Timelessly, you will remain with me.
With no restriction to hold you back.

You are within this path that has no end.
Forever in my eyes and heart a lover, a friend.

Yes, timelessly.
Yes, timelessly.
You're the key to my existence.
You're the key to my motivation.
Yes, timelessly.
Yes timelessly.

Maybe God had a hand in leading you to me.
Or me to you.
Only he is aware of the real answer.

But you can rest assure this man not going anywhere.

Timelessly
We remain together.
Just fading in love forever and ever.

‘Twas many moons ago in fled days of yore,
In a distant realm of a golden shore,
When there dwelt a maiden of golden hair,
The last fairest by the name of Lenore.

The sweetness of her mellifluous voice,
Like only Angels of high heaven can make;
The beaminess of her impeccable face,
Reflections of a dawn sun-kissed lake.

Once by a golden noontide, so they say,
Perfectly salubrious was the day,
Fairly enriched by heaven's fairest ray
That Lenore chose to potter by the bay.

She marveled at so wide a limpid sea,
That was a vast luminous blue millpond,
Whispering mellifluous lullabies
Like of Angels upon heaven's compound.

“O sea, thou art lovely like a sweet dream,”
Quoth Lenore, “In thy waters I must swim.”
Hence as quick as a plummeting sunbeam,
In waters jumped the little seraphim.

Frosted in sheer elation she galloped
Upon the crest of so gentle a wave,
But every sea creature lifted its head,
Whilst doleful as marigold by a grave,

And in faint whispers didst bid her adieu,
"Farewell Lenore," till she was out of view,
Away where mortals of yore never knew,
Away where none canst ever have a clue.

In a while, the sun had shone her last ray
And solitary stars were beaming bright
Upon heaven's timelessly stonking bay,
But she still alone In the dead of night.

By luck, on yonder was a galleon
Of a sundeck decked with bright neon,
Her glossy sails as if from diamond hewn,
With words golden blazoned upon her stern:

Come thou little maiden, come thou aboard,
But little did innocent Lenore know,
At the back words in clear ruby-red read:
“To the kingdom of eternal sorrow.”

Not so long faded the night, dawn was nigh,
Heaven's molten gold began oozing by,
Whilst silvery clouds waltzed athwart the sky,
That Lenore's eyes slavered with ecstasy.

But then, there came a dog in the manger,
A hateful wave assailed the galleon
And heavens raged with roaring thunder
That echoed louder than the hungriest lion.

Tossing her where the sea kisses the skies,
Hence now but a speck on the horizons,
And there she galloped by and by downwards
Till wrecked upon shadowy blue islands

That bore words by the shores: “Little maiden,
Welcome thou to the kingdom of Nineva,
Where mortals shalt see thee never again,
For here you'll dwell forever and ever.”

This sent poor Lenore reeling far in mind
That with cinder-like eyes stumbled behind
But her galleon she could hardly find
For it had long vanished into the wind.

But hark! Yonder woods sprang a companion,
A lad whose names were Edgar Alan Poe;
Bestrode upon a snowy fair stallion
Who unto her whispered softly and low:

“If the moon be fair, then thy skin fairer,
If the stars be bright, then thine eyes brighter,
If snow be white, then thy lip’s gems whiter,
If the sun be hot, then thy hair hotter,

Then tell me, what bringeth thou to Nineva,
A realm of eternal sorrow and fear,
Where no mortal hath escaped ever,
But ever doomed in dungeons of despair?”

Despite her visage was lugubrious,
Her worries were all now but fugacious,
That yonder fair floral woods susurrous
Galloped whilst trees sang in tunes mellifluous.

For Edgar’s words of kindness had soothed her
Now doth she beam with ethereal luster
Like of night lanterns upon heavens shore
Scintillating in a wondrous cluster.

