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i will be
    M o ving in the Street of her

    bodyfee 1 inga ro undMe the traffic of
    lovely;muscles-sinke x p i r i n    g S
            uddeni
    Y         totouch
                             the curvedship of
                                                         Her-
    ….kiss      her:hands
                                    will play on,mE as
    dea d tunes OR s-crap p-y lea Ves flut te rin g
    from Hideous trees or

         Maybe Mandolins
                                      1 oo k-
         pigeons fly ingand

    whee(:are,SpRiN,k,LiNg an in-stant with sunLight
    then)!-
    ing all go BlacK wh-eel-ing

    oh
        ver
              mYveRylitTle

    street
    where
    you will come,

                             at twi li ght
    s(oon & there’s
    a             m oo
)n.
-Moment of inner freedom
when the mind is opened & the
infinite universe revealed
& the soul is left to wander
dazed & confus’d searching
here & there for teachers & friends.
~~~

Moment of Freedom
as the prisoner
blinks in the sun
like a mole
from his hole

a child’s 1st trip
away from home

That moment of Freedom
~~~

LAmerica
Cold treatment of our empress
LAmerica
The Transient Universe
LAmerica
Instant communion and
communication

lamerica
emeralds in glass
lamerica
searchlights at twi-light
lamerica
****** streets in the pale dawn
lamerica
robed in exile
lamerica
swift beat of a proud heart
lamerica
eyes like twenty
lamerica
swift dream
lamerica
frozen heart
lamerica
soldiers doom
lamerica
clouds & struggles
lamerica
Nighthawk

doomed from the start
lamerica
“That’s how I met her,
lamerica
lonely & frozen
lamerica
& sullen, yes
lamerica
right from the start”

Then stop.
Go. The wilderness between.
Go round the march.
~~~

he enters stage:

Blood boots. Killer storm.
Fool’s gold. God in a heaven.
Where is she?
Have you seen her?
Has anyone seen this girl?
snap shot (projected)
She’s my sister.
Ladies & gentlemen:
please attend carefully to these words & events
It’s your last chance, our last hope.
In this womb or tomb, we’re free of the
swarming streets.
The black fever which rages is safely
out those doors
My friends & I come from
Far Arden w/ dances, &
new music
Everywhere followers accrue
to our procession.
Tales of Kings, gods, warriors
and lovers dangled like
jewels for your careless pleasure

I’m Me!
~~~

Can you dig it.
My meat is real.
My hands- how they move
balanced like lithe demons
My hair- so twined & writhing
The skin of my face- pinch the cheeks
My flaming sword tongue
spraying verbal fire-flys
I’m real.
I’m human
But I’m not an ordinary man
No No No
~~~

What are you doing here?
What do you want?
Is it music?
We can play music.
But you want more.
You want something & someone new.
Am I right?
Of course I am.
I know what you want.
You want ecstasy
Desire & dreams.
Things not exactly what they seem.
I lead you this way, he pulls that way.
I’m not singing to an imaginary girl.
I’m talking to you, my self.
Let’s recreate the world.
The palace of conception is burning.

Look. See it burn.
Bask in the warm hot coals.

You’re too young to be old.
You don’t need to be told
You want to see things as they are.
You know exactly what I do
Everything
~~~

I am a guide to the Labyrinth

Monarch of the protean towers
on this cool stone patio
above the iron mist
sunk in its own waste
breathing its own breath
(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration)

In a dim corner of my room for longer than
my fancy thinks
A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me
through the shifting gloom.

Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she
does not stir
For silver moons are naught to her and naught
to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air, the waves of
moonlight ebb and flow
But with the Dawn she does not go and in the
night-time she is there.

Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old and
all the while this curious cat
Lies couching on the Chinese mat with eyes of
satin rimmed with gold.

Upon the mat she lies and leers and on the
tawny throat of her
Flutters the soft and silky fur or ripples to her
pointed ears.

Come forth, my lovely seneschal! so somnolent,
so statuesque!
Come forth you exquisite grotesque! half woman
and half animal!

Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx! and
put your head upon my knee!
And let me stroke your throat and see your
body spotted like the Lynx!

And let me touch those curving claws of yellow
ivory and grasp
The tail that like a monstrous Asp coils round
your heavy velvet paws!

