Hearing fogged drops of rain
Precipitate violence in the Amazon,
Against the placid Leaves;
Left disheveled the unfiltered forest.  

Dampness divorced from its thin vapor blur
Plummeting memoirs retold, the cradled
Past returns its own, splintered light
Edging the threshold of infinitude,
Axiomatic slippage each fell cold.

Fallen moisture recovered,  
Once nourished the ancients;
Correspondingly, we align.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March,  
Sibilant waters flow through us.

Hoary myths, now hallowed imminent.  
Ponderous, our torn skies cleft, clouds suffused in grey─
The emergent pour, casts a montage of
Freighted silence, implicit tapestries
Sewn seamless; our kindred froth ashore.

Pedigreed continuum bound in common plight,
Unseen flood of halcyon
Dust and flesh coalesce beneath the torrent;
Genetic lines merge ─ intersection of
Time and eternity.
From the same water we drink.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March,
Sibilant waters flow through us.

©2012 W.S. Warner

Every daughter is born of royalty
To rule and serve in lineal descent from God
But Claudia from her island of mist
Was borne away to Rome in captive shame

With her father in chains, herself in chains
To speak for their people, to speak for peace
Before the emperor, who in hearing them
Gave freedom to himself, and a crown to her

Though hostage far away from her girlhood home
With love she captured imperial Rome

Painfully  the  heart  beats the  chest,  
Ember  of  lineal  segregation  will  come  out,  
And  the  ripping  blaze of fire  will  engulf,  
Communal  harmony  consummating  peaceful  coexistence  gulf,  
Executing  ethnicity,  caste, creed  and  religion  smithereens.  

Patriot’s  spirit  yields  serene  backdrops, 
Everyone  perman­ently  scribbling  down the  tales,  
And  if  we  don’t  improve  the  stories,  
Coming generations will  be  forced  to  clean up our mess,  
Ending  up  in  the  question  “what is  peace?”  

Peace  is  simply forgiveness,  
End  of  hate,  war  or  violence,  
Abstinence  of  using  violence  to  show  our  emotions,  
Calming  silence,  
Endeavor to  have  unity  in  diversity.  

Portrayal  of  Kenya’s flag  is  peace,  
Entailing  every  magic  spell  of  her  climate,  history  and ­ culture,  
Appraised  by  her  quick succession  of seasons,  
Culminated  by  the  gentle  sun  and  benign  rain  that softens  the  mind,  
Endorsing  peace  naturally.  





Wishing a peaceful 2017 General Elections in Kenya.

i

The quiet crypt amongst the goblin's and ghoul's
I secretly wander, an isolation love tomb;
And in this mausoleum, I expatiate the catacomb
Crooning mine soft echoe's, as mine painful shadow doth moan.

ii

Mine doppelganger of heartbreak, lingers aloft the mist
I seeketh for another ghost lover, just one apple kiss;
A globules of amour, I beggeth for just one tiny pinch
I beseech for a peach, one bite inside her flowery glimpse.

iii

An ingenue of cosmos venue, a juncture of cheribum Host's
The lightning bug's, to be as ourn love, lighting up the ghost's;
Bonjour from me, none Au revoir from her, a delightful play
One of mi amour', as lightning dances, and fairies art Prancer's.

iv

The universal relic, to be ourn set, the curtain closed, sweet duet
She calleth me king, I calleth her pet, lass of day, lad of the nest;
And whilst the pest's, tryeth to cut ourn wings, well standeth tall
And whilst we standeth, we'll grabbeth all there is to bring.

v

A dwelling place, in her amulet of both of ourn beating heart's
Never away, none distance, none evil or lies to keepeth us apart;
Lineal scout's, of what life's all about, leaving fear's in the out
And walking the galaxy, leaving step's, heaven awoke, undressed.




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Seguro que los diarios
no lo preguntarán
los árboles ¿serán
acaso solidarios?

¿digamos el olivo de jaén
con el terco quebracho de entre ríos?
¿o el triste sauce de tacuarembó
con el castaño de campos elíseos?

