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Sand Aug 2013
Like a discordant chord striking the piano deaf,
Or a saxophone that lost its swanky *** appeal,
When you breathe down the neck of my violin,
      The horsehair refuses to bow,
When you huff out your limitations into my harmonica,
      You disrupt my harmony,
Throwing me
                                                        offbeat.

[But I refuse to be beaten].
unless I'm a drum and you've got the right rhythm....
My enemies have injured my wings not to fly
I am with bare head and foot under naked sky
Now I am ready for the brawl from eye to eye
Being professional soldier I haven't learnt to cry

Enemies may resort to their tricks being weak
I know my limitations I will never ever seek
My future is bright their future is but just bleak
Their actions are oblique my approach is unique

I am determined to be soldier of God to be martyr
I  do not have a shopkeeper's mind to go for barter
I don't attack from back but remain front to declare
I am a soldier being frank straightforward and fair

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
kimberli May 2013
It's difficult to tell who you really are,
Your eyes merely reflect my expectations,
I yearn to explore your scar,
I want to expand your limitations,
I hold dear, to our warm worn memory,
but even closer to my heart, is our future,
I'm not sure what you think of me,
Please, I need this wound to be sutured,
So fill my soul with your secret,
Hug my heart with your words,
Give me your heart, I promise I'll keep it,
And we'll nest together like birds.
Nathan Burt Jan 2014
Does time actually exist?
do we move forward
in a linear fashion,
or do we exist in a
evolutionary rotation.
does this reality have a
beginning and an end, or
is it in a constant state of flux.
it seems time is only relevant
to those that can perceive
its regular alterations.
yet perceptions can
be deceiving.
how can we truly
know anything if our
senses cannot be trusted.
regardless our limitations
we are moving forward,
mutations of energy
intimately woven
into the fabric
of spacetime.

We exist in a
great unknown,
a sea of mysteries
of few obvious truths.
do not fear the unknown,
learn to love the questions and
the answers may come in time.
whether we are moving forward,
or,
completing a cycle,
love the time you're given;
because all we have is now,
for tomorrow and yesterday exist
solely in the confines of our minds.
Heidi Franke Dec 2023
There are no limitations. You
Receive help that
You never accepted.
It now encircles you.
By an outstretched hand.
No one bites it off.
Acceptance received.

The sun directly investigates
Any unwillingness
To not accept change. Bringing a pinch of new light.

Who would you have to be
Stepping into the
Other side?
Finding you are truly good enough.
That any other connection
From limiting beliefs
Unravels, like opening a pomegranate. One seed thinks it's all alone,
not seeing all the others encased in their own restrictions.
What if it were the perfect time? The full ripe fruit.

You are the right age! This is the perfect time!

What if the opposite were true?
What would you do? Even if a part of you did not believe it?

Bathe hence your confining insistences.
What is in your skyline? Your oceans horizon?
Supplied with new resources, a deliberate inventory, of unrestricted beliefs, if the opposite were true?
Then who would you have to be
To make it unmistakable?
Who would I want to be
If the opposite were true? Now, only now, as a matter of time.
Reflections on a learned patterned of thinking, leading to a false self identity.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2
Oct 2020
Poets, let us examine this friendship thing, again.


Poets, let us examine this friendship thing, again.

This is a poem of humans, regardless of our natural multi- flavored striations, that tend to over-define us, thus separating, instead of celebrating commonalities.

Like most things we enjoy, our five senses are the gateway to pleasure, even the pleasure of friendships. They act in concert, a symphonic interplay that reenforces and heightens so that in combination they create a whole greater than a single sense could provide singly.

This is on my mind this week, as I wrestle to understand the meaningful possibilities, the limits of friendship.

Poets form bonds without hearing each other’s voices.

Poets connect despite geographic distances that makes grasping each others sinewed arms, caressing the softness of hard cheekbones, without ever having been granted the unique, all encompassing satisfaction of embrace, hugging.

Poets sometimes can hear but not see each other’s words.

Poets sometimes can see/read each other’s words, but never hear them voiced aloud in the authors own, true voice.

Poets sometimes cannot smell or taste each other’s words, though it can take a poem to another, higher sensory level of coloration.

And yet, a bond so strong forms that defies the conventional limitations of the physical. Should we share such a bond, them you know it, no need to ask for confirmation.

Words, can be gifted, without teleportation, even when and if the bridge of a shared spoken language is not extant.

This is nothing short of miraculous.

Just like friendship.

All my wrestling to true comprehend this state, for naught, for the miracle of words is like the color of water. Universal, invisible, but so varied, that it too bridges and is shared by every ! human body regardless of any human shape, color, form of the billions conceivable.

But wrestle I do nonetheless, for the pleasure of this (non?)soluble problem that both creates queries & quenches simultaneously, so I break off this thinnest wafer to share with you, offering this notional:

All humans are poems.

All poems are human.

Solve this poem for human.

(And ignore the wet spots of my watery, clear tears staining this poem).
written Oct 2020. in conversation with SPT
We all just want to be truly free,
Of all the hatred and misery.
But the limitations of humans, you see,
Is that we can't decide what's meant to be.

We can't control what happens around us,
Not even prevent tragedies that faze us.
And while happy and sad are simultaneous,
It seems only the depression becomes contagious.

Life is hard, and we all know,
When only a mask, can we show.
Only one can relate and help us grow,
But the breeze carrying love, will rarely blow.

I just want to live in happiness,
Feel nothing but the eternal bliss.
But the only thing that brings me this,
Comes from her lips, that one special kiss.

But what do I do when she's not here?
She may not return, that's what I fear.
Her time to go, seems to be near,
But I can't let go when I hold her so dear.

Each day that passes, what grows is her pain,
And as  a human, it's what I can't contain.
I'd love to die, but I must refrain,
Because that would just drive her totally insane.

We don't want to be, not at each others' side,
But The Lord didn't make that for us to decide.
To know this just happens, sounds like genocide,
Losing her is like breathing cyanide.

We can only see through our own eyes,
We can't comprehend another's demise.
It's this very limit that I despise,
Because I'll never know when her soul cries.

The limitations of being human,
Make us permanent catechumens.

Only she could restore my faith,
But lost I will be, shall I see her wraith.

She is all that matters to me,
Together forever, we wished we could be.

My soul can't escape the depths of this Hell,
Without her, there I'll eternally dwell.

But her soul being a pure white dove,
She saves me with her beauteous love.

So I beg thee great Lord, not bound like us,
Save her, it's You to whom, her I entrust.

She's the one who takes away,
The sins that always lead me astray.

