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ryn May 2015
Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.

Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.

Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.

Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.

Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.
Shrishty Jun 2017
A melody
Melancholy chilled
Syncopated with tears

A rhyme
Deceptively honest
On my lips, over and over again

A song, our song
Eloquently silent
Masquerading my blues

Sometimes in my head
Sometimes in my bed
With you, and alone instead.
Ilia Talalai Nov 2013
As he sails around  

eyes blurred by the motion of the world as it whizzes by

                        ­                                                               A smile escapes him
Not even the wind can chill his mind
From the rolling boil of the ecstasy
Which bubbles and dances in his shell

                                             The greens, the blues

                                     The fresh air burning his cheeks
                                 The rushing wind pummeling his ears
                                           All play the song of life

                                                                ­                        For the first time
                                                                ­                    He can hear it in all its
                                                                                       syncopated glory

He exists

And finds solace in being lucky to exist

In this life…

                                                    On a bike…
                                                                ­                                      Going home
                                                            ­ …
ryn Oct 2014
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice

Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing

There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching

Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision

Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry

Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo

Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven

Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever

With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match

There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink

Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers

Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn

Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while

I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered

Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward

It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but

**two left feet
love is a rhythm i choose not to edit
burning serpents in syncopated tones
stolen vibrations from conquered nations
i am amazed at slavery's undertones
doomsday hypothesis
insufferable hypocrisy
is this the way we are meant to perceive
reality's final throes
perhaps a last attempt at infatuation
another insurgency toward our situation
there is music in the millipedes
1,000 feet stomping on the hot pavement
midday heat is burning the gentlest of trees
and yet saving lives of anteaters in need
grief is complete and not wasted
never jumbled by threads of frailty
insipid lipids deftly crawl upon caterpillars shoulders
starry eyed soldiers
sold to the streets in shivering brokenness
i am madness incarnate
the west is a spectacle of insubstantial lunacy
if you wish to conquer this reality

open your heart and kiss the feet of kindness
blindness is worshipped as if it was wisdom
sincere victims of another’s prison
simpler lives define simpler times
keepers of the rhythm
keepers of the rhyme
i dine on salamanders and supine slivers of the moon’s heartbeat
fault no one but yourself
gifts are wealth
i am salt and sulphur is the mother of the soul
loose cannons explode
she rode the wild shadows
and took the backroads all the way home
infinite living history
his memory serving beauty forever
for a lifetime i am looking for truth
in shattered space and respecting the face of the ancestors
self aware shades of solidarity
harvested by hands made light with clarity
is this music
is this meaning
her openness is our healing
this majesty surrounds us all
resolve to rise and your bound to fall
small instances of randomness daily
semantics are happenstance
you graduate from school with a bouquet of flowers
that rot in the morning’s splattering of paint
as garbage heaps resist *******
issues of power and surface tension
i am dreading the exceptions
give love now or move out of the way
stay awake and aware
while sadhana is beckoning to us all
Wk kortas Apr 2017
There was, every spring, a new batch of pups,
Yipping, nipping, clumsy ***** of ***** fur,
Looking for all the world like speckled tennis *****
Before they’d learned any hard lessons
At the hands of a racquet.
They chased their tails and each other,
Not to mention various other denizens of the barnyard:
Frantic chicks, cranky piglets,
The occasional bemused draft horse,
And sometimes they chased us as well,
Yelping childishly, rolling with us on the ground,
Nipping bare fingers and toes,
Afterwards lying on the ground asleep,
Looking , save for the rhythmic twitching of their paws,
Positively angelic.

Come late August,
The time would come to set them on the *****.
We’d long since stopped thinking about it,
Much less questioning it
(I had, one year, asked my father if the puppies had to go
One time too many until,
With a look that brooked no further conversation,
He said flatly It’s what they’re born to.)
So we went on with the business
Of the soft, slow late summer
Until one evening just after sunset
We would hear the baying of the hounds
Out toward the back fields,
Mechanical and workmanlike at first,
But soon strained and syncopated with excitement,
And at some point there would be
A cacophony of cries and snarls
Until such time there was only silence.
The next morning we would visit the dogs,
And we’d pet them and rough-house a bit,
And there might be an oddly rouged spot
On their coats here and there,
Or one of them might sneeze out a tuft of fur
That didn’t rightly belong to them,
And every year our Uncle Bryce would slyly opine
You boys may want to be a bit more careful
Around their mouths now, hear
It was exactly one minute
After midnight when I fell
Madly for a shadow, a weak
Spot in that whole space/time
As if anyone would believe
In that old thing
Is love is love is love
Is not is not is not
No matter
I enjoy licking my wounds
My wounded heart, my
Syncopated madness
A march up the back of
A not so trusty ladder
A gift from a carpenter
Who fancies himself
Some sort of Jesus
Who ran out of nails
2,000 or so years ago
His mother bleats
You and your fancy
Friends and all
Butch Decatoria Oct 2018
Late night heat waves, and drive thru

Accommodations for the desperations of loss

Syncopated synergy of deviant infamy.

