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Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Sometimes Love is a butterfly
        with a bicycle for a heart
Sometimes Love is some darkness
        made of glass
Sometimes Love is a triangle
        of moving parts

Sometimes Love is a conversation
        of shattering stone
Sometimes Love is the flowering
        translation of bones
Sometimes Love is the geometry
        dancing in corpses of chrome
Sometimes Love is a 2D attempt
        made at a hologram of home

Sometimes Love is a fog of fire
        raging through an alphabet of sand
Sometimes Love is an assessment of risk
        nailed through the palm of a hand
Sometimes Love is treading on a snail
        exactly according to plan

Sometimes Love is a list of improbable things
Sometimes Love is the wisdom being older brings
Sometimes Love is the fatness of being slim
Sometimes Love is a find-out-later thing
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
The moon waits
               A word cannot be a reason
The night pivots on a point of light
               In its onward-ness the river is unchecked by the tide
A spider's patience pays off
               Two lovers exchange cigarettes, fluids and promises
Ceiling-paint peels randomly
               It is History passing, unwatched and unheralded
Life begins as a fold of skin inside
               Metaphors are viruses of Truth, endemic
The Mother chooses a dark way
               In coping with his images the Poet bleeds with Her.

Waves find no solid shore
               The tongue's geometry parameters meaning
Fossils are a fist of stone
               Dogs bark in clenched and sudden anger
Holding all in thrall, wet streets glisten their network wide
               Sleeping Fathers ignore their babies' cries
An oily carcass ebbs and flows
               ***** **** their nippers free of fleshy ooze
As the Poet remembers so his skin begins to crawl
               Somewhere a victim torches herself with doubt, aflame
What stalks the night is a shadow with giant's wings
               What fails to fly is chained in the heart with fear.
Her life was run on the oil of synchronicity
planted in the seduction of abstract hypotheses.
The moons and ebbs of tides
Swoop in like thunderclaps
on wing'ed lightning bolts,
Capturing synergy
Wiping out energy
Till she huddles in a pile of her own failure
Tucking up her toes to avoid the floods
Admiring and condemning
The rain soaked
Howling at her gate.
My bio
Tommy Randell Apr 2017
I was going to start work on a poem last night
Focusing on a metaphor of migrating swans
Then, well, this film started
About Japanese Warriors and I watched
The first 5 minutes until I picked up
On a quote of Confucius' about
Not giving a sword to a man who can't dance
Which of course I had to look up because
I thought Tarantino had used it somewhere
Maybe in Pulp Fiction but that was a dead end
Then I was onto YouTube watching **** Bill
And the O-Ren Ishii animation sequence
With the insight, totally, why it was an animated sequence
Was because the fake blood budget alone
Would have run to 7 figures …
Looking up to the TV to catch a beheading sequence
Looking down to the Laptop to find Lucy Liu's
Best 10 Bad *** Film Moments!
Which led to the Elementary series and
Sherlock and Doctor Joan facing off with Bamboo Shina
Until despite my joy in the deep coincidences of things
My tired brain was overloaded with martial arts imagery
And to try and get back to the embryo poem idea
I typed migrating swans into google and just got
Lots of V shapes …

… I … paused … to … let … the … message … sink … in ...

At times like this I search for opposites
And thus set out on a random ramble through my shelves
Ashbury – Creeley – Schuyler and the like
For a sideways nudge to an image or a rhythm that inspired
Until my tired brain ran aground and I thought about my bed

My poem hanging and my intention in tatters
Sitting before a glass of Single malt and Tom Lehrer in my ears
I didn't write a single word but heard some lines from a man who wasn't there

          “this is the way it goes
           almost everywhere
           with everybody and everything
           as fiercely in the highlands,
           the black swan burns.”

Thank you Charles Bukowski, and goodnight.
Sachin Subedi Oct 2018
The mind or the intellect
Governed by philosophy
Quinches its thirst by logic and understanding
The heart
Governed by bliss
Quinches its thirst by abundance
The soul
Governed by nature
Quinches its thirst
Being the nature itself
Action
Governed by all the three
Quinches its thirst by spontanious being

Spontaneous being is possible
With the synchronization of soul
To the frequency of nature
With the synchronization of mind
To the right kind of philosophy
With the synchronization of heart energy
To the abundance present in the universe

