -
the one that dictates your waking
and your slumber -
your not so silent slumber.
Trapped within the walls of time,
is this living?
Or is this death?
It doesn't matter,
the trees will still grow
either way.
And I'm here now -
I wear bells now -
to throw that monotonous chime
out of time.
So where are you?
Do you wear bells too?
I don't weep -
no, I don't cry.
Because tears don't harmonise
with the monotonous chime.
CM Rice Dec 2013
“See herself..?”
‘Who..?’
“Herself.. there”
‘An’ about her?’
“..Cheating on himself..”
‘Sure she.. that one..’
“Fur coat.. no knickers..”

They scuttle out daily wagging their vicious tales,
Through dullness that dampens their every afternoon,
Ignored by their own; an’ threadbare reflection,
******* each spun yarn an’ sheet out to dry,

Stained with every listless memory an’ lonely evening,
Gossip-hungry, they covet the community swill,
Chomping through the random, unopposed untruths,
‘..husband slayer, heartless siren.. tis’ a mortal sin..’

They make no bones of any acquaintance of herself,
With monstrous-eyed chronicles of salacious green,  
Such falsehood is kind to the envious an’ bias ears,
Which tolerate any brazen line to a choir of lewd hymns,

They harmonise each lustful lie; the prime accuser,
Conducts a murky symphony of ***** laundry aired live,
The jury silent, mocking whispered an’ ears into the wind,
As the accused sullen-faced an’ solitary suddenly appears.

Herself stands idly ignorant to the satirical sniggers,  
The trial by jealously ends, they turn two faces an’ leave,
No fur, no knickers, no time to wish away the pain,
Curtains drawn, truth quartered - the washing hung
A regular occurrence when growing up once listening to women rip apart other women as they hung out their washing.
Play your sad guitar a while
that I may sing for thee
of words that sit within my heart
and technicolour dreams.

Play a tune of broken wings
now healed by tender hands
brought to flight by friendship strong
and moons in distant lands.

Harmonise with me this night
let music be our guide,
you see my soul in different light,
through darkness, where I hide.

Then I'll lift up my song to thee
the sweetest ever heard
and raise my voice in thanks once more
to friendship, love and words.
For my sweetest friend.
Steve Page Feb 2019
'Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.'

Though one runner may stumble,
two can steady themselves.
A team of three athletes is not easily overtaken.

Though a single note may fade,
two can harmonise in concert.
A song of three chords is not quickly forgotten.

Though a regent may lose his way,
two can guide one another.
A caravan of three kings is not easily distracted.

Though a child may feel alone,
two will laugh with mischief.
A gang of three children is not quickly bored.

Though one musketeer may fall,
two can stand together.
A band of three inseparables is not easily defeated.

Though one disciple may tire,
two can support one another.
A prayer triplet is not quickly discouraged.
Ecclesiastes 4 - worth a read.  It's about collaboration and team work.
Bob Horton Apr 2013
Autumnal joy floats on the wind: it blows
A woodwind section through the buzzing leaves,
And gently rattles red arpeggios
That harmonise with mournful semibreves
Of ageing branches creaking in the breeze.
The forest spirits collectively moan.
Without the crunch of thund’rous symphonies
The rain can ****** on a xylophone:
The surface of a hidden woodland pond
Where all the stepping stones are so arranged
As keys of limestone next to keys of slate.
And all around the silence is estranged
And till the snow of winter has to wait.
We wave our sticks at where the air has thinned
And call ourselves composers of the wind.
Manchester Bridgewater Hall "Writing About Music" Competition, Winner
Martyn Thompson Aug 2011
I live through music
I am the rhythm
I am the beat
I am my heart-beat
I am the vibration
The sound that moves your soul
The tones that colour the sky
The tempo that guides the sun
The moon and the stars
Are in tune with me
The wind and the rain
Harmonise with me
The earth
Resonates with me
Come by my side and join
Me in my symphony
For without music
Life is nothing to me
Paul Arrighi Mar 2014
Notre ami, le Mouflon

Parfois ses cornes tire-bouchon e font ressembler le mâle à un faune farceur,
Peu haut sur pattes mais véloce, le Mouflon se révèle un remarquable Athlète bondissant de rochers en rochers,
Escaladant les rocs avec effronterie, il se   rend parfois en été ou lorsque la nourriture se fait rare, au cœur des clairières et dans le creux des vals
Pour goûter avec gourmandise ces mets de choix que sont pour lui les baies, glands, faînes, châtaignes et surtout les mannes du frêne à fleurs,
Le Mouflon est, avant tout animal des cimes et des à-pics ; il est aimant de tous les lieux inaccessibles sans le secours de jumelles ou de téléobjectifs.

