Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Finger to finger, now she's mine.
She's not too far. She's my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

I break out of my body this way,
an annoying miracle. Could I
put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute's speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

She took you the way a women takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today's paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
Sammie wells Nov 2013
Storms stirring
  Winds surging
 Thunder roaring  
          Lightening cracking
             Rains lashing
          Waves bashing  
Grounds Shaking
                  Lakes Bursting
Cracks Emerging
   Lands Overturning
       Sky's Blurring
                      Streets Burning              
         World's Disturbing
        all Submerging

                         Life's Fading

                    No Escaping!  

                         No Returning!!
Hell hath no fury like mother nature scorned.
jonchius Sep 2015
entering year 2000
rewinding vhs tape
installing napster client
anticipating victorious gore
bursting dot-com bubble
blocking tomorrow's nostalgia
commemorating festival tragedy
examining supersonic concorde
watching election coverage
recounting inconvenient truths
puzzling interface design
booing nuc-u-lar president

rising black monolith
editing non-linear encyclopedia
feeling inaugurally bushed
reliving century's dawn
unchanging state flag
processing royal massacre
escaping insane asylum
sensing impending collapse
perusing city guide
collapsing contemporary structures
initiating quixotic peacekeeping
ignoring conscription threats

entering year 2002
reporting unfortunate pearl
relaxing shotgun porch
exploding roadside bombs
addressing thousand followers
hugging financial meltdown
writing resembling skylines
shocking archipelagic bursts
processing theatrical disaster
tightening homeland security

entering year 2003
proliferating elegant telegnosis
rejecting freedom fries
blazing wartime trails
toppling dictatorial statue
unfurling "mission accomplished"
handling continental blackout
ejecting coronal masses

entering year 2004
flashing multiple sobriquets
populating dorm-roomy website
high-grossing aramaic movie
generating tunnel vision
rushing national anthem
parading goth athletes
letting games begin
accepting soviet passports
continuing obscure flumadiddle
lunar-eclipsing world series
two-terming republican regime
declining personality cult
glowing orange revolution
eroding periglacial drumlins
inundating lacustrine basins
exciting geomorphological processes
enduring tumultuous tsunami

entering year 2005
blasting "galvanize" repeatedly
unforgiving cyclonic scenario
printing controversial drawing
sketching cartoon prophet
overturning hurricane alphabet
rigging medal count
preparing new horizons
rejecting flash sites

entering year 2006
setting plutonian destination
synchronizing new horizons
sighting stellar foison
maintaining feudal system
emerging microblogging service
reading ancient tweets
rotating golden statue
mounting social debt
protesting planetary demotion
forecasting catastrophic recession
executing "innocent" dictator

entering year 2007
declining share prices
building ruby railroad
lifting presidential term-limits
perpetuating oil-rich dictatorships
falling interstate bridge
slugging giant bonds
clothing blackwater mercenaries
disappearing internet personalities
unforgiving writers strike

entering year 2008
stealing variable thunders
relaxing domain names
letting games continue
exploding sunrise propane
requesting birth certificate
electing another suit
disappointing orthodox republicans
microblogging maximal meltdown

entering year 2009
inaugurating new president
encountering bear markets
cackling risible laughter
dying pop king
deleting neolithic internet

entering year 2010
collapsing presidential palace
prospering cinematic avatar
pronouncing eyjafjallajökull effortlessly
"kettling riot police
flaming cop cruiser"
blasting text-based vuvuzelas
leaking diplomatic cables
fading pre-twitter memories
self-immolating street vendor

entering year 2011
"enervating nine-point quake
propagating harbor wave
inundating nuclear plant
irradiating unclear fates"
raging mid-eastern spring
throwing body asea
locating trojan asteroid
penetrating financial throughfare
resonating oral amplifier
blazing verdant material

entering year 2012
rising chubby dictator
gentrifying weird twitter
exploding next month
intriguing "fake" passport
proliferating single-hued avatars
surging sandy cyclone
inhabiting alternate universe
manipulating another election
rigging people's ballots
perpetuating manipulated world
fulfilling megalomaniac urges
surviving previous apocalypse
surviving another baktun

entering year 2013
descending rogue meteor
encoding festival weekend
obfuscating's very own
approving snow den
searching yaya island
soaking wet veld

entering year 2014
missing plane geometry?
annexing peninsular territory
printing powdered medication
forecasting meteoric boomtime
prevailing monochromatic identity
avoiding aviation accidents
determining auspicious date
revising deactivation plans
reliving years 2000-2014
Alex Hoffman Sep 2015
We’re going through a transitional period
trying to be good friends to one another
yet overwhelmingly self absorbed.

We got no time to think about legacy’s.
Our future takes cover from
the worry of the present
kicking the shins of our courage.

We smoke to forget
Drink to muster the drive to begin
Eat out of pots washed in
gas station sinks.

We collapse each moment into a screen
capturing scenery with black boxes
documenting life behind pixels and glass.

We thrive on uncertainty
Middle fingers up
to the system
that gives us shelter
that we exploit to find freedom
overturning the stones of a complex world
looking for definitions and characters
to call culture.
MBishop Jul 2014
When I say everything is crashing to pieces,
Falling apart before my very unadulterated eyes,
I don't mean it as a metaphor.
No. I mean things are literally breaking to bits.

When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
With every step I take across this suspension bridge, I can feel the ground give way to my weight and endlessly tumble and twist toward its impending demise to the unsuspecting ground below. (Albeit, it has yet to have trouble with the racing automobiles wizzing past me with a taunting doppler)

When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
I have the Midas touch.
Only, when things come in brief contact with my fare skin, they need not turn into gold but rather chaos.

When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
With every flip of the switch comes an explosion of glass bits and fiery yellow sparks shooting awry (give my thanks to the short fuse)

When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
I attempt to live out my usual ordinary uneventful lifestyle, and I leave a wake of destruction in my route to the corner store! (Remind me to apologize to the florist- I'll have to get him some newly birthed petunias)

When I say everything is crahsing to pieces, I mean
I fear cutting onions lest the knife get fed up with being dulled by various vegitables and find its way to my throat, holding me hostage in the kitchen via blade tip to jugular

When I say everything is crashing to pieces, I mean
I would be far from surprised if the monsters under the bed had a mutiny and overthrew their sane captain who keeps them from overturning my mattress every night, bless him

When I say everything is crashing to pieces,
Falling apart before my very mundane eyes, I don't mean it figuratively.
No. Things are literally breaking into tiny wooden splinters.
But don't you for a second dilute your mind into thinking this bothers me in any way.
I've learned to just let the pieces fall where they may
Bad luck
Sara L Russell Oct 2009
In 4 sonnets, by Sara L. Russell
(aka Pinky Andrexa) 2/6/03

I

A vampire's spun of dust and frailty,
Condemned to shun the healing light of day;
No innocent first kiss for such as he,
No cross to keep his own demons away.

