once upon a stolen time
skies swore love to the earth
in a sight where all flew past
the splendor of a sailing romance

a passion so pristine

ever gentle as morning dew
which surrenders to the first rays
of a yawning sun toddling into
the laziest hour of day's fabric

when hope glittered as stars

and as formless light of souls relieved to be
strewn into the lap of merciful
enchantress content with her creation
whose world shone inspired on its own

an era where people breathed felicity

where foamy seas bent into a restless
swell of dreamy clouds
and smiling rainbows melted into perfume
drops of silver rain

when a grand pearl was born

the child of deepest seas
a gleaming myth so pure and unreal
born in nethers of the grand ocean
a spheric orb of life itself

whom the heavens embraced

as a savior of those lost within
the fading embers of abstraction
frolicking amidst solemn tranquil stars
shiny bright on the celestial parapet

the mortals named her moon

and furnished their barren lives with
colorless spread of her golden hair
traced along the milky laugh of joy
kissing tender skins of lovers asleep

but pinched upon by shores of neglect

lay the boiling heart of a forgotten god
leaning into the envious whispers of venomous deceit
sprung out of flaming ego of the great sun
overpowered by hate for his adversary

and the grand ocean who birthed her

so he raged upon like a nebulous explosion
drying up colossal seas and rivulets alike
while mortals bore the brunt of a deity
beneath all fiery blunders of infernal damnation

they all gazed in horror

to what became of once cerulean infinite ocean
now a volatile geyser of bloodied soup
a serene cradle of life incinerated by jealousy
amidst the dying cries of mercy

laid upon the ears of great mother

who rushed to her frightened children like
an avalanche of uplifting spells
as solace from the obliviating torrents of heat
above a crumbling earth

veiled in her merciful majesty

she called upon a parliament of beasts and men
starry denizens of the shivery black sky
ghostly natives of burning forests
restless roses of ashen hearts

as so were they all summoned

"for all ye did defile
with strength i lend to thee
reduce to shadow dust
spread thy cruelty
dispel a coat of fire
upon my hallowed sea
betray the rule of stars
but so mercilessly

for 'gainst the eye of war
ye sinned with hateful fright
and shall be doomed to hell
till life's last surmise
but if there be some more
ye need to speak awhile
speak aloud thee must
for this be thy time"

and so the mighty sun bared his heart

"for if i had a choice
sin i shall again
to breathe a demon's soul
engrossed with deathly pain

as when i saw her first
the light of purest love
allure of million songs
beaming anthems of

poetry set in sight
in fountains of her sleep
amid the faintest wish
of day we two shall meet

i ran and ran across
the length of starlit skies
in search of moon again
her burnished sheeny smile

only to learn the sea
would mask her in the day
in frigid soundless depths
until i fade away

spiralled across the space
i burnt to nothingness
a billion years in wait
perished to longingness

for choice was what i had
i chose to hate the world
one that does have no heart
one that does know no love

for if i had a choice
sin i shall again
just as the ocean sinned
and bring my soul this pain"

seeking out for the shattered cascades of his mind

the great mother did reach to the floundering soul
of a sun craving for one more sight of his beloved
all so distant as a tale of treasures lost
to the perpetual labyrinth of time

"of what shall thus be named
the blush of myriad glows
beneath the noble day
before the nights of pure

let there be a spell
where sun may see the moon
chisel his heart through clouds
scroll upon his tune

a time where them two shall
be one as dew and morn
ripple across as love
through dusky silhouettes long"

sweet scents of eager hope resurfaced

followed by the serene lush of a green symphony once more
while the sun bent down to touch the topaz glint of water
his beloved emerged riding upon whistling winds from east
once more piercing the restless swell of dreamy clouds

and just as day sank below a border of horizon
two lovers soared into the dreamy sight of each other
for hues of their daring glances tinge every twilight
again with a dream to have their love fulfilled

every day until the end of time.

Things abandoned are
Left behind
In the darkness

Nowhere to go,
Nowhere to live,
Suffer and pain

But still,
somewhere in the darkness,
a little spheric light
fly around,
and that we call,

Hope

Behind the suffer
Behind the pain

a little spheric light
wait for our call
and that we call,

*Hope

I.   Warning

A boundary of warning issued premature
to a lad settled on adventure
will plant definition in a red
corruption code of ketchup on a
post-picnic bib orphaned to the wind
like a fictional friend's home continent's flag

The vision-fielding velocity of neighbours'
arrows augment the sleep-shearing flares
of the father's eyes in the centrifugal
bullseye of his boy's current-green nursery
so close to swelling wide as a planet
now a marble left behind in favour of
a shrunken moon's spheric promise
of an otherworldly adventure