¿qué se revelarán de árbol a árbol?
¿desde westfalia avisará la encina
al demacrado alerce del tirol
que administre mejor su trementina?

seguro que los diarios
no lo preguntarán
los árboles ¿serán
acaso solidarios?

¿se sentirá el ombú en su pampa húmeda
un hermano de la ceiba antillana?
¿los de ese bosque y los de aquel jardín
permutarán insectos y hojarasca?

¿se dirán copa a copa que aquel muérdago
otrora tan sagrado entre los galos
usaba chupadores de corteza
como el menos cordial de los parásitos?

seguro que los diarios
no lo preguntarán
los árboles ¿serán
acaso solidarios?

¿sabrán por fin los cedros libaneses
que su voraz y sádico enemigo
no es el ébano gris de camerún
ni el arrayán ******* ni el morisco

ni la palma lineal de camagüey
sino las hachas de los leñadores
la sierra de las grandes madereras
el rayo como látigo en la noche?

EMOTIONAL CONFETTI
Fluctuating feelings,endless raindrops flowing freely in our minds beginning with weeping...
Simple expressions smirking, smiling never beguiling picking up perceived perceptions...
Gradually graduating, waiting to be defined curiosity as a helper.
Adding to a emotional list,simple samples to leave us smiling, storing fledgling perceptions.
Growth of anonymous senses without pretenses layering in levels loosely stacked.
Unknown actions can create new consciousness clear paths rapidly become another titillation,unfocused, acquiring new knowledge of our senses.

Fables or cut & dried on a table, reminders of danger, more learning is required, to be careful, actions have reactions.
Middle aged resilience leans towards laziness , simple lessons idly waiting, rising or raging hormones...
Maybe now reverting back to to an open minded teenage mess.
Stop,think, forward with learned caution ,processing procedures or fall into flagrant mating.
The lessons learned thrown aside, spontaneity instead of logic, not reasoning for future distress.

Friendly, finicky, joyful, jovial, anxious, regressing, positive, become life shaping a personality.
Lessons falling from skies ,bubbling from underneath, like it or not always along the pathway
Absorbing through language, actions, maybe lineal, inherited...then sharpened to become more an internal part of our individuality.
In stages - never really understanding the gauges - a deeper spirit ,developing whit clamoring, climbing up a bit.
Finding feelings, new intensities, finding with more fervour, progressing with new sentimentality...

Fluctuating with a daily play, goodness with glee, sadness with wrath, passion with affection...
Sensibility - gifted through experiences - leading to instinct, forming, acquiring apathy.
Flowing like chad, ribbons of color, grandiose glitter - as if from an exploding pinata. A distraction or attraction...

Do we learn to love or live to love?
Left with only what we've lived...
The feeling; our only collection. R.C.

today is a miraculous disaster, like the same before but repeated: something new and undialectical. now i hear footsteps in the corridor of the sanatorium skull sanctuary. thoughts of the proto-symbolic muse have crept in like winter mists over the empty fields as the sun sets again. turning over in bed. deferred, all around me, the dead ones, the days, the exiles. teach me to speak
a language to-come
for the waves of love have long been forbidden from this one. aftermath of machine makers: beautiful, too feeble a word. the notions of self and hatred have become too antiquated and too childish for self-hatred to be of effect. wastelands too have their day. the way is non-lineal, wrapped in complex points. seeking to saturate the atoms of a life: immanence. seeking to witness the vistas of a soul’s minimum of two multiplicities. it’s too easy to spend too long counting your obsessions. the sovereign says nothing again, it’s nothing new, it’s not nothing either; it’s not something to stay silent about. the day is gone; but stay a painting with me a while longer. the day is gone; how many of us are forgotten? i don’t remember
when i stopped counting.

Talvez mi hombre ya no eres..,
Lo fuiste en algún verano ya congelado
Perdido entre los otoños de mi pasado
Entre los tormentos de hojas voladas
aferrándose a ramas con raíces truncadas
y pasiones ya sofocadas.

Talvez mi hombre ya no eres
Talvez la tierra sea el cielo
Y el cielo solo un helero
derritiéndose lentamente con los calores del antártico.
Talvez los pájaros vuelan caminando
Y el oxígeno asfixia si en el buscas descanso.  

