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Theia Gwen Feb 2014
When I was little all I wanted to do was fly
Like angels in the bible
Or like Peter Pan
With a little bit of faith, trust
And lots of pixie dust

When I was a bit older
I dreamed of being like a bird
While looking out of the classroom window
Not wanting to return home
I could spread my wings and protect myself
And fly
Just fly

One day I tried to fly
When I launched myself off my balcony
But gravity pulled me down and red liquid blossomed from my knee
While tears stained my cheeks
"What were you doing?" My mom yelled
I hiccuped through my crying
"I just wanted to fly."

I am standing on the edge
150 feet up in the air
I try not to think of it as falling
I imagine myself finally flying
And feeling the wind rush across my face and leave me flushed
I spread my arms and imagine wings
And let go
All to fly
"Falling is just like flying except there's a more permanent destination."- James Moriarty
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
I. written yesterday

i can't remember the last time i had so much fun with music, i put it down to recently seeing them live... and **** me, on both days they played the London Stadium and having such an arsenal of songs they would play two different set-lists... honest to god, i've never had so much fun with music than i'm currently experiencing with the Red Hot Chilli Peppers... perhaps it's not that i saw them live recently... i also attribute seeing them 20 years ago back in 2002 at the now non-existent London Arena in the Docklands... i should have ditched the guitar and picked up a drum-kit... i just can't stop drumming on my leg... grooving with my shoulders and imitating a pigeon walking: which is not exactly head-banging...

there's only one thing greater than cycling...
well: i don't mind not going at the speeds
of a motorcycle -
there's this book: i found it... laborious...
in all honesty...
      i don't understand the fame behind it...
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance...
like i side: a very laborious book...
i'd probably rewrite it as
Tao and the Art of Bicycle Usage...

in between talking to a newly acquired
"friend" in the Arab world who opened up
a conversation with me the word FAKE...
i replied: HAREM and
                      ختان (khitan) - circumcision...
like in Hindu: the H is a surd...
               i guess that's how the Tetragrammaton
structures itself around those tongues...

i prayed for a day like today...
            it was truly amazing... i rarely get into
arguments with motorists...
you could ask any van driver in central London...
i love van drivers:
apparently a car has to pass a cyclist
in a range of 1.5 metres...
van drivers? they're like: **** it...
i'm not driving a tank... he'll be alright...
and they're not shy either...
they don't stalk you on the rear faking
eyesight: pristine spatial-awareness...

fair enough... this one time i was cycling
from the supermarket in the night months
of late winter and this guy slows down
and asks me the question:
- where are you lights?
- what lights?
- exactly...

                   i should have hollered back: thanks dad...
lights or no light: you see me then?
oh look! pedestrians! no high-viz. jackets!
yeah: if it was a country-road: that would
be a fair point... unless of course the street
lights started blinking...

but today was spectacular:
there's only one thing better than cycling:
swimming on a hot day and...
getting angry at motorist when cycling...
******* tourists... Sunday type drivers...
careful! careful!

getting numb-nut words thrown at you:
trying to impress his girlfriend...
blah blah idiot blah blah that...
ooh?! ******... come here! so i caught up
with him and started spewing a list
of profanities... i'm such an adrenaline *****:
and becoming infuriated is like a caffeine-alcohol
overload for me...
i could swear that my iris and sclera disappear
and there's only blackness in my eyes...
- ******! stop the car and let's have a fight!
lucky for me this happened as we passed
a bus stop...
by then he rolled his window up...
or rather: she did... having spotted me gearing
up to have an argument...

what? a bicycle is less than a motorbike?
i like the idea of generating my own momentum...

but the second incident was more
impressive...
i'm working a shift at Wembley tomorrow...
at first i was like: women playing football?
but i'll just be watching them... not the football...
tattoos... long hair... ooh! there's an odd Pixie
short haired type i'm so into...
then i was like: eh...                 not that bad...
plus the crowd will be easier to control...

now i'm like: the lionesses have to win...
i don't support the English football team...
i support the male German team:
don't ask me why...
          i was thinking about it once...
the three colours of the France kit...
                       blue shirt white shorts
and red socks...
the German kit would look so awesome if
it imitated the flag...
   black shirt red shorts and yellow socks...
instead?
                      white shirt black shorts white socks...
and why?
    the Teutonic flag... Germany should change
it's flag to something akin to the crosses of
Scandinavia or the flag of St. George,
i.e. the inversion of the flag of Cornwall...
a black cross on a white canvas...
since... the colours of the football kit represent that...
the Teutonic Cross...

Spanish teams and of course because of Rapahel
Nadal have his word of encouragement
to keep them going...
bamos (i.e. vamos)
       there's a word in my zunge that can be
used to similar effect...
sometimes you just need a phonetic outlet
to match-up the exertion of the body
with the absence of any necessary mind...

