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The Chameleon is as beautiful as its surroundings
So the surroundings affect the chameleon's beauty.
Yet, if there is no beauty around,
it'll be the chameleon who interferes with
the surrounding, being now the
"beautiful chameleon in a beautiful place"
OFV
In between   (a poem)
.
my mind struggles against its own illusion
nightmare tumbles out into still morning
light is heavy,
a fog of echoes...
and I am caught
.
day dreams the sunlight
dreams light the day
and I am caught in between
mourning echoes...
like a stillborn ghost
who can't take a breath in the present

….
  
I live on a tropical island and just want to go surfing with my husband, but the nausea in the early morning as I try to eat  breakfast and drive with him to the beach is so uncomfortable.  Day after day it makes even surfing a chore, and I consider not going anymore.  Background anxiety and unreasonable irritation interferes with our marriage, frustrates him enough to want me out.  

For me, a trip to the grocery store or meeting a group of people awakens the same dreadful fear as rockclimbing a cliff. Perspective has been lost in the extremes.  I try to gain some control over this hindering nuisance, seeking situations that bring the same surges of adrenaline so I can learn to master it.  If I can just push past the avoidance that would keep me inside doing nothing, if I can just ignore the feeling I want to throw up, if I can just get out there, I am rewarded with life’s potential beauty eventually.  Many days I do enjoy the thrill of mountain biking or connection with nature when surfing, but there are too many days of internal struggle that reduce what should be enjoyable to a relentless chore of wrestling inner demons.

The VA offers a few sessions of marriage counseling, and the doctor begins to explain PTSD.  ***, I’ve learned to cope with an unreliable brain, but now there’s this?  From what I understand (and that’s just me, an amateur philosopher) Sometimes the brain is so traumatized, that the memory is literally sealed off, encapsulated, protecting it from changing.  If later something happens that is similar, the brain triggers avoidance responses as a take-no-chances survival mechanism.  Literally the brain is protecting one’s self from one’s self.  This all-or-nothing strategy works fending off potential dinosaur attacks, but in our complex society, these automatic avoidance behaviors complicate functioning and well being.  Life becomes an attitude of constant reaction instead of motivated intention.

The website for the National center for PTSD says.  “After a trauma or life-threatening event, it is common to have reactions such as upsetting memories of the event, increased jumpiness, or trouble sleeping. If these reactions do not go away or if they get worse, you may have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.”  

“Common reactions to trauma are:
• Fear or anxiety: In moments of danger, our bodies prepare to fight our enemy, flee the situation, or freeze in the hope that the danger will move past us. But those feelings of alertness may stay even after the danger has passed. You may:feel tense or afraid, be agitated and jumpy, feel on alert.  
• Sadness or depression: Sadness after a trauma may come from a sense of loss---of a loved one, of trust in the world, faith, or a previous way of life. You may:have crying spells, lose interest in things you used to enjoy, want to be alone all the time, feel tired, empty, and numb.  
• Guilt and shame: You may feel guilty that you did not do more to prevent the trauma. You may feel ashamed because during the trauma you acted in ways that you would not otherwise have done. You may:feel responsible for what happened, feel guilty because others were injured or killed and you survived.  
• Anger and irritability: Anger may result from feeling you have been unfairly treated. Anger can make you feel irritated and cause you to be easily set off. You may:lash out at your partner or spouse, have less patience with your children, overreact to small misunderstandings.  
• Behavior changes: You may act in unhealthy ways. You may:drink, use drugs, or smoke too much, drive aggressively, neglect your health, avoid certain people or situations.”   It lists four main symptoms: reliving the event, avoiding situations that remind of the event, feeling numb, and feeling keyed up (also called hyperarousal)”

Four words strung together: Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  They’ve become a tired cliché, exhausted from the endless threat of random cruelty camouflaged in banality, weary of the weight shouldering back the wall that separates death and gore from the living.  Living was a reflex beyond willpower and devoid of choice. Control was self-deception.  The mind was so preoccupied with A: survival, B: sanity, in that order.  Rest was a cruel illusion.  The tank was drained, no room for emotions ditched.  Empathy took too much effort, fear was greedy.  Hopefully they can be remembered and found on the other side, if there is one.  Sleep deprived cells were left hyper-alert from the imminent, shot up and addicted to adrenaline.  Living was Fate and Chance, and meant leaving that time and place sealed in forgetfulness.  

Now PTSD is a worn out acronym, a cold shadow of what it feels like.  I try to think of something more personal that can describe the way it randomly visits me, now resigned to its familiar unwelcome influence.  It steals through my brain, flying ahead of me with its own agenda of protecting sabotage.  Its like the Guardian Trickster of Native American legend.  Its an archetype but real enough to make mistakes: Chulyen, the black raven.

A decade after the ER, contentment is found in a garden of slow tranquility as a butterfly interrupts a sunbeam.  My heart fills with bittersweet as I’ve finally found something I love and want to keep.  Just then Chulyen’s grasping black claws clamp my heart with painful arrhythmia and it fills to burst, tripping in panic trying to recover its pace.  The sudden pain drops me to my knees, in the dirt between fragrant lavender and cherry tomatoes.  Pain stops breath and time and makes me remember the ER, when my heart rebelled its ordained purpose for a week.  I had tried to throw my bitter life back in God’s face but He didn’t take it.  Now that I have peace and a life that I treasure, He’s taking it now.  The price for my mistake is due.  It was all just borrowed time and I’m still so young, my children just babies.  God with a flick of cruelty reminds me not to put faith in the tangible, especially when its treasured.  The sharp claws finally relent and I can breathe, looking up with a gasp and the Raven takes flight overhead leaving a shadow.  Bright noon warmth, unusually heavy and foreboding, seems to say ‘there will come a time when you will not welcome the sun.’   Doctors run an EKG and diagnose ‘stress’.

The bird perches on my shoulder two more decades later, always seeing death just over there.  So I sit on the porch just a little longer and check my list again, delaying the unavoidable racing heart and rush of tension when I fix the motorcycle helmet strap under my chin.  I know all those stupid drivers have my life in their cell-phone distracted hands and hope my husband knows how much I love him, and my daughters too.  

Chulyen wakes me at 3:00 am when autumn’s wind aggravates the trees.  His rustle of black feathers outside unsettles summer’s calm night.  He brings an end-of-the-world portent that hints this peace is just temporary, borrowed.  Tribulation will return.

Ravens are attracted to bright shiny things.  Chulyen steals off with treasures like intention, and contentment.  I don’t realize they are missing until occasionally I find myself truly living in the moment.  I guess that is another reason why I crave adventure, for those instants and epiphanies that snap me out of that long term modis operandi of reacting, instead of being.  The daily list of ‘I must, or I should’ can for a brief while become ‘I want’  and I am free.

My companion the black bird perches relaxed in the desert on the gatepost of a memory.  A bullet-scarred paint-faded sign dangles by one corner from rusty barbed wire:
    No Trespassing    
    That Means You
I have a haunted idea what's behind the fence.  Chulyen implies the memory with a simple mistaken sound:
a Harley in the distance is for a second the agitating echo of a helicopter...
or those were the very same words they said when...
or I hear a few jangling clinks of forks in our warm kitchen...
hinting a cold cafeteria at 5:00 am smelling of fake eggs and industrial maple flavored corn syrup,
and everything else that happened that day...
My cells recollect, brace with the addictive rush of adrenaline.  But the raven denies access to the memory, distracting with discomfort.  I trip and I fall hard into the gritty dirt of irritation at the person who unknowingly reminded me.  Anxiety floods in along with fatigue of the helplessness of it all, back then and still now.  I can't go further.  Chulyen’s tricking deception says Leave This Memory, you never wanted to come back.
But I already knew from just recognizing the bird patiently sitting there a sentinal,
recalling every other time he tricked me with nausea and depression.
I tried to tell myself again that behind that gate,
the past has dried up from neglect.
Disintegrated into dust,
Blown away,
doesn't
exist.



After everything else, how to work through this?  The VA gave me a manual, a crudely printed set of worksheets with a government-looking blue cover page:  Cognitive Processing Therapy.
“In normal recovery from PTSD symptioms, intrusion, thoughts, and emotions decrease over time and no longer trigger each other.  However, in those who don’t recover, the vivid images, negative thoughts, and strong emotions lead to escape and avoidance.  Avoidance prevents the processing of the trauma that is needed for recovery and works only temporarily.  The ultimate goal is acceptance.  
There may be “stuck points”, conflicting beliefs or strong negative beliefs that create additional unpleasant emotions and unhealthy behavior.  For example, a prior belief may have been “ I am able to protect myself in dangerous situations.”  But after being harmed during military service, a conflicting belief surfaces, “I was harmed during service, and I am to blame.”  If one is ‘stuck’ here, it may take some time until one is able to get feelings out about the trauma, because one is processing a number of rationales.  “I deserved it because…” , or “I misinterpreted what happened, I acted inappropriately, I must be crazy…”  The goal is to change the prior belief to one that does not hinder acceptance.  For example, “I may not be able to protect myself in all situations.”

(chapter continues with recovery methods)
By
Alexander K Opicho

(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)


Spiritual scholars of Christian Science have a concept that there is
power in the name. They at most identify the name Jesus and the name
of God, Jehovah to be the most powerful names in the spiritual realm.
But in the world of literature and intellectual movement, art,
science, politics and creativity, the name Alexander is mysteriously
powerful. Averagely, bearers of the name Alexander achieve some unique
level of literary or intellectual glory, discover something novel or
make some breakaway political victories.

