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onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
By this, sad Hero, with love unacquainted,
Viewing Leander’s face, fell down and fainted.
He kissed her and breathed life into her lips,
Wherewith as one displeased away she trips.
Yet, as she went, full often looked behind,
And many poor excuses did she find
To linger by the way, and once she stayed,
And would have turned again, but was afraid,
In offering parley, to be counted light.
So on she goes and in her idle flight
Her painted fan of curled plumes let fall,
Thinking to train Leander therewithal.
He, being a novice, knew not what she meant
But stayed, and after her a letter sent,
Which joyful Hero answered in such sort,
As he had hope to scale the beauteous fort
Wherein the liberal Graces locked their wealth,
And therefore to her tower he got by stealth.
Wide open stood the door, he need not climb,
And she herself before the pointed time
Had spread the board, with roses strowed the room,
And oft looked out, and mused he did not come.
At last he came.

O who can tell the greeting
These greedy lovers had at their first meeting.
He asked, she gave, and nothing was denied.
Both to each other quickly were affied.
Look how their hands, so were their hearts united,
And what he did she willingly requited.
(Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet,
When like desires and affections meet,
For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised,
Where fancy is in equal balance peised.)
Yet she this rashness suddenly repented
And turned aside, and to herself lamented
As if her name and honour had been wronged
By being possessed of him for whom she longed.
Ay, and she wished, albeit not from her heart
That he would leave her turret and depart.
The mirthful god of amorous pleasure smiled
To see how he this captive nymph beguiled.
For hitherto he did but fan the fire,
And kept it down that it might mount the higher.
Now waxed she jealous lest his love abated,
Fearing her own thoughts made her to be hated.
Therefore unto him hastily she goes
And, like light Salmacis, her body throws
Upon his ***** where with yielding eyes
She offers up herself a sacrifice
To slake his anger if he were displeased.
O, what god would not therewith be appeased?
Like Aesop’s **** this jewel he enjoyed
And as a brother with his sister toyed
Supposing nothing else was to be done,
Now he her favour and good will had won.
But know you not that creatures wanting sense
By nature have a mutual appetence,
And, wanting organs to advance a step,
Moved by love’s force unto each other lep?
Much more in subjects having intellect
Some hidden influence breeds like effect.
Albeit Leander rude in love and raw,
Long dallying with Hero, nothing saw
That might delight him more, yet he suspected
Some amorous rites or other were neglected.
Therefore unto his body hers he clung.
She, fearing on the rushes to be flung,
Strived with redoubled strength; the more she strived
The more a gentle pleasing heat revived,
Which taught him all that elder lovers know.
And now the same gan so to scorch and glow
As in plain terms (yet cunningly) he craved it.
Love always makes those eloquent that have it.
She, with a kind of granting, put him by it
And ever, as he thought himself most nigh it,
Like to the tree of Tantalus, she fled
And, seeming lavish, saved her maidenhead.
Ne’er king more sought to keep his diadem,
Than Hero this inestimable gem.
Above our life we love a steadfast friend,
Yet when a token of great worth we send,
We often kiss it, often look thereon,
And stay the messenger that would be gone.
No marvel then, though Hero would not yield
So soon to part from that she dearly held.
Jewels being lost are found again, this never;
’Tis lost but once, and once lost, lost forever.

Now had the morn espied her lover’s steeds,
Whereat she starts, puts on her purple weeds,
And red for anger that he stayed so long
All headlong throws herself the clouds among.
And now Leander, fearing to be missed,
Embraced her suddenly, took leave, and kissed.
Long was he taking leave, and loath to go,
And kissed again as lovers use to do.
Sad Hero wrung him by the hand and wept
Saying, “Let your vows and promises be kept.”
Then standing at the door she turned about
As loath to see Leander going out.
And now the sun that through th’ horizon peeps,
As pitying these lovers, downward creeps,
So that in silence of the cloudy night,
Though it was morning, did he take his flight.
But what the secret trusty night concealed
Leander’s amorous habit soon revealed.
With Cupid’s myrtle was his bonnet crowned,
About his arms the purple riband wound
Wherewith she wreathed her largely spreading hair.
Nor could the youth abstain, but he must wear
The sacred ring wherewith she was endowed
When first religious chastity she vowed.
Which made his love through Sestos to be known,
And thence unto Abydos sooner blown
Than he could sail; for incorporeal fame
Whose weight consists in nothing but her name,
Is swifter than the wind, whose tardy plumes
Are reeking water and dull earthly fumes.
Home when he came, he seemed not to be there,
But, like exiled air ****** from his sphere,
Set in a foreign place; and straight from thence,
Alcides like, by mighty violence
He would have chased away the swelling main
That him from her unjustly did detain.
Like as the sun in a diameter
Fires and inflames objects removed far,
And heateth kindly, shining laterally,
So beauty sweetly quickens when ’tis nigh,
But being separated and removed,
Burns where it cherished, murders where it loved.
Therefore even as an index to a book,
So to his mind was young Leander’s look.
O, none but gods have power their love to hide,
Affection by the countenance is descried.
The light of hidden fire itself discovers,
And love that is concealed betrays poor lovers,
His secret flame apparently was seen.
Leander’s father knew where he had been
And for the same mildly rebuked his son,
Thinking to quench the sparkles new begun.
But love resisted once grows passionate,
And nothing more than counsel lovers hate.
For as a hot proud horse highly disdains
To have his head controlled, but breaks the reins,
Spits forth the ringled bit, and with his hooves
Checks the submissive ground; so he that loves,
The more he is restrained, the worse he fares.
What is it now, but mad Leander dares?
“O Hero, Hero!” thus he cried full oft;
And then he got him to a rock aloft,
Where having spied her tower, long stared he on’t,
And prayed the narrow toiling Hellespont
To part in twain, that he might come and go;
But still the rising billows answered, “No.”
With that he stripped him to the ivory skin
And, crying “Love, I come,” leaped lively in.
Whereat the sapphire visaged god grew proud,
And made his capering Triton sound aloud,
Imagining that Ganymede, displeased,
Had left the heavens; therefore on him he seized.
Leander strived; the waves about him wound,
And pulled him to the bottom, where the ground
Was strewed with pearl, and in low coral groves
Sweet singing mermaids sported with their loves
On heaps of heavy gold, and took great pleasure
To spurn in careless sort the shipwrack treasure.
For here the stately azure palace stood
Where kingly Neptune and his train abode.
The ***** god embraced him, called him “Love,”
And swore he never should return to Jove.
But when he knew it was not Ganymede,
For under water he was almost dead,
He heaved him up and, looking on his face,
Beat down the bold waves with his triple mace,
Which mounted up, intending to have kissed him,
And fell in drops like tears because they missed him.
Leander, being up, began to swim
And, looking back, saw Neptune follow him,
Whereat aghast, the poor soul ‘gan to cry
“O, let me visit Hero ere I die!”
The god put Helle’s bracelet on his arm,
And swore the sea should never do him harm.
He clapped his plump cheeks, with his tresses played
And, smiling wantonly, his love bewrayed.
He watched his arms and, as they opened wide
At every stroke, betwixt them would he slide
And steal a kiss, and then run out and dance,
And, as he turned, cast many a lustful glance,
And threw him gaudy toys to please his eye,
And dive into the water, and there pry
Upon his breast, his thighs, and every limb,
And up again, and close beside him swim,
And talk of love.

