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Nat Lipstadt May 2019
~for Steve Yocum~

if
well you know me, ken the man that has
surf-surrendered before you in one too many visions,
if well you know me, now with solstice summer just to come,
a man ever asking, where’s shelter, returns to the whence and why,
for each year, the summer man (1) was and is reborn to die,
reborn at the whence and where each wave dies storytelling of him

you see him, but do not see-think, the man’s endless wave watching, final resting on a shoreline, think incorrectly, each, just a repetition,
one story come and gone then shattered, busted-blasted,
into sea green glass pieces, then when retold, worn yet further,
into granulated pictures, each a sugary sand speck, a letter-memory, locked, loaded, then hid embedded on an ocean graveyard

no two waves alike, men cannot distinguish, same as humans cells,
the body itself, all its microscopic cells, cosigned and cousin’d,
yet each minutely singularly unique and differentiated,
so the waves as well, of single droplets ribbed, but ocean appearing
as a forestal paradisal garden with trees of life and apples of death,
each customized, but all of one body of blue soil clayed with water

there summer man pilgrimages, on a May to Fall Jerusalem journey,
sits on the sand amidst ocean angels come to grasp dead carcasses,
he observes his summer New Year rituals, the waves grasp his soul,
wrap him in prayer shawl, skin striped by tefillin leather straps,(2)
each wave, a sentencing, a long novel of the loving life, writ by an
infinity of recombo-wakes, some woke/some sunk - all never-ended

I crawl into foamed dreams, the white salt blanches living skin,
swim out to wherever legs and arms have no power of propulsion,
carried and drift but never aimless, never shameless, always endless,
we, all, children of  Israelites, wade on water a 1000 fathoms deep,
soaking in tales of landlocked organisms, all from the water created,
all are sprung, all come, returned, waves speak, histories for retelling

so from now till the fell of fall, the summer man pays obeisance,
his sitting place, his sand markings so well entrenched, waves
leave it untouched, his indentation upon the grains, they go around,
friends, sun wind tide seagull and ospreys, keep their distance, not disturbing his reading, telling, praying, adding his owned/disowned
particle-of-the-day of creation/becoming/diminution,

his poem tales written, then diminished, the man


lost in the waves, found in the waves


~~~~~~~
5/07/2019
writ upon an isle of concrete,
resting upon a bedrock of volcanic schist at 4:24am
before the pilgrimage to a true sandy isle

~~~~~~~~
inspired by a rendition of “Lost in the Waves”

https://youtu.be/MayNMko-e4s


Lost in the Waves, written by Kooman & Dimond

At the edge of the Atlantic,
Can't bring myself to swim.
I choked back the tears for twenty two years,
Drowning in shadows of him.
The waves etch out a pattern
Long after they're gone.
The lines that they trace, they quickly erase,
But something's still lingering on.
Lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
No one but me and the silent black sea;
I am lost in the waves.
A vision in the moonlight:
A family on the beach.
A boy on his own, by the undertow thrown
Far beyond his father's reach.
He's caught in a riptide.
A man has to choose.
There's a race to be won for the life of his son,
But someone has to lose.
Lost in the waves.
He was lost in the waves.
Salt water burns, the tide always turns,
When you're lost in the waves.
Now I'm the one sinking.
There's no solid ground.
And I can't help thinking
I'm the one who has drowned.
Now knee-deep in the water,
I feel my father's touch.
And though fully grown, I've still never known
How to love someone that much.
Lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
No one but me and the silent black sea;
I am lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.
I am lost in the waves.

heard last night in a Master Class for actors/singers taught by
Lea Salonga, in Studio 5, City Center,  NYC
(1) https://hellopoetry.com/poem/447181h/i-am-a-summer-man/
(2) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tallit   lookup tefillin
SøułSurvivør May 2016
pumping
through
a paper thin

heart

crimson ink
feeding

flesh

as needful
of inspiration
as it is of

oxygen

Pain as the
needle sharp pen
scrapes the inside
of the cockles

next the tattoo
parlor


all my being
cries out to

WRITE!!

my
atoms
neutrons
quarks

The God Particle

screams

write

Write

you jolly-well


WRITE!



Invisible inc aka
Write of Passage aka
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/21/2016
martin challis Jan 2015
Drown in the blue sky
the blue sea
the green land
and all the while white waves; of wash,
cloud or smoke arising.
On this rock I am every particle
I can see, and more than I am,
none of this, and separate is
my life a paradox continuum
inexplicably explained as
stable passing impermanence;
if I could drown in the blue sky
I would do it flying.


MChallis © 2015
Phosphorimental Dec 2014
Mm, yes.  
I find that the sultry of subtlety
does not hide well among the obvious!  
We catch each others eye
across crowded parlors
to steal off in the wings
for sodden romantic whispers.  

