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No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us’d,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam’d. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death’s harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous’d;
Or Neptune’s ire, or Juno’s, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea’s son:                        

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor’d,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas’d me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem’d chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign’d; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon’d shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall’d feast
Serv’d up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem.  Me, of these
Nor skill’d nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress’d; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring
Twilight upon the earth, short arbiter
“twixt day and night, and now from end to end
Night’s hemisphere had veil’d the horizon round:
When satan, who late fled before the threats
Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improv’d
In meditated fraud and malice, bent
On Man’s destruction, maugre what might hap
Of heavier on himself, fearless returned
From compassing the earth; cautious of day,
Since Uriel, regent of the sun, descried
His entrance, and foreworned the Cherubim
That kept their watch; thence full of anguish driven,
The space of seven continued nights he rode
With darkness; thrice the equinoctial line
He circled; four times crossed the car of night
From pole to pole, traversing each colure;
On the eighth returned; and, on the coast averse
From entrance or Cherubick watch, by stealth
Found unsuspected way.  There was a place,
Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change,
Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise,
Into a gulf shot under ground, till part
Rose up a fountain by the tree of life:
In with the river sunk, and with it rose
Satan, involved in rising mist; then sought
Where to lie hid; sea he had searched, and land,
From Eden over Pontus and the pool
Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob;
Downward as far antarctick; and in length,
West from Orontes to the ocean barred
At Darien ; thence to the land where flows
Ganges and Indus: Thus the orb he roamed
With narrow search; and with inspection deep
Considered every creature, which of all
Most opportune might serve his wiles; and found
The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field.
Him after long debate, irresolute
Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose
Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom
To enter, and his dark suggestions hide
From sharpest sight: for, in the wily snake
Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark,
As from his wit and native subtlety
Proceeding; which, in other beasts observed,
Doubt might beget of diabolick power
Active within, beyond the sense of brute.
Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief
His bursting passion into plaints thus poured.
More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built
With second thoughts, reforming what was old!
O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred
For what God, after better, worse would build?
Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens
That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps,
Light above light, for thee alone, as seems,
In thee concentring all their precious beams
Of sacred influence!  As God in Heaven
Is center, yet extends to all; so thou,
Centring, receivest from all those orbs: in thee,
Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears
Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth
Of creatures animate with gradual life
Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man.
With what delight could I have walked thee round,
If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange
Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,
Now land, now sea and shores with forest crowned,
Rocks, dens, and caves!  But I in none of these
Find place or refuge; and the more I see
Pleasures about me, so much more I feel
Torment within me, as from the hateful siege
Of contraries: all good to me becomes
Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.
But neither here seek I, no nor in Heaven
To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven’s Supreme;
Nor hope to be myself less miserable
By what I seek, but others to make such
As I, though thereby worse to me redound:
For only in destroying I find ease
To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed,
Or won to what may work his utter loss,
For whom all this was made, all this will soon
Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe;
In woe then; that destruction wide may range:
To me shall be the glory sole among
The infernal Powers, in one day to have marred
What he, Almighty styled, six nights and days
Continued making; and who knows how long
Before had been contriving? though perhaps
Not longer than since I, in one night, freed
From servitude inglorious well nigh half
The angelick name, and thinner left the throng
Of his adorers: He, to be avenged,
And to repair his numbers thus impaired,
Whether such virtue spent of old now failed
More Angels to create, if they at least
Are his created, or, to spite us more,
Determined to advance into our room
A creature formed of earth, and him endow,
Exalted from so base original,
With heavenly spoils, our spoils: What he decreed,
He effected; Man he made, and for him built
Magnificent this world, and earth his seat,
Him lord pronounced; and, O indignity!
Subjected to his service angel-wings,
And flaming ministers to watch and tend
Their earthly charge: Of these the vigilance
I dread; and, to elude, thus wrapt in mist
Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry
In every bush and brake, where hap may find
The serpent sleeping; in whose mazy folds
To hide me, and the dark intent I bring.
O foul descent! that I, who erst contended
With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained
Into a beast; and, mixed with ******* slime,
This essence to incarnate and imbrute,
That to the highth of Deity aspired!
But what will not ambition and revenge
Descend to?  Who aspires, must down as low
As high he soared; obnoxious, first or last,
To basest things.  Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils:
Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed,
Since higher I fall short, on him who next
Provokes my envy, this new favourite
Of Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite,
Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised
From dust: Spite then with spite is best repaid.
So saying, through each thicket dank or dry,
Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on
His midnight-search, where soonest he might find
The serpent; him fast-sleeping soon he found
In labyrinth of many a round self-rolled,
His head the midst, well stored with subtile wiles:
Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den,
Nor nocent yet; but, on the grassy herb,
Fearless unfeared he slept: in at his mouth
The Devil entered; and his brutal sense,
In heart or head, possessing, soon inspired
With act intelligential; but his sleep
Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn.
Now, when as sacred light began to dawn
In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed
Their morning incense, when all things, that breathe,
From the Earth’s great altar send up silent praise
To the Creator, and his nostrils fill
With grateful smell, forth came the human pair,
And joined their vocal worship to the quire
Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake
The season prime for sweetest scents and airs:
Then commune, how that day they best may ply
Their growing work: for much their work out-grew
The hands’ dispatch of two gardening so wide,
And Eve first to her husband thus began.
Adam, well may we labour still to dress
This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower,
Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more hands
Aid us, the work under our labour grows,
Luxurious by restraint; what we by day
Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind,
One night or two with wanton growth derides
Tending to wild.  Thou therefore now advise,
Or bear what to my mind first thoughts present:
Let us divide our labours; thou, where choice
Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind
The woodbine round this arbour, or direct
The clasping ivy where to climb; while I,
In yonder spring of roses intermixed
With myrtle, find what to redress till noon:
For, while so near each other thus all day
Our task we choose, what wonder if so near
Looks intervene and smiles, or object new
Casual discourse draw on; which intermits
Our day’s work, brought to little, though begun
Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned?
To whom mild answer Adam thus returned.
Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond
Compare above all living creatures dear!
Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed,
How we might best fulfil the work which here
God hath assigned us; nor of me shalt pass
Unpraised: for nothing lovelier can be found
In woman, than to study houshold good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed
Labour, as to debar us when we need
Refreshment, whether food, or talk between,
Food of the mind, or this sweet *******
Of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow,
To brute denied, and are of love the food;
Love, not the lowest end of human life.
For not to irksome toil, but to delight,
He made us, and delight to reason joined.
These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands
Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long
Assist us; But, if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield:
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return.
But other doubt possesses me, lest harm
Befall thee severed from me; for thou knowest
What hath been warned us, what malicious foe
Envying our happiness, and of his own
Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame
By sly assault; and somewhere nigh at hand
Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find
His wish and best advantage, us asunder;
Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each
