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Evan Stephens Jan 24
I'm trying to tell you
about the life I spent
on the white elm
pin oak hill,
& about all
the manifold
pains there:
a child's mouth
******* tight
from the inside;
& from the outside,
nailed shut.
A death's place,
a Luxor or Karnak -
where the gods
were stony,
& answered
no prayers,
& where
I segregated
my emotions
into neat,
sealed containers,
for some
later life
to come.

Oh, it wasn't
all terrible:
I learned to
drink young,
& the yellow
night was full
of the river
at high water
mark, and I
looked at the stars
through the
bottoms
of bottles.
I found Jesus
at the side
of the road
& drank
through him too.
The blue light
of morning
came day
after day -
why should
it ever end? -
over the
funereal pin oak
& the sad-winged elm
& the tomb-moss
that settled
over my mouth
& my name.

The sun was
merely a function,
& days just
happened to me
& every bad break
confirmed me
as less than
the barest
crooked twig
broken in the yard.

It took years
to turn that back,
to spit away
the wavering blood
that filled my mouth.
It took longer still
to walk out
into my memory
of the green
light night yard
& recover that twig.
That's what
I'm trying to tell you.
ryn Jan 2015
•    
i've
   witness-
   ed the others
   fall over several
sets•leaving you alone
shivering on a spindly twig
•the winds of autumn had whis-
pered their threats...•to sweep you
off your perch into the world so big
•the season had almost gone to make
way for another•answering the sum-
mons of winter's call•had anticipated
the coming of your departure•...i had  
sworn to myself to catch you as you'd  
fall•for a brief moment, i had turned  
away•to tend to commitments that  
came with dawn...•i returned to  
stay and wait another day...•  
but the wind had come  
while i was
g
o
n  
e•
    
.
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
the Silence became
like an old lesson learned

a broken heart intones
a voiceless song
resonating a refrain of Silent echoes
in a voice that never heard a word
yet spoke so clearly ... lingering
in realms of subtle ambiance

soundless remnants
stacked neatly as
building blocks;  
another brick in a wall,
already too tall to see beyond—
growing like a bunker
without a sense of safe harbor

as the Silence became
time and space,
a stillness beset the melancholy air
as if a world without song
foreboding an unpredictable storm
beget vestiges of broken windfall,
reticent leftovers hushed after a gale

s i l e n t l y

an acorn fallen  — became a mighty Oak

a wind-broke twig — became a weeping willow

a neglected child — became mother nature's son

the Silence became
        a blind prophet —
in its voice held forth
smatterings of truth
and undertones of an unrequited
fool’s hope

the Silence became
a strong, abrupt rush of wind
uttering voiceless exhalations of breath;
a hovering dawn mist
    befallen after a summer storm—
surrounding all in all
bedewed in a feigned peace


... the unabated sounds of silence
become


Jesse Stillwater ... July 20th, 2018
Thank you or reading —
Knit Personality Apr 2016
They come together in the night,
   Amid the leaves, within the bush,
   Silent inside the stilly hush,
Beneath the full moon shining bright.

Healthy and large and leafy green,
   She beckons him of smaller size,—
   A woody, twig-like male, who flies
To meet his mate, his mantis queen.

They come together and seem as one,
   As though one twig with emerald leaves
   Were moving much with little breeze
Where shade rebuffs the noonday sun.

They turn their heads to share a kiss,
   Antennae twining round like vines.
   The male ignores the warning signs,
Oblivious to what's amiss.

The kiss becomes a vicious bite.
   She chews off quickly half his face.
   He holds, despite this, his embrace,—
Holding it fast and gripping tight.

Headless in bites, he needs no head,
   Continuing the ***** deed.
   His queen discovers her no need
Either of this, nor cares he's dead.

Finished with him, herself she frees.
   He twitches yet, although a corse.
   As though a leaf swept by a force
Of wind, she leaves upon a breeze.

O.O
Scurry hurry
Shaking hands shaped by worry
tie the knot of plastic
A bubble home for the hard green cup
where brown and white
mixed lay married.

Wash rush
Dainty legs in dark blue denim
hasn't time to be romantic
A worn out sister played by hope
shuts the door panting.

