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Pagan Paul Jan 2019
.
Morfine and Choklut were trapped,
searching for a sword,
they somehow hit a dead end
and were being attacked by fear.
The fear of being Lost.
But Choklut had an escape plan
“Quick!” he said “head for stanza 4,
we have some friends waiting there”.

Kelm was a difficult child.
“Ten green woggles round ten boy-scouts necks,
ten green woggles round ten boy-scouts necks,
and if one green woggle should accidentally
be ripped from the throat by a giant killer wolf,
there'll be nine green woggles round nine boy-scouts necks”.
He sang,
as he pulled the legs off a centipede.
He wanted a worm to go fishing,
but couldn't be bothered to dig.

Jerrica also sought a sword.
She was a Princess!
But she had a point to prove.
A very deliberate point about girl power.
Girls can go adventuring too!
She championed Girlyism.
'Herb up your life!'
Her favourite slogan.
Why was it always a sword?
It was just so … fallick.
Why not a magick singing cup?

They waited. And waited.
Then they lurked about a bit.
They waited and lurked for ages.
Then they went down the Tavern.

The words ******* and sheep
crept into his little mind.
Though not necessarily in that order.
It happened when he met Bruce.
Bruce was on Walkabout.
Kelm was fishing by the river
and was thinking his luck would change
if he fished in the river.
That must be where the fish were hiding.
Bruce had walked straight passed Kelm
as he was watering a tree.
He zipped up and slapped the tree.
Bruce had an accident.
“Geez mate, I thought you was a croc”.
Kelm suddenly felt intellectually superior
“Its salt water, so I'm an alligator”
he paused “or a camen”.

Morfine and Choklut missed stanza 4,
had slid right through 5,
and slapped 6 right in the face.
It got in a huff and walked away …

Jerrica put out her herbal cigarette,
she took her slogan seriously,
today's herb was marjoram.
Now she was hungry
so she wrote the word 'lunch'
on  a piece of paper.
And swallowed it.
Completely veggie and only 3 calories.
Jerrica flinched when she saw the males.
The first – late teens, silly shorts,
carrying an Abbey Winters catalogue.
The second – pre-teen boy with a big stick.
She sneakily approached, circuitously,
she could hear them talking.
“Maybe I'll turn you into a pair of shoes”
“I think a clutch bag would suit you more mister”
“My name is Bruce” said Bruce.
“Bruce? Kinda boring name
for a fantasy farce poem isn't it?”
“Oh yeah. I suppose you got given a better one?”
“I” stated the boy “am Kelm the Barbarian”
Bruce felt sobriquetiously inadequate.
Jerrica watched.
And asked herself girl questions.
About boys.

It seemed there was a lack of interest,
nobody wanted to know their story.
Morfine and Choklut couldn't find
a welcoming stanza anywhere.
Its seems they were all full.
Dejected they trudged to a Tavern.

As she withdrew she wondered
'What is the ****** point of boys?'
It was during her retreat, circuitously,
that she found a Poet.
He was underneath a rock,
so she put him in her breast pocket,
for safe keeping.
Boys were useless, but Poets were useful.
They knew all about love and romance.
And for some reason
feather pens excited Jerrica.

After a long day waiting and lurking
Shadow Boxer had got drunk,
tipped a serving girl a wink,
and retired to bed.
Slim Grainy was drinking alone.
He was rather miffed.
All that waiting and lurking in stanza 4
and his mates hadn't shown up.
Maybe Shad had had the right idea.
Drink and bed.
The door of the Tavern opened,
his friends walked in.
Morfine saw him and smiled
and greeted him with a hiya.
Slim fixed him with a baleful look and spoke
“Of all the stanza's in all the poems,
you had to walk into mine”.

Somewhere under a bridge too far
an anxious troll shook and shivered.
He wouldn't make it. He would never recover.
Why had he agreed to hear their story?
3 ****** days to tell 3 ****** segments
of a quest that could have been summarised
in 3 ****** phrases.
Went there. Found it. Came home.
Over egging the pudding.
Spinning a pointlessly long yarn.
A thought struck him,
in the head.
A rare occurrence for a troll.
He was going to devour
Morfine and Choklut.




© Pagan Paul (11/01/19)
.
2nd poem in my 'Strange World' collection.

Part 2 out soon!
.
The birches are mad with green points
the wood’s edge is burning with their green,
burning, seething—No, no, no.
The birches are opening their leaves one
by one.  Their delicate leaves unfold cold
and separate, one by one.  Slender tassels
hang swaying from the delicate branch tips—
Oh, I cannot say it.  There is no word.
Black is split at once into flowers.  In
every bog and ditch, flares of
small fire, white flowers!—Agh,
the birches are mad, mad with their green.
The world is gone, torn into shreds
with this blessing.  What have I left undone
that I should have undertaken?

