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Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
You are beautiful
You are tremendously beautiful
You are marvelously beautiful
You are astonishingly beautiful
You are magnificently beautiful
You are breathtakingly beautiful
Inner and outer

You are beautiful
You are the definition of Beauty
Or shall I say, what is Beauty compared to you
What is Beauty compared to you ?
It feels shy and ashamed when I describe you
A weak meaning it has when I describe you
A meaningless meaning it has when I describe you
Never existed it wishes when I describe you

You are beautiful
For your beauty I searched
Every language ever lived
And every word ever existed
And the romantic era that occurred
Could not find a way to describe your beauty
Could not find a way to tell the world about your beauty

You are beautiful
Vocabulary will be invented
Words never existed
To the dictionaries will be added
In the dictionaries will live
In the lovers tongues will breath
To describe your beauty
The one and the only beauty
The living and the dead will forget about Cleopatra
Because your beauty is ultra
A new period will start, The Beauty Era
Your era

--Hisham Alshaikh
You're Beautiful. Version 1.
Mike T Minehan Apr 2013
I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan
II felt good after writing this - it was a bit like purging the personal dictionary in my head. I think all of us could write our own list...
howard brace Sep 2012
He'd been conceived in Flamborough, so his little sister assured him some eleven summers ago, which was a tad hard for Rocky to swallow, she was a whole eighteen months his junior and then some... and at that age, well... what did she know, she was only a kid, "on this very rock" River insisted, kicking her heels in delight, "next to this very rock pool" they were both sitting beside, "one sunny afternoon eleven years ago..." and that was how he came by the name of Rocky... she taunted as the rest of the colourful story unfolded... and that she had it all on the best possible authority... although the more she thought about it, had she meant concealed... she wasn't quite sure now, it was all so very confusing at her tender age but thought it sounded close enough not to matter too much and that she would just wait and see which way the wind blew.
        
     It was conceivably an ill wind that blew no one any good that day, especially if you were a boy and just happened to be sat by a rock pool next to your little sister...  Having just taken a well earned drink from a neighbouring rock pool, Sockeye the floppiest Springer Spaniel this side of the Pecos decided that he was going to dig a hole and that he would be digging it deep, then changed his mind mid-dig and decided to have a more down to earth back scratching wriggle instead... then promptly flopped over and slid into the hole... life was sweet.  Now covered from nose to tail with every species of deceased shore life usually found frequenting the high water mark Sockeye, in a blinding flash of canine inspiration judged it would be in everyone's best interest were he to have a really good shakedown which always appeared to go down well on these occasions... and give everyone a good peppering, just so they could see exactly what they'd been missing all their lives.  

     "A rock of all places, for goodness sakes..." and what's more, it was this rock, "Yuk..." he jumped up and wiped his palms on the back of his jeans in disgust, then onto his tee-shirt, then sat back down again and began exploring his left nostril in quiet contemplation before finally jambing his hands back into his pockets... what in Heaven's name had his parents been thinking of..? what on earth was his little sister talking about..? and more to the point, what in fact did conceived mean..?  these were the questions that were uppermost in Rocky's mind as he poked an exploratory stick into the rock pool...  a baby crab marooned by the tide scampered sideways beneath a large pebble and stuck one beady eye out at him... Rocky's sister, seemingly in a world of her own, much like the baby crab sat on the edge of the noteworthy rock kicking her heels, an innocent smile curled the corners of her mouth as she quietly hummed a little song of tuneful bliss to herself and considered what further mischief she could possibly pass her brother's way.

     Rocky tossed a piece of driftwood over his sisters shoulder at a nearby flock of seagulls, squabbling over what appeared to be a discarded bag of fish and chips... Sockeye, simply knowing that his little master wanted to play a game of fetch gambolled after the stick, his ears flying courageously in the still Summer air and burst, amid a melee of feathers into their midst, only to romp back moments later, the stick all but forgotten in the excitement but now proudly sporting the derelict bag of leftovers and the odd splash of guano, his tail lolloping magnificently from side to side... and for the moment at least, leaving the fratching seagulls wheeling noisily overhead and to go about their daily business without further interruption... as for Sockeye, it had been a no contest situation.

     After fourteen years of valiant endeavour his father... Red, so named for his vivid shock of wiry hair, was still engaged in man's eternal struggle to win his significant other half's approbation with the manful art of deck-chair assembly, beach barbeque and other significant gentlemanly pursuits, all while strutting his manly stuff, sporting top of the range beach wear in accordance with the social etiquette of the previous decade... his masculine paunch slumping gallantly atop his waistband...  

     After the same fourteen terms of domestic servitude and the same thirteen identically overlooked anniversary cards a certain someone had no intention of allowing another certain someone to forget so much as one of them... his better half, so she insisted would ride rough shod, administering her own brand of justice at every given opportunity, in much the same way you'd brandish a royal-flush on poker night... or better still, a loaded revolver... and that she personally carried the burden of every ill-fated card that Lady Luck had dealt strung about her neck like Adam's original sin on Judgement Day.  

     Red much preferred the shorter, more condensed name of Rock for his son, rather than the longer more protracted Rocky, as he struggled with the wood and canvas lounger badly trapping the mound of his thumb in the process, "Aaargh...!!!" plunging his throbbing hand deep into the cold, soothing rock-pool "aaah...!!!"   Still marooned by the tide, the baby crab stood poised and ready for action as it considered giving this latest intrusion a good offensive nip, then hang on spitefully as it gave Red the final withering once over with the same baleful eye it had successfully used earlier.

     Acknowledging her husbands misfortune with a perfunctory grunt as she rummaged in her beach-bag for the thermos, she refused to be drawn in where thumbs were concerned right now, after all with his DNA sequencing she was convinced he could probably grow a new one within the month... whilst Tina, well... she was just plain worn-out... but still rejoiced in telling anyone who cared to lend a sympathetic ear in her direction... and who in turn was more than happy to listen to the woes of others and went somewhere along the lines of... 'and had she heard any more of poor Mrs Dorey's lingering martyrdom recently..? you know, the downtrodden lady who lives in the next street but one... and how they would all miss her when she was gone... and how she couldn't wait...' and as rumour had it, neither could her husband...

      Feigning to be otherwise engaged, Tina... as her husband, now blowing frantically on his mangled thumb, stumbled backwards over the half erected lounger and with a spine jarring "Ooomph...!!!" landed squarely in Sockeye's subsiding earthworks... professed total disassociation with the entire fiasco as she plunged her nose even deeper into the overdue library book she'd purposely brought on holiday for just such an occasion, making it perfectly clear that she was a tourist and furthermore, planned to stick with the same itinerary once they returned home... and that while she was here, she did not under any circumstances wish to be disturbed, the notice was clearly displayed hanging from the door handle... but if anyone should, then whoever it was did so at their own peril... and she was keeping score... although a mangled thumb she luxuriated, with the same roguish smile curling the corners of her mouth as the one normally found playing around her daughter's... was equally as heart warming.

      All Tina wanted was one week of uninterrupted peace and quiet in Flamborough, preferably with a certain someone out from under her feet then spend what might pass for several undisturbed hours sitting quietly by the rock pool comparing notes on eye makeup and the feminine merits of pedicure with the little crab who, still marooned by the tide was now sat busily knitting four pairs of matching leg warmers in the cool, still water but that was only if that certain someone... a shrill  "AAaargh...!!!" somewhat more desperate than the first, ****** itself upon the as yet unaggressive afternoon as it gyrated across the warm Jurrasic rock and recoiled out to sea... "now where was I", twisting her book uppermost "oh yes..! someone was going to pay..." only now it was going to be sooner rather than later, but only if that certain someone didn't finish the seating arrangements before the Sun disappeared and drift into some backstreet tea-room before all the lemon cheesecake sold out, or was that she reflected, simply too much to ask.

     It was his Surname that Rock found so objectionable, or it had been right up until his little sister's enlightening disclosure, now it was both names Rocky disliked, it would have been far kinder had Rock Salmon been sandwiched between sliced bread and given to Sockeye... who's solemn duty, from the first mouthful to the very last, was to gaze up beseechingly from beneath the kitchen table  and devour anything that passed his way, even the postman had to be quick about his business or have his arm follow the mail through the letter box... then Sockeye would just smack his lips and help himself to seconds.  

     All Rocky's mum had thought about for the last fourteen years was seconds... every last solitary one of them since she'd suffered with an infection of matrimonial neurosis which had deprived her of common sense and her maiden name, from Chovey to that of Salmon and how with hindsight she should have taken an Aspirin instead, wedlock she asserted was everything the name claimed to be and was without doubt the worst move she'd ever made... and what's more was seen as a bad move in whoever's wedding album you just happened to be paying your condolences to.

     Rocky would never be so fortunate on that score, unlike his sister he was stuck with Salmon for good, his grandma-Ann by all accounts had been dead set against the union from word Go and saw his father as someone who would always be out of his depth in whatever rock pool he found himself in, swimming against the tide as it were, rather than going with the flow... and it appeared that Rocky, almost eleven years into a life sentence, was about to flounder in the same murky undertow as the rest of the Salmon family... only he couldn't swim.

     "There"! her husband exclaimed "all finished... better late than never eh', who fancies trying it"? his wife luxuriated over the words 'better late' and wondered whether her new earrings, her latest acquisition would complement formal mourning attire.  Red dusted off the palms of his hands with the certain knowledge of a job well done and cautiously took one step back, looking with justifiable pride at the outcome of his manly exertions of the last two hours, this was what holidays were all about he declared, one man pitted against insurmountable odds...  His wife meanwhile was getting to grips with more odds of her own than you could safely expect to shake a stick at... her husband being one of them.  

     Having gathered her offspring with the promise of verbal earache if they didn't... and finished packing the beach-bag, Tina finally located Sockeye peering out from the shade of an adjacent rock, wisps of feathers poked tellingly from the corners of his mouth, his tail beating mischievously on the shingle decided in one further blaze of canine brainstorming, as Tina attempted to slip his collar on that a game of tag would just about round the day off nicely... Tina then devoted the next ten minutes chasing him amid unrestrained salvo's of cheering from the rest of the family... then bid goodbye to the little crab who, still marooned by the tide waved a friendly pincer in return... and trusted that she wouldn't have too long to wait for the next rising tide back home, then she slid off the rock with a corrosive... "the deck-chair attendant would have shown you" she snapped "and don't forget the deposit when you take them back" then double checking that she landed squarely on his foot she marched past, her floral sun hat jammed resolutely on her head at what she considered a jaunty angle with her equally jaunty, angular children scrambling in hot pursuit, back in the direction of their lodgings.  

     "Woof "..? said a bewildered Sockeye, bringing everyone to an abrupt halt... and with paws the size of place-mats, he wasn't going anywhere he didn't want to... he hunkered down with a look of hurtful accusation on his face, "oh yes you are my lad"! said his mistress "I've met your sort before" and knew exactly where to place the toe of her dainty size-5 as Sockeye, digging his heals in even further created swathes of canine furrows up the beach, leaving her husband the unwitting holder and in sole possession of the overlooked guest-house keys... and somewhat resigned to clean up his own masculinity and dismantle the recently assembled, now redundant deck-chairs by himself... as for Tina, well... she'd had quite enough excitement for one day thank you very much.

     Morning register was always the worst he thought, as they trooped back along the shingle beach, Rocky making surprisingly good furrows of his own... but the rest of the class loved it and saw it as the highlight of each day... Rocky's form teacher, despite showing a brave face was always hard pressed to avoid bursting into hysterics every time she worked her way down the register to the letter 'S' and would attempt to bypass it altogether, jumping from 'R' to 'T' and just prayed that no one else had noticed, but it hadn't taken the class very long to point out her oversight and... "please Miss" they'd all chant "we haven't had Salmon all week" and while the rest of the class were having convulsive fits, Rocky would elbow the lad sat at the next desk in the ribs... and promptly get one hundred lines for his trouble... thank goodness it was school holidays.  Why couldn't they have been given respectable names like Seymour Legge, Rock wondered, who sat over by the window or perhaps the teachers pet, Anna Prentice or even, Robyn Banks at a pinch, but definitely not what they'd been given and certainly not Salmon, they were the most hilarious names he could imagine and if someone was looking down on them right now he thought... then they had a very unique sense of humour indeed and Rock said so... "why" his little sister asked sweetly, "what's wrong with River Salmon".