Lord, you know, for you are not I,
She's my Angel, I see in both eyes.
To be able to talk to you without no limitations. To be able to get to know you without hesitation. You are the one I LOVE deeply oh so intensively am willing to give my Life for yours if it must be. You are the Girl of my dreams ...she is beautiful her height about 5'7 her eyes hazel to honey brown at times depending on the day how she feels and the weather her skin as smooth as a baby's face the perfect tan a combination of 2 ethnic groups AA and Caucasian and not a 100% sure about that either. Her name I cannot give you it but her hair is oh so delightfully scentful her smile melts my soul right at the most intimate part of my sacred temple. She holds the Master Key to my soul and heart. She is my day and my night...she is the air I breathe in the morning light she is the presence I feel alone in the dark...my whole being revolves around her but she is a mystery to me since we never get to talk freely. I am bound by the chains of love and extreme attraction...to bad that I am just the Guy that works were she eats at...am just a mere abstraction.

I know am not an important person in her life or even got the type of class or status to be at her caliber. Nevertheless, I am the man that adores her I would give anything to converse with the Goddess that owns my very soul for I am lost in words describing her reflexion the only part I been able to see. I am so eager to see if the beauty that encompasses her physical being is similar to the beauty that reflects her spiritual being. Am also curious to see what type of personality she obtains but from her looks am sure she is far from my personal gain. Perhaps her morals are similar to mine...who are her friends what does she like...what's her favorite food? But am simply lost I don't know what else to say.

She hasn't come to eat at the Restaurant and am bummed out about that fact. Haven't seen her in a while...I wonder were she is at...perhaps enjoying life to the fullest with her BF that I have never seen. A man well established with high education and a professional job with a expensive car and lots of money...and then there is me a mediocre Dishwasher 2yrs of college but dropped out at 45 credits has student loans to pay...a cheap car to get me from point A to point B and a small tight budget that allows me to pay my bills and have a little extra to barely have fun in Life...so yeah...am here sitting alone it's 12:33 AM in my Mother's house having my 7 day vacation thinking about her...her then her and only her. She is the one who has conquered my heart but sadly I remain a broken mirror a pitiful reflexion of the shattered and scattered portrait of the lone poet who loved, loves and will forever love that one girl...that one day came into the establishment I work at and gives me light and hope but yet darkness and pessimism due to my failures in life and her triumphs in it.

Alone am here trapped thinking...what would be to have the honor to be her man and she my woman to love her caress her and care for her every need. A lone soliloquy of a soul in the in endless loop tangled in love but withering away due to the fact I am just the lonely man who may be the beggar the homeless and strained in the rain.

No where to turn no one to aid where has God gone to...I lost him somewheres.
©Franko the Christian Poet
The Love Of my Life. The one who has been given my soul and my heart. The gatekeeper of my life.
AJ Oct 2015
We are the victims and the perpetrators.
But those roles do not intersect.
We are children and we are parents.
And those roles do intersect.

What I'm trying to say.
Is that two plus two may equal four,
But without limitations x can be anything.
It can intersect as many or as few times as it wants.
It can be zero all of the time,
Or never.
Set some ******* limitations.

What I'm trying to say.
Is I don't want to **** it up.
Don't **** it up.
entropiK Nov 2010
maybe he left his wedding ring in your **** by accident


that night when you told me
you wanted me to *******
wearing his sordid black suit but  
it was about four sizes too big and his
heart was four rooms too small.

i forget that the anthropoid chassis
possessed no ****** limitations.  

and yet you were there,
wailing out cherries and
casuistry and swollen
macabre in absinthian
vinegar,  wearing the dress
that i hate.

you have weak wrists,  
you bruise by blue tuesdays.


--


maybe i left my gun in your **** by accident

that night when you told me
only love and explosives
got you off. i of course, went
for the least dangerous.

you forget that the anthropoid intellect
possessed no sadistic co-existence.

i'm just an ulcer when i am
inside you.  you scratch me raw
and you make me
take off that face
that you hate.  

my poetry lingers tight-lipped in taciturnity,  
keeping you wet on your deathbed.
.



haha, i don't think many of you will like this.~ ohwell.
if you don't like, don't read it.
The Noose May 2014
Old hopes
Conversed
In hushed tones
Or not at all

The maddening
Clock ticks
Inflaming
A sense of urgency
The pungent suffocating
Stench of death
Draws closer
And surrounds

How unsettling it is
For the sun to
Keep shining

Smiles
On their faces
Do they not see
The troubles
The shade of ruin
Impregnating the skies

Bound by limitations
And yet all they perceive
Are iridescent rainbows  
In a world without hue.
sam plunk Oct 2015
oh what a day to say nothing at all!
I'm proud and loud, standing oh so tall
let me teach the children right from wrong
how to **** others over in exchange for money
how to satisfy the self while others die hungry
how to disrespect the queen bee to taste another hive's honey
how to deceive entire countries
it is an honor to have power
limitations are foreign
a well disguised coward
claiming to have superior importance.
Tashea Young Sep 2016
Solitude, silence, peace, and quiet.
Passion, don't deny it, but rather apply it.
Conversations
that leads to Motivation,
requires patience
in complicated situations
with no limitations.
Compassionate with sincerity. Honest and Real covered with purity.
iridescence
is of the essence.
Precious significance in time implanted, in my brain like information saved on a hard drive. Aging like fine wine.
Encountering just a touch of a heavenly place,
Watching the Joy and laughter grow so gracefully upon her face.
Peace and tranquility a place that only seems to exist in the mind,
like a surreal dream captured in a moment thru space and time.
Respect is the detail and reverence  in Honor.
Looking in deep thought, Such pride and beauty that rest upon her.
Cherish is the adoration of treasuring, and protecting something most valuable of great prize.
What lies?
The Beautified feeling of when we get butterflies inside.
Just as the allegiance of obedience is Loyalty.
The king and queen are of authority you make her feel like a lady of such Royalty.
A relationship of deep endearment.
A level of intense intimacy and attachment is what love represents to me.
Luka Love Dec 2012
It’s time again for one of those free form sessions
Where the mind is too tired to speak
So the heart dreams
Sentences don’t form by their usual means
No vetting or checking or editing
Crediting wordplay to intricate trickery of weariness
Of someone other than yourself speaking
Eking out a living on the cobblestones
The cornerstones of this modern discourse
Big rocks for the first course
Rubble for seconds
Sand for dessert
Marking Time up to its old tricks again
Slipping away
Tripping for days
Flipping in ways inconceivable to creatures grounded in 4 dimensions
Spatial henchmen
Brutes in solid matter
Doesn’t matter really
Except when we neglect the rest
Who’d have guessed we were in fact immortal?
Store bought and all
Eternity in a bottle
A buck fifty per litre
You don’t need much
Just a touch should last you til the end of time
When rhymes finally start to fall apart
Under the limitations of the language
And some time back you started to substitute sandwich
Blangstitch
Gingrich and sanskrit
And mords wade up and stolen
Like a generation once removed
Then finally put right with
After the damage was well and truly cemented
Around their feet and chucked overboard
Struck a chord?
Just take a look around you
It still happens every time you say Abo
Or wonder if this place would be better if there weren’t so many Indians
Or if Asians spoke English
Or Engrish was the new international language
Minds that can’t see past the colour on the tip of their nose
Perpetually in the picture
Painting white over everything
So we can rejoice in the sameness
Like how we rejoice in eating boiled potato for every meal
No salt and pepper
No texture
Just lectures on that time we tried out what management schools called diversity
And how it failed horribly
Because we are all so different
That we have nothing in common
Like species or anything
Or the way music makes us feel
And dance
And sing
Even if it’s just in our own heads
Or the way sad things make us cry
And feeling loved is important
It’s that moment when you realise the guy pointing the gun at you is you
Only in a different coloured uniform
That has a family at home hoping he comes back
That he has a picture of in his wallet
And a dog that thinks he can do no wrong waiting to pin him down and clean the grime out of his nostrils
You can pull the trigger on him
Let slip that slug of lead into your brain
It’s only a dog eat dog world because somebody has some money on it
You’ve been thrown in the ring
And told it’s to the end
So you fight
But it’s not and you don’t have to
Isn’t that good news
That you’ll never see on the news
“Life is not a battle, it’s a collage!
More at 11”
But you’re asleep by then
Assuming you were ever awake at all
Chrissy Ade May 2021
She was praised for being silent
Dismissed for speaking out loud
She was living in a woman's world
Where her chances of being heard
Would only happen if she spoke up