Among the ancient and present-day Russians, most bearers of the name
Alexander were imbued with some uniqueness of intellect, leadership or
literary mighty. Beginning with the recent times of Russia, the first
mysterious Alexander is the 1700 political reformist and effective
leader, Tsar Alexander and his beautiful wife, tsarina Alexandrina.
The couple transformed Russian society from pathetic peasantry to a
middle class society. It is Tsar Alexander’s leadership that lain a
foundation for Russian socialist revolution. Different scholars of
Russian history remember the reign of Tsar Alexander with a strong

bliss. This is what made the Lenin family to name their son Alexander
an elder brother to Vladimir Ilyanovsk Ilyich Lenin. This was done as
parental projection through careful   choice of a mentor for their
young son. Alexander Lenin was named after this formidable ruler; Tsar
Alexander. Alexander Lenin was a might scholar. An Intellectual and
political reformist. He was a source of inspiration to his young
brother Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, who became the Russian president after
his brother Alexander, had died through political assassination.
However, researches into distinctive prowess of these two brothers
reveal that Alexander Lenin was more gifted intellectually than
Vladimir Lenin.

Alexander Pushkin, another Russian personality with intellectual,
cultural, theatrical and   literary consenguences. He was a
contemporary of Alexander pope. He is the main intellectual influence
behind Nikolai Vasileyvich Gogol and very many other Russian writers.
He is to Russians what Shakespeare is to English speakers or victor
Hugo is to French speakers, Friedriech schiller and Frantz Kafka is to
Germany readers or Miguel de Cervantes to the Spaniards. Among English
readers, Shakespeare’s drama of king Lear is a beacon of English
political theatre, while Hugo’s Les miscerables is an apex of French
social and political literature, but Pushkin’s Boris Godunov, a
theatrical political satire, technically towers above the peers. For
your point of information my dear reader; there has been a
commonaplace false convention among English literature scholars that,
William Shakespeare in conjunction with Robert Greene wrote and
published highest number of books, more than anyone else. The factual
truth is otherwise. No, they only published 90 works, but Pushkin
published 700 works.
Equally glorious is Alexander Vasileyvich sholenstsyn,the, the, the
author of I will be on phone by five, Cancer Ward, Gulag Archipelago’
and the First Cycle. He is a contemporary of Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, Alfred Nobel and Maxim Gorky. Literary and artistic
excellence of Alexander Sholenstsyn,the, the anti-communist Russian
novelist was and is still displayed through his mirroring of a corrupt
Russian communist politics, made him a debate case among the then
committee members for Nobel prize and American literature prize, but
when the Kremlin learned of this they, detained Alexander sholenenstyn
at Siberia for 18 years this is where he wrote his Gulag Archipelago.
Which he wrote as sequel five years later to the previous novel the
Cancer Ward whose main theme is despair among cancer patients in the
Russian hospitals. This was simply a satirical way of expressing agony
of despair among the then political prisoners at Siberia concentration
camps .In its reaction to this communist front to capitalist
literature through the glasnost machinery, the Washington government
ordered chalice Chaplin an American pro-communist writer to be out of
America within 45 minutes.
Alexander’s; Payne, Pato, Petrovsky, and Pires are intellectual
torchbearers of the world and Russian literary civilization. Not to
forget, Alexander Popov, a poet and Russian master brewer, whose
liquor brand ‘Popov’ is the worldwide king of bar shelves?
In 1945 the Russians had very brutish two types of guns, designed to
shoot at long range with very little chances of missing the target.
These guns are; AK 47 and the Molotov gun. They were designed to
defeat the German **** and later on to be used in international
guerrilla movement. The first gun AK 47 was designed by Alexander
klashilinikov and the second by Alexander Molotov. These are the two
Alexander’s that made milestones in history of world military
technology.
The name Alexander was one of the titles or the epithet used to be
given to the Greek goddess Hera and as such is taken to mean the one
who comes to save warriors. In Homer’s epical work; the Iliad, the
most dominant character Paris who often saved the other warriors was
also known also as Alexander. This name’s linkage to popularity was
spread throughout the Greek world by the military maneuvers and
conquests of King Alexander III. Alexander III is commonly known as
Alexander the Great .  Evidently; the biblical book of Daniel had a
prophecy. It was about fall of empires down to advent of Jesus as a
final ruler. The prophecy venerated Roman Empire above all else. As
well the, prophecy magnified military brilliance, intellect and
leadership skills of the Greek, Alexander the great, the conqueror of
Roman Empire. Alexander the great was highly inspired by the secret
talks he often held with his mother. All bible readers and historians
have reasons to believe that Alexander of Greece was powerful,
intellectually might, strong in judgment and a political mystery and
enigma that remain classic to date.
In his book Glimpses of History, jewarlal Nehru discusses the Guru
Nanak as an Indian religious sect, Business Empire, clan, caste, and
an intellectual movement of admirable standard that shares a parrell
only with the Aga Khans. Their   founder is known, as Skander Nanak
.The name skander is an Indian version for Alexander. Thus, Alexander
Nanak is the founder of Guru Nanak business empire and sub Indian
spiritual community. Alexander Nanak was an intellectual, recited
Ramayana and Mahabharata off head; he was both a secular and religious
scholar as well as a corporate strategist.
The American market and industrial civilsations has very many
wonderful Alexander’s in its history. The earliest known Alexander in
American is Hamilton, the poet, writer, politician and political
reformist. Hamilton strongly worked for establishment of American
constitution. Contemporaries of Hamilton are; Alexander graham bell
and Alexander flemming.bell is the American scientist who discovered a
modern electrical bell, while Fleming, A Nobel Prize Laureate
discovered that fungus on stale bread can make penicillin to be used
in curing malaria. Other American Alexander’s are; wan, Ludwig,
Macqueen, Calder and ovechikin.
Italian front to mysterious greatness in the name Alexander
spectacularly emanates from science of electricity which has a
measuring unit for electrical volume known as voltage. The name of
this unit is a word coined from the Italian name Volta. He was an
Italian scientist by the name Alesandro Volta. Alesandro is an Italian
version for Alexander. Therefore it is Alexander Volta an Italian
scientist who discovered volume of electrical energy as it moves along
the cable. Thus in Italian culture the name Alexander is also a
mystery.
Readers of European genre and classics agree that it is still
enjoyfull to read the Three Musketeers and the Poor Christ of
Montecristo for three or even more times. They are inspiring, with a
depth of intellectual character, and classic in lessons to all
generations. These two classics were written by Alexander Dumas, a
French literary genious.he lived the same time as Hugo and
Dostoyevsk.when Hugo was writing the Hunch-back of Notredame Dumas was
writing the Three Musketeers. These two books were the source of
inspiration for Dostoyevsky to write Brothers Karamazov. Another
notable European- *** -American Alexander is  Alexander pope, whose
adage ‘short knowledge is dangerous,’ has remained a classic and ever
quoted across a time span of two centuries. Alexander pope penned this
line in the mid of 1800 in his poem better drink from the pyrene
spring.

In the last century colleges, Universities and high schools in Kenya
and throughout Africa, taught Alexander la Guma and Alexander Haley as
set- book writers for political science, literature and drama courses.
Alexander la Guma is a South African, ant–apartheid crusader and a
writer of strange literary ability. His commonly read books are A walk
in the Night, Time of the Butcher Bird and In the Fog of the Season’s
End. While Alexander Haley is an African in the American Diaspora. An
intellectual heavy- weight, a politician, civil a rights activist and
a writer of no precedent, whose book The Roots is a literary
blockbuster to white American artists. Both la Guma and Haley are
African Alexander’s only that white bigotry in their respective
countries of America and South Africa made them to be called Alex’s.
The Kenyan only firm for actuaries is Alexander Forbes consultants.
Alexander Forbes was an English-American mathematician. The lesson
about Forbes is that mystery within the name Alexander makes it to be
the brand of corporate actuarial practice in Africa and the entire
world.
Something hypothetical and funny about this name Alexander is that its
dictionary definition is; homemade brandy in Russia, just the way the
east African names; Wamalwa, Wanjoi and Kimaiyo are used among the
Bukusu, Agikuyu and Kalenjin communities of Kenya respectively. More
hypothetical is the lesson that the short form of Alexander is Alex;
it is not as spiritually consequential in any manner as its full
version Alexander. The name Alex is just plain without any powers and
spiritual connotation on the personality and character of the bearer.
The name Alexander works intellectual miracles when used in full even
in its variants and diminutives as pronounced in other languages that
are neither English nor Greece. Presumably the - ander section of the
name (Alex)ander is the one with life consequences on the history of
the bearer. Also, it is not clear whether they are persons called
Alexander who are born bright and gifted or it is the name Alexander
that conjures power of intellect and creativity on them.
In comparative historical scenarios this name Alexander has been the
name of many rulers, including kings of Macedon, kings of Scotland,
emperors of Russia and popes, the list is infinite. Indeed, it is bare
that when you poke into facts from antiques of politics, religion and
human diversity, there is rich evidence that there is substantial
positive spirituality between human success and social nomenclature in
the name of Alexander. Some cases in archaic point are available in a
listological exposition of early rulers on Wikipedia. Some names on
Wikipedia in relation to the phenomenon of Alexanderity are: General
Alexander; more often known as Paris of Troy as recounted by Homer in
his Iliad. Then ensues a plethora; Alexander of Corinth who was the
10th king of Corinth , Alexander I of Macedon, Alexander II of
Macedon, Alexander III of Macedonia alias  Alexander the Great. There
is still in the list in relation to Macedonia, Alexander IV  and
Alexander V. More facts of the antiques have   Alexander of Pherae who
was the despotic ruler of Pherae between 369 and 358 before the Common
Era. The land of Epirus had Alexander I the king of Epirus about 342
before the Common Era and Alexander II  the king of Epirus 272 before
the Common Era. A series of other Alexander’s in the antiques is
composed of ; Alexander the  viceroy of Antigonus Gonatas and also the
ruler of a **** state based on Corinth in 250 before the common era,
then Alexander Balas, ruler of the Seleucid kingdom of Syria between
150 and 146 before the common era . Next in the list is  Alexander
Zabinas the ruler of part of the Seleucid kingdom of Syria based in
Antioch between 128 and 123  before the common era ,  then Alexander
Jannaeus king of Judea, 103 to 76  before the common era  and last but
not least  Alexander of Judaea  son of Aristobulus  II the  king of
Judaea .  The list of Alexander’s in relation to the antiquated  Roman
empire are; Alexander Severus, Julius Alexander who lived during the
second  century as the Emesene nobleman, Then next is Domitius
Alexander the Roman usurper who declared himself emperor in 308. Next
comes Alexander the emperor of Byzantine. Political antiques of
Scotland have Alexander I , Alexander II and Alexander III of Scotland
. The list cannot be exhausted but it is only a testimony that there
are a lot of Alexander’s in the antiques of the world.
Religious leadership also enjoys vastness of Alexander’s. This is so
among the Christians and non Christians, Catholics and Protestants and
even among the charismatic and non-charismatic. These historical
experiences start with Alexander kipsang Muge the Kenyan Anglican
Bishop who died in a mysterious accident during the Kenyan political
dark days of Moi. But when it comes to  The antiques  catholic
pontifical history, there is still a plethora of them as evinced on
Wikipedia ; Pope Alexander I , Alexander of Apamea also the  bishop of
Apamea, Pope Alexander II ,Pope Alexander III, Pope Alexander IV, Pope
Alexander V, Pope Alexander VI, Pope Alexander VII, Pope Alexander
VIII, Alexander of Constantinople the bishop of Constantinople , St.
Alexander of Alexandria also the  Coptic Pope and Patriarch of
Alexandria between  then Pope Alexander II of Alexandria the  Coptic
Pope  and lastly Alexander of Lincoln the bishop of Lincoln and
finally  Alexander of Jerusalem.
However, the fact of logic is inherent in the premise that there is
power in the name .An interesting experience I have had is that; when
Eugene Nelson Mandela ochieng was kidnapped in Nairobi sometimes ago,
a friend told me that there is power in the name. The name Mandela on
a Nairobi born Luo boy attracts strong fortune and history making
eventualities towards the boy, though fate of the world interferes,
the boy Eugene Mandela ochieng is bound to be great, not because he
was kidnapped but because he has an assuring name Nelson Mandela. With
extension both in Africa and without ,May God the almighty add all
young Alexander’s to the traditional list of other great and
formidable  Alexander’s that came before. Amen.

