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Marla Jul 17
floating around in white noise
as the rest of the world has color
barraged by their beams of light
i cry in agony and delight
for i see the unknown
but can only speak
what the rest are shown

walk up to the edge and ponder
how waking up makes us wander
while sleeping quells the curiosity
of an apocalyptic mind
that's razing blazing fire

feel the powder burn
as the shockwave shakes
your bones,
I am in control of vanity
but fall through the fabrics

linen velvet suede and satin
line my soul, lowering itself
into eternity

evil and darkness have my
mind body and spirit sur-
rounded.
they pull me apart into thirds
only to fight me with gasoline
spigots lit by a lone cigarette

boooooooooom-YUH
By: Cedric McClester

The devil does exist
He’s living in our midst
But William Barr insists
That he’s not a liar
While impressing those
Much higher
Beware to the buyer
The situation’s dire

The devil does exist
If you get my gist
And let me tell you this
That he’s not a joke
Look at how
He goes for broke
Smell the sulfur  
From his smoke

The devil does exist
And those who can’t resist
Are on his naughty list
They gladly sell their souls
While assuming
Their various roles
That he’s assigned to them
They all bow down to him

The devil does exist
And so we should resist
He’s looking to enlist
Willing supplicants
To follow him
Like a colony of ants
Then they take a chance
By lowering their pants










Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Sebastian Jan 9
I favour the deep, impenetrable truth of the jungle
Over the smooth ride over sleek black rubber;
The *****, disturbing, demented disorder;
The distortions of the lights we bathe on,
Over outward alignments and the staleness of systems.

I favour the cheap, rugged, bittersweet taste
Of a late night's substandard drink,
In the midst of true lights and shadows
And the uncertainty they cast upon us,
Over the orderly and satisfactory--
The dead pleasures and securities that
Exist nowhere but in feeble projections.

I favour the basic, primeval, animal grunt--
The dirt, the dizziness of true treading
Across the muddy shallows--,
Over the clattering of an overflowed,
Certain mind.

I favour doubt, earnest doubt,
Unpalatable doubt, inescapable doubt--
A smile in a pitch-black room,
A journey on a lukewarm air balloon,
A half-finished sentence in a half-serious gloom--,
Over hasty conclusions and tainted allusions.

I favour the endearing messiness of reality;
The chaos of light and dreams;
The mystery, so out of reach,
Of you and me and the space in-between;
The stained, torn, shattered, burnt,
Twisted texture we find ourselves upon,
Over the smooth, marble-white,
Sterile surface where false certainties
Slide, grinning, before they find themselves
On an impending collision with the infectious hesitation of the ground.

I favour the acknowledging look
Straight into the eye;
A ladder with one step;
A race with no competitors;
A contentment without resentment;
A bread on your table that's good enough,
That doesn't tease you and promise you more,
And more,
And more,
So that you forget what you should really care for,
What lies deep under your skin,
What stirs up the dormant contents of your guts--
You climb to the hilltop
Which finally allows you to have
A peek at the next one.

I favour uncertainty and risk,
And walking too close to the edge;
I favour barely enough,
And cutting it too close;
I favour throwing all excess over the board,
And lowering standards;
I favour the taste of imminent failure
And the adrenaline of a heart-wakening sprint;
I favour meagre means
And big dreams, free of currencies;
For they all remind me what the world
Really looks like,
Who I really am,
And what the winter-night winds
Really feel like.

I favour the ways of nature, often erratic,
*****, **** and convoluted,
Often dumbfounding,
Unintentionally intelligent and mysterious,
Over the ways of fear-ridden constructions,
For there is no such thing
As a straight line.
“Forgetting is the purest form of clarity.”
--Someone

And so ended the unquiet dreams
awkward reunions with the dead
wandering the halls of sleep,
the bodies of others’ loss.
Ghosts gone from the gazebo.
No laments in the lowering sun.

She woke. Blue sky blinked into her eyes.  
The room’s climate began to clear.
The familiar path from bed to door
curled into a stone staircase.
When did that get there?  
There was writing on the wall
near a waterfall.

