some times I believe,
not think,
but believe,
that there are indeed little figures in the grass,
brushing my ankles with tickles and laughs

sometimes in mid of velvet black,
can see them waving their six fingered hands
in front of the lights across the bay,
for the twinkles are different, their winkles,
semaphoric, euphoric, random but patterned

every know and every then,
could they be inside me,
inciting riots, sugar sharp pains,
in places where pain has no place purposed,
feel them lifting my-back-of-the-neck hairs,
at scary movies, making an ear itchy, why?

these elusives
are fairie godmothers,
personal angels,
hobgoblins,
shoulder sitters,
amusing muses
ear whisperers,
of new poem titles

sock stealers,
shoelace knoters,
giggling self-amusers,
ever present, ever invisible,
hat hiders, wet spot slider installers

you say you know them too?

cousins perhaps, for my elusives,
could not be here and there,
for they are:

as I write,
as I speak,
this very second
fluttering my eyelids,
those rascals,
to lay me down to sleep,
in cherishing tenderness me to keep
for they know too well,
sleep,
is an elusive of a different kind,
like peace of mind,
but they do their best,
to distract me unto rest

There's a feeling I've felt hindering on the tip of my tongue, twirling with sawdust at the end of my bed. Its tingled my toes and tickled my nose and killed all hopes that this is just happiness.

Sleep is for figments and products of sanity, neither of which I can claim heritage. Well perhaps figments in the waking hours of the darkness, but that is a tale for another time.

I can feel his fingertips stroking my sides, reminding me what it is to feel human and vulnerable and perfect. Didn't know he boosted me ego and turned me into the self absorbed maniac you see before you today. Tyrant, remembrr? Oh wait, that's another tale altogether again.

I ramble in the night, in the morning, all the time. My thoughts wander with echoing clarity to encompass the truth about me; not everything is quite right. The teacups are lopsided at the unbirthday table tonight.

Yet again, speaking in riddles and stories unbeknownst to you. Stupid me, stupid Grace, stupider you. Why are you so open to my madness anyway? Maybe you're the crazy one.

This sick godlike embodiment I feel is one I forget isn't real, isn't me, isn't life. But wait. Its a part of me, so perhaps it is real as well? Call a jury, wake a judge, there must be a verdict on my elation. Am I a minor deity or are the synapses playing some cruel joke on my heartstrings?

Heartstrings, why did I bring them into this? I have shut them off for now, for they are dumb and deaf to honesty and logic and do whatever the hell they feel. Or is it whatever the heaven? I forget sometimes where the real misery is, or how the expression goes. I've never quite gotten everything right, being as upside down as I.

Insomnia brings out the manic in me, and I know its not real, but for a moment, just a moment, I belong. I am real, I am loved, I am powerful. Weak little Grace is no more, with her fears and contradictions. Just strength is left, and it is glorious.

Just remember not to let the heffelumps get you in the night, for they are the true evil behind your honey ***. Or am I a heffelump? I can't remember anymore.

This is going nowhere, everywhere, somewhere.

Wake me up inside before I destroy myself, or simply perpetuate my perfection with a caress of your hand. Whatever suits your fancy.

Call me Aphrodite and we'll call it a night after hours of mindblowing ***. But you expected that all along, of course you did, because you know my bones better than we both realize.

When you put your hands on me I feel ****. But yet again, right now I an perpetually **** and twitchy and awake and fake. Dare you to kiss me anyway.

Dare you to see me, psychotics and all.

Bet you'll run like the rest, yet like all good hiders its refreshing to be found every once in awhile.

Find me, and see. See the monster behind my beautiful eyes. That's the day when you'll see what true danger looks like; me.

Insomnia makes me odd, but yet again I'm always odd.

Little miss muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and craves, for a man betwixt her to tell her she's killer and make her a siren next day.

Forget, no, yes, its all I do. Its not how that goes, for sirens are certainly not temporary. I am certainly a black widow every day, not just each odd thursday.

Go to bed, Grace. I beg of you.

Close my eyes and say goodnight to the beloved moon, for the sun is nearly up and it certainly hates me, I am sure of it.

Just never forget all this is wrapped up in one little old me. No one seems to remember that until its far too late, so might as well run now, because otherwise little miss muffet here on her tuffet will be the death of you.

I see
shadows
movement
hiders

I feel
scared
terified

help me

I'm a liar
And a sinner
Some are gamblers
Others winners
There are riders
Live-to-die-ers
And ones unlike you
She's a cheater
He's a keeper
Many blind to see
There are hiders
Some are whiners
They sound the same to me
Wish we may
They wish they might
That maybe they can change tonight
From sinners, lovers
And ****** to mothers
God, I'd promise if you'd help me tonight
Let it last
Just one last time
Then take these labels out of sight.

