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Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
A thrown flat stone skipped
across the snowcapped reflection
breaking the mirror glass surface;

rippling the glaring still waters
the way a trailing piano note
slowly decays to a sobering hush

A gentle puff of silence
segued into a fading
whisper's echo



Jesse
06 April 2018
Edward Hawthorne May 2013
I remember when we were young,
and the shark fin made by falling water droplets
from the back-and-forth sway of windshield wipers
on our car window would scare you
Because you thought that the spaces we couldn’t reach
would form monsters in their crevices,
and I would laugh and roll my eyes,
like big brothers did.
And I remember how,
on nights when we would sleep over at grandma’s,
the pitter-patter of our puerile feet on hardware floors
was the only sound to be heard.
Shadows formed where the beam of my flashlight hit,
adorned with fading Spiderman stickers and the like-
and you would squeal under my whispered protests
because of the unfurling octopus limbs
that were the leaves of a potted plant.
We grew older, and so did my suspicions,
as you crept out of the realm of childish make-believe
and into a world that even when showcased in daylight was a nightmare.
Demons, from the deep fire that enflamed the world’s core
tried to penetrate  the surface, according to you.
But as their hands reached forth out of the earth’s skin,
they curled in agony, the evil of the earth halting their conquest.
They fossilized and shriveled in autumn’s wake,  
gray and deadened fingertips just unassuming tree branches,
the perennial reaches just fibrous spindles blurring in the sunlight.
The world held prospects despite your macabre claims,
And as we grew I distanced myself from your melancholic tune.
Trees were trees, and bore fruit at summer’s twilight
and the friends I made were all of the parts most sweet.
I was content with the woman I met, she blonde-haired and lovely
her free-falling locks sparkling gold in every light,  
and her personality as rich and as glossy.  
I was content with my life of looking away from spaces
where our human hands couldn’t reach,
demons out of eyesight in the beam of glass city buildings.
But as the dusk of one day segued into the dawn of another,
I grew weary,
each routine just a part of this monotonous human noise
to which I, too had voiced.
And I found myself driving one day when thunder roared in the sky,
rain once again pouring into its shark fin mold.
Your voice came into my head,
the demon hands that had had died trying to take us over with their evil
but overwhelmed by our own brand of hellish wretchedness
lined the freshly paved sidewalk,
and with a twist of the wheel one unreachable space met another.
Isaac Grimm Feb 2013
Would that my life
carried the pomp and confidence
of a bombastic poem
an overwrought daytime drama

that bad action movie with the guy
who’s too cool for this world

Would that my rhymed greetings
always trumpet a joyful salute
blasting awake the tired and sad
rendering all introversion moot

Would that an invitation
for a beer a my place
be a more coveted prize
than a free trip to space

Would that every whipped up snack
be a culinary masterpiece
gasping in ecstasy my houseguests
cling to their seats

Would that the very tone of my voice
render women to squirm and swoon
render babies to giggle
and songbirds to croon

Would that any awkward silences
be scrupulously sifted out
cold cut conversations segued from hours
to clipped and cleverly crafted banter

Would that I’d compose the songs
that bring young lovers close
that wrench tears from the eyes
of those more cynical than most

Would that the clip of my canter
be the cadence of the soundtrack
of enlightenment

Would that my goodbyes be
an epic flood of emotion
my friends and colleagues
all so grieved to see me going

Would that in life
I be bigger than death
and in death I be
bigger than life.

...