He's poised in shadow, by the lady's bed,
Fixated by her flawless, youthful skin,
Her fragile throat beneath her dreaming head,
Translucent, showing pale blue veins within.

"And will I lift the curtain of thy hair,
And on thy pale white *****, stoop to feed?
If thou wakest to find me sleeping there
Would there be retribution for my greed?"

She does not hear his whispered litany.
He stoops to feed, in silent ecstasy.


II

Her blood intoxicates him right away.
His head is reeling; he is feeling strange.
She's tasted claret earlier that day,
Surfiet of wine has caused her blood to change.

Inebriated now, he starts to yawn,
As gently, like a cradle, the room sways.
He's mindful he must not linger till dawn,
Yet down he lies and, dozing, there he stays.

Wild dreams of parties fill his sozzled mind:
Of sanguinary crimes, of flying free,
Of hanging upside down with his own kind,
In places that the sun will never see.

As if thrown from a lofty height, he lies.
Beside him, she has opened her blue eyes.


III

The lady does not turn her drowsy head
At first, but when she does, stifles a cry.
The ashen youth beside her appears dead,
With bloodied lips; until he seems to sigh,

Whereon his mouth curves into a half-smile,
His wanton eyebrows flicker as he dreams.
She settles down to watch him for a while,
How very dark and dangerous he seems!

"And will I lift the curtain of thy hair
And on thy handsome throat, alight to feed?
If thou wakest to find me lying there,
Wouldst thou be angry, or rejoice to bleed?"

Did I say that? She wonders, feeling odd,
She gives her new sharp canine teeth a ****.


IV

He wakes, looks up - and she is looking down.
Her wide blue eyes betray none of her fears.
He stares at her, his hand raised to his crown
(He's not had such a hangover for years).

Gaze locks to gaze; they cannot turn away,
He falls into her eyes, she into his,
Then there is nothing left to do or say
Until they have exchanged a tender kiss.

Now comes her father, thumping up the stairs,
The vampire turns, in dreamy half-surprise,
Lifting her up, and, overturning chairs,
Leaps to the window sill; fire in his eyes.

"You're mine now, little one"  She hears him say.
One more leap - and she's spirited away.
The beauty of life isn't captured in files nor profiles.
It's in a blink or a thought of a distant place.
It lies in emotions that reminice of a time not yet spent.
It is a few seconds in a multiple uncaptured frames.
It lies in the ignored existence of composure.
It influences the untapped recognitions of appreciation.

The beauty of life is not about me showing or telling.
It's only about a few thoughts that inspire ambitions.
A few dreams that elevate fantasies.

The beauty of life is about me in a second painting a picture of elegant brush strokes,
the motion of the eye that composes a visual symphony,
it is an organised cluster of sounds that co-ordinates the performances of all other senses.
It is about leaving open a beat of the heart, only to fill it with the energies of the living.

The beauty of life isn't about searching for joy,
but learning from memories of both depression and tranquility.
It is about the heart losing weight,
the smile gaining width and height.

The beauty of life is about the value of sorrow depreciating.

For me it's about ploughing joy from seeds of madness,
or overturning a frown into a thing of beauty.
It's about dreams that don't need me to sleep and nightmares that have no back up files.

The beauty of life...

As much as I try to define it,
the statements always have a questionmark at the end.

So forever I search, for the beauty of life...
Onoma Oct 2018
there's this purple

gala at the end of time...

which never seems

to begin.

the moon goes thru

all her phases in the

blink of an eye.

which makes the floor

feel like it's ebbing and

flowing.

attendees break out into

soul-stirring croons about

shedding lifetimes of

loved ones.

water goes to wine, wine

goes to water...and desire

is a food continually served.

though one night my nerve

stuck to me, and rattled.

i began overturning and smashing

everything in sight.

everyone smiled...and the damage

was cleaned.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
(for Ingrid)

sudden like,
no intermission tween
sleepy and pangs~pinging,
rested, then arrested  
no intervening leavening
proper impromptu improper

slip sleep out of bed,
water wash the eyes,
the most private part
of all of them privates

primp the tongue
rinse fresh mint,
musk the body chest,
where hands go to hide
in forests of hair shirts
so the contrast of
smooth shaven
skin fresh cut
never clearer

go down to sandy beach

look for, take the
chances of never,
overturn the stones
protruding inviting asking
for discovery

each a chance of ever
each was a chance of never
all now mine,
sanded smooth pebbles
in sea~lotion washed,
fine coolness on warm hands,
brain thought-full-ness simplify,
so beautiful so beautiful
mantra unmasking human peculiar
oils essential

she turns towards...
mostly sleeping
logic dictating queries of ascertain-meant,
time and temperature, place?
hands answer all
here and now and the heat
of jeopardy

collect the pebbles in pockets
till overflowing overturning spilling unaided,
you cannot find the line that defines
the separation of
beach and sea,
church and state,
for it has been washed away by
uncovering discovering derisking
so many chances of never,
so many pebbles of ever

with toy shovel fingers,
warming eye scalpels cutting exploration,
exploiting the workers and the queen bee,
hidden in moist sand
looking for undiscovered poems
in skin folds,
no castle building just hole digging,
treasure seeking thrilling pebbles finding
head dizzy sun hot stones overturning
finding noisy ones where once
sleep suspending breathing quiet stored

you don't waste time editing,
just dig and spill,
just laser and spit
metaphors
that lance and crash - mixing into each other in confusion,
uncaring, for nonetheless,
clarity converts chances
of never
into ever,
integrating the what ifs
into what is...
1. Homage for the poet Ingrid
http://hellopoetry.com/ingrid-1/

2. A riff of an older work, http://hellopoetry.com/poem/623154/so-many-poems-in-shallow-graves-lay/
which I rediscovered thanks to ryn who stumbled upon it, abd then inspired by a comment of Victoria.   In the best sense, a collaboration of provocation (and thus a new poem born)
Rhianecdote May 2015
Sitting in the gutter
Cause its the only place to see
What guts are

Wondering does anybody
Fight for anything
Anymore?

Cause I don't see it

I see people walking past
Opportunity
Walking away from things
With ease
Cold feet
Treading cautiously
Feeding doubts fire
Going about Life so passively

But Hold up let's join a cause!

Direct our anger
Politically, racially,
at poverty and inequality
Donate some money
Rant constantly about
Overturning regimes
Then retreat back to apathy
Woe is me!

Bleeding hearts in their masses
Floating past me
In the gutter
Cause its the only place to see
what guts are...
And hearts
Cause no one has heart anymore

Where is the love?
Where is the passion?
The courage and the loyalty?
All Going about life so Half heartedly
And what can you do with half a heart?