II.   Island

Subservient to boundaries of none but its own
the loner of landmass nurses its nautical mischief
through the employment of sensual labour in darkness
sizing them up to encompass a knowing glow
for the enigmas of bare-faced daylight

The premature thirst for adventure
attended to by the drink of sanctuary
poured from the skew of its welcome-mat shore

III.   Neighbours

Game and Disappearance serve
the Monarchy of Volume under code names
of Hide and Seek undertaking missions in the name
of circumstantial viceroys: decibels
scanning search parties through the x-ray of silent night
for the orchestration of the morn

Tweeting birds equate an army horn
rainbowing the insurgent black sky
with adventures in crusade-recital grooming

An airy beach of reeds is looming
in the coastal fog bracing to embrace
the route taken on the faith of melodic compass

IV.   Discovery

No labourer of mortal being beats the sun
out of bed not even the little one
succumbed to slumber in the bony shadow
of the instrumentally inscrutable contestant
to the claim of composition by his
solar brother's sacred nursery rhyme
insuring the rest and energetic rise of time

This adventure-hearted child heard no battle cry
in what the rivals of his bearded babysitter
dubbed The Sound Of Panic
just the anthem of a little conqueror beneath
a bucky smile of approval on the heels
of a swim befitting of an older lad but not
the aura of exhaustion conquering
the eyes of a goal imagined and achieved
and the smiling gratitude duet in return
from the dutiful and loving neighbours
lulled to their reunion reed field
in anticipation of a father's target met
with a son's accuracy in tow

11 26 11

332

There are two Ripenings—one—of sight—
Whose forces Spheric wind
Until the Velvet product
Drop spicy to the ground—
A homelier maturing—
A process in the Bur—
That teeth of Frosts alone disclose
In far October Air.

**** on my nose and question the ethereal depth of my love for Dark Matter.. the beer and the cosmic phenomenon. Ask me why you think we should love one another in the darkest prison, laughing at the ghosts, scoffing at the shadows, screaming in delight: 'depersonalized madness can't hear me now!'

Your pupils are dilated with panic. Too much coffee, you addicted, raging barista-wannabe. Too much indication that the owl whooting WHO is asking, 'who?' Or making reference to the World Health Organization and the spread of Ebola across the western sub-sahara SHUT THE **** UP, OWL, I DON'T WANT TO CONSIDER WHAT ITS LIKE TO BLEED OUT THE EYES.

Drifting along in life, driftwood getting paid to drift along as long as it can stay a bit past nine and help the boss close up shop. Dressing all indifferent as if black Urban Planet pants that require a lint roller are worth the $20 they charged or if the polo shirt you wear was really worth the 80 you spent recklessly when a previous boss hinted you'd breached dress code by showing up shirtless on the very first day.. you ate nothing but Mr Noodles and bruised apples for a week just to help a CEO make bonus on his margins and afford the violent takeover of Exxon Mobile.

SCREECH AND SCREAM LIKE THE RAGING TINNITUS YOU TRY TO DROWN OUT WITH STRANGE SPACE MUSIC from spheric-lounge. Is depression all that bad if cipralex makes your jaw clench as if it were overdosed MDMA? Perhaps I'll feel well on Welbutrin, smell putrid, feel stupid, noticed that my love life is just another betrayal by a loopy cupid, my Lawd.

Sometimes I think there is an inner earth,
that spins all widdershins to what we know;
and smoothly from within its spheric berth,
creates enchantments in our world of woe.
I almost hear the distaff and the wheel
and see the golden threads that are there spun;
as if the tapestries of life are real
and magic woven into every one.
The mural of one's life does take its turns;
one section, all bright colours,- next of dark.
The concept of these things within me burns
as I perceive the meaning of the spark.
Our tapestries are dark where we're alone
and brightest where the light of love has shone.

The room is clear and the air is filtered
Two chairs for me and her, to separate and segregate
I grind my teeth and I clinch my fist, to the point where
I experience near sudden paralysis in my right hand,
and I think to myself, "I didn't love you because you were rich".
No such things as unaccepted apologies.

Between the two pillars of our own truth, there stands 32 Dr. Phils,
and each one attempts to explain to me
on how to be a reasonable and rational man,
so I can grow old with her, and learn how to fly without having any mosquito wings.
As I sit impatiently in this draconian chair of imprisonment with no restraints,
I think of what we once had and what we can still accomplish
by not believing in things such as unaccepted apologies.

By realizing that we are no longer on training wheels,
That the jagged surface that bridges us,
From a love that can shave diamonds and convert children into angels after death.
And when we get to that bridge, we will see ourselves with our children
as they walk and crawl to our bodies,
infesting their love across our fat bellies with their eyes and their drooling mouths.
I want our children to learn their first words that signify the exact representation
of our relationship;
their vivid sounds of "mamas, dadas, goo-goos, ga-gas"
hanging to our ears like raindrops on windshields,
like a mobile softly swinging over their cribs.