Alas! strange and covetous myriad eyes
By yon brier coveted the beauty queen
That as passes a fiend in the night skies
Did spy upon her with eyes all unseen

'Tis then when Edgar was away hunting
Whilst the beauty queen was all alone singing
When those dreamy figures came whispering
Amongst each other whilst wildly smiling.

Bestrode upon many a snowy fair horse,
Their strange faces, as pale as death her self.
Their voices, as if thousand snakes didst hiss,
Betwixt them, there lordly sprang an elf

Who unto her said, "how sweet thou dost sing,
Thy melodious voice would so please our king,
Unto thee, rubies and pearls shalt he bring,
Of banished gold shalt be thy nuptial ring."

"Nay", softly replied the little maiden,
To thy king I canst not walk down the isle,
For in violent love I'm with a swain,
Thy king's treasures outweigh not his smile.

"Wretch", why dost thou abhor our proposal?
For soon thou art to regret having done so,
So cried the elf, "opting for a mortal
Than a mighty king who is immortal"?

"Hark! Fair moon, see that morrow by noontide
Thou art by the edge of yon verdant moor,
For then thou shalt come with us yonder side
Neath the sea, and dwell with us evermore."

At this, a wild wind danced by many a leaf
And so vanished the strange troop of the elf
That she busted with a sigh of relief
Though deep within, her soul kindled with grief.

Not long, news sprinkled into the swain's ear
Who gathered a troop of a thousand men
Each bearing a bow, a hummer and spear,
All ready to guard the beauty queen.

When came morrow, they took little Lenore
And laid her beneath a lone sycamore
That stood by the edge of a lonely moor,
And then all matched towards the shingly shore.

No army led by any hostile king
Towards them could ever come any near.
There job was great that they did chant and sing
Songs of triumph of the fled days of yore.

Alas! To match towards the sycamore,
There pale and cold laid innocent Lenore
With not any single bone of poor her
Broken, but her breath taken evermore.

Mute, forlon, and motionless stood the swain
With bitter tears galloping from his eye,
With his soul 'neath a sepulchre of pain
That from yon day on, the realm he did curse.

For in Nineva, a realm dim and deep,
There not a mean ray of light canst now creep,
And there all creatures night and day dost weep
Till sweet Lenore wakes from eternal sleep.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 16th.July.2018.

#tale #adventure #fantasy #Lenore #EdgarAlanPoe #Nineva

you met a girl who
cried raindrops,
tasted of champagne and regret but
oh did she love so hard
i never got a chance to feel how soft she could be
i was too busy drinking in her mahogany eyes and
lightly tanned skin-- by the gallon, gulping
trying to get air in between sips like
an aged merlot she was
timelessly magnificent.
i swear to you
she had the sun within her,
could shine so bright but
a single cloud could wash it all away,
dim her, shroud her
in stringy clouds of despair i swear
i would've done anything
to burn away those clouds.
-a.c.b

A new soul was released
From a resentment leash
Sharpened like shark teeth
Karma is a good friend
Don't worry she won't pretend
Her truth is timelessly real
And will attack with a thrill
Roller coaster fast when she hits it'll last past the memories you see
For karma comes around
Stinging like a bee
The pain will serve you well
Ding ding the sound of your bell
It is your time now to endure
For your actions were evil and pure

Compound eyes
Astonishing spectacles
Clairvoyant views from above
Wings glistening in the light of the sun

Buzzing long bodied mystical stories
Dragon's breath of spiritual eloquence
Releasing the bugs eating away at conscience
Skeletal spine of an egoless monk
whispering harmoniously the simple remedies
of cleansing thought

My snake doctor
Quick witted unmasker
your view 360 degrees
Focusing on the movement
and pesky mosquitos that feast
That leave us scratching our heads

I look on so enviously
at Lady Dragonfly
as she hovers angelically
In an eternal sky

It saddens me that the great one's lives are
always cut too short
but her legend lives on timelessly
Dating way back to Permian    period