O my brother, you redfaced, living man
ignorant, stupid whose feet are upon
this same dirt that I touch—and eat.
We are alone in this terror, alone,
face to face on this road, you and I,
wrapped by this flame!
Let the polished plows stay idle,
their gloss already on the black soil.
But that face of yours—!
Answer me.  I will clutch you. I
will hug you, grip you.  I will poke my face
into your face and force you to see me.
Take me in your arms, tell me the commonest
thing that is in your mind to say,
say anything.  I will understand you—!
It is the madness of the birch leaves opening
cold, one by one.

My rooms will receive me.  But my rooms
are no longer sweet spaces where comfort
is ready to wait on me with its crumbs.
A darkness has brushed them.  The mass
of yellow tulips in the bowl is shrunken.
Every familiar object is changed and dwarfed.
I am shaken, broken against a might
that splits comfort, blows apart
my careful partitions, crushes my house
and leaves me—with shrinking heart
and startled, empty eyes—peering out
into a cold world.

In the spring I would be drunk!  In the spring
I would be drunk and lie forgetting all things.
Your face!  Give me your face, Yang Kue Fei!
your hands, your lips to drink!
Give me your wrists to drink—
I drag you, I am drowned in you, you
overwhelm me!  Drink!
Save me!  The shad bush is in the edge
of the clearing.  The yards in a fury
of lilac blossoms are driving me mad with terror.
Drink and lie forgetting the world.

And coldly the birch leaves are opening one by one.
Coldly I observe them and wait for the end.
And it ends.
Matthew James Jun 2016
We're off to Never never land - Paracetamol, cucumber sandwiches and the lost rent boy

Gav called me up.
Him and Tolly were going out to Never Never Land in Blackburn
3 lost boys off on a curious adventure

Mi mum dropped me off at Gavs 'ouse ont' Shad estate
Gav got us a coke before we caught t' buz in
But 'e sprinkled in some white pewder
"What's this? Pixie dust?"
"It's summat to gi' you Speed" said Tolly
"just drink it!" Said Gav
So I did

"2nd Star t' t' reet and straight on t' t' moornin'!"

But we'd bin sold crushed paracetamol

So we just acted like we were ****** and lied to each other about ow buzzin wi were
But we weren't buzzin
Then we caught buz in
Waitin' for t' affects o' t' artificial amphetamine t' kick in
'N' we got t' Neverland
No mermaids 'ere
No pretty ***** girls
There were a few blokes wi dodgy eyes n limps
But no no, no-n-no no, no-n-no no no no there's no pirates!
Just ****** plastic Palm trees
'N' townies in fluorescent nylon shirts
No peacock feathered hats ere
Just steps n curtains n aggressive faces
'N' me wi' a bowl cut and trepidation
Tryin' t' think happy thoughts

Surrounded bi freebooters, piccaroons, Buccaneers, filibusters and Rovers
Wi' their left foot, right foot dancing
And an eye on t' maidens
Sneering in our direction
Lost boys
That 'aven't grown up

I sort o' skirted round edges feelin' scared
Then went to sit at sides on an empty table 'n' hid

On t' next table were a nice lookin' couple o' blokes.
They must o' bin good mates!
They were cuddlin' 'n' touchin' each other a lot.
Anyhow, thi got talking t' mi
Told 'em I'd not bin out before
"Ow old are you lad? 14/15?"
"I'm 18"
Thi sort o' laughed, dunno why
Then one of 'em offered me a cucumber sandwich
I thought t' mi sel'
"I dunno much about nightclubs but I dunt think folk normally bring cucumber sandwiches!"
But I were 'ungry so I ate it
Then I think 'e thought we were mates coz 'e were touchin mi leg
I 'ad to crow for Gav an' Tolly
They came in like Peter Pan and rescued mi and I set off for 'ome

I went to t' phone box n' called mi mum
Didn't know town reet well
So I waited for 'er outside o' mi old school
There were some scary lookin people on one side o't' road snappin at each other like crocodiles
So I stood under t' lamppost so I were int' leet an' t' cars passin could see mi
Felt safer like that
Time passed
Tick tock tick tock
T' crocodiles were lurkin
Each time a car passed I stepped out a bit
To look for mi mum
Drivers kept lookin at mi nervously n drivin off
Maybe thi thought I were a crocodile too
N they kept smirking at mi
Then some officers pulled up like privateers in their blue and white flashin galleon
Made us stand again t' wall as I asked for parle
'N' thi searched mi for treasure
Asked us if I pulled into port for rentin
"Rentin' what? I'm Waitin for mi mum."
"Aye cap'n! Hahaha! I'm sure you are! Dressed in tight little hot pants!"
"These aren't 'ot pants, they're chinos?!"
Then mi mum turned up an said "oh aye! This streets t' red light district!"
"Well ****** me!"