Pour Mouflons et Mouflonnes, la saison de l’amour est l’automne ce qui révèle un goût de seigneur,
Car la vêture des clairières est alors rougeoyante de beauté, à l’instar de tapis persans,
Le Mouflon ne serait-il pas animal sauvage certes mais romantique car il se plait à admirer l’encolure des Mouflonnes, qui s’harmonise si bien avec les couleurs automnales ;  
Mais pour les Mouflons, le plaisir d’amour doit rester subtil et ne pas verser dans ces luttes meurtrières : l’ami Mouflon est un épicurien qui donne leçon de sagesse à tous les jaloux.

Le Mouflon fut longtemps, le maître des Montagnes et du maquis Corse qu'il ne partageait qu'avec l’aigle royal, les sangliers les plus hardis et quelques bandits ou patriotes traqués,
Mais trop chassé par certains Hommes, dépourvus de sagesse et à la gâchette trop faciles, il faillit disparaître de son île emblématique.
Aujourd'hui il revient de l'île sœur, la Sardaigne, mais reste encore plus caché dans quelques massifs impénétrables comme le «Monte Cinto» et les «aiguilles de Bavella».
C’est ainsi que la Corse retrouve l'un de ses plus beaux animaux dont le nom de ses enfants, "I Muvrini", a fait le tour des scènes du Monde pour magnifier son emblème et sa terre nourricière, la Corse.
Paul Arrighi
revolutions are coming
for the bored children,
of course, just sit tight.

soon the days will no longer
coalesce together like caterpillar chrysalis
clinging onto branches;
wherever situations harmonise
we’ll make gentle gestures, moving
to and fro until we declare

“this is the medieval economy,
we belong with the hordes of ants.”

But then again
sometimes I find myself in the dark
in schoolyards at night
on the lawn grass gazing up
at towers of concrete rain

I feel the apprehension falling
from the balconies,
and I swallow
the anxious murmurings
of productivity, diligence and attention,
digest their nutrients
and spit them on cocoons
in metamorphosis.

Though, I hope the spit does not spoil the butterfly.
I mean, I would not be surprised
if I caught a tummy bug
and it killed the whole world.

still,
rhetorical coincidences ceaselessly
resort into syllogisms,
essays babble incoherent thoughts,
cranes construct rows of identical houses,
times moves forward and backward
to save light, it consumes time
in my mind. oh revolving
prisms,

there will come a tiny time,
emerging, bit by bit, in unison;
there will be gentler things
to caress the subtle
skins of existence,
one by one, all at once,
momentarily again and again.
Anticipation spans the season
Gone so fast with just a trace
You leave no rhyme nor reason
Off you fly with cold malice.

Even the driest patch of grass
Restores its former chloroplasts
Bright green trees begin to fade
Your legacy is leaving.

Splash, the constant drumming
Sets the tempo and transition
Swap the pastels for pantones
Go indoors and reposition.

Not one to miss a queue
This rain was built to last
The whipping winds harmonise
Like blowing over hollow glass.

The interval is all but over
The show yet to be recast
Fly in the white cliffs above
The Dover shore blends at last.

The tapping of rain becomes a thud
As the treetop leaves lose their colour
Gales whip up - down empty streets
The people crowd indoors in horror.

Fearsome is the cold and wet
Now that joy and happiness has passed
Regale stories of the Summer
And hope that winter retreats as fast.
Elijah Jul 2015
these keys have your name
written all over them
I can feel the energy coming out of them whenever I play our favourite song
sweet serenades pouring out of my heart
as I voice my vibrations through my art
you’re a part of me,
my muse and art speaks through you
you become alive in my stripped sessions
where love is reached and lively
these vibrations are for eternity
this love that we have is forever
‘cause my spirit keeps it alive
we uplift the universe with our mystic energy
harmonise the souls with our pure nature
my eyes never wander
because you make up my retina
and my ears never slumber
because you silence mediocre.
— Elijah x Ofentse Tsie.
#art #create #energy #harmony #heart #life #love #music #peace #purity #serenades #soul #spirit #thoughts
Alice Be Kind Feb 2015
The love song I lost
The notes erased by cold words
The heart beats I couldn't control
The harmony that couldn't harmonise
The warmth that hit a pause
The keys that were never heard
The emotions I never pushed play for
And the simple words I can never say
Yes...not the best not the worst
Jamie F Nugent Apr 2016
We died of old age at age seventeen,
With a thousand years worth of dust in our eyes,
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

Submerged in the deep in our submarine,
Without fear of a wreck or a capsize,
We died of old age at age seventeen.