Leander made reply,
“You are deceived; I am no woman, I.”
Thereat smiled Neptune, and then told a tale,
How that a shepherd, sitting in a vale,
Played with a boy so fair and kind,
As for his love both earth and heaven pined;
That of the cooling river durst not drink,
Lest water nymphs should pull him from the brink.
And when he sported in the fragrant lawns,
Goat footed satyrs and upstaring fauns
Would steal him thence. Ere half this tale was done,
“Ay me,” Leander cried, “th’ enamoured sun
That now should shine on Thetis’ glassy bower,
Descends upon my radiant Hero’s tower.
O, that these tardy arms of mine were wings!”
And, as he spake, upon the waves he springs.
Neptune was angry that he gave no ear,
And in his heart revenging malice bare.
He flung at him his mace but, as it went,
He called it in, for love made him repent.
The mace, returning back, his own hand hit
As meaning to be venged for darting it.
When this fresh bleeding wound Leander viewed,
His colour went and came, as if he rued
The grief which Neptune felt. In gentle *******
Relenting thoughts, remorse, and pity rests.
And who have hard hearts and obdurate minds,
But vicious, harebrained, and illiterate hinds?
The god, seeing him with pity to be moved,
Thereon concluded that he was beloved.
(Love is too full of faith, too credulous,
With folly and false hope deluding us.)
Wherefore, Leander’s fancy to surprise,
To the rich Ocean for gifts he flies.
’tis wisdom to give much; a gift prevails
When deep persuading oratory fails.

By this Leander, being near the land,
Cast down his weary feet and felt the sand.
Breathless albeit he were he rested not
Till to the solitary tower he got,
And knocked and called. At which celestial noise
The longing heart of Hero much more joys
Than nymphs and shepherds when the timbrel rings,
Or crooked dolphin when the sailor sings.
She stayed not for her robes but straight arose
And, drunk with gladness, to the door she goes,
Where seeing a naked man, she screeched for fear
(Such sights as this to tender maids are rare)
And ran into the dark herself to hide.
(Rich jewels in the dark are soonest spied).
Unto her was he led, or rather drawn
By those white limbs which sparkled through the lawn.
The nearer that he came, the more she fled,
And, seeking refuge, slipped into her bed.
Whereon Leander sitting thus began,
Through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and wan.
“If not for love, yet, love, for pity sake,
Me in thy bed and maiden ***** take.
At least vouchsafe these arms some little room,
Who, hoping to embrace thee, cheerly swum.
This head was beat with many a churlish billow,
And therefore let it rest upon thy pillow.”
Herewith affrighted, Hero shrunk away,
And in her lukewarm place Leander lay,
Whose lively heat, like fire from heaven fet,
Would animate gross clay and higher set
The drooping thoughts of base declining souls
Than dreary Mars carousing nectar bowls.
His hands he cast upon her like a snare.
She, overcome with shame and sallow fear,
Like chaste Diana when Actaeon spied her,
Being suddenly betrayed, dived down to hide her.
And, as her silver body downward went,
With both her hands she made the bed a tent,
And in her own mind thought herself secure,
O’ercast with dim and darksome coverture.
And now she lets him whisper in her ear,
Flatter, entreat, promise, protest and swear;
Yet ever, as he greedily assayed
To touch those dainties, she the harpy played,
And every limb did, as a soldier stout,
Defend the fort, and keep the foeman out.
For though the rising ivory mount he scaled,
Which is with azure circling lines empaled,
Much like a globe (a globe may I term this,
By which love sails to regions full of bliss)
Yet there with Sisyphus he toiled in vain,
Till gentle parley did the truce obtain.
Wherein Leander on her quivering breast
Breathless spoke something, and sighed out the rest;
Which so prevailed, as he with small ado
Enclosed her in his arms and kissed her too.
And every kiss to her was as a charm,
And to Leander as a fresh alarm,
So that the truce was broke and she, alas,
(Poor silly maiden) at his mercy was.
Love is not full of pity (as men say)
But deaf and cruel where he means to prey.
Even as a bird, which in our hands we wring,
Forth plungeth and oft flutters with her wing,
She trembling strove.

This strife of hers (like that
Which made the world) another world begat
Of unknown joy. Treason was in her thought,
And cunningly to yield herself she sought.
Seeming not won, yet won she was at length.
In such wars women use but half their strength.
Leander now, like Theban Hercules,
Entered the orchard of th’ Hesperides;
Whose fruit none rightly can describe but he
That pulls or shakes it from the golden tree.
And now she wished this night were never done,
And sighed to think upon th’ approaching sun;
For much it grieved her that the bright daylight
Should know the pleasure of this blessed night,
And them, like Mars and Erycine, display
Both in each other’s arms chained as they lay.
Again, she knew not how to frame her look,
Or speak to him, who in a moment took
That which so long so charily she kept,
And fain by stealth away she would have crept,
And to some corner secretly have gone,
Leaving Leander in the bed alone.
But as her naked feet were whipping out,
He on the sudden clinged her so about,
That, mermaid-like, unto the floor she slid.
One half appeared, the other half was hid.
Thus near the bed she blushing stood upright,
And from her countenance behold ye might
A kind of twilight break, which through the hair,
As from an orient cloud, glimpsed here and there,
And round about the chamber this false morn
Brought forth the day before the day was born.
So Hero’s ruddy cheek Hero betrayed,
And her all naked to his sight displayed,
Whence his admiring eyes more pleasure took
Than Dis, on heaps of gold fixing his look.
By this, Apollo’s golden harp began
To sound forth music to the ocean,
Which watchful Hesperus no sooner heard
But he the bright day-bearing car prepared
And ran before, as harbinger of light,
And with his flaring beams mocked ugly night,
Till she, o’ercome with anguish, shame, and rage,
Danged down to hell her loathsome carriage.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
I am a man, grandfather to four.
Adherent to the same religion,
Poetry.

