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The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide

Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale

The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach

Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change

Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness

Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul;     that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's  impending break

Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies

The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...

someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
P E Kaplan Apr 2014
First I spied the neck, sagging innocently enough,
one might even say blissfully, reflected in the glass laptop.
The phrase "whodunit" came out of nowhere,
and a low, silky, voice whispered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The villain left a few clues; the wispy hair strands;
some scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles,
listless, crinkly, skin pale, lightly pimpled,
and a weird, wrinkly crevasse teased,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued; southward I spotted
where a once perky treasure "chest" was hidden,
two solemn, half-empty grain sacks, laying sideways,
basically lifeless they lazily muttered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, the mystery solved,
no crime, no villain, nothing stolen, just flesh alchemy.
Where once a taut, flat, plateau of supple skin, resided
now a lumpy, bumpy, flabby belly, murmured sweetly,
"Boston Creme Pie and a cup of tea would hit the spot."
Spenser Bennett Oct 2018
Don't you listen well
I could only kiss but never tell
Just what we're waiting for, I'll never know
So heavy hangs the balance
Still I am crushed more by absence

Oh, honey hardly, how my heart did harden
Oh, sunny starling, show me something sparklin'

Caught tight in this Dreaming disease
Toss and turn but never learn how the tides of time wash over me
I am the open ocean, an oriole aloft on a cool cutting breeze
Exhausted wings fold softly, fall into the sea
I pray this love might rest whole and safe with thee

Oh, sleeping saker, southward lies the seam
Oh, heaving haver, hiding holy hands of heme

Sit me kind and languid amongst the stars
My head on your shoulder, a simple understanding of heart
That sadness is not weakness, nor happiness a strength
Time is not a construct but a killer all the same
And as light begins so light must fade
But in it's absence we might find that light lives on inside
And with all of that in mind
I would watch the world turn through darkness with your hand in mine
Janis, she just mocks, how they knock off every berry
And the snow on the branch, now, “Calandra, never worry.”
Seasons come, like they fall, and they spring forever weary
In the Valley of the Orchids, rare are birds unto a journey

Feeble, does he brew; with the stones, shall he marry
Corralled is the smoke, tossing hills as it carries
Fuming seas in the sky, past the bricks and the rye
Cabaret, hear him, nigh does his skin peel and fly

On an arch in a prairie in a province in a land
Where the children are told how to fear their hands
Atop smoky pine feathers that burst when they're touched
We stomp and we squeak to the air on, we march

A prison laced in reddened storms drones on mountains ever-scored
Looking north by north bygone, the test, remiss, we’ll move southward
But on the sky sits Cerise Range and all around in spheres, a cage
And then, a beak we see invade! A crash and splat; of juice we’re made

May the fly, the mayfly evade the day the children hang
The Brewer, haste has made, pours his broth, begins the day
Hide, little child, like the fly, become the blanket on the marsh
Become the stock, but don't give up, next month won't be so harsh

Jude of June, that's what she’s called, she grooms her quill and tests her ink
The One of Blue, another name, she writes for everyone to breath, she blinks,
“O small brown bird, you speak the path? Well I have ever shone on some.”
The Summer Sun, that's who she is, who waits for Janis, soon to come

Jewel in the eye, dome of peace
Returneth casts our masks beneath
Iris besets, “Berceuse, my mess.”
Sad, for slowly nights a guess.

Part-time, will’o’writs she can dust
A cat's tail christened, paw in a gust
Navigating, where galleys waste strewn
The suns of Aude across its boon

Deliver us Toulmask, lost and protested
Past Bejeweled Silken in millions, nested
In Scepter where embers aroma holds on
To the sands like rocks destroying its spawn

Into the nest, deep. With Man, reborn against winds and dusk
Will best the heaps, lifespans of each, in caverns each a husk
Cut deep with scythes. The Trembling, Bellowing, Festering,
Reckoning, unending Octobering deathening, surrendering:

You! Bird, the bell rings
Brown bard, the sun sings
Sky guard, no venerate
Berried lark, thou emirate

Welcome, into ends and to makers
Watch with, admire, be your desires
Forget time, velvet rubs you and penetrates
Valley’s of orchids that start, to disintegrate
Finished July 5, 2017
Thomas Bodoh Sep 2018
Spellbinding sparkling queues of pearly faces
Seethe in a gemstone sea of lips and beaks.
Veiling night, my Nirvana, leads us places
Fraught with clandestine lies and feathered peaks.
The hidden eyes reflect the burning light
Rampant within the painful lifelong dance
And swivel southward, scorched with silent fright;
Parades of fiends swing by at ev'ry glance.
Burn the voiceless witches! Condemn the dead!
Slash the hopeless visages to the night!
Raccoons, exposing drooling mouths unfed--
Charming music conceals their true delight.
I, the regisseur, perform my role
Then fade behind the mask that chokes my soul.
Sam Manfre Aug 24
The indecisive winter pondered what it meant to be warm.
“O the downfall of the snow,
For it does not match the Way of my heart.”
“This lonesome white,
This vampire swallowing all things with color.
A Way I once took solitude
and contentment in,
does not nearly prove my desire to Burn.”
“O To burn as Mercilessly as time’s ember
not taking any prisoners, no concern
in Not one being’s day.”

So the winter shone golden when dawn came again
and basked in the cries of all those below.
“The Summer!”
The winter quite liked those cries
and vowed to always be warm to the touch.

As true as death,
As mighty as Dionysus,
the sun shone.
Regurgitated yellow
over all the green splendor
and had all the people flooding into their waters.
“O I am Aglow!
O I am a warm hand to hold
as I beckon the people to come out onto the streets!
How I have yearned for such admiration—
to see all the humans
wiggling like worms,
sprawled in the grass.
O I shall Never grow cold again!”

Until the day came
the people stopped coming out.
Until they begged their boiling skies to send cooler days.
Until December stopped feeling like December
and the hair on top of their heads just longed for a breeze whispering the first words of winter.

The indecisive summer couldn’t help but think.
“ O Could it be true?
O Can a kiss from two different lovers
fill your heart from two different ends?
Can the melancholy ballad of a tragedy
play just as loud
as the roar of a comeback?
To Burn and to Freeze
To Sing and to Weep
To Scream and to Listen
To Understand and to Lose
May we never Breathe without one or the other
because we may never Live without one or the other.”

Only then was the reign of the Seasons
and the people never grew tired.
Winds blowing them northward to grace all day
to blow them southward to hellfire the next.
And the people never grew tired.
duang fu Jan 30
In the town up north
They hide the sons and daughters
Who seek refuge under the light of the setting sun
The children who hide
From sons of daughters pregnant with absinthe
Heavy with intoxication
And daughters of sons looming with angry fists
Guns fiery with magazines of threats

When they see no one’s home
Sons of daughters head west
They proclaim "we’re not needed here"
Daughters of sons head east
They cry "we’re not acknowledged here"
So when the children return
The house has moved down southward

When they leave for their own
Easts and wests on their foggy compasses
History trips them on the feet of new strangers
In a murky, yellowed sea of foul leftovers
They make unions on flimsy wooden boats
But when they return home as the sun disappears
Their children have been taken along with the light
I Don’t Know How But They Found Me - Absinthe
written 22 december 2018 10.54pm
ymmiJ Apr 22
milky silt rivers
gashing pastel covered fields
tears from slipping slopes
glaciers coursed going southward
now heading back north

— The End —