                                                      ­                         ...   ...   ...*

a work in progress*                                                        ­                                                              240­6
Ayad Gharbawi Jan 2010
Hi;

This is not a poem.

But given the infernal catastrophe that has befallen, I just think it is time for you Americans to listen to us people living 'out there'.

Here are my thoghts, that I submit to you with respect;


HAITIAN EARTHQUAKE: A HISTORIC MOMENT FOR AMERICA TO CHANGE ITS MISSION

Ayad Gharbawi

January 19, 2010 – Damascus, Syria


The recent Haitian earthquake is unusual in that it has destroyed the entire meagre ‘infrastructure’ of a so-called nation.
In fact, this 2010 earthquake succeeded in showing the world that the so-called ‘country’ of Haiti is nothing more than another piece of estate/land/property for a select, few oligarchs.
Anyway, the US response to this ecological/environmental holocaust that has befallen upon Haiti has been unprecedented.
America, under President Barack Hussein Obama, has behaved impeccably in Haiti.
The brilliance in Obama’s aid for Haiti is successful precisely because he has avoided previous attempts by the US to help on the basis of ‘humanitarian’ grounds, when those grounds happened to also include conflicts raging within them.
Obama avoided the mistake of getting America involved in a humanitarian crises that existed within a civil war – like what happened in Lebanon (1982-83), Somalia (1991-3), Bosnia (1995), Kosovo (1999).
I write this article because I, as an outsider, wish ardently, to speak to you Americans.
Today, you Americans have the choice: either to follow the militaristic, expansionist policies of the US President, Theodore Roosevelt, or you may follow the path of the first morally-guided President of the US - Woodrow Wilson.
I urge you Americans to leave all countries where there are civil wars – such as in Iraq, Afghanistan, Yemen and so on.
Let these countries do whatever their people wish to do against each other.
Instead, allow your great arsenal of democracy to help and intervene on humanitarian missions – in countries wherein there are no civil wars – such as you have been doing so magnificently in Haiti.
Use your power, your wealth, your US Army, Air Force, and Navy to help humans who need the helping hand of succour.
I tell you, that you Americans, once you adopt this peaceful, moral foreign; policy, you shall see that your enemies will fade.
Taleban have told you repeatedly, and have repeatedly contacted to you, telling you that they are engaged in an Afghani civil war. So why do you intrude?
Al Qaeda have told you repeatedly if you leave the Middle East, then they have no quarrel with you.
Why can you Americans not accept or understand that so long as you do not invade, occupy or create military bases in foreign lands, no one, and no organization and no party and no country will see you as an enemy?
This is a moment for you Americans do finally break off from the Theodore Roosevelt Principle (TRP) which is to attack, ****, slaughter and occupy any country you think is ‘worth it’.
And, at the same time, it is also a moment in history, when you can fully embrace the Woodrow Wilson Principle (WWP) of a foreign policy that is based on morality.
What you have done and what you are doing in Haiti is a pure act of WWP.
I believe the entire Third World applauds you and loves you for what your men and women are doing for the innocent victims of Haiti.
But, then, when other men and women, scream and shriek, saying: “Look at what these Americans are doing! They ****, butcher and ****** Afghans in order to support corrupt, drug dealing gangsters such as Hamid Karzai who, themselves, cannot control and, in any case, are not interested in ‘controlling’ their own country! So what else can you think of America’s real intentions?”
And what a good emotion-fuelled question, indeed.
What are you Americans doing fighting, losing American and Afghani blood in order to basically prop up and support criminal regimes such as the Karzai regime, whose only raison d’etre is to make profits through their various ‘business’ activities?
The more you Americans fight what are perceived as unjust, colonialist wars, the more you will create terrorists. It is a never ending cycle!
I argue and I passionately believe, that you Americans can do this. If only you US statesmen and stateswomen finally decide to adopt the beautiful, clean mantle of morality in your foreign policy.
Obviously, I do not have enough space to express my ideas and reasons. So, let me be clear: I am not advocating a slavish enactment of Wilsonian principles.
For, as an example, when Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990, the US had to make a military move, because no country can allow a sick dictator to control so much of the world’s oil. There are clear instances when aggression abroad can seriously threaten US interests. But, in truth, the vast majority of the wars you Americans entered, were unnecessary: you did not need to go beyond the Yalu in 1950 in Korea; you did not need to enter the North-South Vietnamese Civil War.
Take Kosovo: yes massacres were committed on all sides. But you did not need to bomb Serbia. First and foremost, that should and must have been a problem for European powers to solve. Secondly, Kosovo was never vital for US interests. And the fact is, Kosovo could never be a so-called ‘state’. Today, it is nothing more than a geographical area run by warlords, drug dealers and other gangsters who each carve out their own territory. Was that piece of gangster-run land worthy of killing Serbians? No!
Take North Korea: let Russian, South Korea and Japan deal with that abnormal so-called state. Why do you spend money on your troops and camps there? It is not in your interests and yes, North Korea does not threaten you Americans!
The same goes for Iraq in 2003 – you did not need to invade that country for the simple reason that Baghdad posed no threat to its neighbours, and certainly no threat to Europe or to the US.  Again, you should have let the Iraqis themselves solve whatever problems they have on their fragmented plate.
You must see and feel that US lives are not expendable for pointless and futile foreign adventures.
America should help those who have suffered environmental catastrophes and who are in a war-free zone.
America should help stable, developing nations where accountability starts from Washington and right back in – Washington.
And yes, of course, America should only use its military might if it is directly threatened by any person, nation or organization.
And to reduce this hatred that has spawned against you: I tell you, a voice from a wilderness, one mute krill from amongst billions yearning for exactly what I yearn for, I tell you: remove your military bases from Europe, Japan, South America, the Gulf, and anywhere else. These military bases are seen by people as ‘evidence’ of occupation. You do not need to keep these costly outposts. Remove them. Reduce your military presence that, in any way, has no effect, except to increase fanaticism and anger amongst your people. This is especially so in the Gulf, where your presence angers the people – leave those countries and yes, you will then reduce your costs, which is obviously beneficial to you Americans.
Instead of military compounds and bases, why not enthusiastically create consortiums of companies to build American schools, universities, hospitals, housing projects and get involved in building infrastructure projects in nations that have good accountability, so no money is wasted and so can never go, instead, straight to the pockets of the leaders.
Build the world; use your superpower might to create hope in broken nations, and that effort will, in turn, build love and you shall see, your enemies shall decrease and your military costs will decrease and your building projects will bring you greater revenues.
The choice is yours: follow a Wilsonian foreign policy or a Theodore Roosevelt foreign policy.
I hope the Haitian earthquake catastrophe has shed some light on which path US foreign policy should take.

Ayad Gharbawi
I hold you tight up against my body
I take you with me even to the party

I rub you back and forth
Up and down from south to north

I love the way you sing hard and soft
I just can't keep my hands off

I pull you close
From coast to coast

You are beautifully sound
I will never pass you around

Magnificently perfect
You have all of my respect

You are my best friend
Till the end
Written by: Denise Huddleston
The diamonds shone like broken glass
Upon the midnight street
And all atop the walls were wet
Their white eyes glint & sleek

Then from afar a gnome appeared
An angel flashed on furry feet
The boulevard became a river
While waiting crowds began to quiver

I was in a motel watching
Whiskey in my hand
Her breath was soft, the wind was warm
Someone in a room was born
~~~

Accomplishments:

To make works in the face
of the void
To gain form, identity
To rise from the herd-crowd

Public favor
Public fervor

even the bitter Poet-Madman is
a clown
Treading the boards
~~~

