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Just a reminder:
You are beautiful
And not just for a
Single meaningless
       Night of lust
But beautiful that is
Worth a lifetime of
Nights of admiration
And love, so I could
Look upon the beauty
Of your face during
       Sleepless days
And look upon your
Gorgeous soul during
       Illuminant nights.
Allania Berkey Jan 2014
Anger becomes me,
Rage engages my fits .
Such unholy acts transpire through me.
Blood vesicles are visible on my illuminant skin.
Breath becomes heavy,
breath grows slow.
Tears puff in my eyes.
Lost, is my mind,
Solace is solitary.
To me it's all the same,
Solace to anger  
and,
anger to pain.
Rage grows old,
Smiles become unholy,
Tears are solitary.
Anger,
Anger,
Anger.
Comme je descendais des Fleuves impassibles,
Je ne me sentis plus guidé par les haleurs :
Des Peaux-Rouges criards les avaient pris pour cibles,
Les ayant cloués nus aux poteaux de couleurs.

J'étais insoucieux de tous les équipages,
Porteur de blés flamands ou de cotons anglais.
Quand avec mes haleurs ont fini ces tapages,
Les Fleuves m'ont laissé descendre où je voulais.

Dans les clapotements furieux des marées,
Moi, l'autre hiver, plus sourd que les cerveaux d'enfants,
Je courus ! Et les Péninsules démarrées
N'ont pas subi tohu-bohus plus triomphants.

La tempête a béni mes éveils maritimes.
Plus léger qu'un bouchon j'ai dansé sur les flots
Qu'on appelle rouleurs éternels de victimes,
Dix nuits, sans regretter l'oeil niais des falots !

Plus douce qu'aux enfants la chair des pommes sûres,
L'eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin
Et des taches de vins bleus et des vomissures
Me lava, dispersant gouvernail et grappin.

Et dès lors, je me suis baigné dans le Poème
De la Mer, infusé d'astres, et lactescent,
Dévorant les azurs verts ; où, flottaison blême
Et ravie, un noyé pensif parfois descend ;

Où, teignant tout à coup les bleuités, délires
Et rhythmes lents sous les rutilements du jour,
Plus fortes que l'alcool, plus vastes que nos lyres,
Fermentent les rousseurs amères de l'amour !

Je sais les cieux crevant en éclairs, et les trombes
Et les ressacs et les courants : je sais le soir,
L'Aube exaltée ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes,
Et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir !

J'ai vu le soleil bas, taché d'horreurs mystiques,
Illuminant de longs figements violets,
Pareils à des acteurs de drames très antiques
Les flots roulant au **** leurs frissons de volets !

J'ai rêvé la nuit verte aux neiges éblouies,
Baiser montant aux yeux des mers avec lenteurs,
La circulation des sèves inouïes,
Et l'éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs !

J'ai suivi, des mois pleins, pareille aux vacheries
Hystériques, la houle à l'assaut des récifs,
Sans songer que les pieds lumineux des Maries
Pussent forcer le mufle aux Océans poussifs !

J'ai heurté, savez-vous, d'incroyables Florides
Mêlant aux fleurs des yeux de panthères à peaux
D'hommes ! Des arcs-en-ciel tendus comme des brides
Sous l'horizon des mers, à de glauques troupeaux !

J'ai vu fermenter les marais énormes, nasses
Où pourrit dans les joncs tout un Léviathan !
Des écroulements d'eaux au milieu des bonaces,
Et les lointains vers les gouffres cataractant !

Glaciers, soleils d'argent, flots nacreux, cieux de braises !
Échouages hideux au fond des golfes bruns
Où les serpents géants dévorés des punaises
Choient, des arbres tordus, avec de noirs parfums !

J'aurais voulu montrer aux enfants ces dorades
Du flot bleu, ces poissons d'or, ces poissons chantants.
- Des écumes de fleurs ont bercé mes dérades
Et d'ineffables vents m'ont ailé par instants.

Parfois, martyr lassé des pôles et des zones,
La mer dont le sanglot faisait mon roulis doux
Montait vers moi ses fleurs d'ombre aux ventouses jaunes
Et je restais, ainsi qu'une femme à genoux...

