Bruised and battered egos:
Retaliations –
Flaming tornadoes spiral up to stormy skies.
Mixed metaphors of caviar and custard
Maelstrom mightily around the mountains of Hell.

Trolling is appalling
And flaming burns.

Let go of that ego
Is my advice.

Be humble from the start.
No-one is great enough
To be beyond reproach
Or criticism.

Who cares how good or otherwise I am?
Who cares what anyone says
About my work?

I am what I am,
End of story.
To Describe what I am is fine:
See those metres, verses, rhymes
And metaphors.
Dismantle me if you wish,
But (please) put me back together.

No-one should stand in judgement,
Except maybe God,
With His bright wide wings.

So stop the abuse,
And sourceless insults.
Cease the condemnation,
Or stand to be IGNORED.

Paul Butters

I know of pains, burnings and aching so hidden and unknown.

These scars within scars, that drive the skin on your bones to peel and bring even the strongest to their knees.

These invisible blades can not be traced to any source. The razors sit in heels of shoes and backs of throats waiting for the fleeting moments of fear to drive deep in hopes of drawing small volumes of blood.

The average eyes can’t see the scars, only those who have been punctured by these ever so slight slashes can understand the pain beyond pain, the infections held under those healed wounds.

the sourceless pains.

sinking into the sourceless fog
sinking into the view from across
sinking into the detached crowds
sinking into the hot, flushed shame
sinking into the worrisome slouch
sinking into the city streets
sinking into the bleak thoughts
sinking into the humid nightmares
sinking into the silence at dawn

while I sink with a slump towards the bottom of a down
where is the fight against the deep and dark drown

I have never seen such a star before!

It shines
by and to
the sides of my eyes
but only until I’d look up
to see it Fully

It has never been there maybe!

or is it its nature to just disappear
when
and because I look up ?

or are we
playing a game of
kika boo
to test
a rhyming faith?

which could
become a melody
to the lines of darkness
uncloaking us

once or thrice
does not seem matter
to the form of my observation

sheltering in a multicolored ice

Catch this subtle point of luminosity
Now ! - If you can

and once you have it
Set it free
or Stay there
as if meditating on headstand
and clear your mind

before night diffuses into light
and shines through a crystal
with a hidden star inside

I cannot prove If eyes are not be made of its
material
and only a deluded mind  -Alas !
questions

such useless
doubt of difference
of the other
by the other
about the other

And the other
always and only
drowning
in the corridors of beliefs
and thought-constructs

but
Is it not pointless
Trying to catch
a star
Camouflaged
in daylight ?
...
and sometimes recklessly
at the tip of my nose
makes me giggle just
as if a **** tickle
at a mystic corner
on a lover’s lip
longing for its kiss variant

then
I look down again
Tired of the silly mind game
Just to feel it by my side
A sweet friend
A sweet love
Made of my trust
Only appears
to the side of my eyes
So what!
A needle tip sized glitter
sourceless
Living only
in the reflection of the reflection
of a night sky
Shining on my window
behind which I hide now

In trying to pick out a pattern in chaos,
I found neither symmetry nor direction.
It just was- and that's all it needed to be,
Unadulterated.
Speculation free.

No rhythm, no purpose, no agenda.
Just pure chaotic goodness straight from a sourceless chasm

To even attempt to decipher the endless web of desires,
of sorrows, or fleeting wonder- is to attempt to unravel the spider's web by speaking it. It is to sing down the moon.
It cannot be done- but there is no harm in trying.

I crop the lungs from my ribcage,
Tearing through the fragile shell of muscle and bone;
A tissue paper tomb.
They lay on the ground,
Spread before me in breathless anticipation.
I slit them open, so they're no longer valises of air,
But instead
Lay flat,
Like cloth waiting to become part of a greater whole.
I compose a sturdy pair of wings
From my pair of feeble lungs,
And like Icarus before me I'm ready to dive into the air,
The heat of the sun on my back,
The deadly thrill of salt spray on my tongue.
My feet are
Weightless
As I run towards the edge,
The toes of my scuffed shoes barely touching the ground,
And as I hit open air my wings capture the wind,
Lifting me higher into the sky.
The view would leave me breathless
If I had any breath left to lose.
With a gasping throat I dip towards the turmoiling sea of energy:
Trying to taste your life in the thrall,
Trying to find your light amidst the spray.
But your sourceless heat is scorching my lungs,
Despite the disconnect
I'm choking,
Plummeting,
Charred membrane flapping in tatters,
Streamers of flesh
Turning my death from tragedy to ceremony.
Crashing at your feet,
Broken and spent but thrilled all the same.
You stare at me,
A sick combination of shock and consternation,
Kneeling beside my dilapidated form,
As with a heaving chest I try to breathe in
Some of the life you bleed
Even though my lungs lie in ruin
Around me.

k.f.

For centuries we’ve fought to keep our sanity. To suppress shakti is to stay in control. To never let go. We are as old as the rivers. Consciousness controls us. We become beholden to the formless. Sourceless. Oblivion. Lions roar in obscure forests. We dare not utter our reply to the night’s lullaby. I shudder to think. All wisdom is a lie. We are trying to fly but can’t get off the ground of reason. I am surrounded by shadows, in an arrowless sky. High as the ceiling in my mind. I try to climb towers and spires made from rope and steel. We are already here. In the beginning we roamed the earth and ate from the soil. A morning’s work, is not a life of toil. Love never rots. Love is undying. We are trying to take something that is never available. We are hardened. With lots of red earth under our scars. We are scared and trying to fix ourselves. Bless your fear. Shine the light on these breadcrumbs. You’ve made yourself smaller than a pencil. Instead, be a permanent marker.

Does a black man’s life have a price?
Hopefully, you answer with of course not.
It is priceless. No sum of anything
can equal its worth. But some others say
of course not. The ones that seek to destroy
us, break us to the core, think that we have
no worth. Nothing to our names but
defamation and inflammation from
miserably myopic minds. We die so easily
to hate, to jealousy, to misunderstanding.

Our price is lower than zero when the cost
of freedom is so high. But not for us;
the cost is freedom for them. They need
to be free from jealousy and hate,
but they just can’t see how easy it can be
to be loving. No, the cost of a Noir Nature
is far too high. It burdens us with the pain
of our broken ancestry. It burdens them with
the fear of changing scenery.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?

We have no heroes; we are only zeros. No,
not even zeros because at least a zero has a place.
We don’t fit in, from elderly to infants, we simply
strain through sorrow for something bittersweet.
And it hurts with a biting sting of failure,
but not of our own. No, it is the failure
of ignorance and broken hearts.
There’s no one to truly hope or pray for us
as we are slowly strangled by those that seek
to destroy and break us to the core.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?

Where’s our true freedom?
We were once slaves to cruelty,
then we were set “free”. Free to toil under
the misery and apathy of a blinded, divided land.
We then struggled, clawed, begged just be
the same under the law, and through it all,
nothing has really changed.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?

But where’s our true freedom?
We still are set as windchimes in the streets,
we still are cast as fish amongst the seas,
we still are set ablaze from head to feet.
Why can’t we be truly free?
Why do they continue to ever so mistreat
us with sourceless anger? Why are we beat
and pleated into a lack of love that fleets
and flees with the fury of fleas? We ask, please,
to be seen, to freeze the agony, to show us mercy,
but they bleat like sheep, guaranteeing to **** our liberty
with glee as they continue to freeze us as they please.
They screech and decree as ugly as beastly banshees
when all we wanted was peaceful equality.
But why does the key for me to be free
have such a costly fee?