References;
Jewarlal Nehru; Glimpses of History


Alexander K Opicho is a social researcher with Sanctuary Researchers
ltd in Eldoret, Kenya he is also a lecturer in Research Methods in
governance and Leadership.
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chamber teems with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from hazel eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal ****** in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive pawn.
Lucy Tonic Oct 2013
You laid yourself a path
Of the best-laid plans
Of a future set in stone
But she interferes
When she sheds her tears
And she spends all her time
Daydreaming
If she could she would
Run your train right off the tracks
You’d be forced to shed your skin
Never looking back
She worships the moon
With a ***** silver spoon
It won’t answer her prayers
So with her flowing blonde hair
She spends her time
Daydreaming
But now she builds her shrine to you
She does all that she can do
Are you prepared to take her on
And spend your days in the sun
Daydreaming
Keith J Collard Aug 2012
Her snowcap dress disappears,
as forest on compass interferes.
She can not be azimuth for escape,
why some left trail of yellow tape.
bowing usher points on with blighted limb,
retching out its own hemlock gin.
path in is beaten, with log and stone,
crevices drown a webbed saliva moan.
path out is unbeaten and hard to find,
from death's brambles on the mind.

All trees seem to want to die,
no effort to brush off strangling vine.
where you think they have broke loose,
swaying ropes that once had noose.

And where there is light, is mossy glen,
just enough, for one last note to pen.
dolls, cloths, skulls make up forest litter,
shoes, bottles, and smiling family picture.

With the only surviving sounds so faint and sickly,
Scraping nylon tent--a starving man on day sixty.
The songbirds break the silence,
A cruel happy tune,
They see dark doom in ultraviolet,
the panicked slit wrists and  poison diet,
create failed trails ,
that don't escape and help to hide it.


"The wood line, I made it out"--the cruelest thought,
Mount Fuji's white dress through the trees up top ,
They see themselves smiling,
It is, and it is not,
a happy photo,
identifying their skulls stained green by moss.
False Poets Oct 2017
The Talmud Teaches...
With respect to his son, a father is obligated to circumcise him, to redeem him [if he is a firstborn], to teach him Torah, to marry him off, and to teach him a craft...he is also

obligated to teach him to swim...(Kiddushin 29a)


lay awake when the house is silent,
doing maths furiously in the head,
sleeping can be keeping while doing my calculus,
knowing in advance a conclusion comes coined
in only two colors, black or red

the question simple, did I meet my obligations?

and your read the passage for the umpteenth time,
and the same thought interferes as always,
should the order not be reversed,
the first thing to be fulfilled,


teach them to swim

based on experience life arrives in sequential, repeating waves,
purposed to drown the weak with no pretending that waters,
salt or sweet matters, so first order is business ought be survival preparation and


teach them to swim

if they can swim, stay afloat, then they can then comprehend
the glory of distinguishing right over wrong,
get their priorities straight, that saving others,
especially those you placed on the starting line of life,
is the first principle and overplants anything else when you


teach them to swim

my eyes see the tally, why, they are red! could it be lack of sleep?

I am smiling when I am lying,
teach them to swim always first,
but not enough, one must do it well, well,
and even then, better, 
as all else will, from the well, follow, when you