To other speedy aid might lend at need:
Whether his first design be to withdraw
Our fealty from God, or to disturb
Conjugal love, than which perhaps no bliss
Enjoyed by us excites his envy more;
Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side
That gave thee being, still shades thee, and protects.
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,
Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,
Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
To whom the ****** majesty of Eve,
As one who loves, and some unkindness meets,
With sweet austere composure thus replied.
Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth’s Lord!
That such an enemy we have, who seeks
Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn,
And from the parting Angel over-heard,
As in a shady nook I stood behind,
Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.
But, that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt
To God or thee, because we have a foe
May tempt it, I expected not to hear.
His violence thou fearest not, being such
As we, not capable of death or pain,
Can either not receive, or can repel.
His fraud is then thy fear; which plain infers
Thy equal fear, that my firm faith and love
Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced;
Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast,
Adam, mis-thought of her to thee so dear?
To whom with healing words Adam replied.
Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve!
For such thou art; from sin and blame entire:
Not diffident of thee do I dissuade
Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid
The attempt itself, intended by our foe.
For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses
The tempted with dishonour foul; supposed
Not incorruptible of faith, not proof
Against temptation: Thou thyself with scorn
And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong,
Though ineffectual found: misdeem not then,
If such affront I labour to avert
From thee alone, which on us both at once
The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare;
Or daring, first on me the assault shall light.
Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn;
Subtle he needs must be, who could ******
Angels; nor think superfluous other’s aid.
I, from the influence of thy looks, receive
Access in every virtue; in thy sight
More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were
Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on,
Shame to be overcome or over-reached,
Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite.
Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel
When I am present, and thy trial choose
With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?
So spake domestick Adam in his care
And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought
Less attributed to her faith sincere,
Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed.
If this be our condition, thus to dwell
In narrow circuit straitened by a foe,
Subtle or violent, we not endued
Single with like defence, wherever met;
How are we happy, still in fear of harm?
But harm precedes not sin: only our foe,
Tempting, affronts us with his foul esteem
Of our integrity: his foul esteem
Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns
Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared
By us? who rather double honour gain
From his surmise proved false; find peace within,
Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event.
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed
Alone, without exteriour help sustained?
Let us not then suspect our happy state
Left so imperfect by the Maker wise,
As not secure to single or combined.
Frail is our happiness, if this be so,
And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.
To whom thus Adam fervently replied.
O Woman, best are all things as the will
Of God ordained them: His creating hand
Nothing imperfect or deficient left
Of all that he created, much less Man,
Or aught that might his happy state secure,
Secure from outward force; within himself
The danger lies, yet lies within his power:
Against his will he can receive no harm.
But God left free the will; for what obeys
Reason, is free; and Reason he made right,
But bid her well be ware, and still *****;
Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised,
She dictate false; and mis-inform the will
To do what God expressly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins,
That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me.
Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve;
Since Reason not impossibly may meet
Some specious object by the foe suborned,
And fall into deception unaware,
Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid
Were better, and most likely if from me
Thou sever not: Trial will come unsought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve
First thy obedience; the other who can know,
Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?
But, if thou think, trial unsought may find
Us both securer than thus warned thou seemest,
Go; for thy stay, not fre
Riley Finnegan Jun 2013
I want all of you
I want your messy morning hair
Your sleepy smiles
Your tired eyes
Your sloppy kisses
I want to wake up with your arms around me
I want to wake up warm from your body heat
I want all of you
I want your soft pajama pants
I want your smell on my linen sheets
Your hand in mine
Your soft touch
Your anxieties and tangled thoughts.
I want to get up with you
I want your toothpaste lips
I want to watch you while you pick out your clothes
I want to watch you as you get ready
I want all of you.
I want your scrambled eggs in my tummy
Your freshly squeezed orange juice on my table
Your hum in my kitchen while you cook
Your silly morning things
I want a whole bunch of magnetic poetry words on our fridge
I want to see the silly things you put together
I want to see all the lovey things you wrote
I want all of you
I want to curl up with you
I want to lay by the fire
I want to paint our minds on the walls
I want all of you
Your warm kisses
Your fingers
Your skin so smooth
I want your passion
Your skin running against mine
Your fingers roaming
Your lips tracing
Your mind yearning
Your heart racing
Your exaggerated breaths
I want to be with you
I want to do things and know your mine
I want you to tell me everyday how much you need me, in person
I want to lay with you and watch movies all day
I want to lay under warm blankets and drink cocoa
I want to feel you touch me
I want to feel our two souls becoming one, our hearts beating in rhythm
I want to go on adventures
I want all of you
Your curiosities
Your wonders
Your fascinations
Your skills
I want to discover every inch of you
I want to conquer amazing things with you.
I want to hold your hand every day while we drive
I want to kiss you in the rain while we stop to watch it fall
I want all of you
Your ways of making me smile
Your ways of comforting me
Your beautiful eyes and your beautiful words
I want to shop with you
Picking out our favorite foods
Dancing through the isles
I want all of you
The way you pick out soaps
The way you push the cart
The way you gently place sodas to keep them from fizzing
The way you hand the cashier money
The way you politely give her a smile and make small talk
I want to spend every second with you by my side.
I want all of you
I want the way you sing to music in the car
Your walks
Your jumps
Your skips
Your hops
I want to dance with you at random times
I want to know that you care about me
I want all of you
The way you stick up for me
The way you do what I want
The way you're always there.
I want to go home and catch you staring at me while I'm sitting in our chair reading
I want to feel you kiss me randomly
I want to feel you lean against me
I want to know that I'll never lose you.
I want all of you.
The way you look when your scared
Your nerves
Your happiness
Your shakes
Your ponders
I want to garden with you.
I want to rake and **** with you
I want to watch you work and wonder how you became mine
The way you tenderly water plants
The way you pull weeds right from the roots
I want all of you
Your ***** hands
Your sweaty pores
Your delicious produce
Your never ending breaths
Your sunburnt nose
I want all of you
I want to cook dinner with you
I want to sit outside listening to crickets while I watch you grill
I want to talk to you when you chop vegetables
I want to set the table for two
I want to light candles and turn on music
I want all of you
The way you tenderly mix foods
Your ways of buttering breads
The condensation on your water glass
Your fork clinking
Your way of  making me laugh
The way you talk about your day even if I was there
I want to clean up with you
Washing dishes with your hands on my hips
I want to wipe the table and look at you
I want you to be my encouragement
I want to go for a drive to the beach
I want to hold your hand as we watch the sunset
I want all of you
Your glistening eyes in the sun
Your breath as you talk closely to me
Your giggles
Your frustrations
I want to put my feet in the water and feel you follow me
I want to wave goodbye to the sun, knowing it wouldn't matter if it came back or not, because I'd have you.
I want to listen to seagulls with you
I want you to tell me stories
I want all of you
Your creativity
Your needs
Your wants
Your pleasures
I want you to build a sand castle with me when the orangey glow of the sun is still around.
I want to go get ice cream with you
I want all of you
Your ice cream on your face
Your napkin hands
Your chilly tongue
I want to go home and do laundry with you
I want your way of separating darks from lights
Your clothes intermixed with mine
Your socks
Your detergent
Your breaths as you pick up socks
The way your fingers seem to dance as you fold clothes
I want to fall asleep with you
I want to crawl into the same bed as you
I want to lay on your chest
I want you to play with my hair and sing me sweet words
I want you, all of you
Your heart beating in my ear
Your closeness
Your hands tracing my bare skin
I want to kiss you before falling asleep.
I want to know you're right there with me
I want to trace hearts on your skin
I want to share cold feet and fluffy feather blankets
I want all of you
Your dreams
Your snores
Your beautiful eyelids
Your limp muscles
Your head soft on my pillow
I want all of you.
I don't just want you, I need you.
SP Blackwell Mar 2013
I am sitting on a broken branch