DAWAJ - da-VAĪ...
                 looks super-slick in Cyrillic:
ДABAЙ!

       at university: oh god... i wish it happened
in a supermarket...
i went to this one gimmick party:
we were expected to attend wearing pajamas...
i started talking to this one German guy
and he told me he adored the word
KURVA (*****) he said:
there's this relief-release from uttering
that word...
i guess we saw it written in katakana...
it just didn't make sense at the time...
until only recently expressing :
                                                      ДABAЙ
in exasperations while peddling!

huh?! push-bike?!
since when is a bicycle a push-bike?
what am i pushing?
sure... hoo-lie-noga: you can push
a scooter...
what are we even talking about?
chess or brick walls?!
                         one of those conversations
at work... what push bike?
what am i pushing?
i'm peddling...
- a peddle-bicycle sounds double weird...
- thanks, but "push-bicycle" is altogether
weird too:
five blind men and an elephant sort
of weird... that "infamous" story of rock-hard
anti-Braille re-reading....

- this second incident was spectacular...
the lionesses better win...
i was reduced to roaring: RA! as she didn't catch
my indicating... as we pulled up to the roundabout
and started screaming blasphemies only
men hear from women...
    after she finished her little rant...
i caught up to her and ROARED... because?
i didn't want to scream any obscenities myself:
not at a girl... so i roared that mighty syllable R'AH!
perhaps the syllable once shared the name
of an Egyptian god: but not in these parts...

two provebs:
   when walking among the crows one is best
to croak like them
   (jesli wchodzisz miedzy wrony -
   musisz krakac tak jak one) -
which implies that if you walk among the German
tribes (which includes, by extension
the Anglo-Saxons) you have to speak their language
like they speak their language...
ergo? what am i? i'm an Anglo-Slav when it
comes to any ethnicity debate...
after all: Polacks have as much place in British
culture as all people of the former Empire...
now that empire is nothing more than
the Commonwealth & games...
      after all: ****** spitfire pilots fought in the Battle
of Britain: squadrons no. 302 & 303...
there's even a placard in the catacombs of St. Paul's
cathedral dedicated to their memory...
   which is why when come post-colonial former
British empire gust of mango and banana and
sugar cane wind comes flocking to these shores
i find my place too...
                                  
i found it so amusing... i roared and?
                   she roared back! ha ha! a lion to a lioness...
and i thought: this be an OMEN...
if i can turn this into an omen of good faith i'll
have fun tomorrow...
    if i roar at an English girl when she's seriously
having anger management issues
it might just be that i might capture a little splinter
of a collective imagination and turn that into
a victory for the female football team tomorrow
against the Fräuleins...
                    as that story goes: about the butterfly
effect... a butterfly in one place of the world
can create a tornado in another place of the world...
of course i'm not deluded that this has any
actual effect: hypothetically-chaotic and rightly so...
but if i can gear up some random girl driving
in a car with a roar and she roars back...
    maybe that might translate into a victory of sorts...
here's crossing my fingers that i'll be right
come tomorrow...

II. written today

ha! apparently i was right... the lionesses won
the Euros... my god... this is going to rub off so bad on
the male ego of the male team...
i try to avoid the argument: the team is not diverse enough...
only white girls... most blonde:
i never thought there were so many blondes
in England until i started paying attention
to female football...
                  
   i'm still not going to be convinced by club-level football:
but women's international football is... d'ah BOMB...
woke up at 8am... left the house at 9am
having eating nothing but half of a day old croissant...
next time i ate? after the match... 9:30pm...
i almost felt like a Muslim during Ramadam....

coming on the train: lucky me... caught the fast one
from Southend - the train that only stops at
Romford and Stratford and whizzes past all the stations
in between... there and back:
back at 22:22pm... lucky ******...
anyway... while i was going to work i realised...
i have this nugget of **** still in me...
but i'm nervous... i felt frozen into the chair...
i tried breathing really quickly... closing my eyes...
but i already knew i was constipated...
this nugget of kakashka (little ****,
an endearing term my former Russian girlfriend
used to use for me)
            would stay with me for the rest of the day...
nerves... about that OMEN from the previous day...
i woke up today wanting to be so right!
not in a way a betting man gambles on being right...
a different sort of being right...
on a hunch and a plethora of feelings...
strapped into the chair... head pulsating...
heart attack? stroke? three times as a headache...
a head-numbing pulsation...
        memories from being a teenager...
i had these three or four incidents...
i would snap my teeth... releasing this numbing-electricity
that pulsated from my jaw down my body
into my stomach... squeezed the stomach:
and i began pseudo-epileptic convulsions...
in absolute agony...
   for months i would fall asleep in terror
unable to clench my teeth...
in fear of replicating this pseudo-epileptic attack...
there's nothing more vivid in life
than pain...
                 it begins with an easiness of
an air-head... and then that numb-aching that translates
into a pulverising brain: trying to jump out
of your skull... it's not a panic attack as such....
just a head-heavy top-down...
at Liverpool Station i walked into the toilet
and thought that vomiting would help me...
mind you... i did learn the ancient Roman way
of "bulimia"... at first i used ******* down
the throat after i binged on food...
i was so body-conscious back then...
   after enough practice with ms. index and mr. middle
i built up an automated response of the esophagus
and throat...
                just my luck:
you can't exactly puke up half a croissant...
instead? i was... an anemic seagull trying to feed
my youngling with the delusion that i actually ate enough
for the both of us...
puke puke: yup! yup! nothing... bloodshot eyes
and tears... nothing... the light-headed magnetic bulge
of brain and an embarrassing forehead kept at it...

only when the shift started proper did the feeling ease
and *******...
lucky me... i was placed on level 1: great view of the match...
and among the German fans...
i thought: time to practice some Deutsche...
ar du haben ein gut zeit?!
                 eine gute zeit haben!