Presque île, ballottant sur mes bords les querelles
Et les fientes d'oiseaux clabaudeurs aux yeux blonds.
Et je voguais, lorsqu'à travers mes liens frêles
Des noyés descendaient dormir, à reculons !

Or moi, bateau perdu sous les cheveux des anses,
Jeté par l'ouragan dans l'éther sans oiseau,
Moi dont les Monitors et les voiliers des Hanses
N'auraient pas repêché la carcasse ivre d'eau ;

Libre, fumant, monté de brumes violettes,
Moi qui trouais le ciel rougeoyant comme un mur
Qui porte, confiture exquise aux bons poètes,
Des lichens de soleil et des morves d'azur ;

Qui courais, taché de lunules électriques,
Planche folle, escorté des hippocampes noirs,
Quand les juillets faisaient crouler à coups de triques
Les cieux ultramarins aux ardents entonnoirs ;

Moi qui tremblais, sentant geindre à cinquante lieues
Le rut des Béhémots et les Maelstroms épais,
Fileur éternel des immobilités bleues,
Je regrette l'Europe aux anciens parapets !

J'ai vu des archipels sidéraux ! et des îles
Dont les cieux délirants sont ouverts au vogueur :
- Est-ce en ces nuits sans fonds que tu dors et t'exiles,
Million d'oiseaux d'or, ô future Vigueur ?

Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes.
Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer :
L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes.
Ô que ma quille éclate ! Ô que j'aille à la mer !

Si je désire une eau d'Europe, c'est la flache
Noire et froide où vers le crépuscule embaumé
Un enfant accroupi plein de tristesse, lâche
Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai.

Je ne puis plus, baigné de vos langueurs, ô lames,
Enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons,
Ni traverser l'orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes,
Ni nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons.
maybella snow Oct 2013
running through grass as high as your calf muscles
                        you gasp for breath,
it fogs out in front of you as you pant;
its a cold night,
one where smart sensible people are indoors and covered,
                                                        huddled before fireplaces,
                                                      or cuddling up to someone.
lost in a field,
you look around,
                                          its too dark to see far but the moon is out
             because the fog is illuminant and pale everywhere you look.
there's an imposing figure,
                            you feel it getting closer,
hot breath near your right shoulder,
                            you shudder and try and **** away.
only to feel something cold.
a freezing breath on the opposite side of you,
                                                           it hugs you as you struggle.
                                 too cold,
                                 too cold you think,
                   too bitterly cold.
pushing off it your hand reaches something that bites with cold,
you pull away quickly and turn. as you turn around there's black.
you wonder where the moon went because the fog was white before.
no, now there's only black, yet glancing up you definitely see stars.
                                                                                                                       what's going on?
                                                                                                            why is this happening?
                                    you trip,
but its not the grass you trip over its nothing,
                                                   there is nothing there.
                                                                 nothing imposing.
                                                                 nothing.
                    why did you trip you wonder.
then you realize you didn't just trip you fell.
you just reached the next level.
                               something hits you hard as hot and cold figures cover you.
                                       screaming and gasping you're being burnt and frozen.
         you can struggle all you want,
but below there's only blackness,
                                    and above,
hot and cold burn you slowly.
dirt shoved in your mouth,
               gaged and held.
  there is no escaping.
        whatever it is.
it will burn your skin then freeze your heart and mind.
sorry idk what this is but its depression i guess idk
Josh Dec 2011
I stand still to think one day

"Am I dreaming?"

This question irks

my illuminant soul.



Quickly, I pinch myself

I feel no pain,

no sorrow, no joy.

An emptiness consumes me.



In the depths of mind

I wander around

slowing creating a

world which does not exist.



A world full of chaos

and peace. In a flow

the ocean crashes

against the giant skies.



My world is unstable

unending unbearable

to those who enter the

caves of my mind.



