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The passage of time, illusory some say,
is noted quite succinctly
by the ticking of the small electric
plastic clock sitting on the coffee table,
in front of the old couch.

Once in a great while, the battery,
tinier than my thumbnail, runs down,
depleted. The arms stop moving,
and the second hand only twitches,
forward and back again each second,
not making any progress.

My cat purring, perched contentedly, his face
near to mine, rests upon my upper torso.
Part of the couch is duct taped,
Where he’s shredded it over the years.

An emptied coffee cup, lid-half off,
contains a crumpled candy bar wrapper,
which I put in there, most probably,
so the cat would not devour it,
and later throw it up.

There are stacks of half-read books
(The Guns of August, Joan of Arc, Tom Jones, etc.),
an empty candlestick, a crusty dinner place mat.

I’m 45, nearing 46, staying
well, (well, more or less),
wearily waking from a weary nap,
after what was just another day
of so many, many days
of a humble life on earth.

Still, there are a couple hours left of light today.
Outside the big living room windows,
the evening sun shines green,
through the young spring leaves.
Make your time count.
Mortality looms, I tell myself.

So, right now, I will push off my cat,
(he wanders off, not meowing)
get up, dress, stretch,
force myself into the evening air,
before it gets too dark,
and run four miles furthermore.

Be home in time for dinner,
my mother would have said.

What is it, I sometimes wonder,
that keeps me going
through all these days?

I believe, I suppose, that all this ordinary time,
(Le temps quotidien, the French might say)
will eventually lead
to something transcendent, sublime,
forgotten by design,
in the daily crush of work and worries.

I’ve been meaning to fill that candlestick for years,
and finish all those books.
But so far I never have.

And so alone I run away,
inevitably with age,
through the indifferent rhythm
of the seasons passing,
the world, my life, our lives.

And all of us grow more distant
in this passage,
one from another, somehow,
dwindling in each other’s lives,
as each passage narrows, separates,
further away, disappearing, sadly

like the faint and ancient galaxies,
too numerous to name, red-shifted,
infinitely distant,
now scattering their dying stars,
with unkept, dimming memories,
and elapsing towards
oblivion unknown, fading,
their swirling light a mystery,
even to themselves.
Written in Spring 2014, revised 2015-19.
There's a certain kind
That holds you hostage
Way up there in the bleachers
In a red-light district
Cold and cheap
It lures you because you're lurable
Attach and you're stuck up there
In a certain kind
Of dilapidated ivory tower

It's only later on
When you're broken
When the nights have woven
Their history and the light
Has drained
Only when you're pushed out
Only when you're shoved off
Only then does the truth
Begin to talk

Until then it's been silent
Though gradually loosing appetite
For despair, denial, dilemma
Only when unhooked
Does that fierce, quite dismissal
Begin to beg for something else
Only then does
A certain other kind
Begin to go wild for itself

You wonder how yourself
Moldy and molting
And mad with lies
Had so deceived its own
You wonder how
If there is a god
S'he coulda watched you bleed
With self-betrayal
And sat there idle
While you slowly crumbled

But admit it
You were terribly cocky up there
In the pink and belly-full
***** and hookered
If G O D woulda spoken
You woulda spit in the face of divinity
And you probably did

So that certain kind
Watched and waiting
For another
Certain kind
To choke the bejasus outa ya
'til you slowly faded to full stop
And dropped to your knees
To a certain other kind
I wrote this in 2011 after many many years of turmoil and personal upheaval. It was the first of many that followed.......I'd written songs but never much poetry up until then.........It was written during a passage and an awakening to the disowned parts of me that I'd suppressed all my life. IT's a hymn to the betrayal of self through a life only partially lived
Joanna Jul 23
A squirrel found passage on a telephone wire
a bird lost a feather and did not grow tired. 

While the sky found a kaleidoscope of color,
another, lost the blues this summer night, 

and then found joy in hidden delight. 

For just beyond the horizon where mysteries 
unfold, and there are adventures to behold. 

The eagle as he soars, the butterfly on his way,
it's all in the process that forms a new day.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
PoserPersona May 2018
'Twas a time I deemed thee love;
  the echoes lacked contraire
Sea moon shadows dance across
  this isle of despair

Entwined flesh eyes doth ne'er perceive,
  outside the mortal's scope
No sole charter giveth passage
  through salty waves unknown

'Tis what I think to see thee there
  on pedestals of gold
Forevermore you place thyself
  on stalwart shores alone

Unfurl thy sails for distant lands;
  the lighthouse shines once more
Praying to gods that long lost ship
  will find its way to port.
marianne Apr 4
Slim whispers under snowfall
warblers vanish, send a postcard
bloom and batten just a memory
while wind hurls sheeting rain
against my window—
my heart melts, open to
the inner wild,
my soul sings
words through pen on paper
I come alive
in the stillness, in the
bleak months

Sun is warming skin and soil
hatchlings calling, can you hear them?
cherry blossoms pink to bursting
while springtime beckons little faces
to my window—
my heart skips, one eye
to the quiet
still my soul’s urge
to be open to the passage
ebb and ease into
the rousing, the
bright months
I'm not quite ready for Spring yet.
Walking in the furrow of a
a black night,
a brilliant sunny dawn rush
in in winds armada, smashing the congealed acidic cold of dubious clouds of the tyrant skies.