Never, never again... Until uni happened
Matthew James May 2016
Gav called me up.
Him and Tolly were going out to Never Never Land in Blackburn
3 lost boys off on a curious adventure

All I wanted to do were stay in and play Championship manager and drink Ribena.
I were a slow starter int' drinkin' scene
Mi mum and dad had bought us a tiny bot'le o' mead once on 'oliday
Took mi about 2/3 years to drink it
Another time I had 2 or 3 cans at Gavs
Blacked out
Set off t' t' taxi wi'out mi shoes on
"2nd Star t' t' reet and straight on t' t' moornin'!"
Then puked out o' t' taxi windo'

But I went
Mi mum dropped me off at Gavs 'ouse ont' Shad estate
Gav got us a coke before we caught t' bus in
But 'e sprinkled in some white pewder
"What's this? Pixie dust?"
"It's something to give you Speed" said Tolly
"just drink it!" Said Gav

(At this point in this poem, it's starting to sound like I were on the verge of some cool, coming of age experience. But Gav were only a naive little lad and it turned out he'd been sold crushed paracetamol)

So we caught bus
Waitin' for t' affects o' t' artificial amphetamine
'N' we got t' Neverland
No mermaids 'ere
No pretty ***** girls
There were a few blokes wi dodgy eyes
But no no, no-n-no no, no-n-no no no no there's no pirates!
Just ****** plastic Palm trees
'N' townies in fluorescent nylon shirts
No peacock feathered hats ere
There hair were all steps or curtains
(I was sporting a rather fetching home cut hair style wi no gel and my neatly ironed school shirt with the top button fastened)

Didn't kno' what to do about this weird scenario
T' girls and t' boys weren't stood on opposite sides at this party
They were all in t' t' middle
****** loads on 'em
And they were doing some sort o' side stepping thing that I found later were called dancin'
I sort o' skirted round edges feelin' scared
Then went to sit at sides on an empty table 'n' hid

On t' next table were a nice lookin' couple o' blokes.
They must o' bin good mates!
They were cuddlin' 'n' touchin' each other a lot.
Anyhow, thi got talking t' mi
Told 'em I'd not bin out before
"Ow old are you lad? 14/15?"
"I'm 18"
Thi sort o' laughed, dunno why
Then one of 'em offered me a cucumber sandwich
I thought t' mi sel'
"I dunno much about nightclubs but I dunt think folk normally bring cucumber sandwiches!"
But I were 'ungry so I ate it
Then I think 'e thought we were mates coz 'e were touchin mi leg
I 'ad to crow for me mates
Then Gav came in like Peter Pan and rescued mi and we set off for 'ome

I went to t' phone box n' called mi mum
Didn't know town reet well
So I waited for 'er outside o' mi school
There were some scary looking people on one side o't' road snappin at each other like crocodiles
So I stood under t' lamppost so I were int' light an' t' cars passin could see mi
Felt safer like that
Tick tock tick tock
The crocodiles were lurkin
Each time a car passed I stepped out a bit
To look for mi mum
Drivers kept lookin at mi nervously and drivin off
Maybe thi thought I were a crocodile too
But they also kept smirking at mi
Then some cops pulled up
Made us stand again t' wall
'N' searched mi
Asked us if I were rentin
"Rentin' what? I'm Waitin for mi mum."
"Aye cap'n Hahaha I'm sure you are! Dressed in your tight little hot pants!"
"These aren't 'ot pants, they're chinos?!"
Then mi mum turned up an said "oh aye! This streets t' red light district!"
"Well ****** me!"

Never, never again... Until uni happened
a half moon rises
as the sun sets over
a golden Charles

the Fens
luminescence
guide scullers
chasing the days
ebbing light
shimmering
upon near
stillness,
as dancing
black ripples
push silver
splashes of
floating sheens
toward the
gentle slopes of
grassy banks

fisherman cast
the day’s final
hopes upon
gracious waters
as shad fry
breech to
proclaim
a promise
of a dutiful
return to fulfill
a future bounty

this accessible
river, the pulsing
heart conjoining
two cities;
flows as a  
democratic spirit
drawing all to its
hospitable shores

my eyes remain
transfixed on
the glowing ember
of a twilight Charles
drifting under darkened
portals of the
Harvard Bridge,
while the rise
of a sunset breeze
whispers a cool
end to the
summers day

