The cool brisk air whips across my skin,
the dark salted waves are soon breathed in,
inhaling and impaling what now lies grim,
the solem ocean blue.

It chills my spine, as it's escape unwinds,
losing track of time and sight,
My eyes go silver, my hair goes gray,
I die with infernal night.

No ships are looking for my remains,
Neptune plays such tortuous games,
I'm lost at sea and full of pain,
You solem ocean blue.

I am the rumors you've heard,
the whispers in the wind,
the dark of an old folklore,
the crazy that lies within.


For I am the dead of cool night,
a starless sky without light,
you shalln't put up a fight, for this very night
You'll join me in the solem ocean blue.

Luna (Latine Lunae) est terrae sola naturalis satellite. [E] [F] [VIII] licet non amet naturalis satellitis in Systemate Solare est, inter satellites maioribus signis maxima quod ad magnitudinem orbes obiecti (primarium) [g] [a] et post Io satellite Jovis, qui est secundus densa inter densitates satellite cognoscuntur.

Luna est in vna *** orbem terrarum, et semper, et faciens facies, *** cis insignis, quae per tenebras inter maria volcanus editis clarus, et veteri crusta impactus crateres prominent. Est enim post solem in coelo et immutari. Quanquam autem id candidissimam, obscurus etiam superficie *** bitumen reflectance fessis tantum leviter superior. Huius temporibus perquam cyclus regularem habere in coelo, quia antiquitus in luna lingua maximus culturae opes, fastos artis fabularis. Producit vim gravitatis luna dies et tempora et levi freta. Nunc de orbita lunae distantia diameter vicibus terra in caelum facit ut fere idem sit qui apparet Solis. Nempe per id fere totum solem lunam eclipsin solis tegere. Hoc simile est de magnitudine visuali fortuitum apparens. Lunaris a terra distantiae lineae sit amet, crescens ad rate of 3,82 ± 0,07 mm per annum, id est, non tamen semper. [IX]

I shut my eyes for a moment,
Listening closely to the rain drops against my window.
The louder splatters on the Zinc,
And the solem whispers from the cold wind.

Moments like these,
Ignite my subtle yet firery desires.
My hollow heart summons you,
Reminiscing on your gentle touch never felt,
The feel of our dangerous passion.
Though our lips are yet to touch.

©Karen Thompson 2020

Let's feast on the night

And gaze in delight

Soft sparkles admist a black haze

Breathe in moons arise

From vast cosmic skies

More calming than sweet softly days

For cloud can dim light

And drown out of sight

A sun single, solem, shining

But alas come the stars

Shimmering afar

A universe of siblings

Now sing

My Darling

The rose they say is the flower of love, but the love that i bear for you
within my heart, there are not enough roses on this grean earth that would
even begin to express the love that i feel within my heart mind body and soul..

When I first awaken every morning you are the first thought on my mind
and the very last when i close my eyes to sleep at night,

Your Face, your kiss and your carress are ever present in my dreams
My heart beats ever faster when you are near, and my soul yearns for
you when you are not.

Flowers like love are forever fragile and can easily wilt and die
But fear not my beloved the love that i carry for you within my heart
is forever protected from the passage of time and continues to grow
each and every day forever more and will do so untill the end of time.

It was fate that entertwined our destiny together
for not even death itself can extinguish my love for you for it lies locked deep
within my heart For it is you and only you my one true love that holds
the key to my heart and that key was yours the first moment i saw you
and will always be yours until the end of time.

This is the solem vow that i make to you with all my heart mind body and soul
with the very essence of my existance and this vow like my love forever more.

