sara 4d
My heart is whole
but it has sharp edges.
It got wet on my sleeve;
now, it hangs from my necklace

-round like a pendant; hurt hangs
round my neck with a vengeance:
like a lighthouse on a dark night,
blinding sailors, offended.

It draws them in like a siren's call,
but the sky bleeds red at the first sign of morning.
The captain is certain he'll lock land at dawn
but does any type of siren sing its song without a warning?
Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning; red sky at night, sailor's delight.
You can’t look for the light
when the sun is shining so bright
so you’re calling for the dark night.

Will the dark sky be on your side
as the light blinds your eyes
thus you’re begging for a sign.

And you’re waiting for the time
but you’ve never seen it right
for you to save your life.

Here you’re losing your mind
finding a place to hide
from these illusive lies.

—n.y
Michael John Jul 7
i

i think why not to let
but proved the query set
a double somersault-twist
or kiss your sweet lips..

can  end in cold death-
still the birds in the trees
go cheep or not at all..
i have reason to not question..

ii

i have memories return from the crib
it is all just part of the aging process
we beetle by saying that can´t be right
the lights´ get bright and bright..!

birds talk to us but i don´t hear voices
we become preoccupied with prices..
i recall four blackjacks  a penny
dying has a long curious way..

i am pretty sure i am someone else
absolute and completely and yet
these early feelings as blithe pictures
remain constant..



iii


more work less fucking about
but creation is just living
some absolute and indistinct
(it is tough being a poet..)..

iv

lily says,for it is her,
you don´t play no more,
only i say in mind
the years don´t lie
content´ s fragile store..
repetition dulls the brightest
core..eventually a silent purr ask´ s why
not why not..

v

why write poetry says lily
because it is a futile act
of achieving something perfectly..
we like that..


or like stubbing one´ s little toe
a rabbit from a dream hat
in a vain effort to retain what
remains of my memory..

lily why not or why bother..
lily red diamond from her
eyes sparking like a star is
just a fucking star baby..

she half nelson bottle wine
why do anything..a sign
a metaphor an hieroglyph
love and hate lily..

or the little bird in the agaves
i would like to shoot that one
hate and love lily
porquoi-pas..

vi

i read o twenty years before actually commiting to paper
not much but i knew the stuff i loved and kept there
i know it was charles bukowski i loved his funky gear
thank you norwegion liz for lending me his books dear..

ham on rye and factotum you say don´t lose them mf
i swore i would not lose them i would not lose them kf
kind friend..but i lost them i lost them..df..
dumb fucker..


i leant them to someone that swore the same
they suffered an horrendous head..crang..
on and the books lost the books got lost..
there was scant satisfaction in plaster form..

maybe they went to a happy home
so not my fault that his drunk poems
god is he fun liz i hear your laugh then
such a wild sound ..generous so!

you said i should write and thank you
only human to encourage me true
and always a good drinking companion
you bought decent wine..

i adored cognac o..that was my poison
you always attracted van gelis errant tounge
unpleasant but one had to watch him..
that was his fun..

and then backgammon
goes a bit faint then..
i would like to say i won
you told me roland was cheating..

i think it was fun to play him anyway
esspicially on cement truck day..
not that he ever bought me a drink
not that i liked cement..

i lived with roland actually
this stopped any conversation
i met him by accident in eilat
that place was a laugh..

i think i enjoyed the second time
first loads of day jobs though i
played in the streets..and living with
the russians..

that a blast lily..my immediate neighbor
we never spoke..and the police pulled his hair
and yet not a squeak..a match box of grass cheap
i went to silently get a light..

he did say never run boy..
i thought alright for you
alright,
who was playing late night
in the soft quiet night..

so i was nosy
within the deepest hush
a glass and bottle jungle
impossible this silence

and i could hear him swallow
once the army ran through
i was tucked up in bead reading
by hopeless candle light..

i met roland in the peace cafe
a misnomer if ever there was
he picked me up and tossed me
around..

hey mike we got stoned and under
the landing planes roaring down
aint had hash like that in so many
years..

there was the red lion and at seven
free food and a drink and a movie
i read miguel cervantes..they
play the eye of the tiger later..