Her voice was soft but certainly not brittle
Sounding just like the rain
But her words strike like thunder
Ominous and commanding
That carry a weight no man could ever lift

Her face resembled that of an angel
But she raised hell like the devil
Her ancestors' wildest dreams
A plum blossom in late winter
Blooming in adversity
Unyielding to the patriarchy

But men will try to rein her in
To contain the fire she possesses
But she was never under their control
Ferocious as a dragon, freedom to roam
Burning all their limitations

A precious gift from heaven
But your worst nightmare from hell
She is a woman, all in one
Who has come into her own
And she won't ever let you forget
Never let a man steal your power
Devin Walton Oct 2016
Bless hidden corners before turning them.
Routes destined, Security is comfortable.
Comfortable in between cushions of couches.
The tumble around the void
has no measure, endlessness.

Take a trip, Outside.
Outside limitations and television sets.
The sweet fragrance
of the hour of zeal that holds,
like a bowl of water, sitting, and waiting
for the quiet creatures and beasts.

Invigorating.

Remember Memory is like a sponge,
sometimes you squeeze, drying up. (it)
Getting farther
                     …further away
from impressions of truth expanding tenderly.

Agonizingly;
to be ******* and tantalized ,
gently through
                the break
                          of dawn.

It has to do with releasing and asking
for the right questions to come in.
Letting go on the Eve
and again on Tuesday.

What is it anyways with people
and affinity?
“love you”
is loving yourself with different skin.



He sang a song last night
about sacrificing heart beats.

Eager is good.
It looks like “eagle”
               but smells like
                    the few inches
                          away from His skin.
You can imagine why,
it may seem like a spring shower
has come over the orchard of hair.

I know myself to be more like a clock,
Moving gracefully over the periods.
Sharing script like the falling of branches
The pain, is something like the observer,
                      Ready for the fire.

Will this tree know when
it’s branches are being burned?

Even when not attached.
Perhaps they feel at piece,
or perhaps they feel wholehearted.

This tree,
will love you even in those moments
you are inside, Dreaming,
Escaping.
How many ways can it sway
before it is uprooted?
One body and home.
How many rhythms?

It’s easy to have Him be your motion for touch,
Yet,
However,
if you find yourself in the
Valley of Inspiration,
pronouncing words,

this is where you surrender your place in comfort.

The grooved palm lines
will change, the labyrinth of thought.
And then all that barreling will liquefy
into a time traveled through
the precipitation of bronze marrow,
                                          Aramaic.
From the thorn comes the rose.
When you are inspired
                  write out the channel,
                                       enough…
Enough to rest it on paper.
Then you have found
the love that is your skin.
jad Oct 2013
the three of us sat with music playing and the tires rolling and
unplanned adventures in front of us on the road.
With a few bucks in the bank and a bunch of ideas floating in our skulls,
the aches and pains to escape the mundane were finally being treated.
My best buddies and I spoke only out of true stoke and excitement over our lives.
Laughter carried the weight in all of our conversations.
Each of our words were hardly coherent because they were beaten through
giggles, coughs, and mumbles.
Nothing was to be taken seriously and
nothing was to be judged.
We were free to mumble whatever words we pleased, so long as we laughed.
The car muffled its own contribution to our discussions about cats, rebellion, pounding Mountain Dew, and jumping off of ****.
Those things are our only cure from monotony,
so we spoke of them often.
But we also shared thoughts on intellect, society, passion, and time;
however, we took them out of their limitations.
To be friends means to leave the judgment to the strangers,
and to help each other grow.
We followed these guidelines as an unspoken constitution.
As friends, we understand that there is much more to a person than can be expressed in words,
so words take the short end and we do not care much for their maintenance.
Dawn Feb 2014
I had been stony for too many years.
I had become oblivion to tears.

With you,
I became a wildflower
in my thoughts,
in my fantasies.

With you,
I had no limitations,
no boundaries.

With you,
Life was like in Rumi's open field.

With you
With all the madness
I crossed so many lines,
Nothing felt wrong.

With you
I bloomed and I danced.

With you
I fought,  I loved, I cried
And I learnt to shed tears again.

With you
I became a free spirit

You were my spring, moisture, sunlight, intelligence, scent and cypress

I have no explanations for  the day my tongue crossed the my thoughts.
You know that wildflowers have thorns and I have hurt you with that.

And that I do not believe the words you said after that. I know you didn't mean what you said.

With all the warmth and love I have in each and every cell in my body,  I give you the world's biggest Birthday hug.
(Ignore it, if you hate me.)
Johnny Noiπ Oct 2018
The Mother Angels of Einstein's Eve heard
her shaking completely curly tresses,    waiting
for the waves of the mountains' magical
colors, and beginning to undress,      said,
understanding his limitations, and he retreated
to the desert, Marcus trafficking in ashes.                          

               :- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - :

Asked for memory devices,
journalists look to the magazine
ISISToo like an angelic angel,
who has a solid table's tablet
that John describes in the water
that John describes as a hungry
Christian mother in the south,
Christian Christian light cuts into
bed and hatred,   and in the shade
of the first wedding,   John writes
Bettie sold out to the enemies of
the people because he planted in
Greece against angels angel Einstein
by a mother one who heard Eve fill
in the upper part of the corner,
waiting for the Hills Hills to get
water into the skin when these
magic-colored shades began to dress,
she answered, as measured by the
limitations until the reading was to
spread themselves into the ground
and report Jack's ashes scattered
throughout the desert. It depends
on the face of the world, and that
it literally means shadow shadow
shadow shadow. I think all the
wordless words are kissing: the
molecular is the girls with the dark
splinters and the calves, beginning
from the dark to light on the loaf of
****, for Satan launches the beans
placed on the socks before the Asian
Secrets that are in the patent to produce
data to meet with Lovers,    and iron that
is important, and women who are soon
weeping,     seat seats like Unfortunately,
for some other reason the costly assaults
over the years, the number of socks,
so long in the winter he was praying
for a streaming stream that closed
the glass glass inside the interior of the
interior, he received a 'meditation' gift,
the dreams, the, the thoughts, the singers;
Fiona Crouch May 2014
Made of steel yet her heart so soft
Opening arms to comfort all who seek
The anchor of the family binding together
Her love knows no bounds or limitations
Enveloping all she cares for in her warmth
R*ichly blessing all who are honoured to call her *Mother
Jammit Janet Oct 2021
I feel flat. Dull.
My words come out chonky, generic, and lull.