Breathing through mine eyes,
Exhaling carbon words,
That with time and pressure become
Poems, verbal musical notes upon life.

Each motion, from tiny to grand,
A capsule of expression,
That if examined under microscope,
Familial DNA, interconnected tissue,
Discovered, tho logic says,  
Time and distance render impossible.

But this is a diamond
This is a writ to be slipped
Upon the finger, the heart, the essence,
Of the only Banyan tree I have hugged.

This poem but a fig,
In the cracks of kindness,
The crevices of caring,
It has slow germinated.

You dear, Sally,
My host,
A building upon I can lean,
When wearied spirits uproot
My surficial composure.

Your seeds carried from east to west,
By a fig wasp, a bird unknown,
An ocean voyager, of indisputable vision, strength.

This seeded messenger, word carrier,
Supplanted in me, and your pupils,
Jose-Bolima-Remillan
Xavier-Paolo-Joshh-Mandrez
Whose very names breathe poems,
in others too, like me and Atu,
Seeds to become new roots, but you,
Our Host official and forever
Planter of trees of loving kindness.

You already know with love and affection,
I call you Grandma Sally,
And when you ask, beseech,
I cannot refuse.

Together we will will banish the sad,
Acknowledge we, that life's ocean,
A mixture of many, even sad, a necessity.

But I promise that will turn it into
Something simple, something good.
For you have asked and I answer you
Right here right now - your wish,
My objective, deep rooted like you,
Like an old banyan tree,
Your roots spread far, spread wide.

So some eve, when to the beach, to the sky
You glance, smile, no matter what, troubles dispersed,
For the reflection of you, seeds, full fledged trees now,
Bending skywards, in search of your rays of expression,
Your maternal wisdom rooted, spread so wide, globally,
All over this Earth, is visible from your
Beloved Philippines.


---------------------------------------
In her own words..

I am a widow,
with five remarkable granddaughters....
all beautiful, intelligent girls.
It is such a waste not to write....
each morning that unfolds is filled
with things to write about....
the people, the birds,
the trees, the wind,
the seas,
everything we set our eyes on,
they are all
poetry in motion.
Life itself is poetry,
I always have pen and paper within reach.
My past experiences are a
never-ending source
of ideas and words for my poems....
I shall write until time permits me,
"til there's breath within me."

-------------------------------------------------
A banyan (also banian) is a fig that starts its life as an epiphyte (a plant growing on another plant) when its seeds germinate in the cracks and crevices on a host tree (or on structures like buildings and bridges). "Banyan" often refers specifically to the Indian banyan or Ficus benghalensis, the national tree of India,[1] though the term has been generalized to include all figs that share a characteristic life cycle...
Like other fig species (which includes the common edible fig Ficus carica), banyans have unique fruit structures and are dependent on fig wasps for reproduction. The seeds of banyans are dispersed by fruit-eating birds. The seeds germinate and send down roots towards the ground.

The leaves of the banyan tree are large, leathery, glossy green and elliptical in shape. Like most fig-trees, the leaf bud is covered by two large scales. As the leaf develops the scales fall. Young leaves have an attractive reddish tinge.[6]

Older banyan trees are characterized by their aerial prop roots that grow into thick woody trunks which, with age, can become indistinguishable from the main trunk. The original support tree can sometimes die, so that the banyan becomes a "columnar tree" with a hollow central core. Old trees can spread out laterally using these prop roots to cover a wide area.
Over 1900+ reads as Nov. 10th.
Sally, That is a lot of friends and admirers you have!
k Jul 2014
I stare into the half length,
double wide vanity that sits
poised in my two bathroom home.

It's reflection of me, naked and
unrefined, are often and unmistakingly
disappointing. But, no longer.

I will embrace my scars of battle. I
will soak in the curves and crevices
of the weight I carry with me.

Counting carbs and chasing carrots
with salad day after day were never
really even my style.

Health. Happiness. Heart. Those
are what matter. Cliche, yes. But true:
A number on a scale is nothing.

I clutch my sides and embrace the
mountains that ridge and peak
laterally on my canvas.

I embrace my full bust and curvy
thighs with earnest demeanor. I
am an image of me. Nearly 20.

No longer will I hold my head low
at a passing glance. I refuse to hide
in clothes too large to disguise my shape.

Beauty is who you are. It's not what
you look like according to the golden
ratios or whatever the hell "they" say.
Time for a change. It's time to be better.
Rose Ruminations Oct 2014
She hates that she is a woman
The putrefying weakness perceived in the curves of her body
The naivete shown in her blues
With the unintentional flutter of butterfly lashes
That refuse to meet the glances of those that pass by
The fear-- Of what?
That stereotypes are true?
She doesn't even know
And it sickens her.

She sickens herself.

She hates that she is white
The blandest vanilla
The marble statue
Somehow revered
Worshiped
Privileged
But simultaneously overlooked
Boring
Unimportant
The Caucasian mongrel
In light of the fact that her People
Have no proud history
Which she can name herself heir to

She hates that she is middle class
Not poor enough to struggle
Not rich enough to be free
Just situated dully in the middle
A footnote in the statistic
That they tell her she must use
To identify herself

She hates that her belief system
Has to be called by a name
That she has to choose
To be a part of a group
As part of her "identity"
And she is not allowed
To stand by her own integrity

She hates that she is American
The pudgy, loud-mouthed, laterally-speaking nation
The brashly jumps into conflict
Guns blazing
As its political system decays
In the stench of its overwhelming debt and corruption

But in truth
She hates
That they force her
To whittle her essence down
Into Gender, Race, Class, Religion, and Nationality
A *****-inducing statistic

As if there was nothing more to her
Than the facts surrounding her existence
Dawn Bunker Aug 2018
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.

The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.

                  ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper.  He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.

An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.

Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.

Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Howard Dully's book was published in 2007, and it went on to become a New York Times bestseller. Howard coauthored the book with Charles Fleming, and it is titled My Lobotomy.
Desperado Dan
Is a man with a plan
To cash in a bit of Kensington
On some high grade *****
Cos right now he's got a couple of scores
But not a great deal more to loose

You see, our Dan is a master of the modern day quill
He works an open office, clocking in and out at will
But after reading all the greats from his and every bygone age
He lives in a time where the mp3 subverts the written page

So night and day he hums away
Searching for that hit chorus
And he knows you can't cut corners
When it comes to tanking up on creative juices

A Desperado is larger beer spiked with tequila
Some say it's for scoundrels to make charming girls easier
But our Dan's quest is noble.
He has a dream we'd all like to believe in
He simply wants to do his whole life’s work in just one evening
And a Desperado seems to conjure all six hats within one head
So if two minds are better than one...well, nuff said

He dilutes them at first, pulling the wool over his own eyes
Until, catching reflections on the glass, he sees through the disguise.
And before long you'll find him chugging straight from the bottle
Then, in a blur of paper and pen, Dan writes like there's no tomorrow.

He writes and writes and writes some more
a couplet, a bridge, an underscore
Ploughing verses like trenches through the ****** white paper
Dropping napalms just to see what pops it's head above the wreckage.

Then, surveying the new landscape, he quarries in every direction…

Linearly; because it's most straightforward like that
Circularly; because they used to think the world was flat

Logically; because... Well duh!
Laterally; which gives the brain a stir

Diagonally; some kinda a + b = c rap from back in the day
In reverse; because sometimes we unknowingly face the wrong way

Unapologetically
Down dead ends
Just to see the view

He picks up clichés and looks under them for clues

Desperado Dan
Calls for desperate measures
As the evening wears on
He indulges all his earthly pleasures

And down they go with a Yo ** **
What a ***** desperado!
***** I say! Now he's mixing with ***
Still his pencil flies with a blistered thumb

'E starts to drop 'is H's
And forgets to cross his l's...sorry t's
He paces back and forwards
An he talks like mushy peas

Rummaging frantically through chaotic pockets
Conjunctives falling to the floor
He can't find the word he's after, but who cares? There’s plenty more!
He begins to vengefully split infinitives in two
And hurl metaphors across the kitchen
Sending mountains of ******* up ***** of paper flying
Like snowballs after the thaw
Which slowly melt into puddles of lonely vowels and consonants.
Long after he has gone.

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------

But all that was before the "Doodley Dee"
And his dream came true with a change of key
The song which people can't help to hum
From OAPs to the I-generation
And people hummed it all over
And in all sorts of weather
Until someone decided we should hum it forever.
And they paid Desperado Dan for every hum
Not bad work for a blistered thumb

So now our Dan seems a lot less desperate.
From time to time he evens finds an hour or two to rest a bit
Sitting on the veranda of his studio in the south of France.
Applying the finishing touches to another comedy romance.
Sipping a very fine Sauvignon, no Desperado in sight.

They're all safely packed away in the cellar

Just in case he gets the urge

Late at night.
Sabila Siddiqui Nov 2018
Deeper than the captivating shape it has,
Lies a greater purpose it stands for.
So vast and strong,
It rotates laterally
and extends at your will.

It stands strong, defying gravity
cushioning you for your comfort
and holding your pelvis still.

So appreciate it for more than it's curves;
stand tall and thank your behind
when you bend.

For it is greater than
it seems.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
Let us not keep our secret,
secret any more!

Thousands have read your poem,
from your tributary, they have drunk.

So I am re posting once more
to remind grandmother,
so many
you,
adore.