A thousand weary centuries are thine
while I have hardly seen
Some twenty summers cast their green for
Autumn’s gaudy liveries.

But you can read the Hieroglyphs on the
great sandstone obelisks,
And you have talked with Basilisks, and you
have looked on Hippogriffs.

O tell me, were you standing by when Isis to
Osiris knelt?
And did you watch the Egyptian melt her union
for Antony

And drink the jewel-drunken wine and bend
her head in mimic awe
To see the huge proconsul draw the salted tunny
from the brine?

And did you mark the Cyprian kiss white Adon
on his catafalque?
And did you follow Amenalk, the God of
Heliopolis?

And did you talk with Thoth, and did you hear
the moon-horned Io weep?
And know the painted kings who sleep beneath
the wedge-shaped Pyramid?

Lift up your large black satin eyes which are
like cushions where one sinks!
Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx! and sing me
all your memories!

Sing to me of the Jewish maid who wandered
with the Holy Child,
And how you led them through the wild, and
how they slept beneath your shade.

Sing to me of that odorous green eve when
crouching by the marge
You heard from Adrian’s gilded barge the
laughter of Antinous

And lapped the stream and fed your drouth and
watched with hot and hungry stare
The ivory body of that rare young slave with
his pomegranate mouth!

Sing to me of the Labyrinth in which the twi-
formed bull was stalled!
Sing to me of the night you crawled across the
temple’s granite plinth

When through the purple corridors the screaming
scarlet Ibis flew
In terror, and a horrid dew dripped from the
moaning Mandragores,

And the great torpid crocodile within the tank
shed slimy tears,
And tare the jewels from his ears and staggered
back into the Nile,

And the priests cursed you with shrill psalms as
in your claws you seized their snake
And crept away with it to slake your passion by
the shuddering palms.

Who were your lovers? who were they
who wrestled for you in the dust?
Which was the vessel of your Lust?  What
Leman had you, every day?

Did giant Lizards come and crouch before you
on the reedy banks?
Did Gryphons with great metal flanks leap on
you in your trampled couch?

Did monstrous hippopotami come sidling toward
you in the mist?
Did gilt-scaled dragons writhe and twist with
passion as you passed them by?

And from the brick-built Lycian tomb what
horrible Chimera came
With fearful heads and fearful flame to breed
new wonders from your womb?

Or had you shameful secret quests and did
you harry to your home
Some Nereid coiled in amber foam with curious
rock crystal *******?

Or did you treading through the froth call to
the brown Sidonian
For tidings of Leviathan, Leviathan or
Behemoth?

Or did you when the sun was set climb up the
cactus-covered *****
To meet your swarthy Ethiop whose body was
of polished jet?

Or did you while the earthen skiffs dropped
down the grey Nilotic flats
At twilight and the flickering bats flew round
the temple’s triple glyphs

Steal to the border of the bar and swim across
the silent lake
And slink into the vault and make the Pyramid
your lupanar

Till from each black sarcophagus rose up the
painted swathed dead?
Or did you lure unto your bed the ivory-horned
Tragelaphos?

Or did you love the god of flies who plagued
the Hebrews and was splashed
With wine unto the waist? or Pasht, who had
green beryls for her eyes?

Or that young god, the Tyrian, who was more
amorous than the dove
Of Ashtaroth? or did you love the god of the
Assyrian

Whose wings, like strange transparent talc, rose
high above his hawk-faced head,
Painted with silver and with red and ribbed with
rods of Oreichalch?

Or did huge Apis from his car leap down and
lay before your feet
Big blossoms of the honey-sweet and honey-
coloured nenuphar?

How subtle-secret is your smile!  Did you
love none then?  Nay, I know
Great Ammon was your bedfellow!  He lay with
you beside the Nile!

The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when
they saw him come
Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with
spikenard and with thyme.

He came along the river bank like some tall
galley argent-sailed,
He strode across the waters, mailed in beauty,
and the waters sank.

He strode across the desert sand:  he reached
the valley where you lay:
He waited till the dawn of day:  then touched
your black ******* with his hand.

You kissed his mouth with mouths of flame:
you made the horned god your own:
You stood behind him on his throne:  you called
him by his secret name.

You whispered monstrous oracles into the
caverns of his ears:
With blood of goats and blood of steers you
taught him monstrous miracles.