under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.

I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.

Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core

like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.

It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.

Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.

Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.

In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,

I wait.

I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious

that is held by reality and dreams.

Dark sunglasses on to avoid

the blinding stinging light of what is real.

Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.

Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils

searching for a focus point of truth  

in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.

The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line

mimics my heartbeat.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The fading noises pass quickly,

highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip

that are forgotten before you can make them out.

Spun truths turned into lies

intermixed with resin

left from yesterday.

The litter paved streets break under my heels.

Click clack. Click clack.

Broken and cracked

like the false promises

And hopes

And dreams

of those who have walked here before.

The monotonous pace is repeated

only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto

that fails to hold her in place

as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced

another sheet of cracked concrete.

The wet cement that has covered another lie

in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.

A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask

the hate filled holes that get trampled on.

The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen

like the street light lined alley that is now dark.

The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh

is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.

Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.

A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention

as the sound of snapping latex is muffled

by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade

like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.

Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue

in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.

Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations

waiting for human contact to forget

that they are in dark alleys.

To forget

that they live in dark places

where no one lays down wet cement.

The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys

into thinking that they are not menacing

has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.

The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers

is unsaid but felt.

They falsely clean what will always be *****.

The *** filled backstreets yearn for love

like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.

Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone

just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.

The issues and clothing that can never be fixed

abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.

Patches of dead grass are left

untended, unwatered, and unwanted

waiting to be replaced by wet cement.

Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break

under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels

of lost Girls in a desolate city.

Blood trickled trails are left behind

that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.

The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors

that will never be opened.

******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry

of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth

between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices

that wish not to be heard.

Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks

knowing that they will never be heard.

Looking into the dark where

Truth will never be seen.

The constant beat of narcotic users searching

for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,

digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.

Screaming through the silence,

They are not heard.

The desperation can be heard through the whining moans

of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.

The over whelming sound of

Want and Need and Lust

move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.

Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of

her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.

Stilettos stomping on broken dreams

waiting to cross broken streets.

She gazes at the other side as if it is different.

Stilettos tapping on the street

waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.

Waiting to be touched

And grabbed

And ******

                                              In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with

strange men in uncomfortable places.

Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of

flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat

that warns off the internal coldness.

Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals

to replace the drug depleted emptiness.

The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with

the moaning of the streets.

It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of

lonely people and un-climatic *******.

Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.

Click clack. Click clack.

The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is

no longer a need for his body heat.

That unmistakable click clack click clack

on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.

Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.

That is the only trace of me that is left.

Click clack steady on the street.

Steady like mimicking bass line

Click clack heartbeat.

The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto

echoes her broken dreams.

Click clack.

Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.

Click clack. Click clack.

Click clack.

The urban mud of

Wet cement goes

Squish!

under her stiletto.



