And her arms enfold me,
I lay my cheek
against her breast.
The shaking starts,
the tears fall,
as sobs emerge unhindered.
Sobs from way down deep,
and I hear her heart,
slow, steady, metronomic.
So I follow its rhythm
along a path richly bathed
in warm sunlight.
Through an archway
and across a threshold shrine,
the cemetery of the Ancients.
A hundred thousand names,
carved in marble,
adorned with statues and plinths.
Holding knowledge of old,
and the sound of silence,
like an abandoned library.

The shadow of love hovers close,
driving through midnight mists
and leading me on.
Practising narrative necromancy,
reanimating old words,
giving them life newly born,
upon the first carved marbles,
its names burnished with wisdom,
and the anonymity of obscurity.
There glows one name
in forgotten script
and I know my deepest identity,
the weight of the aeons
flows free into my mind,
histories of the millennia.
I know
my Forest Lady holds secrets
that belong to me.
And she gestates them all,
the ghosts of old picture frames,
a coveted pregnancy.

A pathworking, an etherical dream,
and her heart skips a beat,
as another part of me
crumbles and dies,
to mingle with the dust
of ancient knowledge.

© Pagan Paul (11/07/18)
Do you ever wonder

Where do all those friends go
With the little pieces of you they once knew

The person you'd tell your best kept secrets to
The people you use to glean advice from
That guy who knows everything about you

I wonder

Where have they placed those keys I gave them
Perhaps a dusty draw
Maybe it fell down the back of their couch, lying forgotton on the hard wood floor

Or what if they still walk around with it
Still thinking about the box it belongs to
I wonder if I even care one bit
What they do with their key

Its not as if the once worried over box it unlocks hoards any such value these days you know
And as for my front door
I had the locks changed long ago

Just a thought
I don’t know what scares me more
You wanting to know my secrets
Or my willingness to share them
rob kistner Jun 10

to the angry wind
you converse
but no one's there

hardened stone
your hidden secrets
they cannnot care

with the lofty tree
your broken dreams
you hurt alone

you need connection
a pulsing heart
tender flesh
blood and bone

a battled brother
seasoned sister
someone to hear you
to feel to see

to dry your tears
to call your shit
if that is how
it needs to be

someone who's there
someone to care
but only if
your heart is true

if you live
outside your self
you can be found
by love's rescue

let yourself feel
be vulnerable
honest and real
though you may lose

but take a chance
in love's aweet dance
your final fate
is yours to choose

if you do this
then you can love
just give your heart
a tender shove

then all your secrets
your broken dreams
your precious stories
find home again

a healing place
to feel a touch
to feel pleasure
to balance pain

but are you ready
are you willing
have you reached
that fragile place

where it's ok
to lose it all
to find yourself
to find your grace

only out here
deeply bruised
at the battered edge
midst real fear

can you ever be
what you must be
wholly human
truly free


rob kistner © 2013
(revised 2018)
I wrote this piece exploring a concept of random, irregular rhyme.
This is a contemplation on the fear of vulnerability, but the possibility it representd to bring you genuine love.
Beyond the horizon and behind your eyes
Beneath layers of a blind lovers guise
Upon the wings of a thousand transclucent birds
Among mimes, braile and silent words

I offer you this kiss

Before gurus, gods, and holy men
Among the stolen jewels in a poets den
Amidst magicians, merchants and the divine
In the cellars of Gregorian monks and forbidden wine

I offer you this kiss

On a platter of delectable delights
Across seas and mystical Moroccan nights
Among the dance, music and stories of time
Between gates of heaven, hell and passions of crime

I offer you this kiss

From the finest shades of subtle hues
From a palette of transparent blues
Tiptoeing through Dali’s lucid dreams
Waking beside waters of eternal streams

I offer you this kiss

Among flights of staircase piercing skies
Stripping secrets and half naked lies
Upon a bed of burning incense sticks
I part that perfect line between your perfect lips

To offer you this Kiss
A kiss is sacred, and sometimes people go about giving it so freely, like the shake of hand.

Poetic Surgery, Copyright © 2018,  All rights reserved.
You're a glitch in the system,
a fuckin' mistake.
But carry on regardless
'cause I know you're fake.

I'm sure that you know,
you were never all that.
A big fuckin' lie
and then you did that!

So take off your mask
and show me your face.
'Cause to me you're already
a fuckin' disgrace!

You cast a steel shadow
yet still hide your face.
You shared all my secrets
and told them my name.
Now, step into your spotlight
and reveal your game.

Poetry by Kaydee.
No? I didn't think so.
Peter Simon Jul 2016
Yesterday, she touched my lips with her fingers.

I wasn't so dizzy but I laid my head on her thighs.

I kissed her on her cheeks, I hugged her so tight.

We talked about our petty little secrets.

We stood on the rooftop taking all the night lights in.

She leaned her head on my shoulders.

Her face complemented the night sky.

I stared at her and I swear she's the most beautiful creature I've ever been so close to.

And I knew in those moments we were just playing some pretending games.

I thought I was contented. I thought.

Now, I know we should stop playing this game.

I'm losing all my cards.

I'm afraid that maybe after we're done playing inside our own storm, I'll be left alone engulfed in the sea of darkness. Scathed by the memories of her. And no matter how hard I try to keep swimming to the shore, I won't be able to find my way out.
© Peter Simon
I knew it was you
the humble and the companionate
the inspired by love
sending a wave of appreciation
descending from the Thalamus
to the pigment of my Iris
Seeing you pass by
I hid my sorrows under my eyelids
You poked both eyes gently, 
My closed eyes, mine and their secrets  
Opening up to you, and I can feel
my tears falling down, one by one
like a flimsy leaf
gathering at the bloody
street corners of a heart
that have no homes, not even
a room for a guest
or a ‘welcome’ mat

a deep voice, came from within
    saying to happiness
‘visitors are not welcome’
                    some of us are
content with the sadness
      because at least, the blues
               never departed,
                   since it first  
I’m trying to express how..often shit events stay for days, or months and or years as opposed to happier experiences...for some reason..joy feels like a visitor like peace isn’t meant to live within us..always leaving more room for chaos
The Peacock and the Necromancer
Dance upon the sky
Their light lives on beyond the stars
The thousand staring eyes

We show them where to find us
From Bridgeport to Camelot
We tell them our dark secrets
And we send them our bright thoughts

We flash our golden feathers
And we sing our pretty words
So they will see us, notice us
So that we can be heard

When every other edifice
And evidence is gone
They walk the dark ahead of us
Where our song shall play on
This story you'll hear, could be one of a kind
But no matter how clear, it's like leading the blind
Down through a chamber, I find, when I'm dreaming
Stuck in my mind, or a daze, with no meaning
Something I witnessed, without any truth
As I sat by myself, all alone, on the roof
Listened to magpies, chirping with joy
Three for a girl?, Four for a boy?
In black and white?, or so they seem?
Then under the light, I saw traces of green
A sign I had seen her, and given the choice
As bold as the magpies, raising their voice
With nothing between her, and no great divide
The grass became greener, on the other side

The magpies had joined, then one became two
But this one had swooped down in bright shades of blue
The colours tell secrets, but to the trained eye
One represents grass, one mimics the sky
Then as if by nature, they were a couple
Flying together, revealing a purple
A gift when you worship the smallest of things
Lifting your spirits, then spreading your wings

Each little magpie, has stories to tell
And I know that deep down, you have one as well
You're holding in something, with traces of gold
Are you seven for a magpie, never to be told??? xx
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