You do a simultaneous favour
To spiderwebs and fire
As they dance in your depth
And I skim across your surface
Skitterishly
Watching the blue flow up into blue
And the blue sink down into blue
Reaching fingers reluctantly down, and up,
Broken only
By the water-colour green in between-
I want to be the surface
That only I can break,
That holds the horizontal
Between you & your sky; I
I want to be within
And outside of your
Deep, light body
At once
(Till I can no longer feel the hot burn
On soles and blazen palms)
And then stay so until spiders
Build their home on my shoulders.
•
I'll stay still for them,
And you.
So you can make patterns across my arms-
Cobwebby patterns of (strobe) light-
And I will fly inside you,
Because you are my sky.
This is why I now only swim
Upside-down;
Because I feel like I am flying

to hide, to lie
to string dangling participles
along on metaphors

use poetry
where lips won't work
and mind can't find
The Way

let crystal crimsom flow
from serrated wrists

obscurity allows for
solshimmers of the ineffable
so don't eff it in the a
like a persie Snap channel

in the event that may potentially be a thing possibly occurring perhaps I dunno and I don't know what I don't know but it sureasshit would be nice to because me and truth are like this [crossies] and on occasion it comes and knocks on my door so the Uni bringeth and I laugheth all the way to the wet sodium facepalm speaking of which I don't like the taste of that **** I like my truth rare and still mooing would you believe I'm a vegetarian tho but still **** ******* like it raw crunch munch nom noms even though I slurp soup like there's no phoking tomorrow also down af for digressing and running onward and sideways stories from where the sidewalk never ends and I really don't think ours does plus it sure is the weirdest neatest thing ever did you bring the proper shoes darling I sure hope you can keep up in all the ways and FYI my door is not blasted off the hinges it's wisened and slightly ajar and I'm standing over threshold with eyes wide and slightly red because I waved goodbye to sunsets left for mf good but never got to see our light rise so just know that these wrung hands are actually open palms crippled from reaching and being singed on handles that seemed oh-so cool from my limited optical view like a mountain of honeycombed Dixie Crystal dust knees that you had been on yours praying for but gave the **** up on long before he walked in and changed EVERYTHING and I am so grateful but I am sad and I am hurt and I am confused but I am not scared like I once was of you and All our tea leaves foretold but scared I am of never really knowing you and the accompanying truths so please give it to me dagger deep I meant what I said and I said what I meant I like my men sharp and penetrative 100% and if you can't handle being earnestly struck by your own syntactic constructs direct in the ******* whinging outta my sometimes salty sacrosanct then me and you just won't do since that happens to be my forte as it were and maybe you're not up for the uphill to heaven with this mystical inferno but if you think perhaps maybe your life will never be the same without me in it someway somehow then let's fill the grey unnamed with a foundation of friendship where all is safe and found and all that means to me is everything so if you trust me to know the things about love a.k.a. the holy mystery which you ahem did as I recall with glowing warm curled around my formerly shaking cold then don't worry about getting back to it there's no such way to a thing it's there - always was, is, will be - it's just we're having this hooded entourage over for dinner first and honey I don't know if we have enough chairs but I'll sit on the floor with you and we can laugh and cry and eat sixteen courses of humble pie until the holy ghost enters the room which she undoubtedly will do and leave periodically only to return when we get all cozy and still or maybe upon the exodus of tears when all the walls have been torn down and we finally see clear through that one room has indeed been forged from two