I imagine
Luna blowing
a goodnight
kiss to a
yawning Sol,
as she winks to
young *****
lovers embracing
the long shadows
and sweet fragrance
of tall bulrushes

a slight puff of wind
anoints my minds eye
as lazy water rolls
toward me, lapping
my feet, lollygagging
along, slowly strolling
towards the bay
as I salute pilots
navigating this
most friendly
course

Music Selection:
Grant Green, Moon River

Cambridge MA
7/7/91
jbm
The birches are mad with green points
the wood’s edge is burning with their green,
burning, seething—No, no, no.
The birches are opening their leaves one
by one.  Their delicate leaves unfold cold
and separate, one by one.  Slender tassels
hang swaying from the delicate branch tips—
Oh, I cannot say it.  There is no word.
Black is split at once into flowers.  In
every bog and ditch, flares of
small fire, white flowers!—Agh,
the birches are mad, mad with their green.
The world is gone, torn into shreds
with this blessing.  What have I left undone
that I should have undertaken?

O my brother, you redfaced, living man
ignorant, stupid whose feet are upon
this same dirt that I touch—and eat.
We are alone in this terror, alone,
face to face on this road, you and I,
wrapped by this flame!
Let the polished plows stay idle,
their gloss already on the black soil.
But that face of yours—!
Answer me.  I will clutch you. I
will hug you, grip you.  I will poke my face
into your face and force you to see me.
Take me in your arms, tell me the commonest
thing that is in your mind to say,
say anything.  I will understand you—!
It is the madness of the birch leaves opening
cold, one by one.

My rooms will receive me.  But my rooms
are no longer sweet spaces where comfort
is ready to wait on me with its crumbs.
A darkness has brushed them.  The mass
of yellow tulips in the bowl is shrunken.
Every familiar object is changed and dwarfed.
I am shaken, broken against a might
that splits comfort, blows apart
my careful partitions, crushes my house
and leaves me—with shrinking heart
and startled, empty eyes—peering out
into a cold world.

In the spring I would be drunk!  In the spring
I would be drunk and lie forgetting all things.
Your face!  Give me your face, Yang Kue Fei!
your hands, your lips to drink!
Give me your wrists to drink—
I drag you, I am drowned in you, you
overwhelm me!  Drink!
Save me!  The shad bush is in the edge
of the clearing.  The yards in a fury
of lilac blossoms are driving me mad with terror.
Drink and lie forgetting the world.

And coldly the birch leaves are opening one by one.
Coldly I observe them and wait for the end.
And it ends.
Nicki Paige Aug 2014
Your words hurt and scar
The tears I shad are like blood
The words you say are like a knife

When you said that you cut me so deep
The blood shad so thick
The scars are still there always hurting me

Memory's of you is like going insane
******* up my brain

Crying time after time

Finding reason after reason          

Dying inside day after day

Maybe someday ill be okay
But I know that day isn't today
Filmore Townsend Jan 2013
you hand'd me a handful,
you hand'd her a handful,
you retain'd your handful -
done by sight, something
rare to be a good omen.
eyes met collectively
as we contemplated.
dry musty taste, almost retch'd.
the sun shone bright, and
it was too late to turn back.
we giggled a bit at first, and
you found miss'd cap.
pop'd it. commenced vomiting.
your tryp never peak'd.
your chick laid on blue lounge chair
calling me over. commenting:
"it looks like ground beef, doesn't it?"
her finger pointing at
pile of *****. my stomach churning,
vision as well,
collapsed into chair in shade.
-- lapse in space,
it had come on too fast, too hard,
and i went to find more driftwood.
my fire had become sacred,
burning only the long dead.
the brined and dried.
i skid down scree hill on heels
to find snake on my path;
startled, it slid off -
no concern.
drift'd from initial plan to
explore an alter'd world,
saw spider and *****'d.
cleansed.
and back to collecting my driftwood.
fire raging midday,
lounging in shad;
sun raging midday,
cruising out this end'd tryp;
wondering in constant if that
spider ever had his tryp.
The Fire Burns Sep 2016
Swim along chasing shad
Under docks with shade
Tail walk just for the fun
Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
scrivener (case in point Stephen King)

Woolworth ridding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisically shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate
muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.

Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounder, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.

Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these
Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire

telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet heftily jackknifing lust.

Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic
soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.

Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.

Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.
Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a hand basket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Ole Virginny.

Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
to transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining

opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully
being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action

brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes reddit carefully Just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet ick feet took me where they would.
Thick fog breaks across West Point Lake ...
Bass boats and crappie fishermen , tour boats and skiers
skim across her blue looking glass , Wood Ducks test the skies
northbound up the Chattahoochee River , bank anglers anchor poles
along her fortified edges .. White granite boulders visible from the mid-line .. Indigo hope and dreams as starlings silhouette her morning miracle , shad minnows skim the blue mirror , visiting gulls feast along quiet shoreline . A tall Georgia Pine mirage forms in tranquil coves , early day crows call hysterically from the hardwood thickets .. Turtles occupy muddy banks , Whitetails quietly graze worked fields , dragonflies and monarchs  incessantly toil beneath the strengthening heat of Summer , baldfaced hornets fortify their paper rampart high atop a lone River Birch ...
Copyright February16 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Crappie running in beds along the lit docks , bridges and abutments .. Flathead catfish bigger than a grown man at the base of the dam , Largemouth bass hitting shad like battering rams , early morning , late afternoon and darkest night .. Hardwood forest brimming colorful shores , stoic Whitetail Bucks dining on acorns , field nuts and sweet moss , Canadian geese and frozen shorebirds working her tributaries and inlets .. Smokey water silhouettes relayed by whippoorwill hymns , the first angelic beam of the morn striking her poetic surface .. Lake Jackson returning to diurnal joy , across reflective , freshwater twirling plains ...
Copyright March 26 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Oconee's throwing reflections at Dusk
Heavenly Monarch orange fields with -
Dove and Wood Duck silhouettes
Autumn , cool dreamscapes christened by -
the Evening Star , shadow boat anglers and -
lamp lit docks
The smoky breath of lakeside cabins
Intrinsic , moonlight interpretations -
over the piedmont treetops
The clap of olive turbid water against her granite -
embankments , voices echo over watery nighttime
level , schools of shad decorate and skim the surface
Carolina blue bows to ebony star filled October night
Dark plains teeming with starlight imagination
Copyright April 16 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Look In My Eyes
My Dark Angel,
Look at what you have done
O why have you made me bled
O look what you have done to me
  loves me more then I will ever know
then he kissed me and said
my love is dark
and it will cut deep at your heart
Come and walk with me
and I will show you a part of me
that has been written down in history
the he touched my hand
and given them a kiss
then he lifted me up
and we walked and talked about
a life he once lived
before he was cast down to the darkness
in a crying abbes
then a spell had been cast upon him
and he never known Love again
Until he seen the beauty of me
he told a story about me
why he felt he had to make me see
what it is he felt
when he seen
me fall  
he looked deep within my eyes
and he kissed me goodbye
as I had woken up from this dream
he left a mark on me
it was a dark shad of his lips
upon my hand  
just to let me know
he is truly real
with time moving along
I feel him wherever I go
I feel his eyes upon me
I know he loves me
because he told me so
But his love hurts so much
all I feel is the pains
and see so much rain
He plays games upon the minds
most of the time
he loves to see the dreamers cry
He tells me to look in his eyes
he will show me all he will bring
his eyes are dark as the sea
his words are painful
that cuts deep within
It's me he wants to take control of
but it is I that could never let it be
I was alone until I met him
now I cry to get away from him
I can't seem to get him out of my head
I could feel the change come over me
I ask God to please forgive me
to please Help me
I pleaded for mercy
to help me to get through this
Dark Angel gave me a life
of true darkness
a reason for change
is  like the seasons
where autumn leaves fall
while snow is on the ground
where the sun moves along into the gray
while the moon hangs in gloom
in late June
Is how he changed me
Darkness is all I can see in darken dreams
everything is black and white
this place isn't very nice
it always seems to make me cry
my poor heart bleeds out like the sea
My winter are colder than before
my summers are all gone
I know he loves me
because he told me so
When he takes hold of my arms
he squeeze them tight
just to make me cry
bits my lips just to see them bleed
he loves to see me in pain
to make me scream
then he tells me this is his Love
When he is through with me
he tells me over and over
how much he needs me
how much he Loves me
more then I will ever know
Oh ,how my world has grown cold
I see him wherever I go
His words are like a mystery song
that will go down in history
right along with me
Will anyone miss me
while yesterday pains
gave me so much rain
I cried today I smile tomorrow
but only for a little while
He gave me all his loneliness
He gave me love of his darkness
to make my life worthwhile
only just for a little while
He **** my hand
gave me a spend
and said the words to me
I love you more then you will ever know
can you see all the things I bring
Look in my eyes and I will tell you my story
that holds no end .