                            Eternally yours

Beneath a southern isle doth lie the king of boys
Decomposed was he, as the wit of the world fell to the same solem depths
Alas the ego who stripped  our hero of his power
Innocence, his last living breath
HE was nothing more than a charlatan
The so-called king of all things
The so-called GOD among boys
Knew nothing more than the extent of his own vanity
The prospective leader
Prophesized guide us through this darkness that is our world
Now lays in ruins
        Shattered
And with him all reason
All notions of right and good
Crushed beneath a shadow of ostentation

Solem vow to which I owe
Lost to all unless all is given
Fearful mute is all I am
Coward among the blind
Whimpering lion hides in is den
The passer-by, nose up, grins

On the Rock to whom I'm grounded
I sit among the thorns
The unscathed one they'll call me
Omega is calling and thunder is near
Last note to you I must plead
Loose the grip and dine with adoration

I ended up throwing the hotdog out and left it to the bag of chips to satiate my hunger. It was the first time I’d actually come across a park with those stone chess boards.
I didn’t have a set with me. Honestly I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to play anyway. I’d hoped I’d at least be lucky enough to watch other people play.
I got to my third **** and was getting ready to give up when I saw them. This little boy, probably five, walking with an old man. He was holding his hand in a guiding manner towards the tables. A very old looking case tucked under his arm and a solem look in his face. I couldn’t see the face of the old man. He had a scarf covering most of it.
They shuffled through the crisp autumn dead to the second table down from where I was sitting. The boy looked at me for a moment before opening his chess case. Just a blank stare but at the same time, melancholic.
He set the pieces up before the old man and sat down. He’d given the old man the white side so he’d go first. Figured I was getting a chance to enjoy a wholesome moment so I moved a little closer. “That’s close enough.” The old man grumbled without even looking to see how far I’d gotten. So I stopped. “You can stay. Just be quiet.” The little boy said. He too not looking at me. Just rocking his legs back and forth.
The old man moved the kings pawn two spaces. Fischer did this a lot. The little boy countered with his queens pawn. The old man snatched the boys pawn and slammed his down. The first blow had been struck. This should be if nothing else interesting I thought to myself.
The two of them set about their tactics. Setting up their offensive and defensive strategies. And the little boy was able to slay a bishop in the process.
It’d been about twenty minutes since they started their game. I got up to throw my trash out and I get an alert on my phone from my news source. Guam got hit by a tsunami. Expected death toll in the thousands.
Thinking nothing of it I return to my seat. People die everyday all over the world. No since in fretting over a place I’ll never go to and people I don’t know.
I sat back down in time to see the little boy capture one of the old mans pawns. The sky was getting darker but my phone hadn’t said anything about rain. These two didn’t seem worried and I was more interested in their game.
A few minutes later my phone chimes again. A massive earthquake has hit Venezuela. Nine point something or other. Didn’t read the article. After all, why wouldn’t the rules that applied to Guam apply to Venezuela? I noticed people scurrying to leave the park under threat of a thunderstorm but since these two were unfazed. So was I.
They continued with their game never saying a word to one another or even acknowledging me. Trading board advantages at what seemed to be a fairly normal pace. Each taking a few minutes or more to make their move.
The old man set his queens rook up for sacrifice. He was going to try to use his knight to fork the kids kings bishop and his queen. The kid took the bait and the rook fell. I get a text from my friend the tug boat captain. He’d been dragging barges down the river for the past two months while they dredged out the harbor. It’s just a pic of a shitload of dead fish with “***” written under it. I asked him if this was on the river he was on. He said yes. That the fish had all just died. By the thousands they were just floating to the surface. I figured it was probably a chemical spill somewhere on the river and told him my thoughts. He made a lame sushi joke and I put my phone away to focus on the game.
I wanted to bring up to these two what had occurred since their game started. The tsunami in Guam, the earthquake in Venezuela, the dead fish. But if they wanted to talk to me, they would have already. So I just lit up another **** and leaned back to watch the game.
The skies had gotten murky and seemed to stir. The birds had grown restless and confused. Landing and flying off in weird patterns. It looked like some were performing touch and gos. Others would either take off like normal and a few just crashed into the earth with fatal results.
The old man moved in once again to snag the little boys queen but ended up losing another pawn.
My phone chimed again with another alert. Much of Yellowstone was being destroyed by a wild fire that was probably started by lightening.
Suddenly the little boy was able to force a decision on the old man. He’d split the line between the old mans queen and his king. The little boy said with no enthusiasm and with subtlety “check”.
The old man could take the bishop but would lose his queen to the boys knight. It was then I saw the old man start to tear up. He wasn’t outwardly emotional about it and the boy made no efforts to console the old man.
The old man took the boys bishop and sacrificed his queen. Then he reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a kerchief to wipe his tears away. Then he hands it over to me without looking up and just says “run”.
I was confused at first but then the little boy turned and said “he’s right, you should run to something you love”.
I got up and watched for a few minutes longer. I realized they’d put the game on hold and weren’t going to move again until I left. So I went to use the bathroom there in the park. I didn’t need to pass by them again to leave the park but I wanted to see if one of them had made a move while I was on the *******.
As I strolled back by on my way out of the park I glanced at the board one more time. From what I could tell the little boy was about four moves from checkmating the old man.
My phone chimed, it was my news source again. The internet was flooded with images of the moon from the other side of the world. It’d turned a blood red. The pictures were almost too hard to believe.
Just before getting here. Every radio station went dead. It’s just static from one end of the dial to the other.
So here I am. And you can believe me or not. All I can tell you is every time that little boy won a piece, something bad happened. Maybe it’s the final battle between good and evil over there in the park. I don’t know. But here I am. At the end of the world.
And maybe I am crazy. But they did tell me to run to something I love.
So here I am.