Am I stuck in a block that doesn’t exist?
Non-existent limitations
Stifle my wrists

Maybe I just need to get going
To go anywhere at all
To work through the junk
That has my mind feeling
Like it’s stalled

Waiting for the next best thing
That I already have
To harness
And take that leap
Without the fear of a fall

Because all I can do is go up from here
Vibrate
Loud and tall.
Amber Blank Jun 2015
Contrary to what society has bread the world to perceive
There is no privilege set to any human born to this earth
There is no just reward for the righteous here
There is no slumber for the fatigued souls
There are no streets paved with gold
Some may claim all the wealth and worldly goods
Yet death comes to all and no wealth can abstain it
The toil of each day falls on us all
No matter the color, the size, or shape of the mass
Gravity pulls us equally, discriminates against none
Dare to bare your soul
Which knows no boarders or limitations
Dream to walk together in heaven along a jeweled path
Where the limitations of earthly existence hold no sway
Bask in the light of the only true gift
Let love be your professor
Let the spirit guide your every movement
Search your very essence to discover your talent
Each individual has so many, if only society would allow it to be shown
Shown with out fear or rejection
Free to be what our creator intended.
David Moule Mar 2010
LET GO



I’ve learnt about Love by letting go
To accept the justice of fate
Know loss without hate
For the Love that I searched for
is the Love that I know
Now ‘I’ can grow
beyond limitations previously set
‘I’ knows I'm not there yet -
but I'm going
Growing
Not slowing
The rate is increasing
relative to my releasing
this fear projected fleecing

I've learnt about Fear by letting go
To look at things that scared me
Made me slave instead of free
Locked me in my carbon steel cage
till I willed to turn the page
to see what's on the other side
Why we've lived
Why we've died
What they said
How they lied
and kept a candle burning
to keep us from turning
to see the real
Light of Love
from Within
as Above.
© VERSO
18/3/98 (D.N.Moule)
Death by Decoy Mar 2016
Being free is what all people want
They want to experience things
That have no setbacks and limitations
But right now, I'm facing you
With my back turned against freedom
Because
I'd rather be stuck in place with you
Than be free with someone else
Couldn't think of a better title
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
Arcassin B Jun 2016
By Arcassin , Chloe , Wolf, SE , soul , zeal , Brando , icy , irie , soulful , strange , and wendy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AB

Not Even I,
a mere human being with limitations and
Wants and needs to stay away from the business
suits that only want the greed and the finer things
Distributing cigarettes to these young kids is what
Nobody else needs,
To live in this wickedness , you'll see,
Where does the tax payers money go?
Learning all of the secrets that rely on history to
Keep us up and about with drugs that we use on
Our day to day schedules for whatever contingency
planned for,
No sign of a Grail to be explored,

Remembering those who have lost their lives in
The wars that gave us the hope and chance we
Needed to make America great proceeding to give
The freedom of speech a new motive behind it,
That's why I write everyday to keep the demons inside,
Senseless killing in America makes my stomach turn in
Ways that I could not fathom dreaming that I could believe
What lies ahead won't be pretty for us,
I guess that I'm delirious,
Pray for Orlando
When judgment day comes , I hope he cares for us.


CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light

WS

i'm appalled with the world the way it is
our politicians carry on with the same old biz
protecting the rich, taking from the poor
usurping the world , like our cheap little *****

our city streets are in disrepair
the infrastructure is in a terrible tear
no education, no social equality
and the bill is payed by you and me.......

we're gonna need a bigger boat
to keep this broken thing afloat
don't preach me your democracy
your lies, you vain hypocrisy

give the people back their right
we're mad and ready for a fight
to take away all of your riches
and shitcan all you sons of *******.


SE R

we need an epiphany
a salvation re-orientation,
for will our judgement be
only what we thought?
or is hell what we perpetuate
on soil, on man, in greed, in hate?
we live as if to win is gain,
while poor lay dying,
shows our shame;
we live as if ‘tis loss to weep,
yet this the joy we each should seek…
in loving well the least of these,
to show in smallest ways,
a lighted path to those who’ve strayed
offer hope to any castaway;
might we in doing bring
heaven to this earthly scene?
for is not earth our heaven’s womb,
a battlefield, a testing place?
is not our call to light the dark,
and take our place among the stars?


CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


SS

Who is there minding the store?
We can't keep up anymore
All the news that we now see
Internet and our TV
Tell tales off horror
Tales of woe
How much farther will it go?
Let's be real! Can we talk?
'Bout a thing called
FUTURE SHOCK
Cause this is true... and it is hairy
What's down the pike
Is downright SCARY!
Politicians deal & flirt
Don't matter if they wear a skirt!
Go to Georgia and you'll see
What is set up for you and me
There's some stones
upon that land
Telling all that they have planned

THEY SMILE AS THEY TELL A LIE
THE ELITE WANT US TO DIE.

While they put on a great show
Underground is where they'll go
Let 'em go and live like trolls
Jesus Christ is in CONTROL.

Please consider this my friends
Everything will have to END.
Forget your prejudice and pride
You don't want to be on
THE WRONG SIDE!
Make a turn. Make a start.
Ask the Savior in your HEART!
Then I'll tell you what's in store

YOU'LL HAVE LIFE FOREVERMORE!


MZ

Something fishy in the air what happen to the black one?
I didn't see the fall until I saw Washington..
Women starting to vote and monkeys are still in the zoo?
In the 1950s they called black people apes but now I'm seeing that it's you..
Sense when did money made you feel like going for president?
"We the People" naa more like the congress are voting for you.
I think it's scam so I turn it to the kardashians,
There I find a better democratic presidential view ...why...cause she looks better lying about Mexicans,


BM

There is no one at the other end of your string and paper cup telephone prayers There is no monumental, unconditional love awaiting you between or beyond the stars There is no concern for you in the imagined patterns of the stars, Nor do they carry a plan or reason for the crashing of waves, torrent funnel winds or the malice of men There is no promised land, no reward, no heaven when you take that final step.

But you do have the power of whispers in your fellow mankind’s ear It IS YOU that carry the ability for immeasurable, inconceivable love It is us who write the plan, who give our lives reason and meaning through it all THIS life, this gift of witness IS your reward, your heaven as you wish.