White Ammon was your bedfellow!  Your
chamber was the steaming Nile!
And with your curved archaic smile you watched
his passion come and go.

With Syrian oils his brows were bright:
and wide-spread as a tent at noon
His marble limbs made pale the moon and lent
the day a larger light.

His long hair was nine cubits’ span and coloured
like that yellow gem
Which hidden in their garment’s hem the
merchants bring from Kurdistan.

His face was as the must that lies upon a vat of
new-made wine:
The seas could not insapphirine the perfect azure
of his eyes.

His thick soft throat was white as milk and
threaded with thin veins of blue:
And curious pearls like frozen dew were
broidered on his flowing silk.

On pearl and porphyry pedestalled he was
too bright to look upon:
For on his ivory breast there shone the wondrous
ocean-emerald,

That mystic moonlit jewel which some diver of
the Colchian caves
Had found beneath the blackening waves and
carried to the Colchian witch.

Before his gilded galiot ran naked vine-wreathed
corybants,
And lines of swaying elephants knelt down to
draw his chariot,

And lines of swarthy Nubians bare up his litter
as he rode
Down the great granite-paven road between the
nodding peacock-fans.

The merchants brought him steatite from Sidon
in their painted ships:
The meanest cup that touched his lips was
fashioned from a chrysolite.

The merchants brought him cedar chests of rich
apparel bound with cords:
His train was borne by Memphian lords:  young
kings were glad to be his guests.

Ten hundred shaven priests did bow to Ammon’s
altar day and night,
Ten hundred lamps did wave their light through
Ammon’s carven house—and now

Foul snake and speckled adder with their young
ones crawl from stone to stone
For ruined is the house and prone the great
rose-marble monolith!

Wild *** or trotting jackal comes and couches
in the mouldering gates:
Wild satyrs call unto their mates across the
fallen fluted drums.

And on the summit of the pile the blue-faced
ape of Horus sits
And gibbers while the fig-tree splits the pillars
of the peristyle

The god is scattered here and there:  deep
hidden in the windy sand
I saw his giant granite hand still clenched in
impotent despair.

And many a wandering caravan of stately
negroes silken-shawled,
Crossing the desert, halts appalled before the
neck that none can span.

And many a bearded Bedouin draws back his
yellow-striped burnous
To gaze upon the Titan thews of him who was
thy paladin.

Go, seek his fragments on the moor and
wash them in the evening dew,
And from their pieces make anew thy mutilated
paramour!

Go, seek them where they lie alone and from
their broken pieces make
Thy bruised bedfellow!  And wake mad passions
in the senseless stone!

Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns! he loved
your body! oh, be kind,
Pour spikenard on his hair, and wind soft rolls
of linen round his limbs!

Wind round his head the figured coins! stain
with red fruits those pallid lips!
Weave purple for his shrunken hips! and purple
for his barren *****!

Away to Egypt!  Have no fear.  Only one
God has ever died.
Only one God has let His side be wounded by a
soldier’s spear.

But these, thy lovers, are not dead.  Still by the
hundred-cubit gate
Dog-faced Anubis sits in state with lotus-lilies
for thy head.

Still from his chair of porphyry gaunt Memnon
strains his lidless eyes
Across the empty land, and cries each yellow
morning unto thee.

And Nilus with his broken horn lies in his black
and oozy bed
And till thy coming will not spread his waters on
the withering corn.

Your lovers are not dead, I know.  They will
rise up and hear your voice
And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to
kiss your mouth!  And so,

Set wings upon your argosies!  Set horses to
your ebon car!
Back to your Nile!  Or if you are grown sick of
dead divinities

Follow some roving lion’s spoor across the copper-
coloured plain,
Reach out and hale him by the mane and bid
him be your paramour!

Couch by his side upon the grass and set your
white teeth in his throat
And when you hear his dying note lash your
long flanks of polished brass

And take a tiger for your mate, whose amber
sides are flecked with black,
And ride upon his gilded back in triumph
through the Theban gate,

And toy with him in amorous jests, and when
he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,
O smite him with your jasper claws! and bruise
him with your agate *******!

Why are you tarrying?  Get hence!  I
weary of your sullen ways,
I weary of your steadfast gaze, your somnolent
magnificence.

Your horrible and heavy breath makes the light
flicker in the lamp,
And on my brow I feel the damp and dreadful
dews of night and death.

Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver
in some stagnant lake,
Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances
to fantastic tunes,

Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your
black throat is like the hole
Left by some torch or burning coal on Saracenic
tapestries.

Away!  The sulphur-coloured stars are hurrying
through the Western gate!
Away!  Or it may be too late to climb their silent
silver cars!

See, the dawn shivers round the grey gilt-dialled
towers, and the rain
Streams down each diamonded pane and blurs
with tears the wannish day.

What snake-tressed fury fresh from Hell, with
uncouth gestures and unclean,
Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen and led you
to a student’s cell?

What songless tongueless ghost of sin crept
through the curtains of the night,
And saw my taper burning bright, and knocked,
and bade you enter in?

Are there not others more accursed, whiter with
leprosies than I?
Are Abana and Pharphar dry that you come here
to slake your thirst?

Get hence, you loathsome mystery!  Hideous
animal, get hence!
You wake in me each ******* sense, you make me
what I would not be.

You make my creed a barren sham, you wake
foul dreams of sensual life,
And Atys with his blood-stained knife were
better than the thing I am.

False Sphinx!  False Sphinx!  By reedy Styx
old Charon, leaning on his oar,
Waits for my coin.  Go thou before, and leave
me to my crucifix,

Whose pallid burden, sick with pain, watches
the world with wearied eyes,
And weeps for every soul that dies, and weeps
for every soul in vain.
EC Pollick Jun 2012
Rhythm of life
Nails tapping on table tops
Beating of our hearts
spin the world right off its axis.
Momma shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die.
Atlas shrugged
And we all tripped as we walked
The pace of our mile,
off by 3.6 seconds.

Trust in our stated axioms
Disillusioned Americans in Paris
Judged by the color of our skins
and the shoes on our feet
No one stops to see how blue it is up there today.
Hurrying through the rain
Our cities never sleep.
Going down South
It’s slower down here.
Sunday’s best and
“God Loves You” stickers when you get your oil changed.

Night train whistle blows
Factory steam pipes squeal
Mississippi riverboats tug and chug
Dictionary.com definitions let us down.
Greatest disasters in history
are when thing we take perfectly for granted
stop working.
Mad cow, mad hatter, mad world
Bad boys, bad wine, bad date
Ellipses, dot dot dots, dramatic pause, passing of time passing of time passing of….
……..
………….
…………………….
Time.

Tw—
Twi—
Twitch.                       (tick tick tick)

I believe in the abnormal
And the impossible
And I refuse to believe that fictional characters aren’t real
Animals completely understand me
When I talk to them.

Baby missiles fire
From all parts of the globe
End of the world party
Let’s go down in glorious drunkenness
As the beating of our hearts
Spins the world right off its axis.
Aaron Reisinger Dec 2016
For all the years we spent together,
I'm surprised how much we each,
Dance around the phrase,
I love you.

It's as though we play a game,
Where the first to fall back,
In love loses,
But I lost a long time ago.

I've let you lead the way,
And make your moves,
Before I plan out mine,
This time around.

I've let you do all the talking,
And tell me all the things you've done,
Before I tell you,
Stories of my own.  

You keep apologizing profusely,
And I keep dreaming of you.
As I wait for the next time,
We dance around I love yous.
Khadijat Bello May 2023
First, let me start by Greeting you in Twi, "memawo akye" in Kumasi
And back to my home land, I say to you, "Yene"! in Ebira
"Habri za asubuhi"! from Swahill
Ina kwana in Hausa
Emesiere! in Ibibibo
ụtụtụ ọma! in Igbo
Africa, the home of one third of the world's languages
Here I am telling you Djam walli!  in Fulfulde
Nigeria is a power house of over 500 languages
I say Kube lazhin! Nupe
U nder vee! in Tiv
Manao ahoana! in Malagasy language
Ojobe in Boki
Africa! My home continent, where some languages are foreign to most.
West Africa, my land region the Zone of the Giant of Africa.
Nigeria, my Father land! I say to you Good morning in different dialect.
Telling my own Africa story by Greeting you all Good Morning in different African dialects.
Randall Walker Sep 2017
broken beer bottles are all I know
these cuts on my hands not just for show
this brown turned red,
turned brown now again,
are the bends flowing in
all withdraws made in blood