Then a wild wide smile, in a
wafting voice, fluttering with
bouts of excitement, on the earth
swollen face, raining down in gush
of balm of healing and love from
the celestial splendor , drowning
us in cherubims and Seraphims.
Tom Spencer Feb 3
slow stepping
through tall grass

the deer
navigates the meadow

by blazing starlight
head high, ears alert

stopping from time to time
to snort and stomp

sensing the unseen presence
holding its breath

a shiver amongst the shadows
of this leafless grove

Tom Spencer © 2019
CK Baker Mar 2017
the walls of inside passage
look the same
from sound to straight
tugs and plugs
dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare  

pods are in sequence
as the high tail smashes
and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows
bob and weave
as bow heads glide
over haida gwaii  

northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly
on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea  

driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast
on open flames  

villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies


ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade  

trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feasts
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on a dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
Randy Oct 2018
Will I let it consume me?
This thing I've created.
I will not!
To do so is but doom.
Down that dark passage some do go.
Am I brave enough to follow?
Would I be able to make it back?
Dare not chance it.
Yes, I am strong. And I will go.
The steps I take three or four.
Down the passage I saw before.
I look back. Go back! My fear yells.
Turning again, on my way down.
Ignoring the perilous end.
Steps more I take.
Though I listen. No sound.
No fear felt? How?
Dark grows the way.
A voice behind me calls!
Fear returns! I turn and run!
To the safety of ....
Back safe. I know the truth.
Better not to go down that passage.
I close the door. Lock it tight.
To never open. But I might.
In some future gale.
Can't help myself.
The door beacons. Calls me in.
I'm drawn. Not wanting in.
I pass by this time.
In me joy begins.
Not to last, fleeting it goes.
Because I know.
The door I will open.
As before.
To peer down the dark passage.
To see the thing I've made.
Yaser Apr 18
That which you see
with your third eye
Is that not the way
the spirit dies?

Not for an age
now have I seen
the dead that now
watch over me

Which way which way
can one turn?
For the eternal paths
I seek and yearn
lie awake
aways so far
and sit scorched with brimstone,
blood and char

Where new meets old
and the old, arcane
Strange as the sound
of unfell rain

Aeons pass
and aeons weave
even so as
the deepest seas

Death and dread,
a misty gloom
may one day come
to plague us soon

Be born within
but die without
as you watch the tormented
twist about

and to that which you see
with your third eye
be warned and be told
that the spirit lies...
Jen Jan 2
Traveled through the channels, as we all do.
All best wishes & raincoats, turned around before
The tunnel started, just made it on the metro line
Before the doors shut tight, right as I was inside,
Held the railing and stared out to what fell behind—
Empty lifeless passage where none are meant
To remain, among the chill and lack of heat & laughter.
Darkened skids and tracks left & said goodbye.
Poem 140... Goal : 1,000 poems.
Qweyku Nov 2016
I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden

I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say
forever or always
whichever tide ebbs first.

I speak of knowledge
when I say
the body of a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine

I speak of faith
when I say
nothing good
ever became
without an
inject of pain

I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave

© Qwey.ku
Antino Art Sep 2018
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after dark
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.

Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.

In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.

Who sees
clearer through rain.

Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.

Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.

Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels,
during storms in late August.

Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Storm flight trains movement
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
God ensures everyone a shore
floating on the sea of the soul!
No stone is as solid
lying in any temple.

Light up the flame lay it on
the passage to the truthful
selfless human conscience.
Unleash from the unseen
the one true enduring origin!

The more one understands
the universe's more meaningful!
Hails from the one yet to expose
the utmost intelligent of all!
elle Nov 2018
the pursing of brown lips
Earth as she inhales
feet which prance quietly across
the folding of pink hands

corners of a dark room, melt
by candle
billowing shadows
cast and crowded into Darkness,
who is holding hands with
Light

embrace of opposites
stark and subtle dance together
a fluid

one being, like a river

undeniably roaring

Such is the transience of anger and
flightiness of love

who call upon us
even in the scarcest of moments
Aj Jan 2018
you are words.

you are crashing syllables that drip off of wilting rose petals and each letter is a star. you make up constellations while foreign galaxies drip from your lips. nebulae dance across your angel-shedded skin and particles of the sun hide under the freckles resting on your shoulders.

you are life.

the wonders of the cosmos that swirl in the pit of your lean and golden tummy, finding solace in the way you breathe in and exhale the energy of the universe that you created in the beating passage of my worn-out soul.

you are the universe's child.

and the stars that accumulate under your skin will explode. i'll inhale the stardust and debris, letting the particles of life that you emit pollute my bloodstream.
constellations dedicated to a lover who lost his way.
ryn Feb 2015
Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun
frozen kisses in my blood
travelling a thousand miles
to meet up with you.

There is none else walking
down this path where memories
wake up and dance
inside my armored heart.