She pulled up her shawl and left the house
Gone to get more tea
And all the people passing by
And all the noises eating at her ear
Could not grasp her attention
Attending only to herself
Brilliant and Boisterous her thoughts
A majestic melody of their own
So how could she not be secure?
In her soul’s symphony
The strings vibrated her vessel
The horns heckled her heart
The drums beat down her darkness
And wisdom conducted alongside grace
Matching one another’s pace
Astute in one another’s ache
At conducting timelessly, never being late
It was almost as if their union was fate
Almost being key for it surely did take
Tireless effort, and sacrifices to make
The two into each other’s esteemed mate

Dawn gently kissed the nape of dusk



Whilst patient time awaited peaking



Majestic streams of solar lust



Born via pre-******* streaking





Saturn's rings exclusive ******



Equipped for sensual fancy



Mesmerized by daring billows



Elevated by buoyancy





Excitement steadily evolving



Cosmic spheres swiftly building



****** timelessly revolving



Licentious shock she is wielding





Dawn coloured blackened skies



Pleasure falling with each tear



****** baring lovely sighs



Passion with a wince of fear









© 2012 (All rights reserved)

I fell for you like the rain from the sky
Your touch seared into my skin
I keep falling deeper in this cancer called love
Constantly spreading through me

Always coming back to claim more of me each time
Putting my heart out there for the taking
The feeling of thousands of tiny stars colliding
Exploring into one large burst of euphoria

Lighting me up from the inside out
Radiating this feeling through my pores
Feeling like our love can power this world of ours
Cascading over me

All you have to do is touch me and I'm on a high
Your love allows me to wings and fly
Soaring high into the world
Picking me up when I'm down

Scared to fall for your gentle touch
Feeling your love with my eyes, heart, and soul
These hands of yours building eternal love
As long as I have you by my side

There's nothing left I want to hide
Opening my heart up to a deeper, stronger love
Releasing me from my own shackles
Everything timelessly lovely

http://allpoetry.com/poem/12452095-Timelessly-Lovely-by-Smith49

Revving up the engine
of the gleaming funky machine
before zooming around, gave her
such an Adrenalin high, nonperil.
The constant ****** no guy ever could
promise, this act gives her.
She is pleased for that moment,
gets ready for the ****** rigmarole,
the very next second.

She gets jealous of her
own story, ever heard of that?
On the race course and the spread bed
alike her ebullience creates
tsunami waves,broke long standing records.

When you run fast enough
there comes a moment,when
there is no record left to break!
and the beds, you guessed right,
all are broken, made redundant.

And then the inevitable happens,
she smells leaking gas, panics,
freezes on the track, shuddering,
switches off quickly the engine
of her dream machine,her heartbeat,
makes the final escape,spontaneously,
without delay, decides to renounce
worldly pleasures altogether,
up to the Himalayas goes by foot, seeking
that thing which in life she missed all along,
Finds silver light's play on ice caps, and realize this:
she was walking through a dark, dark  tunnel ,
of self-deception,"Affluenza" was indeed her affliction.

The Himalayan snow cap, loomed large as an attraction,
in her dreams once, now seemed less formidable, at arm's length,
"What a Guru,who looked timelessly ancient,
jokingly predicted  once, comes true here"she muses.
Her trek upwards resumes with a vengeance.

a tree did grow
in Brooklyn.        it was June--
our third-- and the summer weather
hadn't turned yet:
school was just out, Prospect Park was never full, and the nights
were still              cool.

it was summer in the city before it comes unglued.
i had yet to resent the F train terminal
or its crowds
or its sweat.  i hadn't grown bored
of 23rd St. on one end of the day
and Church Avenue on another,
or of the cost of cigarettes
or coffee or of the FOODTOWN sign
at the top of the subway steps.
it was a beautiful month
because it was doomed barely to last
its 30 days.