Give it to Me

Cause as I'm sat here
Reading entrails like some gypsy
Passing judgement on you
A poor reflection on me

It seems I lost mine

So I embrace the pain
that migrates from
an empty chest to
A swelling stomach

Lift myself up from that gutter
And feel what guts are
Take half that heart
And see how far it'll take me...

**To make it whole
And think ****, I best get some Rennies on my way past the shop :P
In this land
that is filled
with authorities,
I find nothing and
nothing that
bothers me
I am being
smothered in
the pillows of
mediocrity
drowned by the
blindness of those
who can never be
the infiniteness
of the human sea.
In this land filled
to the brim
with authority
I am never and
nor will I be ever free.
Joan Karcher Apr 2013
variegated dreams
overturning the ashened night
wake, wake
branch and twist
to the music
of the tide
escapism of this world engulfed
with itineraries and haste
leaving fragments of vivacity in its wake
like riding a comet through life
stop, stop
smell the roses
make shapes out of clouds
within the starry night
rest, rest
blooming minds
drudging through the snow
whilst in drought
turning page after page
within this infancy
of human kind
sleep
and read but a line
Wk kortas Apr 2017
We’d known him, back in the day
At dear old Millard Fillmore Elementary,
As Three-Desks Tommy, highly imaginative monicker
Deriving from his decidedly unimaginative first name
And the fact that he, indeed, had three desks,
Each of them stuffed chock-full
With uncounted numbers of pencils and erasers,
Any number of homework papers
(Usually A’s and A-pluses,
Though there were the odd B’s and B-minuses as well,
As he was a bright, in fact inordinately bright, child,
But sometimes given to sloppiness and stray pencil marks
And a predilection for not reading the directions completely)
Eerily accurate renditions of dinosaurs,
Wildly inventive stories featuring rainbow-hued dragons,
Noble and voluble talking bovines,
And knights and knaves of every size, shape, and suzerain,
Stories which resided cheek-to-jowl with some bit of uneaten sandwich
Until such time it made its existence
Abundantly clear to the custodial staff.
We’d never stopped to think much about his miniature Maginot Line;
It was what Tommy did and had always done
For as long as we could remember,
Though there were some teachers and an assistant principal or two
Who thought the whole thing was permissive bordering on coddling
(His teacher was a veteran of the wars, and well-insulated by tenure,
But she had grown weary of over-glasses glares and snide asides
When Tommy’s name came up in the staff room,
A death by a thousand cuts and all that),
And one day, while moving one of his desks
To clear space for Simon Says,
It had caught on a sticky spot,
Overturning onto a soon-to-be-fractured toe.
When he came back to school, accompanied by an ungainly cast
And an equally ungainly pair of crutches, his teacher took him aside.
Tommy, she purred, Maybe someone is trying to tell you something.
The other kids all make due with one desk,
And I’m sure you can find a way to as well, don’t you, Tommy?

So Tommy embarked on a great cleansing of his little fiefdom,
Filling several garbage cans with his collected works,
(Math papers and mastodons, bologna and Brobdingnagians)
And afterward he’d kept himself to one standard desk,
Duly filing, returning, and circular-filing his paperwork
As the occasion demanded
(Though one time Murph Dunkirk
Asked Three-Desks if he minded downsizing;
Tommy just shrugged, and said Well, it’s better than a broken foot)
And maybe in his dreams he had a thousand desks,
A thousand tops to fling open,
A thousand repositories for light and legend
Or perhaps he never gave it so much as a second thought,
No way to know now, one supposes,
Though if anything out of the ordinary had come his way,
We would’ve probably heard.
Water
under
the bridge,

rolling
and tumbling,

kissing
the river's
edge.

Trees
bend
in the breeze.

The
lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars.

His *****
strikes
the earth,

overturning
a crawler's
night lunch.

A bottle
of ***
shared
by two

who steer
clear
of the fire's
orangey
fingers.

Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the night's
sky.
Dag J May 2013
racing mind in surreal
   unseen battle with
nonrelated assignments as it
        never leaves the path of
        indulgement and presence under the
                    neon lights of the more
                 grungy corners of the soul

        theoretically overturning a
    hopeless truth as the absence of
                           outgoing expectations to
                          undermined memories in
                     glowing pastel colours takes us
             home to where we belong in
                              time for a late breakfast as we
     surrender to beautiful abstract Harmony and inner Peace
meditation for the modern ancestor

© MMXIII by Day J
anonymous Jul 2016
tap me right and i am a tuning fork
my bones hum a desire to shirk, to move,
to shake the dust for vistas unseen

my feet are hungry
my skin has to taste every flavor of dirt
it gets bored with the daily repetition of texture and shade

what of all the palms unpressed and eyes ungazed?

i am a drunk and i'm late and i can't find my keys but i know they're in my bedroom somewhere
so i search unevenly, moving from corner to corner, stumbling, overturning pillows and ***** t-shirts, knocking down lamps, cursing and muttering, squinting and sweating ugly

this is my each day. my skin feels too tight. i want to crack it open at my elbows and the edges of my scalp and crawl out of myself,
swollen so large no city can contain me.
let me boil until i am atmosphere,
citizen of every nation,
kisser of every lip and eyelid,
dervish of every flame or patch of dry earth.
Alexander Price Nov 2010
I walk this trail trepidaciously, ever fearful that my next step will be the pit into which I'm confident I'll fall.
Being this pessimistic comes so easily; like the changing of the tides I go from high to low almost every single day.
Yet, I can't say that I've ever been happier.
Content to live day to day; month to month; never planning and always partying.
There's too much about which to worry and all I have is time now, so the worries flood my thoughts, overturning any left over hoes and dreams, sending them crashing to the bottom of my empty heart.
Nothing is able to grow here, as if an atomic blast razed the earth, charring its rocky surface and melting it to glass.
These song always make make me feel the same. Every time I listen to them, the same nostalgic sense of optimism; that peculiar feeling that everything is alright washes over me like a tide crashing on a rocky outcrop, slowly softening my rough edges.
But the knowledge still remains: I am a rock, no matter how smooth, I am always hardened and stubborn. Useless as I am.
The smallest pieces of life contain laws written in stone
for the world to lose interest in kind.
They can be easily read in the dark then left to remain
as still as a man
who is more than just a bit color-blind.

Sometimes I sit within varied distances from it all,
breaking into my life,
when all I want to do is advise
the sun to shine.  
Because I know, a smile can make a break
flourish into the clearing
we can only hope to find.

I realize how fantastically black the sky can be
and how its state
saves all the words of love
and their simplicity.
Secrets granted from them sometimes say
that life is not fair
when it pierces the souls’ of you and me.

Bound inside a myriad of righteousness
we tried a million times
to offer up the friends of our needs.
Until honesty went down on its knees
seeking to live on the conviction it studies,
in order to continue to breathe.

I have pulled repeatedly from the prayers
I held deep inside mirrors,
in order once again to find my shining sun.
However, often, overturning truth
is a journey best remembered as a failure,
failing to reach out or help a single one.