or whatever

Lost in the ways of sound waves

Swimming in the tone of the loud bass

Hoping I can make this home

Let my home be a soundscape

Let my thoughts drift off,
my mind is infinite

When I think of this, I think of things

That are intimate, increments, sentences

No I'm not sexually speaking

Art is inside of my soul,

from the outside it is reaching

I've seen the high frequency waves bouncing from two sides  of a room.
"Shut up and kiss me"
I heard the sound of yours fade out,
Or maybe I'm just losing my hearing.
Maybe I'm on the right side of a 1 way mirror,
Or am I just breathing too heavy..
Its transparent and I just can't stop breathing,
that must be it.
I've drawn in the faces I've always wanted to see on yours.
I'd call your phone just to hear your voice again.
I wasn't dreaming, I was just reaching for you
And I forgot you weren't there
"I love you 'til the end"
I find myself singing by candle light,
These will be the good ones when we're older,
I hope I make it to thirty.
I think it'd be alright if I just stopped my life right here.
if I just ended it right here and left you the sound of me
Just one last time.
To remind you of the times you were sleeping.
I pushed your hair aside to see your face,
and you grabbed my hand in your still condition
And I stayed still to be you.
Looking around these corners playing my favorite memories,
"You're still here, aren't you?"
Every word I played created you in the crowd,
And now it's time for you to make some space for yourself
"I can feel you hugging me"
Because you are.
I want you to do things,
you've been doing things,
and it's just what I wanted.
I hope he lays his hand through your hair, resting on your cheek,
with your ear between the ******* they always set,
And I hope he kisses you.
I dreamt of you again.
I had a tremendous view, closer and closer.
There were banners filled with choices,
And for once I think I won't pick you.
I keep passing out, but not all the way...
Or maybe I'm just dying.

Clarity diluted
By the lack of course
I leave you to reflect
On your reflection
Utter confusion and all
Alone with your books
On how to be human
Your sorrows for the lost hell
Your despair at how to
Reach the state of complete degradation
And your fearful illusion
Of fire projected
Onto the blue of the sky
Reaching out for it
Seeking unity only
To blame it for a rain
How much more energy
Will I poor down this drain
To prove myself wrong

These soot cloaked hands have been tried
They're wrecked and wrinkled by those drenching waters of time
Hands that only wanted to help you and hold you
Seem to have been rejected for their lack of whatever it was you ran off to
Reaching from some dieing branches
Hoping that maybe it won't end like the last time
 
And like those stems my roots are bare
Chapped and crackling in that love lost air
So tired of waiting for a gentle rain
A little relief to forget the pain
Of knowing what it's like to care

Empathizing with the less fortunate
When all I need is a little sympathy
Is for you to take a pinch of time and get to know me

But maybe that's just too much to ask
Maybe I was meant to pan along the river side
Congratulating others on their gold
Secretly it's killing me
Seeing smiles that crush my soul

One day I'll be happy for you
When I found out what happy can be . . .

I feel like a brick God puts under his foot
to reach higher elevations.
He is reaching for books that will teach
him how to make things unlike this brick.
Things that will alight and make bright
sun in the dark.
It’s hard to be heard,
being a brick under God’ s foot.
Such heavy things do not fit into sound.
But you help. You always help.
You pen your strings to my words
and they make delivered sound that creates space.
You lift my heaviness with God-given hands,
and God-given lips,
and God-given eyes.
I have been told of God-given life,
and God-given greatness.
So what is God trying to teach this brick?

Reach for the sky
Ingrid said
as you and she
swung on the swings

in Jail Park
your feet pointed skyward
your hands gripping
the metal linked rings

the wooden seat
beneath you
and the sky
was a fine

summery blue
clouds were white
as engine puffed smoke
and you said

my old man
nicked money
from my blue
money box

I never saw him
I just heard him
early this morning
with the rattling

as he used a knife
to eject the coins
Ingrid gaped at you
as she swung

beside you
how much
did you have in there?
she asked

couple of quid
I expect
you said
now it's lighter

and rattles emptier
why did he do that?
she asked
you pushed your feet higher

and bent forward
on the swing's chains
and up you went
reaching for the sun

he needed it
for a packet of cigarettes
I guess
you said

but that's thieving
she said
he'd say
it was liberating

coins for a purpose
of need
you smiled
has a way with words

if not much else
you said
you studied Ingrid
as she swung at your side

her black scuffed shoes
the grey once white socks
the sleeveless
stained flowery dress