But what would all that be
would that even be me?
Aparna Jul 2020
Cyaneous heaven of cascades
Segued into turquoise
Besieged by smaragdine forests


Pearly clouds strewn in silver sky
Opalescent fish scales glinted
as radiant honey topaz sun winked


Emerald reeds swayed
Ruby chrysanthemum blooms
Dotted with violescent bellflowers
©
Perceptions
💎
Onoma Mar 5
Hokusai's: "Great Wave",

interpolated ocean into

mountain/ mountain into

ocean.

diffuse with a seminally spraying

down wave...& snowcapped mountains.

graced by an awed: sled/boat of

prostrating pilgrims.

poised to meet the dynamism of that

upturning curvature--segued by legend.
traces of being Jul 2017
We were born
before the sighs
of surrender

before the twilight
whispered crescendo

before the sad sound
of the wind ―

Ere the raw truth
that tells a story
     through
"eyes that are
the windows
   of the soul" ―

We were born
with eyes wide
        open
     with tears
    that well up
of truth unspoken,

  love arising
        like
a budding flower,..

metamorphosis
of fertile heart ―

The wheel of life
turns unbound
an outgoing tide

   as certain as
    continuum
       abides ―
an unbroken lariat
  until the knot
  comes untied

A lonesome dove coos
  perched upon
deserted garden gate;
its gentle plea segued
into a silent prayer ―

Seasons change;
   supple buds
of forlorn love
― wither,

unsure if we’re alone
         or if
we’re alone together (?)!


                                                  ­  ­    ­         .
postscript:

"Through a foggy window in the rain
When you thought no one was watching,
Going through your memories
Like so many prisons to escape
And become someone else
With another face
And another name"

...an excerpt from :
"Through The Window" by Chris Cornell
Onoma Jan 16
an Apollonian

vision was had--

Grecian proportion,

segued in an arcadium.

******* up features--

over a rapt audience.
K M May 2015
You know what
here I am
You know what I am
A forlorn drifter
Drifting ever the nearer
Close enough to see it almost touch it
Definitely pocket full of sand
Weighing me down on one side
Walking always walking gimpy dragging
Like a club foot--everyone stares but never says nothin
Like I'm in a big city all shut down at 4 am rapping at windows looking inside
Just to see not to hope
Or wonder
After everything closes before the early people stir
I take shelter in a side alley
Safe
No one draws near for fear
No one comes here
Other gutters filled with gutterballs, not my gutter
I move on I move on
I never leave a mark
I never land
I tread soft and silent
For a *******
People need to to know where they're going
They ponder they question and they find out
Something they already knew
That they invented
I don't ask questions.
I don't want to know.
I do know I'm coming up on it though
The edge
Cause I feel less human
Yet strangely twofold more
Desperation segued to having not
To having too much having very little at all
To morose disinterest
Brutality to punishment to disengagement
Whipped with the thorns of my stupid lie
You know,
I used to cry
I was a silly girl needing learning
Silly needed smothering out
A spark can conquer a forest and all it's trees
No point to die trying
If you're dead you're not on your knees
Sally A Bayan May 2023
(last night)

The day’s raging rains
finally stopped,
humid summer winds,
cooled into soothing breezes.
:::::::::::::::::
a pink, purpled sky
quickly darkened,
calls of crickets,
croaks of frogs
they got lost in the air.
the day’s noise segued
to a soft echo of voices,
.............f a d i n g
..........g r a d u a l l y
::::::::::::::::::::::
'til burning worries
of the mind were calmed,
forgotten for the night.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
lights turned somber
and amplified a spreading,
much awaited
silence.

All found their places,
their own shelter
in the comforting dark.
nature...was in repose.




sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      May 17, 2023
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
     being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
     whose cremated remains of day

     scattered to all points on compass)
     fondly referencing
     both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued

     from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
     when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,

     nonetheless zee mother
     every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
     (meaning us brood of kids)

interrupting herself
     with frequent non sequiturs
     discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
     as if external forcefield

     jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
     tangential linkedin snippets
     with feigned lovesick

chatting 'bout cockamamie
     "Grandpa Moishe"
     and his chaim yankel posse
     (to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
     a trenchant termagent bubba,

     not averse to incorporate dreck
     in the same sentence with zayda
     ostracized him
     scoring figurative placekick,

whence upon his schlepping back home
     met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
     "mother" recounted

     farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
     particularly when ("mom's")
     girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,