Vigors of lust in dark corners

Eager ****** students walking the boulevard

Gambling all the dreams and innocence

A costly devision of selfish wish

Sin City and runaways all sell their souls to be rich.
Mary-Eliz Jan 30
There's a song...
a piece of music
I wish you could hear

when I hear it
a couple appears in my mind

they move lightly
step forward
two as one

the music
flavor of Latin
sultry guitar
dulcet violin
breathy flute
suffuses their bodies
tawny velvet skin
ignited in a warm glow

hands raised
palms touching
crossover steps
bodies syncopated
perfectly in time
perfectly in step
perfectly together


his hands on her
slender waist
move softly
in rhythm
with the easy swaying
of her hips

her silky dress
floats and ripples
a scarlet river
shining under fluorescent "stars"

their gaze steady
into each others' rich
mahogany eyes
until she is twirled
back to his chest

hands still on her waist
his lips tenderly brush her neck
he takes her hand
she turns
into him again

in that moment
no one
nothing else exists
only the music
and their fiery zeal
""Ak Verlang Na Ju" is a song in Africaans. It means "I'm longing for you." recorded by Wouter Kellerman. the CD "Love Language". The song is by Sonja Herholdt.
Iskra Oct 2018
We sway gently back and forth on a speeding charter bus,
Too exhausted to speak
As we drift in and out of something that’s not quite sleep
Resting our backs against the fuzz of plush seats

A strand of your bleached, copper hair fell on my shoulder,
Making me remember that you smell like lavender and early summer,
And now our warm hands are intertwined,
Your slender, brown fingers curling ever so slightly under mine,
We’re leaning against each other, breathing in rhythm
With the crackly and haunting piano melody that plays over a syncopated beat,
The way my heart beats at the feeling of your side
Rising and falling in tandem with mine
The crackle blends with the splatter of glistening droplets on the windshield, running down and turning light to a muted
Somewhat grayish white,
And as we listen to this music just for the two of us,
I hear it in my left ear,
You in your right,
We drift in and out of the haze,
Warm, content inside a cloud
Where you are the silver lining.
February 2018
Nahal Jul 28
In the very beginning,
my heart was on show but it
was actually covered
by an unsanctified dust.

In the very beginning,
I wasn't "feeling it" much.
Your eyes beamed whenever you
saw me. I felt it. I trust.

In the very beginning,
we spoke Frank truths so
don't expect Amy Winehouse
type level dedicated.

In the very beginning,
the music you played made me
nostalgic of past lovers:
our hearts left syncopated.

In the very beginning,
I was so attached to me
I smelt the selfishness from
my natural pheromones.

In the very beginning,
you walked so far ahead that
I got frustrated. A way
to see and hear how I moaned.

In the very beginning,
I definitely didn't
feel your soul as I do now.
Every pure inch of you.

In the very beginning,
it was quite different to
the very now. I wish you
the very best. Life anew.
Seven syllable thoughts, rhyming at the end of each couple stanzas. A reflection on a recent experience.
DivineDao Sep 2018

Rememberings & Starters

Telepathy then Sanctuary

Time for the Galery of Life
to {(

Mostly welcome on a journey with... !! //Ladies and Gentlement

    %] ~[social media is şajtfb is a masacrw and illusion
persumably one of my oldest colleguaes talked to us and said
its for real the xonnection and that¥€£;/

Would Thou Arts Degree
for sensibility and ethics
Consider His Art for *-+
A lil momentum or.      A gianormous masterpiece... of

Love exposeé
without suffering!?!

What is better:
Being naive _-or stupid
, conjur your Evil Selfish Pleasures hatand stuck them ForEternity....Bić

(the later of course is overboard sick friend of yours who has the space above at the beginning of this utterly crazy story sum of events
written with diligence and all the remains of re

nevermore Part
Solely for Them Self Bazzarable
Congregational cherished reasons

My my dearest vulnerable girl
n"toko is super. cool

Was I beeing a buzzz
put a smirk into the tone of yoir voice after recognotion
Like you did? dear foch"fraulein frend "of the best"

I liked joy and your wisdom, shared at
night clubs, cherished the feelings of sympathy and approval towards you
and your nephews years long

honeymooned >were you cute, and still are
Loving ... purehearted, pensive, fragile girl with transmitting ideas
once perhaps more fragile and cornered;
went through more desperate days then I ever...