The synchronicity of the energies
With the frequency of the ideal
Brings about peace and prosperity in the world
The energy of the ideal wow
Is what we call God in real
The ideals of the energy of God
Are nature, abundance, bliss
May you all acknowledge God
As the energy form
Rather than the personified story
Explained to make us realise
To realise the actual thing of the ideal living
So forth ideal being ultimately achieved
With victory of nature as a whole, abundance, bliss and the truth over the opposites
The victory is the synchronicity
Their heartbeats danced together when they hugged each other for the first time.
©Sonia Ettyang
Mayte Jul 22
There’s an emerging synchronicity
Kept in parallel worlds inside of us.
It seizes the perfect moment
To appear endlessly
In multi dimensional universes
To complement the actions
Of the entire human race.
One object can never be
In two places at the same time
They say,
But that statement confuses them.
It’s amazingly curious how come
We never consider
Even the rarest possibility
In the lapse of our short lives.
Our minds seek and explore,
Look through time and space.
Imagining is quite easy at the end
When we perfectly know
Exactly where to search
lifeonLSD Oct 2018
— - —
Call it magic if you may
the sun, the moon’s pray

Constantly chasing each other
day after night, night after day

Such a perfect contradiction they make

Putting together the right ingredients
to complement each coloured ray

When one were to fall the other
would silently rise, filling its place

With every small step they take,
synchronicity follows without ever
missing a beat

So on they move

Completely balanced,
without anybody taking the lead

In the beauty they unfold upon us
this has to be
one of the most wondrous spectacles
if you ask me

Words are unable to measure
by any means their lightning show
how they glow with a radiance
that highlights their power and control

Or how they never let
each other down
Or stand in each other’s sway

No envy I feel
nor does appreciate is able to say

The truths about their nature,
always ready to unveil
hidden in every passage lay
the constant sacrifices they have made

The forces that pulls
each other so close
the same it pushes away, too

If one steps out of place,
all falls out of space and will be let loose

With lightyears of travelling
they unified their bond but are still
bound to live in separation

I admire you,
from a far

An admiration so magnificent
it cannot be free
One of the most magical things
enabling us to see

Right on time
as ever so soon

The dance
between the sun and the moon.
— - —
a mere spectator
TheRhymeRenegade Feb 2018
do you recall
the crunch beneath our feet
a gesture small
as we ambled down the street
dirt and gravel
I felt pebbles through my shoe
I unravelled
When I looked at you

Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face

Sunlight peaked through maple branches
in such a tranquil way
missed chances to make advances
I always hoped you'd stay
a fork in the road ahead
we went different directions
I used many different methods
to try and snag your attention
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face

you never seemed to notice
you just stared ahead
heart bloomed as if a lotus
while I tugged at a loose thread
sometimes I'd begin to speak
but choked upon my words
so I walked next to you without a peep
and together watched the birds

Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face

it's odd and super subtle
the synchronicity
insignificant and pointless
yet means the world to me
quiet walks every afternoon
past the garage and dead leaves
we watched the starlings courtship
do you remember me?

Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
Spenser Bennett Jun 2016
Splash through the puddle underneath that golden expanse
Our tea cup synchronicity belies our swimming decadence

Ride waves taught by the playful mantaray
Cruise through the ocean sky to the city of the Bay
Like a babe I crawl on the edge of the plane

We're all refugees on this backwater bathwater ocean
We look around and to our elders to make sense of the scaled schools motion
The gray herd moves as the vacuum looms over green Picasso notions

As travellers across great highways we can reach those distant cosmic creations
A speedboat horse race were confident we can win

Ski down pillowcases  of fresh powdered imagination
Great green looming through the dark starlight illumination
Barrel rolled into the canvas ink of knowledge on the mountain

We pay attention to the cashier of time
So we can swing life away as the world floats by
jane taylor May 2016
walking through the woods i was surrounded by a plethora of golden bronze amber leaves tumbling in the wind sparkling with a star fire that evanesced from their jagged edges upon their descent.  i stood entranced, mesmerized, utterly hypnotized by their glorious magnificence.  i observed with intensity as a golden bronze amber leaf never having been attached to the majestic tree had no need to let go but gently released.  feeling no trepidation it wholly lacked desire for manipulation to control the forces of the wind.  i watched in awe and wonder realizing that it never disengaged from the tree knowing that separation is an illusion; it simply became the wind.  whirling it shimmered in the autumn sun as it wafted with no need for reins allowing its destination to unfold.  gingerly cascading it settled tenderly on the ground resting comfortably in ambivalence.  i sensed it did not cringe when it was picked up by an unsuspecting boot but intuitively knew immediately that it was being carried and dropped off serendipitously at an auspicious location.  i listened to it intently and drank in its essence as it simply lay in being not obsessing over what would happen consequent but sat in sheer stillness seemingly encompassing all totality.  i was stunned to see that it lingered without judgment in undivided clarity for what wild synchronicity would come.  it quenched its thirst in mystery while being completely at home in uncertainty.  the golden bronze amber leaf seemed one with all that is while simultaneously retaining awareness of self-perception.  as a gentle gust of wind coalesced with the beige fall sky it literally merged with the momentum enjoying the ride to its perfect destination.  with delicacy it rested cozily in ambiguity whispering to me that heaven is a state and not a place.  i vow surrender to black and white existence pledging fearlessly to climb higher creating life with vivid vibrancy adding golden bronze amber to my palette of colors with which i’ll paint.