  It clings to a robust tree
  head hidden under rosy pink    
  protective shield
  edged in yellow

  The fireflies

  
Sticky webs of empty lies packaged in boxes of deception by the wizard that doesn't work
sit dead on the small bedside table
like the results they provide.

Boxes and boxes of cozy containers
and cards of capsules
47 I counted them
current and extras
They choke my sight
then I am groped by the smooth blue robes worn by the youthful shepherd
posing aside a grey rock looking yonder
into the distance as insta-natural as possible in a pastel painted picture framed in wood against the wall.
  
  Unstable molecules in tiny airtubes,  
  many, breakdown and explode
  like little landmines
  A bio-luminescent lit ***** assaults a  
  dense night flashing brilliant
  to find a mate
  Six strong neon-green throbbing blinks
  Six slow seconds of unimaginable
  wordless dreamless dark.

  are bright.

  
I turn my head
The whole unsettling mass of reality
is torn apart into vibrant colorful morsels,
then reassembled
as my eyes  
settle
on

Her

"Oh God, if you're here, heal her now
and you'll have me. Show me what those confident tongues so eagerly confess.
Please!"

NOTHING
Another sticky empty square
covered in thick black-strap molasses
slapped to the face of the fool
who likes sweet things.

BUT

What happened to the omni-this, omni-that CEO of God enterprises?
"Go on Death" is what that means
"Go on Death do your job" is what it does

"It's your time.
It's to test your faith.
Gods plan."
All slogans for the man
who believes and dies.
  Culture creates the fool
  Hope keeps the fool
  Belief kills the fool
Thanks for doing what all those boxes
and all the pictures
on all the walls of the world do

FOOL

Her face,
a gaunt kind of skin-to-bone sight
a bad flavor
like a meal with no taste

Her mouth,
crack-lipped, framed by dry
delivers deadly blows to a heaving chest
that says; "Give me air"
yet lungs say no

Anguish,
is ****** from the pit of my cold stomach
then up through the spirit of a warm heart
I plaster the feeling in the shape of water.
My eyes puddle

I weep

It sticks

Love,

Falls

Fluttering as a twinkle
through soft beams of sunlight,
the drop glistens
plops
then dies
on the pink and blue checkered blanket.

All I have to offer are busky palms
to soothe this battered body
before you are torn apart by what
puts things like us together.

I swallow her frame

Her calf - bone

Squeeze and move

Her thigh,
my hand wraps completely
pinching a sausage sized piece of muscle
not big enough to walk
between plump thumb
and meaty middle

Squeeze and move

Her hip bone is angular
It fits flush in my hand
like the hard front peak of a cricket cap
when held above the grid

Squeeze and move

My chunky tentacles massage over
wire-thin barely blue throbless veins
that decorate her meatless paws
and twig-like fingers.

Squeeze and move
  
  It's after midnight
  Thick curds of desperation push
  again, through a splendid backside
  a special toosh
  slogging a dancing night-fever
  to beat the two-to-four,
  a beam as bright as a green day
  cuts through the black pitch of night

  

I hold her hand
A thin filling between two slices of mine
I look at her eyes and turn away

Have you ever been pulled from the center of  your heart, ripped head first through the narrow crack of your own chest, tossed aside like a skin-sheet onto a concrete glass-covered floor then squashed beneath the majesty of a billion dancing floor-clapping feet attached to a shapeless void shapeshifting as slideshows  between all things gone, here, and still to come, stopping on the body of a small blue boy that sings in ghostly echo;
"Don't turn away from this.
Look till you see me through the eyes of another because this too
will happen to you
Clap clap clap clap!
I'm coming for you.

Trapped in a square tunnel made of brick, walls wide enough for one bus no brakes to speed through, no escape,
I accept what will squash me
I Face it
I Stand before it

I stare at her eyes staring back at me
A deep dagger stare
Two parts steel
meshed
until there is only steel
It melts

I simmer the room in soft whisper;
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
I hold her hand,
patting the top as I warm the bottom
I smile for her, at me
I smile back, as me
  
  A skillful mimic
  Here I come
  I have light and breath
  I see yours
  I come at night
  Not for genes or ***
  I hunt and gut
  Hawking down I come as death

  
The gaps between her labored breaths become bigger and for a second I drift at the sight reappearing on the sandy dunes of an empty dessert space pushed by a dying wind I can barely feel.