V.Mata
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse. Wilt thou not haply say,
“Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed,
Beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth to lay,
But best is best, if never intermixed”?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
    Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
    To make him seem, long hence, as he shows now.
onlylovepoetry Apr 2023
When thou and I first one another saw:
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,
Running it never runs from us away,
But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.


The Anniversary by John Donne

<>
My body was at Sunday Sabbath rest,
a weekly anniversary of soul refreshment,
my eyes resting and resisting any sear-searching,
no mental irritants, no voke to yoke from a sweet vigil desired,
yet, the rough & smooth cells both, ever mindful and a calming silenced atmosphere,
a frontline of mine~full of hazards, an exposé of vulnerable tissue

when the heart is willing, then eyes will moisten,
and vulnerability is normality’s secret wardrobe’s doorway,
those exposed, thin skinned pores give free entry by the pricking of perfect poetry, re-charged cheeks flush,
and the weight of demanding pangs electric,
insist on an insertion of pen to hand

a long lapses tween love poems,
expressive of calm seas, an orderly life,
soothing waves sound, lapping and lulling,
bursts of affection, easy satisfied by a touch,
a glancing stroke, satisfying,
an actual smile, gratifying

stumble on Donne’s words, a strong coffee stirring challenge,
to the idylls and idles of comfort that cover depths-in-earnest and well earned memories of early times when fierce embraces, verbal chases, intrigues and passions, were the shrapnel of pursuit, battle and sweet and **** surrender

by command and suasion, this pointy finger releases
colored inked stanzas, a combinatory of pleasured sensations, intermixed with so many memories of moments, visualizations, of actualizations, stabbing colored delights of
sun rising and sun setting island habitudes,
and then this, this  birthing of a poem, a freshening release of
sentinel pangs

tho the room’s quietude yet prevails,
she,
(unaware of the effort emotive raging, using old words in
new combinations, tinged by vulnerabilities and graces),
bedded beside me, distracted by book and music, still, yet,
oblivious to the ferocity of my cresting creativity,
soon will
turn routinely,
feigning plaint, inquisitive and inquiring,
do you still love me?

yet and still!
will my literary eyes literally reply,

  yet… and still…
Sun April 16
5:48pm
(still) between the heart & nyc
Zulu Samperfas Mar 2013
In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of

Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and  
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering

And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise  bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now

I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain

And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her

But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation

and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here
Julia Elise Jun 2015
Jealously rises like smoke.
Obvious hoax.
How could she?
But I know his loyalty.
She can't take what's mine.
He's beautifully divine.
But maybe she already has.
Looks like midnight talks like jazz.
No... He'll return.
Right before she burns.
To what he knows is true.
He was just confused.
Aha.
Wait for his common sense.
Get away from the evil *****.
Her lips curling.
Potion mist swirling.
Rotten, stale or dead.
She's inside his head.
Her breath intermixed.
Almost with his kiss.
Dark hair.
Lingering glare.
I feel her hate.
But she'll take my bait.
Her smirk won't fool me.
He wants me solely.
One choice for him to make.
Love and happiness or wretched snake
Kiana Lynn Apr 2015
With pen and pad in hand,
I’m finally ready to take a stand.
This is how I get my words out best,
it’s kind of like a written test.
It seems to be the only thing that works
when it comes to you, I get flustered by that smirk.
But something about written words is easier,
I bet you’re starting to wonder if it could get cheesier.
Maybe it’s because of your eyes,
and how they reflect the night skies.
Or how every inch of my body reminds me of you,
it’s like to me, this body is brand new.
My hands, they are now meant to hold yours
or how you’re the one my heart adores.
See my body is no longer my own,
my ownership fell apart with every moan.
Thoughts like this, admissions like this,
seem to get lost amidst each kiss.
That’s why pen and paper are best,
for my admission here can attest.
I get a bit lost when you’re close to me,
our bodies intermixed means you’re all I see.
With a pen in hand, my thoughts aren’t all over,
I don’t feel like so much of a rover.
This is where it’s thoughtless,
where I’m anything but cautious.
So, this is so you know that I love you,
and with pen and pad in hand, it's easy to construe.
Victoria Maretti Jun 2013
When we decided on ice cream
I suggested caramel
sticky sweet
dripping down the sides
I wanted to lick it up and
feel the sucrose explode on my tastebuds
a minefield of pleasure.

When we decided on ice cream
you promised whipped topping
and hot fudge
rich luscious chocolate
oozing toward the edges
swirls of dark intensity
intermixed with bouts of airy lightness
a most delightful contradiction.

With all the imagery that’s found in words
and pictures bound to play out in my head
It’s fair to say this sundae tempted me at waking hours
(and maybe even crept into my dreams)

… it’s quite a shame that in the end you settled for vanilla.
Sean Yessayan Dec 2012
One thousand lives lay before me.
Smooth edges jaggedly intermixed
each one has its place.
Some are the corners of a frame,
others fill the void.
The voices unsolved each screech-- annoyed.