©2016 janetaylor
Find me a way out through the blizzard
I might be grateful
Make me tremble in a storm of chaos
And i will forever be

Feed me with fervent attention
I might run the show
Spare me the space to exist
And the skillful magician will happily bow

Sing me the delicate truth
I might hold it for an instant
Indulge me with love
And light of eternity will shine upon me

As the creator observes its work,behold nature’s beauty
It's perfectly imperfect flaws
Vibrating fractals in harmony tuned by universal laws of synchronicity

Awake my friend and promise never go back to sleep
For today starts your blissful journey
That shatters the illusions that lies within deep

Altered Perception
The journey of the fool triggered by a glimpse of the Absolute
Jo Barber Jun 5
The leaves all fluttered in imperfect synchronicity.
Like a dance,
unchoreographed,
yet so beautifully so.
The day was filled with flaws,
but the pure, effervescent blue sky
against the too-large green of sprouting trees
made all the rest melt away.
A hill that was covered by snow last month
now screams with yellow dandelions.

When humanity fails,
man may always return
to where we were never meant to leave:
to the blue, green, and yellows of nature.
The rain welcomed me, as it was
I am to be thisgray day.
Unendingly unraveling, seemingly,
They are as the concrete, grey.
My roots, always reaching
The rich brown earth beneath,
Stregthen my stride,
As walking through them am I.
To where or what, I do not know,
For, discovery oflife is stalking.
Yet, I'll be in the moment so,
If and when, I can, I will fly.

In each day I pray to be that I,
What, where, how, when and why.
So, though the Sun's light is masked,
This night, that is their day, won't last.
As, it's direction, clear and bright, does
Glean through the clouded cover of their night.

Still, this walk that's walking me,
Is what reality is to be.
And while these flaming embers glow,
I'll walk this road with reality, so.
Yet, to you I do entreat,
If and when you two meet,
Will you allow for the you to be,
And not recede from reality?
So, that to this day all that have gone,
Leaving you this to carry on,
Will have their potential realized as well,
Let Evolution be the bell.
Thanx to the great group, Orleans, and their great song with the same title, for inspiration.  Thanx to All and Flaming Embers restaurant, as well   :)   reality
jane taylor May 2016
stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests

pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed

as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories

recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner

i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time

familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine

i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus

an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self

flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly
inward

i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain

as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind

an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
dazzling
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned

as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home

©2016 janetaylor
Carabella Dec 2018
Come to me my love... within a gentle touch. There is so much that we can be; just the two of us; alone placed high upon a mountain - drinking from life's youthful fountain.

Come to me my friend... for I alone cannot defend, a heart that without you can mend; a stint of sorrow and struggling cries: a blank page to fill such lullabies...

Come to me my warm embrace.... shelter me with your symmetric grace. Take from me what you will; if you forget to ask-be obliged to steal.

In this world of entropy there are no rules: no boundaries to cross;
no bitter fools, no deceitful words, no coins we should need to toss.
Abound in shadow the light refracts, to give such a blessed glow:
A glimmer of pure perfection that is held and placed high upon your brow.

Your laughter rings with ripened cheer, the softest waves that echo through my ear; there is much joy portrayed in your eyes;
the bluest of blue; the colour of skies....

You see... I sit alone... Stand alone... Lie alone....

Right now, you are nothing more than a brief fantasy; in some distant allured synchronicity.
Chantell Wild May 27
There’s a peculiar something
about synchronicity
the more you notice it
the more obvious it becomes
And then you find
yourself musing at
the marvelous nature
of life and how coincidence
does not explain it
Life is a mystery of
monstrous proportion and
and we all undergo
some kind of abortion
Cause and effect have
their say on the tone
but at some time or another
it has to come home to roost.
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