Poetic Judy Emery © 1993
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams
Ken Pepiton Aug 2023
I am boasting of knowing something about Pergamum,
and the altar from there, that is now in Berlin,
and the library that was in that city, where as one
of the cities linked to the Satan of Revelation,...
------
Inserting myself, the meat minded man, qwerty guy,
I am not alone in thinking these are unprecedented
times to be alive and literally reading defined and
cross translatable buzz words that trigger points,
like bullets, but
itchy, or spark, cringe, sometimes, ew, feel
where
whose pain? Yeh we know, now, Iyobe, he talked back,
wisdom has no problem with that, ask James, 3:17,

powerful truth, I used to escape an infamous cult,
in the summer of 1985, which happens to be
the last time I saw Wendell Havatone, Sr. alive,
that 4th of July, in 1985.

The part of friends who approach laughing, every time
you remember a friend, that's the spirit, we share.

Just true, no wu wu doctrine ritual walk, you live
long enough, you know.
…………….

...I am not defining sorrow,
I am not sorrowful, nor sorry.

I am ordinarily silent,
my fingers speak more e-loquaciously
than my lips, yet saying
thus saith the tyrant in my mind, guy in charge,
boss, saith, accept the cast and acknowledge
reception, then be not deceived, no tool in the bag
is non essential,

to be excited about life, become excited about dying,
right, with chutz pah - ummpapa,

steady increase in the overall confusion, mixing material
substances to invoke reversion to the common thread,

the survivor animus, she prima donna, mother superior, Y-
certainly we understand the taste in the white of the egg,

-wait, I'll check.

Shad-dah' ee, the Almighty, all powerful, all schadenfreudlich
Dada's still art
you are the other people, too.

- laugh after you know, you knew, secrets
- heart felt truths we treasure as children,
- wishing some one really dead, as seen on TV.
- Ow, intended for adult audiences, greasy gopher guts.
- anatomically correct Barbie dolls, mentally challenging.

Salt of the earth, pillars in the house
of my god, who has sons
and daughters, stories abound, certainly -- bound by something,

some herding instinct near the mean path of least resistance.

Armed with 2023 word processing technology,
we confess to stretching the vernacular idiolect past positive
resistance to the polar opposites being the most sublime
iteration of our situation, see,
I am wind, and you are water, and, oh, oh, no,
yeh way cool, heat rises, join me, be yourself, no problem

cloudy skies are good things in July.
After an online tour of the Pergamos Alter, the tool religion is, marvelous,
make us all imagine, somewhere, in all the chaos, order rules, we have the ruins to prove it.
Wai Phyo Win Dec 2018
Alone at home busy
Where is she?
Duty is duty
No one around me

Pouring water; plants and lawn
Washing floor with the pump
Blossoming flowers remind me bygone
They used to run and jump

Yellow flowers were eaten by rabbits
Two whites and one black
They forgot missing two, memory habit
Of the rest -  brain's bank

Missing one was pragnant, Oh so sad,
Wish you were hidding in burrow
Where you dug near the shad
Not a dog bit it up to hollow

Miss you the everytime I feed
Green fresh water spinach leaves
Only the rest three came to eat
Where do you leave? Where do you leave?
Josh Baron May 2016
Picture yourself in a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies.
Listen to the song of the surly white seagull and enjoy the afternoon air.  
Claw your fingers in the carmelised current and gaily gaze at the grinning gondelier.  
Ponder the purpose of the imperfect present or savour the slipping scene so excruciatingly sweet.  
Shake hands with the shuddering shad, nearly fooled into feeding on the infamous flakes from the fisherman's bait.  
Nestle your neck on nurturing maple and close your *kaleidoscope eyes.
  
Dream of your daughters dancing in lillies while your stomach sizzles in the strawberry sun.  
Avail the wailing white wolves as they sob their sombre wolf-songs.  
Marvel at the marshmallow moon until you've lingered for just too long.
First line from Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds by The Beatles
You don't need drugs to have psychadelic experiences!
Marci Ace Apr 2015
A guilty heart of a unsteady beat.
Shooting up fire to the ones who couldn’t stand the heat.
Exorcising my own demons,
The ones that creep.
A sorrow so long,
And a pain so deep.
In and out of mischief,
Was a soul to reep.
Praying, crying to God,
‘Please don’t let this be’
Mama talking to me,
Daddy gone.
I felt no love sitting in the passenger side all alone.
Ready to **** something,
High as hell way too gone,
But I have a warm heart,
Just didn’t know when to love,
Or how to start.
I was once taught how to love,
But now reminiscin’ I no longer
Get hugs,
Only a okay, and a shoulder
Shove.
Looking up at the sky one day hoping to be that dove.
In that clear blue sky,
Looking down at this empty world,
That us humans created.
Me and my sins debating,
Rather my anger and pain has truly
Deflated.
I tried to escape it.
Hold the handkerchief mama,
Away with it.
I’ve been up and thru it.
Yes it’s phenomenal.
Hard cold blood,
I’ve been thru the rain and the mud.
So there’s nothing you can really tell me,
At the end of the day I’ll still be-
Me.
Singing my soul away,
I should have been on glee,
Closed casket,
6 feet deep.
Going up the hill but the **** too steep.
Smoking real good,
But it’s too hard too sleep.
It’s too hard to be-
Me.
Deep in the world,
My name is a number.
They recognize me as a number.
Sleeping on the floor in that 2 bedroom house,
Mama you remember?
When shad wasn’t here that and this December,
The sweet scent that lingers,
Tongue rolling and sticky fingers.
My shirt,
My chest,
My heart,
Is where it hurts.
Inflammable, but so sweet,
Is it true?
I can’t be.
Am I?
A CRIMINAL