Jemmina popped up again... who's Jemmina?
she's like Ovid's Corinna...
although... she's not married and i didn't impregnate
her that she might suffer from having an abortion...
i was walking up to the sign-in area
and this woman i work with told me:
oh... she's working for me now...
you know how she and Melanie had a spat...
i just told her: i don't want to know...
but i liked Jemmina... i kept the part where
she blocked me on a messaging-service for no good reason
i should know about a little ***** secret...
well... if this woman is employing Jemmina...
and i just dropped the words: i really like her...
who knows!

the match itself? absolute brilliance...
1 nil up... and then the German equaliser... i thought:
oh ****... no point having roared to hear
a roar back...
extra-time... first half of extra-time... nothing...
and then BAM! a goal with 10 minutes to go!
keep it up... keep it up...
                               ah... the omen paid off...
the lionesses won...

but the biggest caveat wasn't me roaring and filling
my heart with a want for them to win...
sport's sport and it's only that...
there's still that hurt male-ego hanging over England...
coliseum after coliseum reinvented
and revisited: Rome the meteor
and these grand rising craters in the ground...
even with the crucifixion the joint
conspiracy of the Greeks and Hebrews could
never make this script as extinct as that
of the Cuneiform of the Babylonians...
it's already meshed up with the digital footprints
of ghost-robots and robot-men...

              but like i already mentioned:
the best caveat came when i finally decided to
feed the beast... walked into a Subway...
i thought: i've had enough of this deep-fried chicken...
burgers... i need something wholesome...
a sandwich will do just fine...
came to the order... a fine Italian loaf... turkey *******...
on the conveyor belt came to the guy who
was dishing out the sauces and vegetables...
people prior to me were so picky with the vegetables...
four Spanish girls chose as little as tomatoes
and iceberg lettuce... a few others chose even less...
this has always been my experience
in a Subway... i don't understand the ad gimmick
where people are picky about what vegetables
are put in their sandwiches...
and the guys on the conveyor belt of making sandwitches
are usually Hindus...
so when he asked me, which vegetables?
ALL OF THEM...
a flash of happiness in his eyes... all of them?
yeah... all of them...
low fat mayo and that sticky onion sauce too...
****... no black olives... never mind (i thought)...
mash-up grub in a 6incher...

once you have been fasting for almost 10 hours...
oh man... it's like Socrates said:
some people eat to live...
while others live to eat...
                      i have absolutely no problem
eating alone in public...
i've heard from those closest to me that
i eat with such finger-licking poise...
as i sat down two children sat either sat
beside me and enjoyed their own food...
and always: always have a napkin ready...
let's face it... no need for leftover sauce or crumbs...
on or around your lips in your beard
and moustache...

but that was the biggest the joy that came from
today...
all the vegetables i said:
all the vegetables?! he replied... yeah...
all the vegetables...
                what a wholesome little treat...
eating my sandwich with two children
sitting either side of me eating likewise...

like animals akin to like children:
as much as i dream up the companionship
of women...
    i'm more wholesome around animals
and children... i feel a sense of gravity
that's unlike gravity...
they're not my own: but, do they have to be?!
it's enough that i had to deal with
a bunch of Germans wanting to buy me a beer
in order that i might support their team...
got patted on the shoulder
by.... the crowd was mixed... no segregation line...
when i was first "initiated" / naturalized
into the British society i refused to sing
the national anthem...
now? i murmur it... i'm not confused:
i'm just conflating... i'm sniffing the death
of a queen... eyeing up the next king...
and there are two in waiting... hell! there are three!

the 2nd Elizabethean Age is coming to an end
and i'm gleefully asking for the best of the best
clocks of Zurich...
   no death of a Pope will be so profound...
the closure of the 20th century:
moving toward a newer, braver, world...

perhaps the Chinese reinvented themselves
by abolishing the five? or is it three old Cs?
culture, custom... i don't remember...
here's to me rekindling an interest in the Tao:
i have no interest in Zen...

chasing Penumbras and Chimeras...
don't even mention the umbra and the antumbra:
same heads of the same beast...
     man as incomplete as the schematics he's
presented with...
  of the Freudian dictate: ego, superego, id...
i'm building up an aftertaste for a a taste
of grapefruit...