I relinquish myself from this seat as I run to hers,
to grab her, to tell her how ****** this situation is.
How our internal and legal battles are astronomically indifferent
To the spheric gift from God that has shun His light to your tiny stomach,
like the flickering spark of a dying flash.

I’ve come to understand now that of course as someone is sleeping, the other needs to give respect and not wake that individual of course- It’s always been like that for in terms of that knowledge though maybe we are all simply put born as individuals where our brains do not mesh in any way shape or form other than talk about ourselves and unto ourselves to make points come across

That we are all individually intrinsic and that sleeping all together as a global spheric mannerism is just the way so that so that that can just be some way of understanding that humans are a certain way

It’s like we do this just in case the real out there aliens are alive for them to see what humanity is like that it’s its own planet meant for humanity. Other than it proves no point at all, when the lights go down low and the music begins to blare and the fireworks are in the air on a schedule that changes every, single, year

This is our Atmosphere

© 2018 Clarissa van Vreden

A life without love
Is a life without ends
Not a road
Just a stationary point

Maybe a life with one single end—
the one without love
Only one cause to strive for
And truly just one without more

Maybe a life with not one end at all
A life as a permanent “x”
One point in history
And no true value at all

A life without love
Why life at all?
Still we breathly*strive
All without tone

How can life exist without tension?
How can harmony continue to be,
Or anything without boundaries?
No limits because the limit is itself

Not even French man, Lagrange  
Could solve this one life
The one without love
The one that sets itself as none

So I do my best impression of the sun
Extending its ten thousand rays through the whole
The many ends and ways I let Love create
All out me and the itch inside my soul

And I do my best impression to revolve
Become the revolution that I must long for

So I do my best impression of all that crosses my path
Wildly roaming as the wallowing water road
A river that can’t be just one permanent sea

And so I ask and plea
To excuse myself from my wish
“Dear Sky, today I want be me,
A river that obeys no one”

And I ask my spheric, life-long ceiling
“Do you have limits at all?
No corners or endings
You yourself have become one”

And today I ask for forgiveness
I do not want to mirror a limit
I want to run across the sphere
And become, until love extinguish

Momentarily we all are
As none is upon the
Spheric frozen cogs of time;
Now trow thou understanding
And ***** infinite conception,
Wishing, supernal creature-
Thrice fallen, expunging
Salvations scars deeper
Than the eternal hurt
Redeeming Gods altar;
The eventual solatium
Of oscillate lucifuguos death
Declaring defeat bearing the
Cross of extension for life's
End will never reveal
Peace to lost souls.


ELEETE J MUIR

——————————————————  

midway up the alleyway

among illegal upheaval

urban street backgrounds
swell unfolding into soundscape shapes


for exchanging
cracked mufflers
and
broken English as ingredients

out in this blacktop district melting ***

ramp-up,
cascade,
clatter,
and crash

spilling out almost detuned chords of reverberated sustain

into and echo through my window
in an oscillating fling around the ceiling  fan  
and from there it’s on repeat until dusk begins to loom

Static sizzle begins a final crescendo
And quickly takes its medicinal weakening

inevitable low murmuring enduring

in an almost complimentary gradation
a fading to dark (so you know where we’re at)

Frogs and crickets use their voices

In nocturnal harmony

singing the daylight to rest

while synchronizing intone
all those unforgiven and withdrawn souls
can take a new step forward

walking in stride with carefree invisibility

beneath a scattershot of luminaries
that constellate a shadowy veil

draped over town
My town
and Your town
and across
in a floating waft

Dispatched via the calm blue astral spheric hue
from a lunar dome
Or
cosmic citadel

represent

Represent

REPRESENTING

for all  our collective
Grandmother Astral-sphere

————-————-————-————-

Hard Rain.

Spheric drops on the glum face of midnight.
Nightly drinks by self.
Self Destructing acidicly.
Dinning.
Dying soldierly.
Strict concentration.
By the tears.
Confused in mirrored shadows.
With a tint of peppermint.
Ease back thy silk collection from face.
Intimate gathered embrace.
Under liquid flow of haze.
Blue in thee.
Eyes in slumber casings.
Alieness mornings in caves.
Tavern moonlight from lamp.
Sideways blankets backwards.
On satin grass of upward walls.
Languid.
Sensitive.
Dreams on clear land.
A lone shelter sits.
Corner dimm’d ***.
Blue salted sands wandered coast.
Turquoise sadness.
Stand on crystal blackness beneath.
Lowest of low.
Valley.
Subatomic chaos.
Within chaos itself.
Ones self to end on a metaphorical sea of clarity.