You look the same as when we met by the marine,
You kept your fear of spiders and butterflies,
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

You have always cut straight to the point like a guillotine,
You would indulge in love songs as I tried to harmonise,
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

Stretch out those arms and let me crawl between,
And improvise a half-dozen lullabies that will paralyze.
We died of old age at age seventeen.
If am an oak tree, you will always be evergreen.

-Jamie F. Nugent
Benji James Apr 2018
It seems I've been travelling around
Through the word of mouth
Look at the way they speculate
Whether I'm gay or straight
Some say that I am autistic
Used to be so optimistic
That we could unite and harmonise
But it seems we are too busy
Pointing out each other's flaws
And fighting needless wars

When did I become
The headline of everyone's day?
Why do I seem to be the topic
In the stories, they spread
It seems I'm the centre focus
Once again
I'm starting to question
Will this ever end?

What will they think of next?
What do I think of Bec and her new boyfriend?
It seems like everybody's
Watching every step I take
And hanging off of every word I say
And maybe I'm a little crazy
But could you really blame me?
They think I'm an attention seeker baby

When did I become
The headline of everyone's day?
Why do I seem to be the topic
In the stories, they spread
It seems I'm the centre focus
Once again
I'm starting to question
Will this ever end?

It seems to me
That I seem to be
The talk of the town
And all the rumours
Are circulating around
Everyone's questioning me
And my sexuality
Who I'm with, what I am
What I feel, what he writes,
Is it real?

When did I become
The headline of everyone's day?
Why do I seem to be the topic
In the stories, they spread
It seems I'm the centre focus
Once again
I'm starting to question
Will this ever end?

©2018 Written By Benji James
martin May 2012
play me love's music
harmonise our hearts'  tempo
practice every day
Fay Slimm Oct 2010
Your sweet golden notes penetrate my soul.

They strike life's
tone-deaf
bowl of plaintive
tunes,
and replay inaudible
sounds
by injecting a warm
dose
of chords
as an amorous goal.

Let who will condemn, we sing life our way.

Yet bittersweet, but
one day
this chorus of repeated
yearning will
vocalise
loudly and relay
unfinished
music
for love to play.

When fleshed, ardent desire will be sated.

Destiny's fire will have
abated
off-beat keys, complete
and bonded
forever,
we will harmonise
then,
created the better for
having waited.
I have no identity
who am I
but this that was forced on me,
and you
the greatest of lights would have me nearer to thee
locked as I am in this chemistry
of misery

I shall gather my strength
would that lengthen my days
or would it shorten the way to the end?
Friend?
you are no friend to me
you who would harmonise upon my demise
stifling the cries of the old and the frail
find your own holy grail
you won't find it in me
I have no identity.
Macstoire Feb 2014
This field feels the rhythm
The ground beneath me beats
And the breeze gently hums
To harmonise a choir who bring back the love
In an echo that electrifies the sole

Never has a day started better
Than with ****** Mary in generous glugs
To wash away the lingering ache
of the devilish night before
and I find myself in my element
celebrating the knight of nowhere
conquest reign to the wobbly log

From my horizontal viewpoint
I’m soaking up the suns shining rays
Whilst overlooking jesters fight sock wars with small children
But my skin wont suffer for these friendly strangers
Have lubed me up with their compassionate oil
No-ones really a stranger in this Small World, so it seems
Not if the tug-of-war has anything to do with it

The eclectic collection of eccentric events
Is rounded off delightfully when we sit
together in a burning sauna
to outlet amongst ourselves the toxins
absorbed as an energetic additive to the atmosphere
At this festival everyone is your friend
and there’s no shame in ****** here

In close proximity we endure the heat
Until we are saturated in sweat
and then plunge ourselves one-by-one
into a bath shared with mischievous children
making weapons of the ice cold jets

Feeling fresh faced and cleaner than before
I finalise the feeling of freedom as a **** pull-along
For a child’s’ home-made truck
The juveniles journey accelerates as my liberation overwhelms me
I’m fulfilling an accomplishment I never dreamt I’d meet

But the succeeding element of this festive environment that I most enjoy
Is the fact that here none of this is odd
LylexRose Jun 2018
Listen, everyone who out in crowd, the people who heard me sing so loud, playing it out loud, my life is one with no shroud...