I will not stop
till ten
thousand new admirers
have you paid homage.
then I will
              post it again.


~~~~~~
Oct 6, 2013
The Banyan Tree (A Tribute to Sally)
I am a man, grandfather to four.
Adherent to the same religion,
Poetry.

Breathing through mine eyes,
Exhaling carbon words,
That with time and pressure become
Poems, verbal musical notes upon life.

Each motion, from tiny to grand,
A capsule of expression,
That if examined under microscope,
Familial DNA, interconnected tissue,
Discovered, tho logic says,  
Time and distance render impossible.

But this is a diamond
This is a writ to be slipped
Upon the finger, the heart, the essence,
Of the only Banyan tree I have hugged.

This poem but a fig,
In the cracks of kindness,
The crevices of caring,
It has slow germinated.

You dear, Sally,
My host,
A building upon I can lean,
When wearied spirits uproot
My surficial composure.

Your seeds carried from east to west,
By a fig wasp, a bird unknown,
An ocean voyager, of indisputable vision, strength.

This seeded messenger, word carrier,
Supplanted in me, and your pupils,
Whose very names breathe poems,
In others too, like me and so many,
Seeds to become new roots, but you,
Our Host official and forever
Planter of trees of loving kindness.

You already know with love and affection,
I call you Grandma Sally,
And when you ask, beseech,
I cannot refuse.

Together we will will banish the sad,
Acknowledge we, that life's ocean,
A mixture of many, even sad, a necessity.

But I promise that will turn it into
Something simple, something good.
For you have asked and I answer you
Right here right now - your wish,
My objective, deep rooted like you,
Like an old banyan tree,
Your roots spread far, spread wide.

So some eve, when to the beach, to the sky
You glance, smile, no matter what, troubles dispersed,
For the reflection of you, seeds, full fledged trees now,
Bending skywards, in search of your rays of expression,
Your maternal wisdom rooted, spread so wide, globally,
All over this Earth, is visible from your
Beloved Philippines.


---------------------------------------
In her own words..

I am a widow,
with five remarkable granddaughters....
all beautiful, intelligent girls.
It is such a waste not to write....
each morning that unfolds is filled
with things to write about....
the people, the birds,
the trees, the wind,
the seas,
everything we set our eyes on,
they are all
poetry in motion.
Life itself is poetry,
I always have pen and paper within reach.
My past experiences are a
never-ending source
of ideas and words for my poems....
I shall write until time permits me,
"til there's breath within me."
-------------------------------------------------
A banyan (also banian) is a fig that starts its life as an epiphyte (a plant growing on another plant) when its seeds germinate in the cracks and crevices on a host tree (or on structures like buildings and bridges). "Banyan" often refers specifically to the Indian banyan or Ficus benghalensis, the national tree of India,[1] though the term has been generalized to include all figs that share a characteristic life cycle...
Like other fig species (which includes the common edible fig Ficus carica), banyans have unique fruit structures and are dependent on fig wasps for reproduction. The seeds of banyans are dispersed by fruit-eating birds. The seeds germinate and send down roots towards the ground.

The leaves of the banyan tree are large, leathery, glossy green and elliptical in shape. Like most fig-trees, the leaf bud is covered by two large scales. As the leaf develops the scales fall. Young leaves have an attractive reddish tinge.[6]

Older banyan trees are characterized by their aerial prop roots that grow into thick woody trunks which, with age, can become indistinguishable from the main trunk. The original support tree can sometimes die, so that the banyan becomes a "columnar tree" with a hollow central core. Old trees can spread out laterally using these prop roots to cover a wide area.
Robi Banerjee Jan 2014
Victuals for intellectuals:
be quasi and prototypical,
not pseudo or ritual.
Feel shame and wonder.
Don’t blunder in the shallow muck,
shovel to your knees and look under.

Do not track linear paths:
Think sideways, backwards,
upside down, exist laterally.
Accept contradictory truths:
they are not just possible
they are inevitable.

If you haven’t found one
in your search, keep your
head down and eyes open.
Be new to avoid ennui, and
let no truth chip your tooth.

Be quiet, not stupid,
be rarely edible and
hoarse from spirit.
Be invisible, not loud,
be a hoax until
you are undeniable.
As seen on Apostatements (apostating.wordpress.com)
wordvango Sep 2014
I admire you tree
never having to bend or look laterally or do you
doubt
your meaning?

Reaching for blue skies with limbs
leaving root digging determinity
earth drenched brown bark strong seeming
godly.

I am so blue, looking at you so calm and distant
composed with no worries only a day again to make oxygen
feeding man.

You leave and seed and sprout proud, purposed on this earth
never doubting and  so,
I would like to bow to you. Tree.
1.
I'm sorry for your Pain
Surely it has made your scared
And surely not all of it is fair
But know it's only in your mind
And it makes you one of our kind
I'm sorry for your Pain

I'm sorry for your Allergies
or any other problems
Disease is unjust as this life
And those that aren't undone
Can take life as quick as it comes
Or faster, it some cases
I only hope that my disease
That unto yours, erases
I'm sorry for your Allergies

I'm sorry for your Inequality
If I had one and you had two
I'd walk right up and say thank you
If you had two and I had one
It would not be, I would just run
But, Oh! I lament that it is so
For I have all, and I do know
People in our world fight to live
People in our world fail to live
Simple differences account for some
Tell me how you have come undone
Into a world in which our fear
Makes people want to not be here
I love you more, but that's not now
I cannot express, infinitely how
I'm sorry for your Inequality

I'm sorry for the Night
If ever it is dark outside
And you feel under pressure
Believe that darkness is alright
Believe that there is love in the absence of the light
You cannot see, but I love it
Darkness is who I am
Darkness is why we have some light
Darkness is what I am
And you are light, well, it is so
Always in my own eyes
Without darkness, if only light
There would be no surprise
I'm sorry for the Night

I'm sorry for your Misconceptions
Gradual pain lacking detection
Though you can't feel it, it isn't right
Behold what keeps me up at night
Money, fear, and imitation
All electronic stimulation
It's all vanity for let me say
It shouldn't really be that way
Arrows point you along the lines
To blind you from what you can find
I won't change you, you're independent
I'm sorry for your Misconception

I'm sorry for your Orders
I'm sorry since they make
You do for others, but listen now
It's surely a mistake
Collaboration makes us whole
Orders tear us apart
Doing for them will make your life
Begin to fail to start
Only do for others if they would do for you!
And if you do for others, do it also for you
For those who blindly follow feel so found, but are so lost
And acting for others all your life has an infinite cost
I'm sorry for your Orders

I'm sorry for your Violence
It's not right for us to fight
To use anger to express spite
People who hit surely don't know
What you would say, though it is so
I've heard you say it's not deserved
I've seen you ignore what you've heard
When you are hurt is my worst fear
I hope in your heart, I am near
For this message will take you through
And make a free person of you
I'm sorry for your Violence

I'm sorry for your Ego
Now, I'm glad you have some pride
We are all the same and you will know
This, if you look inside
There's no reason to feel as though
You're above or below
We are all made of dust of stars
And if you look, it shows
However, if you stand above
And you do so not out of love
I suspect that you may not see
That I am you, and you are me
I hope we come together so
We can all love and hear,
If we compromise our egos,
We shall be free of fear
I'm sorry for your Ego

I'm sorry for your Sadness
Though it does have a function
