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ryn Oct 2014
.

would you please      perform a quick
procedure•one that could rid me of the
decay•it's slowly eating it's way down to
my core•a little bit at a time, each and every
day•please...please...won't you take a look•i
can't see but i can feel•it spreading through
every cranny, every nook•it won't stop till
it's had its fill•will you...........please...please
do something•before         i get ripped apart
•but look not                                    at my teeth
or in my                                                 mouth•
because­                                                 i think i
may                                                        need­ a
R O                                                         C  A
O                                                 ­         N
T                                             ­         A
                                                   L


­*on my heart...
Style inspired by a friend.
Evan Backward Sep 2013
So what if there's nothing beyond the walls of
a garden.
A corn maze turned to stone by
Fear in excess.
But I'll walk along with you.
I can't hold your hand but
I have your heart,
And I'll walk past stalks and stumps
and march through long and twisted paths.
I'll touch each vine and breathe life into
Every flower.
And I lost you along the way,
But I keep breathing, and walking
Knowing that hearts are around in plenty
And I have flowers to give,
So long as I breathe deeply.

I went to live at the water's edge
And breathe my garden into
Salted air,
I went to sow my seeds in tides
And float my flowers in the rivers,
I went to breathe my pollen into every crack
and every winter stopped me.
But I know that knowing hearts are plenty,
And I have air to share,
Pollen to breathe.

The ivy grows on stony rock
Where I fostered it here,
And it takes time.
But I had you,
And I have them
So I breathe in deep and soak up the
Salty air.
The sharpness clears my mind
And the pollen soothes my soul.
So I collect my thoughts to grow here in my garden,
And take root in the hearts
That led me here.
shamamama Apr 11
I met Mother Taro once,

        She is an angel you know

I saw her in the greenery of
John Pia's Taro Patch.

She dawned the past, the present
and the future
More plant than woman,
and yet more root than angel wing--
Though her heart shaped wings
Repelled water as well
as any albatross or nene.
A rare bird in spirit.

She shared her plight to me
Of this modern time,
Watching the changes
In the faces of human kind

She remembers being a Goddess
And providing for all the people
In a time where she
traveled with the people
Over waters near and far
In double hulled canoe
To share her spirit
With new families.

And now, she feels like a myth
Told and retold by the elders
Alive more in the memories
And less on the land.

As she spoke, the message
Became more and more clear.
When might and power and greed and money
Seem of more value than
Root, wing, earth and pluck
We must take the time,

take the time

To tend each keiki and tend with care
So they may multiply
In healthy soil, water and air

So We the Living
Can live into eternity
For the winds of time
Will spite the might,
She said.
Seize this time
Seize this  day,
Seize this moment
to tend
We the Living.
May John Pias Taro Patch live on into eternity.
Knit Personality Jul 2018
Root of all thirsting,
    My greatest desire,
A single drop bursting
    Can put out a fire.
A single drop wholly
    Divorced from the brine,
A single drop holy,
    The liquid divine.

        Find what you love,
            And let it **** you.
        Water, I love you.
            **** me, will you?

Raindrop or dewdrop
    I want on my tongue.
For the old drop and new drop
    These verses are sung.
The new drop and old drop
    Of water I crave,
The hot drop and cold drop,
    From cradle to grave.

        Find what you love,
            And let it **** you.
        Water, I love you.
            **** me, will you?

Drown me in oceans,
    In crystalline seas,
In H2O potions
    Of perfect degrees.
Drown me in teardrops
    Divorced from the brine,
In flawlessly clear drops
    Of the liquid divine.

        Find what you love,
            And let it **** you.
        Water, I love you.
            **** me, will you?