          i was listening to two American girls
talking on the Metropolitan line... for once i started
to adore the accent... i undid my shirt and sweated
like a boar in a hunt... i like it when girls play
with their hair...
                i like it when girls play with their hair...
i was about to jump in with where they should
look next to live... if Whitechapel is ****** enough?
look to Wanstead!
                      
but i was so right... i roared: she replied with a roar back...
today can be salvaged as a success...
handshakes and all: job well done...

now i'm sitting in a leather chair farting
into an empty couldron of the intestines being emptied...
one can truly lament
the overthrow of old Chinese customs
by the Maoists... esp. concerning the Taoist rebellion
against Confucianism...
                     why wouldn't i sample some thinking
from the Japanese: to therefore counter
the onslaught of the CCP information warring?

but now... dearest sleep...
                      dearest of all... a sleep that might envelop
a decade's worth of rest...
and a memory of a: very beautiful sandwich...
oh... but that ROAR was heard...
from a little roundabout in Romford all the way
to Wembley...
      but i did have cuckoldry on my mind: throughout...
this is not going to work: in the long-run...
fair enough... it was great seeing
Alex Jones up close and personal...
but... n'ah...
there's something "wok awong wong"...

   it's unlike female tennis players... unlike female
Olympians...
                          appreciating sport that was
originally designated for men... is a bit like...
watching and nodding to... transvestites...
i'm not saying it's wrong:
but the appeal will never be there...
                        on an international level: for sure...
but on a club level? hardly...

what's football without rowdy male teenagers
trying to prove that they own *****?!
sort of boring... and... ugh...
women imitating men... they look so ugly...
so... butch... i don't think i've ever seen so many lesbians
in one evening... mind you: at least two lesbian
converts...
           of course you're going to come across
lesbian would-be converts...
it's usually the butch lesbians that are eyeing you
up... the more plump the ones with crew-cut hair
eyeing you you up...
oh no... not the submissive of the pair...
the butch-lesbians...
                                    they're playing with
the drama of being the pretend-man looking
for a man while dating a woman...

i like them... i like butch pixie-pizza-date-girls
of that sort... fine skin...
  i like short hair too...
                                i can't compliment on their skin
enough... i couldn't possibly stroke ivory enough
to reach that sort of complexion...
i wouldn't dare to lick it: let alone touch it:
i'd ******* have to frame it!

hey presto! one fetish emerges after one just finishes!
my favorite mousy was also there today...
to hell with me and my weakness for
ginger haired girls and freckles!
mousy! she figured out a way to change her hair
to become more appealing...
mousy! mousy! i won't give you her name!
mousy is mousy! she's a ginger hybrid!
i like her strawberry ginger-ness...
which is not a strawberry-blonde...
it's... tickling something akin to "something"
could be teasing more auburn clashes of shade...
never mind... the freckles are a bonus...

mind you: it's still too hot to venture back into
the brothel... i need late August to keep my tongue kept
to return to revisiting the brothel...
i need the weather to cool down...
not after that *******...
it was never going to work akin to how it "works"
in a pornographic flick...
two girls: two condoms...
the best you can do is ask for a pair of ****
from one and a hand-job from the other...
no one is catching any germs today...

my beard is a violin and a cello...
while i stroke it... trying to summon the winds
for the brass-stroke of genius...
i try to also remember...
miracles began with both Jesus walking
on water as they began with the madness
of Xerxes lashing the Aegean sea with whips
to calm it down...
for one? i find the latter more probable
than the prior; the poetics of abandoned genius:
and within its confines...
the cringe Christianity of what change would
later come.
Some gaped
Clutching spoons
Stained with technicolor sweet

Some choked
Spewing taffy
At the poison pastor's feet

Some wept
Scrubbing powder
From their pixie-dusted hands

Some screamed
Grinding canes
Into minty striped sand

He grinned
Spinning scripture
Into fluffy twisted hope

We died
Dangling sweetly
From the cotton candy ropes
I mean no offense. This is about something a specific pastor did that I'm just not quite over yet.
Alexa Sz Apr 2010
I walked on the path of rainbows
I sailed across the paintbrush sea
I climbed the candy corn mountain
really, only to see
a valley of yellow flowers
to the creek of hearts
through the sea shell tunnel
to finally reach
the forest of dancers
up the tumbling hill
across the diamond rode
when you see
the sign of talking veggies
and the house of pixie dust
or maybe it was the cat cave
I don't really know
and possibly if you're lucky
you'll see the Gate of Sunshine
and that is the end of this journey
but there are more waiting
so take your own path
discover a new place
far far away.
Homunculus Dec 2014
Well, nobody seems to
read my political stuff, so
Maybe I should hammer out,
Some uninspired fluff, about
Pixie dust, and rainbows, and
Boy meets girl, about how
When their lips touched,
They forgot about the world, and
He captured and enraptured her, and
Soothed her aching heart, and how
They long for each other,
Every moment they're apart

Yeah, sure...
Do you ever get the feeling that I'm terribly cynical?
Ken Pepiton Jan 2021
Check engine brings in the sufficiency of evil.