I peeled off each kisses embrace
out of my parched lips.
I shook off the tree,
where your scent had blossomed.

Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...
Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.
Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun
Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.

Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.
Sweet scented portal that took me back,
To the illusion of time where we once were...
In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.

Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.
You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...
Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core
Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.


Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.
I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.
I want to vibrate under your touch again,
In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.

I hurl your name to the echoing wind,
Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.
Only to find that I'm but elongating
the distance between our fading wishful stars.

Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,
Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.
Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,
Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.

Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...
Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.
When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,
Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...



Dajena M
**ryn
My first collab with the incredible Dajena M. She had deleted her account and the collaborative pieces she had posted went away as well. But... I found them!!! Yay!

I'm so glad we had the chance to collaborate on such an amazing piece together.
lifeonLSD Oct 2018
— - —
Call it magic if you may
the sun, the moon’s pray

Constantly chasing each other
day after night, night after day

Such a perfect contradiction they make

Putting together the right ingredients
to complement each coloured ray

When one were to fall the other
would silently rise, filling its place

With every small step they take,
synchronicity follows without ever
missing a beat

So on they move

Completely balanced,
without anybody taking the lead

In the beauty they unfold upon us
this has to be
one of the most wondrous spectacles
if you ask me

Words are unable to measure
by any means their lightning show
how they glow with a radiance
that highlights their power and control

Or how they never let
each other down
Or stand in each other’s sway

No envy I feel
nor does appreciate is able to say

The truths about their nature,
always ready to unveil
hidden in every passage lay
the constant sacrifices they have made

The forces that pulls
each other so close
the same it pushes away, too

If one steps out of place,
all falls out of space and will be let loose

With lightyears of travelling
they unified their bond but are still
bound to live in separation

I admire you,
from a far

An admiration so magnificent
it cannot be free
One of the most magical things
enabling us to see

Right on time
as ever so soon

The dance
between the sun and the moon.
— - —
a mere spectator
Drifting back to the ocean
like it never even happened
unraveled dreams washed clean
crystalline renaissance bestowed    
by wind mountain spring waters
rising from the heart
of mother earth

A remnant light glows deeply
of one love's untamed wonders
an unfastened feather glides abandoned
rushing waters floating
alighting pilgrim blissfully sails on
stranded without wings
a fallen wild feather free as bird
wanting a place to be let free

Sun in the summer air
wind in buoyant feathered hair
softly dancing upon
wild river restless ripples
to feel the love of holding on
adrift asunder whence it touched on
destiny's far-reaching
journey yonder
holding onto flowing rivers
rolling towards the sea

The incoming tidal waters blossom
surge to greet wind river's gentle saunter
converging slackening passage
salt on feral feathered fragments
arousing currents babbling swirl
imbibed by the impassioned sea

Wild rivers' born intentions
a different kind of drifting passage
to kiss the distant horizon
where the sown sunlight settles
submerged in shoreless ocean waters
    to be free all at sea at last


someone you used to know  2017
leila Aug 2018
Through the Memories Passage
I'm the one
****** to be forgotten
or honored to forget
this sadness
that destroys like storms
Through the Memories Passage
I'm in a way I should not
or I shall be,
to forget all of these deep sufferings
Through the Memories Passage
There is a long way, full of depth
and a sufferage
in certainty,
That I pass
Through...
Through The Memories Passage
CK Baker Feb 20
read me that passage again
you know
the one about the guy
who’s got his finger
stuck where it shouldn’t be?
spinning it all the way to the top
and shocking anyone within his view

sammy was his name
and his friends called him
swami
you would see him often
biting the wing of his chicken
(and shaking his head)
zolten would ask;
“you call this a pastime sammy…you call this a pastime?”
sammy would say;
“it’s fine…it’s fine…yes…yes…it’s what i do”
and no one seemed to mind
(save for the chicken)

he was a descendant of an eastern block
a shipol they’d say
fingers pruned
eyes red (and full of hope)
toss me one of those medicine *****…and let someone else call the show!  today’s line up; boulder dash and surfboards of death! (for they always seem to keep the captain amused)

a big belch
from the little man
has sammy grinning
from ear to ear
un-kept teeth
and blackened nails
do not cross his mind
(for he’s all about pulling compliments from the day!)

hey wait, he’s stomping now…and mad!

hey wait…it’s passed (look at that, he’s already moving on!)

catch you on the rebound swami!

catch you indeed!
Lazhar Bouazzi Sep 2017
I am the quill that marks
The water-walled history
Of the sea as it may -
A swan, be it, or a black-backed
Gull.

I am the pariah who
Failed to posit his load on
A hill that hung low, like a
Sunless moon, but who can still
hark the dark
Rumbling of repetition.

I am the Quixote who took
On the wind who made the mill
Sob like a bronze leaf in grief,
Seared by the passage of
A sluggish summer.

I am the pariah, the
Quixote, and the historian
Of the rainbow runner.

©LazharBouazzi, August 5, 2017
jcl Feb 5
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you

you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me  
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to

a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching  
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you

oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution  

i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war

i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
https://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/24/arts/design/24wilson.html
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