the battle now done for the day
but for tomorrow i must continue to stand
these suds of my sins
won't be rubbed off of my skin
because
by yourself
your self
you can't ever save

that phlegm's still stuck in my throat
and no matter the coughs
it won't go away
so
my muscles go lax
my mind grows soft
my up comes down
say
what's holding me aloft?
The Good Pussy Aug 2015
.
                              When a
                       twister a-twist
                   ing will twist him a
                   twist, • For the twist
                     ing his twist,  he
                     three times  doth
                     intwist; • But if o
                     ne of the the twi
                     nes of the twist d
                     o untwist, • The t
                     wine that untwist
                     eth untwisteth th
                     e twist. • Untwirli
                     ng the twine that
                     untwisteth betwe
                     en,• He twists wit
                     h the twister the t
         wo in a twine;       • Then twice
   having twisted the  twines of the twine,
    • He twisteth the   twine  he had twined
    in twain.• The  tw   ain that  in  twining
       before in the tw   ine • As twined we
          re intwisted he  now doth intwine
Ashley Kinnick Sep 2013
I want glamour.
I want edge.
I need f(r)iction.
Periodic glances.
Poison. Setting.
A dark/darker/darkest of romances.
Intoxicating. Sinking. Sinking. Slow now.
Plucking stars.
In the shadows. Cruel hesitation.
Collections.
Twi(sting).
Plug me in. Bring me down.
Saccharine.
pitch black god8 May 2019
~

dark early pre-dawn

body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance

but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try  tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary

“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods

this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods
5:29am April 24th
The bayed back feeling that once was you
Boiling down the ethereal , in differences
I cross the twi's lights knowing I will be
here . . . for a thousand years

This is astound  , no reason is clear
Where the smell of grass comes to pass
You remember a kiss that won't disappear
. . . . . . beyond a thousand years

Tuesday . . . dragging the clouds away
Hearing the voices that were never there
Telling me to hang my ethereals out to dry
It may take a thousand years

Cold hearted orb dressed in white satin
embrace the shadows you cast across
Tell all the Knights lacking they cannot win
Not in a thousand years
Poetic Thoughts Aug 2015
I am a Ghanaian girl born on Basotho land. I ask you why my relatives know how to speak Twi and I don't, it was then when I was aware of the decision you had made to keep me away. My family has been filled with Ghanaians who can speak their native tongue but you made me the only different. When it's all set and done I do not know my native tongue. The truth is my I'm filled with Basotho air rather than the identity of Ghanaian princess. I was born to you as a citizen. I am trying to join them but I am stuck. Also, I wonder, who am I?I haven't come to a conclusion. I am forever shopping for a new identity. So I am an actor, I did Drama in high school and usually I have my props on stage but in this poem all my props are gone. I'm just revealed with nothing to hide asking myself who am I?I could say I am diverse but then again I think not. It's sad how I can't even pronounce my own name.
#identity #confused #whoami? #lost #secrets #wondering #strangerinthefamily
Andrew T Hannah Mar 2014
Even a World So Ugly As This        
  
  
                  Is Full of Beautiful Things.  
  
  
  
  
It was one of those evenings  
when men feel that truth, goodness and beauty  
are one.  
                            
  
  
  
  
  
Waste no day with too-much sleep,  
              Darling,  
The wilderness beckons.  
  
  
Let us rustle the trees.  
Remember to laugh, Remember to sing.  
  
Fill again my head with constellations.  
Fill again my head with consolations of sound.  
For i am inseparable from you, and you from me as well.  
  
  
Remember to dance, Remember to dream.  
Remember to listen, Remember to see.  
For even a world as ugly as this  
      Is full of beautiful things.  
  
  
All other questions of the mortal coil  
More or less become clear  
In the unwinding.  
  
Hushed and heedless,  
The sunflower, chico, and the fountain  
Twi-lit with honey.  
Forests grand with oaks, and the lunar zig-zag which paints the mountain.  
  
  
The slow dripping noise beside you,  
The cool *** of night become icicle morning.  
  
A thousand thousand impish clamors call out!  
The elfin quietude.  The flighty bird. The brotherhood.    
  
The mirror changes with moods.  
  
The brother, the sister.  The merry-go-round of laughing children.  
The daughter with a bouquet of curls beaming gold, red, brown sincerity.  
The freckled enchantment of lovers perennially in Idumaean night.  
  