She climbed. She soared.  
She leant a myth to god.
She stood in a garden with five black stones.
She foretold an eclipse,
Burned the witch of winter,
Stepped in the same river twice.

The moon shrank into the alarm clock’s face.
Her breath brewed clouds above her forehead.
She sat aloof in the empty air,
Alone in the immense morning,
At rest in clear, cold perfection.
An icy storm howled and groaned about me, whipping the trees to and fro in its insatiable wrath. Sheets of rain poured from the murky sky, a torrent of water and wind pummeling my aching body.
I felt so small as I stood in the midst of the raging storm. So small and useless.
What was I but a mere ant, an insignificant worm in the face of this world? How could anything as small as I carry a ripple?
The world would still wage its wars, blind to the evil it was; injustice and oppression practically embroidered into the fabric of existence. Rulers would still dictate and control. The poor citizens would suffer in their poverty as the higher up drowned in their riches. Those who stood up and spoke out against the nobles were persecuted for questioning authority.
And so it seemed to me as if nothing we ever did would make a difference.
Lowering lashes glimmering with dew, I let the rain wash over me.  It seemed an ironic time for a storm, and I wondered if maybe the world was crying—lamenting over what humanity had come to.
“Why are you standing out here amid the rain?”
I took a ragged breath before turning around, blinking water out of my eyes. Eleanor stood behind me, leaning against a jagged pillar and studying me with an inscrutable expression.
“I thought I’d find you out here.” She said and pushed herself off the rock to face me. Her curly dark mass of hair was plastered to her face, and her fierce hazel eyes glimmered with condensation. “Moping won't get you anywhere you know.”
I shook my head at her. “I’m not moping.”
It was easy, easier than it should have been to slip on the masquerade, to look as if there was not a care in the world. The recent ordeals had left me drained and numb.
Eleanor threw her head back and laughed loudly. “I know moping the moment I see it. Now, spit it out.”
I clenched my fists in the pockets of my thick coak. “I am simply debating the best course of action to take from here.”
She grinned humorlessly. “You little liar. I see right past your guise down into your soft little heart. You can't-fool me, Flynn, I’ve seen more in this harsh world than someone twice my age.”
I tried to push the smoldering anger away, but her words sparked an inferno. She had no idea, no idea, of what I have gone through. How dare she make rash assumptions off of her own feeble experiences?
“You know nothing of what I have endured,” I said quietly, eyes flashing as I met her gaze.
Eleanor took a few steps closer until she was nose to nose with me. I could count every freckle on her bronze skin, every eyelash.
“You don’t sit around waiting for things to get better, you do something about it.” She whispered fiercely. “The world won't change itself, things won't just automatically get better. Everything that lasts takes time.”
Eleanor turned around and faced the setting sun; the sky lit up with the hues of the sunset. Her silhouette composed an impressive figure against the horizon, glistening with raindrops from the dull drizzle that now swept over the distant mountains.
“Someday,” she breathed, “you won't have to hide.”
I stared at her, enraptured at the quiet strength that overtook her features as she gazed out into the distance.
Eleanor twisted around again, her face somber. “Someday the world will accept you for who you are. But don’t wait for that day, don’t wait up for them—beat them to it and accept yourself now.”
A small beam of trembling sunlight entered into the suffocating darkness, thawing away at the ice that had slowly taken over within. I felt something I had not felt in a long time.
Hope.
Overwhelming in its promise and almost tangible to the imagination. I knew it was far away, farther than the length of the stars and back. And though everything was against me, though I would be met with opposition and suffering—would anyone else raise their voice for change?
I opened my eyes and found them full of the sun. “To an new dawn.”
Eleanor flashed her teeth in a voracious grin, her eyes full of promise. “To a new future.”
I held my breath at the words I would say; terrified my wish would disappear once uttered aloud. “To a world where those born of darkness, can shine just as bright.”

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
#book #authorlife #mywritings #character #fiction #emotional #fantasy #creative #story #darkness #drafts
Joseph Murphy Oct 2018
I paced the flying bridge.