But my father usualy said those words at rare times ~ Do. not. compare - - it brings only sufferings

Offerings with Love
Crimson female letters saying overwhelming intimate stories.
I've felt with you then inside the tiny nearby library
standing alone inbetween bookshelves, cornered, so saddened... tricklingtears also for you ~ and your tragic story...

Not even once have my heart
my consciousness sent you anything but respect, tender thoughts of gratitude, silent and subtle admiration for your wise deeds and interesting talks with the knowledgeable ones..

I've got to comunicate this with you TK
Like you stopped your public altered slightly hightened pitched syncopated mocking voice
or. rather define that "mockery without the knowledge of all the torments, processes and agony obsessive egotistical madness devoures ~ as I assumed solely upon your media apparitions, what kind of a person you really are-- angelic sublime being~ _~... I was mislead as you were.
Also ~ much truth in your message!

Yet ~ Do not dare to judge me!!!!
Am I ashamed?!! No, before you TK, no, really why should I be -  I'Im a proud human being, a woman, happy to be alive, among kids I love, among friends and family I cherish and a bit disapointed upon you.

When inbetween your pensive earnest soul shined a pure being and stopped your cultural nonelegant disease of a spoiled caracter...

You know your mother is stronger,
You portrude mostly because of her
otherwise someone would have already
destroyed you... Times are rough and rascally
Being popular means being brutally exposed

it does. not. take a genius to guess what will some people do
just to get what they want

but not. you you are genuinly cherished and after the fact youre
crunchable and delicate....

I realy liked you
even now. i. suppose
Nowadays your Angel like mom Surpasses everyone of the ensamble on the scene.

I even liked that you liked Him of who you perceive as
Cosmic explorer of widespread multiverses.

yes indeed
strip all your favorite
recognitions and look through
The  other Sioux
wearing proudly the Tree
of wonders
To humbly
stand next to The True Love shielded Being
of. my blood...

This happenes ~ Thou truest
For the one heartsoulbodymind girlishlike*_*thinwoman garnished in the future
nesting toward Cons........of Highly Evolved Beings
In the Peak of the Summer's Hot Night
He was Following Mary Magdalene's
Aethereal Rhythmic Steps

He's mojo motorbike jacket
Without sleeves

( Manic Crazy Jim has Torn them Off
Without The Slightest Effort
At The Old Creeks Dekadent Hippy
Rock Party ----> In That Love Shack
******* AnyWoman Who Was There Until
They Were Dancing on Love's Fire ... A Pyre Held Back
A few Years Ago;
Our Dangerous Man Was Complaining:

"*******! It's Too Hot in Here!!!"

- Hrrrssllllkk
Hrrrrsssssskkk!! "N a a h!!! There You Gooo o o o...'" Said Jim very Pleased with Himself:

Christ, it Was About Time ! Mate
We Destroy This ****** Jacket
In The Most Productive Way Possible! Heh heh
ha ...''
From Now on You Can Shine On
My Dearest Mate
Be Alway So Cool As Ya Already Arr'
My dear Boy!
Like A Newborn Baby - Mate! Har' Har' Harr..." )

Has exposed and shown wonderfully
His good, strong build-up bicepses
All Glittery, Slippery, and Soaked in
Essential  Oils From Fantastic
Thai Massage
Not Long Ago
Just before his usual stroll
Around His City.

Dreamy Opportunities
Were Lurking From every Nook and Cranny
Corners of Adriatic
lean Tall Houses
Have Curved in Astonishment
Every Time
Her Rhythm has lulled His Syncopated
Steps, Beats, Guitar Blues and Cross Country Rock Riffs

As a Walking man, He Knew
What EMŠO Ment --
So -- He was notoriously faithful
to his old Walkman
Wearing it as A RifledGun
Behind his Vintage Belt

Plugged To
Tiny black Headphones
A deep ear experience! If I might Say --
A Real Son of A Gun!

Even Them were soaked, As He was -
Head To Toes
In that Allure Of Her
Skirt and Bossom's
Jumping up and Down
As She was Constantly few steps in Front of Him
Surpassing Him In So Many Alternative Ways
And Conscious?

Conscious Were Both

The mixture made out of Vetiver, Lavandum, Jasmin, and Roses
With a slight Pinch of Burned Lemon Zest and Dimmed
Scent of Vanilla as a surplus, blended beautifully with Childish Mandarin Innocence

He has Dreamt with open Eyes He is Her Saviour
The Fatamorganic Visions of Damascus, Palm Trees, Dark Coffee
Pleasures, Fresh Unresistable Fruits
Served On Bronze Platters
Devoured Together In ****** Pace

Their First Conversation . . . .
Where She has Given Everything To Him
In Submissive Moans
With Trembling Eyes, Moans of Lust
Swelled Succulent Sweet
Playful Love Games...