Wandering wishless

in a world of my creation

I put this question forth to you

"Are you sure you're awake?"
neth jones Nov 2021
overcast

i pull on the day brightly
mine it at the maternal sources
        and form a radiant :                    
               a bloom from within fledgling elements

illuminant grenades                          
             and the sky is peppered with characters
it's a wild play of childness              
an old world whimsy        
of 'here be monsters'    
            and shiny scrapbook havoc

the compass steps in              
       and with the turn of the globe
                          scores the horizon
clouds and the aviators          
         are combed into the soft crust
     a spiral quilting                          
       to cover the gift of a dream
      given by one thirsty visitor
   who stole it lightly
     from the prism
   of another travelling dreamer

God knows what'll grow
        if there's a pillow fight
a deranged rain of innovation
perhaps some fiddly creation
will fast take over this world
         and it's lover other

with the sky allied and fraudulent
we can host an early night
the stars (in strand)
prattle the ocular sense frontier
all constellations are like a single ribbon eel
never quite nourishing
             upon its own thoughtless loop

a corduroy display
overcoat
À M. Léon Bailby.


Oiseau tranquille au vol inverse oiseau
Qui nidifie en l'air
À la limite où notre sol brille déjà
Baisse ta deuxième paupière la terre t'éblouit
Quand tu lèves la tête

Et moi aussi de près je suis sombre et terne
Une brume qui vient d'obscurcir les lanternes
Une main qui tout à coup se pose devant les yeux
Une voûte entre vous et toutes les lumières
Et je m'éloignerai m'illuminant au milieu d'ombres
Et d'alignements d'yeux des astres bien-aimés

Oiseau tranquille au vol inverse oiseau
Qui nidifie en l'air
À la limite où brille déjà ma mémoire
Baisse ta deuxième paupière
Ni à cause du soleil ni à cause de la terre
Mais pour ce feu oblong dont l'intensité ira s'augmentant
Au point qu'il deviendra un jour l'unique lumière
Un jour
Un jour je m'attendais moi-même
Je me disais Guillaume il est temps que tu viennes
Pour que je sache enfin celui-là que je suis
Moi qui connais les autres
Je les connais par les cinq sens et quelques autres
Il me suffit de voir leurs pieds pour pouvoir refaire ces gens à milliers
De voir leurs pieds paniques un seul de leurs cheveux
Ou leur langue quand il me plaît de faire le médecin
Ou leurs enfants quand il me plaît de faire le prophète
Les vaisseaux des armateurs la plume de mes confrères
La monnaie des aveugles les mains des muets
Ou bien encore à cause du vocabulaire et non de l'écriture
Une lettre écrite par ceux qui ont plus de vingt ans
Il me suffit de sentir l'odeur de leurs églises
L'odeur des fleuves dans leurs villes
Le parfum des fleurs dans les jardins publics
Ô Corneille Agrippa l'odeur d'un petit chien m'eût suffi
Pour décrire exactement tes concitoyens de Cologne
Leurs rois-mages et la ribambelle ursuline
Qui t'inspirait l'erreur touchant toutes les femmes
Il me suffit de goûter la saveur du laurier qu'on cultive pour que j'aime ou que je bafoue
Et de toucher les vêtements
Pour ne pas douter si l'on est frileux ou non
Ô gens que je connais
Il me suffit d'entendre le bruit de leurs pas
Pour pouvoir indiquer à jamais la direction qu'ils ont prise
Il me suffit de tous ceux-là pour me croire le droit
De ressusciter les autres
Un jour je m'attendais moi-même
Je me disais Guillaume il est temps que tu viennes
Et d'un lyrique pas s'avançaient ceux que j'aime
Parmi lesquels je n'étais pas
Les géants couverts d'algues passaient dans leurs villes
Sous-marines où les tours seules étaient des îles
Et cette mer avec les clartés de ses profondeurs
Coulait sang de mes veines et fait battre mon cœur
Puis sur terre il venait mille peuplades blanches
Dont chaque homme tenait une rose à la main
Et le langage qu'ils inventaient en chemin
Je l'appris de leur bouche et je le parle encore
Le cortège passait et j'y cherchais mon corps
Tous ceux qui survenaient et n'étaient pas moi-même
Amenaient un à un les morceaux de moi-même
On me bâtit peu à peu comme on élève une tour
Les peuples s'entassaient et je parus moi-même
Qu'ont formé tous les corps et les choses humaines

Temps passés Trépassés Les dieux qui me formâtes
Je ne vis que passant ainsi que vous passâtes
Et détournant mes yeux de ce vide avenir
En moi-même je vois tout le passé grandir

