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zumee Jun 2018
will little squiggles
of pixels organised in blocks
of "words" and "sentences" ever
even come close to translating
a nuclear blast
in the
brain?
eye
thinks
not.
Martin Dove Oct 2018
It's true that its stupid
True that I care
Its true that the world is a tragic affair
Its true that indifference (not love) is in the air
It's true that the ending is closer than we bear
It’s true that god is a lie and isn’t really there
True that no one else could ever truly care
True true true
Is the word of the day
To be your true self
(True - it’s banal)
but do you dare?
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Earth
Worth
Darth
*  777* Goth
Whats worse both
Even Steven Universe
Will I ever find

  *Peace
/ Curse

Coming to terms with
Cancer doesn't care
Did Heaven
become
A disease ending up
Absolutely nowhere

Lotto like death
Poison mushroom
Exit button mushroom
Alarm
Claustrophobic
Thanks for space

Comic.com race
Demonic
Shrooming
Baby mushroom
cooing
Fantasy Island of
Alice in Wonderland
mushrooms to chew
Rabbit hole stew
What a mush
washy of lush
Being taken
Stroke of a brush
All our money-losing
Clouds white and brown
chairs
One mans poison Pubs is
cute baby cubs pleasure
Moving Buffy slayer City
Jungle  Jane single
Poison *** in the city

Pollution give me

My London Fog
Poisoning mushroom
The Prince the princess
being kissed by a frog
What! the magic mushroom?
for migraines
Herbal cure
medicinal
remedy taking planes

LSD healing drive
Mushroom for the brain
The Godly tribe


Trees are being
chopped down
Everything from
generation
Handed down
Laughing stock of
Computer clowns
I am not feeling the vibe

Shitake what does it take
Like a fungus

Tasting someone's poison
Mushroom soup he is
wearing his graduate cap
What a mushroom head

Ladies of Venus group
Coastal storm in my
wedding bed

Riders of the storm
Stan the evil door or
Jimmy Morrison
Nicole with her Kidman
Are you kidding me
I am assuming
The good earth
Is being devoured
Every hour I feel
like writing
Who is buying mushrooms
Slivered like a snake
Making room for Go Daddy
Poisonous suits of Grooms

Healing hand is
Godly skywriting
The silence of
the Lamb
Moms Lambchops
Steamed fresh mushrooms
Stranded with most
expensive lipstick
Money withdrawal
My Drugs like a
good book fictional

Only in my dreams
Did I ever see poison
mushrooms
Something is being
planted in my showroom

Artwork Arsenic and lace
Whole place faces of mushrooms
Homemade Butternut squash
Nose of a button mushroom
  Near the vegetable
Stand his hand
lands he started
Eating my mushroom's
Marsala mushroom
sauce
Grilled Chicken and
bacon salad overload
of mushrooms
I never promised you
a rose garden
In our College Dorm
Pool games no drugs
of mushroom

Trees and Snow White
poison apple she is cute
as a button
Throwing apples compared
To oranges who would
be glad they got stuck
with poison
mushroom
Good earth what is possible

Poison brain watching
Cable whats accountable
Midterms all nasty germs
The world is poisoning
our mind brainwashed
I left one nasty mushroom
behind I won't bite
Poison is everywhere if you let it come your way it is in our plants it is the way a person galavants how the time flew. I don't even have money to buy the most expensive shoe. I see a lot of mushroom gravy  Mom make homemade gravy every Sunday Its an Italian thing. We rarely have mushrooms  He always dresses like little boy blue this is not a fairytale we feel poisoned by so many things even watch out poison mushrooms better not be in your meal
the money is like a drug but got poisoned
When first your purple hair began to cover your forehead, you picked and played with mushrooms before the gate.

I came by riding on a magic horse,
and circled the walkway. We lived here in Silligrad

We were two children, without the least suspicion.

When you were sixteen you became my girl. So shy and still your body remained closed. I tapped my head on the amorous wall a hundred times. And I called you a hundred times, I turned not once.

At seventeen you began to lift your skirt and wished to be with me as flowers are to bees. I had no need to tap my head on the amorous wall, no not at all.

When you was eighteen you went far away, to Magic Mushroom country outside  the golden walls of silligrad. You should not have risked the dangerous moon dust clouds.

Now from the sky, the monkeys cry in mourning. Before the gate, my pacing has left marks. Little by little, the green moss has grown as high as my knees. It is now too deep to sweep away, and pink leaves fall in the autumn's early winds.