  
The artistry of female radiance on which all things are born and balanced.  
Beauty such as to drive a mind to madness.  O  
And the splendid metaphysics of the male,      
The shimmering brandy of honed muscle and action.  
  
I am recalling, the ebony of her form,  
Perfect in inexhaustible allurement!  
  
I am recalling, the pale fragility of another,    
Perfect in exquisite pulchritude!  
  
The friendly mutt whose voice exalts sonnets of pure love.    
The great haunches of colts at full run.  
Tendrils of primordial music bloom on the wind!  
  
  
Under the water the world drowns and continues on.  
Yet the measure of mocking men produces only sand  
Fit to fill a broken hourglass.  
  
Let not gladness be empty banter amongst us  
Ye city of perplexed imaginings!  
City of labyrinths, curves, catwalks, and spires.  
An elegant evening strolling with you produces charming memories.  
  
In abandoned churches the ***** blessed us heathens with greater timbre and romances  
Than a thousand caterwauling religions.  
  
  
With Juliet's rose between my teeth  
My jaunty daydream burst out laughing !  
In the snug lamplight of home again  
Vines and evergreen ropes of oleander twined up to the roof and quite through!  
& Together we climbed it to find the proof.  
  
  
Refine your strength, refine your shame.  
By all means, breath deep, lustily!  
  
Even the body which drags weary feet.  
Even the nervewrack'd hours dark and steep .  
Midnight strikes quickly and time melts away, completely.  
  
Apprehend again the heart  
Before it washes away in the storm.  
This and all things that we cannot untie  
Should not bind us to an early grave.  
  
  
Here i grow too old for fearing frivolous shadows.  
The eyes fill with sleep - and then reopen.  
The eyes fill with sleep - and then they do not.  
The conversation carries on .  
  
At times perhaps we hear the ocean  
      grinding grinding  
Those orphaned spirits of old Edens,  
What soon again we are to become.  
  
  
But what is a home unwanted?  
                       it is nothing!  
  
And what is a life unlived in?  
                  it is nothing!  
  
  
The surgeon with steady and learned hands.  
The mechanic with hard and learned hands.  
The soldier. The mother.  The strength of one in solitude.  
The strength of those whom lean upon each-other.  
  
Bubbling bedfellows of rivers rambling  
in a forest of Birch and wildflower.  
The Odyssey in the park with you, under a pagan serenade of moons.  
The red blood of pomegranates passed between.  
  
The throb and churn of engines is lovely in its way.  
The darkness is lovely in its way.  
The present, the past, the future - all the sunsets,  
Sonorous in their way.  
  
Weep and weep into the dusk.  
But what do you imagine bitterness shall win you?  
  
    
The natural harmony and dis-harmony.  
Towers of strained hardening.  
The mud and the water.  The fire which governs.  
Grapes upon the vine, and diamonds in the mine.  
I provoke myself onward.  
  
And say let us speak hastily, neighbor,  
For what time is there to waste  
On expectant verses, and platitudes to over-made faces?  
  
I for one do not care much for dawdling beneath false skies.  
The realist parts of me know too well of life's harsh cruelties, and yet,  
                  realize also that reality is the theater of artifice.  
                  - and you are ever free to see it as you wish.  
  
  
The mirror changes with moods.  
  
  
I for one prefer the perfume of the moment.  
Nothing simplified, and perhaps, yes everything!  
The human smells and earthy musks.  The animal abruptness.  
The persisting imagination, the infinite onward.  
  