When they find their place silence reigns.
Engaged in a kiss only seen on a silver screen.
Lips locked so perfectly, so ingeniously engineered
Their places found through trials and plight
as tired eyes glaze over the chaotic table.
How can this game depict life's fable?
Crystal June Dec 2015
I write these songs I'll never sing
Walk like I'm the ******* queen
Don't give a **** 'bout anything
Boy you were so mean to me

But that's okay 'cause this ain't love
Never will be, never was
I'm sure you didn't mean to give me hope
But that's alright because I'm over it

I'm over you, over me,
Over whatever the **** we were supposed to be
And I'm left here alone with my thoughts again
Neither a prayer nor a friend
To talk this out and lay to rest

And this bed is so much colder now
Despite you never being in it
I just feel the potential, overwhelming

Took my body, not my heart
Not like I had one for you to take in the first place

I hate your face, but I love the way you used me
Called me over, ****** me up
Physically bruised me
Guess you couldn't really even lose me

I was never yours, just a lonely girl with hours to spend
In a practically stranger's bed
And now I'm left alone with my thoughts again

Nothing I say ever makes sense
And you sensed that in me
Detached from me
On a mad quest for not my mind, my body
Senses intermixed - boy you wish
But you were just a short term solution to a long term problem
My mind's got pollution, need a potion just to fix it
Drink away my sorrows - don't even got a fake
But the smile on my painted face is fake enough to convince poor ******* like you to
Get me a drink
Give me a dance
Send me a wink
For a night
Same time next week, I'll be on the floor in tears
My vision going weak

'Cause no matter how hard I act like it don't matter
I find myself getting madder and madder
Walking right under the ladders
'Cause my life couldn't get sadder

And I know someday I'll really be over you - you being the one night stands -
When I'm twenty-two and respected with love from a man not a boy
You couldn't break my heart if it never was beating
And the feeling in my mind is that my patience is depleting -
Like the battery on my cell I stare at for, well, ten hours a day
Just trying to find a way to say I never cared about you anyway

I would if I could
You were never any good
Got my number in your contacts
Won't ever text me back

So I'm jaded and alone
Because you won't pick up that phone
I know I will never love you, just thought the things you said were true
About sticking around
And not letting me down
Like all those other people I've had to kick to the ground

Oh well, I guess closure's overrated
And in the end I'll never make it

Just a girl with a pen and a ****** up head
Staring her shadow down through the night
In her cold and empty bed
Don't take this personally.
Anais Vionet Nov 2023
Lisa and I had a party to hit-up. I can’t stay inside all the time, not on a Friday night anyway and a rooftop is the perfect place to mull over big questions and get the freshest commentary about cultural phenoms - intermixed with music, absotively.

There were several, large, coolers crammed with canned martinis - everything from little Tip-Tops to Tiki-*** Mai-Tais and Triple-Spice Margaritas - this is a partizzle. I wasn’t out to drown my romantic sorrows, but I quickly reached fuzzy and relaxed - which is where I wanted to go.

A massive thumping began, ‘Pitbull’ began spilling from the speakers (‘la la la la’) and the crowd of about 30 reacted in a kind of whooping, group seizure. Lisa clutched my arm wanting me to ‘drop it’ on the dance floor - I could only read her lips - “Come ON,” she pantomimed, and I was ready to make that commitment.

We’re here at Melon’s invitation (a Yale PhD friend), undergraduates don’t usually hang out with graduate students, so it was special to feel welcomed at this off-campus link-up. We’re on the third-floor roof of an office building, under the stars.

The setup reminded me of a Brooklyn warehouse rave Lisa once dragged me to. Multicolored lights, strung every which way overhead, provided a festive air and a round stone fire-pit provided both heat and a light that flickered against every walled surface, evoking something cave-like, deep and primitive - a genetic, stone-age, memory perhaps.

When the beats finally let up, we’d danced-out about 10 songs. Lisa and I sagged into our lawn chairs - fanning ourselves even though it was a cool evening. Between tracks, there was a murmur of in-town traffic and people passing below, forming the undifferentiated buzz of nightlife. “I’m starving,” I told Lisa, who nodded, “Me too - poor planning,” she updogged.

Right then, Melon came over. Melon (real name Milton) is 6’3 and maybe 450lbs. He reminds me of John Candy, with his blonde hair, ever-present smile and colorful Hawaiian shirts.
“You’re giggin,” he said, Mai-Tai in one hand and a lady in the other.
“Thanks for inviting us,” I said, with a nod, “this is nice,” indicating the roof setup.
“Yea,” he agreed, looking around and waving his drink, in greetings, to arriving people.
“I have something for you!” I told Melon, pulling a small bottle of cologne out of my bag.
“Oh, my God,” he said, lighting up like a Christmas tree, “Tobacco Vanille! You shouldn’t have.”
“You said that’s your favorite, ya?” “Yeah, but..” he began.
“You helped us move in,” I said, “It’s a thank you - from all the girls (I lied) and it’s our party gift!”
“Wow, well, thanks Peaches,” he said, adding “you’re cracked,” and gave me a one handed hug.
“Food’s on the way” he said, and then, like he’d forgotten something, “This is Ellen,” he said, turning so she rotated closer.” We only shook hands and nodded, because the music started again.

Not two minutes later, the metal door to the stairs swung open and several guys came up with catering trays of life-saving Tex-Mex from ‘Tacos Los Gordos,’ a couple of blocks away.

“Maybe there IS a God,” I pronounced, unheard in the din, my stomach growling in anticipation.

slang…
hit-up = attend
absotively = absolutely & positively
partizzle = party
giggin = having fun, dancing
updogged = adding a further comment to a comment string.
peaches = Melon calls me peaches ‘cause I’m from Georgia.
cracked = crazy
Man Mar 2021
the first days of spring are upon us
and the rebirth is apparent in things all around us
from the leaves slowly growing back
to the grass, in need of mowing from growing fast
squirrels nibbling on juniper berries
the scent in air, sappy tar carried
with pollen intermixed
your allergies amiss
though still fortunate for the spring
Cadence Apr 2018
12/15/2017

Maybe a woman. Definitely not a lady.
Always fluid, everchanging
Transient, human, waxing and waning
Dust to dust, the earth is waiting

Skin deviously separating
Lips and eyes and breath recreating the truth
Impermanence, interrelationships between the two of you
Between the hundreds of thousands of beings surrounding and breathing with you
Being with you
Being me
Being this inexorable mix of light and twisted, my fight is rising, round 2 has been gifted
Moving, shifting, intermixed
Lifting my voice to try to fix the never-ending brokenness
The *******, hoes, the tokenness