How does this work? Re
cognition, I suspect, a seemingly tireless system,
each day releases a sufficiency of evil,
just
enough to re
mind me-you, I see everything, I know

--- within the system of ignition and motive power

peace is after the first explosion begins to turn the crank.
all the piston resistance is pushed toward fore,

and we are off
the line ready

-- and I drive on to exit 28

The Madness of Crowds,

find what my tweets should be today,
read all the madness streams venting
into
the
new ideology of
entertainment,
consider comes up as a word, verb, I paused to look to the stars,
with their shine
to see me

as some bit of all that.

Far from the madding crowd maddened
by the noise we make in preparing
for war

from the foundational texts, in context,
time relative to everything, before
now, position point
meta data do the ID ea, ificate,
ego, go go on, wonder if

what if
hapt
ha, that one worked, eh? We.
You read, I write,
output input output with the effect of input,

loop once, and get the idea that this may
go on, never off,

well, we may imagine that goes nowhere,
round and round, balanced, as the best
1800's steamy perpetual motion patents were
compared
to vaporous IPO's in 1999,
which were overly faith-biased,
as a man thinketh in his heart, the whole world
seems to be… what the mind of the crowd can
conceive, with grip taken, hold on and lift
toward the top of the ripple,
balance
to the tip… of next…

here, put a gate.

Leave a legend of a fiery sword,
impressed
on the mind of a child living in a world
lit only by heaven and fire stolen
from the earth,
go mad with kuriosity

mad on me, mad on you, mad in us is used
to make us choose to believe or not,

dared? were we dared to doubt,
dared we be of two minds
in the matter of time and my being any thing?

Aye, and art, the wit of knowing, we are mortal,
don't forget,

how happy shall we be in ever, is there a demo?

May we try your way a while,
at the speed of thought
in unspoken words

read words in constant presentpast state, the angel
or the thought asreal,
read, but add the phenomenal experience of knowing

this one word is coming to me
from one level lower than the creator of all,
from one little measure above common
mortal humis based life…

where is peace in now?

An intention pledge, above the ethic moral tide,

as sea levels rise, tides rise, settle
us…
be the unem, see the top, from the bottom.

I look up.
BUT THEN SEE
the word realm I reside with
in time and chance,

such as the first fit word was serendipitously sung
in the sixties most recent,

along the marked ***** twisting thread through
the eve of destruction survived
by everybody getting ******,
according to Phoebe Zeitgeist, my once intimate
Tinkerbell fixation,
**** pixie,
in words.

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
Hopft hopes to

twistit
little bit,
{which way, apriori flaw, *** of u and me}

-lefty loosy, righty tighty was known at the ***** line
so, ***** you, tighten
the connection,
let less - power - flow, {force me, Luke, make me look}

Hopfordsensation spun'n'set to spin on and on unless

- un less, add, subtract prove this equals that
- this is odd
- what if there is always a way good wins?

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
dimmed to minimum spark, flash 10 second rewind,
I lost my mind
I set a reminder for a live feed proper propaganda
event for the latest contender
arisen to question the faith that is in me,
is me, I am
after all, covered
in the entire line of promises which,
culminate in Christ, if you know what I mean,

other wise,

you call truth liar. And there you are.

Wishing you knew if I were
you
would I lie about something as serious as happiness,
the state?
the condition?
the I'll go rhythm schism prism sparkling down the dusty trail…

mind wandering in ever after, as we have done, un
thinking, epi-
evolved by
tuning to those early greyscale programs with random snow
of many colors, when
you were of a bubbled state happy to watch the noise
of the universe
rippling through time to me via amplified CRT bursts
sans earthly input filtering output.

The white room we all remember,

staring in white room mode at whatever is on tv

see, think, imagine doing, that's it, that's it… nope, no good,
you feel bad when things go wrong,
even on tv,
we see.
These bits of us that make no sort on reality verification,
- there is no standard zero to divide by,
- and all the ones are whole
physical, hardwired, nurtured knots and nuts and bolts and
fast-ening things, thoughts that snag
hang-ups,
run the silk, expose the flesh, pierce the epi dermis

determinus outer-most
me,
into innermost you. In a given word, long ago, I think.
Life began to leak from ever before into ever after,
through now,
like this… quarkishly entangled with every thread of ever,
from then to now,

at any point in time, imagine, this is peace of mind, I MADEITUP!

--- a lessoning, to me today
--- opportunity to take responsibility, noticed,
there in our perifery,
leaning
left horizontal attitude adjust

POV straighten up
fly right.

Cultural norms super impose, form a me you may re
cognize in any mirror here on in…

that is not a clue, that is what you do. Now, or re boot day 7.
While masked and waiting for the solution to mystery, what was my car programmed to alert me to pre-vent, ssssssssss pirate spirit escaping to confuse
Mike Hauser Dec 2016
Well son...