I know I'm not poetic,
Just typing what jumps out to me.
Its not prophetic,
Its easy you see.

People say its hard to write,
Rhyming all the time.
I defeat that, with a fight,
All you need is to Rhyme.

I'm messed up,
Mix-matched too.
But its not anything like the flu,
Its just me, and thats true.

This is just a poem,
Making the truth shown.
Beautiful and solem,
No need for post-pone.

In the cascading shadows of the moon,
I'll be there holding your hand.
Whether it be morning or noon,
I'll be there for you, My friend.

Dont dance with me my sweet heart
Liqour pulses in my veins
Dont dance with me my sweetheart
Youll find the steps a pain
Ive cradled my waltz.
Into a foxtrot filled with faults
And lined up my dancing soldiers.
To march  like lightning bolts
I tuned every broken instrement
And muddied the clean floor.
Now i skip through mine feilds.
Never fear about the gore,
The path i dance is a riddle itself
One that can be answered by nobody else
I find the longer i dance to my solem tune
The longer i despise myself

The silence sets in
After a day of nerves and preparation
After the trip filled with loud music and shaky voices
The silence sets in
After the sweat turns clothes damp
After the dressed become harnesses of body and mind
The desirous chills die down and strong ones come to play
This is before the silence really sets in
After the short seperation creating burning sparks in the night air
This naughty lust breaks upon arrival, reunion is sweet never bitter
Nausea unyielding, the silence has begun
Voices rise and fall
Raw conversation leaves an awkward aftertaste
A solem realization that a good time is being had
Over at the eleventh hour, progress slow but promising
The point of contact is the center of the world, like a shared halo glowing insanely
Nausea is, as it always had been, pride and confidence and splender
Lasting until the silence, permeated with uncertainty and starving passion, sets in again

Im not addicted,
She said,
I can stop anytime,
She swore...
Little did she think of,
Black lungs and
Her throat so sore.
Puffing away the last minutes of her life,
Yet this is one of the few things,
Convincing her to stay alive.
She knows there are "other methods"
She just feels this feeds her need the best.
She didnt want to start this chain,
And now she doesnt want to stop.
I promise Im NOT addicted,
I also promised I would quit...
Two solem vows now broken,
But at least she feels whole...

Secrets
Emotions
Heart racing
Softly weeping

No one hears the last cry
As the bottle falls from her hand
Not a drop left
There
Laying beside her
A solem bottle of pills
She lys there helplessly
So peaceful and free

In this sensible, fragile moment
Where things could even fade.
Life starts
But does not begin
Enjoy what life brings
Or even what can be made

A choice for better, or the worst
Some solem in their choice
A voice heard, from within
A higher being,
Consciousness  
Or some thing.

To be the one, Who's not afraid

Some day I shall be there
Some day I'll degrade
Though I'll still be present
But the body will cease

To find peace
In what
We believe is true

Is the law then against the promises of God?  
God forbid:  for if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law.  