It may halt you from progressing
At an emotion junction
Oh, how I feel! How I struggle
To see you being sad
But I move on, for I do know
This sadness should be had
Sadness can never be deserved!
And at times, it's not right
But as sadness is like the dark,
Our love can be the light
So when you fall remember this,
From the bottom of the cup
As love fills up your spirit now
The water goes right up!
In this moment, please have no fear
Please fight to carry on
The sadness will be what saves you
Unless you're already gone
I'm sorry for your Sadness

Though I want you to have no pain,
Sorry, it isn't right
You now have oh, so much to gain
For let me shed some light:

2.
I'm not sorry for your Understanding
For since you clearly see
You understand our culture, here,
and you understand me
Oh, how I fight! Oh, how I seek!
I live to understand
Understanding does bring
And as it enhances my mind
It does a greater thing
It gives me my most sacred power
Which is to empathize with you
It makes it so I know what's false
And what I love, that is what's true
Understanding is all I need
To make this life complete
I look at you and understand
What it's like to walk in your feet
And what a majestic time it is!
To see someone and know
That all I've done and all they've done
Have led us here, to where we go
To meet and see each other's love
And burn each other's fear
When you help me understand you
Is truly only when I hear
I'm not sorry for your Understanding

I'm not sorry for your Sorrow
Even if regret can harm
Regret can consume your entire life
Or compromise your charm
Yet here, know this! You open up
When you apologize
And if you knew what it really was
It would be a surprise
Your sorrow is so humble
Your sorrow shapes your life
So long as sorrow teaches you
And please, without a knife
The function is for you to learn
To correct a bad fate
And now, all you need to do
Is not repeat mistakes
And please be free! For beyond that
Sorrow is but a waste
Take what the sorrow teaches you
And then, before it's too late,
Forget the pain, and do move on
It can be hard, I know
But once you love with what you've learned
The efforts of your sorrow show
I'm not sorry for your Sorrow

3.
Laterally and downward
Crazily like a pup
This is only what you expect
But it is only up

Like a madman scribbling
Or a child bored in class
Pain drags us along for a crazy ride
As if we have no mass

But listen here! Because I love
I can tell you why
Your pain just makes you beautiful!
Your pain just makes me cry

All of my new found perceptions
Enhance my life tenfold
But what you hear is born of pain!
I'm so warmed by the cold

And judge me not, but understand
I love the pained, the hurt
I love them more for their presence
Is such a wonderful work

I will plainly continue and say that your pain makes you beautiful. When I speak to my brothers and sisters who are mentally challenged, homosexual, or any other type of minority, I feel so loved and lucky to be in their presence because I know they had to fight harder to get to a point that they could look into my eyes and smile through their adversity. Pain has brought me gratitude!! Because since my pain made me isolated, so much as an acknowledgement makes me feel so loved. Pain has brought me perception!! Because I see the same gratefulness in others and it makes me understand that we all love those who share our pain. And along those lines, most importantly, pain brings us together. You should embrace your pain and wear in on your shoulder since you fought through it, you earned it, and by sharing it with others, we find what we truly have in common. Every person who shares their pain let's the struggling brothers and sisters know they are not alone! Pain is darkness, but by letting people know their pain is not abstract, we shed light unto their pain and we all love each other better and more productively.

I lost control, but just know this
Beauty is only pain
And from sharing the pain you have
Such love you have to gain!
It's another one where the letters, PAIN MOVES US, spell out sections 1 and 2, then I just had to go on a tangent since I love how much pain is beauty in my life and I hope you can love people through pain like I do because it is one of the best parts of my life
Francie Lynch Jun 2015
Lazy afternoon rays shaft
     Through Spring's full trees;
The wind cuts laterally
     Leaving the sea.
Through deck lattice
     The grass weaves
A tartan plaid.

     Electric lines,
     Chimney tops,
     Blossoming crops.

I hold out my hands,
Stringing fingers
Through thinning hair.

The artisan
Wove and weaves.
This is the basket,
The rug,
My coat.
Entwine our fingers;
Weave a basket.
Collect your thoughts.
JL Dec 2012
How does one start or finish?
How many times do you wonder
If you are only a copy of a copy
I am alone
Minding my own business in the white trash community college  peeling dorm roof
Posters line the wall and I imagine this is not her bedroom
The alien posters on the wall
The radio is playing
A steady theta wave of AM static
Until I become it
Or it becomes me haha
...wait who is that laughing?
Said the black haired girl in the corner
"Who are you? (Although I know who she is) Whose bed am I in?

Time dilation thoughts and memories pool within me
And I soak in them
The great being
her voice floods over me
and black ribbons of fingers
Clutch me

Outside a bird sings
I can hear the mechanism of his respiratory system
"I am a bird and this is an exclamation of my instinct!"
I hear his lungs swell and the brass pipes drip cold water in his throat
I hear the compressor on the refrigerator two rooms away click on
I hear the sound of my blood pulsing through my veins
Until my own breathing becomes first nature
I see my own laterally bisected head
How my skull cradles the soft grey blue hue of my brain
The optic nerve branching like brown roots
A pupil perfectly dilated black and the great blue sea of my iris
I am lost in the shadows that reach in from the edges of my mind
Into the darkness my own laugh sounds musical in my ears
cd Mar 2015
Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand 
 
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow

The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass  frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy

The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
 the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.

The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds

The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them, 

Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.

The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever 
and if at times the former 
then always the future

the finest font I've ever found is you
Olivia Kent Dec 2013
Body Parts

The holy two of us.
Danced bare naked in the acid rain.
Stripped tissue from bone.
Caused deep pain.
More pain than either ever knew.
Bi-laterally scarred.

Internal scarring.
Heart ripped out and left behind.
She left her heart in your bedroom.
Her head on the bus.
Left her memories in the dustbin.

All the memories of us.
Maybe not.
He's never forgot.
She left her womanhood there in his brain.
So he could fantasize about her as he plays.
She left her mouth in the spot,
The spot he loved it best.
I'll let him think and remember the rest.

It's so sad it all went rotten.
Let two crazy poets never forget.
Each others feelings deeply.
With never not an ounce of regret!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Cosmogony of My Emotions: Teleological Theosophy of My Personal Theology
Death cannot defined. Being of ultimate consequence it is above causation, yet reigns supreme as an effect. It can only be affined: Aqua, Ignis, Terra, Ventus , Umbra, Lucem/ Hydro, Pyro, Gaia, Aero, Erebus, Aether, all swirl in dead languages spoke a thousand years ago yet they all have been read by our generation in our youth.
The veil of death is a tabernacle in which only the high priest returns from walking, all others are drug back rope around their solar plexus. All paths of death are two fold.