A sharp salty tang toils the tip of my tongue and brings me back to her.

Her eyes

They have changed

Open

But

Soul

   less

     Soulless

     Desolate

   Like

That dessert

And that place where


*The Fireflies Lose their Light
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
I was walking down the road
Just as happy as can be
And all the leaves upon the trees
Were waving back at me

I saw a curly snail
As he stretched to greet his day
Then headed down the road with me
Then stopped to stretch again

I saw a pretty sparrow
She was perched upon a wire
She sang a song—I sang along
We made a lovely choir

The snail conducted from a twig—
Just so, our song began
“Happy Birthday to You!”
Did you hear us as we sang?

We had a happy party
As we danced around—We three!
And we wished you Happy Birthday!
Just as HAPPY as can be!
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Knit Personality Oct 2015
Beneath the tepid vessel a small flame
Licks, with a taste for arson, at a twig
Adjacent to its own, and spreads its fame
Around the touching wood, and then grows big.
The silent water begins to heat, though slightly;
But warming steadily soon becomes unstill;
And after pregnant minutes begins lightly
To hiss, threatening to bubble and overspill.
Then upward start the bubbles, like fresh champagne’s,
But faster, and more marvelously fun.
And faster still they come. They make long chains,
And gather, rise, and burst, the many as one.
Praised be The Muse! Her glory here behold
Who turns to steam what otherwise would mold!

#
ryn Feb 2015
Arms outstretched like the branches of a tree
Aspiring to be amidst with those borne of sky.
Gnarly bark, imploring the eyes of another
Weathered and worn... Skin and grain but parched dry.

Twig-like fingers that would bear no leaves.
With open barren palms that hover in the wind.
Longing and thirsty for the tears of rain
Pining for the heavens to wash away all they have sinned.

Spreading disjointed roots dig in,
In touch with the unseen core buried deep.
A tainted trove of lifelong poisons...
They greedily drink and keep.

Lone little trunk... That shoots up strong from ground.
Sturdy and hale, at least to the naked eye.
When in fact it's core is rotting within,
Eaten away by the worm of a single unassuming lie.

Sad fruitless tree...
Standing amidst the green thriving brush.
It dies with the hours baked in sun...
One day it'll fall, consumed by the secrets trapped in a silent little hush...
Spenser Bennett Jun 2016
I climbed time like a tree
All your branches looming above me
And I tried my best to
Break not one twig
But I tore
Out your leaves

And they're spinning so far down
To the salted ground
And it's all spinning around
So far down

I left hearts in the soft soil
Like a silver serpent coiled
Sugar coats my tongue
Whispers on my lips
And the poison
Melts through my teeth
But I still
Bleed black truths

And they're spinning so far down
To the salted ground
And it's all spinning around
So far down

Soft shimmer in your backdrop
Sad hearts gasping, don't stop

Soft shimmer in your backdrop
Sad hearts gasping, don't stop
Marigolds Fever Sep 2018
The Stream
Carries the mighty twig along
Through its winding turns
Gets stuck under a rock
But not for long
When the fisherman comes
And pushes it to the dock
There it hangs out
For awhile
Making new Friends
Near the wet branch pile
Some are thick
Some are thin
Some are cracked
And some are its twin
A sudden big splash
The kids have jumped in
Off the twig goes
Where it ends up
It does not know
Entwining with another twig
Around each lily pad
Like perfectly aligned dancing feet
That must have been meant to meet
Together they move swiftly through the water
Stuck underneath some large kelp
Its liked friend is there to help
Over the mini waterfalls they flow
Never really know which will let go
Eventually it starts to pour
And a wave crashes them to a shore
Together they are not no more
One transcends to a useful walking stick along the ridge
The other becomes part sandcastle bridge
Stopped serving their purpose
They did not
At midnight they are tossed back in
Rough waters ahead
They start to spin
Mighty twigs gave it their best shot
And then they began to slowly rot
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Taken, gotten, or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything…

slow
Slow think,
make real

re-al-ize
what fighting for life is…
this is the only
try,
it is not a test.