She Said: "You Can have It all! MyMagicalMinister!"
From then on ~ He has heard
An Unrelentles Arabic Beauties Hoard's
His Upper Arm Muscles
Have Wavered And Moved His
Dangerous Sculls With Seraphim, Saphire
And Rubie Ornamented Daggers
Weirdly    Wonderful   Mermaids
Making Love To Bearded Sailors with Tattered Open, hairy Chests Masculine Shirts
Hearts Pinched and Bacchus

Eros Pierced
Names of Many Women
As Long As He Knew
He Loved Each And
Every Marguerite, Elisabeth, Jessamin, and Erica
He was Not Sure Where All
Have Disappeared
He Has Forgotten
His Sins
Written With Dark Ink
Into his ****** Burning **** Skin
They were
To Him
And For Ever
Beautiful and Young
Every time He Gazed At His
Many bleeding hearts Again

And Him?
He Was Very Much Pleased
Riding The Best
Noble Stud in The County
Yet -- His Visions Has Made him a Bit Nervous
Would not let him be For Who He Was
With Total Harmony with Himself
With Her
In All His Entierity, He Was Most Brilliant
And Dangerous Man
Walking, Nearing .... Stalking
Wafting cozily through Nearby Sea Salted

Smelling an Approaching Affair
Yet It Never Occurred To Him
She Would Perhaps Be With Him
If She Treated Her Within His Mind Not As a Cheap Needy *****
As She Has Longed For A Love True Pure Perfect Pristine Prolific Supreme

A Reminder That Just Popped Up:
John Dewberry May 23
Agony Bearing My Serenade (Opus 1)

Cruel  is the flow of time
Like a river's flow
Life can be a never ending hardship
For people die everyday
The pain continues
As our dirt roads hit constant bumps
Sometimes we don't see the path
We're lost in the dust storm called regret
We try to wish for better
But wishful thinking usually bears agony and loss  
When I was young and innocent I was blind  
To the perpetually cold world

Claronim Hominum Morte (Opus 2)
Genocide overseas
Global pollution
We strive for better
Through struggle we all attempt success as we face the truth and stop hiding in a shadow
Society isn’t built to fail
The correctional system isn’t a bail
and politicians just kiss ***
and philosophers spew their rhetoric and tales
This world is selling itself to the devil
As we shake with the treble of life
We keep pulling forward
In a syncopated march to death

The False Illusion of Spring (Opus III)
False Images of hope
Seen in the flower petals
The colors will die
Just like us
You just have to wait
It's kind of like a tease
Nature's tease
Please- nothing lasts forever
I just wish people would see
Inside themselves enough to know
Will fate will eventually come
Unlike seasons
We only get one chance- how will you change the world

Painting Pictures of Society (Opus IV)
Our societies corrupt
Illegal drugs thugs
And prostitution
It makes me so sad to see
The girl next door transforming to a streetwalking ***** help society change for better
Don’t rule the world- Don’t let the world rule you

Media Bastardization (Opus V)
Stop brainwashing us with opinions
Give us the facts
Stop telling us lies  
Fill the cracks
Tell us the truth
FYI- nothings fact unless proven, know to know just what you believe

The Solemnly Played Notes of Regret (Opus VI)
It strikes a chord
When one does hoard
Knowledge for himself
Instead of sharing
And caring
He chooses to be an introvert
And he's smart
But introversion will hurt because he is choosing to stay silent  

Talk it Out (Opus VI)
Got a problem with someone  
Talk it out
Make it better
Words can severe heads together
To solve the world’s problems
Ormond 7d
Notes wash over
The no angled ear
Listener, journeyer
See trails leading
To a cloud of sun,
Break in the skies,
Soon to know again
What was creeping
In the eyes of restless
Thought, unrequited
Sense, the whirling
Ride in the globes
Of vertigo and touch.

Dismembered by mood,
The musician conjures
Lost jewels in thought,
Sparks to the mind,
Sorcery in the bland,
Wayout, man, you dig,
Tap the deep rythmns
Drowning under toes,
Shutters we have lined
Go ourselves together
In the blinds.  Turn on,

Off those penny eyes,
The horn careening
In its heights of low
Down blues and sheen,
Be bop and stirring
In a rush, unfinished
The player knows
Your got number,
Is offbeat, syncopated
With the pearly drums
Of the sheet, read heart.

Jazzman is charmer
To sleepy serpent
Kept, shot in only bars
That leech into night,
The looking glasses
Pouring over misery
Ride sweet nowhere
In the tempos of fix,
Youngling daddy-o,
Plenty is the brass horn
Of Jazz in the clears,
Cool fingers singing
What the mind hears.

— The End —