Cold electric music
Damage me
Rend my mind
w/your dark slumber

Cold temple of steel
Cold minds alive
on the strangled shore

Veterans of foreign wars
We are the soldiers of
Rock & Roll Wars
~~~

Whether to be a
great cagey perfumed
beast
dying under the
sweet patronage
of Kings
& exist like luxuriant
flowers beneath the
emblems of their
Strange empire
or by mere insouciant
faith
slap them, call their cards
spit on fate & cast hell
to flames in usury

by dying, nobly
we could exist like
innocent trolls
propogate our revels
& give the finger to the
gods in our private
bedrooms

let’s rather, maybe,
perhaps,
get ******* out in
the open, & by
swelling, jubilantly
Magnificently, end them.
Stars very rarely
Hang-out alone,

A perfect night sky
Lets this be known.

They come together
Forming a spectacular
Constellation,

Shining magnificently bright
In a festive celebration.

Subdued,
Gently glowing undertones
Of a perfect moon,

Allow each individual star's quality
To be extraordinarily exhumed.

A perfect,
Starry evening
Sadly comes to an end,

As dusk turns to dawn;
With it,
The sun it sends.

By Lady R.F.(C)2017
I met Neal Cassady last night in a waking dream sitting across from me with his back turned to the noise; the bar was loud. He repeatedly leaned forward and asking if I wanted a smoke.
        He looked just like Neal, talked like him. I hated and admired him just like I would the real Neal Cassady. His mind was incredible; beyond the worries of mortality, no thoughts or pains of hubris. He had the candor that I lacked only because I hadn't the nerve to jump first. When I asked him if he truly was the great Cassady, he stared at me from across the table with a wry smile; patted his breast pocket down, leaned back and said as he turned with precision out of his chair,
        "Let's go for a smoke".
        Such practiced determination, he was already outside before I had put on my coat. Of course I had no cigarettes of my own, he had expected me to bring one for the both of us. But I for one expected him to procure an entire carton by the time I was outside; one bent cigarette from every Saintly being at the bar.
        And what a bar! Great young gone gals; dressed in short skirts and long autumn coats; wool scarves around their necks and under chins beneath cold steel eyes. Ahh, forever young the white dresses and mistresses of the college bar.
        By the time I had opened the door and exhaled my first breath of the crisp night air, Neal was playing the part of locomotive engine with a German couple who were smoking and pretending to be Parisian. The three of them were standing in formation of a triangle on the edge of a stone staircase with a railing leading down into a steep lawn with Neal’s back facing the moon. It was all arranged in a perfect geometric mandala of overlapping Platonic solids.
        As I approached the cloud, Neal was recounting the tale of a nurse he had lain in the backseat of her father's station wagon in Nebraska in the heat of the afternoon sun. The German man was stocky and ill-dressed for the weather. He told me later that his name was Heinrich, but I did not believe him even though I knew he had nothing to hide. The woman whom I believed to be only his girlfriend told me, with a thick German accent, that her name was Deline. I believed her. She was well-dressed for the weather and smoking heavily; style is everything.
        "They've graciously offered to roll us a dozen", Neal expelled between great gusts of smoke, a boyish grin smeared on his face by the thousand red lips and wet ***** of passed consequence. Even in the light of a single lamppost coming through the haze that billowed forth from the three talking chimneys, I could still see a sheen in Neal's eye. The sort of sheen that implied hooliganisms. The sort of sheen you see before a person flies off the handle. The exact sheen you see before you wake up tomorrow in the late light of the afternoon, wondering who the Hell took your hand last night and jumped into total darkness with you. That is, if there was somebody around to take your hand.
        I liked Neal.
                He had a style about him that reminded me of a dark velvet curtain. Once you had passed through that curtain in your business casual attire, you witnessed the burgundy coloured stain of truth. There was no backpedaling after that; your chains would knot up and you would fall off the ride if you tried.
        The German couple looked around at their surroundings and the both of us with a degree of boredom. I had seen them earlier in the bar, they looked bored then too. Neither had spoken to the other once and I was beginning to feel like we were exasperating them.
        “Who cares? They offered to roll us a dozen” I thought. What did it matter how Neal got them to do it, they've offered twelve cigarettes and now they belong to us.
        Deline handed Neal and I six cigarettes each; they were magnificently rolled.
        “Goodbye, then! Thank you for your business”, Neal said and slid down the railing to the lawn below, lighting his cigarette mid-slide. I had just lit mine and started after him down the staircase. I turned around and spoke clumsily with a cigarette bobbing at the corner of my mouth,                      
        “Yes… thanks”, and left without another word.

        Neal walked with sporadic intensity; arms often stabbing out into the blanket of night; legs that would walk straight and stiff but then bent and fast with sudden changes as if he was preparing to spring off into the evening of speckled lampposts and smoke. His head bobbed West to East, North to South, and all Axis’ between X, Y and Z. The more I stared at this character whom I called Neal the more I thought of him as an illusion of my own delusions. When I had finished that thought, Neal had spun around and laughed a good hearty and honest laugh; he seemed to have read my mind and proceeded to flick the space between by eyebrows with his thumb and *******. The pain was real enough. This Neal must be real, unless I had gone full mad with lunacy. We blasted off down the avenue which connected the college bar to the dormitories and the library after that.
        Beyond the avenue laid the cozy valley of goodnight downtown with all it’s lights of sodium pearls below and us upon the hill top looking down with eager intensity. Neal gave another rounded laugh and stared with mad eyes above my head and pointed straight up into the sky at Sirius.
        “Tonight, yes yes, we go out. Not just out, my dear friend, but up. Yes yes, to the great up-and-over. Beyond the next stop we absolutely must climb.”

         I don’t know what mad beast had possessed me that evening but I followed this ghost; this great memory of romantic America into the heart of the infinite night.
        “Good gal Deline”, said Neal

        “Who?” I replied
        “Nimble fingers, strong hands for the German working class” he said, “Great gone gal. Good gal. Fine gal by all standards of beauty and sleek german ingenuity”
        “Hmm”, I responded inhaling my cigarette deeply. The Germans were just fine at rolling, but the tobacco was all American. It was harder and harder for me to physically keep up with Neal. He kept speeding off sporadically twenty feet in front of me, sometimes stopping and spouting at young folks asking for cigarettes. 

        “But you’ve already got one” They would say

        “Yes yes, but it’s for when I’m not smoking one is why I want one”, Neal would answer as he trailed off further and further down the road. They thought he was mad, but they all smiled nonetheless.

        My curiosity was brimming. Who was this mad man? Who was this loon impersonator of the American night? I could not stand by my idle silence and unquestioning.
        “What’s the plan tonight?”, I asked

        “What plan? No good plan. Only great plan and great plain rising higher and higher and we will be up all night but on top of the world for we must climb up and up forever until we can climb no more, and then after we can climb no more then we must climb a little further for life itself is nothing more than an infinite climb ever higher and why not get there faster than all the rest?”

        I had stopped walking and Neal’s voice echoed and vibrated the walls of the stairs between the library and the meal hall. His voice was like that of mountain that had slid beneath the ground reborn into an endless peak above.
“Jailbird Cassidy. Great bellowing Cassidy all energy and no direction, but getting there in no time just the same Cassidy”, I thought to myself.
“I trust you Neal”, I had said out loud.
“Not yet! First great big night time breakfast for you and me, for one can not climb without a good energy and good rounded stomach digested of food and stories.”
Mike Fashé Oct 2013
Sunset of Apollo
Rises upon the goddess of the moon
Graceful
Love of all
Drifting by the lake
The soul,
Once a fulfillment
Of delicate
Symmetrical
Structures that held
A deity together
The spiritual duality  
The love,
Flourishing through
The celestial azure
Between veils
Of Embers
Spreading like haze
Upon tranquil blaze
Soothing by the arctic breeze
Textural glaciers
Like indigo crystals
Seas of endless art
To pass on
To what feels like a dream
The life,
That felt incredible
Amity between
Forces that were inseparable
The hand
Upon the soil
Of the crimson stone
To feel rhythm of the velvet heart
An ocean that spreads
Scarlet sheets
Nourishing the seeds
Becoming the verdant children
With halos of blissful pigments
Into a mixture of tears
Blessed by mother Gaia
Blossoming for all to see…

Every layer that covers the sky
Beneath the end of every lullaby
Holds a gift
That lies and says goodbye
Driven & deprived to be nocturnal
Sleepless nights Cursed in vain
Any man to have you…
Thorns of pain that feels eternal
Magnificently a breath taker by divine  
Hallucination of the fibbed eye
To tell such lies
You were created by Aphrodite
Crafted by serenades
Beauty carved by the finest blade
Hazel diamond shades
It’s often said, weakness for elegant grace
Drives the loveliest man insane
Reminiscing in the hollow mind
Echoes from the cryptic name
I close my eyes
To hear the melody of the rain
Indulging in each drop that makes a note
Forming an orchestral perception of a dream
Recollection of memories…
Gentle flowing through the entrance of the stream
Anything for one more glimpse…
Lamenting the past
Voices
As I wake
Wrapped upon the cloak of the sea
Glancing at the beautiful moon
Spiraling my soul around her celestial body
As if I Projected
From the stars to the ocean
Reflection of my Luná
I hear the symphony
She sings
Calmly and peacefully
As I daze away
Float away
Losing grip of the moon
I pray
Just to stay…

Lonesome heart
That walks the fields of heaven
Arise upon accession
Through the meadows
With no aggression
Pleasant aura
Sphere that shines down before me
The stream
From the vessel
Aqua that is the key
That carries life
The dust & bones
Becoming false love that turns into stone
My failure for another
Misunderstood compassion
Misconception for love is lost
Despite of my action
Empty like deep space
Searching from dream & reality
For the sweetest taste
Asking questions from the wise Oracle
Will my heart ever find a mate?

Eden
My home
My soul
I don’t feel whole…
Harps of the angel
Tones played
Ever so gentle
Like a gust of euphoric fragrances
Scenting the air
As if the wind could
Recite poems
As marvelous as
Jade stones
Upon golden thrones
Visions of sunset mountains
Portraits of ocean blue fountains
Parallel between the Elysium fields & Sorrow acres
Blocked by shields of prayers
  Empyrean
The land
Of ecstasy & enlightenment
As I grasp a breath of air
I close my eyes
A vineyard of pleasures
And grassy lands that seek adventures
With bouquets of red wine roses, but with
Thorns that end sentiments
And decomposes
Gazing one poses
Forbidden until time fades…
Grab both your hands
Maybe the next lifetime
Where daylight shows its beautiful anthem

Never in all the life times had I lived
For this aesthetic moment
It’s a beauty of torment
A commitment of energy
Time and century
From one past to present
The future flourishes
From the tiniest grain
That grows life
To where our souls might cross one day
In the sphere
Of Gaia
Green plants from the beautiful ground
Blue skies
Surrounded by the beautiful white angel
Look after her soul
Protect her from who they once stole
Care for her
For she brings heart & soul
As the story goes,  
  The weak & the needy
Dream for no blackheart
Shot by the arrow that purges
Life
Love each other
Never fall apart

As Apollo sun sets
Silhouettes of the appealing moon
Dream I’ll soon
To what becomes
A forest of past memories
Sketches of my truly dearest
Along the midnight blue river
An ensemble of creatures
That roams and creates pieces
Played to unburden the soul
As I lay beside the oldest tree
To watch the night sky
Fireflies’ prance
The beautiful moon
Amusement to the eyes  
To stare upon this
Enchanted aspect
Of green nightly shine among the forest
Amber glowing
Shaded night
To see it
Would be a lie…
Privileged to have created a night
A sea of enjoyment
From the one dream
Failure to grasp beauty
Until now
As if kismet intended to be…
Love each day
As if it’s your last
For one day
Maybe we could lie in the grass
Consume life
For all it’s glory
One day will write a story
If not now
Then a lifetime is worth waiting
FYI: If you don't understand my poem then just take a guess at it. My writing revolves around symbolism and I like to keep the meaning to myself because guessing is more fun :) Interpret your own meaning!  

It's been forever since I posted a poem here. School is drag lol I hope to post more writing here when I'm not busy. Did a version 2.0 of my favorite poem (recycled some old stuff in it) I'll add more stuff later, but for now enjoy what I have!
I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.

I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.

I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.

Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!

Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my *****;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.

My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.

And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!

Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.
cassie sky Sep 2012
This cave is my sanctuary; cold, damp, filled with minerals and creatures.
I sit cross legged peering out through the crescent shaped doorway mama nature has created.  I have never been more at peace than I am when I’m here.  

The water crashes ******* the barnacle covered rocks beneath me.  The mist from the waves whirls its way up to sooth my aching skin.  The sea calls my name in the way that an angel calls you into the light.  
At first it’s just a delicate whisper.  The voice is so charming and playful that it begins to lure me in. As i begin to drift further, letting the voice carry my thoughts, the waves pound harder and the symphony the sea has written me rapidly grows in volume and intensity.  

The tension becomes so strong that the sky starts to erupt.  The clash of the clouds creates a prismatic light sequence leaving the sky looking magnificently iridescent. I sit unstirred, reveling in it's beauty.

The sea is now agonizingly screaming for me to succumb to its cool paradise.