                                              Marci h.
DET Jan 2016
By:D.E.T.

When I leave
Just sleep
But don't bleed
If you feel the pain gain
Just know it'll
Heal
So, there is no big deal
If you feel ill
Just try to heal

When I leave
Don't turn around
And make a sound
With your words
Cuz I'll pretend that those are the birds
Don't face me cuz in this case
You have to find your own place

And space
That you belong
Stay strong
When I'm gone

Cuz I'm done
With this pain
Don't complain
Or try to explain
Cuz it don't mean nothing

I frown
When you drown me
Keep your distance
Cuz I don't want to know about your experience

Cuz you bother to help me
When I bleed
Inside and out
That's what it's about

You not helping me
So, let me flee

So, when I leave I won't shad a tear
Cuz this how it seems to appear
To me

So, know this when I leave
Just know that I don't want to bleed
Vladimir s Krebs Nov 2015
i have crashed in to the middel of the desert. i have lost hope since theres nothing out here to save my words to write my fear of dying. i feel like im spinning in my own memories that fade away. i keep seeing the same patch of rocks. i dont know but i need the cool shad befor i fall over. i could keep walking but theres no chance of sivilization so maybe ill scream and go crazy.  i keep walking the sand rocks. but its just the circles that trapme in my own insaine liitle game. the wild greens i ate have mad me additted to rhe barries witch bring a high.  the heat grows stronger. i even wonder who i am since theres no name to even know me. the san feels nice on my feet but the sun blisters my patciants its own self.  i feel like i am going in cicles  when i dont know who the **** i am. my madness has grew and my addition to the barries made time stop.
i was board when i couldnt think
Vladimir s Krebs Nov 2015
laying wake every night with long never ending thoughts. of the one person who has been your sworn savior that has kept you safe has came stumbling in the door ritteled with bullet hols. holding him with his blood streaming down your arms to the ground. tears start to fall hearing his last words say you are safe now u dont have to keep running. seeing his dark shad of blue eyes slowly fad away that kristal sparkle fade his words slowly say u will be okay? i said how will it bee along with out u? he sai youl see me some day again. never forget i loved you. this world has nothing but danger that hangs over. my tears stream down my face as the rain starts to fall no one can see them! digging a grave to put my savior to rest with just silence that fills my head. nothing matteres any more. my family an every one lost the fight to protect me the shadow creature. now i dont have any one to be with? his last words fell steep and slowly in to silence nothing changes when u can never stop crying
when i wrote this i couldnt stop crying still i cant stop
A wintertide timid sun shines green along the stacked pine
In myirad hues agin some lonesome fenceline
Sparkle red clay beside the hardwood borders
Keep a writers flicker of thought in apple pie order ...

Pull the bucket mouths to the surface
See shad tremble , darting and nervous
Caste the shadow of a stately heron
Paint the colors of Spring at the behest of Hill Country's
songbird clarion...
Copyright Janurary 28 , 2021 byRandolph L Wilson *All Rights Reserved
David Betten Oct 2016
Fisherman's intro, from "The Floral War."