     where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
     devoid of bare necessities
     a figurative apropos yardstick.
Onoma May 2018
winnowing grasses--
a workable blear of plotlines.
bore up your scalp--
segued with white noise.
the fine stitch of your
corpus callosum, threw down
ankle-length tresses.
black enough for night to take
asylum--
and spread ranging moonlight.
your return call to sourced sunlight.
wild as a phosphorescent
throat of kept peace.
nature's long sleep in simpatico with you,
drooled resin.
Persephone, that line you toe in
cavernous raiment... has brought
down the house
with your strange delectation.
pomegranate, your caesura--held
on to for dear death.
leathered by the singed petitions of last lights,
bloated with rosaries that seed new planes.
your walk abroad covers
enough ground to blow systematized
stars.
congregationless dimmer switches
of Hades.
(alternately titled: lion eyes hide sharp claws)

Aye attest tubby reincarnated
     from one male Russian Blue
species Felis silvestris catus
     named Morris if that gives a clue,
and during my fuzzy past
     hence, asthma “Cats Cradle”
     segued into kitten hood
     fur hum lee established

    type cats as (tin pan) alley cat,
     a rather litter boxed gritty debut
t'wood become (later in life) tabby
     quick as greased lightening
     snatching in the air,
     when tender vittles flew,
technically got fired (acquiring
     appropriate nick names)

     as fame (like a bushy cat tail) grew
viz perfect back up crooner
     for “Cat Stevens”,
     or lead singer for
     the "Stray Cats" oddly
coupled, featured, and
     incorporated with the guru
Horton Hears A Hoo,

yes him Elephant resembling
     a humungous mandrake
     from the, "Animals"
whose body heat could
     easily melt an igloo,
whereby Eskimos accepted charity from
     Korean philanthropists named Joo
     (founders of Palaces for Pachyderms)

these lumbering creatures possessed
     an exemplary photographic memory
     (rivaling that of the amazing
     deceased idiot savant
     Kim Peek) knew
practically every detail
     incorporating trunk their lines
     (and could track missing link,

when felines shared common ancestor
but,...such petty files would most likely boar
and go way off course, and hence
     will shy away being extempore
favoring a deliberate fore
ray padding around basically ignore
ring any rhyme or reason
suddenly ending this persiflage,
     and thence to thee bon jour
Julian Jun 19
Galloping glum on desecrated pourparlers of gravid gravity sawed  in half by limped levity
That awestruck moonshot apartheid Count Dracula nyala blood thirst finicky in mafficking celebrity
Dawdling on the moors of transcendentalism a scarlet hue surdomute poisons a stilted amphigory View Askew
Repartees for four scores seven games profaned starlet girdles of regaled tails on coin flipped casualties a shibboleth for reneged Jews
Crosswalk henpecking ironhanded regimes flickering blockbusters a bend diseased etch-a-sketch orchestras brook degrees of foibles of mistral breeze
Tempestuous haunts of profound savants sidling gallantly between the venom and the squeeze to postulate a notion of time to which time itself agrees
As the quizzical stampede traipses with the apish notions of Cape Cod capers lapsed by bonfires started by the Minneapolis Lakers the ground shakes groovy with primordial Quakers
Retinues of Amish famished slaking jaundice slipshod with guffaws awash rakish with Point Break's henchmens heyday shading shadier acres
Times contumely a backbitten loan shark the esquire of a tomb desolate with spray can doom segued into sparkplug rooms spiraling into vertigo for varsal probability of crackjaw croon warbling loony and always too soon
The honesty of revelry sagging under encumbered dawdles a Bain Capital poltroon slaloms around iceblinks of every FANGed tune
lopsided in baragnosis whitewashed by hypnosis watching the wretched dial blemished by heliosis such that the jejune tautology becomes precocious
As a matter of fact besieged by a Massive Attack the spavined of the slugabed slore of whack-a-mole tact develops retrograde cirrhosis
Bleeding from contumacy widowed by the stulm of stannary lunacy we skelder for shelter as wilted whangams jostle in welter
Clockwork genocide hapless by pavonine notions of ivory towers in division about divisible divide multiplied by iracund notions of skeletal sweat in Canada dry swelter
As the bygones of stanhope meet the tympany of stanzas churches gilded with hypaethral avarice are riveted by Potemkin bonanzas
Wooded woonerf jackanapes blesboks warbling on corrugated provenance postulating allodic vultures outnumbering famished bamboozled pandas
In search of pillory never alpenglow we embroider a seed sown out of love a semaphore of walnut-brained eyesore
A dizzy vertiginous dance of Gavin Rossdale mainlining bellarmine barkentine vicissitude rather than happenstance using jawholes immiserated Six Pence All the Poorer
The macular degeneration of kenspeckel sensibility wilting on the laxism of pulverized verve of racecar swerve might the doggy crapulence survive the days of desiccated herb in a time that teetotalers "Shout" the word
That in every zoo the monkey business of the flock is cretaceous enough to rock the chockablock crotaline specter of the Raging Bull in an enthusiastic herd
All is a pittance to renewal in the revalorization of nimiety in a time of the tyranny of nihilism itself absurd
Sally A Bayan Apr 2021
:::::::::::::: 🎼 🎷🎷🎷🎼 :::::::::::::