Talvez mi hombre ya no eres
Talvez cada circulo es lineal
Quizás solo hay vida dentro de un panteón
Talvez la muerte es una vieja amargada
encaprichada con la mocedad de la vida,
talvez, los ríos en su mayoría son secos por dentro
talvez la comida no es sustento
y el amor acaba cuando hablan los silencios.

Talvez no seas mi hombre,
Talvez mi corazón es un paisajista
que dibuja pasiones naufragadas
en el cansancio del viejo mar y en sus aguas saladas.  

¡Si! Talvez no seas mi hombre
Mas cuando pronuncio tu nombre…
Regresa la primavera con sus esplendidos colores.
LeydisProse
10/5/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse//

Like every other human being on this planet I am what I am, who I am, we are all the same yet here is the conundrum we are all individual, unique and different, we have the same emotions and feelings, the same senses, we are born, live and die yet travel our own unique journey.
We all also share something that I feel some of us are beginning to forget, a long lineal history of ancestral hopes and plans, instigations from the past that paved our paths for us, at least in our beginnings.
All our forebears had dreams, they all had hopes, they all grew as children, married, had families and gifted us with a history, in which the lost pages of their urges, dreams, desires, and the culmination of all their life's moments are the sum of who we are, as our unique selves, and the entirety of our consciousness will be gifted to our children, and on the story goes.
The question I ask is what will this generation gift into this long lineal line as it continues its journey...?

A quantum quiz

Finishing in the beginning could be a question ,
However rhetorical in its benign existence it couldn’t be a suggestion,
Riding high in an euphoric moment,
Or tasting the gutter in its own torment,
Airbrushed by conventional solutions,
Voice hushed by political pollutions,
Placed in infinity’s endless queue,
No time to sit in coincidence’s pew

The “What?”
The “When?”
The “Where?”
Only allows
The “That”
The “Then”
The “There”

Giving

The “Same”
The “Rational “
The “Everything “

Taking

The “Different “
The “ Irrational “
The “ Nothing “

Time

The relentless dimension allows oblivion to retract its play
Asking infinity to never, but never pay!
A concept justifying the lineal mind
To restrict the truth from mankind
Relentless in a predicted persistence
A mirage if it’s very existence

Together the quantum’s quiz presents it’s conundrum and paradox
Plaguing the thinker as a hopeless opportunity knocks
A logic that beds in their thought
Obstructing any open thinking from being sought,

Answering right is  what the quantum quiz desires
But thus so far only finished by deluded liars

Will the quantum quiz ever be truly complete with all those answers blown

Only perhaps if the all those questions are known

I get déjà vu like I’ve lived another life
Like I’m in slumber and someone is calling
I wake from sleep
Dragging  figures through with me from the dreamscape
They stand in my room
They reach for my face

I walk into rooms and forget why I’m there
I forget what I’m saying while I’m speaking it
By the time I find a pen to write it down, the thought is gone
I lose words like people lose pencils, lose paperclips
The ghost of reality eludes me
My mind warps my time here
Everything solid turns into smoke

I jump at nothing
I scare easily
My heart races with nothing to cause it
No love, no predator, no ounce of a thrill
It runs for no reason, cries wolf
While I stand in empty fields and see nothing

Have a bought this with me, too?
Have I dragged this through the veil from another existence?
Have I wondered through the gates with my past lives rattling behind me
Like cans strung to matrimony
What was done to me, there, in the lineal stream behind me?
What enticed this fear?
What chased me in the past?
What hunted me then that haunts me now?

My mother was one of them.
Hannah was another, both the
forbearers of our descendent
antonyms. I'm a genetic lineal,
an ancestral transfer, of genital
genetics, or hereditary hallmark.

I am symptomatically symbolic
of a specific spermatozoa, who’s
only claim to fame was that of
being first to cross the line during
an egg on spoon race which took
place in the Fallopian Tube.

Time twirls and spirals
twists and turns

In dream and memory
in imagining

Flies by lineal
night and day

Two dates chiselled
in remembrance

An eternal breath
first in and then out.