and there were too so many long hours,
sitting                  barely shaded
on your stoop,
fending off the landlord's sister and the bugs and waiting
for the fall.
each time i've gone back
since then i've sat
on those slow steps;
that summer it was no different:  three months to crown three
years,
moving                  so timelessly
by

that next month the heat bore down,
not the heat only of the sun and the air but the wet,
***** heat of the city,
steam forever rising from underground, the oil spills
in the gutters         beginning to boil.

but still it was New York
and summer.  the roaches and rats hadn't yet
eaten                     all the fireflies.  
i grew to love routine
disquiet:  the long car rides to Queens,
the Mets games and their pretzel smell and riding back,
inevitably discouraged,
my homemade tank top leaking Magic marker onto my chest;
the trips to the beach at Rockaway, sullen and determined, and their return
to Manhattan, tasting like salt (and you, once,
like blood) and my hair stiff
with brine and feeling the sand in our shoes grit
against the ***** sidewalks;
those quick walks
from Smith&9th Streets,
sipping Mexican Cokes and rationing our time
by cigarettes:  
all of July was exhausting,
but familiar by then.


in August the tornado came,
first Brooklyn'd seen in 30 years.  we two
slept blissfully through it, woke only
for the aftermath.
we went outside almost giddy, certainly
unbelieving,
holding hands.
and the tree
which had stood outside so
serenly
was uprooted,
having missed the bedroom window
by only a few feet.

[it was June--
cool.
barely shaded
so timelessly
beginning to boil
all the fireflies.]

Love, such a big word
Creeping for years around
With presumptions of its meaning
Floating around
With emotions far from disjoint
In a flurry
Through your body, mind
Momentarily present
Yet timelessly thrown
Into your toddler meaning of love
From your empty Bayesian trap
That builds you whole
Until your end you've met

So many different versions
Certainty will never be met
Yet trapped in a single word
It doesn't do it justice
But that just might be alright
For love
Is not meant to be spoken

You start out in a fairy
Unscathed from reality
Especially
After a mother's love
You think the world is kind
Without a mother's love
It's cold but you still have hope

You throw your youth outside
Into the gust of eyes
Where you catch a glimpse
Of a girl or a guy
That makes your blood boil
And you're still flying
Throw all your *****
Without thinking of dying
And no matter if it lasts a moment
A reciprocated month
Or an unrequited year
You come out shattered
Reality didn't care
Nothing after mattered

But there you didn't know
That that guy or girl
Is a girl or guy too
You're not the only one
There's everyone else too
Your initial lust
Or a try at a shell of love
Is selfish at base
How ever much
Your emotions
Pointed else

But that did pass
And the several next throws too
Whether months or years
Summer or winter or summer
A cloud followed you there
The cloud carrying
Your void of attention
However big or small
Your loneliness sharp
Whether seconds long or
Weeks on end, quiet yet loud
Your need to be loved,
Recognized, understood,
To be acknowledged present
To be accepted, alive
By a person
Rattling your lust

However above,
In the cloud where you placed
Every next spike of passion
Of a guy or a girl
As bright as the sun,
For the moment
Their face on the idol shone bright
Following your daily life around
And with every next crack
Of reality's peckered constant tap
Your idol cracks
It falls down
Thunders,
Your heart it smacks
The sunshine is over
Your cloud is empty again
The idol faceless remains,
Yet follows you still

Time on end,
Time,
Time, it goes blank
Faceless the oddity remains
Your concept of love
From solid, to liquid, to the cloud
It migrates - shapeless, formless,
Horrid, repulsive, addictive, banished
Away
But hey
But hey!
There
Another glimpse
Lights your fire
Puts on a face
Energizes into matter
The shapeless concept, of love
Quicker than an arrow
Throws down its mollusc, fiery and sparkly
Tentacles, now into form
Grabbing your whole body
Obsesses, possesses
Choking your insides
Paralyzing you whole
"Oh hey
Hi
It's you
I liked a thing you did
How you look
A thing you said
You formed into my eyes
And now you're in my head
And oh
That thing you did, how you look, what you said
Repeats every day for you
Wow
I want that"
Paralyzed there you stand
Seconds you shared turn into hours
Time stretches
Your mediocrity devours
But wait a second
This world of yours ain't the realm we live in
That person is its own
With all the background it comes with
As heavy as your own
Much richer than your conception current
And not richer than the sunshine you imagine
But in reality that person weighs
However uglier the truth it makes
However much real hurt
To your table brings
An amalgam of truth and desire
You idol feeds