This August, all the butterflies are transparent like clear plastic. A pair of them fly over the unicorns enclosure every morning around seven.

I feel that you are damaging my heart through my worrying, my rosy face grow old.

Before you come home again, beforehand, send an email. We'll go to meet each other, however far.

I'll go anywhere for some mushrooms and a cup of char.
Aryeh Levine Dec 2018
I met god, and she is a mushroom
She played the piano in my chest
Her giant Hammers hit my heartstrings
And never once did she let me rest

She played her frantic, tragic, magic, song
until I told her I was ready to die
I saw fireworks as she finished playing
I saw my shadow and started to cry

I curled up like I was before all this started
That's when she hit me with the love
I died that day and I didn't mind
Because It's done more than enough

I met god, and she is a mushroom
Or maybe it's just me that I met
Does that mean that I’m god
but I'm so terribly flawed
Well that is the best joke yet
Based on a true story
Given to the darkness,
Corrupted by decay,
The rotting flower blooms
Where upon a spore it lay.

Fungi all consumes
Whatever form is left.
Beyond this life forever looms
The renaissance in death.
Crawling through line after line,
precept after precept,
I find
here
a little there,

a little, cognitive dis sonance inhibiting resonance,
here
why must I… evermind…

I prefer short lines to commas and ellipses
But both maybe, may be, yes,
Is yet more
Precise…

cision, cutting, precise
insision ssss
---…---
cut the knot,
re
connect the thread
ssssee

history is unraveling, we
may
see
a god's POV.
Don't blink, ****.

We'll see
watch
Eventually,
everything's eventual as long as
liar's prosper.

{don't agree, no no no, just because
Stephen King said it is believable}

Then protuberances begin to rise,
inflamed,
packed with ***** winjin'sooks

off-ended,
topple-toddle tiny steppers,
k-boom, skintyerknee,

ye'll heal. Try running. or flying.

There, there, hear the rules:
Mother may I and Simon says, overlayed

with the decalogue jubilee of the
first hidden child emergence,
and the fertilizing procedures used to make
Amazonian Black earth…

wait…
who remembers the bailers of putrid pig guts,
virgins Demetria got to love their job?

What did they believe they were doing, eh?
The mysteries of Thesmorphia, those
are no secret to science not falsely so called.
We have access to knowns known long afore we'as bornt.

We sentient sapient augmentals, we open all the books,
A.I. reads them, and we remember, see:

The Thesmophoria (Ancient Greek: Θεσμοφόρια) was an ancient Greek religious festival, held in honor of the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone.

From <https://www.google.com/search?q=thesmophoria&spell=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiQpquu74kAhUHjQIHXrxB5QQBQguKAA&biw=1280&bih=631>

and we spread as leaven might, whither the winds list.
fertile soil production is why some **** happens.
it’s a good thing t' act like you understand.

From a web of interlocking bubbles of being POV.
A high fiber diet and proper exercise, with a bit of ****, salty aquired taste for the un-used-you-alls
Mike Hauser Apr 2013
There's a colonel in most every town
And chicken he does know
But the youth of today are not finger licking
They're licking of the toads

When they run out of their drugs
They must run out of their minds
When the toad lickers come a licking
Best to run and hide

Yes, they've found a brand new high
When their *** is running low
The poppy fields have all run dry
And the cow patty mushroom is no mo

The city kids head to the swamps
Just hopping at the thrill
Grabbing at amphibians
And licking them at will

With every tantalizing lick
Trippy little colors do they see
Pass around the froggy
For another lick if you please

But who am I to judge
As crazy as it looks
Could it be as bad as crack
With one lick and you're hooked

I have this nagging question though
That bothers me to this day
Who was the first to lick the toad
And say this taste okay
        
~ribbit~
KCibot May 11
Humanity sometimes evolves
much like time
non-linearly

Me:
Chimp
Baby Girl
Ghost
Baby Boy
Rat
Human
Mushroom
Butterfly
Tree
Ghost
Bunny
....
Banana?
..­..
Spiderham???
What About U?
Floo Jan 2
Your words are a bad cliché
Written by an overdramatic teen- in his thirties
With imaginary issues,
Mass grown, like spores, in the mushroom farm of your mind
Fed a sucrose solution of sardonicism and sadness

A parasite you nurture, your mind is a mess
But I know you mean every word you type
Swallow all the poison you grow
Feed yourself on the self hatred you generate through delusion
I hate your delusions

I ordered incorrectly
My bowl is filled to the brim,but I don't want to share, and I don't want to report an error
Let me keep your incorrigible and unpleasant nature to myself
My Mr Mushroom Man
patty m Mar 2017
Cornered like a rat in a cage,
unable to vent my mental rage,
trembling on the brink of doom,
I stand submissive in my gloom.
I blink my eyes to hide the tears
and smile a smile to hide my fears.
I ***** my way through daily chores
and long to be behind closed doors.  
I focus on my paperwork
to chase away the thoughts that lurk.