#
jordan Nov 27
upon seeing you
i see myself
when helping you
i help myself
and in hurting you
i hurt myself

compassion is
the root
of equality
Britney Lyn Mar 2018
My relationship with you was like a plant,
That blossomed into a rose.
Beautiful from afar but if I got too close,
Held onto it a little too tight,
The thorns would hold on tighter,
Sink in deep within the skin.
The roots would grow, deeper and deeper.
Even when the roses had been cut from their stem,
The roots remained with me, deep within.
What once was beautiful, left behind a trail or scars.
Much like the rain hitting my window,
On the nights I miss you most.
They evaporate and fade,
much like the love you once had for me.
Once upon a time that ended in tragedy.
Daniel K Feb 5
Buried in darkness,
Accompanied by scent of metal and dirt,
No time given to discover colour.
But to toil on and on, day and night,
Supplying the fortunate doppelgänger with
All the needs to prosper.
Whether it knows or not,
That ****** beauty never fails to show.
Eyes of recognition solely
Centred on the fruit bearer where
It’s decorated with wonders of nature.
Though with flick of a finger,
It’s life will cease as the supplier
Has all the power in the world to
Go into strike.
Arousal of schemes powered by
Darkness about, that of light
Will shrivel into the fine dust,
Those that feed the void
Of Jealousy.
Ylang Ylang Aug 2018
Today I witnessed
the root being pulled out
of quiet, dim earth
and thrown in the scorching sun.
It was hissing and squirming,
like lethally wounded, dying snake
Fragile life threatened
and escaping, in the scorching sun,
The fear of inevitable, real death
and the desperate will to live,
in the animal eye of slithering root
Shamans, in an attempt to find a word that all cultures could understand, to represent, universally, the subject; married the languages by root.

Each attribute or thing that the beast is said to do, have or have power to do or over is found as a definition in a language of the individual roots.

Take Sanskrit for instance. "Dra," is "water and combine it with Sumerian, "Gun, Gon," and you get a "water-born," beast who "writhes, twists or wraps around," which is the Ouroboros Serpent as shown in ancient images.

The secret to all ancient myth or religion is in interpretation of language into foreign languages over time.

And, yes, it is very creative, appears complex due to time but is just humans trying to describe observable nature.

None of it is meant to be taken literally unless you literally live six thousand years ago and speak in an ancient tongue.

Addendum

Keltic, "Con, Kon," makes the Dragon, "All-knowing." *

And we know from Plato that Greeks
stole their root words from the Celts.
Plato's own words in,

'The Cratylus.'
All mythology is born from the language of trade and existed as a pre-science.
Nonsense Poet Mar 20
In the middle of the night
I want to do it right
Twist feelings
Delete it one more time

Open your mind
The end will be the same
Breaking Bones
******* game

Hard to recognize
Subtle behaviour
A strange situation
Passive aggressive manipulation

You know the way
Escape: **** tree root
Or It can continue
Causing some issues
Matt Sol Jan 20
Had I been there
never lately
everything is
ever changing
everything is
over rated
a unique sense
of desperation
nothing less could
satiate this
nothing less could
alleviate us
M Salinger Jul 2018
Be kind to yourself,
as you are with others

You have these
grand expectations
of yourself
and at times,
those around you

It's good to have goals
and a hunger for
betterment,
but you must also be
vigilant
to keep them realistic

Because, while you are indeed
fierce & strong-willed,
you are also soft
& at times
fragile

You are human.

But that doesn't mean
you are without
superpowers

Your sensitivity is your greatest gift,
but without care,
can also be your greatest
downfall

You must learn to master your craft.

This means to be
patient with yourself
as you would with others,
to show compassion
as you would with others,
to show love,
grace,
& humility,
to yourself

This in practice,
is to truly understand,
& epitomise,
that self-care
is not
selfish

That it is okay to say no,
or to ask for help,
or to be truly
vulnerable

To embrace the lows,
for making the highs even
sweeter

To acknowledge
that fear is
the root cause
of bitterness
& resentment

To let the good wash
over you
the same as
the bad,
& embrace the micro changes,
as the meta
stays the same

To believe you are worthy,
of a great love,
the same as you believe
another's
worthy of
yours

To embody the idiom
that one can
only
truly love another,
after
they learn to love
themself,
& thus allow yourself
the hard-earned
victory
of grounded, stable
understanding

To know the difference between
support
& advice,
love
& lust,
friendships
& partnerships

To have
faith
that you will find your way,
because you will;
because you live your life
with generosity
& authenticity

This is my vision for you,
that you will
make this your reality.
Shofi Ahmed Jan 8
Every atom is lenient towards the human being
streaming up from the deep root they spur
laying down the perfect descending of the stars.