My ecosystem intertwined
Roots supporting, climbing vines, climbing high
Rise and rise, the end is nigh, lest we fight this beast beside
These children fighting over limbs
Ripping flesh and slicing skin
Removing organs from the breathing earth within

Ive spoken this truth before
But from a shattered soul
I speak now from a podium
Breathing deep and whole
Joseph Childress Feb 2014
Naked you
Unclothed
Derobed
Disdressed
Addressed with my heart on
My sleeve

Who needs these
Rags anyway
In a way
Your vision is X-ray
You see what lies beneath

Regardless
Of white tees
You sensed
My heartbeats
Like artichokes
Underground
Knowing my heart’ll choke
If you’re not around

The seed
Grows
Into the giving tree
That relives
Incarnation
Like bouquet’s of carnations
That die
On dining room tables
Relived
Reloved
In living room sessions
Deflowered in front
Of fireplaces

The heat of the moments’
Enough to slow time
So the most
Can be made of
With nothing to be mad of
Because
Nothings on
Accept us

Our body
Of lies
Is useless when our bodies lie
Together
Love letters
Aren’t needed
Because we let us
Become
Intermixed
With our mixed feelings
Yet
Our intent
Is known
When together
We’ll let our
Differences go
And show
Nothing
But ourselves
Joseph Childress Sep 2010
Time
Has changed its course
Love’s no longer intermixed
The feelings
Are just not
As in
I bend
Blended
With a broken promise
One
With the lies
I told
Old news
Like my ways
You remain
Unentertained
Unhappily walking
In the rain
I used to
Run through your mind
Now I’m a rerun
A worn out cliché

This odd couple
Was actually odd
In it’s inaccurate
Portrayal
Of the oddities of love
We
Were a spark
With no fuel
Static
Statistically speaking
The odds of us
Even meeting
Is too rare
For me to bear
But the moment
Fate forgot
Was the moment
That we met
Now our
Trials and tribulations
Are a tribute
To our attributes
Our rude, brute force
That broke the rules
Of physics

The night
We made Love
Without the chemistry
To make it
Bottled up our emotions
As if we wished
To save it

Living
Lie after lie
Looking in
Each others eyes
We’ll appear
To have a passion
As long as our masks
Are tied

Cupid
Our crooked archer
Is to blame
For our misconnection
Our departure
Won’t be in vain
If we do it
For the love of love
And our disdain
For a false passion
Carried out
In it’s name
Jessy Ivan Diaz Apr 2014
I love looking into your eyes only to see stars that light up
and glisten like an aurora over the northern hemisphere.

I see galaxies form at the palms of your hands that slowly cluster into a fist of love and anger,

red fumes intermixed with purple erode from your fingertips
and onto my orbit.

How beautiful it is to look into a constellation that is inches away from my face and to want to kiss it.

A universe at my sight and only
a touch away,
a look away,
a kiss away.

And I get so lost as I stare into her soul,
but she sits silently as words are carried in meteor showers.

Shooting stars light up in-between our bodies
and the tension is seen.
Fires burn inside our hearts and people gaze at us like we are cosmic,
and we might as well be.

They don’t know what it’s like to look into something beautiful and want to gaze at her for an eternity that we do not have.

And that’s the beauty about humanity,
being mortal.

Because I will never ever have someone come into my life and burn a spectacle of colours that I’ve never seen before.

This is a once and a lifetime thing.

And I’m so so happy.

Happy.
If only you were some ill-conceived conceit:
unlikeable, unreal. cardboard cutout, replete
with evidence of failure, warning signs flashing by like
high-watt highway lights, and eyes so very unlike fullerite.

Your eyes were sharper than diamonds, and nowadays
they cut into me, but I can’t meet their gaze.
And you know what they say:
that  everything looks perfect from far away,
and you look real perfect right now...

I smile at how stupid i sound.
This isn’t a love poem.

When i first met you, you were a whirlwind,
a new friend, an enigma, and every breath we drew
intermixed, condensed by winter’s tricks
till we were somewhat inseparable,
and every word we wrote hid
a smile, every step we took
towards each other bridged miles.

Well you’re less a whirlwind now,
and more an aftermath.

I want these words to reach you
and cut deep:
Love is a dance that takes two
and you broke my feet.
Lappel du vide Mar 2014
i want to be touched by somebody
with burgundy blood on his hands;
red handed
raw palmed
legs strangled in maroon bedsheets.

a murderers kiss must be a rush,
blood exploding from every pore in my
bled out skin,
wounds opening willingly for his searching
hands to make
a sort of house out of my bones.
creating a home for something
wild
who has only ever met closed doors
and distant, fearful faces.
i'd prove i wasn't scared of
the dark eyes,
and hungry lips,

knowing at any moment he could push the
cool lips of a golden .45 caliber revolver
and splatter my ****** through the
wooden bedpost and the
flaking, collapsing drywall.

i've followed thrills ever since i was
in third grade,
convincing a boy to take off his clothes
and show me what "men" are made of
and sneaking behind my mothers
injured back
stealing things i wasn't supposed to know about.
i liked putting myself through the danger,
unknown
it rushed up my legs and
rendered me breathless and craving more.  

i've always wanted to hold
something shaking
and cold
and let them tell me stories
out of their biting teeth
of when when it all started:
they were small and rode their bicycle
so fast they fell and skinned their
soft pink cheeks on the black cement
and went crying to their mother with blood dripping
down
a mixture of tar and red.

i'll tell them there's some place in hell
in the beating, drumming heart of the earth
warm darkness compacted,
where you can buy cigarettes for
50 cents a pack,
and whiskeys in water bottles and skin is naked
guns are loaded to shoot down the moon
and eat it with crunching, crumbly golden crackers.
where there is no sleep
only midnight writing furiously on the stark pages
of a shredded journal
dawn walks down the lively sidewalks where
other sleepless figures of orange peel flavored darkness
and coffee bean stained teeth dance and laugh and touch
in the darkest parts of the invisible morning
sweat intermixed unrecognizably with tears
and people hold their belongings in
the drooping bags under their bright eyes,
where screams of pleasure echo in every
cavern and creaking limb you touch
to the atmosphere
and people make love easier
than they
destroy necks.