For a while I just sit and enjoy the elegance of the symphony.  Once the sky starts to lower its darkened veil, I know it is time to go.  
I stand up with more certainty than I had ever felt before.  
I slowly take three steps forward, embracing the feeling of the dirt in between my toes.  
Two long strides, and then I leap.  The thick foggy air caresses my body as it swiftly careens downward.  

The symphony ends with a splash.
jeffrey conyers Oct 2012
You think you ugly.
And you're far from it.
You feel you're ugly.
And you not near to it.
Celebrities and entertainers feel this way.
And many have pay greatly to attract good looks their way.

You compare yourself to models.
Who is only superficial at best?
Cause probably without makeup.
They themselves are a hot mess.
We know many has aa insecurity complex.

Even us, who isn't famous?
For some reasons join their rank.
Instead of believing we are beautiful in many ways.
Instead we live behind a insecurity complex.

If beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.
Then you yourself must see yourself ,as magnificently gorgeous.
Sa Sa Ra Mar 2014
To each a body temple,
crated temple earth!

Two homes therefor each..
One head lay with one heart...

And offer one another the bed
of forgiveness each day,
magnificently,

Bold

Ebb beat,
Beat breathe,
Flow beat

Beat
   r
     e
       a
         t
           h
             e
                :
Birthing as we see
Indeed, we be    

Understand

Within

Bless

Love be
love See

Out
ward's

Utter
Ing's
Rx's

Truly
Free

'That
is all'

Lord's
o
r
d
e
s
s
'
s
Annoying Eggs Happy Birthday
www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0uKMY48VgM
Rowan Deysel Dec 2016
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing. 
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Made when I was an angsty, cringe teenager who just got dumped by his first girlfriend.
Emeka Mokeme Jul 2019
It was just
cuteness overload,
as this
evening sunset
ushers in
the twilight
with effortless efforts
so beautifully.
It's effects
touched the
heart magnificently.
The freshness
of this mystical
beautiful evening,
enchanting and
magnificently blissful,
prepares the moment
for tomorrow.
As we individually
speak forth
with faith
into the deep,
so shall it
bring forth
fruits sowed
according to
our intense
deep desire.
What you sowed,
is what you get.
You must
rewrite your night,
to manifest
your day star.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme.
JR Rhine Jan 2017
**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park,
this is an ode to you.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park
ambles behind
the kids sprawling out of the entrance
like baby spiders spilling
out of the crushed mother’s abdomen.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
flip-flops his way to the lazy river,
shies his black Harley Davidson tanktop
to reveal his sunburnt
abdomious belly
flopping over his camo swim trunks.

He shakes off his flip-flops
and awkwardly wades in,
his hulking mass shifting with
each foot and tree trunk
of a leg smashing into
the shallow water,
sending shockwaves towards
screaming toddlers
in his wake.

Finding a vacant tube,
he turns his body around
and heaves himself
into the neon green donut
with considerable
and farcical
difficulty.

Mother at the pavilion
opens an eye from the lawn chair
and chuckles to herself,
applying another layer of sunscreen
over ruddy cancer-sensitive skin.

Sporting oblong racecar sunglasses
atop flushed puffy cheeks,
**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
basks in the baking mid-summer sun
and the cool ****-ridden waters
he sinks his hands and feet into.

What is on his mind?
I imagine it is as close
to nothing
as he aims to get,

free from responsibility
like a wiry youth
he knew
from long ago.

The piercing screams of laughter
from ambulant children
splashing about him
are fruitless
in penetrating
his enclave.

He coasts about this way
for an eternity,
his red leather hide
burning in the hot sun
enwreathing his glasses.

Meanwhile,
mother reads
under the cool shade
of the pavilion,

the kids tumble down
slides and splash gleefully,
endlessly,

and life lingers on a moment
for a necessary
sojourn.

**** Middle-Aged Dad
awakens from his sun-cooked daze,
approaches the exit
and prepares himself
for his departure.

Waddling left and right,
he flops starboard
splashing magnificently
like a cannonball rolling off the deck
into the ocean.

His sunglasses leave him in the ruckus,
he gropes blindly
with chlorine-infested eyes,
til he grasps the visage
and stands up in the water.

His great body surges
from the waters,
fading tattoos gleam
along with a bald spot
in the sunlight.

He ambles through the waters—
water spilling out of rolls of fat
undulating in the motion—
and sensuously runs a baseball glove of a hand
through thinning hair.

His trunks bunch up around
firm, beefy buttocks
and a tired old *****,
thick tree trunk thighs,
ending its constriction just above
the wrinkled knot
of kneecaps.

Mother snapshots a photo
of the visage,
his fruits spilling about him
in perpetual glee,
his stolid look of authority,
wisdom, drive,
and endearment.

Years later,
the ambulant youths
on the cusp of adulthood

leaf through old photo albums
suddenly eyeing the Father piously
in a newfound awe,

aware of his gargantuan countenance
that shielded their efflorescence.

He was their sun,
he was their shade,
and their sky—

for he knew
when to plant,
and when to water,
and when to wait.

Running a thumb over
the diaphanous visage
exemplifying
an analog adolescence,

they jeer each other
over the Father,
secretly harboring
an amassing reverence
for the great figure,

the **** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park.
Kimberly Aug 2013
Loving you seemed effortless
I was beautiful
Even with the strands of hair out of place
I was funny
Even when it was just a causal comment I thought of halfway
I was clever
Even when the things I said were never always quite right

Loving you seemed effortless
I never had to wake up early to pick my clothes
I no longer worried about the zit on my nose
I didn't feel the need to tie my hair
I just came as I was
And you accepted it there and then,
Magnificently
Perfectly

Loving you was effortless
How our conversations continued tirelessly
You knew just the right things to say
And I did too
we could understand each other
Magnificently
Perfectly
Like a whole new language
Only we understood
And how you told me I looked beautiful
Even though I was not

Then loving myself became effortless
Mercy B Jan 2014
Strange reflections, indistinct flickers whipping past, caught out of the corner of my eye.

An eldritch feeling takes over, as if to say this is what it to feel like to watch time pass by.

I lay witness to a whirlwind of intricate memories being swept away, jostled getting lost between the spaces.

The remnants of a hurricane filled with moments doomed to oblivion, intertwined inside an eternity of forgotten faces.

Anxiously I sit inside a cage of my own mold as I contemplate if this place is a sanctuary at all.

Finally realizing that those reflections were small glimmers of the pieces I let go during my own painfully beautiful fall.

Weep not for this wayward stranger, the trial and tribulations are something that we all must soldiers through.

Diligently stripping layers away, remaining hopefully that the journey will lead to something magnificently brand new.
I hope that it makes sense to ay t least one other person beside myself....
Alex Jan 2014
Manila is beautiful at night,
Seen from overhead, high above rainclouds in the night sky
with a tantalizing view of car exhaust and the debris of broken dreams
Manila is beautiful at night.

It comes and goes like a shadow in flickering light.
At first, it hides behind wispy rain clouds, playful as a child hiding in his mother's skirt.
If you look closely, it's lights glisten-- golden and teasing
It's incessant winking, an almost promise of what's to come

From your aerial vantage point, you wonder:
"This is what it must be like to be an Angel when they fly"
Below the city, with all it's secrets, sprawls like a handful:
A rich lady's heirloom diamonds, thrown carelessly on a ***** floor.

It will somehow remind you of a creature: perhaps human, or Leviathan in it's wake
Cities, after all, are their own specie of living things

At first it is looks like a Brain, with neurons and synapses electric and active
Certain spots of the city: mall compelexes and large parking lots, like the nuclei of a brain cell
the roads that lead to and fro, the cars zipping up and down in red and yellow lines
remind you of dendrites and axons, stretching far
They communicate with each other in their own language; a code
Your imagination runs wild with untamed fantasy

On next glance, it looks like a heart.
The whole city pulses magnificently in unison it seems.
Thud, thud. Thud, thud. You feel it?
Your heart follows it's tantalizing rhythmic pattern, it's muscle beats
Though and through the city pumps it's lifeblood into each nook and cranny
Oh how it entices your passion so.

At last you seem to hear it breathing.
Listen closely and hear Manila inhale and exhale in steady tunes
Inhale, and exhale-- a silence comes over you,
And it's strangely reminiscent of amazement, excitement and bitter fear
Your ears dull and you listen to the rush of air in your lungs,
the deep drum bass of the pounding of your heart
the dizzying feeling that exists in your brain

Manila really is beautiful at night.
In the shroud of darkness, it rises from slumber;
Vivacious and lovely, it's seductive and free
Manila is lovely. Manila is a woman, as it should be.
Part one
Stíofáinín Jan 2020
Once there was a water dragon. He was brilliant and blue and he knew the depths of the sea like no other. Once upon a time a spider laid it's tiny eyes on him. This spider saw how wondrous and free the water dragon was and decided to silently follow him only so as to be close. The dragon, once observant noticed this but decided what's the harm. He let the spider look on as he continued to be himself. One day the spider realised it had something inside of itself that wanted to be free too and it bit the beautiful water dragon. The bite was venmous and the dragon could feel it corse through him and before he could even muster a thought against it, he wanted it. He wanted it and everyday the tiny spider would come to bite him again. The dragon knew this was wrong but he thought, that tiny spider all alone and everyday it comes back to bite me, that must be love. That tiny venom I feel in my heart must be love. And so he kept it.
The spider came from the ground but there was never a way back so it just stayed close to the dark. The cold places where there was little light and slowly those places became the dragons home too. He didn't swim in the light anymore. He didn't swin at all. His beautiful blue faded to grey and he forgot the sun. The spider continued to bite him every day until that last time when it borrowed itself right underneath his skin and then, the spider was swallowed whole.
The spider was called
Lie.
The water dragon thought, at last it is dead now I can be free again. I can go back to the water now. And he did try, he tried to escape the cave but when he started to see the light again he had to turn away. His head was hung. The spider lived inside of him now and even if it was forever only in that tiny place, he knew he would not escape and inside he felt it and in the bottom of his soul he knew the spiders name.
Lie.
He was trapped but at least now he could see the outside or watch as it went by. He could even feel the water again and float, floating was better than nothing at all, and he accepted his fate. He was content and he could be happy with being content and he wasn't even all that grey anymore. Mostly grey but still so magnificently beautiful. So he would watch the world but no one could ever see him because all they could know was a sad angry thing that is only called a shame because the dragon that once was is no more.

Once there was a beautiful water dragon...
Now no one remembers, no one searches because of what they might find...
Lie.
It's better forgotten.
The dragon became a thing that was lost to even a single thought but if there ever was one it went like this.
Beware of that hidden thing, he was once something you may have spoke of. That's all.

But the same water dragon was still there somewhere and he himself knew this much and in everything that was enough.
That's what he wanted to believe.
It wasn't real though.
One day a curious girl found his dwelling, he was sure she'd be too afraid but admittedly nervous as she was she did not look away. Her wide eyes only grew. She touched his face and whispered "beautifil" he unclenched and began to free himself from a rigid position he'd been wrestling with for what seemed like lifetimes. The girl lost her footing quick realising too late that she stood on the dragons tail. She fell back off the cliff from the cave right into the sea.
The dragon thought, if I do this now if I save her then I can remember myself. I will never be grey again but I'll remember that it was not me. If I go out into that sea now I might not ever be able to find a way back here and even though I know this is not home.
this is my only home.
But the girl was drowning.

The dragon saved the girl and he brought her back to his home and there she woke and said "I love you dragon, you have saved me but you are most beautiful in the light. You do know that don't you?" And she gazed at him in wonder but he just hung his head because he could not forget what he believed the girl should never know.
Lie...
He remembered that spider who was long dead now but part of it would forever remain inside of him.
The girl slid down and caught his head in her hands, smiled and pushed him back into place.

"I found you dragon, I FOUND YOU!!! That means you are mine and I say you cannot live here like this anymore. I will take you with me and we will find someplace beautiful for you to swim again so you can be what you are, so you can feel the sun. I want that for you, dragon. You know why"

"don't say no ok! let's just go far away from this cave now because I love you and I won't ever leave you here but I am a girl, dragon. And I need to see the sun and I want that and that is a freedom that you could never know confined to this cave"
The dragon came so close he was almost inside of the girls wide eyes. His huge, deep, warm breaths on her face made her skin come alive like she was in command of countless living creatures, breathing in her veins. Powerful. That is what he made her.
The dragon said, I saved you didn't I! You know why but please don't ask these silly things. I will not leave here now because it is my home somehow but you can come here anytime you like and see me. Looking at you makes me happy and you know, you know I'll love you but just don't try to move me now because because I am so much bigger than you tiny girl and know this, I have already tried. Nope! I am not going anywhere so don't even ask.
The girl smushed her face into some kind of unnatural expression and huffed.
"I'll show you dragon"
She kicked his tail and ran right up to his ear and whispered.