which came to the knees
her dark hair
pinned back
with the metal grips

her thin wired spectacles
with her large eyes
staring at you
if I'm ever given money

she said
for birthday
or whatever
my dad takes it

and says I've been
too bad to have it
once he almost broke
my fingers open

to take coins
I was gripping
you tut-tutted
and looked away

as you rose higher
the trees of the park
and bushes
seemed miles

beneath you
and the other kids
on the see-saws
and ropes and sandpit

or on the tall
metal slide
seemed so small
and you remembered the time

Ingrid fell off
the ropes
and grazed her knees
and you helped her up

and helped her hobble
to the first-aid room
near the toilets
and the stern

middle aged woman
in charge there
helped her into the room  
and sat her on a chair

and you stood there staring
made a mess of these knees
ain't you deary
the woman said

best get you cleaned up
and she used cotton wool
and some purple smelly stuff  
to clean away

the stones and dirt
and blood
and as she lifted the leg
she saw a blue green bruise

on Ingrid's thigh
you have been in the wars
the woman said
with a shake

of her blonde
haired head
not wars
you thought

her old man's belt
more like
but never said
and Ingrid cried still

her face red
the woman's plump pink fingers
cleaning the knees
the blood seeping through

the cotton wool
and you
just standing there
giving it

your concerned
and boyish stare.

Today that disc of life, when in the east it rose
I found it a little more ominous, its end a little too close.
You don’t seem to mind it, maybe you don’t at all care
The object that makes your day, won’t be forever there.
Today it lends a friendly halo, shines bright on your homely turf
It won’t be like this for all the time, when it turns a white dwarf.
You find it nothing worrisome, too faraway to be any omen
That it is silently wearying itself out, burning up its hydrogen.
The blinding luminous ball, at which your eyes can’t gaze
Has still billions years to bow out, and halfway through its phase.
So what’s there to worry, the end is too longtime yet
Generations will come and go, before reaching destiny’s date.
But still the issue is something that deserves a serious plan
It involves a grave consequence, for the future of human clan.
Where will be our habitat, when dies our star of stars
When earth becomes inhabitable, will our abode be Mars?
For it will be billion years more the fireball will hold there out
Of all the planets the best bet, is our brethren Mars no doubt.
So maybe before our star burns out, we seek out another shore
Colonize the red planet in the sky, also called the planet IV.
An entire civilization will shift there, an enormous migration
Carrying with them love and hatred, all the human emotion.
They’ll make Mars another Earth, in a strange way I feel
We’ll not leave behind human divide, the inequity’s evil
Our boundaries and walls of color of skin, stigma of racial curse
Will they be all carried with us, transported to the new home Mars?

A fleeting feeling,
once here, now gone.
A quiet question,
always heard, never asked.
That tender touch
of yours, of mine.
The igniting of a flame, hands
outstretched, reaching in darkness
for you, or me,
or love.

Why do you need a magazine
when one bullet locked to the core
has the power to cut electricity for an entire city?
Do you not trust your accuracy?
The integrity of man lies in its
ability to forge daggers out of words -- But any other weapon can and must rust,
Even oxygen knows that and speeds along the process.

The power of speech developed years before anyone could write the word
STOP
in protest of the word GO.
Yet only hisses slip from your metal tongue.

No one understands the cold machine of the iron age,
so where is the head that controls it --
Or is it just a hand?
a finger?
a cell where the mind believes it must confine
to surrender all its mental worth.

A blade of grass no longer has an edge,
but a blunt stump where the point should have climbed
higher before reaching the sky.

There is a feeling in all of Us,
A deep seated fear that questions if all is for naught.
So We stand at attention to salute the prospect of love in our community
Where hope must always remain
So that those kindred spirits can find a welcoming home in our millions
rather than fear every door locking down
with bulletproof walls and bolted doors for protection.
We try to call ourselves Free while We quake.