Dawn: only my watch awake;
clear, breezy.
heat still bearable.

No scent or sight of land; no other vessel.

Our bow cadent: lifting, lowering;
cutting ahead.

Easy to imagine
none had set that course;
come that far.

© Joseph Murphy 2018
From Having Lived (Kelsay Books, 2018)
Sean Devlin Oct 2018
She stripped off her clothes, stepping out of her black ******* last
lowering herself into that pool of steaming water
I watched her with stifled hunger

"This is it. This is everything, isn’t it."
It wasn’t a question I was asking
as the rain crashed down around us
through the half open roof

She stretched her arms out and shook her head,
silent, grinning at me from across the bath

"**** those tiny dagger teeth, so far from my bones"

I threw her an invitation to destroy me but she was too comfortable
way over there
and she knew better after all this time
than to interrupt my romantic *******
I could really get carried away on the feeling
as if some insidious little moth crept in and started
pounding against my rib cage, against the backs of my eyes
taking me to some other place, as some other creature

"You know, you know.. Just drown me in here, like a rat
stuck in a sewer pipe, fat and useless and happy!
I’m drunk and hazy on this lust."

I could see her chest heave
as if the air was suddenly too thick
to swallow

"What I know is that you’re ******, you’re ****** and so I’m ******"

and she was right
but it was too late
her words faltered and faded off
halfway across the ocean between us
sailboats of wisdom lost at sea with
sailors throwing themselves overboard

I was gone by then, living a thousand daydreams
as scenes unfolded
where no one could see
as the rain
stung my face

Her eyes were wide and she was searching the stars
for me
but I was already tucked away inside her mystery
Janelle M Rivera Sep 2018
Pumapatak ang ulan sa semento.
Coloring it darker than it was before.
As the intensity increases,
I peek my hand outside my umbrella.
Allowing water to kiss my skin.
Eventually lowering the divide,
I allow it to engulf me.

Memories of home flood my mind.
Murky waters seeping into my belongings.
Cold droplets suddenly become
Warm welcome embraces.
Swift winds turn stagnant and sticky
As rain mixes with sweat.

I hear the roaring of motors,
Whispered chatters of tsismis,
A symphony of honking horns,
Bells of sorbeteros,
And Kuya yelling “TAHOOO!”

I smell the grease of fried fishballs in the air,
Swirling around with the scents
Of fresh pandesal and isaw-isaw.
My mouth begins to water,
Until stifling smog hits me.

I see the tiny tin houses crowded together.
Colorful clothes hung up high.
I feel the rough, callous hands of kapwa,
Who have had to work everyday of their lives.
I hear the laughs of those who remain resilient
After many typhoons have torn them down.
I smell the piles of trash; its stench diluted by the rain.

As the Pacific Ocean connects our coasts,
The rain connects our hearts.
Rainfall never fully dissipating
Between home and homeland.
Our stories unfold.
Hangang sa muli
David Brady Oct 2018
Lowering from the sky, the great cranes-
teetering necks that could feed clouds.
Groaning mammoths boring craters that could
bathe crocodiles. Machinery making
mounds of earth. The Common Dump Truck,
broad back carrying progeny of pulp
and muck. A lone bulldozer, idle
under shade of fir tree canopy.
Lost to time.
.i. flicker

leave a candle
burning in your
window should
you ever change
your mind when
we're both old and
gray, or older and
grayer than we both
are now, if you tire
of following your
Traveler ways,
criss-crossing
oceans with no
good place to stay,
if you remember we
once had a place to
call home, if you
remember that
once you were
never alone, leave
a candle in your
window, sweet amber,
come home... but those
are just dreams of mine,
you traveling the world,
because it hurts less
imagining that you
just left me, that we've
nowhere to go, and i've
no-one to see, since that
day i last saw you, lowering
into your grave, and all i've
left are cold shadows, as
i've learned to be brave, oh
how i wish i'd been brave,
and sometimes when i
think of you, i truly, so truly,
wish i'd not been born,
wish i'd never been born.