It all began in Fairyland
In the lab of the mystical toads
As trash throughout the land had gotten way out of hand
Along side of the pixie dust roads

The system they had wasn't working
Leaving empty all the garbage cans
And everyone of the Fairies backs were hurting
Bending over picking all of the trash

In an off the wall guess Teddy Toad thought of this
Something the Fairies all liked
A horn on a horse as a matter of course
Then the trash men could go along for the ride

So they took a horse and Duct taped a horn
Cause we all know Duct tape works wonders
But it never fit right in its slip and its slide
In the taping of over and under

Science soon prevailed in the cell from the horn of a cow
Mixing it up with one from a horse
Purely by accident they just happened to chance
Upon what is now the Unicorn

Who's very first job was giving litter a nod
In helping to keep the streets clean
But before too long the Unicorn evolved
In the preforming of different activities

From the up turn of nose in sneezing rainbows
In the prettiest of sunny weather
To giving kids rides as they grew wings to fly
The ones mixed with birds of a feather

Or the burping of clouds when they opened their mouths
That only know how to rain Skittles
That sometimes floods the streets in candy knee deep
Running sugar sweet straight down the middle

So if you're ever confused on how Unicorns were first used
Or had any doubt to how they came about
You can set your mind at ease
You now know they were created because Fairies all hated
Bending over picking trash off the streets


Goodnight son, sweet dreams...
Wrote this for my friend Sally A. Banyan because she likes Unicorns...
Laura Feb 2011
******* -- beautiful art

there is no such thing

as anything other than

- beautiful art-

although i'm sure some one will try to tell somebody

that they just don't get it.

every single time that our

collection of

chemicals

and echoes of cell memories

build sums of bigger experiences

that must be expressed for

a higher reason than

reason.

where the drive is not

to conquer or accomplish

anything but understanding,

within our environment of fellow reactions

and cell memories

- any expression from our amazing collaboration

of chemicals, and natural laws

and faith

and trust

and pixie dust

is beautiful and unique

******* - beautiful art.
Sophie Wilson Jan 2015
I

That idol, with black eyes and pixie-cut, with
aristocrats nobler than artists, holier than New York City
hipsters; his selfishness running through her veins,
purple and blue like blood, or tarnished by amphetamines
in waves of ferocious sadness and yearning.

At the border of her life- young hope twinkles, fades
and dulls out- the girl with chandelier earrings, deer
legs, dancing in silver reflections of tears gushing
from the aftermath of shattered dreams dressed up
as vivid illusions.

Ladies who stroll outside of society, girls
plucked from art school, with trust funds, superb luxury
wardrobes, jewels on show but riches hidden in the
ground of trusting valleys in burnt gardens- young and
broken with eyes full of flashing lights, sullen, princess
of costume and keeping hidden. Gently ignored and
choked, unhappy.

What boredom, without your "genius."

It is she, the little girl, dead before innocence-
The young artist, alive, does not stoop- his life
creeks but for a second. His inspiration empty
and studio up for sale. Her shutters pulled down
and the key to superstardom in the lock forever
because the soul is empty.

The city's silver fountains drowned and cried for her
fabulous elegance.

II

I am the life who mourns like blue summertime.

I am the academic who waves manuscripts on
elusive "culture" and "style."

I am the pedestrian who looks up to the sky then turns
to the ground. Smoggy greyness and dead black
concrete pleads me to keep searching.

I might well be the same child; lost and unhappy
and hungry. Dreaming of touching stars but miles
from Heaven.

I am the artist. Manipulative creator and selfishness
embedded into the sinews of my heart.

The lamp shines brightly on these happy photographs. I
keep falling for these stupid books. Edie, oh, Edie.
You have gone and the world is ending!
izzy Sep 2019
Hey
I don't now your name
But let's pretend that that's okay
Hey
Your'e the only thought in my brain
Every minute of every day

You an you and you again
I keep seeing you everywhere
Look my way now and then ?
I see you even when you're not there

I don't know if I'm glorifying you
And I honestly don't care
All I wanna do is be alone with you
Touch that pixie cut hair

Sorry but I've got one hell of a
Crush on you
Never felt this kinda
Way oh you

You're making me feel ways
I've never felt before
I'm a little obsessed now days
My grades are flat on the floor

Can't concentrate in class
Can't answer a question
Or respond if someone asks
For a suggestion

I'm way to distracted
Looking for you out the window
Thoughts of you come back
Every second or so

I think I'm in love with you
Don't even know your name
I wanna be beside you
And kiss under the rain

My knees get weak
Whenever you go bye
My heart gets bleak
'Cause you'll never be mine

I'm so dangerously obsessed
With you
Girl you make me so depressed
Yet you
Are the reason I get up every ******* morning
I love you wanna be with you i want you to break up with your girlfriend youyoyuyouyyouyouyoyuyouyoyuyoyuyuyouyouyouyouyou