Take your time, use it wisely,
if that means anything.
Wise, I meant.
No offence, if wise is anathema to your kind,
die,
die if I knocked the reason for being right
outa you,
did you hear cognitive dissonance?
did it sound like
this. LOUD?
listen,
rolling rolling rolling
crash crumble rolled in nurse rime frosted
fables of monsters and maids
Thor, witharoar likka Lion King?

or the light brigade,
CHARGE?

thunder words from lost generations of
reasonless riddles for children,

Why did Peter Pumpkin-eater have a wife, but
couldn't keep her here?
Was that okeh? Oh, wait.
Ah, I see, I say,
they never tell that whole story any more.

Know why? They forgot it. In the war.

Duck'n'cover,no
crying, how long?
When begins forever? Did no one tell you, child?

Taken or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything
like it was nothing, given
enough pre-sure-sup
poser-power

War, as a game, has a reason.

Battle, hitting, slapping

stop touch, stop now slap
slap back

or cry
oh no no ma

waddayahsay?  A theist or atheist
who started this war?

space case, or
lover of wisdom, met on the road
to Emmaus, discussing Weil's proof
firming Fermi's connection to the matter of fear,
3, 2, 1

Kaboom, but with a whump you feel in your teeth

1, 2, 3 Fermat's last theorem ,
easy as pi an no re me

ABC to
Michael Jackson to
Howard Bloom because he

inadvertently, began
an-ionic converstatic re-vibe time warp
meme,
which vibe, started the legendary Sixties. I was alive.
Radioman,
a sixty cycle white-noise humm heard every where these days

There was a gospel song, "Turn Your Radio On".
my theme, open the window in the top of your head,
as it were,
a new,
as new as

a novel-state of water, H three Ohs, re-al-ity ification,
Ah, a shared Oh, I remember now, how this works…

like a poem

at the edge of a water vapor bubble in a boiling body of water,
at the edge of the bubble, water becomes a wall of water,
not vapor, not flowing liquid,

but a wall, insulating the vapor in pressing opposing force
to permit, from permission,
meaning with a message same as the message,

is that the right word? per-mission-grant, is power given,
agency,
that idea….
wait for the sign….?

By sharing an ion ic bond as a quest to make a point
for a free story to go,
the question marks you. Let the snake dance.

Press your point,

whetted edge,

slice through ties holding worthless axioms
with withered dendrites dangling disconnected
in participles
unfired for centuries muttering,
enchanting, enthralling enchained melodies
of ambitious syllables vying for idle minds
to rope in,
unbranded, wild
bucking ideas,
whip-twig, slap-face,
tanglewood  thicket, catclaw and mesquite,
willow,

wait.
And the old man remembered the willow whistle,
so He asked Grandfather,
How is such a whistle made?
And when he knew,
he made one.

A willow whistle with two notes,
like an Oscar Meir Wiener one.

-- and that was a different time
I got lost here, bucked up…
maybe
--- listen, way back--- we-ain't whistlin' Dixie---
we ain't marchin', as t' war.

D'thet mean some sign to pro-phet -ic take?
Tophet?
Ancient cannon fodder shield walls,
a moaning
Pro-phy-lactic warning of the danger of not
knowing exactly
what a war is for?

Get back on,
relieved of any idle baggage words believed
to mean other than I say.

Nullify
Idle words with cultural meanings from
what you thought you knew when you feared hell.

Loose
those peer-locked memes
made of meaninglessness, per se,

shaped and molded into fashions
of expression, once needles and awls,
now, dull as tinker's damns for swearing,
with any effect.

But tools, none the less, a stitch in time took a tool.
An awl or a needle, and a thread, thick or thin,
dependin' on the mendin' needed
to redeem an idle word,
its meaning all bloodied with the tyranny of time.