You go home
Maybe you create
Something out there
Portraying
As a proof of your time
Spent in that oily chokehold
No matter if you get close to that person
Or not
No matter how much time is spent
How much sunshine you think you got
You'll learn your idol
He or she, is not
Your concept of love
Still selfish
Putrid

But maybe
Just maybe
A random person walks in
A friend
Of mutual ****** preference
Of course
Someone you'd not write poems about
Someone you'd not draw in your thoughts
Someone your lust smolders at best at first
Someone that sticks by your side
Someone your idol accepts not
While there your idol
Faceless or not
Slowly fades away
Your voids are filled
By giving
And having being given in return
Equally self-less
Your base is solid now
Out of the dead molusc
Your meaning of love,
Bam!
With the speed of a supernova
With the frequency of a pulsar
With the density of a white dwarf
Blasts into you like a shockwave
Lights into you like a furnace
Is finally thrown into your Bayesian experiment
A meaningful, concrete test case
That you can rethrow however much again
And even if you reach its last throw
You've learned to self-lessly accept
Whatever comes next
For it's grown on you
And it'll never leave your side, till your end
And your model now knows
Where true warmth lies
Even if the coming days
Shiver in the void's cold grasp
Remember
Remember the light

For it has once grown on you
In its countless shapes and forms
Real, true love

Let's hope
For nothing does truly last

Let's lose our minds amongst the olive trees
Labyrinth of oiled imagination
Twirl like falling leaves / falling to our knees
in unbalanced joy and veneration
of ourselves. For there is nobody else
but us; there is no other time but now,
Red flowers bloom. A blue shadow propels
a still landscape into being somehow
fluid. Timelessly we swim, wet within
each brush stroke branch and painted wave of wild
emancipation—to forget the din
of the wretched asylum. Vincent smiled:
Dive too deep and you shall go insane,
The olive grove remains the other side of the pane.

: a drunk collage: another "epic"*

Starting at the beginning,
letting the tilt of the backyard
lull me up then back down
in circles, to tell in turn
these stories. And so,
back as far as I know:

Story of My People
Tribes gathered and grew.
They counted the grains.
Depended on the seasons,
rejoiced, nay, transfigured.
Cults of the sun, of the earth
realized gods onto our plane,
they walked between
the beanrows.

Their features formed
and darkened, envisaged
in Our dark mirror mind.
And then faces had names
and they counted the grains.
Numerals and ocher lips
left pretty petroglyphs
but left the stone sculpted
in marble columns endraped–
Roman red over owl-blue–
but still the Bullhorns poke through!
That's me, the narrator among narrative.
Where my maternal starts
so far as I know, in the cult of Mythras,
a Taurus charging the boot of Europa.

Excuse me; I'm not a historian.

My father's people were barbarians,
I would think so.
They dispelled the civilized clout
and darkened the day and age.
Hail Mother Mary Hellen,
her whole family got burned.
A lesion across that continent,
filled with the church,
which took both my parents.
Then the American Dream.

My History
These gods and Names who guided and transfigured,
that framed my peoples, gave it to them,
I have forgotten.
Soon after seeing it all, I felt it all mundane.
Dismissed him as chaos,
left him so abundant
as to be given
not granted.
Now I sit and forget...
the enveloping leaves in the back,
the passerby from the front deck,
I remember yet!
But lost in adult perplexion
I fear that I've given up some ghost
who haunted my great journey
and leaves me on blank slates,
cyclical, again again, timelessly:
Myhistory:*

–First it was Death who so captivated me.
Like any friend, too, I shivered and cried secretly.
Literally. No thing really, nothing really.
–Then Love came swift, sharp,
unrecquitting, then unremitting, then spent.
–Then Earth spoke wonders and tremors
seemed God incarnate, Life this is,
gotrees growmy skull I don't know,
guess it don't come down to much more.
–Now music and the capture of the present:
Where am I? and what is this place?
let me sing you the questions!