Her muted presence is a cloud born
particle of dust –
gathering the purest droplets,
to fall, and
falling waters accreting
into mighty rivers churning earth.  

Shamefully, perhaps by nature of a poetique,
my proclivity is to paint nuance up
like a dime-store ****,
parade her around in metaphors
under my propped writing arm,
my free hand palming a chained timepiece...
Oh how these nuances matter
as I slip a moment back into the pocket of time.
This "thing" was inspired by a comment by one as fine a poet (as my first blush will be confirmed) as I've seen in these parts.   Marshal Gebbie http://hellopoetry.com/marshal-gebbie/  (wow)
Jack B Jul 2016
for this exercise
imagine the earth is a balloon.
neglect to hold on, like a particle of dust it floats on.
hold too tight, it will surely meet a supernova plight.
a thunder of cosmic dust particles float on.

so comes into question the integrity of tension and slack.
balance, rhythm, harmony.

I carve out of the earth, an empty space.
year after year I sweat my salty soul into the earth-space.
earth from which I came, earth in which I live, in which I will return.
the earth fills, an icy mirror of tears.
my reflection surfaces-
be vigilant not to sever the roots that pump lifeblood into my veins.
not to poison the leaves that breathe initiative into my lungs.
welcome with parted lips the sweet sap to sustain and inspire.
thinking lots about how much time I pour into holding on to earthly ties, then equal amounts of time spent trying to let go.  from earth I came, to earth I will go.
Miranda Renea Oct 2015
It is often forgot, or not
At all thought of, but I
Wonder if you haven’t
Heard the tale of how
Time loves the little?

He took dust and spun,
Violently he did run with
This tiny ball of fun. So
Slow was the sprout, so
Subtle the route but not
One moment did Time
Not sing so happily of.

He sings of you how he
Sang the progression of
Dust to Earth. My friend,
You are so small. Not
Unlike a particle flying
Through the cosmos,
Guided by Time and
Gravity, on the journey
To becoming a planet.
Lindsay Apr 2018
it's a lazy morning

light peak a boos with
cracks in the curtains
warmth seeps through the walls
every ray of sun kisses
every particle of earth

my senses react kindly
to a crisp salt breeze
that has dropped by
like an old friend i haven't seen
but certainly have missed


i watch the tide
waltzing with the sand
back and forth
give, take

i'm intruding on the intimacy
but i can't look away
the waves rock my mind
into a trance so deep
i have the most absurd thought

maybe, i am okay
Algernon Dec 2014
I fell in love
with a sandcastle
and when the tide came
and washed you away
I let my body drift out to sea
prayed I would disintegrate
piece by piece, particle by particle
with  yours
but I'm not like you
made of sand
my moats were useless
against waves

have you ever tried to capture a wave inside of a bucket?

that's what it was like
to love her
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
The line is a rounded spiral sphere
               and the straight line is furthest away
from the disconnection point. The final point
and the final circle in the middle. - Y1 Clusters [1]:
Ring in this range of four rings and two segments...
Particle panel defined. One mile between
the center of the circle and the points.
                                  The rope that cuts the world in 2.
Lost between the Arctic Circle,                             the Club of the Circle,
and the Circle of the Round.                                      The diameter of the radius,                                            in the center of the upper part of the color;
Distance of the circle between two squares.
The longest string,                                         with the radius of the other.
Restricted to the limit in the range.
Lens and dialogue of two discs.
The linear circle không có vấn đề gì với lớp học.
Radio: Join the circle circle of that circle.
And, finally, this division is equal diameter.
Khu vực bị giới hạn bởi bán kính của cả hai bức xạ.
Middle, spine: neutral cable, which is not close,
and adjacent to the trunk between two adjacent arcs.
The rifle in a straight line, a straight line on the plane,
and two cuts in a circle.
Half corner, at one end of the height on the left.
In general, technical experience differs
between the technical disc and the two-degree arch
and the diameter of the abdominal cavity.
Split half of the disc,                                          especially the largest one.
The taxi takes in a circle.

Conversations, and drums, rings, and diamonds.
In this story of the fourth century of the thirteenth century,
the writing of this model is an example of archetype,
compass and compass. Keep in mind, too,
that the spiral shape of the bird is spiral shape.
The word comes from the Greek clan κίρκος / κύκλος (Kirk / kuklos),
the original Greek metaphor (krikor),           meaning "slab" or "ring".
[2] The origins of the circuit in the area.
It is an ancient Arabic instrument
made from a Mongolian mimosa statue
that is called the circular balloon.
Consider the beginning of the club's history.
Mom saw her in the grass of the grass
in a sand-shaped breeze and naked.
And since the movement is a circle,
as with many inventions,                          it is possible to keep only a century
of modern machines.                                               The mathematics program
in the study team used as a stimulus for meditation. |
Muslim geometry and astronomy are very popular.
Bad Boys 10 - 75 - 15 years - Serie 149.7k - Black or Black?
Tiempo Nigro - 51.87; John Jaysy
Year Plant As a result, the 'sharp nose' disappeared.
Abuse for 5 minutes - 772.1 Creative - !!! Age and ***,
medium and black dog, three scams? Be Jessica Alba,
two black eyes, good and beautiful,
and James completed his life and changed the holes in the store.
Finally, the National ****** Football of Gangs.
But what does not include or not include? First false?