Rien n'est mort que ce qui n'existe pas encore
Près du passé luisant demain est incolore
Il est informe aussi près de ce qui parfait
Présente tout ensemble et l'effort et l'effet.
PK Wakefield Jun 2011
i got tumbled over creeks over mountains and even over
the stroke of roots like "have you ever been a permanent
walking sound?"the earth was raised in meek hillocks
distending the asphalt like lovely thronging arteries
of full and with gilt split pavement just up over them
,gilt with the song of a dying star, crusted on them
as they split the yoke of the hard scramble of tightly packed
firm loosing."a tree is sound that i have tasted when i
was just young struck moments of flesh as thin as
the instants that i was then when i was in forests and
in ponds and the silk of water drowned the heat of
long suffering summer drawn cheeks(we called them
days but really they were just the paneless leaves of
glass i spun myself through as like a stretch of damped
slightly fingers, sticky slightly, i picked up some
flecks of seconds shorn and fluttering to my skin
they stuck)tanned and brushed with the rosy tattoo
of my heart down a little just a bit in my chest.
I was in the golden state and i had heard my mother
call me as the twill of friscalating nice illuminant
brushes played against my ***** blond hair and i was
pulled from them the moments of youth stabbed
instants and i was pulled right up back to now
where i am sitting just another second dead.
Nicole Apr 2021
centered, I envision my next flux for the illuminant
deepening each stretch, I angle to the ruminant
breaths breathed deep, I press into a bent round
clearing my mind space, hands grasping at the ground

mornings pass by, entering each one in the same
renewing by imitating nature's avid, sparking flame
rhythm artlessly singing, conflict emptied at the door
consciousness absolved, my bond begins here on the floor
Jessie Schwartz Feb 2018
Radiant in her appearance
Illuminant in her glow
Translucent and iridescent
Light and airy as she goes

Captivating and fixated
Locked within my eyes
Invoking and inspiring  
Probing through the lies

Overwhelming beauty
Graceful and direct
Commanding sense of inner strength
Only I detect

True and straight
Pure of gold
Peaceful little dove
Always in my heart
The one I’ll always love
PK Wakefield Apr 2011
everyday i'm discussing with everyday, myself as i make out to the glamouring
the inches and dashes of every self i have
and stitches of sinew here in which lies the me that is this i, i that am

i walked in leaves of grass, of wriggling splendor's summers of shoulders
and achy crimsoned necks by the suns meters of light
measuring the stints of our crawling opaque days and suns of many sons

it's very that is that even when sun should repose his ***** of uncadenced
carefully miraculous shimmering blood
like orange and ardent flesh he'd go on us it, giving his very stuff our bodies

to wear on our wheres and whens and whys. is night not also beautiful?
it is naked beautiful. **** and beautiful
plenteous and beautiful with all its hearts in tinder palely igniting every

atom of copious earth. bowls of copious illuminant children, the things
which will become after us
the us that we were before their coming. but they are gorgeous and neither

would i weep if in my going they should take that space where were was
i. resting the shouts of my self
in the orchards of youth, i am now so but it's quickly running, flitting

eagerly from my this. in vines and plurals i am single and many. neither
none nor many. but many ones,
little bubbles of tranquil vile fluid guttering the songs of wind.

i go to streams and they are me. i go to mountains and they are me. i go
to valleys and they are me.
can i be streams and mountains and valleys? can i not be streams and

mountains and valleys? they are weeds and i am a ****. a **** is a rose.
i am rose.
i am blossomed in full spring. able of petals. i am turned to the sun, with my

root between the lips of earth. who is my lover. the earth is woman.
she is a ****.
a **** is a rose.

by another name. they smell just as sweet.
Yuvraj Jha Oct 2013
Lord wind helped the butterfly,
Dazed, enroute, protected under th' sky.
Ancient sun entangled in coloring,
On the yellow and white of its wing.


Gentle nature helped it over the hill,
Now it sat beside the queen on her sill,
The symbol of future on it stirred,
Fortune for the queen it brought; lingered.


Only for the appropriate eye to read,
Of coming days swathed in wicked greed,
For only the goddess, queen of light,
Such was the symbol on the butterfly.


She opened her eyes, glowing;
Butterfly held in her eyes, flowing;
She read the symbol with rabid calm
Hurriedly rose on her arm.