First, from the feet of the Teleologic Cosmos of Emotion we grow towards the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. From the abyss we stare at the knees of the concave exterior of healing. Like the twins of June, hate and pain, are the two closest modes to death, but not the most direct. I feel fear is the ultimate neighbor of death. The flow of Consciousness lies first in the womb. Concealed from the light, darkness sheilds us from the illusion of Illumination. Hate feeds into pain as Pain feeds into hate, like a sibling rivalry. The knees (pain and hate) bend not to cushion the feet (death) but to stop the pelvis (fear) from shattering under the weight of the back bone (Stillness).
Adapted to the new ways of my mother's demon of lust wedding sloth and gluttony. Sin is the seat of unconscious control, or lack there of like a drunk blacked out asleep, already anticipating his next drink. Hate is Ache followed by ate. Pain and hunger are two sides of the same page. What can I say, everything happens for a reason. Even if I feel it was treason yet I'm no regal prince, nor a Mercury lying closest to the Solar, I drenched myself in my own masochism: physically mentally spiritually, and had done so for years. The basis of your emergency alert was quite founded, yet not without ignorance. Yet to me, you felt i was going to rise through fear to descend into pain and find my new year 25th, death. But the beauty is in my birth with one hair on my head I left the manger a man, no wig, feeling for the first time while the police speak to my mother searching like the warriors dispatched of Herod. My blood spirit is free, having saved Adam through the pyramid  I dethrone Satan by the sip of the crown of the feathered serpent. Yet you hate he who fell. I fear the vile nature of the burning fields respecting the ignitor of the flames as the sole cause of err that lead or Savior to accomplish who no one else could. For without the fall of the unholy, wingless, cut from tip to tip, Iesus-Yeshua-Judah would not be your most beloved. Without the pain of Christos (the annointed), Khristos (the enlightened) would not achieve ideology of the cosmos. Pain rises to fear shortly, and shifts into hate in confusion as siblings squabble, as I had done internally for a decade. Yet through the gift of the heart heavenly Saul is able to see the life lesson to use the lower part of our mind to find the Big Blue. Pain ascends into love if and only if death can bounce like glue. If you aim for the Sun and the Moon you can only be a child of astronomy, yet you showed me my dreams to buy you a ring of Saturn and hand it to you on a Sunday. I believed my pain laid plain and bare could convince you of you're convictions. My mission in the deepest recesses of body was for you to give into your fears so we could slip into the underworld of sin sipping red wine until the mounring in my heart rose Rex by the fading starlight. I dream to live a lye, basic as alkaline, I wished to be a battery. I saw myself freed of my woman battering heritage ceasing the cyclic self fear that posited the ferocity of my fore fathers, due to the love of a woman most beloved and true. I felt you could be the instrument to my Burning Lyre, my love Plutonic I felt my crow caw. As I held you in my arms singing with you in harmony, setting the bond between the viscous cycle of Pain, paying dues with Hate, to rise like smoke to face fear starring death in the face like a shadow below. The night sky black with how to Know, twinkling with the star light of Love. Only above the vault of heavens clung Joy, Hope, and Live.
Without poeticizing further, what I term the Basement of Abasment consists of Death at the roots (red inverted triangle) rising into Hate (orange w/ red center) and Pain (tan w/ red center), with the connection of Pain and Hate forming a cross with the direct bond between death and fear (yellow w/ small red center).
Proceeding up the towards the chain of being, leads to what I call the equator of emotions. Cling/stillness/resolve is the grey region connecting all body's of feelings as the Moses, the leader of the Exodus and the appellation of the celestial globe. It binds Love and Know laterally to one another, while connecting the Vault of Virtue to the Basement of Abasement.
mt Aug 2011
I've got this smile I do
Where the corners of my mouth twitch up as far as they'll go
And I hold my lips just so
so that top row of my teeth are on show
But not the top gums, never those
And then of course
A little pull on those cheeks to get the dimples

And I brush furiously each day,
but I never look inside,
I never look past the 6 white teeth I show
to see the teeth beside.  

I used to have a feeling,
That laterally, they yellowed,
A furtive fearful glance,
saw shapes in the shadow,
but scared of what the light might show,
I never used to know.

Fear of what I might see,
Genetic imperfections, naturally.
So I brushed and brushed,
And then
I bit the apple,
And the chunks stuck in my teeth
And the chunks sunk down the crevices
and festered underneath.

And then I said so what: I flossed,
I took the chance to let the light dance,
And ignorance is all I lost.

I know everything.
And I wouldn't say they're yellow, more cream.
But as the floss delves down into the unknown crevices between my teeth,
It brought out some awful gunk that really stunk,
And I bled too, you know,
But I'm told those things are natural
The first few times.

And of course when it bleeds,
It's because of gum disease...
But it leaves if you can just see
what's ***** then clean.

So I made a policy decision,
not to shy away from imperfections,
as reminders of my human condition.
But instead to do the best I can
with what I've got, and all the love I can muster.

We used to do it for God,
But that's all gone in this age of science,
And meritocracy.
So I put my faith
in the healthy suspicion,
What feels right, is right.
That is, feeling is being,
Do you see what I'm seeing?

And what feels right is the best we can
The difference from man to man,
The one will live his life in fear
Of news he'll probably never hear.
The next will live his life light
Taking action, when he can,
So he might taste the world's delight.

And then of course I've got this smile
That I couldn't do a thing to hide,
As my mouth is open wide,
I've got no fear of what's inside.
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
Once, my life I would have given, for the man of driven snow.
Purity in heart and crying soul, laced only with pure lunacy.
Provided by distillery.

He was beautiful, a gentle man, but, truly is a mental man.
My glasses misted with dripping love and body heat, bi-laterally
What a silly little girl I was, old and nearly grey, a wild child still wanting play.
In need of taming, but never whipping.
(C) LIVVI
Camilla Peeters Dec 2018
everything pink forever please
put your hat on it will make no
difference in me that is now
unsigned of long fingernails and
curly shawl driving through the axis
of your eyes in a sixties suburbia

in me that is now uncoloured curly
smile i twist my thoughts in
paraphernalia that they might fit a
life fathomable by authority i sit
knee deep between surfacing
sheets i want erasure posture
means darkness my spleen
disagrees each morning
body-thoughts and you-suit

i sat on the edge of a rectangular
ear my feet the teeth to bite white
nights to whisper how self-lies and
love hands me nothing but life and
a weak notion that nothing of more
than a bleak scarcity is coming
written on my skinny toes

how do i walk laterally
you raise your head and tail
coincidentally like a skunk is always
perhaps faded like you are always
howling for yourself pitiable
madman how the world is a tragedy
unlike thee how do i stop thinking i
am going to die
8/8 -a series loosely inspired by 'Tighten the Reins' by Puzzle (more parts to come)
C Jacobine Nov 2011
Do not look at me and think of a river.
I will die climbing mountains,
not marching blindly to the sea.

Do not expect me to tell you my secrets.
Like a storm withheld by a leash,
there is no charm like mystery.

Do not compare me to a familiar soul
My intentions were never to emulate,
but to enhance the existing for my brethren

I’d rather be an unbound book
whose pages are out of order,
who makes you think laterally.

I’d rather be the wayward snow.
A raindrop is paired with a goal
and forgets how to move sideways.

I’d rather be
in a different place
in a foreign heart
giving life to new things.