The tragedies have NEVER stopped. The killing, the senseless violence, the hunger of insatiable wrath………. But nor has birth of life in many forms. In dawn, in spring, in hope. We aware, true to ourselves in dismissing of ego stand strong and confident as the Ying, the light, the counter balance........


IS

Sorrow fills this world to it's rim,
Fathers abusing mothers,
abandoning children,
Mother's cry out in pain,
little ones run in fear....
why is this world in such despair?
Born to love, born to hate, to judge, to accept...
though this concept is hard for some,
we live in this world, just hoping to survive,
Coming to the point where you never know
where love and hate draw the line.

Why do parents fight, and the kids are the ones who suffer?
Why do we make war, to find peace?
Innocent people cut down in their prime,
by those who find happiness in other's misery.
From mothers and fathers whose sons and daughter were
wrongly taken from them,
To those who are punished for being human...
Life as we know it, is going to hell.

Trust, hope, security, love, and respect for humanity
is quickly dying... The future, no longer ours to control.
From bullying to ****, to ****** and suicide, Society is no more.... We pray for things to change... for it's now out of our hands,


IRIE

Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:

gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us

wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside

amidst spiritual sands

Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes

seeking truth’s distant comfort

guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-

pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling

red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love
...

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light


Soulful

How old is the world?
Old enough to ruin the existance of 1000 suns
Old enough to show you what society is made of
Old enough to had withstood the apocalypse and blood shed of the technology, oil , and war on terrorism...
The world is now ruin
Perhaps I should start fron the beginning
When it was human, animalistic, with plants that existed
To understand this..
We use all the resources and save none for the next generation
We contemplate the singularity of humanism
Only using electricity to say we are wealthy
**** animals so harshly
Murdering outselves to show the superiority of the race of humans
Killing the world in which we live...
Getting deeper in to our stupidity
We solidify a type of money
Paper...
Useless, smelly, germy, filled with hate
The money most people need and yet only few gave
The mentality is simple honestly
Don't give but take
No empathy just fake
Because thats how you make it
The tragedy in "third world country"
The ignorance in those who dont update their ios 7
The forgiveness in African mutiny
And the showing of ******* economy
The people had rights they told you
The people had freedom they told you
The people had justice they told you
Until the the world went to shambles when they actually figured out they had a right to seek and destroy a government....they had the right to seek and destroy a crippled foundation for it was seeking to destroy them,


Strange

They came in guns blazing
With no warning
Just the sound of hell raging in ones ears
So many screams then there was nothing
As the first soul was vanquished from its flesh and bones
Painting a blood mural upon the once white walls
Bodies floated down the crimson river as they cried their final tears
One girl prayed to her gods hoping to deliver one final message to her son
He was two and was soon to be motherless
Another young lad was seventeen
So prideful yet so scared as he curled in a ball screaming for his mommy
"I don't want to die" was their last comment,


WR

Tragedy in life arises at birth Does not cease until Life comes to an end We cannot teach peace With one another Mostly because we do not Agree on religion It seems a bit simple And quite concise All we need to do for peace Is love one another And treat each other right
Tragedy always starts out In a human mind beautifully Equivalent to Eve's Desire for the fruit of Truth upon the tree.


CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
©ABPoetry2016

http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/06/live-die-repeat-ft-chloe-zafonte-wolf.html
Fah Sep 2013
yeh
Yeah , traveling i think is one of the most soul opening , mind fathoming blacksmiths workshop to turn that ore into filigree framework still.
I learnt the art of traveling whilst sitting still this year,
i would say since around june last year - winter forced me into hibernation and several 4 hour meditations forgetting times limitations - but i left to travel in may and since then well , let's just say we've had considerable renovations..
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
One evening with a few friends in a borrowed minivan, we got a flat tire.   Changing the tire was so complicated (like PhD. complicated), we finally had the owner of the van drive over to finish the job while three other men stood and watched.   This poem came out of that night.



I think you become
a grownup
the moment,
the very second,
you realize at
some very, very
early age,
you have
limitations.

Perhaps not quite
a total grownup,
mature like,
but some
irreversible threshold crossed on
a life long voyage,
a descent of no return,
a Checkpoint Charlie crossed.

You will never be all you
want to be.

Some will disagree.

the day of maturation,
they'll claim,
comes on that day,

when clouds
of different shapes
call out your name,
raining saturation
of responsibilities,
(feed your family, son).

you
initial your acceptance
by quenching thirst by
drinking 'free' raindrops.

ain't arguing,
the when exactly,
for this highway-journey has
so many rest stops.

But
when your body
cracks with disappointment,
harvests the bitter knowing
that
can't,
means there will be no defying this truth, now self-evident:

there are somethings
you ain't gonna ever be,
or never be able to do.

here's the rub awful.

the street called
Recognition Rue
is the longest road to
a dead end
you are forced to travel,

and the cruelest part
of this joke is
you rue the day
and the next day
and the very next day,
when, each time,
the Dead End sign
moves along all by itself,
another block or two,
with you following,
behind by a
block or two.

after awhile,
you cease to curse,
satisfied with the certainty of discontent
you and your
bag of tools,
cannot have every,
will always be lacking,
the precise instrument
to do
every job right.

half good is likely
your total best,
so sadly shuffle along
at the bequest of
the little voice insisting, whining,
have to, gotta go...

You
want to jack me up
on a cross of
protestations,
words like learning,
and
promises to teach,
no limitations,
words that overreach
and hint of
lesson recitation.

I can't change a tire
but don't give a ****.

this is not how
I measure my self worth.

the sadness that prevails,
that contaminates my brow,
ain't mastery of survival skills
likely I'll never need again
don't need your
complementation/approbation
of what I can,
or rants
why I can't.

For nothing will ere exceed
the exasperation,
chest ripping
agony of frustration,
that one single poem
worthy of saving
has ever,
nor will yet,
never, will
leave my fingertips.


It is
forever detained
in the prison of my limitations.

now that's worth
acknowledging,
now that's worth asking
now that's worth
answering -

why, why, then,
grown up you,
keeps on trying,
surely sure,
that looking back
regretfully,
is useless,

(and you have heard
the lock click thunderous clap of:
"sorry son,
your presence is...
not needed,
no worries, we won't
ask you to do
when better
surrounds us everywhere").

