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How much fear would he come to stagnate his work ...?, The one that every suitable being knows how to develop and take care of. After he left the pulpit, he did not stop receiving more than the custom of the faithful not to see them changed, nor to see them migrate from his essence, like that of Ludwig and his involution of a well-structured animal.

Ludwig ...: Now I don't see my hands and my feet in good condition, and that this makes me never pretended, the non-biological, what is neither born nor dies. Of course, the changes are periodic and I will let the course continue normally, "Yesterday I was born and tomorrow I will be reborn ..."

My parents did not treasure the things that I needed, they only detracted from the possibility of providing the components and ingredients of the work they brought, "Myself". They were silent until the moment of his death, and I was frozen in the coldest winter that could be borne. Back at his house, he is led by the curiosity of the stone of that night with Antonieta. During the day everything was different, he did not take long to find her until he saw her up close. By having her close to her, he spared no efforts to make something of her, which he knew was not of common origin, but that she carried something magical.

Ludwig ...: Everything has been framed in a light or a halo, and behind these two things is the precursor fire of everything created. He has purified and burned in the atonement and inquisition, and he has created wonder in the eyes just as he did to me ...

... Everything attracts us, everything wants to convey to us what the neighboring elements of the hidden material orb have to experience. Every glimpse of the mountains or the hills, the question of our self is becoming present, that no matter how harmonious it may see in this case, the stone in balance is sought ..., and it will always be one step away from harmony, discord to find the real and accurate science of reason. I can already be proud of the activity that I have chosen, that if I have to meditate deeply and for the eyes of another it is idleness, without contributing anything to the world. It will be something as fleeting and unheard of as the same events over time, they end up ending up, sinking into the mud. For this time, he continued to see the stone, until the works have to have an author, the one that still remained anonymous, which would only change when the balance is favorable. Later, after having been on his property for a long time, he returns to his house and fixes his room somewhat. He orders pictures, books, in short, puts a general order. After ordering, he prepares his things to travel to the South of his Paradise; to the fields and coastal cliffs, to the mosses and the wild pastures with the icy gale blowing through. He alone would go for a few days since he would not miss his date with Antonieta. Near dusk, he left for his destination. The estate of an old friend of his father's awaited him. The trip was a bit hasty, but his anxieties were greater, due to that night that he wandered through the rain.

It has been a long time since I was going to see them, rather than at a Christmas party in 1954. Ludwig ...: Now I can see the horizon and the huge house with its windmills ... I hope they are ...?As he approached he saw Dn. Adolfo through the window, as well as other people who accompanied him, who he assumed, were from his family. Eight years had passed since the last time he was with them. After crossing the bridge, he makes up his mind to beat. Opening the owner of the house, recognizing him immediately.

Adoph ...: My dear Ludwig, what a joy to see you!
Ludwig ...: Thank you very much, me too.

He enters, he greets Adolfo's wife, Mrs. Isabel, then Martina, reminding him of that time they flew in a plane, and Ludwig almost died of vertigo. Isabel serves him some salmon. Adolfo questions him about the famous orchard that he inherited from her father. Ludwig answers him saying that he will die there.

Adolph ...: You have inherited valuable things from your family. Among them is the creative gift and simplicity, with the strength that you impress on everything.

I always remember them, your father from that time we enlisted in the R.A.F., to go to the War Front, since that time we became very close. I remember that in hostilities, Russia joined Germany, initiating fratricide. Your father and I passed the last checks and they commissioned us. On that day Russia defected from Germany.

Ludwig ...: Until his last days, he talked to me about those experiences. I think it turned out to be something of great relevance, especially the help from brother to brother, so as not to feel alone and exterminated. Adolfo tells him to put aside the past a bit, Martina and Aurora think the same. They keep covering until long after midnight. It was two in the morning and the conversation was still entertaining, the women were gone and they had gone to sleep. Ludwig tells Adolfo that they had been talking for two hours and also that they lived only four hours away, and they saw so little of each other --- Adolfo tells him that in the year 51 they had gone to Europe for a year. Also at the end of that year, my daughters finished their studies, coming to me alone with Isabel. After three years, they returned. For now, we will not move from this place, although I had been offered to work in the UN, to go to the conflict in Korea. But fortunately here in Chile I settled and everything came to nothing. Well, Ludwig Germano, I'll show you your room and I'll invite you tomorrow to fly to the Islet to look for some tourists. Now I'll show you your piece and don't forget to be ready at seven.