Can all judgment be silent and still believed
when it comes in on the emotions
we sometimes bend into a shield?  
Stranger in your sight is how they burn,
even when your body moves to erase the way
last night made you feel.

Sometimes I wonder if each page of life
that wanders sincerely into light,
finds the  deepest waves of darkness
attempting to recreate streams of painful fire.
Is the light’s glory not held inside a sea of calm
you would swim to acquire?
© 2012 Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
http://www.changefulstormpoetry.blogspot.com
Lotus position,
River running
Overturning the pebbles
Beneath the surface
Thumb and middle fingers
Pressed together
Leaves are falling
From the tree I sit beneath
Cherry blossoms fall around me
Like pink rain
Inhale, exhale,
My lungs fill and then deflate,
And I feel endorphins leave my brainstem
And spread through my body
As I repeat my mantra,

The birds are singing above my head
I see the late evening sun
Paint the sky burnt orange and pink
Through closed lids
all I can smell are flowers and dew
I taste the peace upon my breath,
And it's very sweet

I am what I am,
I am nature
I am human
I am the universe,
simply observing itself
For a while
I am beautiful,
I will witness myself
In my full, and glorious splendor

I will understand
The real nature
Of things

Inhale, exhale...
Tried to give the imagery of meditating by a river beneath a beautiful tree. I'm sure you got that, though.
Jae Elle May 2022
I could make up some aesthetic intro
about how the rain is falling
& how the air tastes
but they’ve read it all at least
a thousand times,
at least.

it’s “spring” in Kansas and it’s rainy
& cold as **** for May
not much poetic about it unless
you’re like Shirley Manson
I guess
storms used to terrify me but
now I adore them;
transient and full of intensity
& beautifully


unpredictable


I haven’t really tried to write in so long
I had to force myself to pry open
the dusty laptop --
only because I knew I’d be too impatient
putting thoughts with pen
onto paper

I get why Buk relied on his typewriter
I just wish I had his mental fortitude to write
through complete writer’s block
at the edge of my
wit’s end

the world has not improved, as we kind of
all suspected
the supreme court is dipping their toes
into overturning roe. vs. wade

& all in the midst of the worst inflation
I’ve ever seen
(and a formula shortage)
it’s all a stage and we’ve all been
the puppets for years

but the fourth wall is coming down,
albeit slowly.



I wonder what he would have had to say about it.

enough, I’m sure.
MisfitOfSociety Feb 2019
They said there would be a day,
When rivers become oceans,
Boats become airplanes,
And mountains become islands.

Well that day has come,
Got to climb to a higher ground now or drown.
The rain is drumming down,
Covering over every ground.

They said there would be a day,
When God would toss a stone.
Hurtling It across space,
To crush every bone.

Well that day has come,
No where to hide and no where to run.
The end is here and it is coming for everyone.

The sewers are overturning drowning the vermin in their own ****!
It’s the end of the mother ******* world, and I’m welcoming it!

They said this day would never come,
That the world would always be the same.
Well the day has come.
The world needed a change,
So God tossed a stone at it!

It came like a thief in the night.
People looked from the ground and looked to the sky,
And saw rain, hail and asteroids coming down!
It took all of that for them to raise an eye.

This is the end,
And also the beginning.
Welcome the change,
Or be washed away!

Woe to the *** offenders;
Woe to the paedophiles;
Woe to the *****;
Woe to the ******;
Woe to the politicians;
Woe to the cultists;
Woe to the tyrants;
Woe to the killers;
And woe to all those who call evil good.
Mother earth has had enough of your ****.
She is putting and end to all of it.

They said there would be a day,
When all of this evil was washed away.
And now that it is here,
I have never been so happy to say:
I’m watching the ground give way into a chasm,
I’m watching the vermin being swallowed by the ocean.
I’m watching bus sized hail leveling the cities.
I’m watching an astroid hitting earth off it’s axis.
I’m warching earth being hurtled across space.
I’m witnessing the change.
I’m welcoming it with open arms.

Don’t just call me an anarchist,
Look into what I am saying.
You really can’t accept change,
Well, it doesn’t accept you either.
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2017
~
The swelling brooks, so clear toned,
Rolling rounds over musical stones,

That unveil the rushed veins of May,
Race in wide cool stills, freshnesses,

Of the moistened soils overturning
And the chimes in the belled leaves,

Before they shout from buds keyed,
To syncopate in sun by bopping bees

Who buzz with jazzy pillowing waft,
Of daisy downs, in mid air to reeds,

Lips newly sprouted, banding green,
Groove myriad symphonies of colour

And the roots of trees tempo tapping,
Into waters plucked, earthy sounding,

All voice, with woodland birds, in joys
Do trumpet, O what new life to come.
Colm Jul 2016
On this tabletop we sit, soaking bodies weighted down.

Overturning back and forth, arm in arm, alone in town.

Rushing water pouring in and spinning round, pounding down.

Inside of this house and out. Turmoil rises up, and gathers all around.

Listen to the hallways hum, and hear the words escape my mouth.

Like a song you sing aloud, speaking of a hiding place where you belong.

Echoing, my old guitar is crying out.

Asking if within the flood we ever will at last be found?
If our love is a hurricane....
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2016
.
The swelling brooks, so clear toned,
Rolling rounds over musical stones,

That unveil the rushed veins of May,
Race in wide cool stills, freshnesses,

Of the moistened soils overturning
And the chimes in the belled leaves,

Before they shout from buds keyed,
To syncopate in sun by bopping bees

Who buzz with jazzy pillowing waft,
Of daisy downs, in mid air to reeds,

Lips newly sprouted, banding green,
Groove myriad symphonies of colour

And the roots of trees tempo tapping,
Into waters plucked, earthy sounding,

All voice in joys with woodland birds,
Do trumpet, O what new life to come.
Where does man, where does woman, where does beast go
When slumber dawns upon their fleshly vessel?
When the twilit sky bleeds into a stygian veil?
When the musicality within begins to take psychosomatic form?
I reminisce over the eventuality that stirred my burgeoning.
It quaked my lucubrations, my excogitations, intellectualizations;
Ye, The Incendiary Phoenix Flame billows within. Rebirth awaits
every anima forged by The Apotheosis of The Astral Flame.

The doughty firebrand in me shalt nought surrender,
The Gaian Warrior within shall ne'er be forgotten,
And my reverenc'd doubts  shall be undone.
O, whence all incredulities have been uttered The Leadings of Lovelight shall prevail. The Vestige that once ravaged my remembrance shall vanish into The Magisterial Tides of Oblivion,
We are all one with the Blood-Tinged Oath, The Fulgent Daystar;
He, exhaled eternity into the souls vexed by mortality.