Answer is:
that it is worth trying,
writing,
a poem about why,
I can't change a tire
and it don't matter,
just so I can say
to myself,

*I'll never be all the way grown up.
All is not what it seems
Because I was an atheist
Long before I realized I was God,
But that was much, much later
Then, at that time, I succumbed
To the lurid but exciting depths
Of freedom, the joy of love and danger
Of searching and of knowledge,
Embracing every moment;
I surrendered to ungovernable impulses
That invoked within my very existence

Still to realise the true extent of this
It's perhaps best to start before the beginning
Before the earth embalmed me
A time when Cyparisse had not
Yet set root in my belly
Nor made sap of my blood
A time when it was possible to speak
To Panza's donkey when I thought of Zanzibar
A time when the vagrancy of my soul
Had not yet embarked
On its erratic itinerary
Plunging me eventually
Into the bright light
Of tainted and squalid reality

Like oscillating libraries, noise oppressed,
Contradictions of dreams
Suddenly I took flight,
With violent wrenches of imagination
In Persia being worshipped
Beneath the moon by Gods;
Caressed by those impetuous charms
A dazzling vision
I thought of death the only sister of charity
Whose dark night has no malevolence;
Black and white, silences that migrated
In sonorous symbolism took control
Shimmering like a painting of a sorrow

Streaked with unashamed colours
A single tear from a promethean candle
I would move to lick the stain of destiny
That pillar inhaling its black perfumes
Like a communicant on his knees.
Exiled in reality, I saw what I had never saw
Or only thought I saw now condemned
To see what has never been seen

Words corralled themselves in my mind
Writhing maggots on a corpse
Wriggling for position waiting to be pronounced
How they flew, taking wings
Hovering for an instant above the page
Hunting out the detritus of man
To feast upon the putrid flesh of misery
I too went searching
For my ancient feast; for Zanzibar

However hideous pages
From the note book of the ******
Imprisoned the words, stampeded the search
Scattering it in many directions
Shattering blue-white eyes
A castrated country, century, impotent, impure
Like politics, the ******* that can be purchased by coin
Like so much bread in the market,
A thousand profanities became the popular song
But silence is the real language of the fool

For he alone bears witness to what he feels
Misfortunes not understood, weeping the popular ballad
Morality and law, parades of red robed Judges
Carcasses, a circus for carrion crows
Yet like a cannibal the dead were still buried in my belly
The gloss of reason hiding madness
Like so many veneered fronts in a proud precinct

Paraded in full view, silence is demanded and got
The words wither, fake time continues,
To count the unrelieved falsehood the chimera of life;
Reason did not imprison me
My life being not heavy enough
Was allowed to take flight
To float above the reasoned realm
Revelations of the truth realised only by detachment
Devoured my mind increased my errorless purpose
The search for Zanzibar

Accepted values; valued only;
Because of this acceptance
Are accepted as value
Thus accepted in silence
The fools resign themselves
To a false reality
One that nails them to a poisoned cross

In the gardens of the dead
Like rowed tulips that
Gardeners know how to match
I found myself, among those who had gone
Remembered yet forgotten
Whose edifice unlike their lives
Reached not upwards but down.
I smelt the scent of unknown things
The perfumes of eternity that histories bind;
Intensity, a murmur; gurgle, as in a child
Yet extreme its aberrations
Like celluloid hand that
Had never known toil
Or wiped sweat from a brow
Laughed yet grimaced
Its smile a crimson smear
The sorrow that it felt
A burnished hand upon its nakedness
To see its enshrouded presence in such a garden
One well stocked and growing
Caressed my being with its glee
To turn white feel the touch
Of its venomous fingers upon my flesh;
Its purpose, to prevent any search for Zanzibar

The stench of death
Then cast its' new
Yet antediluvian gaze
Upon its purpose
Odour of grave
Faraway nonexistent
Yet it is perfume to those
Who feast upon its scent
Moistures mingling with the air
Its common purpose
Floating like un-forgiveness
Its atmosphere ozone sans holes
Its meaning ever present
Its' outcome to halt
The search for Zanzibar

And so the stencils of oriental scribes
Like black shadows overpowered my reason
Floating high above, adrift on an expanse of darkness
However, presently that azure ink
Raised its curtain before my very eyes
Revealing the stage, the illuminated stage
On which I was to set my drama
Where the phantoms of my imagination
Would enact their mysterious mysteries;
A poetic alchemy

Then a golden spark of pure
Nocturnal light blinded me
In an instant I saw, observed
The sun drown in its deathly sea
Its healing wings spread
Fear would see it rise again
Still searching for that fatal flaw, happiness
How many lives do I need?
How many existences will it take?
Incarnations a hundred times
Searching for Zanzibar.
Awakening to continue to
Live the saddest of my dreams

Furtive footsteps through Cimmerian landscapes
Ah such enchantment, do you understand?
Ah such a charm, listen to its undying echo
Feel its charge, that siren call
Cosmic summons, the vagrancy of mind
That caresses the imagination
Whose tender touch can place you
At the apex of the universe
Can lead to Zanzibar.


And so the subtle and foolish tortures
Inflicted upon me by I, my quest began
One that would ascertain, take centre stage
Make an unheard appearance of a philosophy
That, I am everyone and everyone else is me
Eventually at some point
In time and space we are all one
All linked, for we are condemned
Yes condemned to live these lives
This is why the dead have dreams
Dreams about the tyrants and demons
Of other lives of who they were;
Who they have yet to become.
Nourished on half truths,
Forever pulling at the thread
The rotted rags of reason
Those tattered twines
Unravelling the stitching of reality
Of hallucinations, empty illusions
And tarnished dreams create a constant struggle


Therefore for every conscious thing
That happens in the world
There must be a responding reverberation
Within the human soul
Let us put a halt to the calls
For the death of imagination
And demands for imagination to be silent
Such absurdities
For imagination is the true door to reality
For only in imagination
Can there be a bearable act
Of self examination
It is memory that hurts
More than the imagination
Always prefer the imaginary to the real
Imagination is neither an exit
From our nightmares nor
An escape from reality
But the place we are all trying to get to,
Zanzibar its shared images
Its story, its own life a new reality.


Mysteriously in the midst of unknown
Mazagran landscapes I feel
The full impact of fleeting visions
Without the limitations of space or time
Feel the act of experiencing their reality
This requires no explanation, no proof
Either together or separate
Because simply they are,
Judgement, condemnation
Punishments are gone
There is no cleansing a world
Without consciousness
Landscape devoid of people
'La Lune' growling in the orchard of the sea
Calypso again one or ten
Eucharis, tempest or temptress
Take both the meaning and the experience
Taste the tear drops of the sun
Telemachus searching, searching
Zanzibar

The idol, tentacles undulating
Vibrations of collective knowledge
The blank face, featureless
Touching around the domain of Atlas
Speaking in a thousand different tongues
Moving but still, blocks my path
Disturbs the line of imagination
Makes reality quiver
Dream flowers sway in its cosmic wind.
Yet Alhazers' iridescent arch allows
The steerage of my passage
Without pious pilgrimages to empty silences that
Contain an eternity of tears
Who graciously offers coverage
For the echo of footsteps
Allowing the magic moments to come


Robbed of sunlight, artificial night shines
Its deception attempting to secure knowledge
Of a future unknown, winning only it's unattainably
Offering instead knowledge of the past
Master of silence, offers only knowledge
Of invaded consciousness
Bedlam of paradise where Eros and Pan
In congress sleep, close at Zanzibar.