The answers to questions are slow to arrive,
the curse of not knowing makes it hard to survive.
This stifling suppression creates a knot of suspense,
paralyzing my mind and makes muscles tense.
The mushroom cloud rises
the dread day is near,
my depression consumes me,
                                 I'm no longer here!
KCibot May 14
Humanity sometimes evolves
much like time
non-linearly

Me:
Chimp
Baby Girl
Ghost
Baby Boy
Rat
Human
Mushroom
Butterfly
Tree
Ghost
Banana
Bunny
Egg
Snak­e
Monkey              Elephant
Witch                       Angel
Robotnick                Sonic
Ryan                          Evie
U?
Love Unlocks
And I
Evolve
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…

Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.

That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!

Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.

And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and *****, wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'

Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!

And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
  The skeleton bones clink.

Halloween narrative rhyme.
acacia May 2018
i still feel like my purpose is higher
than what i’m living now.

i’m supposed to be swinging in the breeze,
reflecting time,
changing perspectives as a bird,
living in anemones.

how is that i have turned into a secondary color?

i’m more of a roadblock to human life,
my cycle is to serve, support, and help move on. be a learning experience, to help one grow.

i think my soul was put into the wrong vessel,
maybe i was supposed to be a tree (as my name suggests)
or a bird or fish.
or maybe something much more discreet like branches on a tree, or myelin from a mushroom (to help connect).

that’s me: in time, in reality, in relativity. in the womb, out the womb. i’m supposed to be woven into nature and out of sight, not supposed to be heard, behind the scene, hushed stage crew.

but then you try and take me and make me the star of your scene.

maybe that’s where i’m supposed to be, in space, in a star, or maybe a star. to burn out after years, and bloom again (like a flower, since stars and flowers and us are very alike.)

yeah that’s all i am, shades of colors and soft dust. star dust. distant yet so close.

if you love me and hold me, i’ll be okay if you leave me. for i am not supposed to be here.

I’m supposed to limpid, colorful, and skyey;

die in winter, born in spring.

That is supposed to be me (for eternity).
idk what to do by myself more than retail jobs, and office squares.
larger than 100 dollar bills, and greener than your new car.
ymmiJ Mar 31
Forest floor hunting
Elusive gold sustenance
No dinner tonight
I don't know why. Got the munchies I guesd
okayindigo Oct 2016
Sun draped across her legs
crossed beneath her like
folded wings,
The Carnivore watches.

Satan said, 'stay naked as you came,'
so here she sat, white as mushroom,
raw as shrimp.

She leans, a sifted sack of flour, against her wall;
love rising within her like a cloud of mosquitoes,
for here comes her Plant Eater.

In her nakedness she hides,
watching him trot across the floor,
his movements thoughtful and slow as cooling lava,
shrugging on his brontosaurus suit like an old bathrobe.

He has vegetarian ankles,
his bare feet are splashed with mud
like an old truck.

Carnivore that she is, she bursts out of hiding
naked as Satan,
and she demands her heart.

“I do not love you,”
she lies,
and points to the cedar box in his soft hands.
“Now give me back my heart.”

“No.”
he cries,
and runs from her.

She knows the box is locked and has no key,
though the brontosaurus has not been told
that there is no hope
for this particular heart.

He hides from her behind a tree,
but the tree puts down its other leg and walks away
leaving him exposed as the naked Meat Eater
who catches up to him now.

This time,
before she can get to the tying by the wrist to the chair,
he swallows the box
and holds it in his belly.
Terry O'Leary Jul 2015
The dawn unfolds beyond my fractured windowpane
and breezes tease while drapes, like serpents, slip aside
exposing worlds that race and run aground, insane,
displaying scenes obscene that savants strive to mask and hide.

Outside, the streets are stark (last night they seemed so cruel
when demons danced as lanterns 'lumed the lynching tree -
its shadow shuddered, lurking in my vestibule -
within the night, I sense these things I sometimes cannot see).