I want to be inspiring.
Olivia Kent Jun 2013
It is the evening of my darkest day,
The day after yesterday,
Preceding tomorrow,
When reality bites with jagged teeth,
Oh my goodness is this real,
Hopefully bring no more sorrow,
A fantasy, no big deal,
Or so she thought,
A question upfront without admission,
Only omissions,
Admitted in rash moments of indiscretion slips,
In a weird weir of tumbling issues,
As tears fall bi-laterally,
Caught in fragile cobwebs mesh,
Sticky,  so they can't escape!
Poetry is his, she is mine also,
Have craved all day for a room,
In which I can deposit my pleasure,
Sharing gifts is our greatest asset,
Him, in mode of ebony,
Me, bathed with angels lights,
Normal MO,
Such a joy to behold,
At the moment roles reversed!
Livvi Kent June 2013
I heard colors last night
Drifting in my head
while I happened to be in bed
The colors sang to me in every which way
Vertical, horizontal, and laterally
They all had tones of distinct notes
One sounded like a girl swinging in a tree
the other was the calm rolling sea
and when you mixed the colors
they began to harmonize, and intermingle
creating a painting of sound
if only I would've written it down
for that symphony of colors quickly faded from mind
as I drifted off into my slumber
And closed my eyes
The Dedpoet Jan 2016
There is a humanity which never stops,
Each an elementary piece
Of every human.
        Look at the sun which gives light
To all the darkest crevices that
Think they are hidden.
     See the nature in its flawed beauty
Through your innocent eyes which see
What you perceive as
Right and wrong,
      See how the river splits and still
Finds its way downwardly as well
As all the mimicked frenzy
As bullets fly laterally.
      It drowns itself in the moist earth
And eyes turn away to find beauty
Elsewhere in this lunatic frenzy,
     See how pretty the tombstones are?

And when you can see this light,
Then and only then you
Can see the darkness which hides
In its luminous lie.
Olivia Kent Jun 2013
It is the evening of my darkest day,
The day after yesterday,
Preceding tomorrow,
When reality bites with jagged teeth,
Oh my goodness is this real,
Hopefully bring no more sorrow,
A fantasy, no big deal,
Or so she thought,
A question upfront without admission,
Only omissions,
Admitted in rash moments of indiscretion slips,
In a weird weir of tumbling issues,
As tears fall bi-laterally,
Caught in fragile cobwebs mesh,
Sticky,  so they can't escape!
Poetry is his, she is mine also,
Have craved all day for a room,
In which I can deposit my pleasure,
Sharing gifts is our greatest asset,
Him, in mode of ebony,
Me, bathed with angels lights,
Normal MO,
Such a joy to behold,
At the moment roles reversed!
Livvi Kent June 2013
Denise Writes Jul 2018
the confucianistic rigidity

makes for fixed form madness, viscerally

as bounded by lines drawn laterally

meters and syllables the oddity


birthed by unquestioning insanity

fall in ! a yearning to break this, slowly

quixotic paradox moulded holy

sacrosanct dogma sheds humility


the key is to break the lock dead, for it  

speaks for no one but shapeless abuses

mystery history ; resolution


to uwu or to chirp like a great ***

is lit, for ignorance of the misses

marks this to render perfect rendition
lkm Sep 2014
All that's on is this fake smile
Lost in darkness on this lone isle
Shattered dreams, unhappy soul
Deeper, deep, as each day goes

Eyes are hollow, cold and bleak
Body trembling, hurt and weak
Broken, done, and on the edge
Voices shouting in the head

Done with fixing, it can't be mend
All that's wanted is the end
It's enough to go insane
So why don't you just end the pain?

Overrated are sleeping pills
It doesn't work, too slow to ****
Jump off buildings from up high
Start to fall for you can't fly

The slash of knife laterally
The wrist is stained, it's really ******
Crossing roads to coming cars
Impact sends you flying far

Turn the shower to the heater
Waiting to be electrocuted
Take that gun, it's time to fire
Do it now, aren't you tired?

In the sea, go sinking down
Don't fight currents, just get drowned
Hang a rope up to the ceiling
Kick the chair off to start swinging

There are many ways to suicide
Which one to take, you decide
It doesn't matter, just that you're gone
You're done trying for so long

There's no one who can help
Even you can't save yourself
So a soft whisper of goodbye on your lips
Is spoken while waiting for Death's Kiss
Jill Aug 25
Another ordinary day
A damsel wakes with father fear
Reluctantly pulls blanket back  
As thoughts of resting disappear

From messages left unreturned
A growing feeling to embark
So, to his door set off to seek
Her unresponsive patriarch

Our damsel finds the bolted door
On floating breeze, smoke scent conveyed
The clock ticked quicker, locked without
Prompt call for hasty rescue aid

Blazed into action in a flash
—our scorching young protagonist
His searing skills foundation-forged
To save an injured arsonist

Our hero spots a bold ingress
An aperture at altitude
And meanwhile spies a driver’s card
—appearing strangely barbecued

Attention-torch on task-at-hand
On bended knee to deftly bring
—our damsel up, with strapping arm  
To reach the lofty opening

Our star-struck damsel, hero-held
Enchanted by his smouldering gaze
Wonders on what might have been
If meet-cute happened other-ways

Then slipping lithely window-wise
She drops inside the residence
Let hero in, then victim search
While mental-logging evidence

Sticky hi-***** rest in pairs
—their bottles languish laterally
Permeating smoky trace
Each clue arranged unnaturally

Recalls the messes passed outside
The slumber-tilted char-filled grate
Suggests a rather vigoured dance
With lumbering unsteady mate

And there our wounded, mattress-bound
Though coverlet obscures him still
His body marred in major part
From falling on his lighted grill

That solo night with drinks for two
—set grill for dreamy warmth, and then
Was flame-kissed in his doomed attempt
To bring his lost love back again

The sloshing, dulling, drink-fired trance
All woozy, stumbly, bonfire-played
He scrambled indoors, mattress-jelled
No manner for alerting aid

The damsel-daughter rescue-wrapped
Her father truly bottle-broke
As panic builds, all hero dreams
Well vanished in a puff of smoke

First thoughts occur, ‘If only aid
—had come before to stay this fate’
The thought reply, ‘But even so,
before this fire, was still too late’

Stuck helpless in her helping role
As supine father gurney-glides
Recalls the times and times before
The medically supported rides

The bottle holds a fire-fuel
That firefighters can’t suppress
A complex, clawing, crawling pain
That leaks into a shared distress

Constant, judgeless, shame-free love
The only hope to smother flames
A blanket of persistent souls
To search for joy when none remains

Without these tools for fire fight
The flames repeated encore flare
So, we are left ‘if only’ bound
       Our loved ones to another round
       That crackling roar the only sound
All fire-kissed and blanket bare
©2024
Laokos Jun 2019
somewhere there is
a man sitting
alone in a cave.

the immensity of
the cavity is obscured
by darkness, he
cannot tell how
deep it goes.

he has resigned
himself to whatever
this absence
holds.

the man hears
nothing but himself
echoing back
at him.

he can no longer
discern whether he
is going deeper
or just laterally.

he stopped here
for a moment
because here
was as suitable
a spot as any
in that Cimmerian
womb.

his heart is heavy
as his mind projects
the images, memories
and emotions
of his most recent
love lost.

he is afraid that
all this shadow will
swallow him
or that
maybe it already
has.  

that ultimately,
this ritual pilgrimage
to the underworld
would claim
him as payment.

but he knows that
this place also
offers unparalleled
boundless healing
and metamorphic
growth to those
that traverse
and
converse
authentically.

all that you find here is you.
all that you face here is you.
everything you didn't realize you were capable of.
every deeply malevolent impulse.
every twisted thought.
every terrible act.

but also the courage
to face them,

the grace to move
into them

and the love
to understand
them.

you will lose
yourself here.

you will find
yourself here.

...once more into the dark.

— The End —