Lifeless beauty that lives everlasting
Time that reason cannot change, only help.
O enchanted torture you have stolen
The taste from my mouth
Masked I against the spectre of reality
Proclaimed the age of 'hasashin'
The creator of recollections, maker of memories
Possessor of impulse giver of echo
That rings in the ear
Cloud cast its surroccoian shadow
Air tinged with the aftermath of fire
Floating in an Asian wind, so subtle
Like a breath suddenly the sound of song
Of dance rents the solitude
Silence is slashed like a canvass screen
Happiness pours forth unconfined
Unfettered, both faces of Kandinsky as one
I extinguish the light, turn to the wall
Gazing upon its Janis face
My eyes behold the giver of pleasure.

Then I found myself in an extraordinary place
Whose skies where made of crystal glass
Water of the enchanted land was blue-grey
Bridges zig-zagged its shimmering domes
I stared as masts and parapets came to life
Its people, musicians sporting
Tangerine and white livery danced
The air filled with the sound of their music
Then as if from nowhere a light hit my eyes
Blinking, this apparition was gone
Can I not always believe what I see
Just because I see what I believe
The inhabitants at once became spectres
Engulfed in thick clouds of smoke and sulphur
Erinyies roamed, inflicting madness
A circus of the macabre sped past
Its symbols of death fluttering frantically
Around this false and fragile world
Suggested children, like creatures in an imagination
Were made ready for their rebirth
By the touch of the poets pen
A thousand Cheribino

In another, swirling sonorous scenes
Stormed the citadels of my mind
Marched through my imagination
Mab engulfed the long closed
Cemeteries of my thought allowing me
To see the dreams of others
Like precious pearls prised from their shells
Their visualisation so intense
Joy overcame me at once
Then a swarm of kisses descended upon me
Like a regiment of famished men
Feasting for the first time
I freely gave myself as the main course
In the most beautiful of banquets
In another, yielding to these seductions
I was enraptured by portraits of beautiful young men
Which appeared to be on the point of speaking
They were most mysterious their intrinsic
Charm so beautiful, stimulated desire
Whose assuagement was so pleasurable
That it might be called pure ecstasy
A perfect pleasure which had never before existed
Entirely individual and new

Thus upon the horizons of my mind
Had been shed a mysterious light
In which I now saw everything bathed
I was summoned by the Prince
Knowing dreams have no limits
I obeyed his call
For a long time failing to set
Foot on the shores of reality
Drinking from the wells of magic
While angels danced on grassy slopes
Disturbed by flames
The stars shot out their fragrance

Sweet smelling; blue abyss
On I went to the court, the court of the Prince of
Poets, a visitor to life
There I spat out the bit of liberty
Embraced the Prince
Courtesans mocked me, ridiculed
Laughed and taunted me
Their jibes merely part of
Their own deluded reality, not of mine
They did not serve my purpose
Dressed as they were
In meaningless words
Clothed in phrases of falsehood
They tried to make me compromise
There was fire burning in my eyes
Vivid dreams were eating up my mind
They wouldn't let me be
There were dead men lying
By the sides of the road
With daylight in their eyes
I saw villages under the sea
I stood at Galactic central point
Watched the earth burn
They did not know
The way to Zanzibar
Could the Prince show me?

However each morning I awoke
I found myself in a purgatorial fog
I roamed lost the alternative harbour
For my soul still distant
The Prince, I discovered, existed
In a twilight world of mysterious ailments
He denied his feelings
Such denial only immersed him
In maintaining the world of external restraints
It created emptiness, a vacancy
Filled by material concerns
I pleaded with him
The emerald gene came down
Soon the leaves of grass
Whispered another order of existence
Strangeness of sensation
Intoxication of vision
Unhinged for mortals
And as the sound increased one cannot
Describe what else it is that has been
I viewed a world transparent
Devoid of illumination within which
Was never a sea or land
Then the prophets were ******
For they were all liars
And I saw the most beautiful flower
Unfolding out of its own roots
For such a flower cannot
Unfold other than it does
I stood on the threshold of Orcus
I met Abbas Effendi the Gene without a name
Bab, Upanishads spilled music in my ears
Called to me in the most spectacular of colours
It was wonderful for the colours
Were like my dreams, red, black and green
I witnessed the three, sometimes as one
Other times as two, again and again
The self eternal and inseparable sons
Of Shakyamuni caressed me with their thoughts
Their music and colour moved about me
In ecstatic rhythm like the peaceful
Waves of the ocean as upon a shore
I read the sentences of silence
Breathed the perfume of never fading flowers
Walked in cherry blossom snow
Heard Hafiz reciting in the night
I saw for the first time
The unfinished likeness of others.

Then one day the Prince
With a sweeping theatrical and
So to speak, allegorical flourish bowed
Called me an exiled angel
Said the time had come to travel
To leave the images of naked heels
Imprinted in the clay
We wondered
Then as if by magic, suddenly the shadows
Of houses, halls, and a church
Emerged like enchanted islands in a fairy tale
The spiritualised forms of civilisation
I was approached by a graceful youth
Draped in cobweb lawn
He was pale, delicately beautiful
Spanish looking, but his name was Alexis Sonyeuse
Whose family it was said was
Related to the French Emperor Napoleon
It was also rumoured that he had
Had a tempestuous affair with the Bishop of Monaco
And once slept with his half brother Julian Apollinaire
When he spoke he was at once original
Delicious, moving, droll and discreetly melancholy
Listening to him was like breathing
The perfume of wondrous flowers
But the scent of datura hung about him
Paralleling his every movement
  Another youth, Edmond also greeted me
He was a young man with aristocratic features
A complexion pink, like a girls
And a bearing at once charmingly gracious
And audaciously insolent
His shirt was strange, the lining
A peculiarly orange colour
A flame coloured taffeta
Like the petticoats of a *****



They looked at me
Furtive glances emanated from their eyes
Training a profound stare upon my person
The two youths took me to 18 Avenue de Friedland
There two boy servants
Adoum and Outhman greeted us
Spinario's lay about its confines
Frezans caressing them
As they touched their feet
A hundred echansons moved
With dazzling delicacy dispensing dreams
In drops from crystalline cups
Here I witnessed the tragic faces of the population
Urnings, cleaning in the midst of anarchist trials
The room a fiery red, stained with light
The caress of forgotten thought
Like the thickness of a sorrow
Musicians playing on broken strings
Crimson ******, who defied the King of Naples
We moved past wretches
Like Virgil, but Danteian
Saw the usurers heard the rustling
Of lute strings the clinking of grey paper
Observed in this Minatare's lair
The purchase of a twelve penny dagger
Liberty of speech meeting its great reckoning
In a little room, Ingram the poltergeist
Of misfortune was there
Dead Scythian, who ever loved you
Loved you as you might, loved you at first sight.