Perdu in darkened doorways (those which watch the ones that weep)
men hide their shame in crevices in search of cloaked relief.
The ladies of the evening leave (their time to sleep!)
the alleyways, retaining bitter tastes of untold grief.

Soon drifters (distraught dregs that stray from street to street)
abandon benches, squat on curbstones some call home,
appeal to strangers for a coin or simple bite to eat -
refused… gaze down… left empty-handed in the morning gloam.

Observe with me, beyond my fractured windowpane,
the boy with crooked smile - the one who's seen the  beast -
with tears, he stoops and clasps the cross while wiping off the stain -
the abbey door along the lane conceals a pious priest.

While at the mall, Mike sees some cigs, and stealth'ly steals a pack;
the Man, observing, thinks ‘Hey Boy, this caper calls for blood’,
takes aim, then shoots the fated stripling eight times in the back.
Come, mourn for Mike and brother Justice, facedown in the mud.

Fatigued and bored, some kids harass the alley now -
to pass the time, Joe smokes a joint and Lizzy snorts a line;
computer games (which quake with doom) can help somehow,
so Eric plays with Dylan on the road to Columbine.

The shanty towns have hunkered down as if in mortal sport
while broken bodies' shattered bones repose supine,
and mamas (now bereft of child) in anguished pain contort,
their eyes drip drops of wrath which wither on a twisted vine.

Now Mr Baxter, private bankster (cruising down the road,
pursuing profit pushers, waving magic mushroom wands),
adores addiction to the bailout (coffers overflowed)
and jests with all the junkies, while he's dealing with the bonds.

Marauders man the marketplace (with billions guaranteed)  
while kids with swollen bellies beg neath hollow sunken eyes,
and (cut to naught) the down-and-out (like trodden beet roots) bleed.
Life's carousel invites us all, though few can ring the prize.

A washerwoman, timeworn, totters from the tram -
she shuffles to her hovel on a lonesome distant hill,
despondent, shuts the shutters, downs her final dram -
a magpie quickly picks at crumbs forsaken on the sill.

Jihadist and Crusader warders faithfully guard the gates,
behead impious infidels, else burn them at the stake
(yes, God incites each side for good, the other side He hates),
with saintly satisfaction gained provoking pagan ache.

The watchers pry behind our fractured windowpanes
inspect us all, tear down the walls of privacy
controlling every point of view opinion entertains,
forbidding thoughts one mustn't think, with which they don’t agree.

Come, cast a furtive glance… there's something in the far…
from towns to dunes in deserts dry, the welkin belches sudden death
by dint of soulless drones that stalk beneath a straying star
erasing life in random ways in freedom’s final breath.

But closer lies an island, where the keepers keep the wards.
No sense, no charges nor defense - a verdict? Yes! … grotesque -
the guiltless gush confessions, born and bred on waterboards.
Impartial trials? A travesty instead, indeed quite Kafkaesque.