During the night, lying down, he thought that the changes that took him from place to place made him uneasy and exhausted. Where he was now was what he needed. Exclaim, how peaceful and appetizing ...! At bedtime one of his voices spoke to her ...: “Life is an instrument that must be cared for. If you abuse it, you will no longer have it. It is also mutable, if you give it constructive things, you will get the best and if you don't, the darkness will haunt you. At dawn, they had breakfast and went to the airfield, which was about six hundred meters from the house. When he arrived he saw that the hangar was very large, the plane was green, and it seemed to float in the air.
Adolfo ...: I'll check it and start the engine. Everything was going, the plane was ready, the day helped as it was sunny.

As they took off, they walked around the house, Ludwig was excited, he could barely respond to the greetings of Martina and Aurora. They passed something low for them to see. It was a quarter of an hour to the islet, they landed and proceeded to board the passengers. They were scientists who studied Habitat. In fact, on this islet that is populated, nobody lives on it. It was more difficult to take off since the materials were very complicated and delicate.

Adolph ...: I almost forgot, you have to change the batteries in the headlight. Bring them, they're in the back. They both went to install it, at the other end of a cliff, changed it, and left.

Ludwig ...: This is lonely, there are extraordinary things here, it looks like a huge plant raft. If she saw it Antoinette she would be impressed.

From here you can see the sky drawn, the storm clouds interspersed by the wind, and some timid flashes that try to cross the huge air masses, nearby to a day that could discharge the seas of waters, dropping them to the adjacent environment. Water on water, water on the wind, water on land, water on my hands ...- Also disturbing, the sea hits the cliffs of Adolfo's property. Some waves rush in with a harmonious ripple, hitting the edges until they rise several meters above the sea, only to fall slowly from where they were pushed. The fishing birds worked incessantly, carrying food to their young, and at the same time training them to become independent. This is how this wonderful medium is, that at the entrance of this scene, and the idylls with the immobile rocks give experiences to the Fauna. There is no day that fills us more with life-giving communion, our own imprints on all that is done, on what is reflective, on the immortality of what has just been blessed or cursed with parasite errors. Everything is for us who exist forever eternal and lonely ... "What embraces and governs us is very wise, it induces us to balance, to the same nascent endogenous attitude of infinite knowledge, the Empyrean or Nature. This Animal kingdom ruled by men is nothing more than all species in an unstoppable evolution, which forces us to submit in this twentieth century. A world that is increasingly removed from all-wise and humble spiritual vibrations, dominating at the same time with an insatiable appetite, which should give us governance, to be more dedicated to cultivating the barren being for the good. At that moment that he had just reflected, Adolfo called him surprised, it was time to leave the class. On the flight, silence reigned for minutes, until Adolfo spoke.

Adolph ...: It seems that you liked the islet, I saw you very thoughtful.
Ludwig ...: It is beautiful, and for anyone it is very stimulating.
Adolph ...: You're right, I've lived it.
Ludwig ...: I don't feel scared anymore, I think I'm going to get used to flying.

They landed and unloaded all the boxes they were carrying and this time they did not put the plane into the hangar. They leave walking after saying goodbye to the passengers until they reach the house and their daughters receive them.

Martina ...: Tell me, did you like the islet? It's nice, right ...!
Ludwig ...: Yes I loved it.
Aurora ...: Martina, Ludwig, let's go through.
Ludwig ...: What ...?
Adolfo ...: It's a surprise, see you.
Martina ...: Come ... join us!

Ludwig did not understand the invitation, but as he approached the aerodrome a hundred meters, on the edge of the cliff, there were some ropes hanging, and below a circular net about fifty meters more or less deep, each time the wind grew stronger and bigger. Martina takes a rope and begins to sway, it seemed that the wind was cooperating too much since everything pretended to be weightless in space. Martina was like this, and in a moment of incredible acrobatics, she fell off the hook, falling and circling the net several times. From where Ludwig was, she could see the plane as if it were confused with the jumping pasture, she saw that its wheels were jumping as if the wind wanted to carry it away. Everything belonged to the aeolian promontory, the branches and the trees, everything was beautifully dominated by it. Aurora and Martina looked like little girls, they played with the ropes with great skill. Martina wore her movements, her brown hair and white skin made her overcome all traits. Martina was the center of the acrobatic game, Aurora dominated the game, but not like her sister. There was a time when the risk they took with the inordinateness of time was too much. Ludwig could not contain her joy, he could not ignore the wonderful spectacle of them, the immense energy delivered by them, towards a liberation above all dimensions.

Martina ...: Come on Ludwig ..., try it, you'll like it!