The use of the United States in another way is another thing that should be done in BS, France. It's not worth the size and width. Is not it good to play with this boy? And Dead Black Titanium ***? Due to the greatness of the people, the issue of the Child had already been transformed into black holes.
                                Owl and sore throat? The car and the woman Nina Rose.

BMW for six years, stays.
                                      |Ba'la collects the missing details.
Chains, *** and death.
Maria Cabbe Village?
Black male and female black.
To erase with the black news bar.
Hands 5 - 788.1Ki View -
River Bucket, Dessert Gender
Cats and generations! Peru Black Black Cat!
The light of the day of the day rises to the fire.
                                                                ­                 2 From women to fences.
                                                                ­                  3 cups in the first flower.
Black music in Zastron
The first black sea and where we dream?
Black black black black black sore throat and pain, as well as leprosy
as a national indicator. Football game, what is DNA?
CO 2 unknown greed, *** and sexuality.              [], Therefore, the memory
           is called a lot of entries. *** B.2_ years to fill the White House - -
At the end of my book, at the end of this book? Free transfer.
None of them found them. Degradation criteria,
The body is like a spider; "The worst, especially in the jungle,
is the first time it has been hardest for the first time."                             Life
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending

When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening

to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable

and yet

cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,

it has yet

to arrive

When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed

When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction

she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
rentery orbit,
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot

When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after

death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
is the God
I worship
The phrase "the consolation of physics" was taken from a novel,
City of Thieves by David Benioff. The other nonsense is all my fault.
11/23/14 8:30am

for my blonde Big Bang theorist
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
all my poems are unique general principles

~for Helene Mendelsohn~

“A general principle never comes to life in my mind except by exhibiting itself in various special forms and in
crowds of instances for each form":  
R.G. Collingwood

each a construct - an arch-i-texture,
each a crowd of a single instance
special forum, a dialogue differentiation,
a conjugate particle,
forming up, in marching order,
a singular troop, a base case singular,
a soldier especially demanding,
“Of Me, Write, Write”

for within my insight,
a one-off sighting,
one glinting wave reflecting,
its one millisecond exactitude of existence,
reforming unseemly, a new but not!

a seemingly similar shifted shape,
but no wave is a precision repetition,
perhaps a passing familiarity
of its precedents, antecedents,
at best

an instance borrowed and paid back
to the generosity of time
for a fully developed statement of a
general principle,
even a primary secondary textual emendation,
requires a unique naming definition

being born and dead dying while you are blinking,
does not understate absolute value,
a principle exists to give absolution,
so the moments resets,
perpetually,
but its own resolution is n’err forgotten

do you see the crowd of inferences
herein contained?

the principal unique,
poem plucked from passing sun ray,
a tickling hair of a brazen breeze,
one wave, one wave reconstituting a
millennium of preceding lives,
deriving its abbreviated genealogy
of droplets of prior principles
forever reinterpreted

so I gave you back
words you knew
but in a new combination
establishing this poem,
its constituents,
as a unique general principle

there is a prior poem, new, unique
in everything
7/21/19 10:00 am S.I.
I  , no more than a flurry in a Winter storm , or drop of water in a raging sea , alone , left to my own devices , entrapped in deafening solitude and sorrow ..A minute particle afloat , riding breeze , destination uncharted ,  skeptical apprehension , destined to become dirt , ingested , born anew , repeating nature's furious cycle forever......
Copyright September 16 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All rights Reserved
K Balachandran Nov 2013
From above, the skydiver's eyes scan the verdant landscape-
rushing towards him, but she can't see that, he regrets,
though she too jumps, sitting in his heart, the quiet dove
dreaming immortality being his habit, he is in yogic trance as he land,
rushes to see her, as in here and now, is his foot hold as a householder
awaiting him for long, she kisses him ferociously on his mouth
"I can't wait anymore to roll in our bed"she warmed it for this moment,
If one is incapable of imagining the the higher reaches of particle state,
immortalities hug, after quietly going back, enjoy the sojourn here
It's a cycle, there isn't no two; Dive down from the air craft
over the clouds smiling, hear the whisper of the winds in both ears.
Live dangerously, raise to the sublime, before touching eternity.
Apart from the three states of mind, wakefulness, sleep and dream, Indian sages have elaborated on attaining the" Turiya"( meaning the fourth state in Sanskrit) when the yogi experiences pure consciousness.
Yogic trance experienced during meditation is the conscious awareness of the deep sleep state.Concept of "yoga nidra/yoga trance" is very ancient in Indian traditions such as Hinduism and Buddhism
In a line
you'll wait, I swear
Infinitely small, the objects around
and the ideas with sounds

everywhere around
the world in a cylinder
all totally endless and such
I reckon it's so
with hands to the floors

There's a world on that surface
bigger in a small way that makes sense
particle hills and,
puddle oceans
where you can tire and drown

Wait and see
that line you're in
it's infinite
and endless
Stephe Watson Jan 2019
I spiral happ’ly in,
I feel my flesh
dissolve to wet, to
gaseous mess
and flow flow flow
into the asterism
that is her extra latte French roast
Eye...