Sorry Lu I saw someone else
Violet light Bleaches steaming emptied emus' bladders on time, I want I want I am amongst the Atman at dusk man's lust rises ****** parry as a guardian of the gourd the glory of the gore internal innards languish read the spare change small children inquire currency smell of bleach eases the crucible fixing my easel with ease as all society is, is a trap, a trap lime citrus as sweet as Virginity as **** as a tarp pushing out rain water for a creature's belief in solidarity, soil begs to return sustained by nourishment of the water table and rain shadow, fees lie fallow I am a three field system mid evil as a midwife. aggregate agates gating Gaelic gaiety, fair as faith fairly free as a fairy, pixie sticks mixed well with angel dust I return my receipt as I am an alchemist to Egypt saying 2 sips taste better, who's at a crude joke who explains rude yokes poked by a spear leering silence at the steer awaiting an opacity to light my lantern, forsake advancement for the sun bends gravity as an attitude, who of many resist the power of effulgence, even lycanthropes need hope for the souls as the basis of reflection brings the rains sparked in rainbows.

What makes a friend? cogar a creyo una mi Amiga Bonita hace difficl estoy muy triste para la pnta y ala comer mierda.

UV is not a Cavalier, the ultra violet alpha is a royalist
WNDL Aug 2019
I   will   make   you      
love   the   moon

Even   if   it   means  
    losing   the   sun

Not   even   the  
stars  
could   stop   me

Nor   the   pixie   dust
   of   our   galaxy
Circa 1994 May 2013
Pixie stick kisses
And a sticky tongue.
Pigeon pointed toes
Curled in triumphant approval.

Buzzing eyes and flushed cheeks
Making a grand entrance
On your face.

Let's reenact
The age of innocence
We tossed out with
The trash so long ago.
Butch Decatoria Mar 2017
This place by the water’s pull
Edge of a city receding
Mumble of industry hollowed by
Twilight sleeping
Civilization pretends deep its normalcy,
Niceties for pillows,
Worry for a dream…

Scattered pixie dust on mesa’s humpbacks, wide
Reflecting sallow on Mission stillness of surfaces
By the sea-music of the bay
The illumination as though
A Sadness : dim yellows once
An explosive gold
So bright before, it gave freely with pride.

Now stars less willing to wink,
Upon melancholy night : a canvas fogged
By deeper covering, similar to
These worries of making it right
All half-hearted before--
True dawn of someday

Half-living, my eyes,
furrowed for the fight
By evidence
Displayed : world in refuse
My own worry, silent
Scripting black this muse
The Dark Inkling
A painting heavy with reality’s
Disemboweling bruise
A painting of futures
On barren earth : embarking :
Our worry : a ruse
Unfeeling if only
A striking of flint-stones together
Just to evolve once more ...

                             The human spark :

                                Love our warmest fire
                                Tiny kisses alight the dark.
                                No worry for our stars:
                                A night sky full of choirs.

                                No fault but in our wars

                                I worry about such fire.
Nyssa Jacobsen Aug 2011
Lying in bed at night
Eyes wide open
Seeing nothing
Or so we think.

The amazing thing about the dark
Is that there is an abscence of light
And so light cannot tell you what you do
Or do not see.

Reach your hand out into the blackness
Imagine you can go on forever
There could be a pixie flying past you
Or a meadow just a stroll away

Without light, we are more free to see
See the things we want, our fantasies
The dark is a wonderful thing
Because it is nothing, and everything

Lying in bed at night
Eyes wide shut
Seeing everything
Now we believe
Little Bit for Pixie

I lay down beside her,
Our breathing matches,
I close my eyes and let sleep take hold,
She wakes up beside me
Her hand running lightly through my hair
She prepares for her day,
We say our good byes,
There may not be a next time,
We hug hoping time will stop,
I lay down in my bed
She lays in hers
Tonight we dream of our little bit we shared
Hello, This is for you, I hope it makes it to you, goodnight and sweet dreams.
there was a little pixie he lived in the wood
he was very happy and he was always good
he had bright green suit as green as green can be
always bright and cheerful a happy chap was he
oneday in the woods while sat down by a pond
he heard a little cry coming from beyond
he strolled along the forest and climbed up in a tree
where the noise was coming from he could plainly see

he saw a little bird who had fallen from his nest
and landed on the floor where he came to rest
the poor chick was crying and clearly in distress
his feathers they were ***** and he was such a mess

the pixie said dont worry i will do my best
i will climb the tree he said. and put you in your nest
pixie took him home to where the chick should be
high up the branches to his home up in the tree.
Butterfly Dec 2010
Your life's cut short- We sure had a lot of fun
When I think of you- I see the rising sun

Dynamic noise- The bass breaks the ground
Dance all night- Always ready for another round

Glitter is flowing- Like dust in the air
We were creatures of the night-We would go anywhere

As the crowds were forming- The lines were quite long
Of all the things we were doing- Nothing was wrong

Bright colors and lights filled each room-
We watched each other as our night began to bloom

Darkened corners- Upon the fluffy couches we'd fall
Our bodies outstretched- Our legs in a sprawl

The music flowing thru our veins- Me Pixie Stix- You Kandy Kanes
Oh the fond memories Ill remember all of my days- The fun times we had in the height of our craze!