She approached Ludwig and taught him something that she had never learned so fast, she took a rope which she did not stop staring into space until she swayed high and long on the swing.Her tightly clamped hands didn't want to let go or give up, but she grew fatigued. He had to look towards the network that would receive him, and beyond the network, the rocks could be seen. He finally could control the sway and let go, the highest fifty meters of his life, he never believed that such a sensation would bathe him in gushing adrenaline. Then between networks, he relaxed and listened to the advice of his guides. Martina congratulated him, marking him as a hero, told him to stay still and that she was going to move him with a string. Ludwig sighed deeply. Martina, aided by Aurora, pulled Ludwig down, quieting the echoes of him. After a while, he received a big hug from his guides.

Martina ...: I'm very happy, all this has been very exciting, even more so with you.
Ludwig ...: For me, it has been to rise to precious freedom, to an excellent game.
Aurora ...: You really did well, it was an act of great courage. You're the third person to do it, you actually ******* away.
Ludwig ...: Thanks to you that I did it, by motivating myself. But I confess that at one point I thought I was not able to do it, having to use all my strength.

Martina ...: It's time to eat, so let's see what mom made. Come on Aurora, and you Ludwig, if you're late, you'll wash the dishes. Wit and charm made them the happiest beings, they ran like hunted gazelles. Upon reaching the beloved place.

Mrs. Isabel receives them, and Adolfo was smoking a pipe. They are going to dinner, Ludwig says; The decadent rays inspire us with what is healthy, what is meant within me is manifested by the distributed sun. Martina says that was fine, that it was the most attractive when they think like that. To which Ludwig said that he was only meditating out loud. Doña Isabel found it super good for them to do those things. Ludwig expresses his gratitude to them by making them feel like his close relatives. They tell him it was the least they would do for him. And Aurora tells him that of course, there would be more entertainment waiting for him on the ropes. After they spoke, they ate prawns piecemeal with delicious well-seasoned watercress, then beans with sauce. To drink a lot of wine and dessert threads in syrup.

Adolph ...: The rope game seemed real daring. Note that we used it as training, in addition to measuring your audacity it fortifies you enormously. With your father we used to practice hours and hours, we even competed. Ludwig replied that it was just by looking at the trophies on the cabinet, and Adolfo told him that some he had won with Hans; his father.

Isabel ...: So Ludwig, is the exemplary model of his father, and in good honor.
Ludwig tells him not to praise him so much. As the night progresses, they decide to go to sleep. But Adolfo asks Martina to go and find the pantry early, which was well received by them.

Ludwig ...: Well then I'll reserve my ticket.
Martina ...: That you're leaving today!
Ludwig ...: No, tomorrow.
Martina ...: Ah ..., you mean ...? !

Isabel tells Aurora to pick up her silverware. Then Ludwig went to sit on the couch and from there he looked at the patch of desolate land. Every pause he made to digest the wine explored the even relief. Chaos still continues, the antithesis of the pestilential that is only what the rest laugh at. After a while, Martina comes over and tells him what is going on in that head, and he says ... Nothing! Then she thinks of accompanying me to town, to which he says anyway.Ludwig intimately thought about the wide spectrum of changes, he can now see the one who was long invisible. The one that takes you along elongated empirical routes, fraternalism, or perhaps what is linked to spontaneity.
Weirdly Emigrate Chapter  VII  Part I
In the morning they leave early to look for the pantry, on the way Martina was indicating where to go. He recommends you park at the business, to have the merchandise on hand. Ludwig tells him; Well, little Martina, and she replies ... How is that ...? He booked the bus for seventeen hours. They filled up the truck and turned back before they had toured the town to meet him. On the way back, it was easy to foresee big differences. Neither of them broke his balance, Martina always immutable skewed her vulnerability. Both of them were warm in the afternoon. That time at Sara's house was repeating itself. Ludwig trying to ****** her gaze, stretching it out uncontrollably to vent some icy blink. But everyone else was impressed by her quiet temper, who at times felt the disguise that dressed him and made him fade into his routine. When he got home he decides to tell Martina everything, leaving all fear since she was always with him. They put things down and bundle up from the changing weather and run fast. In no time they reached the strings and would sway like seasoned aerialists. Next, they would come to step on the sand of the beach, as everything was changing, Martina went round and round until she fell to her knees on some logs that made her stagger. Ludwig looked at the house that he hung overhead, following the sky, then dropped his gaze on Martina.

Ludwig ...: Are you tired ...?
Martina ...: Don't tell me! , I'm fine here, I can hear your tired breathing as you get confused over the sea.
Ludwig ...: It is true, everything has gone well. Hey, what your parents will think.
Martina ...: What does not correspond, typical.
Ludwig ...: That silly prejudice and the silly whims that have caused mistrust to proliferate.
Martina ...: Widely excluded, these issues are out of harmony, aren't they ...?