But where is God in my voice?
I want rockn'roll and adventure
that can't be grace;
it's idolatry.
Maybe God really is dead,
you lose him like the holiday superheroes
or ancient mythoids,
age age into forget.

THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.

Listening to each other and
understanding each other is a
priceless gift to give each other.

Looking out, I hear the croaky calls
Of husky-throated birds and the
Frothy licking of sea tongues.
Purplish azure spreading widely,
Timelessly, when once my Father told me

The beauty was infinite and he smiled at the pair of
Big bright brown eyes
Glowing up at him in belief and awe,
Believing the secrets of the sea
All the wonderful things he told me.
Holding my hand, imprinting the sand
With our shallow foot prints: big and small
My chubby hand in his, the other
Collecting the glossy, opaque nails of sea dragons.
Sometimes we found sharp, dull-colored ones
And these were the faded scales of their leathery tough
Skin. Craggy black wings folded jaggedly-
Mountains, the ignorant people called them
Only we knew underneath those folded wings
Lay a sleeping, ancient dragon with its
Golden eyes watching out for its children,
The White Sea dragons that ran along the edges of the waves.
Speeding on rapidly, diving under
Out swimming the run of short brown legs
Decisively deaf to a child’s sunny yells.
When the sky was littered with stars
Before I began dreaming I could hear
The rush of wind as the dragons unfolded
Their restless wings, the gentle splashing
As their children twisted in and out of the water
And what Daddy said, Sweet Dreams,
Arrived shortly thereafter.  

Yet today I search vainly for their younglings
Gone in sunlight, in the midst of red foreigners
Coming out of hiding after dragon-hot sunsets and
Only behind closed eyes.
The spikes on their powerful wings
Have melded into dark shadows of trees
The jar of multi-colored sea glass remains
By my bed, reminding me of how when Daddy’s eyes
Could no longer burn bright with belief
In such magic, he placed the spark in new eyes
That were identical to his:
In both shape and color.

In the moment I heard your sweet embrace was lost, I could see the safety orange jacket, six layers beneath that coat of so-called protection.   I can hear the cracks of the leaves beneath your boots, the ever-moving grip of your hand on your gun.  I can feel the tension tipping timelessly toward the moment the grip changed from the gun to something more... precious.  Step by step, you’ve made all the right moves in all the wrong places, and now that snapped twig underneath your foot has become more than a distraction to the deer.  From afar, another like you hears all the steps you’ve taken, and being gone with the wind, he takes his shot, in hopes for the prize buck.  You are a prize, but one meant to be shared, and still around to give your little girl the power she needs to get passed all the boys you wish she’d never met.  I can see your eyes passing through you’re fondest memories, you had no time for all the things you would never do, your humor and love of life out weighs the pain everyday of the week, and twice on Saturday.  I can remember the first time I met you.  I have met dad’s before, but, you will forever be my favorite. If only you’re gentle hands could rest on our shoulders, just one. more time.  I wish I could tell you all the things you want to hear, but, it’s not my place and, not my time.  but, i do know that your babygirl is safe, she’s still the best part of you and she’s going to shine like the princess like you know she is.  your wife, your best friend, she’s going to be the best person she can, like you know she has for so many years.  So, yes you’ve passed on to the next great adventure and we all miss you, but always remember P.J.K., you’re gone, never forgotten.