Underneath the Sun:
There breathes an azure vista.
What lieth above our aethereal aegis has incited inquisitiveness aeons aforetime
Open your hearts to the cosmic currents, the transcendent torrent,
The Communal Oneness of The Primal Phantasmagoric;
By that One,
For all time we were summoned.

Question what lie before to be spirited away.
  Listen to the arcadian zephyr whisper
              Through in, through out your every breath. Trust, the Sanctity of intuition.
Coloring the Changing of The Seasons.
The aqueous dew throngs upon virescent leaflets,
A fulgurant surge fulminates
Upon The Celestial’s bedarkened sky.

Red- Shift Existence: evidence, upon which a system of belief expands, under examination
Therefore, it is our duty to ponder the Legacy of the Sages
That we might unravel the esoteric secrets
That function as a key
In gainsaying, in overturning The Lock of Fallacy.
Finally we gain understanding, we acquire wisdom
Altering our cognitive trajectory.

What is Life,
What is Love,
What is Divinity,
Without creativity?
Without imagination?
Without vision?
We must all surrender to
The Sacral Expressions of Omnibenevolence.
Spirituality is a fleshly disorientation, a carnal discombobulation;
So, relinquish your dysphoric allegiance
With the pangs of hunger and malice.
Effloresce into The Luminary,
We Denizens of Light,
Were all
Foreordained
To be.

(Se' lah)


Excelsior Forevermore,



Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Pearson Bolt May 2019
the first time i choked on tear-gas,
we were standing in the heart of the Empire.
the scent of capsaicin still smarted
as we fished our medic bags for water-bottles
to flush our comrades’ eyes. we did not weep
for the revolt. we were at peace even as we knew,
beyond a shadow of a doubt,
we were ******.

the black bloc, three thousand strong,
had raged through the streets of D.C.
overturning dumpsters, torching limos,
taking hammers and crowbars
to Bank of America windows
with gleeful abandon, a sense of endless,
militant joy. it would be
anarchy or annihilation.

the spontaneous insurrection
of the antifascist demonstration
was an inferno hotter than the dumpster-fires
we’d left like signal-flares in our wake.
for a moment, there, we could feel
the ******* quaking as our feet
shook the Earth, stepping
in-and-out of Lovecraftian shadows,
eldritch horrors of doom gloating over us.

but we’d been kettled,
cordoned by cops in riot gear,
cut-off from all possible routes of escape.
faceless phantoms clutching cudgels
to bludgeon our conflagration
into submission. and then
the call came. “this way! this way!
we found an exit!”

immediately, the cops swarmed in,
their momentarily vindictive arrogance
shattered by the freedom that rang
like church-bells in a half-a-hundred voices.
“this way! this way! we found an exit!”
motorcycles turned down the alleyway,
sirens screaming, echoing off the tenement halls
and only one of us possessed the sense to intervene.

for a moment, she stood alone.
a single figure, holding up her hands
and shaking her head, refusing to let
the ******* advance. but courage
is infectious. a moment later,
another joined her, then another,
until all of a sudden a half-a-dozen
of us stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shouting,

no pasaran! you shall not pass!”
we waited for the billy-clubs to rain
hell upon our shoulders, but still
we remained steadfast, anchored
by the weight of our conviction
and the hope that even if we fell
the rest of the bloc would escape
to wreak havoc another day.
Chapter ***
Second Hegira to Patmos
Part VIII - Conclusion of Judah

What can be perceived by the Universe of Judah would be in a Universal Eye of photochemistry, within the phosphorescence’s of the spectrum of the Jaffa roadstead, which magnetized the electricity of the visible spray, within the visible field of the photon in the same bay. ,  as the responsible elemental particle guarantor of the quantum manifestations of the electromagnetic phenomenon. Carrying gamma-ray electromagnetic radiation over the entire Jaffa atmosphere, X-rays, ultraviolet light, visible light, infrared light, microwaves and radio waves, causing the ellipsis of Radio Moscow on October 29, 1929, right there appearing in the future to the present before the Hegira to Patmos.


Ellipsis Radio Moscow 1929 - Parapsychological Radial Regression:

“Radio Moscow goes on the air on October 29, 1929. And this first foreign language broadcast would be in Greek, to be heard by everyone in Jaffa. The Radio Moscow bulletins expressed great unease at the recent rise to power of Adolf ****** in Germany during the 1930s. It was considered an unintelligible and visionary daphnomancy rummage, predicting the persecution of the Hebrews and the extermination of themselves, for which San John the Apostle immediately tunes in common with Vernarth, the instant he was shaken by this radio wave from number twenty-nine of the Jaffa exit edict. The visible fantasy of this would disconform the audio listeners, towards the behavior of certain swings and intermittences that made the natural light of Jaffa intermingled with luminescence’s, with waves and photons in presumptuous duality to dominate Vernarth's behavior when invaded by this flash of prophetic invasion. The spheres of observation of the Apostle made it faster to climb and try to sustain this invasive radial wave that crossed time thousands of years, from the year 1929 to the year 165 AD. C. approximately that it traveled with a great infinite wave speed at a great percentage of microseconds. All this information alerted the native son of Capernaum, worrying too much about this ethno-political situation. The microwave refracted, undergoing a change in direction that collided with the ship, in its floating basement portion, due to the fact that this wave propagated at different speeds, considering that the medium in which they were moving was clearly made of wood, but propelled by a large vehicle of transmission through the winding water up to the massive hull. Doing and scheming what would make them move immediately to go to Cyprus; Limassol. The speed of the radial wave was stationary on the canopy and that of the hull by the chromatics of the water that lightened its refraction, through the facets of the canopy and canopy, bizarrely acting as an overheated exponential concave-angle drive motor.

An expeditious quarrelsome radial wave appears in Vernarth's tongue:

Vernarth says: “Anti-Semitism is a matter of the profiteer of slavery and insubstantial ethnic resources, not allowing the advancement of millennial and primordial civil social immigrations to be related, which migrate to the socio-political statuses, already allowed since their arrival in the Rhineland during the Roman Empire. The Jewish community thrived until the end of the 11th century. Starting with the First Crusade, it had to go through a long stormy period, marked by massacres, accusations of ritual crimes, various extortions and expulsions. Their legal status was degraded and Jews were prohibited from exercising most of the trades. In the 18th century, philosophers of the Enlightenment, such as Moses Mendelssohn, were outraged by this miserable condition and launched a campaign of denunciation. However, the path that led to Emancipation was long and lasted nearly a century, after which the Jewish community was integrated into society. Its assimilation allowed an economic and intellectual success that aroused suspicion in certain sectors, also giving rise to anti-Semitism. The coming to power of Adolf ****** in 1933 put Jews on the fringes of German society. The persecutions were followed by deportation and then extermination during World War II. After the war, the Jewish community is slowly rebuilding thanks to the support of the German federal government”