"I am not afraid of you. I saw that spider once and I know you feel it too and dead as it may be that spider will always borrow down deeper and deeper unless you just let it be free. The dead have left marks all over you. something a girl could never imagine, dragon. I see that and I do not have to know but you should know this, I am not afraid!
And I'll be back tomorrow, and tomorrow and all of eternity because I will never leave you alone here dragon.
And tomorrow, I will make you smile.

Tomorrow the girl came back. She scaled the slippery wall with a world of belongings on her back and when she reached the top where the dragon called home she flung what could have been all of her tiny life's worth out on to the hard rock. She yelled
"I am here, dragon"
And the dragon appeared. He slowly wrapped her in his cold skin and he said nothing. The girls face looked disappointed so he tightened his grip but she sighed and wriggled free and looked at him in the eye.
The girl laughed.
The dragon was in awe of how anyone could escape his grip and he did indeed seem defeated almost but the girl just smiled at him and said "silly dragon, you know that I am too small, you could never hold me"

"But dragon, this is the predicament now you see, I have told you that I am a girl who needs so many things and the sun and the sun but you are my only sun and that is the only warmth that I want to know now and I don't know how to tell you I was wrong. I only need you and I've taken all these things here with me so to make you admit what you yourself already know. You have said it and not said it in too many ways so now you just need to let it be. You dragon, you love me. You have saved me and now I will save you too"
The dragon still said nothing so the girl continued.
She stood the ground, taller than she was and proclaimed.
"THREE THINGS I WILL PUT IN FRONT OF YOU
Not to sway you but to show you how to look and see what is real. This is all I have dragon, so it will work because you will not tell yourself that it cannot.
Just see"

"First,
I took these three strings, sangen. And sometimes I can melt colours so you may not feel grey anymore and I will write and sing for you a million songs if you promise to always open your eyes for me.
Secondly,
All of my words which have now fallen right here in front of you. You really should open your eyes and see, it's like an endless haiku.
And third,
What else do I have of value save for myself and who knows how much value is in that. But third, it is spilled out clear. Honesty dragon. All of my honesty and I am not a perfect girl, not at all but I will accept whatever you show me because I only want to see you and I am not afraid"

"look"
she asked the dragon and she showed him her heart and all the times her tiny frame had cracked trying to get it out.
"I was not always this either but it is enough dragon, even if we are the only ones who ever know. You are still alive in here.
We are.

The dragon spoke and he said, ok girl I am listening. I am looking so show me. Then the girl whispered
"I know the spider all too well"

"it camouflages itself as something innocent but it was never that. I have been bitten by a spider too and I know what it never wants you to see"

"it can never rest even when you know its dead and the further down it digs the more eggs it lays inside of you, dragon and the only way it stops is if you set it free and I know that feels impossible but all you need to do is show me. Then it is gone and you will be free. I can see its marks on you, it's all over you poor dragon, but it is dead now so please let it go"

"I am only because I had looked at that spider everyday until I wasn't afraid, so I picked it out from inside of myself and threw it away. I cannot do this for you, dragon but I can stay here and make you smile while you find a way to let it go. But, just show me and I promise you it will go and don't worry I know I am small but I am not weak and I am not afraid of you and I will still stay"
The dragon spoke again but only to say,
stay here just don't say anymore.
Sleep now.
But the girl refused to tire and finally the dragon grew strong enough to show her.
Look now, you see it can never come away and I will never let it go now because I am afraid.

The girl saw the spider and it was in the dragons beating heart. She kissed his heart and told the dragon.
"it's ok, dragon. Thank you for showing me this"

For several days and nights they slept until a day the girl awoke. She was alone in the dragons empty cell and she walked to the opening where a light broke through and stumbled over a dried out tiny corpse of something that was once called
Lie...
And she looked far out through the cracks onto the waves and there he was like she had never seen him before and yet somehow it was entirely fitting to her image of what she knew the dragon could be. He was blue again and so fast and when he moved she could feel it through the bones. 

The dragon came back to the girl but still he said nothing. His breath was so close to her again that all the tiny creatures she never let die ran back through her veins and she knew. She was alive.
The girl climbed on the dragons back and he said said
Now, we can go home.
May be just a silly thing but I'm still wanting to put this here
✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿

In wonder of the world
of her mysteries
sitting here dreaming alone
I wandered over a hill one day
seeking expecting
nothing
and she appeared
like a vision
shimmering perfection
mysterious
mirage


I had been admiring
for years
the beauty of his heart
I had watched
from a distance
never letting myself
become apart,
  there were times
   he would approach
     the top of the hill
      always stopping
        and turning back
       my pounding heart
     would then painfully still.
    I sent him dreams
  of a sweet first kiss
sprinkled visions
of starlit bliss
then one day
by the touch of grace
I looked up to find us
standing face to face.


I saw her in dreams before here
she was standing growing
over the hill the whole time

always she had been there

I had just not gone forward enough

I stood in awe

and she like a tulip
shivered


dreams, now reality
love floods this heart of mine

I stand in awe
of beauty, so magnificently divine

the essence of love whispered
and I, like a tulip
    blissfully
        shivered…


✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿
I fret torpidly in my lair;
Your scent is around, but I've seen nobody.
'Tis sordid about me, with rolls of dutiful smoke—
and unleashed winds growling about unseen.
Beside me here stands a perfect mirror, a perfect glass,
But nothing seems imperative, nor talkative, nor patient;
Everything is just silent—what a robust fear—foolish impediment.
Ah, if only can I fast **** this petulant temperament—
do you think I shall feel better, or magnified?
I feel that myself is like a wind:
Thin, fragile, and constantly diving and swelling upwards.
Even my narrative is about to betray me;
Vehemently indeed—should this happen,
I might be able no more to write any poetry—
As my chest above there hysterically bellowed, I shall be pushed upwards—
Upwards, upwards, I am curling upwards—like we all naturally are,
Over the earth, along the oceans, and their sample images of Paradise;
Every single day, at noon, and against this midnight sky.
 
My darling has left, and thus I have but Him in my shabby hands;
With skin marred and scratched and dried by the rude winter;
Ah, say, but who says that winter is clever and polite?
Like my love perhaps is, she is but a relic—or even statue, of blunt disgrace—
She is neither merry nor cordial; she never is aromatic, and flaws us with its brutal haze.
 
I am alone, alone, alone, and totally alone—
O my love, my love, my love, where can I peruse
your felicity just once more?
I have but loved thee all along;
I love thee as magnificently and preciously
as I loved thee one year back and yesterday.
You are my purplish, reddish, greenish, but incompatible moon,
You are comparable still, to the joyous soul of this stained poem;
by whom my love has thrived, by whom I can always replenish.
I shall rise you again within my dreams;
I shall face myself within your sour vapour—but never let you fade.
I shall let you halt my paint, and brush dirt upon it;
I shall let you scatter your grossness over me, and acquire even your sins;
But as long as you are there, over me, I am not scared but keen;
I shall not be mesmerised, nor even heart be broken and pained.
May my heart break, so long as it has its consolation floating by.
 
Ah, and who, beside this breakable moon—can claim my erupt forth;
To comfort my sleep and give solace to my shrieking doors;
And throw unheeded calm into my quiet walkways;
While looking me in the eyes as we step sideways.
Who can ambush my chest along this hairy path;
With a charm far stronger than yon behind the grass;
Who can heal me, and who can heal me not,
Ah, have I but still the courage to make this right?
I shall look for you again amongst the city roars and rumblings;
I shall look for you again in the mornings—and amongst the bleakness of evenings.
 
Look, my love, how the rainbows have a turquoise face today;
So beautifully crafted and charted like the skies of yesterday;
I should fall asleep now, but still—I don't want to be lulled alone without you;
Even though you are faraway, I can still feel your breath and air.
Your absence, as I hope then, shall fast perish;
For I want to grow old not by the countenance of miseries.
I want to be injected into your space now—as maelstroms of sleeps greet me again,
And as the clouds of heaven start to feed on me;
I shall feel light again, and thereby not turn grey;
I shall feel that you have welcomed me back;
I shall feel your breath tingling by the sides of cheeks;
I shall feel my hairs anew—as they raise against the corners of my neck.
 
And there we shall play together against the sky;
Against its pedal who anew blooms in wan suspicion;
Ah, my love, I shall entangle you then—in my varied, and multiplied visions;
I shall tell you the funniest of one thousand lies.
I shall give you only the finest of kisses, and jokes;
I shall startle you by my poem and my beautiful black locks.
Ah, thee, to you whom I have written this poem, and shall always do;
To you whom I have loved, and have to this day admired;
To you for whom a forest of grace and salutations has been dreamed;
To you for whom my heartbeat grows, and fastens and slows,
To you for whom I woke up today, and open my eyes tomorrow;
 
To you whom I have loved in the name of Him;
To you for whom I lit the glitters of the sky;
To you for whom my heart was startled and passed justly by;
To you for whom my palms sweated and eyes started to cry;
 
To you for whom griefs disperse into brighter saturations;
To you for whom life continues, and gives birth to more immediate sparkles;
To you for whom I have celebrated my soul; and made one true promise;
To you by whom I have halved my heart, and without whom shall never 'come the same anew;
 
To you for whom all favours are spelled, and words dedicated;
To you for whose grins I shall wait again forever;
To you whose eyes are darker than the midnight river;
To you by whom my belief shall stay strong, and consciously devoted;
 
Ah, you, my love, so this remorse shall fall over me and back again,
With creases I curse, and remarks that my ruined chest censures;
Abhorred by the moon, and its very own celestial abode—
Which shakes and stretches along the crimson universe,
I have thrown my life into your horizontal, and longitudinal spectrums—
In both superficial and artificial ways, you have haunted me.
Ah, but still—cannot I erase your name from the fruit of every essentiality;
You are the sweet tyranny of my soul, and the leaves of my very gay sensibility;
You are the throne of my love; you are the specified satire—
though but funny and not—you are my destiny.
 
Like a vinyl birch tree that howls when stabbed, I have become your prey;
I shall wait for you at dawn and give my whole self to you at dusk.
I shall wait for you to claim my destined—and prescribed heart;
I shall wait for you to finish your abominable task,
As long as you can emerge for me—and listen to my poems and follow what I say.
 
And like a scar that stays for long in one's fair skin;
You are stubborn though things not go well;
Ah, let's now confess that your heart needs me;
But still—you are too proud, and far too docile, to admit your sin.
The question now is: how should we ever eradicate love?
Love is a prison, I know, and it is the most unforgiving jail;
It is merciless and painted by colours of abomination;
And nothing in it is plentiful—like Him in the shivering sky;
It is where tears crowd and gather—as I have perused;
It is where insolence and crudeness unite—even when not provoked.
 
Ah, my love, but have I fallen into this snare of love—whether or not I want it;
And your gaze is still the sole sweetness I hope to meet;
Never is my love sweeter—or petite, than a grain of wheat;
You are the foreverness for whom I shall sweat;
 
And in the loss of you lies my venomous assassination;
And I am wary now—and afraid of facing this everlasting trepidation;
Your shadows shall never go away, and for this I can be wronged;
For when I am dying—shall my mouth be falling asleep and recite your song.
 
My art has torn; it has been filthily murdered.
Its fervour was lost in, as you saw, just one wave of scenic mortality—
But still, the true essence might still be there, as it was once fertilised—
As by you, my Imagist, my Wilde, I was terrifically astonished by you.
You are my painting, my picture, and even the shared portrait of my self.
You share my veins, as how I supposedly hold some share of your blood.
Ah, and I remember now, how your warm blood did once touch my wrists—
So engagingly, so thrillingly, so brilliantly.
My heart, my head, my mind—all were brutally consumed by thee.
 
I want to die by thee, but you pierced my heart—
and in brief, made my spine grow dead tears;
Everything grew worse and I was manifested into your bitter triangle;
I was your lonesome moon who got forgotten soon;
Ah, it seems that yon French lady is better than I am—
With her curly hair and tittering oceanic eyes,
She was the filter of your noons, the storms
And devilish desires of your nights.
She was as gusty and spooky as the windblown thorn;
poisonous were her words, but still, you carried yourself to her.
I fretted and screamed and my blood gurgled—
but I guess I was fortunate still;
for I had the chance to keep myself pure and chaste
while you unstoppably sinned and defiled yourself.
So you were disgraced.
 
And you were enduringly consumed by your own fires;
The fires to which you confined yourself;
Not the calming, sooting, leafy bonfires we use in winter;
but ones you will also greet in the earth after.
Ah, thee, I felt but disgust towards your molested heart and deeds;
You grew for yourself, instead good ones—sick, avoidable seeds.
At that time, I swore to never ever share any more of my blood with you;
I would looked for one more honest, playful; one decorated with more virtues.
 
But still—as I said before,
I have again decided to sit and pray for you.
While my love for the other is not true;
It has faded and you are irreplaceable still;
You are congested, invalid, and not new;
But should you come back again to me;
I shall receive you with open hands
And one seal of heartfelt goodwill.
Ah, my love, look at the smiling heavens above—
As night deepens and snowfalls come low,
I shall think and think again about our postponed love—