The wares the shop sells are all worn and fade
Cashbox is empty business is in the red
The man behind the counter couldn’t care less
Happy to be there at the forgotten address!
Cobwebs gaily growing no footsteps on its floor
A wonder the shop keeps open its door
For long no buyer not one item is sold
The shop stands there timelessly old!
Not any knows it, not one comes to buy
The shopkeeper waits, not asks himself why
His wares spread amid the gathering dust
No money in cashbox, in his heart undying trust,
Someday someone would walk in from some corner of earth
Value his wares on display, pay the price they’re worth!

When the work is done

we sleep, nowhere, timelessly --


lying in our love.

THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"out of the man
who makes the false teeth.

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.

Lots of little leaves lend their thoughts through me, invasive, intricately they thwart thousands of flicking fluttering flapjacks that narrowly nest northwards in insightful intricacies.  My own correlation to the devastation of my excommunication comes circling psychotically through territory taken by thieves.  Listen to me.  Me,  the sea winding, crashing, lashing, smashing in the sand.  Shells wash shamelessly ashore.  Incoherent attitudes to the longitudes and latitudes of my bicameral mind melt biogenetically with generous gentrification and gratitude.  Knights that know nothing note notorious faults with the mechanical bull bellowing ballads of Bart Simpson's big brained battles.  Believing in a higher power that showers us with praise and rain and pain and flames is an astonishing attitude taken timelessly through history.  Histories mysteries made matching the mourning Mormons march maddeningly on netted walkways wandering wirelessly in the digital age.  Rage, sage, six billion constellations on one page, intuitive notions of nectarines and oranges that float directly through subconscious space into the place were the human race lost its face, bending backwards hopelessly heaving to find It.  Us, the story of story of stories.  Last but not least the golden fleece made by hand of the man who lost control of the audience blinking stupidly through the dim lighting in a Victorian era theater.  Money makes men mad, women whistle tunes on the rocks as the clocks tick down to our collective doom eternity falsity.  Lighting matches of the patches that reconnect the lashes lavishly lacerating loyal little people who dance dumbly and deftly as an affirmative acceleration of the Nation brings out the worst in us.  Millions marching miraculously on nation capital investment in the predicted earnings of what we can sell to the horribly under educated balding obese men with learning disabilities due to the undisclosed demonstration of lack of nutrients needed to make more mean men smart.  Lost at darts.  Joan of Arc.  Queen Diamond brings crime to silent Simon sitting on the dock of the bay.  We waste away.  Watching rivers rolling round the ******* bend that banishes blatant blasphemies of the self.  Sea me sinking seemingly shrinking in the distance of your one good eye.  Lost green waves washing worlds wary of the New Age.  But in my head it can't be said any other way than the way it repeats and relapses and redirects my attention to it when I try to sleep and eat and drink and sweat and sigh and sing and slink.  The twisting tangled thought that terrifies my tortured terrace (aka my also known as counterpart playing in the dark with lost fingers finding time to rhyme lines in the mosaic of my mind: my heart).  But I'll just tell you later.

In the distance I hear them,
Under the silence I see them,
The drums of beating hearts,
Past, present and future,
They thunder over the memories of our ancestors,
They roar through the veins of our young,
They are the drums of truth,
Beating timelessly and in rhythm,
With the stars,
Your universe,
Your very being,
Be the drum,  
Be the loudest drum,
Because I can hear your beat already.

Pictures in gilded frames
Hang immortalising people of
Old in evanescent faces.
Timelessly captured and
Owned forever poised.
Ghostly images fading
Reminders timeworn in
Antiquity. Long dead
Plates forgotten names
Haunting souls captured in
Sepia smiles.




©Jacqui Slade

It took years for the physicist
and the meta-physicist
to reluctantly agree.

They took opposing alleys:
One looked into matter
and arrived at its intrinsic energy.
The other looked at energy
and saw matter as incidental analogy;
just a random criss-cross
of cosmic puissance.

They made much ado
in arriving where my good old
three-band radio
catapulted me years ago.