She deciphered no meaning useless,
Calculated the measure of the mess,
Anger bellowing under her breath,
But she only whispered at length.


"Come now black flags, riding;
Come on the cold wicked wind, hiding;
But cross not this land today
Greedy amoral as you stray.


You bringer of miseries
Crowding faceless thieves
I alone will shake your glory
Translate it into a forgotten story".


Thus putting her promise in her heart
She lands her feet, to start
This day; mother earth puts across a smile
She feels the feet for a little while.


Something is spoken between,
No words can define what they mean,
The glorious queen has understood
What mother earth said to her foot.


Thus began the ancient war,
This morning as the forests roared,
The queen gallant, picked her staff,
And called the angels at day's half.


Soft swollen lips, whispered;
The names of the angels, spurred
With the wind, the message flew,
To all the horizons it blew.


Mother earth saw all this power,
From her eyes drew gentle shower,
She alone could foretell,
The future of gods as well.


She alone understood,
How these winged words stood,
The fortune they would bring,
All black flags, soon be crumbling.


The queen of light, Aphrodite;
Gazed around outside;
From her lovely drapes today,
No black flags yet sway.


The chariots of the illuminant sun,
Swift across the horizon,
Rode to match and scale the hour,
Scaled along time's tower.


Labored to take time away,
Memories mounting as they sway,
The present being churned;
Past; all churned glories earned.


Gentle queen, wore white crystal dress,
Magnificently flowing, touched the floor,
Calm and serene, her face bore no stress,
As messenger wind opened her door.


"My lady! I arrive this hour,
I swept aloud, all, too far,
I summoned all to this place,
All shall arrive in much haste.


Angels wowed through all the spheres,
All made allegiance, and so their heirs;
Even now their horses trod this way,
They shall arrive at the half of day".


Soft pink lids dropped over her eyes,
She pictured her words in sublime skies,
Resounding and echoing, away and afar,
Its meaning trailing; a shooting star.


Followed secretly the silence of wait,
The coming of the seven angelic troops,
Sun’s chariot trod at stupendous gait,
Lord Wind and Queen await the sound of hoofs.
Bri Nov 2014
Agnes:
Wine, for the Greeks, brought more than
burgundy to the screen, instead
illuminant pinks and purples and yellows
swirl and wirl and twirl in orchestrated
dances of Spring.

Cherubim soar, teasingly mocking these gods,
drunk with passion and their grape wine while
pegasi rest, swoop and land like swans to a water’s surface.
Joy and ***** happiness, lovely and sound,
they prance.

In a swirl, in a wirl and in a twirl,
you bring me back to my favorite scene,
when Fantasia was my insight on art
when my mother would sit and watch with me,
instead of busying herself with others.

I had not thought of that in years,
I had not remembered the jolt to my system,
to the system of a little girl, who, often alone
had to create her own art, often had to
imagine her own melodies.

Agnes, you’ve brought the next jolt,
I’m once again flying with the black Pegasus, swooping back
to the dark living room, followed by a stampede of centaurs
cherubim lulling me to sleep,
swirling and wirling and twirling my own colors,
carrying me back to her music.
based on the painting "First Spring Garland"
Sadie Jun 2013
Reach out to the corner of darkness
in your mind
Wrap it around you
It is your shield from the illuminant
From the fake, shiny and perfect
Break away and turn inwards
Towards your pain,
            your twisted,
     your imperfection.
Nobody knows of the red and the black
Of the glint and the pulse
Nobody but the voices and the broken.
Copyright @ Sadie Whitney
PJ Poesy Jan 2016
So, the universe is dying. It has been proven. All starlight and galactic all, every illuminant visible is dissipating. Stretching and fizzing out to cold dark nothingness, eliminating any twinkle known in her ever widening abyss, we are destined to an age of floating rocks, lifeless. Shivering howls of worlds already abandoned are an eerie silence imminent. The cold, the dark, the void of sound or light, is depraved sensory. Death is ultimate ultimatum to any and all. Even these words. As nothing is to be, see, hear, feel, smell or taste, just dust speckling her.