FISHERMAN
            Well well, what have we here? Some field of view:                      
            The turquoise circle of the dazzling sea
            Blazes her setting of bright-banded sands,
            Where on this first, chill morning of the year,
            Our sun arises to peruse his course,
            And I, to tease my living from the deeps.
            Come, gilded fishes, hither to my net,
            You shimmering schools of perch, soft octopi,
            White-shingled shad, and jade-scaled terrapins,
            Plump, krill-fed dwellers of the pickling brine,
            Come now to me. To pray you have no fear
            Would shuffle with the truth, as I intend
            To angle for your lives, yet spoil me,
            For I who come to act unneighbourly
            Am poor, and strapped, and only bother you
            Compelled by leaky-seamed necessity.
            I have my wife’s own hatchery at home,
            And you, my friends, must make their maintenance.
            So, rush my meshes and forgive my faults.
            Whoa there! What vision’s this? Green goddess, say,
            What monstrous marvels wander on your face?
            This cannot be! I am awake, and sane,
            Yet seem to see a wading range of hills,
            A chain of dizzy-peaked and scraggy steeps
            Whose groundworks bob like buoys in the surf.
            Yet now this restless reef flows closer still,
            Resolving as spray-freighted citadels,
            Wave-buttressed towers romping on the breakers,
            Their canvas banners snapping at the breeze,
            Whose men wing down from ropes to pace the decks,
            And screen their eyes as if to locate me.
            I’ll hustle to my chieftains with this news,
            And let their cry of ominous novelty
            Alert each ear from here to Mexico.
            My life thus far was bright and fancy-free.
            Oh, why must change then come to quiet me?                        Exit.
The spawning shad
glimmered in the moonlight
below life support
of merely fragile men .
While thunderstorm's
lightning slapped
each other and
grumbled distant
in disgust
Look In My Eyes
My Dark Angel,
Look at what you have done
Oh. why have you made me bled
Oh. look what you have done to me
  loves me more then I will ever know
then he kissed me and said
my love is dark
and it will cut deep at your heart
Come and walk with me
and I will show you a part of me
that has been written down in history
the he touched my hand
and given them a kiss
then he lifted me up
and we walked and talked about
a life he once lived
before he was cast down to the darkness
in a crying abbes
then a spell had been cast upon him
and he never known Love again
Until he seen the beauty of me
he told a story about me
why he felt he had to make me see
what it is he felt
when he seen
me fall  
he looked deep within my eyes
and he kissed me goodbye
as I had woken up from this dream
he left a mark on me
it was a dark shad of his lips
upon my hand  
just to let me know
he is truly real
with time moving along
I feel him wherever I go
I feel his eyes upon me
I know he loves me
because he told me so
But his love hurts so much
all I feel is the pains
and see so much rain
He plays games upon the minds
most of the time
he loves to see the dreamers cry
He tells me to look in his eyes
he will show me all he will bring
his eyes are dark as the sea
his words are painful
that cuts deep within
It's me he wants to take control of
but it is I that could never let it be
I was alone until I met him
now I cry to get away from him
I can't seem to get him out of my head
I could feel the change come over me
I ask God to please forgive me
to please Help me
I pleaded for mercy
to help me to get through this
Dark Angel gave me a life
of true darkness
a reason for change
is  like the seasons
where autumn leaves fall
while snow is on the ground
where the sun moves along into the gray
while the moon hangs in gloom
in late June
Is how he changed me
Darkness is all I can see in darken dreams
everything is black and white
this place isn't very nice
it always seems to make me cry
my poor heart bleeds out like the sea
My winter are colder than before
my summers are all gone
I know he loves me
because he told me so
When he takes hold of my arms
he squeeze them tight
just to make me cry
bits my lips just to see them bleed
he loves to see me in pain
to make me scream
then he tells me this is his Love
When he is through with me
he tells me over and over
how much he needs me
how much he Loves me
more then I will ever know
Oh ,how my world has grown cold
I see him wherever I go
His words are like a mystery song
that will go down in history
right along with me
Will anyone miss me
while yesterday pains
gave me so much rain
I cried today I smile tomorrow
but only for a little while
He gave me all his loneliness
He gave me love of his darkness
to make my life worthwhile
only just for a little while
He **** my hand
gave me a spend
and said the words to me
I love you more then you will ever know
can you see all the things I bring
Look in my eyes and I will tell you my story
that holds no end .

Poetic Judy Emery © 1993
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen OF Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery
We lost even the twilight in each others eye's
We let time pass us by
to many times I have cried
because of all your lies.
No one saw us this evening
as we held each others hands
we once had been in love
so I had thought
While the blue night dropped
on the world so did we
many tears that I cried
when I had to say goodbye
You were at one time
all that was on my mind
I thought you was all I wanted in life
but I never understood why
I have seen from my window
another shad of blue
where you kept me so confused
leaving me feeling so used
by you.

- Judy Emery © 1981
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
THE QUEEN OF DARKEN DREAMS POETIC JUDY EMERY
which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) – as cheesy poem!

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.
Florida crappie
they hang near large schools of shad
the speckled perch, specks
crafted when Wallace and Gromit
returned from their trip to the moon,
which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) –
as cheesy poem crafted whey back
when the following Gouda eye idea
occurred while milking the cows.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted
courtesy spluttering, nauseating, and foaming LIX spittle.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.

— The End —