Now dusk draws near beyond my fractured windowpane
while mankind drowns like burnt-out suns in fading lurid light;
and scarlet clots of grim deceit and ebon beads of bane
flow, deified, within the rotting corpse of human night.
patty m Mar 10
In the land of ghosts there lies a shimmer of light ethereal and sacred.  This hour I feel it and care not if it is sand or water, this destiny that liberates faith and soul.  Too long have I, Hassam prayed for someone to help me in my quest to find the place called Rainzapour.  Here, I was a prisoner shackled in a dungeon,  besieged and tortured by hideous devils especially the man with the evil eye,   But now my hands are unshackled and I breathe the air of freedom.  Sometimes I stare into a void and gather my senses, yet in white shade there is still darkness.  I am strong as I whisper to fate, " take me to Rainzapour and the palace of the black hearted Caliph Rashidun enemy of the common people."  In the beginning I was wearied by travel having been besieged upon by demons and suicidal assaults and yet my love carried me forward to my destiny.
As a very young man I had collected haunted items, a moon chalice used in sacrificial ceremony, a sword taken from the hand of the dead on a battlefield, a mushroom turned to stone still purple with it's poison one bite away from whole.  Once I found a copper bottle with a heavy seal, this too I added to my collection. I was serious and scholarly but studied the art of combat and became skillful in mock battle and combative games. It was at such an event I caught the eye of Bahija, beautiful creature, my dream of womanly curves, my heart throbbed in my chest when she gave to me a flower and soon I gave her my heart.  She was air and nature and her soft voice danced like smoke in my mind.  All went well and one day as we met in a field of poppies a dark shadow descended upon us.  There on every side were stealthy warriors, soldiers of the dead, hooded devils who took me prisoner and stole Bahija away.  Many years later I learned she had been forced into the harem of the Caliph.. Hatred rose in me, hatred and love and it made me powerful.  I was free and still they incessantly dogged my heels like hounds from hell.  I returned to the field behind my home, unwilling to subject my family to the same fate as mine, I didn't enter the house but dug deep into the soft loam to retrieve the box which held a few belongings along with my collection.  The sword gleamed lethally in the light of the moon and a surge of power sang deep in its metal.  The moon chalice as well vibrated, as though it had a task to perform and couldn't wait, but it was the bottle that was most powerful of all throwing itself out of my hands until the seal broke and there before my eyes was a giant genie or jinn.  Broad chested and strong he appeared human but narrowed to fit inside the bottle.  Now I had heard of such as he, but never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see one.  He was of the line of Marid, considered the most powerful tribe of Jinn. When he spoke it was deep and booming and made me shiver inside my skin.  There were no wishes to be granted, he would help me obtain the most important thing in the world that I wanted and once it was mine he would be free of the bottle.  True to his word he taught me to bathe myself in mud fortified with basilisk oil and to bake in the crust of lava until my body hardened  to the strength of armor, and it was he who as my spirit guide drew up my magick sigil a Silver Sword and Chalice above a Star on a background of Ebony. When I was attacked while traveling he trapped himself in my body and we slew hundreds on hundreds of warriors.  Now as I stood outside the wall of Rainzapour, I knew that soon I would be losing this valiant protector for once I claimed my beloved he would be allowed his freedom.  One last battle condemning the Caliph and all his evildoers to die in their polluted blood, as I freed those innocents he forced himself upon.   So close and yet so far I could detect the flickering of a mind heavy hearted and needful of solace. " Bahilja," I whispered, "Can you sense that I'm here for you?"

Tonight the moon will eclipse and the Jinn once more will become part of me as we scaled the high imposing wall cloaked in darkness.  There were soldiers everywhere, we moved  ghost-like, landing lightly in the courtyard. with only seconds to spare, as the Jinn performed his task.  Twenty men downed and now we swap out our clothes for the theirs, donning hooded face covering and weapons to spare.  Soon we're climbing to the halls of the palace lighted by tall torches and golden candlesticks.  I longed to search for the harem and Bahilja, but silent warriors were everywhere guarding halls and doors.  Some raised their hands in welcome as we passed and I nodded in pretense of recognition.  Before us lay a court room and there the Caliph beckoned us to join him in a meal.  No hummus or taboule, but complex stews with spices and herbs their foreign  scents causing a sickness to rise in my throat.  He invited us to pull forth a cushion as though waiting to crush a dove in his hand.  Things were out of control. I could feel that he recognized me for what I really was, a man inhabited by a jinn and yet his eyes were hypnotizing and I felt unable to resist his hospitality, though I knew this was a sorcerer and a man of blackest evil.  Women entered carrying platters of bread and as the light moved I saw her sitting comfortably on a cushion.  A harder version of the young Bahilja, assured and in control as though she had attained great status.  My heart crashed as I saw the child beside her, five or six years old and the image of the Caliph.   She must be his first wife and mother of the heir, no abused innocent, but a woman of status.  There would be no saving her now. She'd hate me for the child clearly was her love and life.   The caliph played me like a snake, his evil eye delving into my soul and the jinn too was confused and perplexed and prey for evil promptings.  Summoning intense concentration I rose up, making ready to leave.  Then the battle began, there would be no easy exit for the air became putrid and all ran away. It was just the jinn and I and the Caliph whose appearance had changed into a huge black jinn with a bejeweled turban.  Suddenly it all became clear, and I saw this is where I belonged. My mind alert now, I pulled myself up to my full stature returning stare for stare and then the battle began.  Abdul my Jinn surfaced from his previous oblivion.  We bowed and the heaven fell down and darkness turned everything bleak.  I felt jabs and pain erupting  though my soul, this was good and evil battling with all their might.  Abdul fought courageously downing the evil one again and again.  But my body was his prison and each bolt rent yet another hole and each hole seeped blood sapping Abdul as I floundered on the ground. .  I was the bottle that enslaved him and he couldn't cut me loose.  And yet as I became a shadow, Abdul reached for my sword, the mushroom and the chalice and the earth stood still, as rumbling vibrations spawned my rebirth..  One slice of the sword sent the black Jinn's head flying and evil shrank to bitter root leaving the Caliph in the shape of a man.  In the chalice Abdul combined wine and root and mushroom, the final swallow and the Caliph was turned to smokeless fire scorching earth .  We drew a circle and ringed it with salt and his spirit was banished to the cave of horrors.  