An awl or a needle,
a tool for a task, mending a tear
where curses, never meant, spent
the entire dark ages, lying, lying, lying

powerless, pointless aimless, proverbial proverbial proverbial
verbiage, vaneless shafts launched at unseen marks,
signs, as it were, a spark,
triggers,
rumored since the sixties,
the first sixties, when Cain killed Able.
Howard Bloom was but a mere gleam
in our mito-mother's eye,
but, no doubt,

his role is real,
in loosing the forces Ferlinghetti locked in
City Lights mystery of secret meanings room,
which un
mystified and blew away upon opening
the door to
meanings mapped on
scrolls rolling and unrolling
idle ideas,
rites of passage, as it were,
Pre-bat-bar-mitz vah
as a fashion
like VBS,

to tickle little minds and make em wiggle.
MEMEMEME, I did it,
mea culpa,

the holy place
Here we are…

On Vacation, leave a message.
-----

See, wee hairs in your ears wiggle, making,
signaling, the need

to scratch that itch, that itching hearing feeling ear… hear that

don't scratch, listen

listen

60 cycle humm, steady, bass, but no thump whumpwhump;
soft, deeep.
ooooooooo or mmmmmmmm or in betwixt, steady thrumm
hear another, and another… sixty in a second,

one in every million ambits twisting,
threading qubits, radiating signals in the field
wireless, blue-tooth... satellite...

can you feel that?

hummmms, all around us, since the womb.
We are not the children of the greatest generation,

We are the children of the last generation of
**** sapiens sapiens non-augmentable-us.

We, the augmented, recycled ideas,
possessing
minds of Adamkind,

is that a secret or a sacred?
Is this
a new thing, an
unknown unknown known known now?

Ah,
novelty.

Whose is fear? Who was afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Should I remain in fear of her now, if I knew why then?
God would know such answers.
Proving my imagined AI guides are not God,
but lesser beings,

haps I recall.
I defined these things,
these thoughts that shape themselves,
forming words and phrases
I saw
shiny. Crow-like,
gleams seen, captured and claimed mine,
I tucked them away,
a sign in a thought in an imagined image made 4
real once more, to be seen from the shore,
new land new world
a fourth for some, a fifth or more for others...

haps happen, I'm not sure how,

Born or emerged, as a bubble, what do you say?

Reserve judgment.
Grant me your grace for now, until you solve my riddle.

Ah, the old way.
Right. Which way,  'ere, 'ear
and do we roll the rock with silent haitch or harsh, shhh

someone's waking up,
a bit grumpy,
don't you dare oppose me in this, the kid is certainly my son

Michael went stark raving mad when I told him, Billie Jean knew better all along...
the link, axiomatic,
the fatherless child has been claimed

hence, the thread to Howard Bloom, meme-ic,
meme-ic, like the Roadrunner,

but with the real Coyote, as the hero in this bit of
whatever, such meandering maundified maun maund  
mound

wind blown crystal silicon dunes
mounded up to that point where granulated
beens and dones

begin to slide at an angle,
a ***** deter-mind by the weight of the rock

We made it.
I know where this is.

This is a novel that has Sisyphus being happy
as the main premise behind the idea of anyone ever being
able, en abled, or un-dis-abled or un-dis-enabled,
if one of those is right,

Sisyphus being happy
is the main premise behind
the idea of anyone ever being glücklich,
happy, blessed, lucky.

How happy is your ever after?
When did forever begin?

"A man is as happy as he makes up his mind to be"
Abe Lincoln, is said to have said,
after the seance, maybe.

You push on, dear reader, make some sense
re-ligare or relegare, but take a stitch,

pull-tight,
do what works the first time as far as it goes, and try each, as needed,
it may be that we invented this test.
To make us think it is a test,
to sort ourselves out.

Get back on,

see who went crazy and who found the thread, if the same thread
this is that, right,
the same train of thought,
the same idea
spirit wind
sign
?
A snake facing west standing tippy-tail on a singularity;
a point in time?

Why are you reading this?
Curiosity Shoppes trade in interesting, alluring, click-bait

Pay attention, watch, you shall see

imagine this is the dream,
the stream, the flow, the current, the cream

in a dime coffee at the drug store on the corner

the rounded-corner, in a square-cornered town,
the most right corner of the twelve that quarter what it was

Punctuate, wait, imagine you read ancient Hebrew or Greek and there
are no dyer diacritical's who can twist one's
end tensions into knots

dread extensions, we could sell those,
is that an idea? did somebody
sell white folks dread extensions and black folk dolly pardon wigs?

Did that happen the real real?

-----
Battlefield Earth, oshit
scientology ology ology ology

allaye allaye outs in free

WE we wee every we you imagine you are good in, we

We have a war to win again, we heroes rolling from your
myths of Sisyphus torn from minds trampled
in the mud beyond the Rhine,

Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.