Since my teens;
she had faithfully been
my worthy companion.
With sweet melodies,
thoughtful talks,
rousing commentaries....
she kept me company
through thick and thin.
For a scanty eternity,
she was the only tie with humanity
in my plain, flat life;
lonesome, sickly and solitary.

We knew each other closely;
fondly and dearly
and I would talk to her,
some would say foolishly,
and though strangely,
she always responded readily.

For years sixteen
that Philips machine
was with me
and I saw
into her inherent energy
that underlies every material entity.

#

When she died suddenly
without warning....abruptly,
I knew a friend had gone
but the essence lived on.

We had perfect camaraderie:
She was all intricacy;
body, battery and circuitry,
and the spark that came from me;
ah!!! my art of tuning adeptly.

Though I got newer models and makes,
the heart still beats with a dull ache
for the one who began as mortal matter
and bonded timelessly with my being;
...merged and mingled...
as an undying memory,
in what they call
my imperishable, impregnable spirit.

You are not from this time
I am not from this place
but if time would be place
I would sit across you again
on a lucid carpet and play the games

like a maze
born from your smile
and assigned to me
as yogas

‘for the Play!’
as you would always say

If time would be place
I would become the dance –
particles mingling you to me
we would pass through each other
and heave this universe

just as I have become the light reflection
shining reverse in your pupil
one of on that vase which you've always observed
unmoving
and
without any prejudgment
analyzing breathless what it really is

maybe not so much different than the self
learning the essence from the self
without words

true knowledge remains in the body of experience only
like a mantra

what makes the eye is what sees the eye
the key is well preserved Timelessly in love

---

Just as I know moments your thoughts connect to me
Just as I can become your skin again and again
experience this world through your breath

and teach your hunger a lesson

It does not help hiding you through my psoas
if I press the big toes and as the diaphragm falls
these muscles wherein you hide stretch
and O dear one
subtle is the skin we share
through which fingers can pass
not dense – not dense at all!
like any universe born and witnessed by inspiration

and like a sea-squirt I can then digest anything that is past tense

and that’s exactly how I became a raven today
balancing on the thinnest and highest branch of a maple
even a sparrow wouldn't dare
but the gaze of inspiration

Only to see your form one more time
Standing there at the window from a past
Watching the park

You know
It is needless to ask
How

It is not the mind that can answer
neither waves of any sort
Yes you already know

You
immersed in an unmoving gaze
For generations
At different places
In different bodies
Having monumentalized the eagle’s eye
Should know!

because
Immeasurable remains the thingless to things
and Inspiration as it were

“She prides herself on her strength and steel,
but she cracks like porcelain now and then.
She knows how to piece herself back together,
but covers her cracks and chips in layers of glue.
She is composed of fire and compassion,
but she struggles with doubts and insecurities.
She burdens herself with the weight of the world,
but carries forward bravely, determined to make her mark.

She takes the reigns and her presence screams command,
but she hates the burden that comes with being in charge.
She knows leaderships rests deep within her bones,
but she resents her authority and responsibility.

She builds armor out of sharp wit and determination,
but she doesn’t dare smooth out any of her jagged edges.
She understands that she is the hero of her own story,
but recognizes even heroes need saving sometimes.

She burns soft and bright like a star in the night sky,
but she explodes violently like a supernova from time to time.
She scatters herself like stardust across galaxies in the aftermath,
but she is phoenix incarnate, reborn timelessly from her ashes.”

Timelessly, limitlessly the braches soard to the sky,
Tirelessly, fatiguely the roots hit the core of earth,
From cerrulean heights to crimson dark depths,
Lied the distance between self and wisdom of heart,
Not sure if it is loftiness or suicidal thoughts of death,
Not sure if it is a revolutionary act of anarchy,
Or just a free spirit, free rebelious depart.
ACT OF KISS
Lost, in knowing self, lost between the crowds,
Lost in my own thoughts, lost in my own mind,
Lost, a loner, I had been, thou I had seekth,
In the deepest roots of my heart,
In the most complex dark corners of myself.