teach them to swim

3:10am

~~~
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talmud
Rachel Brisco Mar 2014
Your heartbeat is like the soundtrack to my soul and everytime I hold you close I don't want to let you go in fear of forgetting the rhythm.
But you have no idea.
You make me feel so much.
You make me crave every part of you, like an addiction I'm not quite ready to be cured of.
And will I ever?
It matters not at all to you.
Interferes with your life in no way and you love it.
I know you love that I can't move on because if I could, where would that leave us?
You?
Could you live with the knowledge I didn't love you anymore like I'm living with the knowledge you never did?
I'd be your plus one forever.
I'd be whatever you wanted me to be but the one thing I hate being is all that I am to you.
A secret.
And what is a secret but something you are ashamed of?
I spend my life being second best and I'm forced to believe I deserve it.
Maybe I do.
But I'd evade every possible scenario that could make you feel like that.
I'd make you feel like the most important person in the world.
Because to me that's what you are.
You're so special.
I'd never hide you or lock you away.
I'd show the world how lucky I am to have you if you were mine.
And I'd make sure you felt the same.
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
It is possible.
To leap beyond where fear takes us.
Surely so many things happen.
By contrast
We stand still.
Wound up in total curiosity.
To dream in wonderment.
With each twirl we captivate the essence of someone else.
A sort of inspiration that convinces us that we are more than what we believe.
Beginning to walk,
Our other functioning parts come to life.
Embraced in true courage.
Spun around and round.
This huge metal behind it's back.
Suddenly this obstacle isn't what it seems.
First finding what is important.
The touch of someone else
Through encouragement.
The wind-up doll begins to move
No longer incapable by what we define as fear,
But enormous faith.
To place all of it's self in another
Without fear of adding another chip to it's face.
It waddles along.
Moments later,
Pride interferes.
It's movements stop.
To be spun up again and again
Falling to the floor
Seconds at a time
LDuler Dec 2012
ok so here is what we are going to do
i'm going to get a bout de souffle
what was i gonna do..
one thing getting to nether still need you
are you all here
one thing getting getting to noter
288 guitars 
i've been hoping  don't get much dumber 
and getting to noter
this movie is not yet rated
i'm kind of trying to decide
i will send an email to your parents
so… just off the bat 
your parents are not ok with that 
kind of thing
she was out there interviewing her?
right there… have you seen that? ok good
movie theater to hide
c'est rare
reste avec moi
ciao petite fiiiille
elle est la bas je crois
vous parlez français? yes
attention ma petite fille on ne plaisante pas avec la police parisienne
you think i'm lying? you are
i didn't see you
you don't believe me
bonjour mignonne
qu'es ce qu'il dise
les flics me recherche
parle le moi quoi? ca alors
tu es marie
c'est trop **** maintenant d'avoir peur
bonsoir madame
il faut absolument que je trouve antonio
accelere minouche
il est alle a monpellier
why don't you smile
it would certainly surprise me
sourrrit sourrrit
je pense a quelque chose?
je ne sais pas
je voulais être seule
c'est finis
tu m'emmene au champs elysee
au revoir 
tentez votre chance
un cafe alors
moi je peux pas partir
et puisque je suis méchante avec toi c'est la preuve que je suis pas amoureuse de toi
ahh c'est trop complique
j'ai envie de dormir
c'est vraiment dégueulasse
how would you relate
destroy the rules
young actors
....sommes seuls, cette certitude de nous-mêmes dans la sérénité de la solitude ne sont rien en comparaison du laisser-aller, du laisser-venir et laisser-parler qui se vit avec l'autre...
audition for the leading character
interesting combination
the criminal
just the edge of his frame
she seems innocent at the beginning
looking at his notes
just fyi i throw out someone
loving and desirable
playing off of that very consciously
you just not be working
archival stuff is on Facebook
c'est l'heure du gouter
de la glace au chocolat
working on your transcripts/ paper edits
that's probably not a smart thing to do
t'y va
Not this sense
that I don't know what the hell
a human girl is...
where’s the coast guard? 
just a spotlight gimme something
ca commence a 6h 
t'es cool
quickly
i smells like **** did you ****?
you are the love de ma vie
he talks like that he is french
she is like ze morning sun in ze...morning 
beautiful
ze temps is in ze essence
muaaah
is our classroom
i can sense the connection
the connection? 
the connection entre nous
so madame alezraa give me this much
i heard boss
he is not doing anything
to give me a kiss 
it's in the 1st tab
it's still there
you don't have to click
i can't save it, just stay with me
there is no word on this ****
i need the inspiration
you are my muse
c'est pour ca qu'ils sont si petit
small
je vais m'occuper de
the whole point of life is to rearrange it in a coherent running story
people don't talk in stories
cut each section
some sort of a story
nice
tu veux que je mette
ouai ok attends
elle est l'autre feuille
permien tu veux que je colle recolle decolle coupe recoupe decoupe
how do you feel about solving…I mean it's an interesting way to solve it…
〜flowed〜 nicely
it was sort of an ingenious solution
she's in the airplane, she's in the sofa
try to transition between the two subjects….where does your friend come from?
what it was like landing in New York, looking out the window...
the process of arriving
not really fair to say that
in the future, if you're going to try to tell a story…in their minds….what's the story she's going to be telling me?…..coming home
fill in the blanks
don't go shoot blind, that's the biggest mistake
does that make sense?
great!
wubwubwububwubbbbbwubwb
gloving is......flowing lights in sync with the♩music ♫
flowing in gloving is broken…
liquid
finger rolls
tutting
figure eight ∞
wubwubwubBAMwubwubwoosh
wave-like movement…basic thing….wrist in a motion
tutting is like the angles…. not um 〜flowing〜….like tetris
you want to more, rather than following
solid ⸪lights, ⸫single⸭ solid lights⸬
pink to green to orange to yellow to blue
advanced strobe, solid line of color [...] streak of purple
electronic, dustup, elector, house, trance…
you’ll probably never see anyone gloving to like, classical music ♬♪
my name is Henri Geneste and I'm a glover WUBwubwubwubbbWUBWUBAHHHwubwubWUBWUBWUB[ONE][TWO]WUBwubwub[THREE­]
putain c’est magnifique
je me demande si il fait ca la nuit, quand il arrive pas a dormir...
window thing, kind of dumped
either the ours magna or the I equals me squared²
like language, like art, there are rules
go out and break them, just mucking around
fix it, wanna make one, totally your creative decision
how awkward
a bout de souflle
totally revolutionary
ainrr
radical, argue truer, but it's jarring, that's one way to do it!
aware that they're there but not ⑈jarring⑇
close to wide…..there's a cut there but the eye can follow it
um i have to go...
bye henri!!!
bye!
bye man.
see ya monday!
the hair!! im gonna shave it this weekend
I've been to raves
is he, like, a straight-edge?
there's drugs…do you guys ALL go to raves?
how the audio?
looked cool, the rain in the background
DUHDUHDUH that's hard to do
a huge amount, i'm sorry but gloving without the music?
if he does drugs OR NOT, how he's enjoying it OR NOT, if it interferes with his studies OR NOT..
just FYI we were all young yesterday
two bodies
he's here cause he's not going, right?
are you interested?
oh i would be very interested
yeah i see what u mean
you could come with me….i could always take the bus
it'd be cool
moi elle sera belle
here we go!
woah
their audio visuals are not very HOT
hours per day?
1…2 hours a day
sometimes 30mins
mostly people, sometimes like little animals
mostly people
i look at their art a lot
really interesting style
environments
if i want to…how I see them in my head
stuff like that
usually kinda random
i pretty much self taught
mostly from practice
everyone draws…but i got serious about it, like very…6th grade
i don't like the idea of competitions
and mum drawing is like, something that's kinda important
a passion
not sure i would want to go into it as an industry
more than just art
for now im not really sure
alright
so our usual questions
eyeline! thank you
on the couch….at the end it was really weird
who was…sitting where?
where were you?
she didn't really even really look, she was too far away, she just kind of….looked
much…she might not have ever looked
with the eyeline…it was pretty steady, no jerky-herkys, there were several edits
forgive it cause there's enough change
you could follow it, you could see that time had shifted
the content demanded it
WOAH okay now i'm really curious
we could see it, but then it was on the something else
process the image
now we're trying to look at the art, now we need more time
arc? did u feel like there was an ◜arc◝?
umm yeah…..
how many hours a day do u draw?
try to make sensible out of that
is that they use 2 3 four…
uh...cut..i did….cut
the cutting itself is like a commentary on her
since i was little. when i was little
when i was little
but my parents, my family don't
hands and arms
collages, magazines
photography
big part of photography
San Francisco Art institute
graphic animation, we only had like 3 weeks
still lives, models we would draw them
we had like an exposition
the person my mom works with's husband
wanna do an artistic career
alright so
not the greatest projector ever
too much head    space    
a lot of nothing
it makes it a lot more interesting
i think it was okay in the video cause
what she was saying and stuff like that
fair enough but I don't agree
lost in this big sea of wall
you're totally forgiven
no questions
power of a well-placed microphone
fantastic
the beans!
alright
you guys are the wrong audience cause you all know each other's stories
good feedback
movin' on, okay
very frustrating
and now.....surfing! woohoo!!!!
30 loooooong minutes, it's a nightmare!
7 minutes
3 minutes
it's a 10th
there's something fascinating about listening to people…you can do it yourself later
bolinas, del mar, sometimes surface, livermore, ocean beach
......riding the waves…....man….....it's the best feeling
you're walking on water you know? that feeling…….i love the ocean
i love the water, after you get that perfect wave you just feel accomplished
that feeling…..is awesome
surfing, it's all about having fun..
you surf once, and….you know?
if you're a surfer, you have a love for the ocean
my, my grandpa always loved the beach, we would go there at two in the morning and just….
my grandpa died and he asked to be cremated, he wanted his ashes to go in the ocean, so we took his ashes out to the ocean
I remember walking out to the ocean with my dad, we threw his ashes into the ༇wind༅ above the ocean, and we looked down….
we want to get the pain!! and the sorrow! because we're vultures you know? we just zoom in to get his expression
little bit weird
i do, i like it
it's black and white
it's just a surfer, it's not movin', it's there…it's not always the same
sort of echoey
…the ocean, and so i remember my dad taking the….
too much archival? too much? not long enough? both.
there was sort of a disconnect at times
her story, you have to cut
when she says "CAT" i want to see a CAT, when she says "FIRETRUCK" i want to see a FIRETRUCK!!! i was like, okay, i  just went to school…
and now this?
or you see a woman that looks like a cat
it's hard, it's complicated, it's not given
so they just kind of ended
you guys im trying to help them
oh okay
hey you know what no no no you know what don't take any of this personally just be like oh okay
he's got a funny manner of speech
any thing else?
arlo says no
"it would not go well"
what IS the really great ending?
amazing feeling one can have…..
you feel like you own the ocean, like it's heaven on earth
this technique it's called killing your babies…i love that
uh what
he says "uh no no no this is a 3 minute film"
sad but true
we all get attached to things, we don't want to cut them out
just play with it, if you decide
we can schloop
can we watch
not exactly…here's..uh okay a quick heads up
oh
for this summer
advanced lab, art advanced films, screen-writing, animation and more
field trip!! i need to contact your teachers
what day? a thursday
almost all day…nine to three
we would leave here
now im gonna erase this
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2015
weary of mothers and friends
losing their children,
before their time,
weary of failing
to achieve reconciliation
with whatever one nominates
the force that regulates,
fate, Name-Your-God,
deity of your choice,
nature, laws of physics,
the "whatever"
that controls, interferes,
that you think to believe
wills these event's occurrence
non-randomly

cessation of formalities,
one sided truce
signed and delivered,
unafraid to call this
what it is,
**** and damning fate,
for no god
could be so cruel...

If only there was a
Dislike button
for life and the poems
wrenched from death

at 5:00 am
this thought is my
sole inhabitant

once again,
nature's bosses distort,
another friend's grief
asks, cajoles me
to betray my/thy belief

banish it or me,
for we both cannot be
cohabitants
under the one roof,
of this limited mind,
where flailing
poems
never good enough,
failing
to express my
sorrowed rage
also see part one, so to speak

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1052415/a-personal-god-wailing-and-complaining/
~~~~~~~~~~
meet me
where the broad teary rivers
both empty and fill the oceans,
takers and givers,
swapping sorrowful fluids constant,
these loyal thieves,
from the sky, robbing a soul's moisture
selling what isn't hisn't
back to the soil