Which, perhaps—though happens not amongst the jumble of this juvenile night,
Shall come again when dusk is cleared, and the first bud of spring leaps into sight.
Mike Fashé Jan 2013
Sensual by Aphrodite gift
Crafted by serenades
Beauty carved by the finest blade
Hazel diamond shades
It’s often said, weakness for elegant grace
Drives the loveliest man insane
Deprived to be nocturnal
Sleepless nights
Cursed in vain
Any man to have you…
Thorns of pain that feels eternal
Magnificently a breath taker by divine
Hallucination of the fibbed eye
To tell such lies
Rhythm of the velvet heart
Harmonies sung so peacefully & softly
Spirits are drawn together
Like two alabaster doves
  Loving each other daily & nightly

Ever the moment
Hug you dearly
Love you
Like no God can ever imagine
Look me in the eyes
Can’t we just make life happen?


Lonesome heart
One failure after another
Misunderstood compassion
Misconception for love is lost
Despite of my action
Empty like deep space
Searching from dream & reality
For the sweetest taste
Asking question from the wise Oracle
Will my heart ever find a mate?

Echo’s from the cryptic name
Reminiscing in the hollow mind
Close your eyes
This is all a daze
Smoke with delusional haze
Crossing paths…
Can’t across the maze
Forbidden until time fades…
Grab both your hands
Maybe the next lifetime
Where daylight shows its beauty rays…

Never in all the life times had I lived
Time and century
From one past to present
The future blooms
From the tiniest seed
That grows life
To where our souls might cross one day
In the sphere
Of Gaia
Green plants from the beautiful ground
Blue skies
Surrounded by the beautiful white angel
Look after her soul
Protect her from who they once stole
Care for her
For she brings heart & soul
As the story goes,  
  The weak & the needy
Dream for no blackheart
Shot by the arrow that purges
Life
Love each other
Never fall apart

As the sunset sets
Silhouettes of the appealing moon
Dream I’ll soon…
Privileged to have created a night
A sea of enjoyment
From the one dream
Failure to grasp beauty
Until now
As if kismet intended to be…
Love each day
As if it’s your last
For one day
Maybe we could lie in the grass
Consume life
For all it’s glory
One day will write a story
If not now
Then a lifetime is worth waiting
This is a cryptic love crush poem lol. For a dream to become reality... the heart desires what it wants.
Our souls are patterns
Intricately  woven  and  styled
Uni­que in their colour  blends and hues
Each  soul telling it's incredible tale
In the sharp  curves  and  soft  dips
Imprinted­ on their thin  vibrant  canvas.

Carefully  detailed  without a stroke amiss
These delicate fabricated masterpieces
Could  rip in hands too  careless to admire
The aesthetic beauty of the canvas
In areas magnificently  simple  or  blank.
They reached the low lying city of Lacedaemon them where they
drove straight to the of abode Menelaus [and found him in his own
house, feasting with his many clansmen in honour of the wedding of his
son, and also of his daughter, whom he was marrying to the son of that
valiant warrior Achilles. He had given his consent and promised her to
him while he was still at Troy, and now the gods were bringing the
marriage about; so he was sending her with chariots and horses to
the city of the Myrmidons over whom Achilles’ son was reigning. For
his only son he had found a bride from Sparta, daughter of Alector.
This son, Megapenthes, was born to him of a bondwoman, for heaven
vouchsafed Helen no more children after she had borne Hermione, who
was fair as golden Venus herself.
  So the neighbours and kinsmen of Menelaus were feasting and making
merry in his house. There was a bard also to sing to them and play his
lyre, while two tumblers went about performing in the midst of them
when the man struck up with his tune.]
  Telemachus and the son of Nestor stayed their horses at the gate,
whereon Eteoneus servant to Menelaus came out, and as soon as he saw
them ran hurrying back into the house to tell his Master. He went
close up to him and said, “Menelaus, there are some strangers come
here, two men, who look like sons of Jove. What are we to do? Shall we
take their horses out, or tell them to find friends elsewhere as
they best can?”
  Menelaus was very angry and said, “Eteoneus, son of Boethous, you
never used to be a fool, but now you talk like a simpleton. Take their
horses out, of course, and show the strangers in that they may have
supper; you and I have stayed often enough at other people’s houses
before we got back here, where heaven grant that we may rest in
peace henceforward.”
  So Eteoneus bustled back and bade other servants come with him. They
took their sweating hands from under the yoke, made them fast to the
mangers, and gave them a feed of oats and barley mixed. Then they
leaned the chariot against the end wall of the courtyard, and led
the way into the house. Telemachus and Pisistratus were astonished
when they saw it, for its splendour was as that of the sun and moon;
then, when they had admired everything to their heart’s content,
they went into the bath room and washed themselves.
  When the servants had washed them and anointed them with oil, they
brought them woollen cloaks and shirts, and the two took their seats
by the side of Menelaus. A maidservant brought them water in a
beautiful golden ewer, and poured it into a silver basin for them to
wash their hands; and she drew a clean table beside them. An upper
servant brought them bread, and offered them many good things of
what there was in the house, while the carver fetched them plates of
all manner of meats and set cups of gold by their side.
  Menelaus then greeted them saying, “Fall to, and welcome; when you
have done supper I shall ask who you are, for the lineage of such
men as you cannot have been lost. You must be descended from a line of
sceptre-bearing kings, for poor people do not have such sons as you
are.”
  On this he handed them a piece of fat roast ****, which had been set
near him as being a prime part, and they laid their hands on the
good things that were before them; as soon as they had had enough to
eat and drink, Telemachus said to the son of Nestor, with his head
so close that no one might hear, “Look, Pisistratus, man after my
own heart, see the gleam of bronze and gold—of amber, ivory, and
silver. Everything is so splendid that it is like seeing the palace of
Olympian Jove. I am lost in admiration.”
  Menelaus overheard him and said, “No one, my sons, can hold his
own with Jove, for his house and everything about him is immortal; but
among mortal men—well, there may be another who has as much wealth as
I have, or there may not; but at all events I have travelled much
and have undergone much hardship, for it was nearly eight years before
I could get home with my fleet. I went to Cyprus, Phoenicia and the
Egyptians; I went also to the Ethiopians, the Sidonians, and the
Erembians, and to Libya where the lambs have horns as soon as they are
born, and the sheep lamb down three times a year. Every one in that
country, whether master or man, has plenty of cheese, meat, and good
milk, for the ewes yield all the year round. But while I was
travelling and getting great riches among these people, my brother was
secretly and shockingly murdered through the perfidy of his wicked
wife, so that I have no pleasure in being lord of all this wealth.
Whoever your parents may be they must have told you about all this,
and of my heavy loss in the ruin of a stately mansion fully and
magnificently furnished. Would that I had only a third of what I now
have so that I had stayed at home, and all those were living who
perished on the plain of Troy, far from Argos. I of grieve, as I sit
here in my house, for one and all of them. At times I cry aloud for
sorrow, but presently I leave off again, for crying is cold comfort
and one soon tires of it. Yet grieve for these as I may, I do so for
one man more than for them all. I cannot even think of him without
loathing both food and sleep, so miserable does he make me, for no one
of all the Achaeans worked so hard or risked so much as he did. He
took nothing by it, and has left a legacy of sorrow to myself, for
he has been gone a long time, and we know not whether he is alive or
dead. His old father, his long-suffering wife Penelope, and his son
Telemachus, whom he left behind him an infant in arms, are plunged
in grief on his account.”
  Thus spoke Menelaus, and the heart of Telemachus yearned as he
bethought him of his father. Tears fell from his eyes as he heard
him thus mentioned, so that he held his cloak before his face with
both hands. When Menelaus saw this he doubted whether to let him
choose his own time for speaking, or to ask him at once and find
what it was all about.
  While he was thus in two minds Helen came down from her high vaulted
and perfumed room, looking as lovely as Diana herself. Adraste brought
her a seat, Alcippe a soft woollen rug while Phylo fetched her the
silver work-box which Alcandra wife of Polybus had given her.
Polybus lived in Egyptian Thebes, which is the richest city in the
whole world; he gave Menelaus two baths, both of pure silver, two
tripods, and ten talents of gold; besides all this, his wife gave
Helen some beautiful presents, to wit, a golden distaff, and a
silver work-box that ran on wheels, with a gold band round the top
of it. Phylo now placed this by her side, full of fine spun yarn,
and a distaff charged with violet coloured wool was laid upon the
top of it. Then Helen took her seat, put her feet upon the
footstool, and began to question her husband.
  “Do we know, Menelaus,” said she, “the names of these strangers
who have come to visit us? Shall I guess right or wrong?-but I
cannot help saying what I think. Never yet have I seen either man or
woman so like somebody else (indeed when I look at him I hardly know
what to think) as this young man is like Telemachus, whom Ulysses left
as a baby behind him, when you Achaeans went to Troy with battle in
your hearts, on account of my most shameless self.”
  “My dear wife,” replied Menelaus, “I see the likeness just as you
do. His hands and feet are just like Ulysses’; so is his hair, with
the shape of his head and the expression of his eyes. Moreover, when I
was talking about Ulysses, and saying how much he had suffered on my
account, tears fell from his eyes, and he hid his face in his mantle.”
  Then Pisistratus said, “Menelaus, son of Atreus, you are right in
thinking that this young man is Telemachus, but he is very modest, and
is ashamed to come here and begin opening up discourse with one
whose conversation is so divinely interesting as your own. My
father, Nestor, sent me to escort him hither, for he wanted to know
whether you could give him any counsel or suggestion. A son has always
trouble at home when his father has gone away leaving him without
supporters; and this is how Telemachus is now placed, for his father
is absent, and there is no one among his own people to stand by him.”
  “Bless my heart,” replied Menelaus, “then I am receiving a visit
from the son of a very dear friend, who suffered much hardship for
my sake. I had always hoped to entertain him with most marked
distinction when heaven had granted us a safe return from beyond the
seas. I should have founded a city for him in Argos, and built him a
house. I should have made him leave Ithaca with his goods, his son,
and all his people, and should have sacked for them some one of the
neighbouring cities that are subject to me. We should thus have seen
one another continually, and nothing but death could have
interrupted so close and happy an *******. I suppose, however,
that heaven grudged us such great good fortune, for it has prevented
the poor fellow from ever getting home at all.”
  Thus did he speak, and his words set them all a weeping. Helen wept,
Telemachus wept, and so did Menelaus, nor could Pisistratus keep his
eyes from filling, when he remembered his dear brother Antilochus whom
the son of bright Dawn had killed. Thereon he said to Menelaus,
  “Sir, my father Nestor, when we used to talk about you at home, told
me you were a person of rare and excellent understanding. If, then, it
be possible, do as I would urge you. I am not fond of crying while I
am getting my supper. Morning will come in due course, and in the
forenoon I care not how much I cry for those that are dead and gone.
This is all we can do for the poor things. We can only shave our heads
for them and wring the tears from our cheeks. I had a brother who died
at Troy; he was by no means the worst man there; you are sure to
have known him—his name was Antilochus; I never set eyes upon him
myself, but they say that he was singularly fleet of foot and in fight
valiant.”
  “Your discretion, my friend,” answered Menelaus, “is beyond your
years. It is plain you take after your father. One can soon see when a
man is son to one whom heaven has blessed both as regards wife and
offspring—and it has blessed Nestor from first to last all his
days, giving him a green old age in his own house, with sons about him
who are both we disposed and valiant. We will put an end therefore
to all this weeping, and attend to our supper again. Let water be
poured over our hands. Telemachus and I can talk with one another
fully in the morning.”
  On this Asphalion, one of the servants, poured water over their
hands and they laid their hands on the good things that were before
them.
  Then Jove’s daughter Helen bethought her of another matter. She
drugged the wine with an herb that banishes all care, sorrow, and
ill humour. Whoever drinks wine thus drugged cannot shed a single tear
all the rest of the day, not even though his father and mother both of
them drop down dead, or he sees a brother or a son hewn in pieces
before his very eyes. This drug, of such sovereign power and virtue,
had been given to Helen by Polydamna wife of Thon, a woman of Egypt,
where there grow all sorts of herbs, some good to put into the
mixing-bowl and others poisonous. Moreover, every one in the whole
country is a skilled physician, for they are of the race of Paeeon.
When Helen had put this drug in the bowl, and had told the servants to
serve the wine round, she said:
  “Menelaus, son of Atreus, and you my good friends, sons of
honourable men (which is as Jove wills, for he is the giver both of
good and evil, and can do what he chooses), feast here as you will,
and listen while I tell you a tale in season. I cannot indeed name
every single one of the exploits of Ulysses, but I can say what he did
when he was before Troy, and you Achaeans were in all sorts of
difficulties. He covered himself with wounds and bruises, dressed
himself all in rags, and entered the enemy’s city looking like a
menial or a beggar. and quite different from what he did when he was
among his own people. In this disguise he entered the city of Troy,
and no one said anything to him. I alone recognized him and began to
question him, but he was too cunning for me. When, however, I had
washed and anointed him and had given him clothes, and after I had
sworn a solemn oath not to betray him to the Trojans till he had got
safely back to his own camp and to the ships, he told me all that
the Achaeans meant to do. He killed many Trojans and got much
information before he reached the Argive camp, for all which things
the Trojan women made lamentation, but for my own part I was glad, for