then the hard rock cafe with killer
egg and chips
i worked with an architect and made
a few shekals.

vii

i got out of there man i went south
dhab a quiet hut and goats..
that is the life right there..
o the corral beauties..

the stars as glimpsed through the palm..
pretty carpet and soften-songs of balm
brain blown and fly blown
and then back to town..

which came as a shock then
i had a drink and a very nice mention
for the cafe at the bus station..
i salut the the patience of the librarians..
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
Ooolywoo Dec 2017
Daydreamer waiting for her surprise
She's always sitting on the bench outside
Watching through the golden glasses
She sees through her eyes a world that unties
Beautiful creatures and where love prevails
She always wonder why her beauty does not impales
As she holds so many wonders
A sweetness in her bright almond eyes, behind the glasses that sat crookedly on her nose
She focused her eyes on a flat prairie
Where the unaccustomed eye sees only ordinary
In hers, the dale was a beautiful swathe of shiny green grasses
Trees are clothed in delicious cream and pink blossom
Jasmines dancing to the winds, choreographing autumn breeze
The sun casting its last golden rays
Changing its yellow into hues of tangerine and fire red
Her perfect world, she whispers
She is a daydreamer
With eyes so full of love that will make you melt
She is beauty and love
Looking at her shadow slowly shrinking down her feet
Only her can see the magic
You will find her outside
Waiting for the man to share the same picturesque landscape
Seeing her reflection on him just like a mirror
Sharing a moment, a smile, a touch, a gaze
Closing their eyes to a slow and soft kiss
Alas; she is still waiting on this
Waiting to meet him flesh and bones
Dreaming about it everyday
This love she's never met,
Yet she seems to glimpse him in every corner
And because of it, her heart craves for blossoming flower
Her heart is bound to a fictional imagery of him
Creating imaginary moments and opportunities
Clinging to a false sign that precipitates desires
The desire to lay her eyes on him and feel his lips on hers
The desire to feel her body shivers with his skin on hers
The desire to feel his heart beating to her caress
the rush in her veins, with just his look
She will be an eternal daydreamer
Until she finds him sitting on the bench outside for her
For an eternity of love
This poem is inspired by the song Daydreamer by Adele
My French Gem
The Rose tickler
finely handwritten

The movie part gave
her the sign life
crossed over gem
French kiss the morning
The burst of Kaleidoscope Sun

Double touched but forbidden
On the Cheetah necklace chase
The French Lieutenant 
 her body and lips moonstruck
On her chaise
To get over it another work of art
that got more attention

To revive her from drowning in
the gem scattered like a
benevolent
blue splat philanthropic
Looking more into his unknown
diving suit mixed
with envy green how she got mixed into
the stranger of Poison Ivy
Her love didn't show all her
attributes God spiritually well
She went to the pastry heart
how it flaked all
over like crystals
He was patiently sitting but got persuaded
That little gem of the lounge
Her firey gem was the canary
that got his tongue
Her gem stands taller  
The crafted lines of quality in the
Pillars

"Le Bonheur De  Vivre Gem-Art"

French kiss went inside the darker side of the painting

      He's transformed.

Shape heart delicate uniform.

"Parisians on a mission
A kiss is a serious manner
  LOVE" Gem birth opens her
He modifies her rainbow
Artwork of brush yellow
twinset platter hello fellow

the essence beloved to follow
So worth her wait being watched
By the crystal rock, he loved her
going up in spirit or she falls for him
The gem to be it

Magical modernly gem -fit clock.

See through hands meditation harp.

Lebonheur De Vivre fine art sharp.

Lips movement beyond hearts.

Le-bonheur De Vivre gem arts.

Artesian heels tapping boots.

Fall for Autumn love cahoots.

Beloved, divinely he's the healer.

The picture spoke she's the winner.

Wilderness he glides kisses prints.

Pushing her waves hints.

Everlasting one thought he's guessing?

Art never part beautify stem.

Eyes so genuine he's her gem.
This is the French Gem Europen setting like an artist love
graphically so smooth but cool would you want to be her gem being loved by him
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