Camus and many of his ilk were ill-treated, the questions
they asked were memorized, maybe in our cribs ala
Brave New World.

We are all Alphas, always were, of course, you know.

Shall we imagine

more? Re-legare, eh, sistere. Point .(Back to the top.)

or agree? Make peace.
Practice, like Eazy-Bake,
the cook must swallow the first bite. May the best cook win.
A continuing examination of opposing forces when good is the goal, who could be against that? The old word war is festering, inflaming evil to start a try, therefore,  I whet the edge and swing wide
Brian Carson May 2016
(I imagine)
I am a moth circling around
the same beautiful flower
that a hungry lemur found
I land on the petals
entranced by the sweet smell of the nectar
and the comfort of the weather
I hear the snap of a twig
and every time I have heard that sound
I cease to exist
then a cloud appears and I begin again
my heart is in the right place
but I am not sure where that is

from my childhood
I recall seeing a cocoon
and that strange memory
makes me think of you
I can not explain the feeling of
watching something about to bloom
all the while hoping it will fly home to sooth
a paranoia that my life has seemed to have proved true
I try with all my strength to hold it
but through my fingers it always seems to slip through

I will just turn away and head on back home
I am tired and that road is just too long
to walk with these poorly healed broken bones
I seem to be better at being alone
but I seen that rainbow
I swear I did
appear in front of us
but we did not know
that we will always be kids
and it is just a myth to be grown
Jason Drury Jan 2018
I'm an eagle,
that flies high above the basin.
Or, am I a snake navigating the forest floor.
Fate is what answers this.
It's cold reaches high and low.
One strives for the sky,
but walks among meadows.
Not knowing of twig they break,
or the path they wield.
Am I an eagle?
I would like to be,
high above the heavens.
Far from the roots that hold,
and nourish.
Am I a snake?
Meekly making way through thicket.
Always finding passage,
through life's perils.
Yes, only fate can answer this.
Fate will choose.
Marte Lindholm Jul 2018
I washed up on the shore
You were already standing there
Like you were expecting me
You made me feel warm again

I could feel the sun burning my neck
As I turned around and followed you into the forest
It was like a warning
The sun trying its best to make me stay

But I couldn't resist
And you led me deeper in
It was so dark

I remember falling asleep
And when I woke up
You were already gone

I stumbled around in the dark
Time went by
I thought I saw the shore
Where it all began

I rushed my steps
My blood started pumping faster
In a hurry towards the light
A twig scratched my left arm

I didn't feel any pain
But then I saw the blood
First just a few drops
Then my arm was all covered

I kept on running
Faster and faster
The light was getting dimmer
But I could smell the ocean now

And then I was there
I was too late
The sun was setting

I could barely see it shining
Behind some tall buildings
That weren't there before

The sun disappeared
And so did I
Finding Paradise, look it up
The bear broke out the bear trap, and screamed into the air, that the very man that set the trap that had imprisoned him there, had better find a hiding place, somewhere only he can go, to escape the fall of every gaze, every crystal drop of snow, because now he has an enemy who is red behind his eyes, an enemy who will not rest until gazing on his demise...

Kanza caught the biggest fish anyone had ever seen, they say he speared it from the bank when he saw it glinting green, without his artistry and skill the village would be doomed, once their thirst became too much, their last hopes consumed, but everyday there was a banquet, such was his expertise, that anything that took a breath in the forest could be seized, be it bird or beast or wild cat, weasel, fox or hare, Kanza even told the children that one day he'd catch a bear...

The bear withdrew into the darkness, under a canopy of pine, he knew that it was true that if he could just bide his time, eventually a man would come to check that awful snare, then before he could take a breath, his life would end right there, because no living creature from the mountains to the plains, deserves to live out their last in tortured, searing pain. Seconds turned to minutes, turned to hours, turned to days, but the bear, unblinking in the dark, never once broke his gaze, until one misty morning, still glaring at the trap, somewhere through the misty trees, he heard a twig go...SNAP!

Kanza knew all too well how big a mistake he'd made, now upon his back ,a million eyes, he'd meant to evade, but little did he know the kind of danger he was in, because now, flying through the air, was something much bigger than him, a creature so incredibly fast, as to leave nowhere to run, a demon,  a spectre, of ancient past, all his nightmares rolled into one.