At the same time they say that where their friendship had come and given such synchronicity of their intentions, they started to laugh profusely. The star of the day left them and they returned. The march was slow and leisurely, talking about some wild animals of the place, about feeding that coincided with theirs. They drank the Tea, remembering that the family hours reminded him of something lost ... Family ..., Family ...? When it was necessary to unravel the surrounding hatred, made up of the most confusing topic of debate, which is nothing more than the abandonment of oneself when falling into dementia. For this, he was unaware of his legitimacy to intermingle with his poverty, ready for a wealth close to all the disheartened thinkers who bartered his life. But he always continued indigestion, the itch of people who only ate to eat, preying on all the desirable resources, leaving nothing behind. And he with simplicity took care of the resources, safeguarding the cycle breaks and the fragile livelihoods him. When trying to make his devotions similar to greater devotion, the inescapable deformation of his faces and all peaceful posture appears, only before the judicious discernment is he reconsidered what will become of him. Long hours can come in long-suffering, where he finds the deepest need to confide what may have impacted the germ of what is detached from nature. From what we see, in a constant growth parallel to our biological lines, that if a tree can be reborn, it does not have to be related to the city for long. All this used to rambling, he did it when he went to his room to fix his luggage. At dawn, it was the mistiest morning that had to be crossed, when his hand opened the door of his house thinking of leaving without warning, something held him back and he retracted, deciding to go back to bed and lie down again. Just a minute and he began to see Martina in her dream ...: “He went to his room and saw her. He was afraid to wake her, only watched her from the door ajar. He saw her lying with her hair on her face, he nervously returned to the room. This dream ordered him to leave soon and, on the other hand, to endure, but this meant a strong pain in his temples, as a result of the restless dream that was becoming excessive. Although some incongruity was deposited, this was brief and all in the dream, his adhesions were buried. The day came quickly. Adolph told him not to say goodbye, they would soon see each other. Isabel appeared and gave him a kiss. Aurora promised her a surprise when she was playing with her pet, a white Setter dog. Martina gives him a flower, asking him to communicate and take care of her. The door was opened by Martina, and Ludwig saw that the enemy mist was above as acidifying, higher than all the vaporous trees.  Goodbye to Martina, give him a kiss that she cursed, and as she could, she made a sign with her hand.
Weirdly  Emigrate  Chapter VII  Part II
to Martina - with love.
your tiny feet hang over
the modest tapestry.
you assault the morning -
   my own, rueful morning
with the harangue of your
     viridian kisses.
in stolid nights like this, Martina, the bowl of the sky
bawls in silent ruin.
    distant roars of flightless
voices fracture the night
    your dandelion smile gone
from your primrose mouth - Martina,
   full moon, incendiary star,
in a slew of love and vertiginous
    height you danced sprightlier
  than any hapless dream soldiering on in the tight solder of the threadbare midnight. Martina - you had us trembling before, and now again, as you dash with your superlative shade that fleets,
      i wake in ruinous mornings.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i love women, don't get me wrong, i finally succumbed
to watching the female world cup,
since the lionesses reached the semi-finals
against u.s.a., but the man in me just kept thinking:
yeah yeah, great footie, but those beauties...
where's martin keown, i need to look at
a mugshot of a brute, i can't concentrate
on the skill without a girl that looks like
martin keown... oh god... alex morgan...
              julie ertz... steph houghton...
   don't get me started on the swedish team...
    wimbledon has also started...
                    i do enjoy female tennis more than
the male variation of serve-**** tactic...
or the terminator that's serena williams...
     cori "coco" gauff... wow...
                i wish she would win the championship
and replicate martina hingis wimblendon 1996...
problem... she's under 16...
so she's only allowed to play 5 matches
in the tournament... and what if she wins
the 5th? that's the quarter-finals...
7 to win the tournament... the rules should be bent,
she should be able to continue...
end of an era... the dinosaurs are being chased
by the younglings...
prof. green (roger federer) still has it in him...
but... well he is a professor of tennis...
his style? his backhand? immaculate "conception"...
who played as well as he does?
roger sampras... the list is very short...
but i don't have a problem watching woman's
tennis, it's so much better than the brute strength
of the serve akin to the game played
by: ivanišević, rusedski, roddick, čilić (chy-lea-'c -
piquant, that acute c)...
   n'ah... in terms of tennis?
i think the males are over-rated,
                except for the prof. of grass court...
i do love women... apart from the nostalgia
for primary school playground banter with
the girls: when we still had an asexual
sense of it... before all the **** jokes,
before the greatest schism in ether of existence:
beyond the religious and in the biological realm...
o.k.: i tease... which is something a prepubescent
girl would understand:
   if i was also a prepubescent boy...
times, have, changed...
i'm with ms. amber and ginger ale,
cigarettes and a decent soundtrack...
               i still don't want to understand incels...
i listen to them, but then i reach a limit...
thank god i didn't lose my virginity to a *******...
but... if you have to?
         isabella of grenoble...
               a fine fine catch...
          mind you... have you ever been
to an 18 year old's birthday party,
   and it was not what you were used to,
i.e.: bal samców / cockfest?
   this 18 year old's birthday party?
  my friend ian tagged along for about an hour
or two... then he suddenly bailed on me...
i was the only male... among... um....
20 or so girls...
              why, the, ****, are, muslims,
blowing themselves, up,
for a reward of 72, virgins?! eh?! can anyone
please please tell me?!