i'll whisper
"when you're rotting underground
with your teeth in a
waxen, strained smile with lovers flesh embedded
in your own homely skull,
and your fingers are feasts for writhing worms,

and i'm dancing chaotically as ever in the raging wind,
a desert flower reduced to
bright-eyed dust
thrown lightly into the sinking seeds of a garden
with flowers growing out of my decomposing
echo of a body
like an
articulate oil painting decorating the earth to remind them
of my eternity,
i'll sink all the way through the soil
and follow the heartbeats

i'll meet you there."
ask them to bury you with 50 cents in each of your pockets
Jade Elon Sep 2013
1.
i'll write you
a love
letter in
the
margins
of all my
papers
so you
know i
love you
way more
than you ever
think about
me.
have i
ever held
you so tightly?
let's talk
about me
i'm important
too
i love the
feeling of
your legs
warped
around
mine
& the sight
of clothes
scattered
all over
my floor....

2.
tell me
you love
me.
because i
love you.
almost
as much
as a liar
loves a
saint&
a angel
loves a
demon.
let's be
intermixed
let's be
yin&yan;;
let's
pretend
you let
me hold
your hand
for
five seconds
longer
than friends
but shorter
than lovers.
i like to
write love
notes in the
margins of
my heart
for you.
I do not know about you but i have been thinking about every man and woman being responsible for their own growth and advancement in god's kingdom. if you look back to the beginning,The book tells you that god and the angels existed in the beginning before man.  God made one angel  the most beautiful, this made the angel hungry for power.  After all made in gods image was good ,real good!  So my mind meditated on this thought for a few days i found it to be true in the respect that Satan was the first created being.

This is kinda heavy because it says in another place his only be gotten son. (being Jesus.)  Jesus and Satan were one of chaos and peace. This leaves another connection, if he was the most beautiful the most powerful next to god; last to be first. This would be the same being.at two ends of the same point. We just need to see the dimensional shift in the making of his only son and the purpose for his son.

I do know that being a human male, female; complete within its self as Adam was in the likeness of god. Again like Jesus, was missed by near all in the book of genesis.  The female was hidden inside of Adam till the rib was taken from Adam so he would have a help mate. Adam had all three.  The holy spirit, Jesus, the father and his wife. This told me that humans were frail compared to an only begotten son or the father.  This occurred in the fragmentation of sin.

I have seen arguments through out my time and many from people with titles i can't begin to pronounce. We all discuss the possibilities or we look the other way because we cant rap our head around the facts given to those with the true heart of Christ with all the answers written in it and the holly spirit to convict you.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            When god saw the angel's hunger for that which was given to only the one, they became jealous. God found that beauty was a tricky thing  so he  gave us all free choice ,that is a trick in it 's self!  It says that god is a jealous god and none shall be before him in importance or any thing else .  So the new problem was sin.

A fragmented being's punishment for going astray was to live as human. Here is a concept for the fallen to live as the perfect creation of god. I think this was the bar for all of eternity.

Our god made many mansions, they are here on earth where he sent the fallen to experience free will  to the fullest extent and to repent and pray that the father would hear and let you come home, back to the original status as angle's who sang day and night to the father and let his love be their all.

whew!  That is another mouthful there.  I went to sleep one night and was invited into the inner chamber, to have many questions and answers lull me to sleep. yea i remember asking let me learn during my sleep that which i need to bring me closer to the one who loves me unconditionally for eternity. Each day that passes i am given more.

Now back to the part about sin.  Sin was the reason the earth was made.   Sin was the reason god created man perfect in all things. Those  that fell wanted to become like them so much that  they singed their wings when they intermixed with gods perfect human beings.  They were known as the Son's and daughters of men the fallen angle's.  While the new creation was known as the sons and daughters of the most high.  How wonderful that we had this given to us freely we did not have to work for it as the angle's had in the beginning.  

Just think only a percentage left heaven for earth.  Why?  What was so magnetic to be human?  Could it be god so loved the earth that he gave us his son the Angel, the spirit that became flesh so man would live. How much did he love his creation in whom he was well pleased?

This made me ask how far had man fallen short of his destiny to be sons and daughters of the most high ?  As the world turns and the dawn of a new day we all have the knowledge and the wisdom to know who we really are, who we really were and who we shall serve in the end for all eternity with our wings all shinny and new.

I ask of you how then shall we treat our fellow man all the while struggling to return home to the righteousness of our eternal being?
(c) Shekinah  En Ka Mit
1/25/09
Christopher Sep 2014
Lest not we speak of roses,
or of their reddish hue.
Strike the common violets,
arbitrarily called blue.

Intermixed with a dreadful metaphor,
whose folly is to woo.
Let faith and life be the guide
of whether love be true.
Kailey Brown Dec 2014
I was never supposed to be this girl.

I was supposed to be Dark.
I was supposed to be to Depressed.
I was supposed to be Angry.
I was supposed to be Rebellious.
I was supposed to be Alone

I was supposed to be the type to cry myself to sleep.
I was supposed to be the type to cut myself at night.
I was supposed to be the type to be misunderstood.
I was supposed to be the type to be judged.
I was supposed to be the type to hate and be hated.

But
I am not exactly who I was supposed to be.

I am still Angry.
I am still rebellious.
I am still misunderstood.

But

I am not alone.
I am loved those around me.

I do not hate,
And I am not hated.
Because I worked to tear down the walls I built.

I am not who I was supposed to be,
And that's okay with me.