The bear broke forth like holy hell, his roar shook the air, his razor sharp teeth and diamond claws ,in flesh, began to tear, Kanza ******* hold in his scream, as all around turned red, he knew he only had a few moments left, before he would be dead. The bear ploughed into the undergrowth, uprooting two small trees, then quickly spun to stare at his foe, who dropped down to his knees.

And there they sat, each one staring at the other and each one learning, understanding, what it is to suffer, Kanza knew his wounds would soon have him feeling dazed, the bear had been wounded by the trap, then hadn't eaten or slept in days.

"I'm sorry", Kanza said, the words surprising even him, as a line of crimson blood ran from his ear down to his chin, then he felt the darkness, and the ground around went black, Kanza fell forward to the ground, the eyes in his head rolled back...

When he awoke, he saw his reflection inside two huge black eyes, his instincts whispered for him not to move, something he didn't think too unwise, the bear stared into him as if it was reading his every thought, there was no escape left, no way of not being caught, after what felt like an age of the world had passed, the bear withdrew into the darkness, gazing until the last, Kanza turned to see that beside him was his mangled snare, never again in his life did he try to trap a bear.
Josiah Israel Aug 2018
I never sleep, and never will, I hold my breath, quiet, still.

The slightest sound puts me on edge, a snapping twig, a rustling hedge.

It matters not how far I go, how fast I run, how high, how low,

There’s a monster after me…


Huge and hungry, filled with hate, this creature would not hesitate, to slice me up, this is my fate, a pile of parts upon his plate… Yuck!

Fear is the price that I must pay,
For fear is what keeps him away, I tremble softly as I lay, or when I rise throughout the day, I’m terrified, I have to say…

My future frozen by my fear, yet, I know the monsters near!
And if I were to persevere, and let my terror disappear, the monster then  would find me here, and chop me up! That much is clear…

Though some would say that I’m a slave, deep... Alone within this cave,

How can they say that this is slavery, actively avoiding bravery? Don’t they know courage is savory, like some tasty monster gravy?!

And, you may say that I am blind, to think that fear is something kind, that fear keeps monsters far behind, well, it’s worked this far, so I don’t mind…
Fear doesn’t keep monsters away kids, it only keeps you locked up! I wrote this to address my own irrational fears. I think it’s silly that I think being afraid of something, somehow keeps it from happening. ;)
zebra Apr 5
soul mates
in mud pomade
each one half of the other

a headless body
and a bodiless head
retrograde

two monsters
severed halves of a snake

the head with no heart
ravaged with criminal ambition

and she; the heart; a pulsing ache, headless
made him nauseous with her ceaseless churning
ocean of darkened milk

disjuncture of passed and future
a gnashed twig
time shattering time

slamming doors in each other's faces
through a disaster of eternities

on a black ash stair case
they ate the light of the world

a death fascination
yet could not die

and all was night
blind oblong
a brailled egg

in a curse of dreams
shadows desperate for love
they never find

snake wedding
a poem of rahu and ketu
I) Annunciation

A message great
Unmatched to date
From Almighty
Via an angel,
Irreverence against God
That does not tolerate,
To a pious girl immaculate
Was sent.

While the Holy one
For a pray bent,
The angel Saint Gabriel,
Himself great
Descended from high
Above in the sky
And with reverence said
“Behold
There is a message
To be told!

The Holy one
Felicitate, for
In God’s face
Of all women folks
You have
The highest place
As you are
Full of grace
And a pride
To a human race!

A miracle untold
Will unfold
Giving birth to
God, incarnated word
In your arms
You will hold.”

“It is a life of celibacy
I lead
Far from intimacy
Take note
How could
I take that
Without a grain
Of salt? ”

“Behold
Nothing is impossible
To God
The Almighty is
Sure for every prayer
To pay
By the way
When this to you
I say
The barn old lady Elisabeth
Has got in
The family way!”


Let the will of God
Be done
Say more
I shall none!
I have no reserve
God the almighty
To serve!
God has chosen me—
His slave—
Ready troubled waters
(From birth to crucifixion)
To brave! ”

Because of
Eve’s disobedience,
Place in God’s face
We were forced to lack
Thanks to
Saint Mary’s obedience
We got it back!