She asks, “What do you see?”
I see Himalayan diamond dust,
the wind as particle, sharing the
Sun in glints.
I see spiral arms and accretion discs.
I see stardust, moondust, lovedust
in great grand colorful interwebbings of
lust, of truth, of song, of delight, of Us.
I see RGB Grand Walls of stars;
organized in mind but cosmologically
principled.
I see the possibilities of galaxies -
Unformed
              Adrift
                                            Reaching
  Cooling
Collecting
  Heating
Sparking.
Life giving life.
Lifegiving, Life.
I see an unspoken Universe
of Dust -
Awake to Dance,
to dance to Life.
I see Love.
I see Beauty.
I see worlds not yet.
I see suns unshone.
I see comets unknown.
I see tidepools.
I see fields of fuzzies.
I see Seas.
I see mountains and valleys.
I see Forest.
I see Love.
I see her, and in her,
I see a world, a cosmos, a way;
a way I’d rather be.
A way I’d rather live.
I see Love.
I see her.

Through tears,
I see
the limitless warmth of an unlimited
Un         iv         er         se
in her tawny toffee coffee
Eye.
Elizabeth Nov 2014
City lines illuminated by animated street lights reflect off of your skin.
Images of infant filled houses
and hospitals with new born fetal babies, juxtaposed fatal mothers,
emit off your body
in black and white stop motion,
slicked by this canvas of fluid blanket
And you, victim of lifelessness
lie cold and waterlogged
inhaling liquid, the new source of oxygen,
your eyes fogged and inverted submissively.
What was sung to sleep by hymnal chants  
of incredulous mourning moans now lies
Dead
on a forgetful Sunday Evening.
The street lights give no respect
as they ponderously encroach,
Leaning in to hear your fleeting birdsong.
These lamp poles, tender and limber,
flex to form prayer circles, forgetting their rightful footings.
And with each inch bound tighter,
the circle emulates a power emitted through photonic light beams
bending irresponsibly to get closer to truth.

They then see it, and so does woman
Stopping by this wooded mausoleum.
She stands with inquisitive mittens, palms open and receiving.
Flecks of skin lift off your sinking vessel as what was you leaves into better places.
They drift, forming a clouded colony
crawling  up webbing left to lead them correctly.
Each inch spreads more purity,
each meter strengthens recent weaknesses.

Woman notices a cloud gather above you,
and each particle refracts the whole galaxy with increasing detail and accuracy.
As your body turns to skeletal structure
you seep faster into the silt-heavy waters below,
your bones creating playgrounds and Eiffel Towers, hospital white in hue,
so clean it hurts.  

The cloud moistens with rain,
it becomes heavy and starts to drift,
rocking,
in futile attempt to birth again.
And each fleck takes woman.
She spreads eagle and takes flight.
Toes lift individually and with lessened pressure,
she stretches each appendage as your flesh meshes with woman’s in unconventional ways,
every crevice and crack blanketed by you, what was.
The street lights pulsate as they observe in amazement
your transformation.
All is forgiven while the lamps induct you into purity
and absolve woman for witnessing this connection to God.
In memory of an 18 year old that died in our campus's botanical garden pond on the Sunday evening of Homecoming weekend.
Bryce May 2018
Return late at night
34mph on the gangway
Decimated and tired
rotated and unstoppable

When I come back around the cul-de-sac
the green candle shines my return
Flag hangs big and ogreish
Waiting for something more

I replaced my turntable
Black and wood on wood desk
Grains matched unintentionally

On one speaker I placed my snowglobe
Big Ben tall and wide
Snow stirs when I play

On the other The Capitol
Big heavy white dome
Smaller and wider but still just as lost
Blizzard of turning particle

What mood do i turn to?
Daft and electronic
Queen of hearts and misery
Dance of mad villainy?