for this is the human condition,
the foaming eddys where
life becomes words becomes life,
infintum
~~~~~~~
halfheartedsoul Dec 2014
Naught but mockery.

In the back of my mind,
I've always recognised why
Why all those nights,
I fought sleep,
Why all those days,
Appetite didn't come.

Didn't sleep again last night.

And I rose from bed,
reluctant as ever to return
to a heart-torturing reality.

The hot scalding shower,
wasn't hot enough.
And when it was,
I closed my eyes,
Calm reigning my soul.

I walked the streets,
Drizzle of rain splattering on my face,
It was as though everything was fine,
Yet everything wasn't.

I felt everything wrong,
But everything was right.

I, I,
I wanted to stand
in the middle of that street,
And await an incoming car.

Nothing in me protested,
Except for the mind,
the god fearing mind.

My heart was silent,
eerily calm.

I hailed a cab,
got to school like
everything was fine,
But the emotions on my face
probably couldn't lie.

All bottled up,
in a bright corner I sat,
just wanting to let it all out.

Yet again,
The heart-torturing reality interferes.

*Figured, why I never was a fan.
JP Goss May 2014
Two frowns wait for the other to speak:
One long and melancholy,
The other expectant, so fraught and weak.
The boy looks to his dog as though to his lover:
“I wish I could give you everything you wanted;
Life only interferes.”
His mate saunters on, lays low
So he fears, in resignation,
“What is it that keeps your devotion so clear?”
She, silent, in anticipation
“I do not know,” he responded. “But it is not here.”
So the blank canvas continued to be:
His mate continued sniffling unknowingly.
We interrupt the work of the gods,
hasty and inexperienced beings of the moment.
In the palaces of Eleusis and Phthia
Demeter and Thetis start good works
amid high flames and dense smoke. But
always Metaneira rushes from the king's
chambers, disheveled and scared,
and always Peleus is fearful and interferes.
Reece Aug 2013
When I was a kid all I wanted to do was smoke ****
But nowadays its harder stuff that my body really needs
In my teenage yeas smoking on a spliff
It would seem to be a substantial lift
Before long though my depression took hold
Alcohol and cigarettes making me look old
I fell into a bad crowd, moving drugs that were illicit
My life moving so fast I probably could have missed it
MDMA in my system and I felt so loved
Ecstasy wasn't enough to see God above
I experimented with psychedelics and I had a real ball
But my habits got deeper, and my friends, I lost them all
I turned to the streets to pay for my increasing routines
But my job on the street interferes with my dreams
So now I'm just a shadow of my former self
A syringe smiles at me from the bottom shelf
Sometimes I need a little bump just to get my mind right
But often times a bump can turn into a wild night
Sometimes I need to get level with some golden dope
But too much of that **** and my life can lose all hope
I often wonder if my life would be alright
If I was never molested on that dreary night
Sean Flaherty Jul 2015
[page 1] And it was soon after, that the weekend had ended, and I drove home, only-sort-of-alone. Unclean, happy, not the type-to-convert. I don't mean to end the evening by evening the score. "Better than no one," but beating the billboard, and the broad-side-of-the-barn, and the *****. 

You stole from my sewn lips the secret sentiments, which would scare you. You would have been more than welcome to have just asked. Which is probably why I didn't just ask, after, I mean, [redacted line] I hope someday you see this, hope they read it to you, over me, cold. I want you to know that I am a *******-great-friend. I'm there on those days that you don't 
[page 2] pretend. But I have faith (I have no evidence for faith's power, just a lot-of-it). There'll be space, here, for you, in the end. 

I'll look at you, last night, like I looked to enable. With two-eyes, and no movement, your addiction poking at poisonous salvation. You caught the wordless-stick, so, and subsequently set fire to yourself. This sharing of cigarettes was seen by the Absent-Folk. Jarring, I gathered. "At least," I had thought. 

At least, at that point, he, stood-up, stumbled away. "*******." Am I sure? No? "No." Neither bad blood, nor enough time-spent-forgetting my bleeding, my beaurocracy, or your backpacking abroad. I mumble, and I'm bumbling now, but before... I bet... that boy's been broken. And his riled-up "Ryan!" rang my [page 3] soul. My ever-loving soul! My non-existent, unconvincing, numbed-and-listless, inner-business! And on the porch, in the mourning, I wished him, dishonest, and shaved off his ***** hair. 

And on that porch, 'round 9 A.M., the band was packing up. Personally? "People-watchin'." Probably should check that they're actually... even... there. Probably should hear the percussionist explain rhythm, again. I can't tell if it's in seven-eight or three-four. I'll scoop up all your passion, as it spills out through the doors. Not isolated, all-four! Volume-set. Vicariously, sailing very... south (towards New Orleans, again) leaves in the river, collected for the raft, stacked neatly in the Pile. Vitamins, from the Oldest-Living-star, absorbed through skin, and eardrums.

[page 4] Stuck on the surprise of "****-function?" More surprised the ****-function wasn't ******? "No?" Not-even-sort-of. Not even worth it, with most of my words! "Oh, not including you. You let your ears be lopped-off, by my lamenting. You look like a love I could lose to a friend. I enjoy the loss, for a cause, since, if you're always right, you can never be wrong."

And in my acknowledgement
of my ignorance I become
more powerful than I'd ever 
need be poetic.


Not that my mistress numbered amongst my lamentings. Alas, "merely-explaining." 

"Oi, navigate!" Alas, "it's implicit." Therein's your mistake. [page 5] Implicit implies! I'll sooner strip-search a subject for intentions, ulterior motives remaining unmentioned (inspired, I'd reckon, by the pills I shouldn't chew, and the jokes I should stop making). My unfocused inertia interferes with my ability to infer. 

And if you're still here, you're fantastic. And I find you fascinating. And, I found, you were following. My sorries were useless, imagined-kindred-lies. I'm sorry I had to go and "color it pink." But, I'll copy this page down for you, if you'd save it? The buffer'd seemed beautous up'till I blew it. Shouldn't inquire after you, should I? If I'm still thinking on it, should I ink-it-all out? What was your name, after all? 

[page 6] Was it really an accident, "or'd work seem like hell?" [I've been checking out apartments down there myself.] My shell was left-stinking-up the old Durango. But any newly-blazed-trail leads me "back to the 'co." A larger, sturdy, empty, circle-home, with an unidentifiable paint job, and thrusters that are supposedly-designed to fall back towards earth, and incinerate *(CAUTION: FALLING FIRE). *
"I'm pretty sure that verse is... It's just awesome." One of my best? "It's just awesome!" Okay! I'll remember, to remind you, that I've said the ****-I-say, spent, sped, speeding, smoked-out, and smoking-you-up. Spreading myself thin, like Communion-wafers and sticky, like reunions. 
[page 7] Saying you're glad I came, saying you're glad I came, saying you're glad I came. 

Someone snuck up with a secret. I'd seen nothing-not-standard. Even, in your snatching a spider, from my hands, and moving toward mundane mockeries, meandering, and making-my-year with a yawn. Simultaneously, I heard a sharp hiss, as someone had slowly let the air out of innocence. Somehow, rendering me speechless. Well, without respect to the "Whoa!!!" Spit's still not-red-yet. "Skeletal." Said-right. I suppose if I think hard, you'd screamed adjacently. I suppose I've never suggested a co-operative cackling. You're with it, right? You're with it, you're with me, and "you're my people." You're going to have a good time. You should know, I should've too, but attitude's [page 8] a fiction. An answer-tricked, alive, unknown. 

As a species we suffer, from seeing something done, and wanting nothing else. I'm on page eight, and ready, perenially-crushed into next-generation-dirt, but there, nonetheless. 

Well, "either way," even without you, even with her, even-in-spite-of-her, always because of him. "Always loved him, almost-******-her." Wish: I'd kissed Larry, too. Wish: she'd never married you. Wishing-dry, and diamond-winged, cursed voice, bumped up some orange change to the counter, and then off of it. More expensive than I'd have guessed. Self-consumed and best-dressed. Not rushing in, but wondering, about my-time-left. "And if death squashed potential, was it ******, or theft?" Only [page 9] if---I can look, and---wait, I have enough left, yeah, here. "Thanks, I got you back when I get some-of-my-own." Very sweet-air-tonight. "Mad, I missed the show." All good vibes.

[page 10]
Regal lions, turned house-felines,
in the cave, with so-loved-Dan. 
Thank goodness for the better ones. Thank
goodness for my friends. 

Often, only reasons to stand 
up, withholding coughs and stretching.
Even if you can't interpret all my 
fourth-dimension etchings. 
[page 11]
Sought to state the timeline, as
I'm not strung-on-the-plan. 
And, almost, every human, with
a Facebook, has a band.

There'll always be peripheries 
and, people on the side-
lines, and people craving
air-time, and people, deserving that time. 

All-white eyes, fall back, in 
waste-of-times, and
beer-soaked-pasts. For
the amount they seem to 
smile, you would be 
thinking, "this could last."

[page 12]
"Alas," this feels like the end. I feel like I'm leaving them. Slowly. Silently. The Shadow, to whom Paul'd refer, trying to stitch-himself to my town-skipping, sans-sunlight.
A party, retold, per usual
K Balachandran Aug 2013
Morning sun splashes
molten gold over ripe wheat fields,
Spellbound,  stands a village lass,
she feels like a dragon fly, fragile but mirthful,
her spirit soaring high above the clouds,
one of those uncommon moments in her life,
when she felt something beyond words happening to her
she doesn't know how she forgets her dreary life
in which one day is just like any other.

Demure village belle, in her bright colored
patch-work dress, traditionally worn by women,
in Northern Indian villages, bathed in sun, walks alone,
through the winding village path, crossing fields.

Her smile conceals the pain, the thorns on her path give,
walks miles and miles in scorching tropical sun,
to the common well to get the water filled
in an earthen ***, carried on her head.
Her silver ankle bells, incessantly tell the tale of
harassment and violence, cheating, bullying, all that,
by ruffians, tricksters, con men and the like prowling,
on the wayside.Her own family members are no less!
**"It's all in a woman's life" she mumbles, curses fate-
something she has not fully understood, is this
why fate mostly interferes with the lives of women?
Dark n Beautiful Apr 2010
Heart of darkness
transcend some light
you confused the body and soul.

Heart of darkness
your youthful years
were gracious and gleaming
you loved with gregariousness.

Heart of darkness
blindsided by *******
it saturated the body and soul

Heart of darkness
forgive and forget
ratify a truce with love,
Let love in.

Heart of darkness
bruises heal in time
in love there is fear
however, perfect love
casts aside doubt.

Heart of darkness
sadness interferes with hope
we were saved in this hope
hope that is seen is not hope
leaving only trust.