Long drawn out inarticulateness, I wonder if she shall ever be able to speak again. Waxing moon in candelabra sky, lid, the blue, goodbye. A lull in space noise clamor finds faint ping. In an arched cosmos, bend an ear, hear her sing. She softens orbiting dominions, pleases an empire's hard wire. Letting sound stem, turn out, and cry, a gush of heaving out is implied. Imploding upon a deafening madness she dies. Big Bang to Softened Ping, we're somewhere in the middle of her journey.
I heard our universe is dying.
Ryan Ladd Mar 2014
I am an angel freed from stone, designed by tragedy, and carved by a blade with the metallic sheen of determination. Wading in my passion like a river sometimes gentle, sometimes not. Holding on with only my fingertips to a tree branch through the raging uncertainty of my necessary evils. How I long to let go. How I long to be free. To let the ever pressing current take me beyond this current situation we call reality, and into an ever present existence where I am no more than an illuminant spec in the boundless wind. It is here, I hear your voice as clairvoyant as the restless vibrations chanting against my skin, "Hold on Ryan, Hold on."
starchild Jul 2019
Close your eyes,
pretend to fly

But, somehow, your not
pretending anymore
once the darkness glazed over,
it becomes real,
you swim in the
clouds and glowing yellow sky
the cool, cold, but warm air
fills and surrounds your soul
replacing the emptiness,
inside

And now you realize,
this is reality
this is your dream
your capable of smashing all
things your expected to be,
because this is your fairy tale dream

The beautiful sky
that your free to fly,
fades,
now it's water,
you float upon it's calm surface
just above the darkness that
intends to swallow you
but it doesn't.
it's so calm the water reflects
the stars above, my friends,
this is the calm before every storm,
the quiet voice before the trailed, de-railed, echo
and despite the seas promise not to pull you into darkness, it does,

This is my home, the sea keeps me captive in it's darkness, my only light is my night sky
but this, is even worse
the monsters that lurk here
mock me, for being here and not even in reach of my light, my illuminant, Night Sky

I'm trapped here, but this is a dream isn't it? Yes... No
but I'm not really here, so yes, I've been told I go around as a hypocrite, by people whom I try to help, people who figure out why I'm so good with other people's seas of darkness and lurking, mocking, monsters, is because I hide my own. I dream my own.

This is no cry for help,
I'm not some ticking time bomb
ready to start the next world war,
no.. I do what others cant,
what psychologists and beruocrats cant stand to hear,
Is I put others dark ocean of emotion, before my own
I'm capable of understanding
and standing under others judgemental tries, because I'm more, your more, then reality

If you truly are more
then this world full
of people who believe
that others pain
is some sort of joke,
You know,
You already have an
Understanding
of the full picture
you have a understanding
that not only do I bottle my
pain so I am capable
of mending others happy endings
But because I can't open up
because it's to much
and I'd rather it inside me then others
Because I love so many others
I can't,
and this may seem like some rant,
Some poorly organized throw up
of emotion on a digital page
but this is my ocean
this is my sea
this is my illuminant sea life
reminding me how I can't have
Real stars
So I become others
Fairy Tale Fixture
#Rant #FairyTales #Understanding #Breath #Smile
Yuvraj Jha Oct 2013
What if;
Colors were flowers
And flowers were men
And men could swim to the sun?


Would it
Then be
Any different, would we
Still have,
Bombs and guns?


What if;
We were
The winds and waters
That cover this illuminant earth?


Would it
Then be
That we
Would fall
To berths that haven’t taken birth?


What if;
Tears
Had meanings and wisdom
And lips that spoke the truth absolute?


Would it
Then happen
That wars
And darkness
We spread for glory, we would mute?


What if;
The stars were hungry
And extraterrestrials
Our friends, and met us one day?