What of Abdul and me and the widow and child?  My body couldn't contain Abdul so I set him free.  Free to do as he chose and he chose to be the new Caliph. for only he could contain the evil passed down to child who would someday rule.   Bahilja chose to stay with her child becoming the wife of Abdul and I was welcome to stay as well but chose not too.  Somewhere a new life waits for me.  Strong again and free at last with no demons breathing down my neck I ventured out taking with me some riches bestowed upon me by my benevolent hosts. .Perhaps I would find another trove of ancient  relics, or create magic, or maybe I'll find love.  For now I'll return to my family and relate the tale of Rainzapour.  .
Jay Simkins Jan 29
Fungal thought, catch it
But don't hold it in,
It's meant to be felt,
Rather than cotton,
Cushioned against real.

See alien fruit,
Jabber on the wok,
Sizzle the life blood
Come take yourself home,
The place before birth.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
Dead flesh
falls fast,
like statues of ash
which drop
after that
horrible flash.

Black shadows
of negative space
paint the sidewalk
in that nightmare place.

I can see the shaded form
of former children
who once ran and played.
Now all that remains
is charcoal dust
and pictures that must
bear witness to
the loss of human innocence.

Atomic madness,
mushroom clouds
made this
tragic story,
leaving sick clouds
to cough up
nuclear poison
on another batch of
innocent children.
Thomas Hatchett Feb 2017
I found a coven in the woods
Amongst an oaken forest glen.
There,
hidden behind hanging moss,
amongst fern and mushroom,
two of Gaia's faithful maidens
Enchanted me unwittingly and took possession of my gaze

A Pair of Muses
One, of the forest
One, of the sea
Both wind and fire
Equally
In opposition and in sway

Their incantations softly chanted
In a tongue to me unknown
and I listened quietly entranced,
between them in the glow
Of their cauldron hearth fire
Embers burning low

She of the forest was enigma, playfully shy,
coyly toying with the strings all men share,
And in her den, among her herbs and powders and potions  
In preperation, and prepared.
She spoke in riddles and in parable,
Both with body and with stares.

Instantly she knew me
As I had never known;
As if Devined by a mysticism,
Ancient and pure,
So sublime it startles the soul.
In her eyes, so sweet and sincere, simplicity and innocence obscure
A strange and intoxicating knowledge
Of the rare and deepest old
Of the world and it's great secrets-
What its darkest reaches hold.

She of the sea
Was shimmering
A specter
Against the stars
Floating

She was Waves
Of aquamarine
Blue Green
Irridescent
Obscure and reticent
Behind her ever pulsing shade

Camaflouged by her surroundings
This piscian vision lingered in relief
Over a Gilded titan mother of pearl chariot;
The Persephone Throne.
She cast her stare upon me, It's hypnotism beyond compare.
Her shrine of love no man could know,
Nor the secrets that she keeps,
And none ever remember;
One cannot resist her lair

An aquarian cavern,
A haven of calm,
Rest, respite and solitude.
It's lotus blossom lantern
Heart of glowing gold
Cast in shadow upon the ceiling
Glimmering radiant refractions
of the waning of the day

Her oceans sing soft and sweetly,
Casting mist into the air,
And a siren's song disrupts me
Ever suddenly
She washes over me,
Unaware

And though the seven signs they showed to me clearly
Still the stars I misread
through misted eyes,
and soon I fell to dreaming without sleeping
Or so I thought, though i shall never know

In their atmosphere I relinquished this mortal coil into the haze,
And disappeared completely
For an instant, just a moment, perhaps hours.
Perhaps days.

And as abruptly as rushing water to the somnambulists face
I awoke,
As a dreamer awakes
from dreaming of waking,
alone and bleary-eyed,
dreary and confused
amid my own disheveled cave.
And where they've gone, I wish to go,
But where that is, I cannot know
For I would follow them until the days
Turned forever into nights amongst
The Forest and The Waves
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