I for one prefer to hear the music outpouring  
loud and rockus,  
            Rather than the bells that morn us.
And so...
...From the Benevolent Ashes, We Rise!
Canadian or Ghanaian, which one do I choose
This conflict I experience always leaves me confused.
Who am I and where am I from.
Do I say where I was born or what's in my blood.
First generation Canadian, should I be proud?
Is it okay that I can't speak any Twi?
If I don't know my parents language, is the culture still with me?
How do I identify, what is authentic, what is the truth, and what is right?
Some thoughts I think about when I lie awake at night.
I feel like my parents culture is just going to get washed away
That I'll have no trace of Ghanaian culture in me.
And I don't give learning the culture the time of day,
To help me become who I want to be.
Because I love saying I'm Canadian, I love what it entails.
It is the country that I call home.
But I love what my parents show me about Ghanaian culture.
I enjoy thinking about the unknown.
So you see my dilemma and why I'm so lost, why I don't know who to be.
Why I don't know how I should explain my culture, I'm still working on my identity.
And I guess there's no rush, I can use either or.
It'll depend on the context of the question that is asked.
But it's who I am, it means so much more,
It is how I define to who I am.
I take pride in both cultures, I want them both, my definition has no restrictions.
So next time I'm asked where I'm from, I'll explain that I'm a Ghanaian Canadian.
I guessed I'm not as confused as I originally thought, I know who I am inside.
A Ghanaian Canadian, that's my identity, and I'll identify with it till I die.
softcomponent Mar 2014
opening up an eclectic ruddy random selection of books to the sound of classical concerto dimmed to 'whelming' (neither under nor overwhelming), is like entering point after point to perspective to new brain after old brain after subject to object to alluvit, the few, the many-- 'on July 21st, 1936, Lockheed test pilot Elmer C. McLeod, with Amelia as copilot, took the new Electra up for its first official flight..' 'This is the picture of the Djinn making the beginnings of the Magic that brought the Humph to the Camel..' 'A block away from the museum doors, the guards still follow us, until a new group of guards from the next building has us under surveillance..' 'More and more, I suspect that Buddhists and shamans are correct..' 'I liked Bloodworth and in the spring we were going to play outfield together on that Lowell team, he whose name for years had mystified me when I saw it in Lowell High and Lowell Twi League boxscores-' 'if the world at large found it impossible to believe the truth of the Holocaust, even when provided with incontrovertible proof, Berliners presented with piecemeal evidence, rumour and hearsay were bound to dismiss such talk as enemy propaganda, or perverted fantasy. As Ursula Von Kardoff recalled after the war: 'we were realistic and pessimistic. But Auschwitz?'-  '"Twenty-five centavos."
"Twenty-five centavos," repeated the Syrian in a firm voice with almost no accent.'--
Matei Codrescu Jan 2017
In the hour of Twilight, let us burn,
Let us burn with passion
As our blood boils and our hearts turn,
As we melt in one-another, morbidly…
                                     …in a romantic fashion.

Flesh pressed against flesh, I do remember;
The secret lips of a demon so tender,
And our bodies on top of a mound,
Twi lively corpses besottingly…
                                   …carving a new wound.

And let them be irradiated by our macabre ardour.
ryan May 2014
I kissed the moon
In purple glow

Her fingers, white beams
Licked my face

Not even Garuda
Could shroud Twi in

I was a tide
She pulled to her chest

We encompass
Then we wane

As the church bells
Ring out

She sings her songs
To slip herself down below the horizon

Behind the Gothics and willows
That point to her window

Where I find her
Tomorrow
dean evans Jan 2015
On a bitter cold but clear, and dark December night
I rose my eyes into the stars, they offered soothing light
Not even was I hopeful, to witness mornings bright
But I saw you in the clouds of dawn, and it took away my sight
What was there, was it just a dream across my mind
Was I in a twi-light sleep, within the realm of time
Perhaps some sort of vision sent from God, with grace divine
Though none of these describe your face there, witnessed, so sublime

I sat transfixed, and watched you, as you slowly smiled at me
I felt that you could feel the pain, alone has come to be
Without you here I find my essence changed to some degree
The love within your eyes is something I did not foresee
Within the early morning mist, I dreamed that you were there
No others eyes could look through me, no other could compare
Then as the changing clouds appeared I saw us standing where,
In gentle warm embrace I ran my fingers through your hair

You must please understand that I have not the hope of years
Required to repair my heart, to dry a million tears
But here within the clouds of dawn, my sadness disappears
As you and I stand heart to heart, and nothing interferes
Except perhaps the rising sun that brightens sky, and day
Or winds of sorrow that may blow the morning fog away
Not to see the clouds again, and witness their display
To leave me here alone once more, much to my dismay

And live within the bitter cold of lost, and past regret
Just another Winter night of wine, and cigarette
Nothing in the starlight, save the haunting silhouette
Of one who’s love is lost to me, though I cannot forget
To dream of you once and again, in skies of pink chiffon
The only thing I wish these weary eyes to look upon
If only lonesome heart agrees to patiently hold on
I’ll see you smile at me again,
within the clouds of dawn...