                                                               ­          *We Are All One
                                                             ­ And United We Must Stand

Gentle vibrations is all it takes to wake,
My muse who has fallen asleep again.
Have all the time you need to take
But please hurry, we should begin.

So, the pleasant child, all bleary eyed
Did wipe the sleep from off his face.
And with but a tiny sigh he did slide
Off his bed and to his natural place.

Then he cleared his throat and said,
"Tonight's the night we write anew
All the lover's quarrels in your head;
No more pity for poor little you."

Taken back, I grasped at my heart,
Did I anger this minute, tiny one?
"I'm in your head, forget that part?
You're dumber now, this will be fun."

So I sat at my desk and reaching out,
Seized a pen with which to write.
But my thoughts, crippled with doubt,
Could think of no start to my plight.

Lethargic muse abruptly aglow
Spoke to me from his perch above.
"Start with her, a woman you know,
That sassy little ***** named Love."

I wrote with a fervor granted by God
About the things that plagued my life.
My muse smiled and his head did nod.
My heart was alleviated of all its strife.

Gentle whispers rocked me awake
And blinking I looked at the ceiling.
A pen in my hand is all it did take
To give me back my heart's feeling.

Locked up in the garden
Beyond the twists and mists
You can try to save her
But she will not go
Weeping groans
Biting shrieks
Aching glares
You could try to save her
But she won't know the difference
She hates this place
Closed eyes
Open hands
Grasping, reaching, pleading
You may try to save her
But she doesn't want to go
Careless truths
Careful lies
Which one is better
When you are locked
In the garden
Of your own mind?

I am lost in the loose ended threads which make my life;
they weld me down along glistening metal lanes
with screws and nuts and bolts once in a while ,
rather carelessly with a callow scraping grip,
perhaps it's a young apprentice
inexperienced in dealing with insubordination
to fix me in my place.

sometimes these threads look like faceless feelings,
pre-emptive if you will,
sometimes they look like ununderstandings by me or others
sometimes they look like despots called people
sometimes they look like elevators built around caves of people
shedding tears and hides.

So yes ,sometimes the metal feels like the deep cold of the sea.
powdered with nuts and bolts forgotten in the hazy blue saline,
but probing my shaky heart and my remoulding mind like frosty bullets.
Overrun with senseless weeds from inside,
and grim from ruins of  lost ships
and here and there with inviting treasures
worthwhile, anew
in the cascades of worldliness of all things beautiful.

sometimes the metal feels like the lullaby of the sea
sedating almost,
amidst the wilderness of conflicts ,jarring bronze contradictions
and of course, the ever so ubiquitous, soupy shallow free floating worldly wise grime.

while other times oy romantics,
it feels like a fish net topping me from reaching out
to places and peoples and experiences of this world.

The skin, feels touch a cool gentle touch,
                         it has not felt one as such,
since the last time, replacements arrived.

It is such a tease this breeze moving slowly,
                    one minute and creeping lowly,
begging you to chase it close to the ground.

Suddenly changes swiftly, forcing curtains out,
                                     of the way, oh don't pout,
the breeze will come back and get you to play.

Reaching up to the sky to stretch and tire you out.

You'll be a dried up leaf chaser, catch sand in your face,
one second slow next fast and faster to change the pace,
what a delightful tease lifting curtains moving branches,

                                                    Exciting flowers to dances,
                              go ahead play along take your chances,
        not a cloud mover, it is just a breeze, trying to please,

Trying to put you at ease,
                                           after days on end of summer heat,
                       still stale air and relentless heat,
                                   be polite and sit still, offer the breeze a seat,
             resistance is a bold stratagem, but your
weak, open your arms embrace them,
          easy as pie, it is a breeeze.

