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whatisthisplanet Mar 2016
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they wept, tearing out their hair
and tossed it in to the ocean
turning into sea weeds.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who hid themselves in caves, till they passed
their skin growing pale and lifeless
till feathers emerged from their hands.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who mutilated their legs
and scarred their feet
so they would no longer be human.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
the creatures wailed as loud as they could,
screeching noises, ringing
sounded only like bells to men.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they didn't see beauty or sin
instead,
walking vessels
and a prize to win.
harpies are described as repulsive half-bird half-human creatures that represented evil. however in early greek mythology, hesiod described them as beautiful winged maidens.
Bryce Jun 27
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus fucking Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
CK Baker Jan 2017
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  .
~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

what about the gull
                          with a wayward splash
or the balanced blend
of cirrus and ash

foghorns throw
the pock wave
sewell stragglers
and bonny boats
earn their keep
Cné Jul 5

Is it the wave kissing the sand
          or is it the ocean
                   deep from her heart
sometimes gently,
                                  often hard,
but always with passion?

Is it the sand kissing back
        or is it the land
            happily losing ground
with every kiss
             to his eternal mistress,
the occupant of his soul?

Hirondelle Sep 8
What are the hands of fate that separate many a great mate,
when even the word ‘great’ is not yet as great
to estimate that which no word could relate?             

This morn cast                  pulverized to a waste...
                        an ocean vast
Miles lay in dregs,
                           lost in crags,
                                           on two rebel hands...

Before a giant gesture so gentle in measure,
did continents cringe and crumble in a seizure
when two spirits of a kind defied leagues at their leisure.

What’s love compared to a soul sibling you have found,
when even the sentiment ‘love’ is not yet as round
to let you know of the wonder so profound you have found?

Today,
        two souls cast                 to a pulverized rest...
                            an ocean vast
And
     miles dwindled away to dregs,
                              washing down the crags
                                                     of two rebel hands
              locked in...
                                ten
                                    mammoth
                            bends...
I have always tried to veer off from the metaphysical, but I doubt how much I have been able to do that especially when it comes to feelings that give me the power to carry on. These innervations being the product of 'thoughts' could sometimes be conjectural and straddle both the physical and the metaphysical. One such example is the notion of spiritual kinship.

Plato's realism transcended the physical and sought the Forms aka Ideas, 'private mental objects'. Over time, this philosophy seeped into art, religion, and human relations most. 'Private' and 'mental'... What better recipe for conjecture: that no man's land between the physical and the metaphysical!

Don't we have a general inclination to look for an answer to some of the 'big' experiences in our lives from a divine, spiritual or some other metaphysical standpoint, which makes them 'private' or more easily understandable? You could, let's say, be an atheist, yet you would have no trouble calling someone who is dear to you your soul sibling just because you have these 'private different' feelings to that person. Isn’t this contradiction astride both the physical and the metaphysical?

Yet the feelings the conjectural reality gives us are real. If your blood is rushing, a doctor can read it on an electrocardiograph for example. It could also be that you imagine that you possess these feelings. How would you know? It's conjectural, however the cardiograph is still the same cardiograph.

This conjectural reality could be your religion, and it makes you happy if you are reconciled...
This conjectural reality could be your nationality, and it makes you proud if you are reconciled...
This conjectural reality could be your car, your dog or even your jacket you wear, and they give you different good feelings as a result of the 'private thoughts' they evoke in you...

Can you imagine the power of that special person, who you believe is your soul sibling in your life? Much greater than all the sources for happiness or other positive feelings in the above stated list... We would have no disagreement about the dog, or the car or even the nation I guess... Yet, 'religion' you might say is greater than a soul sibling when it comes to inspiring in you feelings... Well, I cannot measure things on a conjectural scale, and I truly don’t want to sally into that special sentiment in people’s lives. It’s not a debate of religion here. However, though people do believe religion is reciprocal, it is not physically interactive, and those who interacted are either saints or prophets.