33.333333 repeating
An album cover to cover
slip safely in between
read the inherent vibrative tone
glide my eaten fingernail
And sing the songs through my teeth

33.33333 repeating
Songs forever maintained
Never compressed, just expressed
Saved into physical form

33.3333 repeating
Round and round Fibonacci of doom
Spiral totally in control
There is another side to this story I never knew

33.333 repeating
They were going to make movies on vinyl screens
with vinyl tape and vinyl face
Then we got cable

33.33 repeating
Mesmerized by the glide of the needle
softer than a lover's touch
sharper than an atomic clock

33.3 repeating
It will be time to flip sides
Soon I will know no evil
Only the darker satellite

33 repeating
I repeat:
Listen closely and find the spot

Queue it up and fall apart
I am not used to taking risks. Many barriers tend to block my train of thought and my decision-making. Now that I was lying at the bottom of the trash, I could talk; I could think straight. I had no distractions or punishments, even though there was no need for deciding anything. I felt free because I knew he had given up on me. I felt like a meaningless particle of the planet when I was under Master’s control. At least plastic was used to create something else. But not me! No! I could not be used for anything else; I just got thrown away. I couldn’t say I was completely oblivious towards my lifespan. I had an idea of what was going to happen. There I was at the bottom of the trash; knowing that my master’s next victim had already been chosen to take my former position in his soaking, swampy hand. Master acted like he worked so hard; he should have been ashamed of himself. Because lying crippled within those dark suffocating walls of that garbage basket was HIS doing. I do not take risks. Those crumpled up papers began to fall upon me like rain and it felt like I was being buried alive.
I don’t remember my birth or the first few years of my life. My psychology teacher told me about how you cannot remember the first 2-3 years because of the brain’s progression in growth. The first thing I remembered was waking up in a box, locked in place by my neck and feet. My family was nowhere to be found. I did not even remember being apart of one. There were four others enslaved with me at the time. They were not my family, but they dressed like me, which scared me a little. The loud noise of slicing scissors pierced my ears and a small stream of light entered the cardboard box when the top was cracked open. The first sight of the Master’s obese fleshy hand brought motion to my bowels as a feeling of failed screams collapsed around my throat. I had no voice, I had no mouth. Was it welded shut or was I created incorrectly? Watching the way Master’s large hand devoured the poor ******* next to me and yanked him out of the box brought an immediate knowledge of trouble upon me. I was frightened because my opinions were insignificant and I didn’t know what to do to gain control.
We were transferred from our holding shackles to a less-captivated holding system. I don’t know what it was, but we were with many others; lost and stupid. The light blinded me at first, it was more open and I could see clearer. I would have gotten myself into trouble… or maybe not. The sight was horrifying because it enabled me to witness it all. Master was unfair and he had no patience, like me. When a victim needed a break or was tired, he banged its head on the desk (or the paper) or threw it across the room. When the victim was not meeting the Master’s needs, he squeezed it harder and harder while banging its tip more. If a victim was useless to Master, he threw it away without a care. That same poor ******* that was next to me ended up in the trash after a day and a half because it couldn’t finish transcribing Master’s C’s or A’s. I would’ve transcribed his C’s and A’s; and his M, O, T, R, F, K, R’S too! I hope master sweats himself to death. I knew my time would come. I knew I would end up just like the rest of the poor and helpless. When my juice ran out, the five of us from the box would be back together- empty and cold.
I sometimes wished I was not smarter than Master. I didn’t have a mouth, but my narrow cap surely consisted of a larger brain, I’ll tell you that. I sure wished I could have taught him; him and those sweaty palms, a thing or two about our existence! He should have been grateful I was there and he should have given the respect he did not deserve to get. He probably didn’t know that he would’ve been using a chisel and a rock if it wasn’t for me! I sure as hell was saving Master a lot of time. If my uniqueness was not available, Master would have been wasting hours of his time to create one word. I wonder if the chisel used to say the same things I said during those horrible events of slavery and cruelty. Chisel probably never received punishment. It was probably buffed and puffed and sharpened and cared for. So why couldn’t I just get a re-fill?! But still, Master didn’t care. He wouldn’t have sharpened my tip if I were a chisel. He’d let me rot and throw me away because it was all in the same to him. Master wouldn’t have cared if I informed him about the chisel. I probably would’ve received more of a punishment if I was able to speak.
After my ink ran out, there I was within the bottom of the garbage basket. This was exactly what I expected. I couldn’t lie, I was kind of glad it was all over. I was so sick of Master’s crap by then. Those sweaty palms got the best of me and that impatient anger caused my juices to run fast. I was developing a realization about Master’s endeavor. He threw me away too early. Usually, our species would be thrown away when death occurred. I was lying in that trash very much alive when I began to glance at my previous struggle. Those papers devoured my appearance while they exposed every waking memory that my hard work had created. When the papers stopped falling, there was nothing else to think about. The memories began to fade away after every word I read. I couldn’t help but recognize the mistakes that Master forced me to make. At that instant, I only wanted to go back and edit the foolishness that was transcribed onto those papers. I wanted an opinion. I simply desired to have my voice heard; I wish I had one. As free as I was, I still couldn’t make that happen; even after I was hurled into the trash- as if I was some useless implement. This was like being under some Calvinistic rule. My fate had been an adversarial predetermination, no matter how much I followed the rules.
It was a sensible act to throw me out. Master appropriately responded when I was of no use for him. He should have thrown me out when he snatched me out of the box like a piece of paper towel entangled within the roll. I was useless from the beginning. I couldn’t stand up to myself and I couldn’t make a difference whatsoever. I collapsed within myself when the words on the paper began to fade as I scanned each line. The scriptures came to a halt; I realized I was as dead as any other useless implement that previously suffered within these very same haunting walls. There was nothing else I could do. I was banished to freedom. I achieved the freedom to originate nothing. So that’s what I did… nothing. I wished I could speak; at least I would’ve gotten something in before I became the excrement that master walked upon. I closed my eyes and patiently waited for death to overwhelm me as I listened to Master’s distant grunting in silence.
© Christopher Rossi, 2010
CH Gorrie Sep 2012
Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall
I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."
                    - Matthew the Apostle