how much has been burnt
the lips of the aalpanaa
by the heat of the blue letters

the absentmindedness  
that can penetrate this flavour  
gets hullo-cut
coming to the wedding-relation

do fly oh bird
yet you flow with faster steps
in the deep of the wave
with a long hanging bag on your shoulder

let more horse-carts be composed
for the clouds

let the gate adorned with a figure of lion
be immersed for some time more
in deep-meditation

he who is fallen from the wings of the deer
has a chest of 42 and a half inch

you should look it
coming how much nearer to the talisman
that serpentine lane and that tasty loose-hair
becomes totally blank


you should also see
reaching to what kissing-point
the glacier of the versification
can vanish
without leaving any trace

She becomes the poetry that we as writers write
So warm and gentle, hot like fire
Fiery and magnetic-pierces my heart with desire
And spills from heartbreak the words of me-my light

From the beginning of it all, from the start of the poem
She may have thought that this story was about her
I don’t know if that’s the case-subject image became blank
The light that was shown from me did the searching
Traveled through the storm
But the idea of this girl still became a blur

She becomes the story that I write
So interesting, so full of detail, filled with life, and yet so compelling
Captivating and motivating-she entices my mind
With every waking moment from the story that she herself is telling

The light returns back to me
With a story of its own to tell me
It tells of this girl who happened to have always been in back of me
Never once on my own turned to see who it happened to be
Never thought I had to-I’ll give my reason why
I’ve always wrote of one in a story-one who caught my eye
She becomes what I write-she becomes my poetry
She becomes my light and my destiny

She becomes everything that I hoped she would be
Reaching out to grab her hand
I come to realize that she's been here all along
Never been non-existent, never been behind the shadows
She's been here once again playing her daily song.

The light turned her into the poetry that I choose to read
Never wanting to put her down, never wanting to let her go
I never want to stop listening to what she has to say
Because she's the story that I want to read each and every day.

A drop of water in an evaporating vial of water are you, a piano key that lays untouched and piled with dust. I touch a stone and I feel it’s presence, but form altered and frayed.

If I close my eyes, does the world disappear or does it live in another realm completely? A phantom I might be, a shadow in something that never has existed in the first place. A hand on the dream of a clock, constantly being wound and turned.

Eternally ticking.

I see a million eyes, we look at each other for a moment but only a moment. We see what we want, and if we don’t, we try to change the world to better our view of it. Our view is but a shallow thought. The loose ends of our subconscious, reaching, trying to branch out into a dream-like state.

I am never sure whether I truly wake up when my eyes open or close.

Gaunt faces are the same as lively ones. Smiles are the same as frowns. The ghosts tap their feet in rhythm to a slow beat. They dance into circles while the radio tells them what to do, what to say, how to feel. Projections on the side of the cave resonate in them and they follow. I follow…

I dance with them and I know that the dance will obliterate everything that might be real. I tap my feet.

Tomorrow was yesterday and today never happened. I am the man in the background of your thoughts, holding the mirror above his head. I am a thought, the mediocre absence of everything that we should have been. Close your eyes and you will see the void, you will see yourself. You exist to feel the void with half spoken words and broken promises.

A drop of water.

Twin peaks pierce the sky
air of my reality twines
around their reaching heights

Eddies of stone slip under
my breath-blown snow
and winding clouds slide
into each fold and crevice
as I search for the path to
fiery gold striations
living in the center seams

But I have to breathe
and the caverns give way
to narrow passages
that condense my breath
suffocating into stillness

Why are you mad at me?

When I am who you asked me to be

Mentally and emotionally

whenever you were melancholy

I was there with you

spiritually and physically

I let you become a part of me

I let you become a part of me

Are you even listening to me?

A part of me,

you know all my deepest fantasies

You’ve swam in my sea of tears

You helped me conquer my greatest fears

You showed me how to live a life with no fears

So why are you mad at me?