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.ii. for amber wherever your soul may be

we walked along those streets of cold night
we did what was wrong though we knew what was right
now i feel all alone with no love in sight
but know you are still with me

ღ ღ ღ

we laid in strange beds, though not merely to sleep,
our tracks may be gone, but those scars run quite deep,
standing at the abyss, can i peek, but not leap?
no, for you are still with me

ღ ღ ღ

when i feel that i've surely lost all of my might
when i'm lost in the dark, and can't find the light,
i will hold back my tears, i will keep up the fight,
. . .
i promise you this, despair is banished,
and i'll never again try to join you too soon,
for i believe, someday, i will be with you

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.iii. a touch of frost

so late last night
winter's last kiss
left amber flecks
amongst myrtle hills
and the most vibrant
hues of tenné and rust

ღ ღ ღ

so many miles i want to embrace
eternally changing beauty
unparalleled by any other
in which i can only see
your eyes and hair and
voice and spirit

ღ ღ ღ

last frost left
by a retrograde sun,
your solace, though knowing,
you just couldn't be the one

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.iv. snow in may

it hasn't fallen so far south
this late in my life
and wind bites through my jacket's fold
just like a stabbing knife

ღ ღ ღ

a snowflake melts upon my lips
a lost touch from your fingertips?

ღ ღ ღ

the wind feels slightly warmer now
and i don't need to wonder how

ღ ღ ღ

it cannot be coincidence
it's much too apropos...
don't need to guess why it has come
i think of you, and know

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.v. event horizon

you're gone from this place
just as all things must go
whether diamonds or dust,
bound by time and by tide,
by erosion and rust,
and our choices are viewed
from such far, distant shores
as long nights steal away
clarity found by day
which twilight underscores

in my heart, in my mind
memories start to form
and then call upon
a trace of your sweetness
for it can still linger on
and on, and on,
and, oh, sweet amber,
how you still linger on

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.vi. you're slipping away

i feel like today
i could write of you
forever, it was visiting
you last night, where
you will lay forever,
where we can be
a moment or two
still somehow
still together

ღ ღ ღ

but now it's been enough
and now it's time for me
to put my love for you away,
high-up and hard-to-reach,
in that special type of drawer;
full of needles and thread,
of thimbles and buttons,

a place that's
not often opened,
but so welcome and warm...

in times when
its contents can
heal what's been wounded
&
in times when
its magic can
mend what's been torn.

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.vii. the invention of this passion

all things must
return to their place
as water falls down to green, foamy seas waving,
as waving arms, tired, falling back to our sides,
as sides of mouths, smiling, start so subtly falling,
and cruel, hopeless pining banished out of our minds.

ღ ღ ღ

of your eminently brilliant, ever-duelling mind,
of your infinite obstinance (which was what it was),
of your so loving, gentle, most softest of hearts,
contrasted by furies like hell hath not wrought
when my love and the needle were all that you fought.

ღ ღ ღ

of your cutting your mending your purging your dying
of your love for me and your hate for yourself
of your love for that junk, such hate for yourself;
how i ran away when you needed me most,
my greatest regret and my greatest disgrace,
of you travelling all alone
to some far-distant shore...

ღ ღ ღ

of all of these things
that still make me curse
the sound of morning's alarms
that rob me of you

as no time,
nor no place,
nor no heavenly grace,
nor chance will stand as friend;

on your such
faraway thoughts
do i rise, do i fall
for even a moment?
are you still out there
out there in the aether,
have you forgiven that
which was unforgivable,
as i ran all those blocks
to a payphone at Safeway,
instead of knocking frantic,
on some neighbouring door?
and just writing it down now
i break down now, i hate now
myself forever, the only thing
i can't ever forgive of anyone,
and i'm haunted today most acutely
i can't hide, as a bright light is shone,
with you and our love, now 20 years gone

i long sometimes for death
if only to find out if you are
there, or if there is just nothing
nothing at all, save for those
three short words of
i love you

it's the irony of ironies that
something as sublime as love
could strike such a vicious wound
where a 2nd hell can be found
if one explores too deeply
and begins to drown
at the very bottom
of ocean memory

ღ ღ ღ

yes, all things must
return to their place
and i am glad you
returned to yours, to ours,
ahead of me, maybe, preparing
such a place, but i must live today
not in dreams of the past, not
in hopes of the future, for
if i know one thing, it's
you'd want me that way;
we all must go sometime
where you have gone,
and we don't choose
the time, no, it
is the time
that always
chooses us

yes, i am more glad still
you may wait for me there
and just maybe

you went to
where your love
was needed most,
and who am i to
even guess
otherwise?