Because who I am turned out to be better.
I turned out to be more than I thought I could be.

I realized something.

I realized that parts of me that were "supposed to be"
never were.
I realized that parts of who I am were always "supposed to be.

I realized that parts of me will always be the same.

I will always want to rebel.
I will always feel a little dark
Or depressed.
I will always be angry at the unfairness of the world.
"Who I Am" and "Who I Was Supposed To Be"
Will always be intermixed.

But

It is in that mixture that the True Me has formed.
I will never be somethings,
And always be others.

But

It is in those things that I will find
Who I Am To Become

And I guess I'll figure that out as I go.
L Seagull Nov 2016
Does sand evolve
Into a millions pieces of
Bits of cosmos and our consciousness
Intermixed with dozens of generations
Of feet drowned into
A physical experience of this
Moment
Firmly planted in this
Coolness surrounded by the
Salty inhalations of
Something so alive it pains
One thing I wish for is
To
Feel
M H May 2015
As weeks slip by
And moments fade from memory
When the final scent of another day
Is tossed away in the breeze
And nothing remembered remains in the conscious
But a shadow in the night sky
What is lost?
As the grains within the hourglass slink along
So many white, flakes of snow
The shade of a lifetime
Lasting for a season
And scattered within a blue, a black, a green grain
Intermixed.
Staining the bland with the pains and joys
A molding of a self, visualized amidst the banal stones,
That salt away the minutes and hours and years
Between the few worthy of mention.    
And when the lost and wasted time drips away
Does the filler of life amount to anything more
Than a tree falling in a lonely forest?
L Seagull Aug 2016
Green leafy sea and rocky layers of blue
Thunderstorm
Yellow sky floods the windshield
Atmospheric feels so deeply
Passionate
And unexpectedly
blessed by the full rainbow
in awe
The sky is colors and lights strangely
Intermixed into such glorious pattern
Of day and night and dawn
peering through and embracing each other
Gratitude is all I have
To breath another breath
To see this world alive
On our way to see Niagara Falls
Imanuel Baca Dec 2018
Oh you hallow feet walking here.
These thoughts, These words
But shadow images,  the trees
Each branch, each scar, a history
A snapshot of the intermixed mystery
We pass through, a leaf trassioning  
Like the ear of one shadow listening
To every other paper cover,
Like the blind man lover
With but handy impressions
Of these more than meets the eye transgressions
Is life but chance?
Is mind but brain?
The soul but shadow,
Formed hopes dream?
Or maybe more,
Man's latent gift,
Man's hopes and fears intermixed?
Is all one,
If one is all?
Does one have reason,
Purpose for all?
With realisation paid and brought,
Enlightened peace,
Comes peace with all.

To touch the infinite
With one's soul,
To fathom a universe
As yet untold
This was the first poem I ever wrote! It was some point in my teenage years if I remember correctly.
Micah Aug 2014
just short of six.

brick by brick.
    transfixed and intermixed
        with her
            bag of tricks.
                what she can’t forget
                    she cold sweats away.

she plays russian roulette with
    old cassettes bringing back
        memories for kicks.
            ***** and giggles.
                licked away by
                    twenty-something years time,
                        and not a second too late.
                            or too soon.

and it clicks in her head that
    sickness comes in many forms.
        adorn by some,
            and conflict of others.
                sticks and stones,
                    but now she gets
                        the weakness shown.

it’s nothing a bottle of bourbon
    and a pack of cigarettes
        won’t fix.
Norman Crane Sep 2020
You and I canoe down neon waterfalls,
Smelling cinnamon and sinsemilla,
Through sockets cascading melted eyeballs,
Intermixed with honey and vanilla,
We push paddle towards combusting shores,
Cloaked in pellucid smoke and glimmer mist,
Black sky alive with buzzing glowbug spores,
We must inhale to know that we exist,
But what if the hazy vapor-stew's too thick,
Paddles stick: viscosity of time,
When the sporal secretions make us sick,
What will become of the horizon line,
Will it burn to charcoal reality
Or conjure us sublime finality?
Sobriquet Jul 2017
Do you feel the pull away?
The crashing tides receding,
to run as tender rivulets along the beach
as if to say an inter-tidal goodbye to the shores

Back to the ocean
the water will run  my love,
a reminder of the times
the sea intermixed with sureness and the stones
only your shorelines could offer
a pelagic mind adrift.
L Seagull Sep 2016
What's there between the feeling
And the vast confusion it creates
Between the chest and teeth
Something stuck and bulging
Unnatural quivering of the vessels

And yet the meaning never faltered
And while I feel so small
Looking into the dark hole of
Never and ever
I still hold on to the thinnest possibility
Of seeing meaning behind those curtains

Talent is goddesses' weapon
I wasn't created a mirror to be pretty
Still much to learn but certain of this psychic
Vision
They say powerful yet
Feeing so fragile in the face of overcoming
Emotion that invades intermixed
Oh what a mess of feeing
Can't know my own from another's
When all I feel is you and me is a
Shadow on the background
Mere reflector that sees inside another
So unknown to myself
And ever lost

Yet my feet never stopped never strained
From the path on which
I knew only the direction
Of the next step
And now as never before
I am filled with faith
That what needs to happen will
Through you and me
I am definitely a work in progress. And proud of it)
ponny jo May 2014
A glass vase upon the floor,
Faster than it can stand,
Becoming evermore,
the likeness of it's impermanence.
The contents it can't hold,
Intermixed with its being,
Becomes a new truth.

We are that which we hold,
when we cannot let go.
Sometimes life lets go for us.
Anya Jul 2018
So **** Endless
The blue sky
about to swallow me whole
Are those really atoms?
A patchwork quilt
So intricate
Not even
Rather
So intermixed interwoven
Just a mess
Just a mass
Including me
Swallowing me
Whole

— The End —