Would it
Then matter
What race
Or creed,
Or random colors our shadows went astray?
asg Jan 2015
black and blue bruises print your back like a roadmap
and the red scratches are statelines leading toward our passion
enraged and engulfed in love
no outside matter can awake us
or catch our attention until the deed is done
and afterwrads we lay in a sweaty pile of legs and arms
and we both glisten and pant
and the world smells like daises dipped in sunshine
waking up from the deep slumber that later ensues
is like being born again
muscles are sore, such a sweet sense of pain
and everything is too bright, but it's nice
like the sun is a close second cousin you haven't seen in a while
together at night we're like a storm cloud
but there's always a decent sized rainbow when we wake
laying here now, in this morning glow, I watch
I watch your skin quiver at my touch
and I watch you eyelids flutter
you stick your fingers in my hair even though they get stuck
and we giggle and it is musical
because your laughter sounds like what I imagine the moon does
deep, but raspy like you've been smoking candy cigarettes
it's quite impossible for me to express my love
in any other way than between these sheets
and if that makes me unholy then so be it,
and let me ****** forever
because your body is my temple
and I bless you skin every night with my kisses
so I suppose that makes me a saint actually
and your words my teachings and your tattoos my scribe
I don't fully believe in reincarnation
and less in soulmates
but this feels too good not to have been
premonitioned by ancient stars
there are three ways I love you
and the first two are the way you take me to bed
the third is your eyes
and the way they are illuminant
like moonbeams
and round
like they could be innocent
except I know the deep seated lust they hide
god, your eyes are so beautiful
Angelica Liu Dec 2019
Sitting in the back of a black Honda Accord,
we were taking a ride across my city.
We saw jungles of skyscrapers passing by;
We saw a red flyover illuminant ahead,
like a real artery filled with blood.
A civilized city! You marveled.
and I smiled a smile you couldn't see,
cause we were sitting side by side.
Side by side, soul by soul,
Across the city we were taking a ride
Comme je descendais des Fleuves impassibles,
Je ne me sentis plus guidé par les haleurs :
Des Peaux-Rouges criards les avaient pris pour cibles,
Les ayant cloués nus aux poteaux de couleurs.

J'étais insoucieux de tous les équipages,
Porteur de blés flamands ou de cotons anglais.
Quand avec mes haleurs ont fini ces tapages,
Les Fleuves m'ont laissé descendre où je voulais.

Dans les clapotements furieux des marées,
Moi, l'autre hiver, plus sourd que les cerveaux d'enfants,
Je courus ! Et les Péninsules démarrées
N'ont pas subi tohu-bohus plus triomphants.

La tempête a béni mes éveils maritimes.
Plus léger qu'un bouchon j'ai dansé sur les flots
Qu'on appelle rouleurs éternels de victimes,
Dix nuits, sans regretter l'oeil niais des falots !

Plus douce qu'aux enfants la chair des pommes sûres,
L'eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin
Et des taches de vins bleus et des vomissures
Me lava, dispersant gouvernail et grappin.

Et dès lors, je me suis baigné dans le Poème
De la Mer, infusé d'astres, et lactescent,
Dévorant les azurs verts ; où, flottaison blême
Et ravie, un noyé pensif parfois descend ;

Où, teignant tout à coup les bleuités, délires
Et rhythmes lents sous les rutilements du jour,
Plus fortes que l'alcool, plus vastes que nos lyres,
Fermentent les rousseurs amères de l'amour !

Je sais les cieux crevant en éclairs, et les trombes
Et les ressacs et les courants : je sais le soir,
L'Aube exaltée ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes,
Et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir !

J'ai vu le soleil bas, taché d'horreurs mystiques,
Illuminant de longs figements violets,
Pareils à des acteurs de drames très antiques
Les flots roulant au **** leurs frissons de volets !

J'ai rêvé la nuit verte aux neiges éblouies,
Baiser montant aux yeux des mers avec lenteurs,
La circulation des sèves inouïes,
Et l'éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs !

J'ai suivi, des mois pleins, pareille aux vacheries
Hystériques, la houle à l'assaut des récifs,
Sans songer que les pieds lumineux des Maries
Pussent forcer le mufle aux Océans poussifs !

J'ai heurté, savez-vous, d'incroyables Florides
Mêlant aux fleurs des yeux de panthères à peaux
D'hommes ! Des arcs-en-ciel tendus comme des brides
Sous l'horizon des mers, à de glauques troupeaux !

J'ai vu fermenter les marais énormes, nasses
Où pourrit dans les joncs tout un Léviathan !
Des écroulements d'eaux au milieu des bonaces,
Et les lointains vers les gouffres cataractant !

Glaciers, soleils d'argent, flots nacreux, cieux de braises !
Échouages hideux au fond des golfes bruns
Où les serpents géants dévorés des punaises
Choient, des arbres tordus, avec de noirs parfums !