Dean Evans
4-26-14
Dark n Beautiful Mar 2023
Only name the day, and I shall be there

This morning the notification woke me up

With still sleep in my eyes I reached for my phone

And the tone  

lingers from that Twi in my ear

Annei I love you though, despites his tears

To forget the world, and they negativities

Of a love such as ours, it clean, it’s pure

Love does not speak volumes(quote)

It speaks the honesty of another one confession,

Loving another person is hard work,

Only true love to me is a newborn baby love

for its mother, he trusts her immediately  



As we gaze into each other eyes,

We smile, we reminisce we both lied:

We try to outdo each other:

Was I king liar or was he king Lear?

Revealing too much, or revealing a little

Listen carefully, and responding with affection

Or simply use the body language

This fool will get back to you.

And old gal interpretation of fear not want not

We really don’t get each other:

My darkest fear is why did he walk

The dark street of Accura at 3.am?

That’s when my psychoanalysis study step in:

Where the boy seeks, love in an old familiar place

the street love of his childhood dream;

I asked of him not cut his hair

It makes him look like a youth,

Older men take advantage of desperate  

Looking youth, because of the boyish look,  

and that all it took:

Meat for the belly, and the belly for the meat(quote)

So, happily this morning I decline,  

You learn a lot about a man by his behavior when hungry. ~ Zambian Proverb
Mimi Bordeaux Aug 21
Spiked Mulled Wine
Sweat like a corpse in a (dawny dowdy dawny) copse a forest of flies fire flight of twi-light seeblack-blue
opalesque pearlescent

nacreous pancreas lining
wining dining ending up with
the light of jesu
hindu master tweaks his little bells (out of) their shells

coapting coaxing
sticking it to the masses
passers by dreary teary bleary

feeling alone with your ***** dog ‘galbador’-real name — allyl cyclohexyl glycolate

why do I always look so socially drawny mawby scrawby lordy
baggy galpy scaredy catty claggy faggy end of this drive
eyes filled with pus?

cuss the weather
tether me knees together
going mad

already bad and sad
dad went years before and after mum did
leaving is all they know how to do well
it’s s a gift from my parents to scarper when the kids get too rowdy loudly
maudlin goblin mouldin thoughts on
one left side of my brain open cranial sacral chakra larkerseratonin my dopamine receptors
say hello to chemical imbalance of my lead head said
dead just alive

kept going by a senior psychiatrist who took an interest in my case file
larger than life itself
between two good neurones bashing clanging together

growing like a manic bipolar  transistor with a psychotic disorder
between two good neurones bashing clanging together

abruptly adroitly soulfully
she let me in
goll golly goldy go

comatose come home poem dome my tome reads like an amateur souless epiphany

head of aching shaking making noises of doom moon soon will be half shaped circle of like
please bring my elixir
its own packet
what’s that racket downstairs towards the bottom
back to me
head of aching shaking making noises of doom moon soon will be half shaped circle of like
fife mife byfe lyte lyfe pyfe myfe
brittle bendy bandy bones blown down drown

no sound when you’re under the water
immersed submersed macerated saturated ******
scouser
louse in my hair won’t go away
When You Loved Someone

When you loved someone, the world transformed. You’d shoot the moon and extinguish the sun, all in the name of that someone. The hunger in your belly became secondary; their nourishment mattered more. Your compass spun, recalibrating their magnetic pull. Family receded, replaced by the gravitational force of love.

Miles blurred into insignificance as you traversed continents, chasing their presence. Sanity, once a steadfast companion, now wrestled with your heart. “Madly in love,” they called it, as if madness and love were inseparable twins. Perhaps they were.

I rarely pen love poems; they demand feeling, not just ink. Was I ever in love, or merely enamored with an idea? The fairytales painted love in black and white, but reality’s palette is richer. Love, like accents, can deceive. Wicked tongues weave spells, and the voice of seduction whispers secrets in Ghanian Twi.

Yet, amidst the chaos, one truth remains: love drives us to madness, but true love rests on honesty. If your lovers change like seasons, they were never anchored in truth. Your house may be quieter now, but it’s a silence built on authenticity—a lie untold, because you love someone.

Summary: Love, both wild and tender, shapes our lives. Amidst the tumult, seek the truth—the quiet strength that endures. 🌟❤️

— The End —