I
Seventy-seven bottles of gin
lie in the guts of sensuous men;
seventy-seven *I forgive you
's dissolve
in a fanatical mind's resolve.

II
What offence occurred under Saint Constantine's priggish eye?
Was it specious as a Samian's thigh?
Or Sumerians receiving alien diplomats?
Maybe somewhere far under Moscow Putin's massing cloning vats...

III
Whatever discursive and belligerent milieu
church authority finds most tried and true
seems to be the most important decider
in the future of things like the Large Hadron Collider.
Perhaps, unfoundedly, they find it funny that Higgs
(though it seems much like calling the Liberal Party "Whigs")
is a name shared by a man and a theoretical particle
(though it be libelous in any journalist's article),
and thus label similar advancements as "blasphemous".
I guess that this is what it is: believing just because.

IV
Who can know blasphemy from piousness?
Maybe all Luther did was obfuscate a prior mess.

V
Seventy-seven palm-branch-adorned, donkey-riding kings:
an automatic-ring-making-machine beleaguering proselyte rings.
Chris Smark Jun 2013
The mornings are mine.
A groggy roll-over, crack each big toe.
Lumber to the kitchen, linoleum and particle board cabinets.

The brown buzz rising from my coffee,
A six-letter word for president, or a vacuum.
The sun claws its way over the hills,
Brightening the ragged winter air.
I shiver and rotate into the grey light.

You can have my afternoons, my evenings, nights
(Especially my nights)
When the asthmatic grip of daylight finally falters,
And pillow-fed sadness begins to emerge.

I want your arm on my chest to be real,
I want to hear your humid breathing.
Smell your sleepy, dark, aroma settling into the sheets,
And finally dip into the slumber of a happy man.
xenuskaaaa Dec 2012
I want to know every single particle of yours, because I have
never wanted such perfect arrangement of atoms
all at once.
Will you let me? Or shall I pour my blood into yours
So you will see, that
I want to penetrate your skin and slowly move into your soul
where I can find your particles.

But you will never know.
Traveler Mar 2016
Uncommon are the necessary
Common denominators of thought
That can unlock the prison of mind

As is irreducible
This eternal enigmatic maze
As our personal stories unwind

Deity becomes accessible
In the privacy of heart
But lost upon the multitudes
Of religions so far apart

And this too shall pass
Is but wisdom of the weak
As we're locked in a free fall
Hoping to land on our feet

And perhaps I know nothing
Of tears that fill your eyes
Or hearts that beat in suffering
Or the arrogance of human pride

But I will not lie to myself
Or pretend that I am special
I am but a molecule
Just a single particle...
Rooted Whispers May 2013
To the human who bears the marks of an angry partner, the young adult who struggles to humanize the body that others have objectified for so long, and the child whose mind bears the seeds of poisonous hatred waiting with baited breath to burst with life as the offhand comments increase in number. Take the sharpened blade with conviction and place it far from your traitorous fingers. Believe my words, blood pulses through your throbbing veins, not the black ooze of hatred. Your skin will never be a canvas to taint with red. The red will collide with the peaceful cells, and the violence will not be a masterpiece. You are not just a number, you are a ******* gorgeous universe encompassed in mere atoms that strive to do your essence justice. Gather your soldiers and prepare to fight the enemies that make your body an anomaly or your struggle commonplace. Those horrible nights, where only the moon bore witness to the horrors you carved, are not “typical” and should not be a widespread ritual. You are beauty incarnate. I implore you to lace this statements around each particle in your body until your cells sing with conviction, and fight those who have brought you to your knees. You do not belong there.
Harrison Apr 2014
You texted me this morning
When the trees were being assaulted by gales
And the coffee in my *** had been sitting there
For weeks now collecting poison.

It had been a month
And I too, had collected poison
In the form of underage drinking
Tiny piercing viruses, bottle after bottle
In attempted to eradicate brain cells that held a picture of you
On their nucleus.
It didn’t work.