I miss you with every fiber of my being
with every emotion I am capable of feeling
with everything I am or will ever be.

I am enraged by the very thought of them
that makes every drop of my blood boil
those truth hiders, secret keepers, and liars.

I weaken with every breath I take
every time I know I should push it all away
that every part of me needs to let go.

'Cause life goes on, or so they say
but with it goes my vivid memories
living without you hasn't made me stronger, but is killing me from the inside out

Go and hide,
I'll get the shovel,
Where's your pride,
Why the scuffle?

The police are coming,
I said conceal yourself,
Stop your bumbling,
You need my help.

Police will find us,
If you don't vanish,
You have my trust,
Forget the anguish.

Behind the trees,
Don't make a noise,
Don't even sneeze,
Where's your boys?

GOD DAMM IT. THEY FOUND ME.

Guess I'll count to 20.

You guys go hide.

Seekers are cops

Hiders are robbers.

Welcome to a cross between cop seekers and robber hiders.

You took me to the very upstairs of the church,
and then even higher
to the bell tower,
where we pulled the rope and sounded the bell
after church was over. Then we ran away
and hid under the pews.
We must have been good hiders, because
we never got in trouble.

Was it bleak or bright, I cannot say, so mesmerized was I,
when I saw you cross your balcony to take the morning air.
Brilliant were the beams and bands that danced about your hair:
an angel in her nimbus, uniting earth and sky.
And I saw you there—saw your red eyes catch the day,
saw you look in my direction, saw your red eyes look away.
A man am I, a dog with human glands.
I snuck behind a moving van and wiped my sweaty hands.
A love unreal confused me, abused me,
tucked my tail and called me stray. Bite the hand
or beg for more? True to form, I slunk away.
And though indeed it strained me, and pained me to adjourn,
I blew a kiss and swore that on the morrow I’d return.
My heart, he soars on silken wings.

That new day came. Ah, so unjust! And so complete my pain—
I saw you with another man, your higher halves entwined…perhaps,
though shards of years were ground to dust, my blood prints marked me plain:
a mongrel doomed to stoops and stones, a cur condemned to scraps.
I saw you—saw you slit me like a knife,
eviscerate my very soul and leave my pride to rot.
You…you kissed this man! You graced his life
with lips Love meant for me. You left me nought.
So rapt, this man! Oh, why, sweet thing, were you so wrapped in he?
A fractured dream, a crippled heart—Ha! What are they to me.
My brain, he lurches light-to-shadow.

The day was black, and cold as sin. Intent, hell-bent,
I sought your hearth again…and saw you with a dozen men!
I blew it there, I lost it then. I split but scampered back in ten.
Then kneeling ’neath your window, and bleeding onto chalk,
I visualized a pentagram, and drew it on the walk.
O wretched me! The ills I loosed were sudden and extreme.
I seemed to reel through realms surreal, engulfed in flames and steam.
But in that rune I saw you—your burning hair, your melting face—
betrothed to a misshapen brute, and crushed in his embrace.
I saw you fry, my tainted pie, my angel-not-to-be.
No matter, dear, our course is clear. No other fool,
you fickle jewel, will share your fate with me.
My fist, he palsies as he clenches.

Dismayed by dreams of infants’ screams, I part my lids to find
I’ve merely lost my will-to-be, I’ve yet to lose my mind.
The frauds and freaks run howling, the living **** the dead—
I’d give my all to make my peace; alas, I’ve made my bed.
With toes aflame I wander lame down ways that pitch and wind;
the lashers all assume I’m lost, the hiders think I’m blind.
But I saw you—the Master’s squeeze—a wizened, crippled crone:
a wagging head and yoke of lead, an anvil on your rear.
Your shins were munched, your back was hunched, your skin was puckered rind.
A scorched queen with a smoking crown, your swelling belly led you down
a path of spewing stone, where fouled and flanked by giant flies,
I saw you pass through veils of gas, your piglets close behind.
Your clogs were frogs, your wedding ring a thing of chiseled bone.
Your skirt was thatch, with hose to match the squalor of your thighs.
I saw you walk his wombats, dear, but I was in your eyes.
My leg, he chases me in circles.