Heart of darkess
the essence of hope
the secret to victorious living
lies in seeing good
in every situation that comes into our lives

Heart of darkness
Let love in....
the theme here is  ..Love verses the heart of darkness
By Dark@beautiful/darknlovely
copywrite W.lander
kyle Shirley Dec 2015
Pain is a beautiful thing, isnt it?
In pain we achieve a higher mind set of life, such as "I will never do that again". False, you will till you stop feeling pain.
Remember that time you confused love, with a life lesson?

Pain is power, it can create body builders and models. Pain *****, to feel for someone who doesnt feel the same way.
Pain is loves opposite, not hate.  Pain is that same deep hurt of emotional stress that interferes in everyday life, such as love.  

The after math of love, or even liking someone causes a pain that flows through you like boiling blood, nothing can take your mind off it.
Marshal Gebbie Mar 2011
Whilst wet with rain
beneath a tree
An introspective moment
had a sneaky peek at me.
Who am I and what am I
... and what have I to show?
And should I be concerned
that very few... may care to know?

Slightly left of centre
With a wrinkled, balding crown,
Scarred and bushy eyebrows
And a mouth that tends to frown.
A grizzled beard hides multitudes
Of sins I wish to hide
And the beauty of my burning youth
Has long since shrivel dried.

The paunch has spread expansively,
Athletic legs have shrunk
And my ****** performance
Has diminished with a thunk.
I suffer fools reluctantly
In fact, it’s true to say...
That my patience and forbearance
Is  more limited each day.

Pasta Carbonara
In a creamy bacon sauce
With a smooth rewarding merlot
Is my favourite fare.. of course!
Plus a stodgy Apple pudding
Bathed in double dairy cream
And a steaming cappuccino
Topped with chocolate is a dream.

A powerhouse of action
With the things I Iike to do
And a sloth, to beat the band,
When the Tax Return is due.
An ardent fan for Old Jazz
Vamped on keyboard and the snare
But the world of Rap
Just leaves my head In hideous disrepair.

I’ll face down bullies twice my size
And heaven help the fool
Who interferes with family
For I’ll hit him hard and cruel,
Yet feed me sad old movies
And, any given night, you’ll see
A little tear run down the cheek
Oh so, self consciously for me.

The woman is God’s gift to man
The statuesque, the strong,
The saturnine eyed redhead
Where the gazes linger long.
The magnificence of a ponytail
As it bobs along the street
Atop a Grecian Goddess
With her undulations, sweet.
And ****!.. there is that little dress,
The one that fits so well,
That amplifies your promise
And gives my senses Hell!

And there’s the need to tell the story,
To formulate the plan,
Initiate the living thought
In a delivery of élan.
To modulate the language
To win the ears of youth
With an oratory of promise
To impact them all with couth.

There’s commitment to your Darling
And a tolerance for the kids
And the need for good provision
So we all don’t hit the skids.
And the cat and dog need feeding
Plus the goldfish in the jar,
Then there’s Alf and Frank and Joe
Who all expect me at the Bar.

So what’s it all about you say
This parody called life?
Is it all a headlong rush
Along the road avoiding strife?
Is there any plan or sequence,
Does it pan out in the end
Or is everything a chaos
Driving me around the bend?

Survival is the answer!
Take one small step at a time,
Smile at dear old ladies
And your day will turn out fine.
Avoid the grim policemen
And skirt all growling dogs,
Be gentle with your Sweetheart
And don’t skate on jellied frogs.

The recipe’s so simple
The answer is so clear
Don’t complicate your time with ****
And, please pass another beer.

Marshalg
Still soliloquising under the tree in the falling rain.
26 March 2011
CharlesC Apr 2013
is
perfection..
owner to owner
perfection is passed..
each owner nods
to this idol
with awestruck glee..
but perfection
interferes and disrupts
even poisoned once
an intimate encounter..
forgotten in this
and other tales
is human waking
shifting and reaching
of shadow and spirit...
ref the late
Roger Ebert's
review of the
1998 movie
A Thomas Hawkins Sep 2010
We don't have to like it
but sometimes life gets in the way
sneaks up and overtakes us
interferes with our day

We may not get the time we want
because life gets in the way
its just the way it is sometimes
it's no biggie, its okay

Perhaps one day there'll come a time
when life cant get in the way
because life is what we'll have together
each and every day
Michael R Burch Feb 2021
The First Valentine Poem

Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) has been credited with writing the first Valentine poem for his wife in 1415. Charles wrote the first Valentine poem in the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London.

My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.

Keywords/Tags: Valentine, Valentines Day, love, poem, poetry, poets, romance, romantic love, heart, passion



Valentine Poems for the Ultimate Lovers: Mothers



Mother’s Smile
by Michael R. Burch

There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”

So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.

There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, oh, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!



Delicacy
by Michael R. Burch

Your love is as delicate
as a butterfly cleaning its wings,
as soft as the predicate the hummingbird sings
to itself, gently murmuring?
“Fly! Fly! Fly!”
Your love is the string
soaring kites untie.

This is another poem suitable for mothers, especially for those with children who are growing up and learning to fly on their own.



Sweet Valentine Poems for Sweethearts



Passionate One
by Michael R. Burch

Love of my life,
light of my morning?
arise, brightly dawning,
for you are my sun.

Give me of heaven
both manna and leaven?
desirous Presence,
Passionate One.



don’t forget ...
by Michael R. Burch
(after e. e. cummings)

don’t forget to remember
that Space is curved
(like your Heart)
and that even Light is bent
by your Gravity.

This may be a good Valentine poem for someone who "centers" a household or relationship with their love.



Kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’
by Michael R. Burch

Kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’
the bees rise
in a dizzy circle of two.
Oh, when I’m with you,
I feel like kissin’ ’n’ buzzin’ too!

I dedicated this Valentine's Day poem to the love of my life, but you are welcome to dedicate it to the love of yours.



The One True Poem
by Michael R. Burch

Love was not meaningless ...
nor your embrace, nor your kiss.

And though every god proved a phantom,
still you were divine to your last dying atom ...

So that when you are gone
and, yea, not a word remains of this poem,

even so,
We were One.



The Poem of Poems
by Michael R. Burch

This is my Poem of Poems, for you.
Every word ineluctably true:
I love you.



Sudden Shower
by Michael R. Burch

The day’s eyes were blue
until you appeared
and they wept at your beauty.

This is a "rainy day" Valentine poem that might come in handy when the weather interferes with other plans.



Let Me Give Her Diamonds
by Michael R. Burch

Let me give her diamonds
for my heart's
sharp edges.

Let me give her roses
for my soul's
thorn.

Let me give her solace
for my words
of treason.

Let the flowering of love
outlast a winter
season.

Let me give her books
for all my lack
of reason.

Let me give her candles
for my lack
of fire.

Let me kindle incense,
for our hearts
require

the breath-fanned
flaming perfume
of desire.

This is an "apology" poem that may come in handy when trying to make up, and perhaps make out!



Passion & Desire: Some of these poems will go well with gifts of lingerie …



Sappho, fragment 42
translation by Michael R. Burch

Eros harrows my heart:
wild winds whipping desolate mountains
uprooting oaks.




Sappho, fragment 155
translation by Michael R. Burch

A short revealing frock?
It's just my luck
your lips were made to mock!



Sappho, fragment 22
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

That enticing girl's clinging dresses
leave me trembling, overcome by happiness,
as once, when I saw the Goddess in my prayers
eclipsing Cyprus.



Negligibles
by Michael R. Burch

Show me your most intimate items of apparel;
begin with the hem of your quicksilver slip ...



Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch

Warming her pearls,
her ******* gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.

If your lover isn't rail-thin, this poem may be a good way to compliment her curves.



Duet, Minor Key
by Michael R. Burch

Without the drama of cymbals
or the fanfare and snares of drums,
I present my case
stripped of its fine veneer:
Behold, thy instrument.

Play, for the night is long.



Are You the Thief
by Michael R. Burch

When I touch you now,
O sweet lover,
full of fire,
melting like ice
in my embrace,
when I part the delicate white lace,
baring pale flesh,
and your face
is so close
that I breathe your breath
and your hair surrounds me like a wreath ...
tell me now,
O sweet, sweet lover,
in good faith:
are you the thief
who has stolen my heart?



Righteous
by Michael R. Burch

Come to me tonight
in the twilight, O, and the full moon rising,
spectral and ancient, will mutter a prayer.

Gather your hair
and pin it up, knowing
that I will release it a moment anon.

We are not one,
nor is there a scripture
to sanctify nights you might spend in my arms,

but the swarms
of stars revolving above us
revel tonight, the most ardent of lovers.


Second Sight
by Michael R. Burch

I never touched you—
that was my mistake.

Deep within,
I still feel the ache.

Can an unformed thing
eternally break?

Now, from a great distance,
I see you again

not as you are now,
but as you were then—

eternally present
and Sovereign.
Installed in the Eclectic Parallel World of the invisible portal of Saint John the Evangelist, everything levitated in his sacred basaltic cavern in Katapausis, in the Patmos archipelago (Koumeterium Messolonghi, Chapter 16 / page 114. Editorial Palibrio-USA). They would find themselves in communion with the clan count, resembling being in their proper ectoplasm; conforming to the only part of masonry ruled to redirect them in the messianic workings of the ascension stages. Vernarth; he besieged in the conscious state of him having to adhere to the cavern, after having finished his labors by waiting three months. He risks being consumed by the myriads and conflagrations, retracting them in parapsychological clouded ways, which subsisted to consecrate themselves in the lavish places divided towards the horizon. The iridescence threatens the primary ultraviolet, lifting the carriage of Apollo Citar, a neighbor of the astronomical cave sketch of the Muse Urania. A lame nuance escapes and dissolves from his mathematical prayer, capturing the spiritual intensity that inspired Saint John to build the temple near his cave of the Apocalypse on the island of Patmos, inserted in the death throes of his embryonic revelation, to pour him into the Megaron to build.