my heart was beginning to oam after my home, and I was unhappy about
wrong that Venus had done me in taking me over there, away from my
country, my girl, and my lawful wedded husband, who is indeed by no
means deficient either in person or understanding.”
  Then Menelaus said, “All that you have been saying, my dear wife, is
true. I have travelled much, and have had much to do with heroes,
but I have never seen such another man as Ulysses. What endurance too,
and what courage he displayed within the wooden horse, wherein all the
bravest of the Argives were lying in wait to bring death and
destruction upon the Trojans. At that moment you came up to us; some
god who wished well to the Trojans must have set you on to it and
you had Deiphobus with you. Three times did you go all round our
hiding place and pat it; you called our chiefs each by his own name,
and mimicked all our wives -Diomed, Ulysses, and I from our seats
inside heard what a noise you made. Diomed and I could not make up our
minds whether to spring out then and there, or to answer you from
inside, but Ulysses held us all in check, so we sat quite still, all
except Anticlus, who was beginning to answer you, when Ulysses clapped
his two brawny hands over his mouth, and kept them there. It was
this that saved us all, for he muzzled Anticlus till Minerva took
you away again.”
  “How sad,” exclaimed Telemachus, “that all this was of no avail to
save him, nor yet his own iron courage. But now, sir, be pleased to
send us all to bed, that we may lie down and enjoy the blessed boon of
sleep.”
  On this Helen told the maid servants to set beds in the room that
was in the gatehouse, and to make them with good red rugs, and
spread coverlets on the top of them with woollen cloaks for the guests
to wear. So the maids went out, carrying a torch, and made the beds,
to which a man-servant presently conducted the strangers. Thus,
then, did Telemachus and Pisistratus sleep there in the forecourt,
while the son of Atreus lay in an inner room with lovely Helen by
his side.
  When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Menelaus
rose and dressed himself. He bound his sandals on to his comely
feet, girded his sword about his shoulders, and left his room
looking like an immortal god. Then, taking a seat near Telemachus he
said:
  “And what, Telemachus, has led you to take this long sea voyage to
Lacedaemon? Are you on public or private business? Tell me all about
it.”
  “I have come, sir replied Telemachus, “to see if you can tell me
anything about my father. I am being eaten out of house and home; my
fair estate is being wasted, and my house is full of miscreants who
keep killing great numbers of my sheep and oxen, on the pretence of
paying their addresses to my mother. Therefore, I am suppliant at your
knees if haply you may tell me about my father’s melancholy end,
whether you saw it with your own eyes, or heard it from some other
traveller; for he was a man born to trouble. Do not soften things
out of any pity for myself, but tell me in all plainness exactly
what you saw. If my brave father Ulysses ever did you loyal service
either by word or deed, when you Achaeans were harassed by the
Trojans, bear it in mind now as in my favour and tell me truly all.”
  Menelaus on hearing this was very much shocked. “So,” he
exclaimed, “these cowards would usurp a brave man’s bed? A hind
might as well lay her new born you
Aztec Warrior Sep 2015
HUMAN HISTORY 2: LET'S DANCE
(A few words of acknowledgement: While these are my ideas and thoughts, I drew heavily on the story of 'Waterlily', written by Ella Cara Deloria. The discussion between the two Sioux women described below are drawn from this book. Her book beautifully details the life of 2 Dakota Sioux women and with them the customs, beliefs and beauty of the Dakota Sioux people. I am deeply in her debt.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'Let's dance.
Lets dance.
Put on your red shoes and dance the blues.'
-D. Bowie


I.
'Hao, Kola!'
'Hao, Kola!'
Greetings between two
darkly tanned men, black hair
long and waving erratically in the wind,
their deep black eyes smile
and embrace these two warrior friends.
'Hao, Kola!'

II.
Out in the open prairie,
under an intense blue sky,
a few sharply white clouds
float in contrast against it;
two Peoples drew towards
each other for a ceremonial sing,
as was customary before the Great Sun Dance.

Ill.
'Hokahe'. 'Hokahe'.
'Hokahe'. 'Hokahe'.
Dakotas and Omahas meet.'
Hokahe' floats on the fresh morning breeze.
Colorful war standards wave and
flirt about gracefully.
The Omahas have come to sing.
The Omahas, proud, magnificently bold.
The Omahas, self assured in painted red face,
wearing heavily fringed buckskin white,
brilliantly adorned.
With war standards and lances held high,
the Omahas were a breath taking sight.
As there on the prairie's lush green grass
Omahas greet Dakotas with ceremonial song.

IV.
Two Dakota women overheard talking:
Blue Bird: 'You met them?! What are
white people really like?
Are they gentle, kind, as their
skin would imply?'
Smiling One: 'No, they are very hard, very
stern and dull towards each
other. They pass each other without
recognition. Very unmannerly.'
Blue Bird: 'And what about the children?
How do they play?'
Smiling One: 'Oh, this is so sad I would
say. I don't understand the
reasoning behind their ways.
These people actually detest
their children. You should see
them; slapping their little one's
faces and lashing their poor little
buttocks to make them cry!
Yelling and screaming at them
anytime of the day. I have never
seen children treated this way!!'
Blue Bird: Deep in thought, hugs little
Water Lily. She feels sick with
sympathy for these unknown
children. Only crazy people
teach their children like this.
What makes white people act so crazy?

V.
The Sun Dance time has arrived.
All the different Peoples, Tribes.
The Dakota, Teton, Omaha
make good on their vows
to the Great Spirits,
renew the hopes of their families
for peace and plenty from the land.
And they danced.
Looking straight into the sun,
because they knew it was what made them one
with the world and each other.
And they danced.
Time itself was lost in the sun
and new life was begun.
And they danced.
Danced around and sacrificed on
the clean cut pole,
blessed and made holy
just for this ceremony.
And they danced.
Till the sun was thrice Earth eaten
and moon time rose full in the sky.
But now on a different scene
and a People from so long ago,
who in their naked skin,
danced and howled at the moon.
Howled at the dead and the living.
Howled and danced,
danced and howled cause they were human.

VI.
Alone,
orbiting on this blue-toned Earth
I want to ask:
When will we, today’s humans dance?
Dance in global community?
Dance on the lush green grassy plains?
Dance on high hillsides, howling at a full, lush moon?

VII
'Let's dance.
Let's dance.
Put on your red shoes and dance the blues...'

~~written 10.1.98~~
this poem was written a long time ago.. I think it still holds up.
Poet Laundry Jun 2012
I walked alone
On a dark stretch of imperfection
The road was pointless
Stumbling marked my hesitation

I found courage, tried to run
But darkness cloaked the air
And twisted vines mocked my despair

Dropping to my knees                                
I wished for strength to fight the night
And clear the wood, to reach the light

The prayer I spoke
Was little more than just a breath
But there it was,
An answer on my quest

It stood alone, the orchid,
Fragile beauty wrapped in might
And seemed to glow from inner light

I gasped and smiled
As through the darkened mist it shone
Its unique purpose before unknown

The bloom was there, placed perfectly,
And because of this bloom
I remembered me

Its beauty, both intricate and fair,
Reminded me of what I usually fail to see
That we are magnificently created things

I continued on that day
To purpose which had seemed so far away
But the path was not as gray
The orchid lit my way



Copyright 2006 Jennifer Wagner
This is a poem from my blog www.poetlaundry.com.  

Bullying is a newsworthy subject these days.  We’ve all seen it; some of us have even participated in it.  My son recently began to be the recipient of some ugly bullying behavior at school.  Undeniably, it is one of the most heart-breaking things to watch your kid go through.  To have that once-tiny, bundle-of-cute you would die for come home sobbing after you have sent him out into the world of his peers is well, hell.  Or something like it.  Differences aren’t often tolerated, and the messages that life can serve (you’re too fat, not smart, not athletic, not good at anything, or just plain not good enough) warp us until we believe them.  But they are not correct.  We are valuable.  We have purpose.  I had written this poem a few years ago when I was wrestling with my own thoughts on this issue, and it came to mind as I have been traversing some rough waters with my son.  Have you ever taken a good long look at an orchid?  It’s a masterpiece of artistry isn’t it?  But it doesn’t look like a daisy and it doesn’t smell like a rose and it doesn’t grow like a sunflower.  It is different.  It is its own unique work of art.  And so is he.  And so are you.
Thankyou to the lightworkers
Those who bring their radiant light
Thankyou for your guidance you never left my side
Thankyou for your wisdom your brilliant knowledge wise
Thankyou for your love it's made in God's Divine sight
Thankyou you are beautiful and you magnificently shine
Forever thankful in my heart soul and mind🌈💖✨
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, somethings I just couldn't stop writing about:)


steps echoed down the stairs bringing a wild relief to his blare

approach of silence to regret the resilience

of an unspoken battle of illicit stares in defiance

embrace of warmth heartens the overdosing serenity

hold of love for the first time in months

bringing safe havens to my desperate soul magnificently


                                                                                         ------ravenfeels
The colours are not colours.
This must be a shock,
For what are they if they are not colours?
Well, colours are only colours when hit by the right light at the right moment,
But even then we all see them differently
The night is evidence of this
You look at a colour upon the light
And all you see is its representation
A beautifully hand-crafted lie
Somebody crafted these colours into it,
Magnificently sure...
But if you look upon this colour
Once the black of the night has fallen
And drained away the world
You will see
Not pretty, bright red's and blue's of innocence
But the black's and grey's of life
No matter how hard you can look
The colours will have changed,
Twisted and morfed into something unrecognisable.
A lie
This is the true truth of a colour
...It is a lie
One designed to lighten and highten
And to create the fear of truth
A concoction of the human world,
Wrought to fool and impress
To impose and to play
Playing a game that they themselves don't understand
One of tricks and illusions
One to keep you up all night writing
Simple things with lying words
Everything is a lie,
Hell, even a lie is a lie
Because when Earth is no longer fit for mankind
The sun stops spinning
And the understand of anything
We mere humans have accomplished to comprehend
Is gone
This is when everything will be nothing
There will be no nothings to interpret
Not even a few measley words
Strewn together with mace and lace
They will amount to nothing,
And yet,
The colours.
Stop to see the colours
The same ones
That lie in wait for the light
To jump and give you a fright
For one day
When the night view is never ending
You wont have the glory of being fooled or illuded
And that is the greatest part of life
That life does not really matter
So why not see what's not really there
While we still can
Dylan Whisman Aug 2015
I sped away one evening
through my busy little town,
gliding,
music occupying my mind,
riding down hills,
leting the wind run its fingers through my hair.

i arrived at a dusty trail that led to an old water tower
that looked over the town like a sentinel.
sweaty and redfaced i followed the trail,
my acoustic music hid behind background of everything,
a magical glow lay at the edge of the trail.
as the fiery light lit my face aflame,
i knew i was apon something special.

shining magnificently,
the most beautiful smile i had ever seen.
twas a loving smile,
the lips were brown and chapped,
the horizon illuminated it's glistening orange teeth,
the old rusty water tower became a black beauty mark,
my friends were up resting in its dimple, waiting for me.
an amazing crooked grin,
a smile so sure shot with joy,
it filled the cracks in my heart
and had me yelping with rushing happiness.

the universe giggled back
"your welcome";)
Leave a comment if you like. Thank you so much for supporting me. Have a wonderful day humans!
Chrysta Ashlock Feb 2013
me.

1. “A kiss is what tells the beginning to every story; it’s up to you where that story will lead.”
2. “All I could hear escape between your lips were pain strikingly words. Everything spoken after faded into darkness and all I could do to hold the screaming inside my chest from escaping into the world beyond was to cry. The tears disguised those screams so they could fall silently down. It has become positively clear that this masquerade I’ve been considering my life will forever remain the same. There’s no perfection; love, trust and the other feelings of happiness hide comfortably behind enclosed masks. I wished to believe this would be the last game I would play. That you would be the last character in my storybook. Though perhaps I was unmistakably incorrect; the soul never lies. Once one half finds its other they’re forever intertwined. Never losing sight of what’s to be. Always knowing when something is. Love moves at its own speed of blinding light; may it be slow and may it be incredibly fast. Please realize this or it’ll be far too late and hearts will be left broken and poisonous tears will shed.”
3. “All she was to him was just a pretty face; all I am to him is just a pretty face.”
4. “Angels do exist. Though they do not have wings; they live among us.”
5. “As night falls, the world sleeps.”
6. ”Beauty is just another tragedy.”
7. “Boy, shut the **** up because she loves your sorry ***. So smile and be happy.”
8. “Cascading waves of memories flood over you like an ocean swallowing you entirely engulfing your every move and stealing your every breath from within. Screaming and crying are disguised with one last breath. You awaken and to your demise find you were only in a far off dream.”
9. “Confusion all mixed into one creating an atomic bomb of confusion.”
10. “Don’t get attached to me; I’m poison, I’ll destroy your life.”
11. “Everything happens for a reason; don’t underestimate those reasons. You live to forgive and forget and to move along with the life you’re leading. Therefore, with that said, don’t waste time with melodrama or pity arguments. Don’t put up with people who attempt to drag you down with them. Because I can guarantee that those people, the ones who try to play you like a cheesy board game are never worth a single breath escaping your lips. Those are the ones who will never find happiness, true happiness, bliss, No; they’ll forever be lonely. Keep moving forward look onto brighter horizons. Love the ones you hold close to your heart. Cherish your children. Lead your own life, not someone else’s, nor let any other being lead yours. Smile. Kiss. Love. Trust. Be honest with yourself and with others. It’s all worth it in the end.”