So I tried inhaling glass in to my lungs
Tried passing out so I could land in a coma
But I missed two feet to much to the right
And landed on my frontal lobe
Where you proceeded to dissect me with your tongue.
So when you texted me this morning

Memories came like cancer



I remembered that car dealership
Where you bought the 1960 sky blue Volkswagen bug
With rust on the side,
I remember driving to North Carolina with you
On a Monday morning.
Blistering cold at twilight
And all we did was whisper and hum
To each other
As we drove on empty interstate highways

You taught me how to cross state lines
And eat food so volatile that radioactivity
Spewed from my taste buds,
Down my throat
And in to my rigid spine
Where it shivered like arthritis.

My body isn’t hollow; it’s just frozen
Because tiny tundras fill the fissures in my rotting skin
My bones are brittle ice cubes bulging out from underneath the surface

And if people were snow, I would be a particle on a flake
And you would be Antarctica: vast, mysterious, uncharted, vicious, brutal, untamed,
And you would have had frozen me in to an arctic sculpture
To be hung over your brick stone fireplace
As you stood there watching me melt
With your blue corpse eyes.


It’s 8:34 now,
I’ve stood here for thirty minutes remembering what you once were
A continental mystery on my western cerebral hemisphere.
There was America,
Specifically Georgia
But you spoke Alaskan.
Talked about going there like 18 year olds talked about Europe

Everyone wants an adventure
But all you wanted was to know how it felt like
To have mountains under your palms
And snow peaks over your head.
They called it climbing.
I called it searching.
But those who climb would inevitably know how to fly

If they knew how to let go

So let go darling.
Stop calling me in December to tell me all the great things we did back in August.
If I’d had written down our phones calls
It would be enough to fill a notebook full of parentheses
Because all we did was whisper and say things we didn’t mean.  

So don’t come back and try to freeze me again.
I won’t melt this time, I’ll disintegrate.
I’ll fuse with my fissures
Become tundra and dissolve in to the soil


Where your body is, buried
Beneath layers of cement,
Dirt
And ash.
I place flowers on your head stone every week
But you still keep texting me and texting me
Telling me how great our trip was to North Carolina
And how we can do it all over it again

The whispering, the humming, the parentheses

All I had to do was drink the coffee
Chris Arias Aug 2014
You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

When I longingly look at size 0, double zero jeans,
Doll clothes, for dainty ******* princesses,
And shopping becomes the newest form
of cruel and unusual punishment,
It’s okay.
Girls like me are like that,
and
Fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

When I skip a meal,
or two, or three,
Or live for a week on nothing but diet soda and apples,
I think nothing of it,
because
You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

When my fingers go down my throat,
shredding skin with ragged nails,
And I obsessively rid myself
of every
single
particle
I am not sick.
There is nothing wrong.
Because
You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

You look at me, at my ******* and thunder thighs,
and stretch marks from head to toe,
in all my imperfection
and tell me
Fat girls can’t have eating disorders.

You say fat girls can’t have eating disorders.
Maybe.
But really,
This is just my polite way of suicide.
Needs a lot of work, but just my thoughts for today.
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
///
Look! My friend
It is true that
my existence will be graved after death-
you forget me,
as speed squander particle existence--
earth could not remember--
either it will be deformed
or dissolved---

Memory decays as rolling stone-
forget and fade
twinkle childhood,
as daffodils wither at evening---

Today's child
the father of tomorrow
Aye reminisces the past and decide the future,
today's peppy stream with its chime,
tomorrow's buried river-
only articulate history

Civilization, culture and fashion,
those are transfigured by time-
I see, truth has grown as a lie
as the sun rises in the west,
men have made the conversion to lie-
as politics become poly tricks-

Igneous to metamorphic rock,
by the process of nature with time-
the ultimate truth

From summer to winter,
winter to spring -
pouring--
Sweet sweat-
snowflakes-
cuckoo sings
season changeover and being--

But aftermath
my friend,
two things are still ******,
untouched,
my love--
my soul--
the power of God----
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
My Love, My soul -
The Power of God
Bob B Apr 2019
Who cares if the earth becomes
Uninhabitable in so many years?
Who cares if the Antarctic
And Arctic ice disappears?

Who cares if worldwide
The ocean's coral reefs are dying?
Who cares if extreme weather
Around the world's intensifying?

Who cares if coastal areas
Become flooded as sea levels rise?
Who cares if we must see
The rain forests' tragic demise?

Who cares if methane's released
From melting Arctic permafrost?
Who cares if global chaos
Causes countless lives to be lost?

Who cares if instability
Causes huge worldwide migrations?
Who cares what we leave
Behind for future generations?

Who cares if temperature
Extremes "cook" parts of the earth?
Who cares if crops fail
Because the land's of little worth?