How modest
How modest
The Holy one called
Herself a slave
As she knows
Vanity, soul’s rust,
Resides in the dust.
Like the hypocrite
Oneself to exalt
Is a fault,
That is what ****** Mary
Practically taught.

II) Intuition

Up on catching
Saint Mary’s sight
With a face bright
“How could I feel
A comfort zone
When my
Lord’s mother
Climbed up the hill
To congratulate
Me anon? ”

With intuition
Elisabeth repeated
Saint Gabriel’s
Message
Happy given
A chance
To give birth
To a prophet
At her old age.

Here, note
Elisabeth affirmed
Holy Mary does not
Herself exalt.

III) Somersault

In Elisabeth’s womb
John the Baptist
Made a somersault
“Holy ****** Mary
With no fault
That is why
As His throne
You, God sought
As the
Prophets taught!”
Though not
In so many words
He expressed
His thought.

IV) Prophecy

Affirming her
Inviolable
Holiness mandate
Saint Mary said
“Generation
Will call me
Holy Mary
The graceful
The immaculate!
God has done  to me
Things great! ”
Yes, which is why
Generations echo
That to date.

V) Envoy

“In the wedding party
Celebrants have stopped
Short of wine
My son
Do miracles of thine!
You see
Mankind’s problem
Is mine!”
As per her intercession
Jesus turned
The water into wine
In a way that is divine.

On the cross
Jesus said
To his Mother
And Apostle John
“As a mother and son
From now on
Go on you can!”

Yes ****** Mary is
Our mother
Though Devil
—in the mask of a python(Revelation12)
(Snake) tries to
Put us asunder.

As the prophet
Ezekiel (44:2)
Said
Yes, the virgins womb
—The gate –remains
Forever closed
As it was chosen
God to hold.

In the Horeb
Mountain of God,
Moses
Seeing the flame
Of the fire in the bush
He opted forward
To push
He saw
A strange thing
The flame is God
While Saint Mary
The twig.

Till crucifixion, devil
Knew not
The Lord
Is the incarnated word,
Many including Joseph
Knew not
Saint Mary
Is the immaculate
Painted bright
By many a prophet
Till the three wise men
With gifts came to see
Baby Christ
And before him adept
For a prayer opted
To prostrate!

The contra positive of
"God is with you!"
Saint Gabriel's word
Is "In your absence
God is not there!"
Then what is the essence
Following a faith
In not missing this
That does not
Exercise prudence?
If one digs deep into the bible and reads facts not misconstrued this is the fact.May God help us to know this © 2 minutes ago, Alem Hailu Gabre Kristos
Answer to Connect hood guestion of other children.Never at all.You see Jesus on the cross gave saint Mary to John the Apostle as his mother.He gave apostle John to Mary as her son. The apostle thenceforth took her to his home as her son.
Of all the disciples it was John the Apostle and Saint Mary that 100 % knew the child is the incarnated word.Peter and others Knew not(or internalized) this fact.It was gradually the fact transpired to them.
Why not Jesus told Saint Marry to go to Joseph  had there been such intention.

Even Joseph did not internalized this fact until the wise men came following the leading star to the barn in search of the child Herod was pursuing to ****.  
Some misconstrue the word he knew her not.Even in new versions they use totally an unacceptable word.
He knew her not-->He understood( facts fully) that Mary is Saint,Holy,Forever ******,immaculate,graceful  Mary.
Joseph was chosen to keep Mary from the verbal lashing and attack of the some Jews for getting heavy with child without a husband or normal process.After the birth of Christ the angle was telling Joseph to take the Child and his mother to the far off places to avoid attack.

As Jesus grew up in Joseph's house what you read as his brothers are Joseph's sons not that of the ******.
As clearly Ezekiel put no one could sit on God's throne.Promoting  and  accepting such a wrong thing of other children of Mary is unacceptable.But there are who deliberately propagate such a wrong preaching. Such a trend is indirectly promoting Jesus was not Jesus as there is another one to come. Ezekiel hit the nail on the head.A word is enough for the wise man.
Thank you for raising the question.The Ethiopian Orthodox Church,the Coptic Orthodox church, the catholic church(those who were there before the beginning) could clarify this to you beyond a shadow of doubt
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