no brainer question(s)
   (as dictated by h'american girls in venise):
the beatles or the rolling stones -
to be honest? neither.

   top three songs with the bass guitar
setting the rhytm:
   1. tool - forty six & two
  2. the offspring - bad habit
3. róże europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne...

roy orbison or elvis? m'hahaha... royo...

  a lot has happened since i attended that
18 year old's birthday party...
why are muslim men so eager to entertain
eternity with 72 virgins?
      will they be keeping them virgins
or what? that would be the best way
to not move past kissing and oral ***...
once 3rd base is entered: the third eye
of transgender shiva opens up...
    
              why did solomon give up his harem
for the monotheistic monogamy associated
with the queen of Sheba?
   beyond one, what good is a harem?
if you've never been around 25 or so virgins...
you really don't know what you're talking...
or getting yourself into...
                    herrdildomaschinekopf...
look, i just changed the background to show
you i'm not lying:
  that evening i came home: ex-haus-ted...
did i spend the past few hours in
the company of teenage girls or was i being
ripped apart by a pack of wolves / hyennas...
and you know how drunk teenage girls
behave... you're shreds... they're competing
like it's both the 100m sprint and the marathon
cooked up into one!

i really could have chosen a different path:
***** ***** all year round...
   well, why didn't i, why did i become
voluntarily "celibate"?
            as much as might want the company
of the opposite ***: picking up a thai surprise
bisexual in the park one day...
******* her in the garden...
   walking her home while she drowned
in my jacket... she telling me i should stop
drinking... now... drinking...
i was taught to listen to rules under the arch
of pedagogy... now? i'll be as stubborn as
i am expected to be...
i don't like being told what to do,
thank you for telling me to do for the first
21 years of my life...
  now? welcome to the plateau!
even the best advice is the worst advice
after a certain period of time...
do i look like a ******* puppett that will
listen to such things: oh, but if you don't
do x, you'll become homeless...
   i've met some happy homeless people...
one even told me why he became homeless:
'my mother told me to never lie'...

i don't even think these jihadis know what
they're getting into,
wishing up 72 celestial virgins...
i'll take to the count of "72" valkyrie serving
me drinks than expecting me to **** them,
and the eternal library of text and music...
don't get me wrong...
receiving attention from women:
esp. those younger than you,
while they're intoxicated: it is fun...
but when it comes to the sort of
intimacy of a relationship with a women,
when she starts to read you the cosmopolitan
magazine's questionnaire as to whether
she's the perfect girlfriend /
you're the perfect boyfriend /
   you're a perfect couple?
i love women outside the realm of a molten
heart... i don't like finding myself
vulnerable...

              am i missing out on something?
oh i know i am...
but it's like owning a car:
great! you own a car!
             "mobility"...
  but you also own car insurance...
the m.o.t. payments and spare parts...
and washing the car on the weekend...
oh i'm so jealous!

  what's that famous saying?
women... can't live with them,
  can't live without them...
       well... more like: can live without them,
but much harder to live without them
and stop wanting them...
whatever glimpses i've had of past
relationships: i sober up even if i'm drunk...
she didn't want to split the restaurant bill...
this "modern thing": feminism,
my "toxic masculinity"...
  whatever, whatever...
                   i guess i'll have to end
on a note superstitious of a teenage girl's whim...
i'm bored, the end.