This was a new and exciting world
Whose environs were populated
By the most mysterious and colourful of people
I was introduced by the two youths
To a suicidal young painter who
Was rebelling against his class
He was a somewhat forced intellectual
With an over quixotic passion for equality
Still he was warm, kind and impulsive
Poetry, he made it known
Had opened his mind to the invisible
Beside him was a painting
Exemplifying a new kind of observation
In a style absolutely faultless
Each structure clear, each brush stroke
Falling exactly into place
Inscribed in the top left
Corner were the words
"Quod me nutrit me destruit"
An introduction to himself of a tall youth
Whose eyes possessed a constant
Vagrancy of desire
Who seemed at once, for one so
There are no limitations with this gravitational pull, No longer will you continue to play the fool. Your heart, the greatest tool. True to ones self, following your own lead. Never allowing that of another to impede. Into your mind, because everything there.. They will find. You're not behind. Take your time, build a solid ground. Because those who seem all put together, are chillen in the lost and found. It's true when they say "time heals all wounds". Those who are the strongest, aren't afraid to cry. And at night, when you lay your head to rest, do you tell yourself a lie to lift the weight up off your chest? Or do you deal with this world, and face it. Head on collision. No assurance, no anything. Just blurry eyed vision. It's when you feel you're at the bottom, your courage will be tested. You need to get up! Get out! And get somethin. Cuz when you die, no one remembers the man.. That did not try.
Ete Sep 2011
Not every one person will become a buddha in ones life-time.
The evolution of consciousness  flows in its own accord.
It is not that one person is walking the path towards awakening.
It is that the One consciousness is walking the path towards awakening.

Those who have lived long enough,
who threw many lives have finally come to their last,
who have understood the Teaching,
will not be born again on planet Earth.

Those who are still living life unaware,
who are still clinging to the things of the world of form,
who have not yet discovered the Truth and are therefor not ready to transcend,
will remain in the learning cycles of life and death.

This being said,
there is nothing to worry about, there is nothing to fear.
We are all on the same path, we are all moving towards the same place.
The whole universe moves together, as one.

Live your life with great awareness.
Keep your mind and heart open.
Every single moment is completely new.
Discover the lesson to all your moments.

Do not be afraid to ride the waves of your nature and explore the mysteries that exist within this vast universe.

Do not be afraid to ride on the wings of love and explore  the truths that exist within yourself.

By your own nature,
you are totally free.

Discover your freedom and watch as you start to grow wings!
Discover your freedom and let it take you beyond the boundaries and limitations of this world!
Hank Helman Feb 2017
Carla told me to infiltrate.
To ignore all the precautions,
And breach my resistance under a full moon.

After all, she said, your sadness isn’t a disguise.
Your gloom is genuine, although prefabricated,
Surely you see the blueprint.

You have planned your demise since childhood,
Carefully constructing a fortress of self-abuse,
You don’t self-medicate, she said, you obliterate,

And then you wear your inadequacy like a crown,
As if to say no one feels pain like me.
This blow of sorrow, your prevailing wind,
The smell of burnt hair follows you, your melancholy assaults.

God, I can sense your anxiety blocks away, Carla told me,
Even if I’m baking chicken *** pie
And drinking breakfast tequila,
There is always this gust of despair.
And your current ability to fester a modest nausea,
In everyone, everywhere you go,
While amazing,
It only convinces, even your intimates,
That you have begun an irreversible decay.
Jesus, either you act now or you will disappear, Carla said.

You have one option, Carla told me,
Confront yourself and
Think about death honestly every day.
It is the only way for a depressive,
A man in a life jacket, she said
To survive.

Comfort yourself early, before dawn,
Curl up with your litter of pillows
And in that storm, that tornado you pretend is a bed,
Lie still, stare at the cracks in your ceiling
And search for spiders, Carla told me.
Wait until the disappointment of waking up alive again, subsides,
She said,
And while the sounds of the toilet you left running all night,
Convince you of the futility of self-improvement,
In this hollow moment,
Allow yourself to passively, selfishly, contemplate death.

Do not conjure up the act of dying, Carla said,
It is deviant and corrupt and insincere to rehearse your final moments,
And as you know, she continued,
I have no inherent objections to suicide.
After all war is mass suicide
And where would we be without violence,
Jesus, nothing would ever get done, so no, she said,
This is not that at all.

And God knows with your ego,
If I tell you to think about death,
You will descend into hero worship, she said,
Or worse, martyrdom and quest,
No, Carla said, imagine what death is like,
Think scientifically about what it means to be dead.

I will never get out of bed, I replied,
If I’m encouraged to wallow.
If I roll over before I wash my arms and feed my birds,
I may recoil forever.
You know I have an addiction to thought, I reminded her,
An adhesive meme,
(Why did that woman throw her cat in the garbage can),
Will arrest and detain me for an entire day.

It’s worth it, Carla said,
I want you to understand the carefulness of death,
The miracle of pain in absence,
The cessation of doubt,
The sudden end of futility and horror,
And I want it to absorb you, all of you,
Until you become reassured of its tenderness,
The fairness and equality that ends all things.

There is no need to frustrate,
To pray for significance, Carla advised me,
Free yourself from heroism and
Your self-destructive pattern of wishful thinking.

As it is, the number of women you sleep with and discard
Should be punishable by jail time,
When will you learn that fulfillment will never be a number.

And your attempt to write a novel,
Is tiresome, the delusion insulting,
The pretense unforgivable.
And the lies you tell,
The anger you express,
Mostly from a stool,
Undermines everything you claim to be.

You have a mirror,
Probably one that hasn’t been cleaned in a century
So use it,
Study the creases in your face,
Your boxer’s bruised eyes,
Jesus, why do you always look like you’ve just lost a fistfight.

I stared at Carla, my cup of coffee warm between two hands.
Ok I get the death is my reward thing, sort of, I said
But how do I salvage any joy at this point,
Is my life, my whole ******* life, going to be a stockpile of misery.

Christ, you are a perpetual novice, Carla said,
And I have the feeling you are about to drool,
Listen,
Death isn’t our reward,  
But to those who corner it,
A well worthwhile prize.

I don’t want you be puzzled by outcomes anymore, Carla said,
Do they like me, do they hate me, do they even know I exist,
You must stop chasing and being overwhelmed,
Be consumed, be rebirthed by the attractiveness of irrelevance,
Empower yourself with insignificance,
Forgo your Causa sui willingly,
Surrender your need for meaning, purpose and story
And go sit on a bench for a year, nothing more.

You must allow the softness of death to befriend you, Carla said
And when you do,
You will stop being impulsively afraid of everything,
Perish your self-serving search for an absolute truth,
Accept your limits without choking on your limitations,
And your confusion will degrade, she advised.

Carla frowned and turned away from me.
Usually a crow flies by when we part.
If you **** yourself, I want to be there, she said.
She undid the top button of her coat,
Took off the necklace with the crucifix and the picture of John Lennon,
Threw it into the East river,
And squeezed my hand as brief and sudden as a ghost.
Read Ernest Becker. Trump is using our fear of death to manipulate everyday. Resist in any way you can. Donate, even ten dollars to the ACLU. A crazy person has the nuclear codes. This is life and death and one way to deal is to become less afraid-- of everything imho.

— The End —