12. “Find your forever. Find your never. They’ll always be connected together.”
13. “Forever is never, never is forever.”
14. “**** pretty in pink! I’m pretty in purple!”
15. “**** this. *******. I’m through.”
16. “Have you ever been afraid to say something even though it’s boiling at the brim wanting to be spoken? For the fear of letting those words roll down your tongue and escape your lips will make reality all the more real. Saying something so breathtaking could possibly have your fairytale come to an abrupt stop; even though the tables may turn and your heart will open to whatever this may be.”
17. “I can’t find reality; my reality has just become a non-stop ride through hell and back. Send someone to shine a light as bright as a shooting star so I can find my way back to what my reality should be realistically.”
18. “He calls her pretty face.”
19. “He thinks she’s just a pretty face.”
20. “Hold your breath, count to ten, wish you were only dead again.”
21. “I feel lost within myself and I’ve become blind as to which way to turn.”
22. “I hate being surrounded by people and feel totally alone; because I know that they all hate me.”
23. “I hate feet; so I wish that I had mermaid find and fairy wings instead.”
24. “I hate making my face look like a porcelain doll just to hide what reality has done.”
25. “I have a feeling that drastic changes are approaching quite quickly. I only wish that I were able to see what’s coming. A warning would be magnificently lovely.”
26. “I love moments like this; I’m smoking a cigarette, drinking a wine cooler, writing, just enjoying life. Why couldn’t it be like this all of the time?”
27. “I tend to pass judgment onto others too quickly; yet I’ve realized that if I don’t it typically turns around to bite me hard in the ***.”
28. “I wish my life were like a movie; maybe then it would be easier.”
29. “I’m crazy, you’re crazy, he’s crazy, she’s crazy, we’re all crazy.”
30. “I’m just your typical story.”
31. “Is there truly a such thing as forever? Honestly. Can someone really love me? Can someone handle my roller coaster ride of emotions? I need that somebody here with me now – to protect me from myself. I love you. I loved you. I miss you. I’ve always missed you. Things change. People change in both good and bad ways. Friendships fall apart. Relationships are destroyed. Nothing is ever wonderful anymore. Life just isn’t worth living.”
32. “It seems to happen in threes.”
33. “It’s a two way street, not a one-way road.”
34. “It’s boiling inside of me, reaching closer and closer to the rim, threatening to boil over, destroying everything in it’s destructive path.”
35. “Just a strangers touch and the sound of your voice is all I need to live.”
36. “Let’s run away together, just you and me.”
37. “Love like tomorrow but not like yesterday.”
38. “Make a wish; slit your wrist; never count tomorrow as another day.”
39. “People change – I’ve seen friendships fall apart and relationships destroyed. It happens, truth hurts. People lie, people cheat. Everyone destroys someone else in some way. It’s an ever-going cycle of life. Live your life; even when something unexpected comes along, enjoy it, love it. It’s all worth it in the end. I can promise you that.”
40. “Running away with the boy of your dreams to the far away never land of happiness. But really, there are no dreams of happiness, only an imagination wanting to escape.”
41. “She smells of cigarette-smoke perfume. She’s that lonely girl down the street with only hope and faith to lead her life.”
42. “She’s more then just a pretty face, why can’t you see that?”
43. “Simply a look can break your heart.”
44. “So there’s this boy, I’m not sure if I should like him because I’m an emotional roller coaster ride and I don’t need to **** up again; get hurt again.”
45. “Sometimes I rely on ‘pretend’ way too much.”
46. “Sometimes part of me just wants to run and hide and runaway from this; and then the other half decides it’s for the best to keep looking ahead no matter how breath taxingly terrifying it may be.”
47. “Sometimes when she sees her mother she lets out a scream.”
48. “That boy makes me scream so silently.”
49. “That light that once was has grown extraordinarily dim; hardly a flicker remains. It’s fading quickly, more so as the days press forward. The question arises, should the flame rekindle or should it die out completely?”
50. “The past will never cease to constantly be snipping at your heels with every step you take; it’ll always be there to remind you who you are and what paths you’ve chosen to lead you to where you are. Don’t break promises, don’t break hearts, because it’s happened before; your sometimes overwhelming past can come toppling down on you at any given moment; so be careful. There’s no one who wants to slip, fall face first, losing all consciousness into what once was.”
51. “There is always that one person, that one unforgettable person that never ceases to leave your mind, though you remain invisible to them.”
52. “Things look so much prettier at night – why?”
53. “Thoughts run around all over my mind. Tears fill a pool of solitude and regret.”
54. “Trust; it’s a highly important factor in ones life. I have very little for those I have met here, all except for one in which I trust completely with my life, my heart, my child. Yes, I may be very trusting, but that trust only lasts until you’ve broken it. Every one of you thus far, besides that one person has broken my trust. So therefore those of you who broke my trust can go **** yourselves and relinquish yourselves from my life; it’ll be much better without you. And you know exactly who I’m referring to.”
55. “We all seem like strangers now.”
56. “We learn and we live. We forgive and we forget. We make mistakes because we’re only human. We say things we don’t mean and we hurt others out of our own selfishness. We blind ourselves from what we truly need to see. We believe that happiness will come to us naturally. We wish to believe that there is a happy ever after to end all of our stories. We sometimes dwell in our pasts, and dread a different future. Sometimes things happen because they’re meant to – and I am one who has done these things. I feel as if I can never love again because I hurt that one person. And I think that may never be welcomed back to me.”
57. “Welcome the future with open arms; embrace it like an old friend. Learn to forget and forgive the painful memories; keep your tears at bay; have faith in yourself and others. And mostly, remember that love and trust will always be your guiding light into the darkness.”
58. “What do you do when someone from your past suddenly comes waltzing back into your life? Do you welcome them with open arms or shove them straight back into the darkness from which they emerged?  Does it become a shock that they wish to return? Are apologies relevant? What’s to come now – friendship? Blank stares in amazement that someone so unbelievably stupid could possibly fathom a change in heart. One may never know the truth behind such a possession. Though may it truly be a possession of heart at all? Or is it a matter of fact that it’s real? We all long for answers and truth be told, the most difficult are the ones needed to be released. So may I ask you my dear, what are you going to do? Are you going to welcome me back into your life or shove me away? It was once said I would come back, never knowing when, and that when has become now. After the tedious past, which lay behind me, I view things differently. I no longer want what I had wanted before, because I have experiences them with the wrong person. Could you possibly lend me some much needed answers?”
59. “Why would you keep your beauty locked in an air-tight box?”
60. “Worlds upon worlds are falling upon me; burying me entirely. I run from my demons, though when I turn around there they are.”
61. “You have an everlasting beauty to you. You always will. Never let them bring you down when they fall.”
these are my quotes. not anyone else's. don't steal my writings. -me.
barnoahMike Aug 2011
Sitting on her throne~one day~she Pondered about the world~around her.   Seeing that a lack of progress ~and fewer cheerful attitudes~were causing folks ~to walk around~as if with~"Pouty Lips.    This certainly~"Was not"~what the QUEEN~wanted to hear~about her throngs ~of followers~.    Even her Jesters~sent her whispered notes~that things were not well  !  She unfolded the silver whispered notes~over and over~as she was seeking an answer ~to the~doldrum cases~being reported to her~every day...     The Queens supreme Guard~asked if he might have a private audience with her~....   She, without hesitation~granted his wish~and declared to take~all the time he needed.   Getting to the point quickly~he knew~the QUEEN may suddenly change her mind~or create a decision ~Right-Now~,  as She was Prone to ~seeing that things Got-Done",  so, she exclaimed to the Captain,,  What is your presentation?   Standing before her,  she proclaimed,Please be seated~and let me hear!  Clearing his throat~trying to muster courage of~Required by QUEEN~ looking straight into her eyes~when she had granted audiences !    Madam QUEEN, he started,  Jesters have told me of the *WOE !  a Severe case of Doldrum stress~has attached itself to our people.    The QUEEN retorted, my Court has learned well......"WHAT IS THE PLAN" she bellowed~as she stood,in her stately,magnificently beautiful way,  glided to the balcony drapes, turned promptly and asked...."Well"?    The Captain~made aware of her  presence so profoundly,presented his case !   Madam QUEEN, have you ever met or know of Major Glib?   Yes,,she said quietly,turning her head away, I Know the Major.   the Captain continued,  this is the kind of Man we need ,,to face head-on, bring mountains of encouragement,show new skills,be their spokesman when needed,  to resolve all differences,,seek the Spices of life.....Learn the values of friendship and even Love.   Someone who puts a meaning and measureable value to the future~yes even tomorrow.   The QUEEN , interrupted~How quickly can we have Major Glib here for a discussion of Willingness?   The Knocks on the door~interrupted ~ the QUEEN nodded to the Captain to answer the door.  Twenty six determined steps brought him to the door, opening the door full way----there stood Major Glib.   The Major didn't say a word,walked directly to the QUEEN ~took her hand~gazed into her eyes~and asked,    You're calling for me?   My Life and time are now yours he proclaimed with authority !     {end of Part #ONE}--------
COPYRIGHT @2011 by  Barnoah                  Mike Ham
Jonny Angel Jul 2014
She lies
magnificently,
feminine poetry,
so beautiful
in snapshot.

I feel her every word,
fiery fingertips
swirling a tempest
& I am smitten,
yet so frustrated,
I cannot touch
her luscious lips.
Luminous passion flows quite magnificently  
A dance crying out to be heard
Persuading your spirit to honor the motion
So sweetly, as it stirs

A remarkable immersion of inspiring sensation
Uncovers a welcoming glance
Softly held on the face of the persuaded spirit
Who hears the cry of the dance

Gratifying spontaneity demands your attention
Be delighted by the cry that is heard
Inspiring the spirit to gently whirl and spin
To a lovely music without words

Beautiful effortless moves of revealing delight
Are honored without any question
By the spirit who hears the lovely persuading music
Of the dance of spontaneity's suggestion
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm- From Hand of the Muse
heh

If we're  "just friends.."

Then why  is this
Magnificently-warm,  pre:***..

    flowing  down my thighs

    Every  single  time,
            I think of you.



closer, Agent-Starling..
C L O O SER.....
https://youtu.be/PTFwQP86BRs

just thinking out loud here
and humming..    to myself..   xo
Janette Oct 2012
There’ is a certain art,
not the cliché’ form,
of such dalliance divine,
The forge of opening a woman,
Fully, to see the beautiful creation of Eden

It’ is not the opening of legs,
nor the parting of thighs,
such is just a middle,
a jumping point,
the truistic beginning

The delicious devouring starts
first at the mouth
where the ****** first builds
in salivating lip smacking nibbles
burning through the veins
opening the gate
breaching the uncertainty
of submitting to that wanting, always,
for someone to know
where to touch
where to lick
where to urge flesh alive

then it inches, in Picasso brushes
along the flesh,
(breast, waist, hips,)
where fingers and tongue find a certain rhythm
causing the body to sing, without thought
the song of origins

As it opens the strained passage, naturally,
wet with strange desire
curious, needing redemption
for all the lonely hours of denial
of wanting someone
to taste, smell, touch the ache away

And you will lick first the wounds;
the hurtful lashing of old lovers,
then you will be surprised
how easily she dissolves
fallen against your mouth
as you lick the silky wings
**** them between your lips
tongue the opening
getting inside enough to taste
the rouged flower, the Van Gogh surprise
bloomimg, simply, magnificently, against the lap of your tongue
only to feel, so wondrously,
her surrender, quivering,
warm against your mouth

And she will lay, breathless, trembling
moaning your name,
so grateful, so thankful
you took time with tongue and patience
to make her feel alive
To make her feel like a woman
To make her feel as if she were just birthed into this world
To be made exclusive by your worship of all she is....
need to go and sit in the freezer to cool down :)
Madly-
I am missing you:
As surely as the meadow covets the soft embrace
of morning dew;
as sure as the sky slowly awakens its canvas
to the suns soft stroke of salmon pinks
and crimson reds, light magenta's, oranges,
amber's, and pale silk Persian blues.
In these moments of absence, I am,
in more than one way,
completely enraptured by the thought of you.
Your loveliness, your smile, your kiss,
your magnificently adorned brown bluish green speckled eyes,
undulate in my thoughts brightly like moonlit folds
of surf crashing into the core of me:
slowly soaking through the sandy shores
of my equally undulant, brisk, and fluttering heart.
Then, as an off shore breeze crosses tenderly about
my waist and fingertips, seductively enveloping me,
I am reminded of how closely we laid:
Tangled beneath our blanket of fervor,
side by side, with a mutual breath of passion
as excitement cascaded through our paralleled sensoriums
and quickly translated into a fiery touch of the lips,
as a fervid scratch of the hips,
and finally into a shared exhale of relief
as if to whisper to one another “come closer, be mine.”
Still, even as these grains of memories feather effortlessly
down into my thoughts like the sands of an endless hourglass
encased with the echo of your inviting voice
enchanting me with sweet nothings,
I am left with a yearning for your physical presence.
I want you here.
Time inches along and as I slowly lie my head down to sleep,
hands clasped shut between pillow and ear,
I am, in my thoughts again, reminded of your ubiquity,
of your enamoring effect on me,
of how no matter the distance nor the time between,
baby you are here, captivating my thoughts
-madly.

— The End —