Gallantly,
reading the promise
if though
the hero's that hold the
sacred rose.  
The cape,
red and gold,
the legend of
the Talamud of old.
Bowing to break
the silence for to tell
the bull is the raposte
of the craft when
he snorts he guffs
scratching the surface
of the grave.
Braver and bolder
than the resting lore holds
the written tall lyric
of how bull fighters
speak to solem vows.
Did he or didnt he
warn the few
as the crowd revels
they reveal the truth.
To live or die by
the horns they hold.
A small last dance
to the left and right
the swirling
the sparrow and the robin
know
the footsteps between
the audience throws
the steps to flight
the steps to debt.
In between his teeth
he reveals, the color of
the flower to place on
the stones.  
The bull
or the hero lies here.
A few turns
a few lies, a few more
moments before the bull
dies.  To the clarity and
chagrin, the fighters
are the audience who
hold no pen.   They
stream to hymm the very
step, the very step for the
win.  
He snorts and shuffles,
looks to the crowd
the bull now knows
he is to die.  
Choosen to
write the score
of the mused sick
audience sore.  
And to these
days there are
laws that exist
to protect
the fortune
of the bold.  
Authority, sword,
word in hand,
and by law
of this land
do we save
the bull because
we
are colder than
the bull's sin.  
Trampled or true
the bull is free
untill the bull fighter
meets the
crowds revelry.

The rain falls, in the form of letters and drenches my life story into the garden soil beneath your feet. Flourishing roots that are not visible to the naked eye. These roots lay in my chest. Filled with dictionaries in languages I have attempted to remember over the years.

The water drizzled into my stem.
A moment I'll never forget. a moment of growth. That I peeled back the curtains of all the soil hiding my best ability to stand tall. My knees straightened up and let the blood come back to the atom bomb I hold my chest.

Spouting my arms open wide. The letters melting off my fingertips and I to this solem piece of paper. Spelling out words of life that started from the root of my being.

Reproducing a cycle of seasons. Seasons of grown and seasons of molting. Each and every year I find myself to have a new skin. One different from the last.

This is how I know I am still growing. When I sprout I refuse to grow into something already present. I will magnify myself into something rare. Never before have I seen it.

I refuse to let the soil of these seasons determine my biology. I will photosynthesize to remember that I need to soak in the moment. That today I will grow and not stand still.

i never write "anything"...
i'm claustrophobic when its comes to
exploring cognizance...

'wow! what a fancy word!'

i hardly beg to differ...
i hear of people fathoming the novel...
and...
i'm a monolith monstrosity...
some bourbon, some german:

ich bin gut zu gehen: ja!

spucke bourbon au zu mein gesicht!

i will never write a novel,
i deal with butchering an animal
for: ein stück von fleisch...

"a novel" und barockarchitektur:
sounds similar?

oh but it's a freel available tattoo
in the anglophonic frame of ref....
Hastings, 1066...
hard to come by when the tattoo reads...
ahem...

Tannenberg, 1410...
Vienna, 1683...

clear-cut... almost safe-net catch-em
while you can...
the Hastings folk were pagans...
don't you know?
don't you know that only white
people can be racist?

pst... ask the russians "about that"...
see what you come back with...
i will have to...
S'****** at the reply...
no... honestly: "because" it's forbidden for
us former iron curtain "roma" folk...
**** dastardly's dog: muttley... S'*******...
giggles in...
we former folk from the eisenvorhang...
coming across the californian:
siliziumvorhang?!
where are we... polacks...
hunagarians... czechs... estonians...
lithuanians... ukranians...
yugolz... at?!
we don't fit the narrative... do we?

it's the 27th of december...
and i'm "thinking"... it's mighty fine...
to celebrate something with the aestigermani!

the children of ***** sought a father...
the children of gomorrah were akin...
i do not know whether i am
a father figure or whether:
there's that pointless safety question
to mind: did i wear a ******?
i was assured! i was assured there were
contraceptive pills involved!

i'm tired on the usual steaming-heap
pile of warm ******* and ****
to give a psychoanalyst his rhetoric
elevated status of disinhibition...

cocktail! madonna's papa don't preach...
dusty springfield: son of a preacher man...
and any other formidable calypso
study of salsa... should this sugar baby
this sugar baby be my baby
and if i would never become a sugar daddy...