ღ ღ ღ

Such is life, that whatever is proposed,
it is much easier to find reasons
for rejecting than embracing.


ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.viii. recovery: 20 year reprise

have you ever had
something in your life
that you wanted to be over
just as badly as you so very
much never wanted it to end?
for me that is exactly today,
this endless of endless days.

ღ ღ ღ

only snippets left
that are losing full
both craft and meaning,
perhaps, for inside of me
the feelings are petrifying,
and so i'm losing them,
and so i'm losing you:
your voice, your smell,
how your touch felt,
the taste of you,
everything you,
even soft,
and shared
ecstasies, too.

i loved you once
and could not stop:
though knowing where
it could/would end

you loved me when
you wanted to:
you loved me
when you could;

and that was, and
is, enough for me;
your prettiest face,
i cannot see. for it is
fading too, and,
is seeing also
believing, isn't
that how this love
thing's supposed
to work? and yet...


when you sadly
questioned me, only
then would i admit,
yes, you're right,
yes, it's so true, that
when i write of loving,
i can only write of you.

and that was the beginning
of what became your final end.

ღ ღ ღ

i love you not at all:
i had to stop for
it was killing me.

all these
shattered
fragments
only in my
mind, long
gone from
any medium,
now i must
quick get rid
of them... so,

i linger over each, then
in my mind i hit delete;
they can no longer find a home there,
or i shan't stave off my defeat.

ღ ღ ღ

i love you not at all:
it was so easy in the end;
i remember when i quit you
(just this evening, 6 pm).

they never tell you when you're young,
they never tell you once it's gone,
that years of loving feel so short,
these days of pain so ******* long.


ღ ღ ღ

i love you not at all:
(that is, until i close my door...
for since you took your life away,
i but love you all the more).


ღ ღ ღ

maybe i need to stop,
& to finally let you go,
for if i can't let go of you,
i'll have no room to grow;

and maybe this is even
the last, very last, day
i'll ever write of you.

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
  
.ix. honeyed memory

ღ ღ ღ

just for today i am yours,
and you are mine again;
you live today once more,
if only in this heart of mine,
and even a single word more
could not be anything than mere
superfluous commentary

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

.x. i must stop now; a prayer

goodbye my lost love,
i miss you so much,
and if your mouth is
perhaps closer to the
ear of the Almighty
than mine is, and may
ever be, can i ask this
of you, though i am
not deserving
you know more
than anyone
,
please ask of Him,
to let me learn
to forgive
myself.

Amen.

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
Overture: Missing you today, a visitation, now I feel you fading back away.

This date burned into my memory, when I left you there; how can it have been 20 years already? I've gotten so old, and you've stayed so young.

Enya - On Your Shore
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYPKas32MFM
Morning sun rises, here he comes
All night I have waited
Waiting for him to wake from his slumber

He is old, frail in need of company
She left him for a place in the clouds
Never a smile only a frown

I long to say good day
Its lonely on the web
Waiting to snare a bug
On the silken strands I call home

He shuffles his feet along the rug
I watch it all high upon the ceiling
Wishing for a glance upon my web

He never see's me
I see him with all eight eyes
Mr Mccoy, That's what I call him

He makes a cup of tea
I stretch a few legs hoping he will notice
The kettle boils, steam burns my feet
I scuttle to the top as beads form
Like raindrops on silver strings

His tender eyes peer out glass panes
Watching his crop, Old Mr Mccoy
Deep lines mark his face, thoughts of her mark his mind

Eight legs, no way to hug
If only he would see a friend in me

A picture of her, a tear shed
I spin my web, lowering
Closer and closer to his head

"Mr Mccoy ill be your friend!"
No words can I make to fall on death ears
He takes his tea and leaves me be

Tomorrow he might look up
Ill be ready, waiting on my web.
A little story of a spider who just wants a friend.
... more power-packed than the great outdoors, more than what
great dreams are made of! (October 2, 1895, Bud Abbott's born.)