_______

.now i have a fox, without a leash, that i tend to feed everyday... keep feeding him, or her, lamb fat, cat food synthetics, and once in a while a frankfurter... and the Polacks you minded so much? only attacked ****** night0club owners... made plums and figs out of their faces... bulging and caress worthy... same ****, different cover, with the easy girls of Liverpool and Newcastle... back down in London? the story goes: she's an exchange student from New Hampshire... riddled by the madonna-***** complex... and i'm not really adamant adamant on stealing the cherry... if you've ever ****** aa ******? one, is enough...  i'd sooner become ****** up by a ******* tornado... and giggle... dying with a half breath... before plummeting face down onto the hearth; watching daisies, growing, roots up!

i've had one irish migrant educate me:
you know...
there are plenty of neo-nazis
in Poland...  
       and? am i one of them?
   liked him, a high school friend...
i'm sorry the friendship ended...
so i am?
   **** me... better i brush up on
reading some Heidegger!
         oh look 'ere i go...
        can't stop me now...
unless befriending Pakistanis
who have kept a null of Urdu...
              because you know...
   if there's a culture that's integrating,
and doesn't,
   have the honor, capacity,
to keep in line its origins?
no problem...  not worth it...
           people who do not retain their
skeleton -
their basics -
  their language -
   they, "magically" lose it...
half-castes... half-people...
   no pride in an origin,
   not upkeep with a language?
might as well call your mother a,
*******, *****!
      ****** by an antiques dealer!
******.
      no pride in origin,
  no subsequent pride in a "return"
on foreign soil...
   plethora of antagonizing Islam...
good look...
    i have mine,
but i hide it...
      ex-girlfriend -
almost took a ride on one of those
buses in the 7/7 bombings...
     what?!
               guess what...
i'm an ex-pat...
  i know that you wouldn't call
your similar genetics of
a "family" an ex-pat
and neither a migrant or an immigrant...
   (economics comes later,
doesn't it?) -
  but i'm sure the english
are loved up with Hindu grannies
and their grandchildren
taking them to the doctors to
translate symptoms...
   fine by me... you do the math...
   apparently i'm not speaking
English, but? ******* Urdu!
         no problem...
thank god i never allowed myself
a pledge of allegiance to the people,
rather, the language they spoke...
the language is all i pledge my
allegiance to... and for...
the queen... and her people?
        **** it... shooting albatrosses
off the shoreline of Cornwall...
attempting to spot
  porky Siamese twins...
        one does the eating,
the other does the oral ***...
             what?!
             i have not pledged any allegiance
to the english people...
  they love their **** curry
and their Afghan foot-soldiers...
   i'm doing the Pontius Pilate
washing of hands...
   which is a secondary theater of
a baptism...
                      no...
no allegiance to the people....
but the language?
   i'd give my life for it...
           the people are not exactly
the main ingredient in terms
of existential coordinates -
but the language is...
    on a per se basis mingling with
the appropriate focus.
Emilija Feb 2023
31/12/2022

It’s the last day of the year, and I’ve had one extra depressive episode
because a 21 year old noped out, apparently I’m demiromantic
and have never had a crush
need a strong connection, when it’s there – it’s nothing
to reckon with, had I known
I’d have put more space between us, taken it slower
rather than convincing myself I have control, as it slips

I’m leaving another lover, wretched with stench
I look at their face in old pictures, becoming
afraid at their void expression, beard
they refuse to trim for me
so I daydream and I know
like, I know now, with therapy that

there is no magical himbo to save me,
no delusions about that, no boo, no more
but I also know I deserve some ******* comfort
after the hell, oh the hell
I can’t broach, if I **** it will burst
like a yolk, I’ll be dead by morning, oh and

he’s so beautiful
his eyes on me, his cautious fingers, fear and shudders
makes me feel like my best was not just good enough
my best was fascinating.
I want to tell him about my songs, mixing in studio 1
I wanna duet, and melt,
I want him on his knees at random words, I want
that worship, wanna feel
his piercing on my
everything,
want to give that worship
not just in a word document,
so I daydream, I get to.
I ******* get to if I need it, daydream about
whichever thing will never happen if I need it.

I will not be shamed for surviving
I will not be blinded to an oasis for the chance
it’s a mirage, I need to
get from place to place, boo
What shall I do as I heal? Drink? Drugs? ******* cigarettes?
did you know the internet says I’ll die at 67?
Little more than half now
my life is not shortened by zoning out -
If I want a muse I will have a ******* muse, and he can think
I’m crazy along with the rest of them,
****
if
I
care,  
I want him to come here.
                                    I want to ask him questions, reasonable questions
because I know I would:
                                                          ­             is this an impulsive decision?
have you broken up?
                                                                ­                               how long ago?
are you in therapy?
                                            I am **** demisexual,
                                                  even in my mind,
                                              especially in my mind
Do       you      want      me      or      do       you       want      polyamory?
Because I can be anyone, and I have already been
                                                         an experiment for some guy, ‘fore he  
                                                            gets­ a bi curious, monogamous girl
Because we can grow alongside one another, but not fix
each other
because you need to process
because if you’re with her, she wouldn’t have a reason other than “my boyfriend really wants to” and that is the worst reason for polyamory, and I am not nor have ever been in the business of hurting people with intent (excluding  grade school, ((I’m
sorry, Martina – double sorry you died from
leukemia,) excluding when you c o n s e n t )),  
I’d like you to answer all of those, then
maybe I get to hold you.