The saint appears only on certain days looking at Vernarth from afar, to encourage him in his progress on the rocky rocks of sharp silica, he is seen as a beautiful adonis dressed in a chlamys with delicate pinkish tones. With such scruples, he redounds a psalm of the angel that normally accompanies the Evangelist around him, with greenish and indigo tones in the perspective quadrinomial of heaven, that he was perishing in his most afterlife redemption in the glory of the empyrean. More convenient than the superlative spiritual intelligence irrigated with the aldehyde, and the condensed water of Skalá, in hecatombs that indicated anarchies of the luminous prophetic men and the habit of the exokarstic soil, endowed with a small perforated Epsilon demon, obtaining its chemical weathering in certain limestone rocks, dolomite, and plaster. Diverting the attention of Etréstles that he glowed overwhelmed and charred. He was not stopped by the currents of splendor and the stormy pollutions of Cymopolea, in his hieratic invocation of the scalded typhoons of the drills of Hephaestus. This demon could be Tytillinus timorous in the defections of the deities of Mnemosyne relegating himself from his precepts, which according to this legend induced protervas inclinations of the clergy during the omitted religious services, he is the one that Saint John the Evangelist feared, that he would not give him the Asfalés Pérasma “license” to enter and be able to commission them in tasks that had been predicted for the Katapausis services after the quarterly. The Travertine silica, with residual sedimentary rocks, was partialized from the extrinsic biogenic that is deposited outside, the travertine predicted the monumental rocky karst of Patmos, for the secretions of calcium carbonate, among so much modest certainty taking you through the Invisible Eclectic Portal, and their Mundis Parallel that crashed with attached carbon molecules that, in disarray, manned them. The chasm was a cascade of weathering that became stalactites in the runes of the travertines, Thermo dynamizing the cavities that were conceived in the invisible caverns, under the parallel caves of the translucent travertine and in the sapwood of the troglodyte ghosts, materializing on the top wind tunnel.

Vernarth; I was with everyone working in the building of the Temple near the outside walls of the Cavern of San Juan, there was Etréstles Eurídice, Raeder, Petrobus, and Alikanto immersed in the Aulos who rang about exciting their ears with the royal denotes, which always had a special quality when he remained in Kalimnos. In good ink, knowing that the entire limen of proximity to the cavern was flooded by the enigmatic revulsive with the presence of Tytillinus, all are reordered towards the poles of tangible etherization with Psalms 120 to 132, thus they would give the antipode disposition with the Divine Mercy, to compensate the crown of the fifteen hours in the afternoon, thus disintegrating the agonizing parallel world that coincides with that of the fifteen hours in the morning. Somehow refraining from the northern paragon with the Tytillinus' shadowing, with the hooks of bewilderment and its scathing thoughts. With precisely this conspicuous shape; Vernarth will allow himself to be swallowed by the beast and reside in his abrasive stomach, making him believe that it will be consumed by him, so that he will soon fall close to it when vomited, thus confusing him, to make him believe that he was the same baby from his conceived womb. Vernarth manages to capture this exotic sinister image near the sinkhole, seeing him depressed in the Tytillinus Prisco; where all attentive listened to the textual vocabularies of the beatific, with the fruit of Karpos, for the benefit of a descendant gained by defeating the devil.

The European Sibilla carried the Gladius in his hand but exchanged it with the Xifos alternately for the death of innocents entrusted by Herod the Great, and for the evasion of the Holy family into Egypt. This confirms the liturgical grouping of the Easter Triduum; alluding to the passion of Christ, and perpetrating the pain of the Devout at his death, and triumphant at his resurrection. The sense of surrealism transports Saint John digging in all the layers and hordes of the Faith, his component of tribulation moved in the Egyptian and Greek cartography, mobilizing the triangular areas of the Palan, which moved in a geometric block reaching the edges of the hypotenuse gradient and the wind tunnel that lifted them, cornering the beast that visited them, pretending to be weak and imprecise. The man will carry the simile of his name, with hyperbole more or less in men who dare not to anticipate the conflicts of the gained space.

Vernarth, plots to continue insinuating with his labors, sees with optimism escape from this calamity, calls everyone to be close to the law ..., once they continued taking the steps towards the cavern. He emerges from convulsions on all edges of the cave, leaving everything dark and with vanities deterred at the end of the temporal Mundis Parallel. In the intermission, Saint John towards the response of Psalm 120 to 132, the fiery roar of the playful roar of the Tytillinus interferes, banishing the shaking of its **** to banish it from the Basilisk's egg, avoiding creating its heavy monarchy over them by prostrating them, as if to dissent. by being repentant or beheaded. Saint John the Evangelist will be an egregious demonologist, compiling thick volumes with the names of the attributions of each of the demons of infernal hierarchy. In this Venusian Aion symmetry, he moves them interconnecting with sublime periods where the intuition of the zafral of the human scale is lost, and of the archetype of Satanism or Satagenesis, with austere precision that includes Leviathan, ruler of the demons, to Ukobach, procurator of keeping the infernal flames alive. So that the manumission of slavery finally reigns according to one's own demonized moral individuality. The amount of an invocation of this type is always the soul of the unconscious individual, who will end up going to be squeezed into the underworld. The demons are invoked and they will invoke themselves in their dawn, to walk in their own darkness of the stagnant past, the mechanized present, and the multidimensional conscious future by means of exclusive enchantments that will be found here in the Mundi Parallel of the Invisible Eclectic Portal.
Codex XXIII - Mundis Parallel Portal Eclectic Invisible
A dis abled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing



You see disabled man just bludgers, and if any pretty young
Lady starts working to help them, they play with their hair
And quite often really annoys them, and it is not just because
They are playing with their hair, no they don't know squat
About how to get out there and actually work
Well, they will work, but in small lots and also
They will take days off to go to see parades
And then look at all the workers, saying
You stupid little ******, little fool
You are trying too ****** hard to teach us how to work
And you are making us laugh so hard
Of course whether he would say that, no one knows
Cause he is disabled, he doesn't really know any better
He thinks he is being cool with us
The best thing to do is have a lot of fun
And not get in the bosses way, at any time
Especially if the boss yells at them, or gets sick of them
Instead of keeping around them like them like a bad smell
Like the disabled man usually does, and let me tell you
He can display signs of anger and it often interferes with
Their work, and after that the disabled man
Will crack himself laughing if anybody was getting yelled at by the boss
Like he is in primary school, you know the way kids act when
You get in trouble with the teacher
The disabled man does work, but you know
Often they show limitations and also they are too disabled
To know why things happen, and I start to think, that
The reason why liberals hate disabled people
Is they can be angry little *****
When they ****** think they're right
The dis abled man will work but they still will act
Like a kid, when they are either told to clean up
Or go over the job again, because they are trying to tease
Yes,  dis abled men have no work ethics, still like school atmosphere, and
A disabled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing


Sent from my iPhone
George Krokos Mar 2022
Oh dear Lord, please don’t allow anything to obstruct our devotion or love to You
but if something interferes help us to overcome it so as to Your love we can be true.
In this world we are all beset at times by so many unwanted tribulations and woes
that it seems as if they serve to lead us away from instead of towards You dispose.
________
The first 2 lines originally written in first person grammar, From 'The Quatrains' ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Keah Jones Mar 2015
It takes 3 minutes for you to lose consciousness by lack of oxygen
This is suffocating
Your brain begins to fire neurons off into the maze of your body
telling it secrets that will forever be held on its tongue

Brain death occurs after 6 minutes
This is the cessation of all brain function
This is death by the deprivation of the air you need to go on
However
In any other circumstance where the heart is not deprived of oxygen
it will keep beating for a period of time.

this was me when you left
I went brain dead
My heart continues to beat of its' own accord
the pacemaker is set to pump my blood
but my lungs crept up and out of my throat
this was my suffocation
not by hanging, not by smothering

It takes 5 minutes for brain cells to start dying at a slow dance of a pace
This is asphyxiation
Consciousness will be lost within 2 minutes
like falling into a deep sleep, peaceful and then all at once

Asphyxiation is the build up of a substance such as carbon dioxide in the body that interferes with the oxygenation of your organs
This death is timely
The car running in the garage or the bag slipped over a head
This death takes 20 minutes

our love was a metaphor of this,
a slow dance into despair
the outcome was the same either way
but it seemed like you picked the method with the flip of a coin
it was lengthy,
it was beautiful,
but it was also devastating.
Scot Powers May 2013
Today I have to wonder
about people once again
some live to cause trouble
while others live to win

why is what your neighbor does
any business of your own
unless it interferes
with property that you own

I find life is hard enough
without the extra strife
of having people accusing you
wasting a lot of time

vindictive little weasels
surely you will pay
for all the trouble that you cause
Karma works that way.

we've been at the bottom
of  that barrel
of which you speak
only to rise above
expectations we exceed

then all the thanks
the world gives to you
can easily be summed up
but really seeing the picture
is hard when your hung up

bent on the destruction
of characters that you don't know
just to feed some jealous need
like a hog stuck at the trough

those whom you hold close
will soon turn on you
it's just the nature of the game
the piper calls the tune

So even in my anger
I still feel sorry for you
for having to be such a ****
afraid of  name being known
David Barr Feb 2016
Our bilingual illiteracy and contemporary expression of vintage infancy remind me of developmentally mature eccentricities within a complex haven of interpersonal dynamics.
Just like a carnival hall of mirrors, our perceptual disturbances succumb to elaborate revelations and dreadful expositions of what we presume to be articulate prose.
Although the socio-political roots of a seductive striptease may shatter the silence of our audible and urban ecosystems, we can now access realms which connect to the severance of divided collusion.
Our galaxy has established her infinite story, in the same manner as a wrought iron gate interferes with the evidence within our contemporary society.