We start off without our cheques, but like I love to say "that's just life I reckon"!, Now I'm on a whole other spectrum, they don't see it coming, coming through looking like the A team, so don't waste your life, choose what you wanna be, and guess that happens when you go and handle business yeah, I've switched from style to style until I have no style left, work for this to work out, love with no theft, chasing the feelings until there's nothing left, ParCellio's my name, it's how I'm to be addressed, spend my days, my ways are blessed, and I'll move to the west so my words can't be suppressed and I'll float with the waves, I'm so immunosuppressive...

This is how I'll spend my days...
Ride my thoughts like these waves...
Life onto the west coast ways...
And now seen it all...
Before I hit my grave...

A paradise, to be realised, and be with my kind, up all night to see the sunrise, lead a life of surprise, days gone by with no lies, everyone who lives put hands to the sky, everybody just go with the flow, no need to analyse, you know my ego could do with a downsize, you know I'm **** at singing but ya'll know I can harmonise, had a pretty ****** life but there's no need to sympathise, put my soul into this music it's something I prioritise...

This is how I'll spend my days...
Ride my thoughts like these waves...
Life onto the west coast ways...
And now seen it all...
Before I hit my grave..

Our waves, our breathing, our time, our cheating, this life, my dreaming, our lies, your thieving, now just imagine you caught your wife cheating, and stop thinking, look after that feeling, all you gotta do is trust me, you knew her actions were misleading, but you can't stop breathing, these thoughts are appeasing, one to one I'm believing, sleeping for long you almost left your dreams, these are the lessons I'm teaching, these are the hymns I'm preaching, the followers I'm feeding, this music keeps my heart beating, and my body keep bleeding, giving my life meaning, it's the stars receiving, and it's all I want, help me...
Khaab Dec 2020
I feel like...
Blue whales are gods and goddesses of the ocean
As they make the ocean...complete as a heaven.
They harmonise in the ocean...singing their songs
And their heartbeat fills the void.
These huge peaceful mammals
make this world a better place.
They sprinkle out rainbows when breathe
And the flip of tail...makes the ocean dance.
I feel like...bowing down to them
And at night...giving them a goodnight hug.
I wish I was friends with a blue whale.
simply tylla Apr 2014
You
Let's write a script.
One that makes this world pretty.
One where the trees still tower above all else,
and the golden sunflowers still sparkle with morning dew.
The script will tell of animals in harmony,
and the oceans, a dark crystal blue.
It will fill our hearts with life.
Our souls with light.

Now, let's tell the truth.
Of how the air is full of gray and dispair.
How the trees can no longer tower,
for they fall to their very death, each
and every day.
Truth shows the sunflowers,
only a pale yellow, dying along with the hope.
Animals cannot harmonise, for
competition for a home, looms black
and ominous above all.
The truth is filled with words of the hopeless seas.
A reality of black nothingness and waste,
suffocating.
Our hearts die slowly and
fade, our souls soon to follow.

With nothing real or true to cling to,
we drink in the greed.
Minds weighted down with the metals
that recreate this earth.
We struggle forward still,
until we've lost ourselves completely.
To our very own vanity...

A whisper.

Then silence.

A new life begins.
This is an absolutely beautiful poem that my older sister wrote.
Geraldine Taylor Sep 2018
Intro
0.05
Mmmh

0.17
Oh, oh

0.27
Yeah, yeah yeah

1.12
Verse 1
Created to reciprocate, returning the flow
Togetherness we correlate, surrender control
There's greatness to realise and yes we truly harmonise
No needless complication, journey towards the sky

1.49
Hook
Yeah, oh yeah, towards the sky

2.03
Chorus
Here we are in paradise, oh
Looking at your angel eyes, yeah
So let there be no separation
The embracing of true elation, yeah

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Edward Coles Oct 2014
Dear friend,

I couldn't find the answer today, for why the world is turning. A half-dozen lovers in a timeless frame, are now but bridges burning. The coffee makes me feel like hell in the morning, whenever morning is an option. You see, I've fallen for a misery, I have become the local burden. They invite me out to harmonise their doubt, over trends we have seen before; the brief salute from a military brute; the human cost of war.

It's been a misery for days and days – weeks and weeks if I tell the truth, but I have been baying at the nail, and sharpening the tooth. I think money is a postcard lover who promises salvation, but in truth can only under-achieve against cigarettes and meditation. The Bowl has been singing to me, but I cannot understand a word,  at times I think I hear the answer, or else the passing of an airborne ****.