The Apostle heard this with the speed of becoming a steely carnation, breaking the prominence that would be caused by intervening with other civilizations with invigorated gardens, to predominate in the existence of the world as a chosen people, and having to submit to all kinds of propagandist ministerial exactions. , limiting the legitimate gaps to prosper beyond the Mosaic acquired teachings, in some dense field devoid of different disintegrations of divine rabbi illumination, either in a straight line or the same line of the One-dimensional Beams of Ein Kerem's geometry. This time enchanted with lamb's blood coined on its cornices, to sprout them by all those who had to endure the enigma of departure towards the rectilinear desert, as a property of the radio waves exhibited here as a dogmatic whole, dusting in the geometric regime, which testifies to a all of "May the Savior's Tunic shake all the structures of critical and political thought and race brilliance." Producing objective intellectual blood,  which would be integrated into the Social Christian party in Germany in 1930. But every elementary thesis, it would promulgate the emphasis on the centrality of social democracy, of bringing a great work to Patmos, of dividing itself by time when crossing the line of the time, providing the solid One-dimensional Beams of Joshua in Kafersesuh, for the protectorate of the holocaust and sacrifice, to introduce the premises of emancipation and abolition of the subterfuge of marginalized social fields, devoid of the inter-ethnic social guarantee and of the Semitic rooted heel. This natural property is of exception of the race of San Juan Apóstol; son of Zebedeo, consisting of bringing this to the most informative substantiality, to Patmos to protect them organized.

From this dialectical propagation great shadows emerged, interposing opacities that showed many Hebrews falling into concentration camps and at the exact moments of expropriation of their real estate. Naked bodies can be seen only with dark shadows, with small hints of imperturbability on their split faces, remaining in the gloom of the Conviction, with some photos of their children in relative proximity to the deadly impression of last rales and their undermined, perishable pointed expressions , appearing in the rictus of their wives, with narrow condemnatory anguish falling on them from the same Cell of the stormy Éscaton, which transcended under Semitic history; the resurrection of the dead, divine judgment, heaven and eternal happiness with God or damnation and hell. Here a perfect archetypal case of the disconcerting radial wave overturning novelty and satisfaction before the curiosity of the listeners, but it was a "very new Revelation at the same time, being objectivity for the cell of San Juan and for the immanent protectorate", which designates the dimension mundane and temporal opposed to transcendence.   Because many Christians have become unable to conceive of the "other world" as a consistent, real reality, and have transferred to this world the hope of a full and happy life. In this "immanentization" both evangelical prosperity theologies, which see the Christian faith as the means to achieve material well-being, as well as Catholic liberation theologies, for which faith should lead the believer to fight for autonomy and development of the world's indigent populations oppressed by powerful multinationals and their collaborators.
Vernarth pulls a blind when they were already walking on the magnetized sea capering, without feeling how the sea was besieging them,… saying himself: “I keep looking through the hole of my ignorance, and I can see in monochrome the dictators displaying their diffraction placards lights, key to ethnic oppression "in black and white" and the veers going through the gap in the paths of the Hebrews with their suitcases and belongings, lost and surrendering to the laments united to the Messiah. In combined holistic, centered on the measure of a third screen and taking place in alternate light and dark bands, in the Lepanto ship when everyone found out widely about the radial phenomenon in non-transistorized tubes, in a frank romance with the old ways of their customs. .

End Ellipsis Radial Radio Moscow

The phenomenon of interferences of a natural nature continues, making their broken hearts happy, they all sang Christian songs that made them put vertical lines on their faces, between both refined cheeks. Leaving them incidence of light of fasting, to signal like thrones of lighthouses that illuminate the skies of the seas of the Messiah, putting before them to millions of years light by the side that now they could see him.

The angles are scattered, and fall on the light of the Messiah, of the Our Father in twilights, falling on the others like the same conclusive Gethsemane leaf from the Olive Tree Bern. As the light flowed on the matter that protected the ship to Limassol, industrial energy was constituted in all the directions of the surface optics, generating reflections in the weak interferences that oscillated as an immobile remnant of the radio waves still active. This phenomenon made Brisehal appear from the bottom of the sea; the giant of Dasht-e-Lut, who was approaching to protect Vernarth and the Hex Birthright. Generating a dynamic global heterogeneous internal light in the navigation radius of the ship, from a more parsimonious speed to a more frustrated relative, to try to synchronize the flashes of the Xifos sword of Vertnath Hoplite, which allowed it to use it as a sextant, to arrive at the destination Cypriot. In this emptiness of energy by another replaced, an imprint of the same emptiness arises with lengths of movement of submarine waves, caused by the giant Brisehal to displace them in washings of the Adonis in accordance with the Sword of his master Vernarth Ephebo. Dispersing evaporated drops of the Dasth-e-Lut  desert that remained in the sewage areas of his ears, polarizing the defensive crystals of the hyper active and current environment of the flagellated Phalangists in Gaugamela, which still twisted on the diaphanous and immaterial earth that followed in heated conflict, until the coexistence of the oppressor ceases it. The worlds rotated parallel continue to each other not rotated, being disturbed, in another dimension mediated by the warned consciousness, which lacks all neutral rationality. It would only be attempts to pierce through the crystals of Faith ..., dominating salute projectiles of malevolent brotherhood, plunged into a maximum intensity of crystalloid breaking and rupture, which emanates from the lens of the Messiah, in the angles of underwater darkness.

All this atmosphere is self-absorbed, leaving  tele-transferred divine rabbi light, in stored energy reaction levels, whose capacity would exceed one billion cubic meters due to the breakdown between the chemical bonds caused in radiant energy, dissociating molecules by the effect of sublime light from grave sounds of immanence, and being redefined as the interaction between one or more mass cells of light against a nomadic target molecule. Also suitable for the extreme radicalization suffered by marine plants, which also sailed expelled from Jaffa's radical disturbed seabed.

Hellenic Existential Hypnosis

Reaching the central memory of the Aegean Sea between the parallels 36-38 of latitude and meridians 24-26 of longitude, belonging to the periphery of the South Aegean, an abduction of the amnesic trace of the Alexandrian magnetic period occurs, which made them realize, how they had deviated from the destination of Limassol-Cyprus, having to turn a few degrees to redirect to Limassol. This was exercised by the subjugated Alexandrian period, which in its immanent chronology sought to remake an existentialist caste, which lowered the chronological limits due to the depressive effect of the aura, after the death of its sister Cleopatra. This whitish and courteous barrier of Zeus, invaded them not auditing to govern the schizophrenic ship, having to retrace the course to retro of the Cyclades. Sovereignly Vernarth takes the helm with great Greek breath, creating shields of redemption in the arts and sciences of the Hetairoi  aristocracy, under meso-urban science-politics, replaced by the Christian religion, making the Hellenic language a potential romance Aramaic, to overcome the existentialism of the hypnotizing dream dream; of a silly banquet served by the hordes on all the slopes that transported them between an enigmatic underworld, of panhellenic language, and with the reculturation of the ephemeral crossed lines that subtracted them from their dramas of troubled consciences, depriving them of the neuromotor of the main return value for the origin of the reconquest of the Tracóntero in Limassol.