That’s my daydream. Holding you. Watching films, you commenting on them the way I’ve done and annoyed all of my lovers.

how your neck would smell

                                      how your hair and head would feel in my hands

how you’d shiver and breathe shallow, and how easily
I could make it calm.  

and yeah, subspacing you and using your body, I am not entirely ace.
I'm publishing the ones I don't dare submit to places, can you let me know if these ramble style poems are any good?
Adele Dec 2019
In this painting, her red hair was blown
In a gust
The behemoth sleeping buffalo mountain gaze
on her perspective, her face was not shown.
but this is her story…
When the south pole tilts, facing
The beam of light
People fly towards the sun and
That’s when Martina ascends the peak
against a raging snow in the north
There, she discovered mountain goats;
Grazing the empty twigs
She found a shelter in the tea house, fresh woods dropped
By a whirly bird to warmth the cabin that
Overlook the six glaciers.
Martina roams with solitude.
Running in the wilds
There is darkness and you can see her eyes,
Dims at night.
She is unbreakable.
The lynx spirit has been guiding her.
Ihinabi ko sa bukana ng payong ang ulan.

This is to believe that sheltering may not always be, or simply perhaps an undertaking of weakness. A radical strangeness aspires to be bold. I may not be able to transcend its nakedness.

.

This is to deny the common verity that in the communal of water, shade fails a transliteration. We cannot be forever in hiding. Our smallness reveals our flowers. Our unmentioned stirrings. (A spire of technicolor through the lens of apertures. It starts to rain in *Pasay
.)

.

I see children swift-bodied in the streets. I hear the sublime song of a defunct tractor. Once in its vitality, Earth was its derelict. How did it come to be that when I peer into the openness, light slouches into form, conjuring an image: your face, hiding amongst the crowd?

.

This is to recognize the potential of dwindles. Its vertigo that it tries to protect. Its height that it tries to conquer. Its fall that it tries to eschew. What if bones are just homes to tiny little currents and that the way our body assumes the stance of jackknife, simply a foreboding?

.

Itinabi ko sa sukal ng araw ang payong.

This is to perceive that all light lifts away from the dark, my heart always falling into its hands. Morning opens your face like delicate streets, pulverizing fog into chamomile. Silence is endemic. *Makati *buoys overseer reconnaissance of obvious beatings. Revealing a long line of ligatures -- umbilicus of wires. Serenades of futility. Our useless meanderings.

.

The depth of Sunlight finally turns primeval stone. That is our defeat -- all our darkness put to trial. I am tense with the finality: she will become parasol and I, the weather past moonlight waxing.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2017
She remembers when she first got her wings
And how she opened up that day
she learned to sing
Then the colors came, erased the
black and white
And her whole world changed
when she realized

She's a butterfly, pretty as the crimson sky
Nothing's ever gonna bring her down
And everywhere she goes
Everybody knows she's so glad to be alive
She's a butterfly
Like the purest light in a darkened world
So much hope inside such a lovely girl
You should see her fly, it's almost magical
It makes you wanna cry, she's so beautiful

God bless the butterfly,
give her the strength to fly
Never let her wings touch the ground
God bless the butterfly,
give her strength to fly
Never let her wings touch the ground
Went for a brief moment to Facebook and found a "Memory" as they sometimes post on your page...from a year ago. It referenced my "addiction" at that time which was Karaoke...I posted this song that I had found that I had intended to sing. I never did, so I thought I'd post here (my current "addiction"). I had forgotten all about it.
Sean Fitzpatrick Dec 2013
Jimena Hubbard was a poor lovely boy
Who grew up in the countryside
Rocks in his fists
He squeezed them hard
His muscles did the twists
And now his hands quietly wave away mists
A fish out of water
He wandered with otters
With berries and kittens
The world was his fodder
Then Jimena Hubbard met Hummina Bubbard
And Hummina Bubbard is now Hummina
Hubbard

So are
Martina
Lunesta
And Farina Hubbards
Through their old folks ponds
They swam and they ran
In their mouths, crabapples
And in their fists, rocks
They played in the dirt
And tied hair into knots
Then Martina
Lunesta
And Farina Hubbard
As grains do sway
Untied their knots
Now Jimena and Hummina
Rest in the soil
Three daisies in place
Where their love once toiled.
Just one more morning
I had to wake up with the blues
Pulled myself outta bed, yeah
Put on my walking shoes
Went up on the mountain
To see what I could see
Whole world was falling
Right down in front of me
            - Gregg Allman, sung by