The twists and turns our lives have brought us thru- We both have come out on top, and we now have clear view
Yasu Nemo Feb 2014
the lowly branches give a creek
as they bend to earth to give a greet
i pat my horse to soothe its whine
as we duck another twisted vine
deeper into the forest we go
as we hear the water flow
body positioned; ready for flight
as we follow the second star to the right
we walk along the trodden trail
our puffs of breath, both heavy and frail
we walk until we can’t anymore
my heart skips a beat, then two, then four
we settle under a tree for the night
the branches impede our source of light
we knot ourselves and drift off to sleep
hoping we won’t miss Peter Pan creep
for he’s the one we’ve followed so far
withstanding the blood, the bruise, the scar
so that when he sees us, he won’t run or hide
instead, he’ll look upon us with pride
he’ll break into a grin,
he’ll hold out a hand
and with a little bit of pixie dust
we’ll fly to Neverland.
mims Oct 2013
I will
flutter away
for a while
into the second star to the right
and straight on
'til morning.

I will wait there
in solitude
for you.
With fear, yes
that you might not look for me
nor forget about me
and I, be one with the lost boys
of Neverland;
forgotten, never heard of
and would never grow up.

But more than fear,
much more intensely
more than fear,
is my heart soaring high
of pixie dust and
happy thoughts
of you and me.
That after this pilgrimage,
as I come back
you will be there
by the window,
waiting for my shadow
reaching out for my hand
and together,
we will fly away.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2017
If Wars were Subject
to Copyright

If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like ****** manna on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway

If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold-scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick

If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Gave the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club

If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he banged the lectern for a war,
The glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and dreams
CastorPolydeuces Feb 2017
you swallow glass to
cleanse your insides
and make room for
clear cut crystals.
holding hope out
in a dish for more
more high flying
death defying
pixie dust.
I wanna ******* fly.
Reappak May 2020
Most difficult is that moment,
when he smiles at you...........

And instead of doing that happy dance,
and prance around like a magical pixie horse
you just smile, warmly
But your blush.......
The blush gives the game away!
Crush moments!
Tate Morgan Jul 2015
I have a daughter Jessica
just as sweet as she can be
And every time I look at her
she is smiling back at me

She gave me all my grandchildren
with the joys that each would bring
Her face is bright as morning dew
like the first breath of the spring

A pixie of a girl for sure
who weighs but a hundred true
Yet has a heart larger than mine
or any I ever knew

Each time we stop by to visit
she suspends rules of the house
Lets me do whatever I want
the same as her loving spouse

Of my children she is the one
I have not done justice to
The truth be told it's all my fault
oh Jessie I do love you

Tate
Of late I had jessica and the kids over. In our conversations I realized I had been remise. I had neglected my daughter Jessica. Of my three children she is the only one I have never written of. Yet though I had not honored her with anything. She had given to me most of my happiest memories of late. I can't remember a time when I saw her that she didn't say "I Love You ' to me. She is the mother to Payton, Landon, and Eli my grandchildren. I am sorry. This is my fault. So Jessie I stand before you a repentant father and ask that you accept this from me as the first installment of what will likely be many more. On another point here's a cry from me that feels more like a plea. "Frieda please come home"
Nicholas N Aug 2017
"I've fallen in love,
And she's so beautiful I could die", he said.
"Her hair, it flows.
As much as a pixie cut can flow.
Her eyes, they glow.
As much as the gates of heaven can."
I told him to look away.
"Love is a child's game. Don't be a fool".
But he was a ****** fool,
And his heart was set upon her.
Finding,
Dining her.
After all,
She was a delicacy, and he had to eat.
I wrote this about my friend who fell for someone who was 100% wrong for him.
Adam Robinson Dec 2017
Collected punk neon girl
Pixie goth artsy boy
I could read you both anytime
I'm a stickler for a problem
So enough of the courage
Enough of the bravado
I love things I cannot fix
So drugs, mental plague and festering narcissism are the things I like
A secret to only myself
My friend brings on lovers
Who are scared to touch
They look on with pearly eyes
And mouth out words.
With only silent prayer they have --
No action.
She lies there ashamed.
Too pure too touch
Too perfect to be near
She's a gyroscopic girl - a dancing queen of flowers
Too thunderous to tame
Must be nice, I say.
Hell, she replies.
It makes her grow black thorns
Which makes me show her my black moths
In my own brain
Another friend is in a mix
She cannot feel her teeth
As she digs on into cruel flesh
Endlessly --
Prospering off of the mania.
Madness in us all
Sparks only to blame.
Get Out Of My Head
LOVE
TASTES LIKE
A CLIPPED WING
FALLING FROM HEAVEN
THAT SPILLED
FROM MY MOUTH
LEAVE THE ROSE
IN PIXIE DUST AIR
ON THE THRONE
OF MY TONGUE- DANCING
SO MY WORDS CAN SEND
RAINBOWS TO HILLTOPS
REACHING THE SKY.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Locked in caps.

— The End —