A soul sibling looks at you in the eye, speaks with you and shows their reaction to what you experience together... That a soul sibling’s presence in your life is interactive could make the effect on either sibling comparatively greater than other sources of happiness.

There are myths about soul siblings. One has it that if two people who are soul siblings but don't know it yet will recognise each other when they meet or when they share an experience and their souls will lock. Well, a poem will prance then... Clouds clad with the radiant colours of the rainbow will scud from some magic fairyland to find you and soak you with the torrents of vibrant happiness. If you please, you can let your soul remind you one Frank Sinatra, and you too may begin warbling your happiest song in its rain.

The soul deems no obstacles. Remember Psyche [soul] in Greek mythology. She was forbidden to see her husband and shared with him many a blissful moments only in the dark in a place she didn't even know. However, succumbing to curiosity, she lit her oil lamp once to see her sleeping husband, who was Eros, the god of love. Consequently, she was punished severely by Aphrodite, Eros’s mother. Yet she did not relent despite horrible tribulations. Seeing her defiant devotion to Eros [love] in sore trials and extreme deprivation, gods helped her eventually and she was made a deity in Olympus to live with her husband. Since then ‘soul’ and ‘love’ never parted.

The defiance, perseverance and power of the soul are the key elements in this poem. You can see how it pulverises both continents and oceans between the two soul siblings who by the vagary of fate had just found each other before they had to fall apart. What is space or time in the eye of of the soul when even Aphrodite could not stop its human form, Psyche?

The soul will chirp its song independently from the corporal phenomena, so will soul siblings. Children have soul siblings, the very old do as well; once they cross paths they are inseparable.

Call it conjectural, metaphysical, mythical or even childish; the cardiograph will tell you yet another story...
Shofi Ahmed Nov 2017
Far and near
they are two stars
rose in the same orbit.

One shows up is a
dazzling shimmering sun.
One is so polished fine
as if the zenith is
zipped in zero bytes.

No grave can grasp
it in the end.
It has no end, no size
zero left to demise.

An ocean is no more
now is only a drop.
Now the ocean
is in a drop.

Still on the ground
walking the walk
but those giant feet
do not show up!

Can we hear it bending
the ear on the ground?
The orbits on the go
with the sun on the top
pile into the vibration within
only to float up a notch
then bends down once more
Lily May 9
I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.
Cné Sep 14

if you are the ocean
then I am the mist
that kisses the morning
the way I’d want
to be kissed

if you are the ocean
then anchors aweigh
we'll sail through the evening
and on to the light
the daystar is dawning
we'll keep to the right

like Peter and Wendy
to Neverlands' door
we'll sail on forever
and touch every shore

if you are the ocean,
come wash me away
to some misty morning
and there we will play

if you are the ocean,
then sing me a song
of sailors and treasures
and places long gone

if you are the ocean
come wash me away
to a place, together we’ll
forever stay...

Daisy Marrow Jan 2014
It's so quiet.
It's so strange.
I've never heard silence so loud before.
The drum beats loud and echoes out
leaving us alone in this emptiness.
Come on, love
don't leave me hanging from this cliff.
Don't leave me alone to die.

I know times are hard and you can't stand on your own,
but that doesn't mean you have to leave.
Don't run away from this pain.
Just come into my arms and stay.
At the end of the day
the rain will be blown over and all the flowers will be bloomed.
Even the toughest storms leave beauty for the eyes to love.

Don't get swallowed up in the shadows.
I'll be your light.
I'll guide you,
just follow my feet.
I'll lead you into me and hold you until your numb.

You're standing in the ocean
welcoming the salt water into your body.
Dry your eyes and swim to the shore
because I'll be waiting there.
Just please don't go.
Because if you leave I might just have to follow.
2014

the deepest oceans are the darkest ones
miracle eyes outshine the sun
forsaken forever, my heart you won
oh, miracle eyes, mend love undone

.
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