and because i was only ever looking
for the six oops-stones of womanhood...
infinity: eh... bag 'em one weekend...
forget 'em the next...

god... let me this one type of racist...
Jefferson keeping "green things" akin
to Zoe Saldana in some variation
of a "basement"...
i'm good with green...
use enough cumin, coriander or
cinnamon powder in your cooking...
you'll ask: what's wrong with green?
i'd **** green! i'd **** green sitting down
i'd **** green of the sort sleeping!
i'd peacock myself in many variations
of drunk to stage:
that one sober sort of **** with her
and... it's no samantha 38g and...
classics come to mind...
homer, horace... and plump models
of: extra cushions!

ha ha... i make myself laugh:
i make myself laugh because:
there's about zeo chance of me...
conjuring up a novel ambition...
me and a novel...
a "supposed" schizoid and a novel...
ha ha! Noel! Noel!

there was a time where i grew a beard for a reason:
i.e. exercise less..
grow a beard, hide the pride of a walrus
minus the harem...
double chin and the...
Zoe Saldana in green skin...
octopus fucky-fucky or what?

- never mind -

grow a beard... hide the shar pei...
i figured over time...
my beard became a giza pyramid
focus of my eyes...
it took some persuasion...
namely 4 years and my grandmother
finally pointing out:
oh look how thick it is...
she wanted to play g.i. joe with...
prior to: my hair...
like some thor meets barbier universe
dolls extravaganza...
a hard-on waiting...
with an ava lauren limp twist...

"oops".

now the beard is all about...
being 34 years old... while donning
the *** leftover skivvy look
inflating the organic body for a media
frenzy to "compenstate" it to be aged:
49!
ha ha...
i keep forgetting why i'm in such a good mood!
today is today! and i'm...
and i'm not allowing myself to succumb
to an anglophonic seriousness
of staging an elvis costello seriousness
of: everyday writing the novel...

pst: sounds better than that obvious...
"nook 'n' cranny"...

my alternatives!
minnesang - neidhart:
meie din liechter schin!

weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt:
lassen uns singen!
lassen uns geben loben!
lassen uns männer verlassen
der mutterleib!

ensemble für frühe musik augsburg -
mayenzeit one neidt...

jetzt kommen der lieder:
zu gesungen! für alle das jahr!

i guess i grew a beard to hide a shar pei...
then again:
perhaps i grew a beard to pretend to
fiddle with a throng of violins?
perhaps i found growing my hair long...
i had to compensate!
i had to exfoliate in the downward
spiral and exchange...
oi! baldy! baldy!
i can juggle! i can juggle!
i can grow long hair and a beard!

but never the two at the same time!
germany and the nazis...
i just can't stiop thinking about
the lucky... those frivolous drunks
of the holy roman empire...
esp. when peering via their folk songs...
i call it: having to succumb to
english prune and pristine pressures...
even these days...
being wholy saxon is to be:
most unwholesome when it comes
to the german federation...

it's called cheating:
eatin saxon white soy
and not... riddling oneself
with Bavarian rye!

i'm drunk! it's the 27th of december!
the little ******* is born!
now i can celebrate!
chevalier, mult estes guariz!
on the 27th of december i can sing
german, and french crusader songs!

on the 27th of december i can celebrate!
nothing has to be left so innocent
and passive! so coddled!
and if they weren't singing byzantine
chants... prior to this day?!
let them sing no more!
i have found my happiness! once more!

Ö dies freude!
jetzt ich können: singen!
einst die kinder und engel...
ar legen zu bett!

if i am to be the integrated kind...
now i rejoice!
for i have all the reasons to rejoice!
i do no have to pander
to a babe!
i do not have to force myself
into elevated expectations with
a pre- litany of the omni- suitor...

now i can champion the romance
of the crusade...
i am... freed from the utopia...
that only one heart is allowed
to feel... and its feeling is to be contested...
solely by the sacrifice of a crucifixion...
not by iron maiden outlets "etc."...

now muttererde...
ihr liebhaber: wind - seine unterschrift!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!