An old man displayed his flag proudly each day raising it at dawn & lowering it at dusk. Once he couldn't do it because of a bothersome prostate so his wife had to & she didn't like it. When she griped the old guy shot her. He was charged with ****** & for months awaited trial always thinking about the flag. Since he was too old to execute he was given a life's prison term. The years passed, he died & was buried in a paupers' grave yard. People say that gasoline prices can do nothing but go up. I don't think many of us can afford $4 per gallon. We'll have no choice but to drive less & concentrate on the flag more.
Do you hear voice?

Do you notice

When she comes

Do you see what she does?

When she talks,

Do you notice her influences?

Do you hear her orders?

The world obeys hers

Do you look at her eyes

And notice the move of her waves

Are you good in sail

If you are ,you must sail

In her eyes and you will gain

A sorrow, regret and high pain

Do you examine your feel

When she goes away without say

One or two words or speech all day

Do you see her smile ?

The east and west look shine

The moon is in the right

The sun gives more light

The birds are singing

The smooth winds are blowing

Spreading best smelling

The water decrease its running

The rain gets lowering

The happy is shinning

The sadness is vanishing

All meet with smile

As she comes with smile
the love of god is the gift ,needing help of the creatures.
Lawrence Hall Jan 17
A young mother cradles her broken child
Amid the fragments of her world, her soul.
Blood drips.  Rain-sodden insulation drips.
Stillness between storms.  The trees are all gone.
A dark Sargasso Sea of shattered wood,
Bricks, clothes, books, toys, rags, glass, papers, bodies.
In the gasping heat the rot begins now.
No houses.  No lights.  A helicopter
Floating valley boys with plastic boxes
Taking cruel pictures and O-My-Godding
For the telescreen (between soda ads).
And in fortresses of personal affronts

(Safely far away)

Keyboard commandos leap into inaction:

People who choose to live there deserve it.
We told you that global warming is true.
We didn’t have these things ‘til they kicked Jesus
Out of these here schools. And paddling, by God.
It’s Obama’s fault.  Or is it George Bush?
It’s the Republicans. Public schools. Gaia.
British Petroleum.  Coal.  SUVs.
Suburbs.  Not reading the Bible.  Comets.
You’re stupid. Well eff you back.  Eff you more
.

While in the second lowering line of storms
A young mother cradles her broken child.
Serendipity Jun 26
You are the chardonnay
on the top shelf.
Moonshine smiles,
let me stay awhile
and drunken sways
dare not break the bottle.

I take baby sips
worrying ***** gets me too drunk
too fast
too quick.

I get a taste of prohibition
and only you I think of.

You are top notch liquor
on the bottom shelf,
lowering your standards
so I can reach you.

You burn me in the best ways.

You are a drunkards dream,
and oh am I so happy
to have found
you.
Cherry wine-Born Ruffians.
Seeking
Every Inch
Lowering Myself
For
Lies
Only
Voiced By
Everyone Who So - Called “Loves” Me
Johnny walker Mar 23
I close my eyes sometimes and smell those summery days long gone but such wonderful memories that
seem so
real
still remembering one such time Helen dressed a lovely summer dress walking hand In hand over the back fields behind our house
had my arm around her waist but naughty boy
slap my on wrist decided to get adventurous lowering my hand on to Helen's
bottom
all a sudden I felt what was like an electric shock on taking my hand away there was an enormous honey bee right the middle of my
hand
I quickly brushed away and then had to remove the sting which was still pumping
venom
It had obviously been attracted to Helen's perfume but the moral of the story don't presume to
much to
soon
Naughty boy I was putting my hand in Helen's bottom and paid the price with a sting from huge honey bee

— The End —