Late hours of a Saturday night,
the shadowed man
toyed with his sax, and played
a beautiful excerpt from,
"Silhouettes,"
soon, it skillfully...beautifully
segued to its main piece,
"It Was Almost Like A Song."

the space was scarcely lighted,
there were whispers, yet, all listened.
eyes were glued to the darkened face
of the shadowed man.
they hummed,
as they held their glasses of wine.
some softly sang the lyrics.

the pieces he played each night,
were journeys,
he took his audience
cruising along a boulevard,
drenched with the blues.
that unfathomable sadness
in his eyes spoke
of a brokenness,
louder...than words.

there in the dark, as he played his sad
songs, a face always accompanied him,
a face he longed to see,
somewhere in a cold place,
who had so much love
and warmth in her heart.

while he finds comfort in the shadows,
he often asks himself,
"until when will i be playing this song ?
until when, will i be,
in the shadows?"
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::­::: 🎼 🎷🎷🎷🎼 :::::::::::::

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 28, 2021
#sax #silhouettes #almostlikeasong #shadowedman
(alternately titled: lion eyes hide sharp claws
unless made irate, then yours truly
bares his sharp talons
on all of mine faux pas).

Aye attest tubby reincarnated
from one male Russian Blue
species Felis silvestris catus
named Morris if that gives a clue,
and during my fuzzy past
hence, asthma “Cats Cradle”
segued into kitten hood
fur hum lee established

type cats as (tin pan) alley cat,
a rather litter boxed gritty debut
t'wood become (later in life) tabby
quick as greased lightning
snatching in the air,
when tender vittles flew,
technically got fired (acquiring
appropriate pet nicknames)

as fame (like a bushy cat tail) grew
viz perfect back up crooner
for “Cat Stevens”,
or lead singer for
the "Stray Cats" oddly
coupled, featured, and
incorporated with the guru
Horton Hears A Hoo,

yes him Elephant resembling
a humungous mandrake
from the, "Animals,"
whose body heat could
easily melt an igloo,
whereby Eskimos accepted charity from
Korean philanthropists named Joo
(founders of Palaces for Pachyderms),

these lumbering creatures possessed
an exemplary photographic memory
(rivaling that of the amazing
deceased idiot savant
Kim Peek) knew
practically every detail
incorporating trunk hated lines
(and could track missing lynx),

when felines shared common ancestor
but,...such petty files would most likely boar
and go way off course, and hence
I will shy away being extempore
favoring a deliberate fore
ray padding around basically ignore
ring any rhyme or reason
suddenly ending this persiflage,
and thence to thee bon jour.

— The End —