This Hypnosis, brought consequences of the Sects called Diádocos ‘successors’, of the old generals of Alexander the Great and the children of the generals (called epigones) that to his unexpected death of Alexander the Great in 323 a. They divided their empire, disputing power and hegemony over their colleagues with various pacts and six wars that lasted twenty years. Then a political system was established that until the beginning of the Roman Empire in the eastern Mediterranean at the beginning of the second century BC. Before this contingency, Vernarth resorts to Hypnos and one of the thousand children he had with Pasitea, who urged them to the cohesion of this Hellenic Hypnosis, making quantitatively the immortality of the image of Alexander the Great, to bring him to each of the former faithful commanders, thus refounding Vernarth his Hellenistic encyclical, for the purpose of escorting them to Limassol, and protecting the families and infants who were in their puberty in sleeping Greece, after great war campaigns and abandoned conventions, as an example of the snowy lineage in their Mother Olimpia, and his Sister Thessalonica and children waiting for him passionately. And also in the Sudpichi Empire - Chile, Luccica with the court of her familiar stoic resistance, ingesting the opiates until her Vernarth takes her in his arms, of her own imaginative swamp lagoon.

The disintegration of Macedonia and Greece into sub regions, catapulted again the appearance of Clovis who says ..., the river Lete in the underworld, dissolve your memories, and clean your mind permanently. That's the branch of a poplar tree from the underworld, from my father Hypnos. "Lethe is not the place you want to go swimming ... but if you change the helm for your proud mind." This achieves that one of the sons, among thousands of Pasitea, committed himself to Clovis, to dispel this existentialist contingency, vindicating the plea, of family reunion and imperishable Hellenic constituent prosapia, under the hypnotic and hegemonic phenomenon that made the banners and panoplies burnish in Greece, Macedonia and Asia Minor. As a subsidiary exception they will satisfy, which was reissued by Ptolemy, one of Alexander's childhood companions, of whom some authors venture to say that he was an illegitimate son of Philip II. With intelligence he quickly seized Egypt and hastened to create an enduring state, declining to imperial ambitions that he considered unrealistic. He was one of the main opponents of the imperial cause, thus becoming one of the founders of the Hellenistic world. Unusually, the commanders of Alexander before his excessive dipsomania of hierarchical power and glory, demystified Hetairoi's harangue, generating in it a Hypnotic counter conception, making these sedative efforts to delegate the religious north Dei ..., which had only known how to redirect itself later in the classical arching Gaugamela, of his great Holplita Commander Vernarth.

This grayish super mass of uncontrolled winds and increased rays, spat out idolatrous proto forms in the same Hellenistic family, whose postulate was to multiply the family over its geopolitical dominations in other nations, unifying them as a family geo clan, rather than in the seas, in which they do not the waters-lands are divided, rather they unite the hydro-parental ethical and cultural resources of the world that are a concomitant part with "The devouring cyclone of mythological dignitary entities, and other lines that flee from the proper chronogram of historicity and its reconstructive past-present ”. Square meters of great Cyclops slaps that were floating in the air, inspired Vernarth to revive the green grass of the sea, like plankton that made a compulsive propensity to exalt Chloe’s presence; that being an Epi Phantom, it always sparkled among the nebulosity as a reservoir of Universal Consciousness, gaining the Hellenic consciousness with a black bandage over its eyes, so as not to stain more outbreaks of the chlorophyll and photochemical green mass of the phenomenon, accumulating only the electrogenic beasts of Cyclops that they had to burn on the rays and unbridled embers of dissident light, to leave in some memorable way, or beg some Sanctus, to do his will prowling in the acquisition of the square meters of the tiny, almost unidentifiable beasts, that appeared simulating to the slimy green water of the River Lethe in the contracted underworld.

The existential holistic in the ship produced depressive lags, lack of self-esteem and factors of ego loss, therefore each one who pointed with his index, relaxed from some silos in the hands of opiates, which would denigrate the dream in those who tried to flee of his own collective weeds ..., shying away from himself, stagnating and freezing in stretches of dreams of great loneliness and permanent fantasy ..., and what the extravagant hypnosis sought to occupy in them with its decrees of mortality, in an adulterated afterlife, in some signs of benevolent and reactive psychic alertness. When the soft glow of the same flash was shown on the faces of Alexander the Great and Vernarth, in the six wars that took place with the Diádocos without sparkles, for twenty years ..., just in twenty seconds, would Alexander the Great appear, on the deck of the ship of Lepanto, dressed in a crimson red garb, covering his Hellenic silhouette, down to his figurative half torso. From here, he urged them to culminate their hypnosis in a deep world in an unbreathable statue of colloquial rhapsody ..., watch out for this ..., everything continues normally, and Vernarth leaves the helm to honor him with a hoplite Khaire and as a fellow Christian Shvil, as philanthropic and deferential as Ptolemy was, and Vernarth himself in Tel Gomel and Bumodos, herding the green glosses to open them towards the new magnus theological empire. Beyond the profile of the wise dervish, Limassol appeared, like a sapphire rosary entangling in the physiognomies of rises of hope, in the average Gen, when approaching the latent peninsula of the Eurydice's Gold medallion.

Judah was suspended in the Gigas Camels ruminating the bags of herbs that thickened in their Palestinian snouts, the sphinxes of the birds continued to grow with their wings to shelter the blasphemies of their prophets, and Judah wailing in the intrabony of those who traveled leaving of Judah, but never departing from the aramaic cells of Gethsemane, lost from Hellenic Existential Hypnosis. Investigating lost rings that would unite the dissolute stretch of the Cyclades, recomposing itself from expelled dramatic thicket and loss, in the foliage of the rocky jungle coastlines, where the Mariano gold medallion rests in the darkness of a moldy circular massif.
Chapter ***
Second Hegira to Patmos
Part VIII - Conclusion of Judah
fisharedrowning May 2014
Dear Diary,

I've been doing it all wrong.

I don't think we can purposely set out to "find" ourselves by going for volunteering sessions, or choosing to live alone away from our families, or forcing ourselves to meet new people when we don't really want to.

It's kind of just like...like the way we forget how to breathe or walk when we're conscious of doing it, or how love unexpectedly just happens from a friendship when we've been wasting our time overturning chairs and rocks. Like how that one time we turned the entire house inside out searching for that particular item, only for it to somehow find its way back to us a year later behind an unsuspecting dusty cupboard.

I'd love to be the best person I could be right now.
But I've learned that it takes time. It doesn't happen by force.
And I should enjoy my life while I'm at it.