J'aurais voulu montrer aux enfants ces dorades
Du flot bleu, ces poissons d'or, ces poissons chantants.
- Des écumes de fleurs ont bercé mes dérades
Et d'ineffables vents m'ont ailé par instants.

Parfois, martyr lassé des pôles et des zones,
La mer dont le sanglot faisait mon roulis doux
Montait vers moi ses fleurs d'ombre aux ventouses jaunes
Et je restais, ainsi qu'une femme à genoux...

Presque île, ballottant sur mes bords les querelles
Et les fientes d'oiseaux clabaudeurs aux yeux blonds.
Et je voguais, lorsqu'à travers mes liens frêles
Des noyés descendaient dormir, à reculons !

Or moi, bateau perdu sous les cheveux des anses,
Jeté par l'ouragan dans l'éther sans oiseau,
Moi dont les Monitors et les voiliers des Hanses
N'auraient pas repêché la carcasse ivre d'eau ;

Libre, fumant, monté de brumes violettes,
Moi qui trouais le ciel rougeoyant comme un mur
Qui porte, confiture exquise aux bons poètes,
Des lichens de soleil et des morves d'azur ;

Qui courais, taché de lunules électriques,
Planche folle, escorté des hippocampes noirs,
Quand les juillets faisaient crouler à coups de triques
Les cieux ultramarins aux ardents entonnoirs ;

Moi qui tremblais, sentant geindre à cinquante lieues
Le rut des Béhémots et les Maelstroms épais,
Fileur éternel des immobilités bleues,
Je regrette l'Europe aux anciens parapets !

J'ai vu des archipels sidéraux ! et des îles
Dont les cieux délirants sont ouverts au vogueur :
- Est-ce en ces nuits sans fonds que tu dors et t'exiles,
Million d'oiseaux d'or, ô future Vigueur ?

Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes.
Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer :
L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes.
Ô que ma quille éclate ! Ô que j'aille à la mer !

Si je désire une eau d'Europe, c'est la flache
Noire et froide où vers le crépuscule embaumé
Un enfant accroupi plein de tristesse, lâche
Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai.

Je ne puis plus, baigné de vos langueurs, ô lames,
Enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons,
Ni traverser l'orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes,
Ni nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons.
The moth drawn to the light repeatedly gets burned
Over time this moth has seen and experienced so learnt
Now it flies free and dancing in the dark
Pirouetting in open skies
Joyous frolicking lark
It finds its spark under stars
And the light of moon knows all too well
Moths wings rest and expand to the illuminant swell
Pressure and cream
You quake me love
and in a dream
I push your shove
You wake me Beautiful
Hands full of flesh
and YOU Make me feel
I fall you catch.

Pressure my love
You lean on the walls
Inside safe rooms
Hum sighing calls
I love your cream
Your stability
Your fingers and hands
Your pressure on me

You dream and I dream
and we meet each other
in the middle
Father and mother
In the middle
Brother and sister
In the middle
Missus and mister.

You move against  my tides
and in the pull it magnetizes
and you move against my sway
pressure on my flower of may
You move against my movement
but some how swaying in my tide
You give me illuminant
and  neither of us can hide.


I speak in tongues to define
Your beauty
I speak in tongues
speaks from you to me
You speak in mouthfuls
of fertility golden

I could never separate from you

you are the opposite to my pole
the north side to my south


You stick to me through electricity
Babatunde Raimi Jul 2020
She is my vitality
You make me perform at full capacity
You help me relate with the inner me
You alone are my black magic
But most of all, my dearest

I love it when you wash my head
It makes me feel larger than life
As it awakens my nerves
And spur me to greater heights
To achieve feats that have long eluded me

You are my good luck charm
If you like call it "Cobnomi"
True love is stronger than death
Little wonder it took just three seconds
And in three, I fell in love

You are the illuminant to my shadows
The painkiller to all my sorrows
I will watch and wait earnestly
Until you say "Yes" my love
Not even tribe or religion can separate us
Afterall, true love is patient
Colm May 2020
Do you ever find yourself
(when beneath canvasing trees)
Standing alone in the singular comforting heat
Of the of the only illuminant rays to find
Their way through the clouds of leafy green?

Do you? I did
And it felt so immaculate to be
Warm and alone in the wooded wilds
Where I was free
<3

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