You created me

You lit a fire in my heart

It burned bright and burned hot

And with it you knew I’d never depart

The flame swayed and flickered

Each flicker an arm trying to reach out for you, but failing

an in each attempt it fails, but ever reaching…

In it’s attempts it blazes and it burns everything around it

Destroying the very fabric of my being

But then again, I don’t know who’s my being

You thought me how to think, and how to feel

you were the one to take my heart and on it put a seal

That nobody could it take it away

you made sure that with you was where I’d stay

Until I had given up, black roses

Because I knew we couldn’t go on

I had given up black roses because

My identity was found in you

But my purpose didn’t ensue

So I guess the reason that you’re mad at me

Is because I’m no longer who you ask of me

No longer a slave to thee, no longer your entity

So I understand your jealousy, Cause for the first time ever

I belong to me,.

the floor is covered in ash, we trudge
through to the kitchen to pour ourselves some coffee,
then to the bedroom to lay in the empty space there, left

our hands are never clean, our feet are always cold and
we don't have enough sense to cover them.

heavy faces, giving off sawdust smiles and
big red-marked cheeks from leaning too ******* other people.
we are craning over one another, reaching past one another, never holding
eye-contact

it's the emptiness left
from the previous emptiness
here, it's

awful here,
it's awful
here.

Young, tall, and closed;
Potent, red, and soft.
Prickly, menacingly beautiful stem,
Razor edged leaves,
Baby soft pedals.
Rose buds are meticulous;
They are fragrant,
But they aren’t ready.
Seasons come to an end.
Changes occur,
And the rose blossoms.
Pedals reaching for the sun,
Yearning to fly-
As the sun rolls over the sky,
And disappears over the horizon;
The beauty wilts-
Cold ice soon blankets the stem.
Cracking, shriveling-
The pedals fall one by one.
Soon the stem is bare and ugly;
And the sad, dead rose is gone.
But the pedals;
Thought shriveled and dry-
Carry their sweet scent forever.

God has got to be angry
with the way I keep calling his name...
But, he some how isn't able to hear me
with the way I can't make myself keep breathing,
my eyes fill, but nothing leaks
I have nothing left to lose and he keeps missing my call...
Our schedules aren't matching up
And I can't find the heart to keep reaching for his...
My lips are swollen from all the biting,
my eyes are burning....
He wont answer me so I can rest,
So I can breathe ...
I just want to breathe.
....People create loneliness
So I keep trying to fill myself with myself
But its hard to love you when you keep forgetting to forgive yourself first.

-Indigo Morrison

The old man walks down the street
Cobbled and uneven
Bent over against the cold
Of this the winter season

With the aid of a stick he navigates
The badly rutted lane
Deeply etched grooves line his face
From surviving in constant pain

In his head his thoughts are in
A constant random wander
Precious moments of his life
Lost in contemplative squander

'Tis his daily chore bestowed
On him to buy the bread
To fail in this a simple task
Would bring war down on his head

Reaching the store he enters
Hiding from pitiful stares
Head downcast he makes his way
To the shelf of required wares

His basket full he makes his way
To the counter to pay his bill
Purchases paid, he turns to leave
Praying his shopping not to spill

As he leaves the store he hears
The whispers behind his back
"Why does he keep on doing it?"
His drooping shoulders slack

Once outside he hurries
Scurries back from whence he came
As fast as his arthritic legs will take him
An added burden is his shame

Back to his eternal prison
The place he once called home
Never left to his own devices
Perchance he should choose to roam

His wife is standing waiting
For him at the front door
Her face twisted in roiling anger
Her venom over him to pour

A nasty piece of work is she
No patience for his age acquired senility
Treating him like a mongrel dog
With waves of open hostility

So sad to see this once young man
Who has seen life and so much more
Reduced to being a bidden slave
And forced to daily chore

How life can be so cruel and fate
Play the meanest of all tricks
Just by choosing a wrong life mate
Be caught in constant conflicts

Yet day after day he continues
To walk the road of shame
For go he must and listen he does
For the woman who bears his name