Forgive me for crudeness, or for my vague choice of tone, I am kissing my pillow in my sleep, but waking up all alone. From that I have decided that I've got to ask for more, so I am slipping up my sentences, to become a well-spoken bore. I hope you find the answer each time you sip on tea, some heat upon your lips and tongue, some red blossoms on the tree.

I am going now I promise you, I'm serving out my time, I am going to hang out with my father, I'm going to chase it down with wine. For all the good I had desired to do, I am committed to this crime, don't drink in bed, do drugs instead, and do not forget to write.

with love.
Jack.
c
Jasmin Thomas May 2017
I suppose I'll never know the inside of your brain, every crevice and hidden memory.
Never feel your arms pulling me closer on a Sunday morning as birds outside harmonise to the beating of our hearts and low hum of our words.
Never see the smile that was reserved only for me, your eyes filled with fondness.
An admiration that grew slowly like little daisies watered by every tucking of a hair behind your ear, every eyelash pinched gently from your cheek.
It's on me, and only me.
My tendency to drift away for reasons I can't explain.
To leave without a word.
To crash through the paper thin glass of what could be just as it begins to thicken.
I suppose that I'll just never know.
living in the past and fantasies (1:32am)
Valerie Sinclair Jun 2018
I'm all loved up,
By sweet promises,
And electric kisses.

Shared breaths and secrets,
Infuse our passion.
Whispered caresses,
Turn violet to soft lilac.

Saccharine desire,
And uncensored laughter,
Harmonise our rhythmic heartbeats.

We rise and fall,
Like undulating waves,
Chasing the wind.

We crash and burn,
Like the forest on fire,
Painting the sky.
Pisceanesque Jun 2016
Piece by formless piece of me, compose of new desires:
write me back to life before my hope, deterred, retires.
Inflate my heart until it finds itself in soothing flight
and sprout for me the wings I need to beat its rhythm right.

Expand my lungs to fill with life and bleed this void no more;
to breathe ambition in until it seeps from every pore.
Expression filled with written words, my storm to self-empower,
yet, in this silent wash of time I very humbly shower.

Find within my shadows proof of flawless, lustrous light;
elucidate my purpose, forming day from cloudy night.
Write of peace, a balm, to heal my bleakly fractured power -
a vision, rich, to seed and plant, and soon, I hope, to flower.

Inspire my eroding soul with passion to ignite;
a reason to awaken, fresh; a fervour to incite.
Harmonise expression to unlock what I admire;
write me back to life before I, sadly, might expire.
© Tamara Natividad
www.pisceanesque.com
Written 13 June, 2016
Cutezeni Feb 2022
I still feel bad that you never got to read my poem that I wrote for you,
not as a muse or inspiration,
but as a genuine ripped sleeve
that held my heart exposed beating,
rapidly, erratically;
when the only thing that could calm it down was your tender embrace and your own heart beating just as wildly.

Your madness made sense to me,
your pain felt known and homely.
I wanted to hold you and breathe into your foreign fragrance,
that felt home to me.
You were a missing piece,
an important bishop missing from the checkered board.
Without you, life had no structure and no fun.
Emotions had their ups and downs
but never as strong and never as abound.
You made sense to me,
my heart felt safe with you
but still it hurt the most with you.

It aches more longing for the days when you held it,
but I’m not over the pain that you triggered;
maybe I wasn’t over it,
maybe I wasn’t done being my old self,
who craved destruction and wanted war unto herself.

Maybe I’ve healed enough to touch your icy heart again,
maybe I’m warm enough to cool you down to retain,
your blissful sweet nothings
and careless slippings of fondness and laughter,
of smooches and simple hums
and running your fingers through my hair and your chords;
with little rhymes for no reason,
to harmonise the songs in off tune and high key,
to sing our love songs in glee.

It was a brief time, the winter nights stayed short.
you showed me a world that I never imagined,
and with you I want it all.
It didn’t last, some things stay beautiful just as memories,
but I’m not over how you’re so warm and cool,
so strong and sensitive,
so brave yet a fool.

Maybe if you return I could see
what long summer nights bring to me.
Maybe it’d be long enough
for you to make base,
to stay here and embrace,
my emotions and me..
perhaps this time, you’d be selfish
to stay just for me.
It’s okay to miss someone and move on. What’s meant for you, will always find you and sometimes, it’s better than your wildest dreams.

— The End —