It is just like an alternate universe.
Llahi Fuego Nov 2013
My muse, my muse,
She’s here right now
She just took a shower and her hair is still wet.
She's wearing a bathrobe, she walks up to the bed and sits
When she crosses one leg over the other I catch a flash of her thighs
Inviting thighs, long legs
She has pretty feet
And pretty ankles,
I always look at feet.
She has delicate wrists
She has long thumbs, here she is
Now leafing through a magazine
With those long thumbs,
Long fingernails.
Her shoes are on the floor, shoes that she wore last night
They've fallen over on the carpet,
My eyes find my way back to her
She seems to have found something interesting in the magazine
Here she is, concentrated on it, her back is straight
In this light, this natural light,
Without make up,
She looks impossibly lovely,
Renoir would paint her.

I get out of bed and walk into the shower.

There’s something strangely intimate
About taking a shower in a girl’s bathroom,
Shampoo bottles and hair conditioners all around me
Water cascading down my bare chest
Recollecting and replaying scenes from the night before:
Unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them off
Seeing her Hello Kitty underwear
And laughing, and thinking it was cute
And saying, umm… so how old are you again?
Humour always works, yes, humour always works.

I love ******* this girl.
It seems as though I'm always ******* her.
At night in the living room, on the sofa
Unfastening her stockings and slowly rolling them off,
Next her skirt, then her underwear…
Sweet parting flesh
I begin thinking of how it’ll be, how it’ll go down

She's always in something classy,
But man, it seems as though I'm always ******* her.
Sometimes I strip everything off her body,
But I ask her to leave her earrings and heels on; they confirm her nakedness
Hoop earrings
Red lipstick
Red heels
I lie in the middle of the bed, lights are dim, she climbs onto the bed
Curls up between my legs, begins by kissing on my stomach...
Great lovers lie in hell, the poet says.
Great lovers lie in hell.

I'm falling asleep afterwards, but not her
*** invigorates me, she says, tying her hair in a ponytail
This girl, she has the effect of lighting a matchstick in the dark.
She lays beside me and begins to read Jeanette Winterson
And just before I succumb to a deep slumber I remember something and tell her,
*Baby, baby, baby, your Morse code interferes with my heartbeat.
A dis abled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing



You see disabled man just bludgers, and if any pretty young
Lady starts working to help them, they play with their hair
And quite often really annoys them, and it is not just because
They are playing with their hair, no they don't know squat
About how to get out there and actually work
Well, they will work, but in small lots and also
They will take days off to go to see parades
And then look at all the workers, saying
You stupid little ******, little fool
You are trying too ****** hard to teach us how to work
And you are making us laugh so hard
Of course whether he would say that, no one knows
Cause he is disabled, he doesn't really know any better
He thinks he is being cool with us
The best thing to do is have a lot of fun
And not get in the bosses way, at any time
Especially if the boss yells at them, or gets sick of them
Instead of keeping around them like them like a bad smell
Like the disabled man usually does, and let me tell you
He can display signs of anger and it often interferes with
Their work, and after that the disabled man
Will crack himself laughing if anybody was getting yelled at by the boss
Like he is in primary school, you know the way kids act when
You get in trouble with the teacher
The disabled man does work, but you know
Often they show limitations and also they are too disabled
To know why things happen, and I start to think, that
The reason why liberals hate disabled people
Is they can be angry little *****
When they ****** think they're right
The dis abled man will work but they still will act
Like a kid, when they are either told to clean up
Or go over the job again, because they are trying to tease
Yes,  dis abled men have no work ethics, still like school atmosphere, and
A disabled man doesn't do a good job because they are teasing


Sent from my iPhone
Alvaro Avila Aug 2018
The storm in me
Is the conflict you cant see
Who i am, or am not
Supposed to be
The person i was,
Because and should be

Someone who was
Smart and strong
Needed and belonged
Confident without hesitation
A patriot of this great nation and
A loyal friend If ever you needed one

Today though some see me differently
They say im a
Disappointment with disabilities
Slowly ruining a reputation
A product of my environmental instabilities
Falling short of an expectation

But sometimes there's nothing you can do
When life interferes with predesitination
And redirects it down a path unsecurred and
Opened to translation.
Just as it did to me...

Now everyday is exactly the same
But completely different
I wish I could explain.

Who I was back then
Came to his end that beautiful day in May
And what was left
is what is now
A conflict that no one sees
The Storm inside of me.

AvA
judy smith Nov 2015
We know the importance of sleep for our health and appearance. But when it comes to getting at least eight hours of quality sleep, this is easier said than done. You could be tempted to watch that late night movie, or read one last chapter in that book.

For many of us, the goal of sleeping at 9 or 10pm may appear elusive. Many sleep at a decent hour but suffer from bouts of insomnia.

It pays to learn how to sleep. Ever wondered why babies and children have such beautiful skin? Research shows skin cell regeneration doubles at night and peaks between 11pm and 4am. Sleep deprivation leads to inflammation and oxidative stress which contributes to aging.

Here are some tips on how to sleep better:

1. Control your exposure to light

To maintain a good sleep-wake cycle, expose yourself to natural light during the day, and complete darkness when you go to sleep. If you work indoors, try to get at least half an hour of sunlight during the day. Let as much natural light into your workspace or home as possible.

At night, avoid bright screens within two hours of your bedtime. Switch off all lights, wifi, and electronics in your bedroom. Rather than using the television to wind down, read a book or listen to an audio recording.

Invest in dark-out curtains to ensure the room is completely dark. If you wake up during the night and need to move around, use a dim light.

2. Maintain a regular sleep schedule

Sleeping and waking up at the same time each day, helps to optimise the quality of your sleep. If you need to make up for a sleep debt, take a nap during the day, rather than sleeping in past your usual wake-up time. Once you’re getting enough sleep, you won’t need an alarm clock to wake you in the morning.

3. Watch what you eat and drink

Caffeine can cause sleep problems therefore try to avoid coffee, chocolate, and tea after lunch. A nightcap may help you fall asleep. However, it interferes with your sleep cycle by waking you up in the middle of the night.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2011
A quandary,
How inconsequence can change us
A comment, made in passing, without thought,
Can bring down mighty empires and associations
And render good relationships as nought.

A quandary,
How we pick up bad impressions
And label them with values as we go
Until the crass delusions of a lifetime
Are worn as camouflage to what we know.

A quandary,
How we founder in the hindsight
Of guaging how our brothers measure up,
When flavoured by our own apparent short fall
And tasted in our own judgmental cup.

A quandary,
How life slips bye through the fingers
Preoccupied with details of the way
We  watch the fool performance of the others
And lose our true perspective of the day.

This quandary,
When a rain storm clouds the morning
Then suddenly a bright sunbeam appears,
It's like quandary's building worlds of complication
Which dissipate when rationale interferes.

Marshalg
Pondering issues lightly...
3 June 2011
Drifton A Way Nov 2012
Soul erosion grinds away until eventual implosion
Build corrosion today until the ultimate explosion
Throw your Precaution to the winds I can smell in the dusty air once again it's new familiar sins
What has been will be, so no need to listen to me
You're truly free,use it to create and then you'll see


Mosquitoe tears mashed together with my own blood's smears

My deepest fears gashed holes in my souls fragile human years

Another wave appears, crashed to the shore and time again interferes

The mind clears as trashed worries burn and ring upon deaf ears

So many spheres, lives flashed in a dream,  then it all disappears
Cori MacNaughton Sep 2015
Within every face we see, also, a mirror
within every silence, a breath
within every soul is the path growing clearer
within every lifeform, a death

Our stuff is the stuff of the planets and quarks
existing as one in this space
'till that universe distant and showering sparks
stands ready to take this one's place

A day is as a thousand years
a thousand years as a day
yet human psyche interferes
and would find a better way

The thing that most matters, which few understand
for which many continue to die
is that Unification of Physics Grand
I am you, as you are I
Written in June 1999, and read in public on occasion, though it appears here in print for the first time.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
"gravity has taken better men than me
just keep me where the light is"...John Clayton Mayer

where the light is...
this lyric gets carried from midnight to midnight next,
from troubled sleep to the bus stop, to and from work,
onto, back to, the homebound bus stop once again,
from solitary man to father to grandfather and cycles back
to once again a troubled sleeper poem writer,
who just wants to know, John,

when I find it, will, does the light fill, complete and heal the cracks...when I find that light...

in the city, starlight been banished by street lamps pointed downward, far too often it is believable that the whole world has been wrapped in white crinkled, filmy, wax paper, then,
how will the light know where it is needed most,
how will it find the empty chest cavity that writes these lines

there is real and artificial they say, nature vs. man made,
sun upon the face that heals for but an eight minute
bandaid summer ferry crossing, the fluorescent that says here, here is the bus stop, tarry, sit and rest, while you wait for
answer unscheduled, on a bench beneath to the street light
that illuminates a small swatch of street
between the dark spots on the x-ray of
this patient patient's soul awaiting,
are either of those
the light I need John?

no worries man, I'm just teasing, well knowing, neither of us,
tables turned, know where the light is, up high, down low,
if it is yellow or gold, if light is real or imagined,
only the sensation of the curettage needed to be healed when the
chest drained and the light supplants the drained fluids,
when it interferes, interpolates, how it found me or I it,
how I recognized it, how it reignited the home fire, and
I'll drop you line how light, lightly to find or be heavy found,
how light supersedes, defeats, the gravity of daily tugging,
and how what happens afterwards is golightly
up to us

2:10am **** it
now children, go back to your silly little love pretense poems and pretend you never read this

— The End —