it's the 27th of december and i can finally
celebrate with songs...
that... celebrate the sort of christianity
i am accustomed to...
french crusader songs...
german folk...
that i can stomach...
not this... pandering...
expecting the nuns to not...
somehow, not, become...
the ****** of the christ-harem!
a nun is a nun is a nun is a nun...
is a nun...
but i very much like...
being considered...
for... the better part of the feminine whim,
outside the realm of:
the usual rejection tactics of:
the aborted... i like my exercise of yielding:
DAS WORTE... ooh... chisel that
with a base goosebump strut to be worth
being added!

em... it's almost like that...
time-travel question of:
why not travel back in time...
and **** the baby adolf ******...
dunno... no point doing that with a jesus...
since... m'eh... his cross is our
genuflexion... yes: kind sir...
yes mr. greek and mrs. hebrew...
esp. in this script...
esp. when its alive and "we" debate...
the pronunciation of:

nil admirari prope res est una, Numici,
solaque, quae possit facere et servare beatum...
hunc solem et stellas et decedentia certis
tempora momentis sunt qui formidine nulla
inbuti spectent: quid censes munera terrae,
quid maris extremos arabas ditantis et indos
ludicra, quid plausus et amici dona quiritis,
quo spectanda modo, quo sensu credis et ore?

there's nothing to be surprised by, Numicious,
in this life's mainstay, peace of soul and happiness;
others, onto the sun, the stars, azure bodies...
on the round year of orbital changes, look with
a calm... and you would, upon the gifts of earth,
pearls of the sea, what of the distant Arabs,
Indians beyond the Arabs,
on the Kwiritow (googlewhack...)
Quiritus' honours, questionable plaudit: peer
raptured in awe without measure?

a very ******* bad a very ******* terrible
translation... as you do...
as you do... sinking into bourbon...
thinking about... maritza mendez...
sylvia loret... samantha 38G...
and all those lost plump classics of *****...

i would have sunk the Potemkin!
drunk... i wouldn't even require
a sober catch / scrutiny of "character"...
because now i am yet to translate
some latin, use this... ahem...
pseudo-cuneiform text:
"LATINE QUOD MORTUS EST"

perhaps that's mis-translated as:
qua: i.e. "as being"...
perhaps MIT... some runic...
or glagolitic... we AWAIT: the revival!
of the grand h'american protestant church
of apocalyptic wonder!
maybe, perhaps... "then"!

but it's the 27th of december...
the... "messiah" is born!
now we can reroute and go back to our...
current year... ***** and gomorrah type
of *******...
the cosmopolitan whoop-t'd'ah is 'ere!
come easter, come spring....
come the crucifixion! come the resurrection!

I'm tired of pouring my heart out
to one word
replies.

I'm tired of feeling
so
much
for you to feel
nothing.

And when I wake up
alone
and you wake up
with her,
I know you won't be thinking
of me.

And when I tell you
I can't talk
to you anymore
because it makes the breath
in my lungs
turn to concrete
and the air around my body
turn to
stone,
you tell me
"I understand".

And there I am,
the utterances
dripping off
my lips
and running down my chest,
an ugly black
reminder of the
honesty I felt comfortable sharing.

You sit emotionless.

You can't be empty now,
I'm empty.

Fill me up.

In response to my heart break
you share
only one short reply
reminding me that
my
utter
hatred
of the lack of us
is directed
exactly where it should be.

I'm ******* tired.

Please
don't
shut
down.

Don't turn off toward me,
turn on.
Open up.
Tell me you hate me,
tell me I'm ugly,
tell me I'm an
irrelevant part
of your life.
Do as you have previously done
and tell
me I
will always have a
special
place in your heart.

A place where
good things
go
to die.

A place where I can
remember that
we were
never going to last.

A special place
that screams
a solem
"The End".

But for God's sake
do not
feed me silence.

I have felt those lips,
those arms,
that chest.

I have felt you,
I have heard you,
You are real.

Please
don't
dissapear
on
me
now.

Do not.
go away.

As the tears dry up in the heat of the night,
the scars run red with the thought of the day.
You gave the words life and then ended mine
with twisted lies and solem cries.
The silence between the words you preached
screamed the truth
Yet my ears loved the sound of your familiar tune.