Who cares if our warming planet
Allows for a greater spread of disease?
Who cares if the temperature
On earth rises a few degrees?

Who cares who suffers from
Particle and plastic pollution?
Who cares if leaders fail
To seek a climate change solution?

I care! We all should.
This is the only home we possess.
Complacency is dangerous.
Heed the call of the SOS!

-by Bob B (4-16-19)
ra1nclouds Sep 2013
i can feel the vibrations of every
single
particle in my fingernails and hair-strands.
i can feel each piece of me slowly
flying away.
i'm becoming just
carbon atoms.
entropy.
i'm melting into only molecules.
my skin is slipping past itself
no solid state of matter exists.
no solid state of mind.
We are the Misfits, the underdogs
We are the uncomfortable silence being sprinkled like salt around the dinner table
for we’d rather drink the tap water
We are the influx of doctor’s bills drowning mother’s in shame confusion and debt-
our father’s were confused too but then they learned to forget.
We are the daddy’s little girls who used easy bake ovens and had barbies by the dozens
Those childrens toy’s turned into drugs and boys
so now we undress like Barbie and get baked
like the sweet potato my momma left for me in her human sized oven
All of a sudden
We are the little boys playing with power rangers
pretending that curfew was our only danger
But don’t you love it when they call you big Poppa?
From poppin a slam dunk to poppin a cap in your homeboy’s head
Because you’d rather be a gangster than listen to what momma said

We are the young men getting less than, five hours of rest in
a week because there’s a mermaid who stole his heart and hid it so deep
the **** boy’s trying to grow gills
We are the mermaids falling for sea monsters
who knew of the danger but didn’t give a ****.

( She’d do anything for you you know that? If you went to jail I swear to God she’s rob a bank just so you could both be incarcerated.)

We are the youngest girl and boy in the emergency room at 1 in the morning
I can hear my mom’s boyfriend in the corner there snoring
We are the youth with confidence like sinking ships
We live off of prayers for the oncoming apocalypse

Welcome to Misfit Island
the fog on the lake at 2 in the morning looks like a sheet of glass
separating a goblet of moonlight and a mug of dark fright
We jump on the beach like astronauts and forget everything our grandparents taught us
We are the lovers loving with the strength of every particle beam or lazer
because if it wasn’t love it’d sure as hell be a razor

We choose moonlight and philosophy over structured life hypocracy
because we are the misfits.
We are the listeners, the observers
We are the panic attacks written between your math quiz and midnight purge
We are the bipolar, manic, ridden with panic, schizophrenic, depressed, never not stressed
Eating disordered, Addicted, and every other diagnosis written 2013’s edition of DSM
We are the soldiers going to war with our own country day in and day out
there’s no voter’s booth in the universe that can make us put our weapons down.

But we are the misfits, plural
we come to this beach to laugh and to cry, giving every answer a capital WHY  
because our insides differ
we are not the same
Welcome to Misfit Island, we are young and insane
Do not be fooled by our high school transcripts or unshaven faces and hairy armpits
We hold more gold within each and every one of our souls
than you could ever dream to sell or bend to fit the mold
our screams will dance in song and with every breath we take
we learn to forgive our past and how to learn from our mistakes
Ahmad Cox Nov 2010
Dance for your Mother
Dance for your Father
Dance for the universe
Dance for the son
The universe is singing as we dance along
Our Mother is dancing, she dances in the sun
So dance when you wanna, dance when you feel
Cause the love in your heart is the only thing thats real
Everything in the universe has its own song
If we learn to listen we can sing along
The forest, the ocean, the moon, the stars,
Everything sings for the glory of god
God is the bass, God is the beat
So when you hear God's rythm tap your feet
Whirl around and tap your feet
Listen to that crazy god beat
God breathed the song into our hearts
And breathed the universe into existence
His words are in every atom, every particle that ever existed
And written in his song is his great love for all of his creation
Its written in the Mother, Its written in the Son, Its written in the Father inside everyone
The three major notes and we are the drums
We are the crazy chaos that pulls it all together
We are the x factor that ties it in place
Even as mad as things might seem
We have to keep dancing to the beat of the drum
We have to keep dancing until we are one
Our feet feel the rythm
Our souls feel the beat
Lets dance tonight, lets dance in the street
The universe is calling, it calls to everyone
It sings to our Mother who dances in the sun
If you want to dance let God show you how
Its not so hard once you get the beat
Let God take the lead
He'll take you by the hand and he will lead you to the promised land
He will take you home in his loving arms
He'll take you away where there is no harm
Dance away your tears
Dance away your sorrows
Dance away for a better tomorrow
We need the dancers to bring in the light
We need the dancers in the final night
So embrace your inner dancer and let it all out
Embrace that inner spirit let it out like a spout
Now that you've got it that is the end
Remember to always keep dancing till the end
No matter what people might say
Dance until the very last day
Ahmad ***

— The End —