For my families.
For my family.
For my home.
a cult novilist in Blackpool
watches Martina Navratilova
throw sugar lumps
at passers by
as captured teardrops
in a teaspoon
call, plead, for understanding
perhaps release
for they’re not the
obsessive prize
once hailed as trophy
but simply words in the air
that execute that which never comes
causing a retreat from an ordinance
of nothing
where time defiles itself
a red speckled jersey
whose arms, once occupied
are too small, limited
like abandoned prosthetics
leaving rotting flesh
to slowly scald the earth
with a vaporous experience
of emotional contrasts
like that of mesmerising serpents
whose visional embrace
stares deeply with such a charge
of ****** energy
that causes the air to weep
and poses the question
who shall give me leave
Danny Valdez Jan 2012
We're driving on the road at night
through the desert
between Ajo & Gila Bend
a place my Dad called
Crater Range
he told me lots of people died out there
he saw lots of scary stuff out there
and I would stare out the window
into the desert.
The headlights lighting up
the shrubs and rocks
the full moon in the sky
taking care of the rest
the arroyos
the rusty train tracks
the vast
neverending
stretch of white rocks, shrubs, and sand
illuminated and glowing blue.
And he'd keep talking to me
while my mother and sister slept.
We'd keep talking
forever it seemed
I eagerly awaited these talks
the green light in the radio lighting up his face
his beard moving up and down
telling me about all the family members & friends
that died on this road
he told me about them
as we passed through a large formation of rocks
on both sides of the road
Class of 79'
Martina & Ernesto 4 Ever
Peace signs & pentagrams
were spray painted all over the rock walls.
And from that green, glowing, radio
Morrison's voice
singing
about the killer on the road.
And then it'd get real quiet again
we both would
and I'd just lean my head against that window
staring out
into the darkness
and looking
squinting real hard
looking for something
anything
alive and moving
lit up in the light from the moon
down in the arroyo
or by the tracks.
There was something out there
I knew it.
cast death to who hears it most reverberating.

he hears it at noon, at sundown, at the
raising light of moon, half-mast set
glaringly through a pond of the word.
he hears it goad through the synagogue,
the pew, the assault of avian,
in the most chilling cold, in the ferocious
water of heat sinking ships to
their metallic deaths.
he heeds it now, fencing thick air
attended by the densest shadow,
he moves with it, its compelling invitation
from darkness to darkness, the faith
of contrition fizzles into the splintered hour,  moves with it, moved by it;
he writes, tottering animal of furious wording; the hill there yonder draped
by heavy cloud, rinsed by rain salting
its *******—

cast death to who feels it most sensuously.

he opens his eyes and darkness is infinite.
he opens the window and no light
lifts, awakens.
these juxtaposition of roads, the feasting
of the lamppost, feeding the wick with
infinitesimal flame, quickening the twinight, the courtyard, the amble of strange populace.
he words the earthenware, the figment of deepest abstract, says her name,
            Martina, he has her gone in
  the ashen hour, the wind that once blew
   spruced stillicide on the roof of this home has dithered away in the inexorable.
he squints to inconsolable brightness
     Martina sheds trembling in her
       eyes ready for ever now,
and then writes as time trickles from
   the ephemeral gush of spigot,
slivering the horizon by the unending stream of the familiar dawn, repeats its hymn, beheading the garden.

   he will not name the end of all,
   he will not count the hours dead
   wearing the hand like a glove,
  a word from stiff dark to flagrant one:
     cast death upon him who knows not.
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2017
The mind is the ghost of our being,
  its voice left to haunt and cajole

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2017)
      Collaboration with Martina Lynch
Martina Ngose Apr 2019
I am Ngose,
I come from a small village called Muyuka (Cameroon).
My tribe (Balong) is almost extinct.
Where I come from is simply beautiful.
Beautiful in its rivers that flow behind our houses
Beautiful in the dancing trees that give us shade on sunny days
Beautiful in its sand that burns beneath our feet
Beautiful in the music that is sung in the market square
My village is absolutely beautiful!

I am Martina,
I may not be like the girls you see on the cover page of a magazine
I may not be dressed in designers and exotic fashion
I may not have lived in luxurious places
I may not have the taste or styles people admire
I may not own anything deemed worthy or wealthy
BUT, I am CONTENT
Beacuse, I know where I come from!!!
Notabene, notes to self, a place called home, my tribe, my people.

— The End —