Thanks for reading I Saw You. NOW PLEASE CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS, ALL ABOUT THE FIRST HUMAN TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE PLANET. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent, readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:

https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders


Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.

contact:
ronsandersartofprose@yahoo.com

There are things to worry
See in a hurry or a blurry
Move or push in a scurry
Yes even thoughts to bury
But a false premise builder
Often strikes match flash light
Whoa oh how bright oh bright
Let shine and blind bewilder

Imbedding their charges against others to come
Looking at the world in black or white smothers to some
Whispering character assassinations
Then twist and turn and speaking bass drum
Punches, scream oh no accept reply
Dive swim down deep pressure diving
Breaststroke splash splash accusation conniving

Slow blow mean demean, all to be sight unseen
Hide hide, what you?
Hey say, are often the hiders themselves
A skew, how shrew, the essence, yes the crux

Full one side story oh there is never
Force grab oh don’t push neither left nor right lever
Oh middle lever free is never to be oh unfree decree

Everyone forever on the mend
Though never even a soft only a hardened bend
Why oh why, why not to me now unfriend?
Try I to comprehend!
I trip tripness darkness spread
So must free flow words here this letterhead
Mind fever drugging underflow
No not no not yes knot oh complete knot tightening blow



Cheers, punch gut to me inner character assassination
My heart covered by trepidation
Fast forward roundabout rewind harsh lamentation
One sided black or white, out of spite and protection might
Middle ground oh of constant unbound
Oh why middle never to be truly found

To the mirror is the appearer
And yes all humanity can be vanity
So seek sanity says *** to kettle
Oh what, is there nothing to settle?



As member of humanity I am
Realize hurt I may have caused
Though not mal-intended
Yes not so intended to those befriended
Though deep down result is same
I neither disclaim my blame nor take crooked aim

Woven in ivory petals that adorn its
motions, a visual representation of
peace upon the visual stimulus that
will fly into the yonder of wishes.

But within this parcel of bleached
entitlement hiders a delirium that
isn't pondered upon with eyes
visualizing are secret not wanting.

For the optic perceptions are sunken
in extinction, a door to the soul and these
are parched darker than oblivions depths.
Tears never fall in the depths of a void.

*"Beauty has a secret, look within its sight,

~M Vogel
(sequestered from the status quo)  


Sitting here in front of this screen
my Artist Peppino, across my thigh--
[the greater (for the time being)
giving way to the lesser]

One day, I will be able to breathe life
in to your strings, my love..
the way I do words, on to paper

And on that fine, glorious day
I will no longer need these cheese-****
stupid ******* online poetry sites
to bring forth the music of my soul

Nor will I  continually  need to wade through
this never-ending barrage of classic  hiders
and their bastardization-like misuse of poetry~
in order to hide behind the very words
that should be  given the permission  to make them
become, truly known.

There is no alone-ness within the magnificent  resonations

of the perfectly plucked string
of the most perfect,  of guitars


     Like this one, sitting  right here  
                                             in my lap.

Jesus , loves the hurting, the angry, the has been .
The runners, the hiders, the ones that stands out.
He loves the addict, the speeders, the deceivers.
The players, the user, the controller as well.
He loves the merciful, the giver, and the obedient.
For he loves everyone , even the ones that no one else does.
For he created each of us, in his perfect image .
But the world has gotten a hold of us and change us.
But in the very beginning we created after him.
So it's not too late to run back to him, our Creator.

Sitting here in front of this screen
my Artist Peppino, across my thigh--
[the greater (for the time being)
giving way to the lesser]

One day, I will be able to breathe life
in to your strings, my love..
the way I do words, on to paper

And on that fine, glorious day
I will no longer need these cheese-****
stupid ******* online poetry sites
to bring forth the music of my soul

Nor will I  continually  need to wade through
this never-ending barrage of classic  hiders
and their bastardization-like misuse of poetry~
in order to hide behind the very words
that should be  given the permission  to make them become,  
truly known.

There is no alone-ness within the magnificent  resonations

of the perfectly plucked string
of the most perfect,  of guitars

Like this one, sitting  right here   
in my lap.

I am searching, I am seething
I am looking for the answers to why
"Bad things just happen to good people"
"This will make you stronger"
I know this might sound like a lie
but it didn't make me stronger
I'm just a kid

I was supposed to be protected
Milk was supposed to make me stronger
None of it was true for me
My trauma hiders my life
My body has been getting weaker
I'm just a kid

Now I am always affected
I won't push myself to break any longer
None of your opinions chain me
My trauma is mine to deal with
My body is mine to grow to love
And I'm just a kid

I am searching, I am seething
I am shouting the answers to why
Bad things happened and I can't be like you
I have made myself stronger
Hear me, my life is not a lie
I deserve to live a good life
I am not just a child