They can take on the stellar in their deep club
that shows up opening the windows up in the sky
and down on to the earth cast their eyes!

The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts
constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever
thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck.
But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber. 
Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being
to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental
a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together! 

Once they came so close almost touched the dream
they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle,
laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble.
Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off
the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon
in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania,
flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima!

Presented themselves before her as pure blank
whereon she can jot like her chalkboard
or do as she please like she could show up
taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that.
Touched down on the earth, in the veil
and revealed her as above so below.
The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night.

Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone.
Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint
in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark
crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
mariamme Aug 2018
speak to me in your heart's voice
the words are your blood
your home, your first love;

the way the words come to life
in the rushing of breath against wind
voice stolen by the air,
mouths open into emptiness.

as bodies on the earth take root
their tongues shape the sounds
of their surrounding colors;

when home is turned to hate,
the air stealing voice and
replacing love with wounds

and bodies traverse the earth again
searching for safety, for a voice
to flow from the breath in their lungs

there is a cheapening of words;
tongues take the shape of fear
replacing the first love with a shade

still words, still voice but not the same.
displacement causes the tongue to take the shape of alien surroundings until the home inside the roof of your mouth, your first love and language, is pushed out into the emptiness and shrinks in favor of communication.
Lyn-Purcell Oct 2018


-
For every story of addiction
has trauma at the root
-


Thats the usual case anyway.
I'm sorry everyone for not updating as much as I want.
I'm still feeling really unwell...
Hugs everyone
Lyn ***
Diana Santiago Dec 2018
I hate your stupid face
Those squinty eyes, them closed lips
Your expression so emotionless
Flat and stagnant is what it drips

Those masculine eyebrows, your expansive hair
That skin void of blemishes and scars
Complexion of espresso dancing with milk
Leaving the beholder seeing stars

Empty of smiles and feelings
Your visage the definition of dry
I go seeking for some semblance of life
Through your dark mysterious eyes

So I hate your stupid face
For it is the one that leaves me breathless
Casting the root on my heart
Rendering me into a state of restless
patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind expose ghostly hues.
all around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
Joanna May 15
The pulse of the spirit is about love. It is not about the rage of this worlds pain.

It is about a life transformed that will never be the same.

The voice of healing has nothing to do with what man has in mind. It is about taking the time to be kind.

The heartbeat of truth and the presence of hope, have nothing to do with a slippery *****. 

And yet, for the one who will listen, it is about bearing fruit, and a hidden rose about to take root.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
Knit Personality May 2018
A miracle played on the flute
Was sounded in one single toot:
    A flutist spontaneously
    Performed simultaneously
The fifth and the third and the root.  

#
Jonathan Firmin Apr 2018
I shut my eyes to the midday sun
and feel the warmth, it surrounds me.
As I wonder what, is yet to come,
This world, as of yet, it still confounds me.

So I walk on down, the hot dusty road,
As I think of whats left of my family.
My brothers, oh, like seeds on the wind,
They scatter to escape this harsh reality.

For my father-o, is long past his prime
He feels it in each step and every memory.
His friends are all gone, his hair: no longer blonde
It's been too long, three-quarters of a century.

My mother cares, for her mother and my dad,
Though she, now too is getting older.
And all she wants, in this God-forsaken world
Is her sons to come home married and sober.

All of these things, they echo round my mind,
but so do my own dreams and my desires.

Only twenty years I've lived
The love they needn't give
In the sun, these thoughts will make a man perspire.
AM C G D
E        AM
Tommy Randell Dec 2014
Met the dog in the dark
but having danced
reached out a hand
to still the growl.

Found the taste of salt
a way of enjoying cold
so that only wildness lived
where doubt had taken hold.

She only smiled.
The waves too tired to eat
stroked the fire in her flesh
reached in to make her well again.

When the root of pain was cut
she was ready, ready
to run ahead again
and be unravelled in the dark.

And the waves of wine in her head
breathed a bloodless birth,
met my tide of teeth,
was well met in the surf.
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