Love,
Girl-who's-finally-at-peace-with-herself
M Nov 2014
it feels as though I'm constantly going a little crazy
it seems as though those who keep it inside do not burn with the same force
as I do, for who could withstand a swirling, twisting, turning vortex
a hurricane of thought and constant lyrics and themes and destruction
as the galaxies swirl inside my mind, they pain me more and more because
the black hole in the center is not strong enough
to withstand the centrifugal force, neurons are firing too fast and
they must escape, they must work their will on the world
it must be torturous for those who keep their minds trapped in their minds
it must be a crucifixion to not let the planets fly free, spinning into
the dark universe, someone with an IQ of 148 must create,
create or burn, burn down like the building you spent your life carving
it seems to be that the lesser genius is the one that does not impact
for if you do not impact, does it really hurt that much? if your mind
is not exploding and tearing at the edges of your existence, is it
really a genius? if your galaxy is dividing and throbbing and overturning
like mine is, how can you keep it in? why would you want to?
those who tame their passions show only that their passions are
weak enough to be tamed- I am not weak enough to be tamed
my river courses beyond the bounds of its banks
and it is too forceful to keep it in, it breaks the levee
wreaks its wrath on the city, it cannot only shape the silt and serve its purpose
it must do more, it must do more, it must do more
and so it marks its legacy on the annals of history in the textbooks
taunting the dreams of children, it is by far the greater genius
for if it is great, then there is no way that it can be contained
your eyes must burn with the fire for your art and your hands must
shake when they touch the instrument, your mind must race with words
for your poetry, your brain must see the calculations as the numbers
dance behind your eyes for there is nothing you can do to get away from it
you must talk about it as though there is nothing in the world
if it does not strain you to escape then it must not exist
the true genius is not tempered, it is obsessive, it burns and burns and burns,
we are a dying star spitting its sparks, it
compulses, whirls, throws its light across the sea, and turns,
the world would be darker without it, and the true genius knows that
so the true genius burns.
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2020
Pull me out from depths of the prison of panic and fear I inhabit

One small phrase willing words straining against bars of my ribcage to slip through
And be released

Passion the officer responsible for overturning the former guilty verdict
In favor of a tentative plea bargain

To let solitary confinement end

Along with the silence that had been my cell since the very first day
Of my self-inflicted sentence

Now I sense a shift
As the emotion locked tight finally is allowed the sweet taste of freedom

As the door to jail my heart was enclosed in opens with a click
The words I have been holding hostage are trapped no more

Escaping my lips with surprise

My feelings in chains no more

"I love you too"
About the first time my boyfriend said I love you after we had been broken up for a year
Shank that darkness
    and let the
        light bleed through.

Bringing up
    the past,
overturning a rock
      while the insects scurry

Tropical storms
   brewing, just a
      blow-hard knocking down
         weaker trees,
    pulling the plug
         on the power,
           scattering memories.

  Up all night,
    beating the early bird
       to the worm,
Caressing the morning's
      dew dampened grass,
           chuckling,
laughing to keep from crying.
Life is overturning at every opportunity
Dumping me in the cold waters of reality
MaimingIsla May 2015
As we continue onward

I float through my misery
Afraid to touch the ground
Fearful of my own footprints

As you slither your way through your despair
Overturning rocks and collecting filth

Our mutual weirdness steeps in anguish
A past we cannot let go of
Flaming egos we cannot extinguish
Sophia C Nov 2015
The frog-spotted leaves fading from the trees picked by sticky, little hands
Remind me of all the seconds that have passed
And inversely, the infinity that lines every moment;
The infinite me’s that have been slaughtered and reborn—
Eyes peeking through the ash, stretching my neck
Out to the world that will warm my fleshy, new skin.

But my body’s made a home of the doldrums,
Clipped feathers and heavy air, breathing strangulation—
How hard it is for me to see you in color;
You were black and white—
A noir film in high contrast, a classic tragedy:
Touched fingertips before wilting into static.
Our great debut, and now we are left,
Our bones growing brittle,
To grasp for loneliness with someone else.

And I could not stand, vacant
As an empty room, so I filled myself with
Wrath like warm exhaust fumes,
Overturning memories like a systemized holocaust
Just to liken you to a shadow puppet.

But the curation of spite lights the crook of your mind that shelters the
Remnants and splinters of separate, past lives you
Shed like a sleeve of skin.
Slivers of frozen time like artifacts at attention,
Preserved and obscured beneath a smudged pane of glass
That grows thicker and filthier—
Here lies validation for all the fruitless pain; blind happiness; lost time.

With dust collecting upon breath,
I find you who was once the blush that quilts the earth in cotton before the settling sun
And remember your comfort: a sweet cherry lozenge
Melting and staining the inner corners of lips;
Burgundy of heavy habit, of restless nights and dry, shut mouths;
Of stale disappointment through knotted fists,
Yet the warmth of a matted childhood blanket,
We had in a glance.

The few quivering embers that lay
In the back of our throats suffocate:
We are ash
And crushed violets of dark circles and the beauty in failure.
But while memories fade into ghosts and people into fog,
You will always be
Two blue diamonds, in a wash of golden light
Yawning through the veil of smoke and seconds,
Withholding your spectrum.
I'm looking for critique more than compliment. Please comment on any problems, inconsistencies, etc.
Dictators topple like dominoes
tombstones taunt contemporary caesars
godfathers hut tilled dough bro’s united against
inalienable rights of life, liberty pursuit of
happiness, mushroom left for overthrow
sans oppression from pepper spray
minor deterrent whence tyrants *******
keyed up, high strung Bouzouki plucking
commoners coalescing into commanding
communal cascade overturning ramparts
memorializing despots egoistic fiefdoms
whereby fealty forced from feckless fiends
fleecing freedoms forcing fake obeisance
until recently when contagion to overthrow
more than a coup pull of heinous henchmen
in tandem with their supreme leader
whose brutish nasty reign of terror
shortened from lengths of courage
displayed by humble beings fed up
with deprivation of basic democratic filaments
pollinating regimes thumbing nose at human rights
suddenly caught in cross hairs of barreling madding crowd
thwarting heart of darkness with native sun shine
seeking revenge against injustice heaped against innocent
populace which near global spontaneity
serves well-deserved just desserts!
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2012
Years separating us,
Stones overturning never,
Crossing bridge of sighs.
Chris Saitta Aug 2019
In the park, soft-study of sands and swings,
Where the birds while away the unabridged air
Like rains on green, copper roofs ~ their wings.
So I have touched my rainy fingers on the fountain’s surface,
And tum-tumed at the dumpy belly of a dog,
So I have felt the vendor’s balloons like cantaloupes for freshness,
So I have a pocket-change of smiles for all.
At the fountain’s edge,
Like green-molded quaystones feather-singed
By the touchstrokes of the arcing wings of the sea,
Or like a saucer of warm milk
For the alley-cats to drink the milkiness of sun
And then with their paws,
Plink at overturning the day into porcelain shadows.

— The End —